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Open Your Eyes

by blue

§§§

"Potter."

A whisper.

"Potty Potter."

A singsong voice.

"Wake up. Come on. Rise and shine."

A vicious lullaby.

"Open your eyes."

A laugh. And Harry Potter wakes up, sitting bolt upright, gripping twisted sheets, shaking, sweating, swearing.

His eyes search the shadows and stop on a stain of paleness spoiling the otherwise perfect darkness.

§§§

There's something perched on the wooden end of his bed, arms stretched out in order to maintain an improbable balance.

There's Draco Malfoy perched on the wooden end of his bed, looking down at him. Grinning.

Harry thinks about screaming. But he dismisses the thought. He goes for a whisper, instead.

"Malfoy?"

Draco chuckles and leaves his precarious settlement. The carpeted floor suffocates his steps as he rounds the bed and reaches Harry, bending until he's face to face with him, so close that Harry's myopic eyes can actually focus on him.

Harry opens him mouth. He closes it. He opens it again - and he let it this way when his glasses slip on his nose.

Draco Malfoy is still grinning. Disturbingly.

"How the -"

"Good Morning Princess."

"- Hell." Harry Potter gives up and stares. He's decided there's nothing better he can do.

"Morning? Princess?"

Draco straightens up. Sighing.

"It's three o'clock in the morning. Technically it's morning."

Stunned silence. Draco checks his perfect nails for imperfections. Harry checks his brain for malfunctioning. End of silence.

"How did you get here?"

"I have my ways."

"Why?"

"Because."

Draco smirks and looks smug. He looks like Draco. Somehow this tells Harry that he isn't dreaming.

Despite the first impressions.

"No, really Potter. I have to talk to you."

Harry gets up. His gaze roams into the empty seventh year dormitory. Strange enough this reassures him instead of frightening him.

"Then talk and disappear."

Harry tries to be harsh now. Maybe he succeeds because Draco doesn't laugh. No light unusual sounds. Just heavy well-known words.

"You have a week from now. They're coming. For you."

"Who?"

"They."

"And then?"

"And then you'll be dead." As he says it the smile comes back on his face. "They'll put Potter in a pot." And his laugh reverberates again, low in his throat. Clearly.

Harry's throat is clenched instead.

"You're lying."

Draco says nothing. He shrugs and turns away.

"Wait."

Draco waits.

"Why?"

Draco shrugs again.

"Because."

§§§

During winter breaks Hogwarts is less frequented. During wartime Hogwarts is less frequented. On wartime winter breaks Hogwarts is empty.

Thus, Harry has a good excuse to talk with Draco.

"You have to tell me more."

"More of what?"

"Of what you know."

Silence.

"Where have you been?"

"Here and there."

"But why are you here now?"

"Because."

§§§

It's not as Harry wants to talk with Draco. It's just that he has to have a clear view on the situation before intervening. Namely, going to Dumbledore. Dumbledore who's Harry's last resort, which he's never eager to use. Especially because of vague threats delivered by Draco Malfoy.

No, absolutely not. Harry has to know more before acting.

So Harry has a good excuse to corner Draco.

"Malfoy. Why should I believe you?"

Draco ponders the question.

"You shouldn't."

Harry sighs.

"You said they were coming."

"They are."

"How do I know you're telling the truth? How do I know this isn't another of your tricks?"

"You don't."

Frustration. Urge to bang one's own head on a hard surface. Repeatedly.

"I guess I'll just have to trust you."

Nod.

"Malfoy, I hate you."

Nod.

"And I can't trust you."

Raised eyebrow.

"Neither could I."

Flinch.

"But it doesn't matter anymore, right? It doesn't matter what I could or couldn't do. It matters what I did."

"Malfoy."

No answer. Hogwarts' tricky shadows have swallowed Draco already leaving Harry to bang his head against the nearest wall.

