Title: Reflections
Author: QueerasJohn )?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
He stood at the end of the pier, looking out at the sea, lost in thought. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his body, the chill winter night biting at his exposed skin, the wind caressing him with fingers of ice.
Behind him, up a hill, rose the lights of the town, the silhouetted ruins of the ancient cathedral standing tall and proud at the crest of the hill, framing the orange glow reflected from the lights of the town at midnight.
Below him, the water lapped quietly at the pier and rippled into the harbour beyond, the small fishing boats bobbing with the waves.
"Out late," a voice said from behind him.
"Mmm," was his only reply, not turning around. Far out to sea, the lights from an oil tanker blinked intermittently.
"Cold tonight," the voice said.
"Mmm," he answered again. "Cold."
"Storm in the morning." The voice moved closer.
"Probably." He felt a familiar, comforting arm drape itself around his shoulders.
"Come inside," the voice said gently.
"Cold," he pointed out.
"Mmm," the voice agreed.
***
The fire inside crackled in the grate in the hearth as the dark-haired man added another log. The blond-haired man standing by the window turned to see the dark-haired man straighten up, brushing the wood dust from his hands.
"Not cold any more," the blond-haired man said, walking over to the fireplace.
"No," the dark-haired one replied, holding his hands out to catch the heat from the fire as the wind rattled the windowpanes, sending a draught of wind scurrying along the old floorboards of the room and over his feet.
The blond-haired man stood in silence, warming himself in front of the fire for several minutes while the dark-haired man studied him, looking at the lines on the otherwise-youthful face, reflected in the dim light from the mirror hanging on the chimney.
"Dinner?" the dark-haired man asked.
"Not hungry."
"Soup? I made onion..." the dark-haired man walked in the direction of the kitchen.
"Not hungry."
"Something else?" the dark-haired man stopped and turned.
"You." A flash of white teeth and a glint in the eyes by the fire.
"Not without you standing by that fire to warm yourself up for another five minutes," the dark-haired man chided, walking back to the fire and wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. "I'm not having you groping me with ice-cold fingers."
***
They lay, sated, side by side in the slightly saggy, well-loved double bed, Harry's feet poking out the end, as they always did, Draco's side of the duvet pushed down below his nipples, as it always was. The light from the town, reflected in the mist, streamed through the window of the small bedroom, casting shadows where the two men lay in bed, talking softly.
"You all right?" Harry asked.
"Mmm," Draco replied. "Memories."
"I know, darling. I know." Harry rubbed Draco's hairless chest with his fingers. "Memories we both have."
"Memories of much," Draco said. "Too much."
"For us? Yes. Such is our lot in life."
"Fatalistic bugger," Draco muttered. "Where's the Harry whose pants I used to want to get in, who would have said, 'Why me?', in that cute little voice, with that mmph--"
"Right here," Harry said as he came up for air, releasing Draco's mouth from the grasp of his own. "Right here."
***
The light was grey the following morning, grey and dismal as only a mid-winter storm sitting in the North Sea can be. Harry awoke to find Draco's side of the bed empty and cold. He reached for his glasses and put them on, peering at the clock on the mantelpiece of their small bedroom.
He slipped out of the bed and into his slippers, pulling the ankle-length dressing-gown off its peg as he padded into the living room. Draco sat nude on the sofa in front of the wide bay window, gazing out into the nothingness of the mist outside their window.
"Up early," Harry said softly, sliding cross-legged onto the sofa next to Draco and kissing him lightly on the cheek.
"Mmm," Draco said in reply, kissing Harry's nose. "Cold."
Harry smiled indulgently. "You prat. Didn't you think of lighting the fire?"
"Couldn't be arsed," Draco said, running a finger along Harry's exposed leg, raising the hairs on it and making him shiver.
"Incendio," Harry said wistfully, pointing at the fire with his finger. The fireplace remained dead, black and cold.
Draco pulled Harry closer to him and hugged him hard. "I know," he said. "I know."
***
They walked down the lane beside the Cathedral towards the Harbour mouth, laden down with bags from the small supermarket in town. One bulged with the shape of wine bottles, a baguette stuck out from another, and a spray of white lilies was perched in a third. The rain-filled wind scurried up the lane from the sea, whipped Harry's still-messy hair into a frenzy. It rippled angrily along Draco's shorter, cropped hair and blond goatee, slightly salty raindrops falling from the short bristles on his chin. Draco blinked and swore, trying to see clearly the path he knew so well. Behind Harry's rain-drenched glasses, he squinted down towards their small flat, where a lone figure was huddled inside a long black raincoat, a soggy-looking scarf drawn up around its head to stop its long hair whipping around in its face. As they approached, the figure waved and walked towards them.
