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Harry absently adjusted the antler adorned headband on his head as he followed the group of his fellow eighth-years. Their quiet laughs and whispered conversation echoed between the stone walls, only growing louder as they reached the Entrance Hall.
He was trying not to think too hard. He focused, instead, on unimportant details. On the bowls of snacks and treats carried by a few of the Hufflepuffs, on Pansy smacking Blaise's arm with a muffled snicker, on the small nose and whiskers painted onto Hermione’s face. Ron’s own headband, one with dog ears, flopped up and down as he walked.
Everyone was dressed as their Patronuses, something they had all thought would be a fun idea for their festive Halloween party. Harry adjusted his headband again and felt a painful twinge in his chest. His Patronus was the same as his father’s... as his father’s had been.
Harry swallowed and desperately looked around for something else to think about. He didn’t want to ruin the mood for everyone else. He didn’t want to spend his night mourning as he had been all day.
He zeroed in on Ginny, Luna, and Neville walking arm-in-arm and managed a small smile. They had broken it off after the war, him and Ginny. They both had their own things to deal with, both had too much on their plates, and Harry was glad she had found solace in other people. Dependable people.
A shiver wracked through him when they pushed through the front doors, and he shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Conversation grew louder now that they were outside, not having to worry about being too rowdy past curfew. They started down the path to the Forbidden Forest and Harry’s pulse stuttered, quickening the closer they got.
When he had heard about the plans for the party, he had tried wandering into the forest a few times in hopes that he could join his friends and be a normal teenager for once. He never made it past the tree line.
This time didn’t seem to be much different. Someone at the front of the group lit their wand and acted as a beacon through the dark trees, leading the way to the clearing Seamus had already set up with magical fairy lights and cheap decorations. Harry watched the group walk on as he stood there, right at the edge of the forest, frozen. He stared helplessly as he lost sight of the others amongst the shadows and branches.
The day he died was the last time he had entered the forest.
He could feel its magic, its thrum of energy that spoke to him in some strange way. Like it remembered him. Like it knew of his sacrifice and was warning him of its dangers, telling him to turn the other way. Protecting him when it once did not, as if trying to make up for its failure.
The muffled sound of music resonated through the night, followed closely by raucous laughter and cheers. Harry huffed, frustrated that he couldn’t join in on the fun. The rational part of him, however, the part that knew it would do no one any good if he tried to push himself, had him turning on his heel and begin the trek back up to the castle.
After learning Voldemort had murdered his parents on Halloween, it had become difficult for him to do much of anything besides imagine what his life would have been like had they still been alive. It was an odd sort of grieving, missing people you could not remember. Like staring at that hollowness in your chest, having forgotten it had been filled once. Every year, Harry thought he had gotten used to living without them, and yet every year, when Halloween came around, he was harshly reminded that he never really had them in the first place.
Harry hadn’t realized he had made it back to the 8th year common room until he was murmuring the password and pushing through the door. His head felt so clouded in a numbing sorrow and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. With nowhere else to go, he headed to his room.
All the returning students from his year had been grateful for having their own rooms, and Harry was among the most appreciative of them. It was easier for him this way. When he woke up from a nightmare, he didn’t have to worry about excuses or brushing off people’s concerns. When he got lost in flashbacks, he had shelves and walls and trunks full of reminders that all of it was over. When he couldn’t keep himself from spiraling, like today, he had a safe place to lock himself up in, somewhere no one would bother him. Whether Headmaster McGonagall had arranged individual rooms for this reason or not, Harry was grateful.
Shutting the door behind him, Harry stood in the middle of his room, basking in the comforting silence. He gently pulled the headband off his head, not caring about how his hair may look. It was always messy anyway.
The felt of the faux antlers was soft against his skin. Hermione had made it for him, knowing he wouldn’t have done so himself. He smiled as he found a place for it on his shelf between the books he would never read and the rocks Luna liked to gift him. He felt that painful twinge in his chest again, and suddenly his eyes grew damp. His hand moved on its own, sliding his wand from his pocket.
“Expecto Patronum,” he whispered, and the room lit up. Glowing, silver mist formed into a great stag. It silently huffed at him before stamping its hoof. The pain in his chest grew as he held the stag’s gaze, and he knew where he wanted to be for the rest of the night.
The invisibility cloak was sitting atop everything else in his trunk. He used it often, wandering the halls after hours, finding good spots to sit and stare in. He avoided the parts of the castle that were still damaged, as well as the parts that held memories he wished to forget. He couldn’t stand being around them.
