Work Text:
Harry Potter was enjoying life. He would've said that the keyword in that sentence would be 'was'. Past tense. Meaning: he did enjoy life. Not continuously in the present, not currently, and he has no way of believing himself to enjoy it in the future. For all he would say, he'd talk about how his past wasn't quite enjoyable either. But, he was happy once. Perhaps even twice or thrice. He didn't always count the moments. He never needed to.
It was always a temporary thing, but this time he was certain it would last.
He was sure about something in his life.
Now, for it to fail, would be the last straw of hope he had in himself and his intuition.
But we wouldn't want that, would we?
That was his most obvious thought. Perhaps his only thought so ingrained in him to be relating to how others thought of him.
Yet, no one was ready for what was to come.
Hermione led Harry to a store in Diagon Alley as a chance to distract Harry from whatever thoughts happened when he was alone.
Being alone wasn't a good choice.
Not for Harry.
Harry wandered the store whilst Hermione went to pick up an order. He came across a pile of books which he picked up and read the title 'A Star Away' inspecting the entirety of the book.
It was a love story based on what Harry had gotten from it. Harry wasn't quite fond of or interested in love stories and was about to put it back down until he noticed who the author was: Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy writes?
Nevermind that, Draco Malfoy writes love stories?
Harry rummaged around for any other book that he had written but that lead to a failed attempt as there was no other book written by Draco. Harry looked at the book one more time then decided to buy it.
When he arrived home, he started the book.
A love letter in which Heaven and Earth couldn't separate from two lovers, across worlds unable to join together until finally, they both felt complete together.
Harry read through the pages of Draco Malfoy's books like it was the key to all his problems. As if giving him advice on helping him with his life.
A love story.
That's what it was.
There was even a love letter scarred throughout the book.
Harry read through the love letter as if it was made for him. It wasn't. Of course it wasn't. But, it could be. All it told for him and gave to him: a sense of belonging and a sense of mysterious comfort. That's what it gave. And will continue to give for a while.
Emerald swirls of mischief embedded in your eyes,
Reflecting that fiery-red heart of yours,
Full of bravery to fight against the injustices,
Now, it was time for us to unite,
Breaking down barriers as if your birth nature,
A sense of the previous adrenaline haunts us,
Instead of staying safe and crumbling inside,
Lost in the normalities of life eating us away,
Our lust for danger always prevails as we stay together,
And perhaps, staying together is better than staying safe.
Harry never felt a poem relate towards himself at all. But, to think that it happened to be the one Draco Malfoy wrote, his school rival, was one of the most terrifying things in the world to him. Sure, he could fight and win battles against evil wizards but understanding himself? Or even, seeing himself through someone else's eyes which he never wanted for them to understand him so well? Now that , was frightening.
To be known and to be understood are completely different concepts. Everyone knew Harry Potter. Did they understand him? No. Did they try to understand him? No. So, why is it that the one person Harry believes understands him so perfectly is the one to be so clearly aware of his vulnerabilities and hates him?
Harry Potter waited and waited for another object of affection from Draco Malfoy to be published. Anything and everything. Just something. He needed it to convince himself that what Draco Malfoy wrote was not about him and was purely subjective to the reader.
But, when no new book was published and no information of Draco came out into the public after his first book, Harry decided to take some action.
Alas, it wouldn't be a physical encounter.
Draco would have to be alright with a less abrupt chance of talking to Harry.
So, Harry decided to verbalise his thoughts, and whilst he scribbled and crossed out nearly half of what he wrote, he tried and he sent it.
To Malfoy,
To Draco,
To Draco Malfoy,
Hi, I know we haven't talked in a while. Or, even much when we were talking to each other.
Hey, I hope you're doing well with yourself. Well, I can see you are doing well for yourself, from the publication of your book. It seems to be very popular right now. I was just writing to ask about you and your book, if you don't mind me asking, of course. I'll try to keep it brief to not waste much of your time.
I would like to say that your book was a vision we all needed projection of hope for everyone so many people especially survivors of the war like us through your understanding so carefully written. I'm sorry we both went through it. Thank you for starting the conversations the Wizarding World needed to have. It was definitely necessary but clearly everyone was avoiding it. Because they were scared. But, you weren't. I'm so glad you weren't. Very successfully, might I add.
