Title: The Afterword
Author: Phemonoe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry + Draco (implications)
Rating: T, to be safe
Warnings: Series spoilers, character deaths, mild angst, ignores HBP.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I have no claimon Harry Potter, or any of Rowling's other characters. A pity that.
Notes: Rather shoddy writing I think. I wrote this ages ago under a prompt challenge, and never found the drive to clean it up.
The Afterword
Malfoy had been acting strangely the entire week, staring at The Bloody Baron whenever he chanced to float by, which wasn't often these days. Most of the ghosts of Hogwarts had departed as the student body dwindled. When Harry touched Malfoy's shoulder to question him about his new preoccupation, the other boy had jumped, then turned to glare at Harry. It lacked much of his usual malice, and Harry was suddenly afraid.
"What is it Malfoy?"
"Is it just me, or…" Draco paused, swallowing weakly, then continued, "Does the Baron look more…real to you?"
Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy striding across the room, wand dangling from one pale hand. The silver-haired prefect had been working non-stop, shouting orders and directing panicked students to the designated exits.
Until someone called his name.
Malfoy had turned, with a perplexed look. "Father?"
Harry had leaped into action, ready to push the boy out of harm's way, but it was too late. The stream of eerie green light raced towards him, and Harry crashed into a suddenly too limp, too yielding body.
They had emerged from the ruins of Hogwarts, some stumbling, others walking as sure-footed as ever, still others wavering under their burdens.
Harry himself had dragged Malfoy's body from the rubble, cradling the boy to his chest and refusing to allow anyone else near him.
"Hello Potter."
Harry turns, lungs hitching in his chest…and comes face to face with Draco Malfoy.
Or rather, the pale, sneering ghost of Draco Malfoy.
"I woke up in a graveyard." The boy wrinkles his nose. "Didn't even have the decency to take me home, Potter?"
"It doesn't really matter where you were buried, does it?"
"Of course it does. I'm a Malfoy."
Harry has the urge to tell him that yes he is a Malfoy, and in the end it hadn't helped him any, but doesn't.
"I know what you're thinking Potter."
Harry looks up with a gasp, eyes widening. Malfoy's ghost is perched on the windowsill, the light filtering through him to stream on the floorboards.
"And for once, I agree with you."
Draco looks more and more solid everyday. Harry tells him this, and the ghost shrugs, and avoids his eyes.
"Must be a trick of the light."
Harry nods slowly, not quite sure he accepts this explanation, but afraid to question it as well.
"Will I win?"
Draco's ghost blinks, the translucence of his eyelids making the action mildly disconcerting. When he finally speaks, Harry has the feeling he is choosing his words carefully. "You'll defeat Voldemort." He thinks for a moment. "I suppose that could be considered winning, in a way."
"Well, go on then." Draco sinks to the ground, legs sprawling as he leans on his hands. "I'll be here when you're through."
The battle is over. The Light has triumphed.
Harry Potter, on the other hand, has fallen.
"You bloody well could've told me." Even as he says it, Harry realizes that Draco couldn't have, any more than the Bloody Baron had told him it was his time to go.
Draco nods, and holds out his hand.