§§§

Harry spends the next two days looking for Draco. And without needing excuses to placate his conscience this time. But Draco is nowhere to be seen and Hogwarts is big and the ghosts don't know where he may have gone and there aren't any students left to help Harry find him and the teachers are just too caught up with plans, counter plans, counter counter plans keeping them busy enough without needing to add "Draco's issue" to them and Harry is about to give up -

- but no. He's not going to give up. He's Potter, for Merlin's beard. Harry -

"Potty Potter."

"Malfoy."

"What are you doing here? It's Slytherin territory."

"Looking for you."

"I'm moved."

Now Harry looks for sarcasm. And he doesn't find it. But before he can wonder why, Draco speaks again.

"You know, I liked it here."

Harry looks at the Slytherin Dungeon, which he knows will be empty even after the winter break is over. Slytherin students were the first to go. Consensually.

Since then, the place has been territory of lost spiders, random ghosts and clouds of dust.

Harry doesn't say this. Not now that Draco is touching stone walls reverentially, with who knows what thoughts whirling in his mind.

Harry has always been such a sensitive boy.

"Have you decided yet?"

Harry jumps out of his self-praise state.

"What?"

"You have three days left. Have you decided what to do?" Pause. "Have you decided if you trust me?"

Harry pretends to think about it. Actually, he already knows the answer. So eventually he spits it out.

"Yes, I trust you."

Draco nods but says nothing. His eyes bore holes through Harry. He withstands that silver siege. Then Draco smirks.

And Harry's resistance breaks.

How strange.

§§§

Draco has never been inside Dumbledore's office. And he never would have been if it weren't for Harry. Harry who looks around innocently as Draco scowls.

"Lemon drop?"

Harry takes one. Draco simply stares at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sighs.

"So? What can I do for you?"

Harry introduces the matter. Dumbledore listens, thinks, talks.

"Very well. They'll find us ready. Now, you may go back to your activities. It's still holiday, I believe."

Harry gets up. Draco gets up. Harry exits the door. Draco doesn't exit the door. Because Dumbledore calls him.

"Draco."

And Draco freezes. Shoulders tense, jaw set. He waits.

"I'm sorry."

Draco turns, slowly. Just halfway.

"I know."

He grimaces as if he bit a bitter fruit. But it lasts just a moment. He's already out of the door behind which Dumbledore has resolved slumping into his chair and pondering his old age and the legitimacy of his tiredness.

§§§

"Potter."

Silence.

"Potter."

Silence.

"Potter."

"What?"

"Are you scared?"

Silence. Brief one.

"Yes."

Barely a whisper. For Draco it is enough.

"You should be."

"Malfoy."

"Yeah?"

"Could you -"

Silence. Again. But embarrassed.

"- hold me?"

§§§

The time has come. It's clear by the tense atmosphere. By the whispers. By the unnatural black fog gathering around Hogwarts.

Harry waits, laying on his bed. Godric Gryffindor's sword at his right. Draco Malfoy at his left.

Draco Malfoy who strokes his hair soothingly.

Harry concentrates on breathing in and out. For a long time they say nothing. Then Draco opens his mouth.

Harry thinks he knows what he's going to ask.

"If you see my father."

Harry thinks he knows.

"Tell him I say hi. Then kill him. Slowly."

Harry thinks he didn't know after all.

§§§

"Will you wait for me?"

Draco's reply is an empty stare.

"Or will you leave as soon as I'm out of this door?"

"Are you planning to close me inside?"

Harry shakes his head and tries to smiles. Failing.

"As if that could stop you."

Defeated sigh.

"I guess that I'll have to trust you again, then."

"It's only fair. I trusted you."

Harry flinches.

"And I'd do it again."

Harry shivers.

But Draco doesn't notice. He doesn't care.

"Now go. I guess I'll wait. But don't take long. I hate waiting."

§§§

Harry tries not to take too long. But when the battle is finally over the sun has settled for a while.

And Harry runs.

Up to the Gryffindor tower, the sword slapping against his left thigh, the air bursting into flames inside his lungs, blood pounding in his ears.

And Harry runs.

§§§

Draco is still there. Lying on Harry's bed. He's intent in staring at the ceiling when the door bangs open.

"You took long."

It's just a statement and he gets up taking his time to survey Harry's figure.