I would imagine lots of people are thanking you writing to you so you might not even read this. It's wishful thinking that you'll read this. I know it is. But I hope you do read this. For the sake of it sparking something. Hopefully not disgust. I do hope you publish another book to help start another new conversation to bring sensitive these topics to light as a chance of recognising them.
I hope perhaps we'll meet soon in the future and have a chat a talk that never ends. To talk about everything we've been wanting to say to each other. To be re-acquainted with each other and become friends. Or even more?
I see that I've probably kept you distracted for a while with this letter so I'm sorry . Whether or not you respond to the letter, I don't mind as long as you see it as I understand that you must be very busy.
-Harry
-Harry Potter
Harry sent it by owl and waited for a reply.
Though he never told anyone else what he'd done, he expected someone to confront him on his actions. Harry had no idea why. It's not like it was a bad thing to write or had anything bad written down. But, he just couldn't understand it.
Why had he sent that letter?
And, what would even come from it?
Would Draco actually read it?
Or, would he discard it straight away when he realises it was from him?
Late night spaces drowned out all the faces blurred together. As a reunion of hope to be carried along the misery. Dragged along and suffering, it came back brittle waiting for the missing pieces to somehow restore itself to its original form.
Eyes of deceit wondered about all the secrets hauled by the mysteries imprinted on the walls of the halls.
They lurked and stared.
To capture its judgement in its entirety only to hoist it against the owner.
Many secrets were told between the walls of the castle.
Some whispered. Some screamed.
Some spat out. Some were fondly spoken about.
All of them left behind for the abandonment wished upon them.
Except two.
Two secrets; only one.
The same secret spread across Heaven and Earth.
Never to be spoken aloud again.
Harry never found out what happened to his letter.
And, for the time being, it wouldn't seem like he would ever find out about it.
However, its effect meant to be induced on Draco did happen: Draco Malfoy wrote another book.
This time it was a bit different.
Seemingly, a bit more controversial.
How Draco Malfoy managed to write a more controversial book than the last one, Harry isn't quite sure. Alas, it seems to be a specialty of Draco’s.
And so, the story began.
A dance for two but an audience of thousands; who would act true to their feelings: a ballerina pirouetting their life away or the thoughts of spectators who've never felt an ounce of the damage they cause?
And, if we hit troubled waters?
Harry Potter questioned the travesty of his own life.
He wondered how people often saw how his life had led him, but never in such detail this book had allowed him to feel. Exploring how the different perspectives of others can change someone's life for the better or for the worst. Especially, when a person of great influence or power comes along to intervene.
A peeking into someone's life: whether unwanted or allowed, it was a brutal disturbance to them.
Why?
Because, who knows what will happen, and what the others watching are thinking about you at that moment?
Who can say that it will all be fine?
Will it all be the same?
Harry didn't think so, and by the looks of it, neither did Draco Malfoy.
With similar ideologies and similar perspectives in life, you could almost think they grew up together.
Both observed by the Wizarding World, and they will continue to be for quite some time.
You danced away from me,
Dance being your first love,
Me as your second.
As secure as a fountain drips,
Passion ruined our nature,
Through the witnesses of our failures,
We resulted in the end of us.
I hope you stay unjudged,
Unlike me, an artefact in the museum,
Money and dirt thrown at throughout time.
Drowning in the sea of words.
A way of trying to differentiate what he was supposed to feel from it was all muddled up.
Incoherence and misunderstanding surrounded his mind.
Everyone around him would have interpreted it as his ‘bad days’ returning or perhaps Harry is finally showing what it does to him again.
But Harry knew better: this wasn't his usual gloom. Today, he just felt empty of sorts. Like a unicorn without its blood, the happiness and life sucked out of him. Yet, he couldn't pinpoint why.
Recently, he seemed so alive again.
Whether it'd be the distraction and release from reality Draco's books gave him or the way he just seemed lighter as nothing bothered him to his core.
And, it seemed people noticed this as well as he did.
Everyone brightened up around him again rather than the usual pause and deep thought they tended to approach him. Almost as if everything could set him off, but Harry didn't believe that he was that unapproachable... was he?