"Lovely day!" the figure shouted.
"Mmm," Harry replied over the sound of the wind and rain.
"Hi," Hermione said as Harry handed her a bag of shopping and poked around in his pockets for the keys.
"Hi, Hermione," Harry said, his cold, wet fingers fumbling to pick out the right key and open the door in the rainy wind. He flicked the key round in the lock and pushed down on the handle, and the door flew open, banging against the wall and making Hermione jump. Harry and Draco headed, still dripping, for the tiny kitchen to unpack and put everything in the fridge, while Hermione started laying the fire, twisting the previous day's newspaper into knots.
Harry checked that the kettle was full and flicked it on as Draco squeezed past to get to the small fridge under the counter with the plastic two-litre jug of milk and packet of ham. As he straightened up, Harry passed him the cheese and lettuce too.
The kettle finished hissing and clicked off just as Draco stuffed the last scrunched-up shopping bag into a drawer full of identical shopping bags. Hermione poked her head round the doorway as Harry pulled three mugs down from the cupboards and clanked them down on the counter, throwing a tea-bag in each of them and pouring the boiled water in. He splashed the last of the previous milk jug in and threw the jug into the swing bin. Draco gave the tea a stir and after a couple of minutes the tea-bags followed the milk jug into the bin.
Harry and Draco headed out into the living room, since it was physically impossible to fit three people into their kitchen. The fire was now crackling merrily in the hearth and starting to warm up the room. Draco and Harry flopped into the sofa, and Hermione sat down in the armchair next to them.
Draco gave Harry a hug with the arm which wasn't holding his tea, and then shuddered. "Harry, you are freezing, and your hair is soaking." He put down his tea and went into the small bathroom to get a towel, returning with it and towelling Harry's hair. With a smirk, he pulled up with the towel, making Harry's hair stand up on end, and threw the towel in the direction of the bathroom. Hermione chuckled in amusement at Harry's hair.
Harry kissed Draco's nose and grinned, examining his reflection in the window. "Nice, darling. Should I keep it?"
"I'm not sure," Draco said. "Perhaps if you dyed it red and gold..."
His voice trailed off as they both sank back into the memories which always bubbled just beneath the surface of their consciousnesses.
Draco saw Albus Dumbledore clapping his hands and changing the banners in the Great Hall from green and silver to red and gold.
Harry saw his Common Room, the old chairs and fireplace which he had sat in and looked at for so many hours.
Hermione saw the tie and scarf hanging over the end of her bed, symbols of a pride now tinged with loss and sadness.
"Memories," Harry said softly as he returned to the present.
"Memories," Draco agreed quietly.
"Memories," Hermione said sadly.
***
The wind and rain blew up stronger as the afternoon progressed. Harry turned on the radio to hear the Shipping Forecast. The tinny sound of the small radio echoed around the white plastered walls in the living room as they focussed on the sound of the announcer's clipped tones.
"It's three o'clock. And now, the Shipping Forecast from the Met Office as of 1445 GMT. Viking, North Utsire, South Utsire, southeasterly Gale 8, perhaps Severe Gale 9 later. Heavy rain. Forties, Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger, southeasterly Severe Gale 9. Heavy rain. German Bight, Humber, Thames..."
Harry switched the radio off, shrugging his shoulders. "Looks like we're in for a storm," he said, looking outside at the sky, darkening already at three in the afternoon, the rain dashing itself against the rattling windows now, harder than it had been all day. The sea was high, foam streaking off the waves as their crests were caught in the wind and flung apart.
"Think we ought to do anything?" Draco said finally as the wind whistled across the chimney, shaking the chimney-pots audibly and making the fire sputter with gusts of wind. Unconsciously, he rubbed his arms together under the black roll-neck jumper he was wearing.
"Like what?" Harry asked. "Hide underground?"
They fell silent again, another memory flooding back. Draco saw the Slytherin dungeon, its chilled stones dark and threatening. Hermione saw the entrance to the Warrens under Hogwarts where the younger students had escaped when the Professors and older students held off Voldemort's forces, falling, one by one, either dead or unconscious. Harry saw the cavern where he had awoken after the battle, Snape standing at the entrance, wand out and pointing protectively down the tunnel leading to it.
