The Echoes Of Yesterday
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
44
Views:
17,845
Reviews:
133
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
44
Views:
17,845
Reviews:
133
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Of Cobras And Breakfast Tea
The Echoes Of Yesterday…by Samayel
Chapter 29: Of Cobras and Breakfast Tea
Of late, since his equilibrium had returned, Harry had found himself instinctively rising early in the day, just as he had for the last fifteen years. Dreamless Sleep couldn’t be administered for more than a few weeks at the most, and Prewett had already started the process of weaning Harry from the potion. Dreams came, and the subject of Draco hadn’t been any further from his mind than usual, but somehow it stung a bit less just lately.
Was he a little melancholy? Perhaps, but given his situation, maybe that was a perfectly normal way to feel. For years he’d consoled himself with notions like, ‘…at least I had someone, just for awhile.’ It never really felt like it meant anything…until now. As soon as he’d acknowledged the ugly truth that Draco…his Draco…hadn’t loved him enough to stay, it felt like an anvil had been lifted from his chest. After almost two decades, it was strange to breath so easily all of a sudden.
Memories of Draco weren’t gone. Quite the contrary, they were with him all the time. When he woke, when he showered, while he dressed, and even while he ate what the elves brought for him. These were memories he had, and could continue, to live with. Something missing from him had come back after all these years. Resignation perhaps? There hadn’t been much to do lately but think of the past, and he’d thought of more than just Grimmauld Place these past few days.
What had become of the bright eyed boy in those old pictures from school? He’d had so much against him in those times. So many people around him had been hurt in the war and the conflicts leading up to it. So many killed. Cedric. Sirius. Albus. He’d pushed through so much loss, and so many trials, just to see things through to their end. The boy in those pictures had been braver by far than the man who sat looking at them now.
He’d spoken freely of it all with John Prewett. Questions that had dogged him for years had been voiced, and he could guess at answers, even if he might never be sure of the truth. Harry supposed that, just perhaps, it was love that really had been his undoing. He’d barely had it, or been conscious of it, when he was a boy. He’d been unloved at the Dursleys, a nuisance best kept a secret. To find love as an adult, and then have it taken away from him so suddenly, had hurt him in the one way he could still be hurt.
It was ironic. Love had saved his life, along with the rest of the world as well, and then, having fulfilled its purpose, it had slipped through his fingers and left him behind. It was the irony that stung the worst of all. So grossly unfair. It was a final insult to a teenager who had already been so wounded by life that he barely believed in anything. But that was just the way life sometimes was. Wildly unfair, fickle, and sometimes seemingly hateful. Was it really so wrong to have hidden away from that pain? Who would have wanted to feel those things?
The revelations he’d experienced, both alone and with John, had dramatically shifted his mood. He’d been pensive, restless, unsure of what to do and yet eager to do something. It was past time. He’d been lounging about for almost two whole weeks, taking in company now and again recently, but mostly just reading and thinking. The time for thinking was long past, and the time for deciding and acting had come. This was where Harry felt most alive…in the moment. Things had piled up in his absence, and needed doing. He had a responsibility to fulfill, like he had had years ago, and it was his part to meet that responsibility head on.
John Prewett meant well, and he’d tried to talk Harry out of it several times, but Harry was adamant regarding this one thing. He meant to finish out this year at Hogwarts, and then retire promptly afterwards. He wasn’t really sure what he might do with the rest of his life, but he would no longer teach at Hogwarts. Of that he was certain. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the place. He really, genuinely did, but this place that he loved deserved an educator that was both competent and healthy, not a man whose heart was so torn between the past and the present that he couldn’t maintain his own physical and mental well-being.