As he recounted his memories, they only ever became more vivid to certain aspects he felt that he should delve into them for.
Whenever he thought someone must be mad at him, he looked for all the signs off irritation (an impatient tapping on the desk, a loud sigh, a tightness in the gaze, a heavier voice with a more brittle speech) all for it to be thrown away the minute he thought that he was wrong.
Because it could've been that the person was just not interested in what he had to say. And then all the traits changed: a mindless tap tap tap to the rhythm of an old song, a dreamy sigh of a place far away, a glazed over look of dissociation, or even a drawn-out speech of familiarity to keep someone there.
So, clearly, the mind was a funny place.
As are it's memories.
Though, Harry could safely say that his memories were never his memories.
Not to start with anyways.
They were always his.
Never Harry's.
His small infant self could never grasp the soul it was latched to.
A reminder of the memories tainted by the past of another only to be an influence to his own life.
Harry Potter. Tom Riddle.
The Boy Who Lived. Lord Voldemort.
The two were always destined to be involved.
And now, Harry can't get over that he had no official memories.
Only ones contaminated by an evil person trying to stay immortal.
He could never shake the feeling of someone knowing and sharing all of his memories to manipulate them to their liking especially as he never knew that was happening for the majority of his life.
All Harry wishes to do now is to make his own memories.
Something only he could control.
Finally.
Dancers swayed all night long to the rhythm continuously sung out. A melody of two souls both joining together and splitting apart.
A plaster to bandage the pain as a barrier to not let the blood escape in front of the haters; a rope to strangle the throats of the victims not allowing them to share their experience, for sometimes they only turn out to worsen the situation.
A pirouette and a landing.
So graceful and yet so spiteful.
For everyone watching, she hoped they saw the anger she gazed at them with. A second longer and it could be seen as controversial.
A ballerina with hate.
How could that ever happen?
So, she gaze flickered to a face of stoicism. No one could see her thoughts of disgust towards the same audience that blamed her partner of the failure of all ballet.
All ballet?
As if one person could accomplish that.
However, the media sure liked to overexaggerate and dramatise everything to seem more interesting.
If anything, all they needed to exaggerate was how dull and misinformed they were.
Careers ruined and lives scarred.
That's all it resulted it.
Ties broken and reputations damaged.
Forever tainted by the views of people unknown to whom they speak about.
Now, all we see are the cracks of destiny unable to mend themselves back to their previous selves.
Two halves trying to survive without the other.
A microphone was placed in front of Harry to speak, and whilst he had to blink a few times to understand what was happening, he remembered he was at George's podcast and was more than happy to speak about Draco's books. Thus, he spoke as so:
"I have read them, both of them, so I can't really take a neutral stance on the topic can I? I mean I could but it wouldn't seem to be quite believable. Because honestly those books have become my life. I don't know why or how. But they've given me and loads of other people a sense of being and another or a newfound bravery to do things you wouldn't possibly do. And I know what you're thinking, what could Harry Potter not possibly have done? Well, a lot of things, I'll tell you that. But, currently I haven't ever loved love stories before and now I have a newfound love for them. From these broken loves, I've learned to like other types of love stories. And stories in general actually. Everything that's written seems to have some sort of purpose and I love that. No word is discarded as useless when it's written. They have a sense of belonging on the page like it deserves to be there so it is. So what I seem to be talking about is, these books have ignited a word freak in me and a reader for the story and meanings behind it and I hope that it does the same for others."
Those were good words, weren't they?
Harry knew he wasn't the best at words. But, even he knew they were meant to give off a particular perspective of the books so far out.
After that podcast episode came out, Harry decided to go on a walk to clear his head because he was contemplating his words.
During Harry's walk, he regretted coming outside at all.
Why, you may be asking.
Because.
Of.
The.
Fucking.
Destructive.
Winds.
Which seem to hate Harry.
And, now all he wanted to do was go home.
So, he started running back where he came from. He was fighting against the wind as it tried to drag him back the way he came.
Until, finally, he turned a corner in the direction of his house and he didn't have to fight against the wind but still he kept running. With his only sense of direction as his feet being in familiar surroundings due to his tight becoming blurry by his speed and the cold blowing I'm his eyes leaving it hard to open.