Harry stuffed the cloak into his pocket and left his room. He held the door open for the stag. It huffed at him again before strutting down the hall to the common room. Harry’s mind was so occupied with thoughts of destination, determination, and deliberation that he nearly walked through the stag when it froze. It stared at something near the fireplace. He followed its gaze.
“Oh,” Harry said in surprise. The stag vanished then, and he frowned down at the disappearing mist before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Malfoy replied. He had a book open on his lap and a blanket over his shoulders. Had he been there when Harry first came in? Now that he thought about it, Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy getting ready with the other Slytherins earlier. He allowed himself a glance at the other man. Malfoy was watching Harry in a way that made him feel suddenly self-conscious, like everything he was feeling was written all over him.
Harry said the first thing that came to mind. “Why aren’t you at the party?”
Malfoy looked down at his book, feigning disinterest in the conversation. Despite him trying to hide it, Harry saw the way his shoulders tensed at the question. “Why aren’t you?”
The familiar, almost comforting irritation that had often affected Harry whenever he interacted with Malfoy over the years made him glare at the blonde, though he knew it was halfhearted. He didn’t feel like having an argument today.
With a huff, Harry turned towards the door. He had only taken a few steps when Malfoy spoke again.
“Where are you going?”
The question was strange. Since the beginning of their 8th year, the two of them had come to some sort of unspoken agreement to be civil with each other more than not. For the most part, Malfoy stayed out of Harry’s way, only acknowledging him with the occasional short nod.
Harry wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. Of course, he enjoyed not having the blonde mock his every mistake or discredit any of the trauma he had endured. But in the end, it was just another thing that had changed in Harry’s life. He would die (again) before he told anyone that he missed hurling back caustic remarks, missed getting the blonde riled up, missed the feeling of adrenaline and anticipation that came with each fight.
When he looked over his shoulder, it was obvious that Malfoy wasn’t sure why he had asked about Harry’s plans. His cheeks had flushed a pale pink, his body slightly curling in on itself. His eyes, however, stayed resolutely trained on Harry, as if he fully expected an answer to his ridiculous question.
Harry wanted to scoff at the arrogance, but the way Malfoy held the book in his hands gave him pause. He was gripping it too hard. He was anxious. Maybe about his weird slip-up or whatever reason he had for not attending the party, Harry wasn’t sure. The blonde looked like he didn’t want to be there, and Harry wondered if that was because he, too, wanted to be somewhere else. He felt his own uneasiness return in response and decided that if Malfoy could be bizarre, so could he.
“Come on, then.”
Malfoy looked taken aback, his eyes wide in confusion. His voice was quiet when he said, “What?”
“Come on,” Harry repeated, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. When the blonde hadn’t moved, he sent him an impatient look. “I’m not going to wait for you.”
And with that, he continued to the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the hallway. He didn’t wait to see if Malfoy would follow. The castle was quiet enough for Harry to only hear the soft shuffle of his feet until the door to their common room opened again. Malfoy caught up quickly, but purposely kept a step behind him. Harry didn’t question it.
Neither of them spoke as they traversed the silent halls. Harry held the front door of the castle open for Malfoy, and the blonde didn’t thank him. They followed the path to the gates, pushing past them and stepping out beyond the wards.
Instinctively, Harry reached for Malfoy’s arm, and the blonde immediately flinched away. Harry sent him an irritated glare, assuming he was just being prickly, before he realized his mistake. He had nearly grabbed Malfoy’s left arm. The marked one. The one Malfoy always kept covered.
Instead of apologizing, Harry offered up his arm for Malfoy to hold on to. After only a moment, Malfoy tentatively grabbed it, his hand so cold Harry could feel it through his sleeve.
Why was Malfoy trusting him so readily?
Harry brushed the thought from his mind and apparated them to Godric’s Hollow.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
The loud crack of them arriving echoed through the quiescent village, trick-or-treaters having long since gone to bed. Malfoy immediately let go of Harry’s arm, looking around with a timid expression.
Harry’s attention narrowed in on the graveyard, just past the church to their right. He didn’t bother saying anything as he walked towards it.
His steps were slow and deliberate as he navigated through the rows of gravestones, fallen twigs and gravel crunching beneath his feet. He found theirs much faster this time around. The headstones still looked new, like the stone was freshly carved. The twinge in his chest made it difficult to breathe as he stared at their names.
He had momentarily forgotten about Malfoy until the blonde stepped up beside him. They remained silent for quite some time, just standing there, staring. Then Malfoy hesitantly pulled out his wand.
Harry had given it back to him at the start of the school year. He had thanked Malfoy for letting him borrow it, and walked away before the other could respond.
The hawthorn wand looked darker in Malfoy’s hand. Harry could still remember how it had felt using it, how it worked just as well for him as Hermione’s had. Like it trusted him. Like it knew him to some degree.