It wasn’t that he didn’t make a good teacher. Perhaps, in most regards, he did, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d come to it by accident, licking his wounds and choosing a dignified way to hide from himself all that he felt. He’d failed here in the one way that mattered most to him. He’d allowed himself to abuse a student…to hurt Draco’s son. It was inexcusable. To be capable of such a thing, even under duress…well…to Harry it meant that he had no business teaching anyone. Even Snape, with all his rancor and thinly veiled hatred, had never violated a student in such a way. Violence had no place at Hogwarts, and as far as Harry was concerned, neither did he.
There were things that needed doing first, of course. He needed a formal meeting with Minerva to declare his intentions. He needed to return to teaching his classes long enough to give Ron a break. The poor man was exhausted from keeping a double schedule, even with young Draco as an assistant.
And that was another matter. There were matters he needed to discuss with Draco, no matter how uncomfortable it might make the both of them. He’d stopped avoiding a lot of things, but Draco remained, by all reports, desperate to apologize in person. It was unkind, and immature of Harry, to refuse the boy that right any longer. Harry had apologies of his own to make. He also needed to make arrangements for Draco’s continued education. He’d promised to act as a mentor, and hounded by his personal demons, Harry had failed utterly. If he couldn’t find a suitable alternative, he would just have to finish Draco’s education himself, just as he’d originally agreed to do.
Harry moved to the small mirror and basin in the corner and straightened his dress robes, then went over his list of errands for the day while he smoothed his hair with a bit of water.
’First see John and let him know I’m well enough to return to my rooms. Then see Minerva and explain my intentions. Hmm…maybe Ron after that. He’ll be damned happy to go home at night again. I’ve got to see where he’s at with lessons before I can step back my job. I suppose Draco can wait for tomorrow if he’s busy. Good enough. Or as good as it’s going to get.’
A short stroll down the empty hallway in the hospital ward and Harry was at the door to John Prewett’s private suite. He heard the clink of tea china. It was still early by most people’s standard, and not yet breakfast time for the rest of Hogwarts, but John, like Harry, was an early riser by nature. At least they could share a spot of tea before harry started his day. Harry tapped at the door and heard John’s welcome to open it, and he did so with a wry smile and stepped in.
“Good morning. I think I’m finally up to getting on with my life. Just wanted to stop in and…and…”
Harry stopped in mid-sentence. Left of the door and occupying on of John’s spare chairs, tea still in hand and eyes firmly fixed on Harry, Draco sat with a stricken look of sudden desperation. Harry floundered a moment, cursing himself for his own weakness. He really, really hadn’t planned on starting the day with this…situation.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll get back to you a little l-”
“No! Wait! Don’t…”
Harry wanted to move his feet, but he was trapped like a bird by a cobra’s gaze. Well…cobras didn’t generally have gray eyes and blond hair, but it was essentially the same. Draco had gone from calm and composed to instantly overwrought, and Harry wasn’t much better. John Prewett’s voice broke the spell of silence that had briefly dominated the room.
“Draco…relax. Harry…good morning. Would you care for a cup of tea? No one has to talk about anything in particular right now. We could just enjoy a cup before we all start our day. How does that sound?”
Harry couldn’t see a way to gracefully exit without wounding Draco, but the urge to flee was overwhelming. This was decidedly NOT the first thing he wanted to deal with today. In all honesty, he’d even idly hoped that he could put this meeting of until the last possible moment, but there was little other choice left now but to make some patently false excuse and just run.
Gray eyes. The last time gray eyes had pleaded with him silently…well, it was a lifetime ago. It shouldn’t matter so bloody much. Not so much that he’d let himself be as cowardly as he’d been before. Not anymore. Not now.
“Right. Well. I suppose. Tea it is. I take mine with-”
“Cream and sugar, as I recall. Right, then. Have a seat and relax, Harry.” John seemed surprisingly convivial, as if he was manifestly indifferent to the cloud of tension that seemed to metaphysically obscure the entire atmosphere of the room. Harry silently cursed that second of courage as he took his seat with a nervous smile.
