Chapter Text
Harry knocked softly on Draco’s door after he’d gone back to his room and changed into jeans, a ratty Bush hoodie, and trainers. Draco opened it, and Harry slipped in.
“Ready?” he asked, holding up his invisibility cloak.
Draco nodded, zipping up a black sweater that was far too posh for what they were about to do.
“Do you want to wear the cloak now or once we get into the hall?” Draco asked.
Harry checked his watch. 11:53. “Once we’re in the hall. We can still technically leave the common room for another seven minutes.”
Draco nodded, and they headed downstairs quietly to avoid disturbing anyone in their rooms. The common room fire crackled, sending shadows bouncing along the cream walls, but it was lower than it had been earlier. Harry scanned the room—it was empty, so they kept going.
They moved quickly and were almost at the portrait hole when a voice said, “Where are you going?”
Harry stopped short and turned. Zacharias Smith sat up from where he’d been lounging on one of the plush sofas, concealed by the pillows. Harry cursed himself for not checking the common room with a homenum revelio.
Harry attempted his best glare. “It’s none of your business, Smith.”
“Something is up with you two.” Zacharias eyed Harry and Draco as he stood. “I want to know what it is.”
“I told you, nothing is going on." Harry wondered if he could get away with hexing him so soon into the new term.
“Then why are you sneaking out just before curfew?”
“It’s none of your—” Harry stopped talking as Smith went rigid and fell back onto the sofa.
He looked up and saw Ron, wand out, and wearing plaid pyjamas and a sheepish look.
“Well done, mate,” Harry stage whispered across the room, and Ron gave them a thumbs up. Hermione came into the common room in baby pink sweats with her hair pulled back. She surveyed the scene and broke into a satisfied smile as Ron put an arm around her.
“Go,” she mouthed, and Harry nodded. He turned, grabbed Draco’s hand, and pushed the portrait door open.
“Thank Merlin for Weasley,” Draco murmured as they stepped through the portrait.
“Yes, I’m Merlin!” a voice called as the portrait swung shut behind them.
They turned, and Merlin was hopping around his portrait frame, waving something that looked like a…fork?
“Ah, yes, hello.” Draco pushed his hair back.
“What do you need? A Whizbee?” the wizard asked.
“Er, what?” Harry asked.
“You said ‘thank Merlin for Whizbee.’ I can find you one, but I don’t think the landscape fairies on the fourth floor are going to like being disturbed at this hour.” He held up the fork to his chin. “Although I might be able to ask the warlocks in the tapestries down in the dungeons…though they may be disagreeable for other reasons if you know what I mean,” he said conspiratorially.
Harry looked at Draco, at a loss. He had no idea what the barmy old git meant.
“Thank you, that won’t be necessary,” Draco said, far too comfortable talking to the most famous wizard in history’s portrait. “We’ll just be on our way—”
“Well, if you say so.” Merlin hopped into his chair and crossed his legs which confirmed he was not, in fact, wearing trousers under his tunic. “Have you heard about my adventures with King Arthur? Everyone thought we were friends, you know, but we were shagging the whole time. He was an attentive lover.” Merlin got a little misty-eyed.
Draco coughed, and Harry pressed his lips together, suppressing a laugh. They didn’t need to be waylaid by the sexual escapades of a painting, but honestly…part of him wanted to hear this. The most famous wizard of all time? Shagging a king? He never paid much attention in History of Magic but was reasonably sure Professor Binns had never discussed that.
“Ah, yes, well, we’d very much like to hear all about that, sir, but we do have an errand to run, so perhaps another time?” Draco asked in his poshest, most polite voice.
“Very well,” Merlin said, resting his hands under his chin. “He was spectacular at—”
“Thank you!” Draco called a bit too loudly and pulled Harry down the hall.
When they were far enough away, they collapsed into each other, trying to stay as quiet as possible while absolutely losing it in fits of laughter.
“Oh,” Draco wiped tears from his eyes, “that was amazing. We have to hear about what a spectacular shag King Arthur was.”
“He’s insane,” Harry gasped, still laughing.
“Complete nutter,” Draco laughed.
“Come on.” Harry pulled Draco to stand, still laughing. Harry threw the invisibility cloak over them. It didn’t cover their ankles, but it would have to do.
They were pressed together under the cloak, little laughs still escaping their lips, their breath mingling under the silky fabric.