With a silent flick of his wrist, Malfoy conjured a small bouquet of flowers into his other hand. Beautiful, white lilies paired with a few smaller flowers of pale red and gold. Harry stared at them sadly.
It took him a moment before he realized Malfoy had moved the flowers closer to him. He was giving them to him. Harry nearly protested before his brain caught up, and he took them in careful hands. He slowly bent at the knee, his vision going blurry as his eyes teared up. Sniffling, he laid the bouquet between his parents’ names, adjusting it until the flowers rested just right. He pushed back up, Malfoy helping him with a gentle hand before letting go again, and they went back to silently staring.
After who knew how long, Harry’s head began to clear. He had needed this, needed to see them again in whatever way he could. He knew they were always with him, no matter where he was, but still he needed reassurance that they had been real. They had been here, they had been with him, and he had lost them.
He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed Malfoy shiver beside him. He began to question the other’s poor choice in clothing until he remembered Malfoy had had no idea where Harry had been going. He had followed without question.
Without giving himself time to overthink it, Harry slid the cloak from his pocket. He had originally intended to hide away beneath it and sit here with his parents until sunrise, but now that felt unnecessary. He had gotten what he needed.
Before Malfoy could refuse, Harry threw the cloak over his shoulders. It wasn’t much, the material quite thin, but it was better than nothing.
Malfoy stared down at it in shock. At first, Harry assumed, because Harry was the one giving it to him, and then because he noticed his body disappear beneath it.
“Potter,” he said, his voice betraying his astonishment. “Where did you get this?”
Harry had to clear his throat before he could answer, his voice quiet. “It was my father’s.”
Malfoy fell silent. Harry could hear his brain working, trying to figure out how to respond to that.
“Why did you let me come with you?” was what he decided on.
“I don’t know,” Harry said with a shrug. He glanced at the blonde beside him. “Why did you want to know where I was going?”
“I was bored,” Malfoy replied, and Harry knew it was an honest answer. He was about to ask why he hadn’t gone to the party again when Malfoy continued, “and you looked like you didn’t want to be alone.”
Harry knew that was honest as well, and before his mind could argue with itself over whether or not Malfoy actually knew him well enough to read him that easily, he remembered how easy it was for Harry to read him. He decided not to comment on it.
“Why didn’t you go to the party?” Harry asked instead. He felt Malfoy look at him, and kept his eyes trained on the conjured flowers between his parents’ graves.
“I don’t have a Patronus.”
Harry did look at him then, and Malfoy turned his head away before their eyes met. Harry scanned the side of his pale face, saw the way his jaw clenched and his eyes hardened. That hadn’t been an accidental admission. Malfoy had meant to tell him that. He had been vulnerable, and with Harry of all people. Perhaps because they were standing before the graves of Harry’s parents. Maybe he felt it was only fair.
Without his permission, Harry’s eyes fell briefly to where Malfoy’s arm was beneath the cloak before he forced them away.
“It’s a hard spell,” he said, just to say something. Anything.
“I don’t have a memory happy enough for it.”
Heart clenching in sympathy, Harry could only nod. He had been trying to avoid thinking about the possibility, and he wasn’t sure how to take it now that Malfoy confirmed his suspicions. His mind replayed the things Voldemort had made Malfoy do. It showed him Malfoy that night in the Astronomy Tower, amongst the burning stacks of the Room of Requirement, sitting before a jury of people who wanted him to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life.
“You will make some,” Harry said. Embarrassingly, he felt his throat closing up again. “Happy memories, that is. You will make some.”
“Don’t say that. You can’t be so—”
“I am sure,” Harry cut him off sternly, and they fell into silence again.
A gust of wind blew past them, and Malfoy shivered despite the cloak wrapped around him. Harry slid his wand from his pocket and cast a silent warming charm over the blonde.
“We should go back,” he said, shoving his wand away again.
“If you’re ready,” Malfoy replied, his voice quiet. He pulled the cloak off, handing it back to Harry, who folded it messily before pushing it back into his pocket.
Harry looked at his parents’ graves again, at their names, at the flowers between them.
“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it.
“Don’t mention it,” Malfoy replied. Then he gave Harry a look that was somehow both serious and not. “To anyone. Ever.”
Harry snorted and shook his head.
When he reached for Malfoy’s arm this time, he did so carefully, watching the blonde for any sign of discomfort. Malfoy simply watched with furrowed brows as Harry’s hand wrapped around his arm, right above where the Dark Mark was hidden beneath his sleeve.
Harry said a final, silent goodbye to his parents, and when he apparated them from the graveyard, Malfoy hadn’t pulled away.