Harry who's dirty. Who has blood drying on his clothes, on his hands, on his face. Mud on his trousers and in his hair.

"You look terrible."

Another statement which Harry doesn't exactly listen to for he comes forwards, he reaches Draco, he pushes him on the bed, he takes his wrists in his hands and pulls them over his head and his mouth descends.

His mouth that tastes of blood, mud and swallowed tears.

But Draco finds nothing to state this time.

§§§

"I did it."

"You did what?"

"Your father -"

"Oh."

Pause.

"Thanks."

"He said I was crazy -"

"Thanks, Potter."

Pause.

"He said I was crazy because -"

"Potter -"

"- you were dead."

§§§

"I knew it."

Harry swallows, hardly.

"I dreamed it. And I saw what they did to you. You -"

"- you refused to bow. You refused the dark mark. And then -"

"- your father. The spell. It hit you and you -"

"- you - your - brain -"

"- was all over the floor and -"

"- and your mother on her knees - "

"- try-trying to put it back into your smashed skull but -"

"- but it kept falling apart and - and -"

"- oh god. Oh god."

§§§

Eventually Harry stops.

Eventually the words stop.

Eventually.

§§§

"Why did you pretend to not know?"

"Because."

Draco shakes his head and sigh.

§§§

"You're so damn -"

Harry reaches Draco. Harry's hand reaches Draco's chest. Touch.

"Real?"

Smirk.

"I really can't explain it. I thought ghosts were ethereal. But I can't say it surprises me. After all, I've always been an exception. I have to admit that this is just a perfect copy of my old. And thinking about it, it's such a pity that it's rotting six feet underground. A damn waste, isn't it?"

Harry doesn't answer. A sudden urge of emptying his stomach has made him fly for the bathroom.

§§§

"What happens now?"

"I don't know."

Rustle of sheets.

"What are you doing?"

"Lying down. I'm tired."

Rustle of sheets.

"Where are you going?"

"To another bed."

"Why?"

"I thought that you -"

"Stay. Please."

Rustle of sheets. Sighs.

"Potter. Soon enough I -"

"I won't take long, I promise."

More sighs.

§§§

He should bear in mind that this isn't Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy who died because he believed that Harry Potter was right and Death Eaters were wrong.

Now Harry doesn't know what is wrong and what is right anymore. He just knows that under his fingers, Draco feels just right Draco. He hisses as Harry imagined he would have. He shivers and moans and grips the sheets while Harry creates patterns with his tongue on his skin.

Harry thinks Draco even tastes like he thought he would have. Bitter.

Harry sucks, licks, bites.

Harry can't get enough.

Harry touches, teases, strokes.

Draco cries. A single name. A single time.

Harry swallows. Tears and sperm and sorrow and regret. They're bitter too. But Harry is getting used to it and swallows nevertheless.

§§§

"Potter."

If he doesn't say goodbye, will he stay?

"Potter."

If he holds onto him long enough, will he stay?

"Potter, I have to go."

If he refuses to listen, will he stay?

"Where?"

A sigh with answers everything. Answers with Harry doesn't want to hear.

"No."

"Potter -"

"No. No. No. N-"

"Quit it. You're pathetic."

Harry stares. Draco gets up and turns away.

"What now? You're looking at me as if there actually was something to say. Well, do you know what? There's nothing to say. Aside from: 'Congratulation. Great blow job'."

Harry stares. Draco dresses. Draco frowns.

"Potter, just to know, you haven't suddenly, unexpectedly and stupidly developed a crush on me, right?"

Harry stares.

Draco stares back.

"Come here."

And Harry comes. Soon enough Draco is out of his clothes once again. But it doesn't matter now.

No, nothing matters now.

§§§

"Potter"

A whisper.

"Potty Potter"

A singsong voice.

"Wake up. Come on. Rise and shine."

A vicious lullaby.

"Open your eyes."

A laugh. And Harry Potter wakes up, sitting bolt upright, gripping twisted sheets, shaking, sweating, swearing.

His eyes search the shadows. But there's nothing to see anymore.

§§§

.stop.