“I needed that,” Draco whispered, and Harry smiled. He didn’t realise how much tension he’d been holding onto until just now. How much he’d needed a medieval portrait talking about shagging a king to calm down a bit.
Harry ran his hand across Draco’s cheek and whispered, “Let’s go.”
They shuffled around the corner but kept bumping into each other as they made their way to the staircase. Draco huffed out an exasperated sigh and slid behind Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. It was still awkward with Draco plastered up against him, his knees knocking into Harry’s with every step, but they could move a bit faster. They made their way down the three flights, Harry with his wand out, scanning for Mrs Norris, who he assumed still prowled the corridors.
They made it out of the castle, and once they were far enough away that the lights couldn’t reach them, Harry stopped and pulled off the cloak. He stuffed it in his hoodie pocket.
“Alright?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded. “Which way?”
Harry nodded toward where he’d entered the forest that awful morning in May, and they carefully picked their way across the lawn and past Hagrid’s. When they got to the tree line, they both whispered ‘lumos’ to light their wands.
“It’s this way,” Harry whispered as they made their way deeper into the forest, gnarled roots underfoot, leaves and pine needles crunching with every step.
The long march he’d made came back to him now. How he’d been scared and numb at the same time. How he’d known what he had to do, even while he hadn’t wanted to. How he’d used Draco’s wand to open the snitch. His father and mother. Remus and Sirius, both so young. Harry never thought about how young they were. His parents were only three years older than he was now. How pointless it was, all that talent lost—that love.
Harry sniffled, and he felt Draco slip his hand into his. His chest loosened, and he felt his lungs fill up with air again.
“I’m here,” Draco whispered, and Harry huffed out a laugh, remembering the very first time he’d been in the forest. Draco had been there, too.
“Sure you’re not going to hear a twig snap and run?” Harry asked, trying for some levity.
Draco slanted Harry a smile. “Might do.”
“Thank—”
“Don’t you dare thank me, Potter,” Draco interrupted.
“But—”
“No,” Draco said firmly and stopped walking. Harry stopped too, and Draco faced him. “I don’t want your gratitude. Not for this.”
“Draco, I want—let me finish, please—I’m not grateful. Well, maybe I am. But it’s more than that. I had to do this alone before. With my parents at the end, but they weren’t here, not really. I’m happy I have you this time, that I can do this with you. Even if it’s insane. Even if it doesn’t work. I’m happy you’re here. Let me be happy.”
Draco bit his lip and gave his head a little shake. “What am I going to do with you, scarhead?” he asked softly as he traced Harry’s scar with his fingertip.
“Follow me into the depths of this bloody forest, find one Deathly Hallow, and then use it to destroy another?”
“Just that?” Draco raised an eyebrow.
“Just that,” Harry whispered and kissed Draco softly but firmly. Briefly, but hopefully enough to let Draco know how much he loved him.
“Come on,” Draco murmured, “show me where you dropped that stone.”
They ventured off again, deeper into the forest, the ground going soft under their feet as Harry led them to Aragog’s clearing.
As they arrived at the circle of trees, Harry paused. He stopped his lumos and whispered, “Accio resurrection stone.” He waited for the stone in the dim light cast by Draco’s wand. None was forthcoming.
He whispered the incantation again with a little more conviction, and still nothing.
He looked at Draco, who had a vaguely amused look on his face.
“What?” Harry asked.
“An accio? Really?”
“It works more often than you’d think,” Harry grumbled.
Draco slanted him a look and shook his head. “We’ll have to find it the Muggle way. Are we in the right spot?”
Harry relit his lumos and surveyed the trees that circled the clearing. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had been behind Voldemort. Hagrid, tied to a tree but off to the side. The remnants of Aragog’s web, gone now. And then Nagini, floating in her protective bubble behind Voldemort. Behind Voldemort. What had that looked like…?
Harry opened his eyes and scanned the trees, trying to remember. Was there anything that looked familiar? Anything he’d seen as he stepped toward his death that night? He closed his eyes, and then he saw it. Behind Nagini, the gnarled branch of an oak tree, broken. As if it had been hit by something large. A car, perhaps, many years ago.
He opened his eyes, and there, almost directly to his right, he found it. He moved to his left and backed up to the tree line again. Yes, that was it. That was his view as he’d walked into the clearing that night, Voldemort across from him.