Hermione was the first to break the reflective silence, breathing in deeply and sitting up straight. "Well," she said. "Anybody for another cup of--"
Her voice cut off in a cry as the kitchen window exploded inwards, flechettes of glass from the pane ripping across the tiny room like a hailstorm and smashing the light hanging from the ceiling. The temperature dropped ten degrees in an instant as the wind and rain careened into the flat. Draco and Harry were up in a flash, their hands reaching instinctively for wands that were not there, could not be there. Realising what they had just done, they stopped, lowered their hands to their sides and blinked away the involuntary tears.
"Huh, smoke in my eyes," Draco said, blinking several times as they walked quickly towards the kitchen.
"Yeah, me too," Harry agreed.
Shivering in the cold, wind and rain, they examined the damage to the kitchen, glass and water everywhere, the light fixture in the ceiling sparking slightly whenever a full circuit was made by water connecting the remnants of the bulb's filament together. Draco reached out and slapped the light switch downwards quickly, and the sparking stopped.
"Do we have any wooden boards?" Harry asked, trying to think.
"Don't know," Draco said.
"Impervio," Harry muttered darkly as the rain and wind started to soak through their clothes.
"Where's your phone book, Harry?" Hermione asked from the living room, holding up the old, off-white phone.
"Under the coffee table," Harry replied, reaching down next to the washing machine for a dustpan and brush to sweep up the glass.
"Careful," Draco said automatically, blinking the rushing wind and rain out of his eyes and rubbing his hands together to warm them.
"Always," Harry smiled, carefully sweeping the first dustpan full of glass into the dustpan and depositing it in the swing bin.
"Okay," Hermione said, poking her head around the window, "the window repair bloke I just rang says he'll be round in just a minute."
"Great, thanks, 'Mione," Harry said over his shoulder as Draco pulled out the washing machine and he swept under and beside it for glass.
The doorbell went just as Harry was dumping the last load of glass into the bin.
"Got it!" Hermione called through, hurrying to open the door and let in the window repair man. Harry stood up, brushed his hands on his trousers to dry them, and walked out of the kitchen to let the repair man through.
"Och, y've got a bad one," the man said, wincing at the wind and rain which was still driving through the kitchen and taking a yellow tape measure out of his blue overalls. "Going tae take a big bit o' perspex to seal that up for the night."
"Whatever it needs," Harry called from the living room as he and Draco leaned against the chimney in an effort to warm some life back into their freezing hands and feet.
"Och, nae bother," the man said, coming out of the kitchen. "It'll take me a couple minutes, ken?"
"All right," Harry said. "Need a hand in with anything?"
"Nae, jus' get y'rselves warmed up, poor devils," the man said as he walked through the living room towards the door, returning a few minutes later with a sheet of clear perspex plastic.
Harry watched as he squirted a semi-liquid black sealant around the edges of the former window and pressed the perspex in around it. The wind and rain cut out and the temperature rose by several degrees.
"Thanks," Harry said gratefully to the window repair man, who was holding the perspex against the window.
"Och, nae bother," he replied, testing the bond by pushing the perspex into the window frame. "Right, I'll be back i' the morning tae replace the glass, if this devil of a storm ever stops."
"Great," Harry said, seeing the man out. "See you tomorrow."
It took Harry, Draco and Hermione half an hour to mop up the water which had been blown into the kitchen, replace the lightbulb, throw away the lightshade, which had been shredded by the glass, and go through all the soaking papers in the far corners of the kitchen to take down any important details from them before they were totally ruined.
"Thanks, 'Mione," Harry said as they returned to the sofa and armchair and dried themselves off with a towel from the bathroom.
"Oh, it was nothing," Hermione answered. "Gave me an awful fright, though. Made me think of...well."
The memories flooded back again. The sound of the exploding window was like so many other sounds they had heard, just a year before.
Hermione saw the Great Hall's windows exploding, students running for their lives as the far wall started to collapse, held up only by the combined will of Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick.
Harry saw the Hufflepuff Quidditch stand collapsing, the Dark Mark rising ethereally from beneath it as the mass of yellow and black-clad students fell into the air.
Draco saw the last curse which had hit Harry, in revenge for Voldemort's death, shooting from his father's wand, blasting Harry backwards thirty feet. He heard his own ragged shriek of anguish, loss and pain as he cast the Killing Curse on his own father.