Then, Harry ran splat-first into a person. Not just any person. No. It was Draco Malfoy. And, he looked pissed. Momentarily. Just about till he got control of his emotions. Then he just looked like a crossover of being bored and impatient. Which made no sense whatsoever to Harry. Because who could anyone pill off both of them with the same look? Only Draco Malfoy apparently.
One would think it got better from there; it did not.
After collecting themselves, Harry apologised profusely or as best as he could. And then, only awkward small talk ensued front there. By that, it meant Draco was trying to speak whereas Harry could not even speak a single coherent sentence as all he could think about was how there was not one single thought in his mind.
Why must his mind go blank when he's trying to be civil with someone?
Why does his mind seem so weak around Draco Malfoy?
Why will he just stare like a deer in headlights?
As much as Harry willed Draco to leave this failing conversation, he didn't leave soon enough. Only after Harry embarrassed himself further into a dreaded state of a mumbling mess.
They went their separate ways and Harry continued his way home.
However, before he could wallow in self-pity, a letter from Hermione came.
That's how he found out Draco Malfoy had written another book.
No one would've assumed that they would've ended up together, so they didn't.
It's definitely you.
It definitely was all Harry's fault.
Everything.
Nothing.
Anything.
Harry doesn't know what exactly.
But, he's sure he would take any and anything into his own mistakes and let them fester as his own so maybe someone could be to blame.
That would not be a good idea to do so.
However, if it seemed like the only solution, Harry would gladly sacrifice himself for a good cause, wouldn't he? Because clearly that's all he was good for, isn't it?
If anyone asks, Harry is most definitely not having a bad day.
He's just having a bad life if anything.
It was getting better.
Truly.
It was.
It was also getting harder.
What no one ever says about healing is it takes time and effort and pain.
It requires you to understand that it isn't a journey of boom now you're healed/ fixed. It's a whole ass adventure with ups and downs and forwards and backwards and never ending progress. Regardless of all that, just know no one's healing process is ever the same. Some days you feel like shit and some days you feel like you're on top of the world. To heal means to notice the wounds, diagnose them (understand them) and heal them accordingly (some wounds don't need to be healed to feel alright but rather the acknowledgement of the scars left behind can help you understand yourself a little bit more whereas other times you may learn coping mechanisms and learn to change the emotions or connations towards something to a more healthier choice).
Right now, all Harry feels is the pain.
Just knowing it to be apart of healing is one of the only things keeping him going.
Hope as our survivor in our love,
Trust contaminated our vision,
Leaving us to see our true nature,
In all its glory to deem understandable.
Heartburn and heartbreak as we end,
And leave behind what we once knew,
To distinguish our pain from grief.
A policy of our togetherness,
Broken apart and blown up in flames,
Leaving scars where kisses once lain.
The most precious thing in the world to Harry Potter would be his godson.
The light of his life.
The miracle during war.
The happiness to his sorrows.
Teddy Lupin.
Teddy Remus Lupin.
Harry Potter's godson.
Born during the Battle of Hogwarts only to survive the days after getting annoyed at his godfather for not letting him buy bubblegum ice-cream everytime they went out.
And this, is how arguments start in the Potter household when Teddy stays over.
Harry tried to make things up for Teddy as he couldn't necessarily allow Teddy to have ice-cream at this moment in time. In fact, most responsible adults would most definitely put their foot down and abandon the subject all together. But, that didn't happen did it?
Harry wasn't an ordinary adult, so why would he have to act like one?
That reasoning only lasted until Teddy was handed the ice-crean and Harry felt like he made the wrong choice.
How would Teddy's health react to it now that he's already quite sniffle-y, huffy and puffy?
Harry glanced over from his hands to Teddy's face. He found a smile and eyes lit up from excitement.
Maybe it was a good choice after all.
Especially as Teddy promised Harry rhat he was his 'bestest friend and uncle in the whole entire world'.
Harry grinned slightly as he bought himself a chocolate ice-cream with a golden flake.
Maybe today was going to be a good day.
The day lead to pillow fights, blanket forts and storytelling commencing with a strong intensity of both laughter and fun.
Until they both fell asleep cuddled away from the real world and it's problems.
Just the thoughts of love and the scary marshmallow monster.