“Here,” Harry said, and Draco joined him. “It’s somewhere around here, I think.”
“I’ll start to the left, you to the right, and we’ll meet in the middle.”
Harry nodded, and they set off, crouched low to the ground, their wands lighting the patches of earth directly in front of them. They moved slowly, methodically, trying to catch the glint of black stone through the leaves, the roots. Harry cursed himself under his breath. He’d been so stupid to just leave it here. And now, here they were, looking for a black stone in a black forest in the black of night, a nearly impossible task just to make him the Master of Death again.
He worried for their sanity.
He continued to look, on his hands and knees now, his wand behind his ear. He brushed his hands through the earth, hoping, praying to every god he’d ever heard of, Ares and Amun-Ra and Merlin himself, that they’d find it.
It was cold, but Harry felt a bead of perspiration drip down his forehead. He swiped a hand over it before it could get reach his eyes when he heard Draco make a sound. He sat up on his knees and looked over.
“Draco?”
“Come here,” Draco whispered, and Harry pushed himself up and hurried over, trying not to trip on an errant root.
Harry dropped to his knees again beside Draco. He’d cleared a little patch of dirt before him, and the Resurrection Stone shone brightly in the light from his wand.
“Brilliant,” Harry breathed out and squeezed Draco’s hand.
“I don’t want to touch it,” Draco said. “I don’t want to confuse things.”
“Right, that makes sense.” Harry picked it up.
He had an urge, more potent than almost anything else he’d ever felt, to turn the stone three times. To bring them back. They’d been such a comfort to him that night. They’d protected him. Harry missed them so much.
Without thinking about it, almost as if there was a force compelling him, he began to turn it in his fingers. Once, twice—
Draco grabbed his wrist and squeezed, digging his fingers into Harry’s skin.
“No,” Draco said urgently. “Harry, no. You can’t.”
Harry felt his bones grind in Draco’s vice-like grip and let out a soft yelp as the stone fell from his fingers. His head began to clear a little, and he looked up at Draco, his eyes wide.
“I didn’t—it felt like—” Harry stammered, and Draco loosened his grip on Harry’s wrist as he exhaled.
“It’s the stone,” Draco said in a low, calm voice. “You probably didn’t notice the last time. You said you used it right after you opened the snitch.”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”
Draco waved his wand and conjured a handkerchief. “Here.” He handed it to Harry. “Pick it up in this.”
Harry took the cloth from Draco and inhaled. He leaned down and gingerly picked up the stone with it, quickly folding the handkerchief and wrapping it into a small packet. He shoved it in his hoodie pocket, deep into the folds of the invisibility cloak and waited, holding his breath. Hoping he didn’t do something stupid with it again.
After a few moments, Harry looked at Draco, the line between his brows. “It’s okay, I think.”
Draco exhaled, which reminded Harry to do so, too, and stood. He held out a hand to Harry and pulled him up.
“Thanks,” Harry said, and Draco put a hand on the side of his neck. He cradled Harry’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger, his dry palm warm on Harry’s clammy skin.
“It was the stone. Not you."
“I wanted to see them again,” Harry whispered. “So badly. I didn’t even realise…”
“It was the stone,” Draco repeated.
“What if it wasn’t?” Harry asked in a small voice.
“It wasn’t. You would never want to disturb their peace. Not like this.”
He rubbed his thumb along Harry’s jaw as Harry swallowed thickly. “Right. You’re right,” Harry agreed shakily.
“Let’s go finish this, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Draco let go of Harry’s neck and laced his fingers through Harry’s, holding his hand as they slowly retraced their steps. Their next stop was the gleaming white tomb by the lake’s edge.
They trudged through the forest in silence, the weight of their task hanging over them. Harry needed to believe. He needed to know in his heart that this would work. They could fail if he had any doubts, and Harry didn’t want to fail. He wanted to finish the job he’d been too weary to contemplate four months ago. He wanted to do it with Draco.
Finally, they got to the edge of the forest and headed to the Black Lake. The white tomb gleamed in the moonlight reflected off the glassy water. Harry swallowed. He didn’t know if he could do it again. Open Dumbledore’s grave. See his weathered face, pristine and unmoving.
“I’ll do it,” Draco said as if reading Harry’s mind.
“I can—” Harry started automatically, and Draco levelled him a look that brooked no argument.