"How much longer are these memories going to happen?" Draco buried his hands in his face and sobbed, deep, wracking shudders shaking his body. Harry's eyes welled with tears for his own loss and for Draco's.
"Draco..." he murmured as he enveloped the blond man in his arms. "It'll be okay. It'll be all right. I'm here, Draco, I'm here."
Draco lay in Harry's arms for several minutes before taking several deep breaths and trying to sit back up. "I'm fine. Really. I'm fine, Harry."
Harry didn't let him go. "I love you, Draco..."
"Me too," Draco murmured back to him. "With every fibre of my being."
Another set of memories imposed themselves in their minds as they held each other tightly, memories of another time of holding each other and never wanting to let go.
Harry saw Draco standing over him as he lay in the bed in the Hospital Wing, the emotional pain in Draco's eyes overwhelming the physical pain Harry was feeling. He saw Draco's face light up as he reached up to stroke the blond man -- boy, then -- on the arm, the effort almost too much for him.
Draco saw Harry sitting across the courtroom from him during his trial for patricide using an Unforgivable Curse, Harry's eyes flinty and full of utter loathing for the Council of Magical Law as they ruled on Draco's fate. His memory flicked from that scene to the masked wizard who performed the Sorcessus spell on him, the dreadful realisation that he would be forever unable to do magic collapsing onto him like Harry had three seconds after the spell was cast. He saw Harry clinging onto him as Draco's magic was destroyed by the Sorcessus spell, Harry trying to replace with love what the wizarding justice system had taken away with a spell.
Hermione, too, saw them clasping each other as Arthur Weasley informed Harry as gently as possible that his magical ability had been destroyed, not by Lucius Malfoy's curse, but by Harry's own killing of Voldemort, the energy from which had surged back through Harry's own wand to shatter his magic. She saw them hugging her, too, when Professor Flitwick had explained how Walden MacNair's attack on the Gryffindor dorms had destroyed her own magic forever.
They spun in the whirlpool of memory as if they had opened a Pensieve, though Pensieves were forever lost to them now. They saw themselves striding, heads held high, out of the Leaky Cauldron, the pub silently watching them leave the wizarding world forever.
They watched as first Minerva McGonagall died, her powers unable to stop the squad of five Death Eaters who advanced on her as she protected the fleeing students in the Warrens.
Sylvia Sinistra, crushed as the Astronomy Tower collapsed around her.
Sybill Trelawney, who had surprised everyone with the strength of her illusory magic, as Ludo Bagman cast the Killing Curse.
Rubeus Hagrid, whose hut was destroyed as he slept.
Charlie Weasley, protecting his dragons from Romanian Death Eaters.
Remus Lupin, shot like an animal by Lucius Malfoy with a silver-tipped arrow from a crossbow.
Sirius Black, shouting for the students to escape as he was hit by one curse and then another, another and another until he collapsed into oblivion.
Ron Weasley, throwing his own body and magical shield in front of Harry and Hermione as a Killing Curse flashed from a Death Eater's wand.
Lavender Brown, Penelope Clearwater, Lee Jordan, Dennis Creevey, George Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Cedric Diggory, Lisa Turpin, Justin Finch-Fletchley...the faces flashed faster now, a boy, a girl, a man, a woman...remembered as they had lived rather than as they had died.
***
When they pulled themselves out of the sightlessness of pain and memory, the three of them were entwined on the sofa, hugging each other in recognition of their pain, suffering, angish, loss and despair.
Hermione slid slightly to Harry's left and he and Draco sat up, the sofa squashed now that three of them were on it. None of them spoke for a long time, staring out the window into the winter rain, cold and wet in the yellow sodium lamplight reflected in the chilly, humid, misty air coming off the North Sea.
***
The rain fell vertically now. The wind had died down. The three of them stared out at the rain, looking at their faces, their emotions, their lives, in their reflections.
A/N: Wow. That was supposed to be two pages.
Anyway, comments of all lengths, varieties, positive, negative, feelings, and so on, are welcome, either to the Armchair or privately at .
And if you know where the town this takes place is, drop me a line too. *grin*
If you liked this, you'll probably like my other stuff, specifically Snap and Not Just A River In Egypt. Keeper's Secrets is mushier than this, and the Song of Time is really quite different. You can find links to all of those at www.queerasjohn.com.
Schnoogles,
--QAJ
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