No one forgets the influence an enemy leaves as scars, forced into the skin in a love or hate life: a line so faint and frail, was it even there to begin with?
Ronald Weasley sought away of this madness finally. The only solution he found was to shout at Harry Potter whenever he saw him next.
Why, you may be asking?
Because.
How could he not see the facts hitting him straight in the face?
All day?
Everytime he picked up a damn book?
Especially one by him?
Draco Malfoy?
Malfoy was practically shoving his love down Harry's throat through his words, yet Harry still couldn't see this?
What would his mate do without him?
Honestly, Ron just hopes Harry gets his hit together and they both realise it.
If not, even after his interference, Ron will be very willing to go on that dangerous mission the Ministry have been trying to get people to sign up for - Ron wasn't even a ministry official but he'd do it.
So, off goes Ron to whack some facts into Harry since he can't see oh so clearly the words in front of him.
Influence of an enemy
Love or Hate
Of course, Draco Malfoy would write cryptic love confessions to Harry Potter through a series of books with Love Letters in the pages.
And, of course, no one figured it out apart from Ron Weasley.
However, just as the mystery was solved, the Love Letters started burning to ashes in people's homes and books.
There was no more secret and therefore no reason to contain Love Letters which conceal the truth.
And so, the Love Letters were lost forever.
Hate was a strong word,
Love was even stronger,
Both used sparingly seemed idiotic,
Alas that's how our lives went.
Scars developed and stained the skin,
A reminder of the pain they've overcome,
From a foe, or perhaps a friend.
Keep your enemies closer,
Leaving a conflicted feeling about,
To question what was real or not.
Harry was pushed and shoved across the store but did manage to get what he wanted to leave with: Draco Malfoy's new book, 'To Be Rebuilt'.
He searched through the book to find the love letterin which he read just before it erupts into flames leaving the ashes spread across the pages of the delicacy which are Draco Malfoy's words.
A new problem arose out of this new facade within the books.
Reports and newspapers were stuck strictly on the mystery of the Lost Love Letters and the Eruptions of Love: Literally plus much more articles.
As Draco Malfoy's fame rose, Harry grew both proud of him as well as stressed for him.
This big of a crowd of people counting and watching his every appearance in the media is quite overwhelming (as Harry already knows).
Harry wonders what Draco will do as a response to the uproar for an explanation.
However, it is only a few days later that something is being sprouted out everywhere from his signature: a new Love Letter.
Perhaps the last and final one.
A final blow.
A farewell.
An apology.
A peace offering.
The Love Letter was as stated below:
A story of a lost soul finding its soulmate to only lose it to the dangerous claws of love.
Dying on your knees.
It's desperate and last resort of clinging onto life.
To breathe so hard as an attempt of recovering and savouring the oxygen you so desperately need to survive. To recover from a blow hit so low you can't get up. It pushes you up with the energy you needed from being dragged down. By someone else or even perhaps by yourself.
Harry was quite fed up.
Especially because of his own actions.
He always ended up hurting others.
One way or another.
That's why he was to refrain from getting too close.
To stop it from starting to prevent the ending.
As drastically poetic that sounds, it's the truth.
The truth of Harry James Potter.
Hollow and empty,
Feelings of stubborn hatred,
Allow me to feel everything and nothing,
To question why fate could be so cruel.
Lives taken away in spaces of your love,
I cried and cried for your return,
Unsuccessful in my efforts,
There was no hope left.
I let myself fall down,
Into the capable hands of Death.
Harry was so fucked.
He hated himself so much.
Especially as of right now.
How the absolute hell had he managed to both simultaneously ruin but also salvage something so impossible?
Even he was frazzled.
He hated his brain.
He hated his feelings.
He hated his heart.
He hated himself.
And yet, he didn't.
He knows he should. But, isn't that enough?
Isn't the fact that he knows he should hate himself but he doesn't proof of all the wrong things he claims he is.
Perhaps it was always him - trying to prove he was good for so long, he doubts what good even is - now with him stuck in a constant loop of hatred and confusion.
But, he did find something out.
Even if it was from a very stupid thing.
Draco Malfoy liked Harry Potter back.
Most definitely.
If only he didn't have to run away after that unbeleievable moment of his life.
Then, maybe, just maybe, things would have worked out.