He let go of Harry’s hand and stepped to the tomb. Draco held his wand aloft and murmured an incantation, and the heavy stone lid slid back a few inches. He walked up the steps and leaned in. When he straightened up again, he had it—the Elder Wand.
Draco moved the stone back carefully and murmured something else before returning to Harry’s side.
“Where do you want to do this?” Draco asked.
Harry thought about it. He didn’t want to go back to the forest. There was bound to be a lot of light from the stag and ram, and he didn’t know what that would awaken from its depths. Doing it out here seemed to beg for attention, too, given that the castle was full, and Hagrid was probably in his cabin with Fang, far too close. He knew one place where they could be alone. Where they wouldn’t have to cast protective charms.
Where he didn’t want to go.
“I know somewhere," said grimly and set off towards the Whomping Willow, Draco keeping pace at his side.
They got to the tree, and Harry looked around for a stick. He found one and carefully approached the willow, moving slowly to avoid disturbing it too much before he could press the knot.
“Draco,” he whispered, and Draco crept up beside him. “Can you shine a light at the base of the tree?”
“What are you doing?” Draco whispered as he lit the tip of his wand.
Harry sighed deeply. “Taking us to the Shrieking Shack.” He felt around for the knot at the base of the tree, and just as it started to unfurl its branches, Harry pressed it, and the tree froze.
“The Shrieking Shack? Wait, you can freeze the Whomping Willow?” Draco asked as Harry ducked under the branches and led them to the entrance of the tunnel.
“Yeah.” He lit his wand and pointed it at the hole in the ground. “This leads to the Shrieking Shack.”
“Is there anything you don’t know about Hogwarts?”
Harry thought about it as they made their way into the tunnel. “I don’t know the password to the prefects’ bathroom anymore.”
“Merlin wept,” Draco muttered, and Harry glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re going to have to be careful when you say that now, you know. Or else Merlin might want to tell you about a time Arthur shagged him so well he cried.”
“You are literally impossible.”
“Not my fault the portrait is still hung up on the guy centuries later.”
Draco chuckled, and they made their way deeper into the tunnel as it sloped down. It was darker than night inside, and Harry wondered about all the times the Marauders must have walked through here. Remus, every month. Sirius, Peter, and his father after they’d spent months becoming animagi.
Harry thought about them all the time, it seemed. Sometimes it was nice, but most of the time, it still hurt. It hurt so much. Would it ever stop?
“Do you think it gets better?” Harry asked.
“Does what get better?” Draco asked behind him.
“Grief,” Harry replied quietly.
Draco didn’t answer right away as they continued through the tunnel. Harry could only hear the fall of their footsteps on the stone and the rasp of their breaths.
“I don’t know,” Draco finally said. “I haven’t had the kinds of losses you have. But…maybe it’s like books. You have to stack them the right way in order to be able to carry them or else they fall everywhere. Maybe if you stack it the right way—the love you have for the people you lost, the memories. The things they taught you. And then the relationships you have now, the people who love you. You can carry it. You do carry it.”
Harry nodded to himself, his head down. He didn’t say anything, just put one foot in front of the other, eyes on the trainer he still hadn’t repaired.
“I would carry it for you if I could,” Draco said softly behind him.
Harry stopped and turned to him. He tried to search Draco’s eyes in the low light from their wands, but it was hard to see them in the stark shadows that fell across his face. He knew Draco meant it, though. Draco wouldn’t say it if he didn’t. And Harry trusted him. Harry wanted him. Harry loved him.
“I know,” Harry whispered.
Draco wrapped his arm around Harry and pulled him in, kissing his forehead.
“We can do this,” Draco whispered as pulled back and smiled. Harry nodded, and they set off again.
They came to the end of the tunnel, and Harry led them into the Shrieking Shack. It was as awful as he remembered all those years ago with Sirius and Remus. From just a few months ago, with Snape. He tried not to think about it because he had a job to do. With Draco.
“Well, this is fucking horrible.” Draco surveyed the broken furniture and shredded walls. “I’m assuming it isn’t actually haunted?”
Harry shook his head. “Dumbledore made it for Remus so he could attend Hogwarts and have someplace safe to transform every month.”
Draco's eyebrows shot up. “He was a werewolf while he was a student?”
Harry nodded. “Greyback bit him when he was little.”
“That’s awful,” Draco said, his voice low.
