@drarrymicrofic | prompt: hesitate, history | tw: ambiguous ending
Draco's thirty-six and Harry's been gone nine years. Nines are significant numbers for Draco. Nine, the year he learned to fly a broom, and the last good one with his Father. Eighteen, accepted into the Aurors. Twenty-seven, his partner, Harry Potter, vanishes in the wind. This paints a nicer picture than the picture really is, but Draco gave up finding the right words a long time ago.
He'd visualized extensively the moment of their reunion. Visualized Harry in a number of upsetting ways. Most often in these visualizations, Harry looked like Sirius right after he’d escaped, which Ron felt was likely to be the case. They went over his appearance at length, arguing back and forth. How long is his hair? How clumped? Or would he just shave it? The details were extremely important. When Draco saw Harry again, if he ever saw Harry again, there could be no hesitation. He would only have a second or two to cast.
When they were twenty-seven, they'd had a couple bad cases. Draco didn't pay much mind. He'd had blinders on, just doing the next right thing. Being good was important to him, at the time, because of how he'd been raised. He didn't understand when Harry would rail about the uselessness of morality. He'd take Draco by the shoulders and press his burning gaze into Draco's—his eyes like green stars—say, "Don't let them use you. That's all that matters."
Draco just thought Harry had a potions problem, which he did, but not the kind Draco imagined. When he allows himself to reflect back on it now, Draco's main conclusion is that he could've seen if he'd wanted to. It would've been so easy to see it. Harry left himself open to Draco in that way.
They'd been having sex since they were nineteen. The first time Harry cried afterward, these great quaking sobs. His body was a tree stripped by a violent, obliterating sandstorm. Draco held his hand and sat beside him. He'd felt that the most important thing was not to cage Harry. Not with arms, or expectant words. Just let him cry.
Love came after that, and quickly. If there's such a thing as soulmates, then that's what they must be: getting to know Harry was like remembering him. Love is sort of lousy most of the time. It's not enough, toxic, or disappointing. Loving Harry was like a miracle, handed to Draco precisely because he was the least deserving of it. He'd tried to explain what they had to people, but no one ever understood. Draco didn't feel complete, or better in Harry's presence…he just loved Harry Potter, so, so much.
If all the world and everything in it is a language, this language does not hold the word for their love.
Hard then, when Harry came home one night, fidgeting with Draco's ring on his finger. "I have something to tell you," he began, looking quickly at Draco then away. "But it will change things between us."
Draco had pushed back from the table and stood, as if in some great rush. "Bed first," he said, shaky. Harry caught his gaze. For a heartbeat, he looked like a little wide-eyed kid again. Then he nodded, and they went upstairs and fell to bed.
There was a ring of moonlight on Harry. He'd kissed Draco with all his strength, like he wanted to become him, and Draco returned this as it was given, and when Draco came his heart stopped because he knew his husband, everything about him. Though Harry had never said it before, Draco knew this was goodbye.
"I killed some people," Harry admitted calmly as Draco held him in his arms. Draco made a hurt sound and squeezed him tighter. Buried his face in Harry's curls. The memory is blurred. He thinks he said some things like please no, oh no, my love no, no, no while Harry shared the gruesome details.
The men Harry had killed weren't good men. If Draco were the judge, they deserved to die, but you can't just kill people. If he'd learned nothing else, Draco had learned that. He pushed Harry away from him, to the other side of the bed.
With a bodybind twined carefully around Draco, Harry packed a bag. "I'm going to do some things," he said. "And you'll hate me. I know you will. But, there's rot in the world, Draco, do you—there's rot. And you must—" Harry wheeled around, holding a belt Draco had given him a couple Christmases past. They'd spent it with Theo and Luna, walking Hadrian's Wall. "You mustn't let them use you."
Harry did some bad things, after that, cutting out the rot. Bodies turned up in increasingly depraved states. Blood magic, dark magic, soul magic. One day Draco walked into the office to find a nine year old girl waiting for him. She'd died in one of those bad cases they'd had right before Harry left—yet here she was, like new.
They knew Harry would come back for Draco one day. Harry knew they knew. Everyone knew everything and yet the world remained a terrible play with horrible roles that never changed. You can't get rid of rot, it's part of everything.
Draco vowed not to hesitate. Harry wasn't Harry anymore. This is what Draco visualized: a person that only bore a passing resemblance to Harry Potter.
But now he's thirty six, and Harry, nine years gone, is suddenly standing across a busy street from him in Rome. People pass between them, completely unaware of the monster in their midst, and his lover, across the way. Draco lifts his wand. Harry's lips twitch at the corners. He looks just the same. Wearing a jumper Draco bought him, glasses, hair, scar. Beloved Harry.
He'd let Draco kill him. Draco knows this. Harry knows he knows. He wants Draco to do it.
The din of the crowd fades to nothing, the passersby like shades. Harry’s eyes are still like stars, shining in a wilderness.
Nineteen: they'd gone skinny-dipping in a Muggle's above ground pool in Shoreditch at midnight. The moon caught in Harry's glasses, and he laughed like a little boy. Never been in a pool, he said, grabbing for Draco. Didn't matter which part: arm, shoulder, waist, prick, they were all good with Harry. Drops of water sprayed through the air, catching the moon, catching the dark. The world felt like a crystal ball, full of good fortunes. Harry smiled, slow and sheepish. I've never been much of anywhere.
We'll fix that, Draco promised him.
He lifted his face toward the night’s vast embrace. In the corner of his eye, Harry did too.
Yeah, he said, we’ll fix everything.