Because of course, Malfoy would never give Harry a chance after that disaster.
He wouldn't address it. Not ever.
Well.....
Not until Draco Malfoy has something to say.
A rebuttal of sorts.
Now.
All we have to do is Wait.
'I would go to war for you...'
'I still love you, I promise...'
'I don't wanna go, think I'll make it worse...'
'You hurt me pretty good too...'
'Yeah, we made each other bleed.'
'And we tasted it...'
When Draco published his book, no one heard anything from him. No one knew where he was or where he'd gone.
He just, disappeared .
Draco Malfoy disappeared from the Wizarding World's view.
Away from his books. Away from his life. And, most definitely, away from Harry.
Nothing came from him or to him. At Least not that was shown to be delivered to him.
That was, until two poems came out.
Both addressed to Harry Potter .
For Harry Potter,
Doomed love from the start,
I knew we would never be in love,
We belonged together in my mind,
But this is the real world with love,
No fantasies could describe my feelings,
The way I crave to see you smile,
Just once, at me, and for me,
The smallest things meant so much,
Because they were always unattainable,
A forbidden reality through which,
You would call me yours and you mine,
But justice didn't prevail for me,
Instead, it tore my heart to pieces,
Watching you without me, flourishing,
Though I loved that you lived your life,
I wanted you and me to be that life,
You never knew the truth of my pain,
The heartbreak of acceptance of your hatred,
So I alone, witnessed it all by myself,
The sacrifices I made for you to attain love yourself.
-Draco Malfoy
I don't see anyone but you.
Six words he never told.
Perhaps through the violence and misery, Harry never thought he was actually made for anything else but to stop it.
Love wasn't available then and shouldn't be now.
Not for him. Not for Harry.
It was fair to assume that Draco couldn't possibly actually like Harry back. Especially after who they were to each other. Both in the past and the present. In the past: they were enemies, rivals of sorts; in the present: they were hardly known to the other, strangers just becoming acquaintances.
To Harry, becoming a primitive point in one's life meant to understand yourself first before allowing another to be forced to join by you. He wouldn't make Draco do anything.
If Harry didn't love himself, how could he love someone else?
How could someone else love him?
Draco thought Harry was fine. Everyone did. That’s what he wanted them to think. But, at the same time, he wanted them to just stop him and tell him, I know you're not okay, and that's fine. You're human. You're allowed to feel like this. And to want to be alone. But, perhaps we can be alone together. To get through the hard times together. We don't have to talk about it. Just, it's better to be with someone. I know it is, and you should know too not by meaningless promises but by experience. So, please, just stay and heal yourself with me. Even just a little bit.
However, now he knew.
Harry Potter had accepted that Draco Malfoy loved him, just as much as he loved him.
He didn't have to prove himself to Draco.
No, he had to prove himself to himself.
Alas, his hope of acceptance and what they could've been had diminished as he found the second poem.
Harry Potter,
You made the first move,
An experience I always hoped to have,
Now I wished I never had,
All it brought me was suffering,
A broken promise lead to shattered hope,
Your communication was shit,
Actions without words mean nothing,
Just as words without actions mean nothing,
You left me in the rain, soaked through,
I stayed because I felt I belonged there,
A turmoil of emotions in a turmoil of weather,
A fitting scene, I'm sure,
You can laugh, I know you want to,
How naive I was to think you,
Your love and anything about you,
Was real.
-Draco Malfoy
All Harry wanted to do was to bring Draco back.
To explain, to talk, to even just see each other.
Draco didn't even wish to address Harry anymore. Nothing to be sent ‘to’ him and so Harry wonders if his name is the only thing that could seem so alone in his letters. A way of Draco isolating him in his works, leading to Draco abandoning him in real life.
Yet, Harry wanted to see him.
But it seems like neither would get the closure they so desperately wanted from the other.
Heck, not even wanted.
The closure they so desperately needed suited it more.
And, if Draco was no longer to provide it indirectly, then Harry would try directly.
But, first, Harry needed to learn about himself to be able to write about himself.
So, a seemingly long journey started.
Words, meanings, phrases and even symbols were the results. Pictures and poems spread across his room.
A madman’s cave of creation.
To create what he needed to convey.