“That’s why my dad and Sirius became animagi. So they could keep him company when he transformed.”
Draco studied him. “Your dad and Sirius sound like they were great friends. We’re going to fix the map, okay? We are.”
“Okay,” Harry said, and he believed Draco. He took a deep breath. “Ready?”
Draco pulled the Elder Wand out of his pocket and put it on the floor. They took a few steps back and faced it. It was just a thin piece of wood. Unremarkable.
Except for everything it had done.
“Gwenyth Paltrow,” Draco said, and Harry smiled.
A fixed point. Inevitable in every timeline. Harry needed to believe it.
Harry breathed deeply. “Gwenyth Paltrow.”
“Shall I?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded.
He set the tempus for thirty seconds, and Harry counted his breaths as he watched the numbers tick down. It was quiet, and he could hear Draco breathing next to him. He evened his breath to match Draco’s.
When the clock got to nine, Harry closed his eyes and thought of that layered grid, the lines bisecting it, imperfect. Of a sharp jawline and a slanted smile. Chapped lips and silver eyes. He felt his magic slide into that space, that tongue and groove near his heart where it connected perfectly with Draco’s. When he heard the tempus chime, they yelled ‘Expecto patronum!’ in unison, and the stag and ram burst forth and headed straight for the wand.
The patronuses crashed into it, sending the wand spinning into the air. The ram and stag went after it with their horns and antlers, blue light streaking through the room. The air whipped around them as if they were caught in a storm as the patronuses battled the Elder Wand. Harry and Draco held their wands aloft, forcing the spell to keep going, keep fighting.
As they fought, the Elder Wand started to glow bright red from deep within. A field of blood-red light expanded around the wand, forcing the patronuses back. Harry started to feel the resistance in his arm, the wind shrieking louder than almost anything he had ever heard, and he tried to hold on.
“I think it’s fighting back!” Harry shouted over the keening wind, and he saw Draco nod, grimacing and holding his wand with both hands.
“Give it more!” Draco shouted.
Harry put more into it. More of how he felt about Draco. The love and respect and awe. The desire. Even the hate. He layered his feelings on top of one another as he fought the Elder Wand, tried to press back against the glowing red shield growing around it.
He thought of the first time they met, in Madam Malkin’s. On the train, where Harry had refused to shake his hand. On the Quidditch pitch, bodies slamming into each other. The crunch of Harry’s nose under Draco’s shoe. Myrtle's bathroom, full of water and blood. On the tower, Draco lowering his wand, hand shaking. At the manor, staring into those fathomless grey eyes. In the fire, Draco’s face pressed to his back, his hands tight on Harry’s waist.
And then, in the museum. The arch of his eyebrow. That blink and you’ll miss it smile. Through the glass, showing Harry multitudes. In the cinema, the blue light on his pale skin. In the sodium lights, his cheeks blooming with poppies. Under Draco’s duvet, his lips on Harry’s, breathing each other in. Tea and rain and lemon verbena. Draco trembling, his lips parted. Their scars, the feel of Draco’s hand in his. Their bodies connected in the most intimate way possible.
He threw it all behind the spell, willing their whole history into it. All his love, all his grief. Coalescing into something pure and light, the hard-won moments of happiness that meant so much more knowing what was underneath. He knew this would work, just as he’d known that first time, all those years ago, when he’d saved himself and Sirius after meddling with time itself.
He could feel the Elder Wand fighting, but the red field started to falter. Harry could hear voices now, rising steadily into screams, the sounds of all the people the wand had attacked hurtling at them through time and magic itself.
“More!” Harry yelled, and he could feel Draco push more into it as he did, too.
The ram and stag glowed bright blue, so corporeal that they were like light made solid. They continued to battle as the red light crackled and the wand shrieked. Harry felt something give, and he could see that the Elder Wand was cracking—it was giving way. It resisted, but their Patronuses still fought. They weren't giving up.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and the light exploded around them as the screams intensified. Harry was lifted off his feet and thrown into the air, and he slammed into the wall behind him. As he hit the floor, the light from the Elder Wand and Patronuses blinked out, and the wind collapsed in on itself in a whirlpool of sound.
Harry groaned and held his head as he sat up, wincing as he ran his hand over the tender spot where he’d hit the window jamb.
“Did it work?” he asked, still rubbing his head. Draco didn’t answer.