’Bugger. Where the bloody hell are the Basilisks, Dementors and Dark Lords when you really, really need one? I miss the easy enemies. Fighting my own nerves is getting more than a little tiresome!’
TBC!
Chapter 29: Of Cobras and Breakfast Tea
Of late, since his equilibrium had returned, Harry had found himself instinctively rising early in the day, just as he had for the last fifteen years. Dreamless Sleep couldn’t be administered for more than a few weeks at the most, and Prewett had already started the process of weaning Harry from the potion. Dreams came, and the subject of Draco hadn’t been any further from his mind than usual, but somehow it stung a bit less just lately.
Was he a little melancholy? Perhaps, but given his situation, maybe that was a perfectly normal way to feel. For years he’d consoled himself with notions like, ‘…at least I had someone, just for awhile.’ It never really felt like it meant anything…until now. As soon as he’d acknowledged the ugly truth that Draco…his Draco…hadn’t loved him enough to stay, it felt like an anvil had been lifted from his chest. After almost two decades, it was strange to breath so easily all of a sudden.
Memories of Draco weren’t gone. Quite the contrary, they were with him all the time. When he woke, when he showered, while he dressed, and even while he ate what the elves brought for him. These were memories he had, and could continue, to live with. Something missing from him had come back after all these years. Resignation perhaps? There hadn’t been much to do lately but think of the past, and he’d thought of more than just Grimmauld Place these past few days.
What had become of the bright eyed boy in those old pictures from school? He’d had so much against him in those times. So many people around him had been hurt in the war and the conflicts leading up to it. So many killed. Cedric. Sirius. Albus. He’d pushed through so much loss, and so many trials, just to see things through to their end. The boy in those pictures had been braver by far than the man who sat looking at them now.
He’d spoken freely of it all with John Prewett. Questions that had dogged him for years had been voiced, and he could guess at answers, even if he might never be sure of the truth. Harry supposed that, just perhaps, it was love that really had been his undoing. He’d barely had it, or been conscious of it, when he was a boy. He’d been unloved at the Dursleys, a nuisance best kept a secret. To find love as an adult, and then have it taken away from him so suddenly, had hurt him in the one way he could still be hurt.
It was ironic. Love had saved his life, along with the rest of the world as well, and then, having fulfilled its purpose, it had slipped through his fingers and left him behind. It was the irony that stung the worst of all. So grossly unfair. It was a final insult to a teenager who had already been so wounded by life that he barely believed in anything. But that was just the way life sometimes was. Wildly unfair, fickle, and sometimes seemingly hateful. Was it really so wrong to have hidden away from that pain? Who would have wanted to feel those things?
The revelations he’d experienced, both alone and with John, had dramatically shifted his mood. He’d been pensive, restless, unsure of what to do and yet eager to do something. It was past time. He’d been lounging about for almost two whole weeks, taking in company now and again recently, but mostly just reading and thinking. The time for thinking was long past, and the time for deciding and acting had come. This was where Harry felt most alive…in the moment. Things had piled up in his absence, and needed doing. He had a responsibility to fulfill, like he had had years ago, and it was his part to meet that responsibility head on.
John Prewett meant well, and he’d tried to talk Harry out of it several times, but Harry was adamant regarding this one thing. He meant to finish out this year at Hogwarts, and then retire promptly afterwards. He wasn’t really sure what he might do with the rest of his life, but he would no longer teach at Hogwarts. Of that he was certain. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the place. He really, genuinely did, but this place that he loved deserved an educator that was both competent and healthy, not a man whose heart was so torn between the past and the present that he couldn’t maintain his own physical and mental well-being.
It wasn’t that he didn’t make a good teacher. Perhaps, in most regards, he did, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d come to it by accident, licking his wounds and choosing a dignified way to hide from himself all that he felt. He’d failed here in the one way that mattered most to him. He’d allowed himself to abuse a student…to hurt Draco’s son. It was inexcusable. To be capable of such a thing, even under duress…well…to Harry it meant that he had no business teaching anyone. Even Snape, with all his rancor and thinly veiled hatred, had never violated a student in such a way. Violence had no place at Hogwarts, and as far as Harry was concerned, neither did he.