Harry opened his eyes. Across the room, Draco was crumpled in a corner, unmoving.
“Draco?” Harry asked as he crawled across the broken, dirty floorboards to reach him. He gently put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco still didn’t move.
“Draco,” Harry whispered, his stomach clenching. Still nothing. He gently pulled Draco's shoulder to turn him on his back. Harry leaned down and put his ear to his chest. He couldn’t hear anything. He put his hand under Draco’s nose, over his parted lips. He couldn’t feel Draco’s breath.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, no.”
Harry held his wand up, hand trembling, and said the diagnostic spell. A bright light burst from Draco’s chest, and Harry quickly spun his wand to pull the threads apart. Draco wasn’t breathing, and Draco’s heart wasn’t beating. Harry didn’t have much time.
He pulled at the thread that was Draco’s heart, black. No. Harry remembered reading about commotio cordis in the medical texts he’d found in the library at Grimmauld Place. Something must have hit Draco in the chest and caused cardiac arrest. He needed to get Draco’s heart started again. Now.
He couldn’t remember the spell, though. He couldn’t remember the spell that would send a shock of electricity through the patient and restart their heart. But Harry did remember something he’d seen on that Muggle medical show Dean liked so much, E.R. Something the lifeguards at the local pool had demonstrated when Dudley was learning how to swim, Harry relegated to sitting on the metal benches in the hot sun, watching.
He dropped his wand and placed his hands on Draco’s chest, rising on his knees and locking his elbows. He started pressing down in short, sharp movements and tried not to hurt him, but he knew he had to if he wanted to save him.
“Come on, Draco,” Harry muttered, panting, as he kept pressing on Draco’s chest. “Pansy will fucking kill me if you don’t wake up,” he said, trying to talk to Draco the same way he’d spoken to Pansy when she was unconscious in her pink bed. “Come on, come on,” he begged, still doing compressions. “Please, Draco, don’t leave me.”
He kept pressing, muttering whatever he could think of, panic setting in. He couldn’t lose Draco. Not now. He had to be okay. Harry kept going. He wasn’t going to give up.
Draco’s body shook so hard every time he pressed down on his chest Harry thought he might break his ribs. He was sweating, he was probably crying, and he needed Draco to wake up. He couldn’t lose him. Not after everything they’d been through this summer. Fought for. Not now that they finally had a future. Something to have faith in. Their friends. Each other.
Draco had to wake up. He had to.
“Please, Draco,” Harry begged, his arms shaking with the effort. “Please, I can’t lose you. I love you. Your friends love you. Zabini and Greg will never forgive me if you don’t wake up.”
All of a sudden, the spell came to him. Harry grabbed his wand, pointed it at Draco, and said as clearly as possible, “Levamen incipit cor.”
Lightning crackled out of Harry’s wand, straight through Draco’s heart, and his chest heaved off the floor. His body slammed back down again, and Harry choked on his tears. It was one of the most terrifying things he’d ever seen, even after all he’d witnessed.
“Please,” Harry cried. Draco remained motionless.
He choked out a sob and raised his wand. Repeated the spell. Draco’s thin body lifted from the floor again, his spine curved unnaturally and slammed down again. Harry began to weep openly.
“Please!” he shouted. Harry raised his wand again and tried to prepare himself to say the spell one more time, to witness how it twisted Draco’s body.
All of a sudden, Draco took a giant, gasping breath.
“Oh, my god.” Harry leaned over Draco as he shuddered through another great breath. “Draco, can you hear me?”
Draco’s eyes fluttered open, still silver in the low light of the shack, bloodshot and red-rimmed. He blinked a few times as Harry ran his hands over his face, head, and neck, checking for more injuries.
“Can you hear me, Draco?” Harry asked, running his fingers down Draco’s arms.
“I feel like I got hit by thirty bludgers,” Draco croaked, and Harry cried out in happiness, tears falling freely now, making it hard to see through his glasses. He wept over Draco, too overcome to say anything, and felt Draco’s fingers in his hair. “Harry,” he whispered as Harry continued to cry, "it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Harry managed to choke out. “You stopped…your heart stopped, and you weren’t breathing. I thought I lost you.” He wiped his hand across his nose.
Draco took his hand. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, scarhead.” That little smile played across his lips.
Harry sobbed out a laugh. “How can you joke right now?”
“Because I have a better sense of humour than you,” Draco croaked. He coughed and tried to push himself up.