There were things that needed doing first, of course. He needed a formal meeting with Minerva to declare his intentions. He needed to return to teaching his classes long enough to give Ron a break. The poor man was exhausted from keeping a double schedule, even with young Draco as an assistant.
And that was another matter. There were matters he needed to discuss with Draco, no matter how uncomfortable it might make the both of them. He’d stopped avoiding a lot of things, but Draco remained, by all reports, desperate to apologize in person. It was unkind, and immature of Harry, to refuse the boy that right any longer. Harry had apologies of his own to make. He also needed to make arrangements for Draco’s continued education. He’d promised to act as a mentor, and hounded by his personal demons, Harry had failed utterly. If he couldn’t find a suitable alternative, he would just have to finish Draco’s education himself, just as he’d originally agreed to do.
Harry moved to the small mirror and basin in the corner and straightened his dress robes, then went over his list of errands for the day while he smoothed his hair with a bit of water.
’First see John and let him know I’m well enough to return to my rooms. Then see Minerva and explain my intentions. Hmm…maybe Ron after that. He’ll be damned happy to go home at night again. I’ve got to see where he’s at with lessons before I can step back my job. I suppose Draco can wait for tomorrow if he’s busy. Good enough. Or as good as it’s going to get.’
A short stroll down the empty hallway in the hospital ward and Harry was at the door to John Prewett’s private suite. He heard the clink of tea china. It was still early by most people’s standard, and not yet breakfast time for the rest of Hogwarts, but John, like Harry, was an early riser by nature. At least they could share a spot of tea before harry started his day. Harry tapped at the door and heard John’s welcome to open it, and he did so with a wry smile and stepped in.
“Good morning. I think I’m finally up to getting on with my life. Just wanted to stop in and…and…”
Harry stopped in mid-sentence. Left of the door and occupying on of John’s spare chairs, tea still in hand and eyes firmly fixed on Harry, Draco sat with a stricken look of sudden desperation. Harry floundered a moment, cursing himself for his own weakness. He really, really hadn’t planned on starting the day with this…situation.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll get back to you a little l-”
“No! Wait! Don’t…”
Harry wanted to move his feet, but he was trapped like a bird by a cobra’s gaze. Well…cobras didn’t generally have gray eyes and blond hair, but it was essentially the same. Draco had gone from calm and composed to instantly overwrought, and Harry wasn’t much better. John Prewett’s voice broke the spell of silence that had briefly dominated the room.
“Draco…relax. Harry…good morning. Would you care for a cup of tea? No one has to talk about anything in particular right now. We could just enjoy a cup before we all start our day. How does that sound?”
Harry couldn’t see a way to gracefully exit without wounding Draco, but the urge to flee was overwhelming. This was decidedly NOT the first thing he wanted to deal with today. In all honesty, he’d even idly hoped that he could put this meeting of until the last possible moment, but there was little other choice left now but to make some patently false excuse and just run.
Gray eyes. The last time gray eyes had pleaded with him silently…well, it was a lifetime ago. It shouldn’t matter so bloody much. Not so much that he’d let himself be as cowardly as he’d been before. Not anymore. Not now.
“Right. Well. I suppose. Tea it is. I take mine with-”
“Cream and sugar, as I recall. Right, then. Have a seat and relax, Harry.” John seemed surprisingly convivial, as if he was manifestly indifferent to the cloud of tension that seemed to metaphysically obscure the entire atmosphere of the room. Harry silently cursed that second of courage as he took his seat with a nervous smile.
’Bugger. Where the bloody hell are the Basilisks, Dementors and Dark Lords when you really, really need one? I miss the easy enemies. Fighting my own nerves is getting more than a little tiresome!’
TBC!