“No.” Harry put a hand out to stop him. “I have to check your diagnostics again.”
Draco nodded and lay down carefully. Harry pushed his glasses up and wiped his face with his sleeve. He pointed his wand at Draco’s chest again, said the diagnostic spell, and pulled apart the threads. His heart line was still dark but a deep purple, not black, pulsing slightly. It meant blunt force trauma, but it was beating, and that’s all Harry cared about right now. He pulled at the other threads. There were contusions along his shoulder and hip where he’d fallen, but his lungs and liver looked okay, and there didn’t seem to be any fractures.
“Okay.” Harry ended the spell, and his hand, which he'd managed to hold steady so far, started to shake. He shook his wrist and ignored it.
“See? All good.” Draco started to sit up again.
“You are not all good,” Harry muttered, but he helped Draco up gently. “Something must have hit your chest and your heart stopped beating.”
Draco grunted in assent. “Did it work?”
“What?” Harry asked absently as he ran his shaking hands over Draco’s back and legs. He knew what the diagnostic spell had shown, but he couldn’t stop touching Draco. Making sure he was there, solid and breathing.
“The wand, Harry,” Draco said. “Did it work?”
“I didn’t check—”
“Well, let’s check.” Draco started to push himself to stand, and Harry grabbed his arm.
“You shouldn’t stand.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, your heart literally stopped beating five minutes ago. Just stay on the floor.”
“This is a horrible floor and I want to get off it.”
“I’ll conjure a blanket, Draco, please.”
Draco paused in his foolish endeavour and sat back down again. “Fine,” he said, breathing a bit heavily. “But make it a nice blanket.”
Harry waved his wand and conjured a fuzzy, plush blue blanket, the colour of Draco’s duvet in Whitechapel. He spread it out on the floor and helped Draco onto it.
“Is this sufficient for your tastes?” Harry asked. "I can't believe how demanding you are after almost dying."
“Must get it from Pansy," he said as he settled on the blanket, patting it. "This will do. Can you please check?”
“Right.” Harry pushed himself up. He scanned the floor where the stag and ram had battled the Elder Wand. There was nothing there. He lit his wand and shone it along the floor, looking for something, anything, to prove that they’d completed their task.
And there, a few feet away, lay a smoking bit of elder wood, no bigger than Harry’s thumbnail. He picked it up and walked back to Draco. He motioned for Draco to hold out his hand and dropped the fragment in his palm.
“It worked,” Draco breathed, staring at the wood in his hand. He looked up at Harry, and his eyes were gleaming. “It really worked.”
Harry nodded and pulled Draco’s handkerchief out of his pocket. He let the stone fall on the floor, then stomped on it, crushing it under his ratty Converse. He moved his foot, and all that was left was a fine powder reminiscent of mica.
“You were bloody brilliant,” Harry murmured as he sat down next to Draco and gently brushed the hair off his forehead. “I never could have done this without you.”
“You could have. With Granger and Weasley.” Draco coughed and winced.
“No.” Harry closed Draco’s fingers over the wand fragment. “Only with you.”
Draco looked at him, and Harry lost himself in those silver eyes. He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he finally agreed.
“How do you feel?” Harry asked, his gaze dropping to Draco’s chest.
“Like I got hit by thirty bludgers.”
“How do you feel about spending our first night back at Hogwarts here?” Harry asked. He didn’t think it was wise to try to get Draco back to the castle now.
“Absolutely not, Potter. I did not traipse all through that horrible forest, open that macabre tomb, and follow you through that dank tunnel to spend the night in this horrific shack.”
Harry exhaled. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one,” Draco grumbled. “I can make it back to the castle.”
“Fine, but I’m bringing you to the infirmary.”
“Madame Pomfrey will be upset to be woken up.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve woken her up? She’ll be fine.”
“What about McGonagall?”
Harry shrugged. “I feel like there will be dispensation for ‘almost died destroying the Elder Wand.’”
Draco frowned. “We can’t tell her.”
“I know,” Harry brushed his thumb over Draco’s cheek. “Just checking on your sense of humour.”
Draco shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Do you know how much I love you?” Harry asked. Harry’s chest expanded with all of it, his love and admiration. His respect and more than a little awe. He loved Draco so, so much.
Draco smiled at him, slow and wide and real. “I plan to spend a long time finding out.”