Gilded Soul

Author’s note: And here it is, the final installment of my humble little fanfiction. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Please review! I’m eager to see what you all think!

Chapter 41 Eternal

Godric’s Hollow felt empty and cold, especially in front of Harry’s ruined childhood house. This was just another thing he had in common with his Gryffindor, the charred remnants of home. The sun was setting behind the house and the brilliant reds and blues made the home look as if it were still on fire.

It was larger than Draco had expected. He wasn’t sure why, he knew that Harry’s father was pureblood of an ancient line, but he had never equated his own wealth to that of Harry’s. He now realized that he was a closer match than he had imagined. He and Harry were so much the same person it was uncanny, and every new realization made his heart ache even deeper.

They were fated to be together, of that Draco was certain, but it only made it that much harder to accept that he was gone.

Clutching the golden urn in his hands, he passed the Potter family manor and kept walking quietly down the tree-lined street.

As he left the residential part of the village, he made his way to the small town square. Godric’s Hollow was a prestigious wizarding neighborhood, and residents were out in the streets celebrating the death of Voldemort. Even a week past the event people were still thrilled into giddiness to be beyond the burden of war.

There would be no celebrations for Draco.

He wouldn’t have traded Harry for Voldemort being gone. It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t fathom ever getting over this sharp pain in his chest every time he thought about Harry.

Hermione tried to assure him that it would ease, and maybe it would, but that almost seemed worse. When the stabbing feeling turned into a dull ache, it would only serve as a reminder that he was forgetting, just like that worthless Rememberall that he stole from Neville in their first year.

More than anything he didn’t want to forget his Harry. The way he laughed at his sarcastic remarks, the way his eyes sparkled with defiance when he would say something uncouth, the way his lips felt, and tasted.

The world around him became blurry with tears as he followed the little cobblestone path back to the town’s cemetery. It was easy to pick out Lily and James’ tombstones because they were draped with flowers. It must have occurred during one of Harry’s multiple memorial services. It was very common when wizards buried the child, to remember the parents.

Harry wasn’t buried here though, at least not yet.

Draco was certain that this would have been what Harry wanted. They had never discussed it, and although that seemed foolish in hindsight, neither of them wanted to have the morbid conversation about their… remains. Draco sighed, trying to hold back the tears as long as he could.

The cemetery was empty, and he was grateful for that. It was as if the village understood his need to be alone. A small silver dagger was a heavy weight in his pocket, but he tried to ignore it as he made his way to his intended location. The dagger was for later, after he took care of his responsibilities to Harry. He wondered briefly if Hermione had found the note he left in the Room of Requirement yet.

Suicide letter. He almost laughed out loud at the thought. So undignified, so unbefitting a Malfoy, and something he had never considered for even one second before Harry left him. Now it was all he could think about. He craved the peace it would bring him.

He knelt in front of the Potter graves and ran his finger along the grooves of the writing on each stone. Lily and James, Harry’s prefect parents. He wondered if Harry was already in their company. Draco also wondered if they would accept him when he joined them soon as well. What would Harry’s parent think about their gay sons lover? He stifled another laugh.

“I guess I ought to introduce myself,” he spoke quietly to the stone markers. “My name is Draco Malfoy, and I love your son Harry. I love him with all of my heart, and I’m here to return him to you.”

His breathing quickened as he spoke, still trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall messily down his cheeks. “I wish I could have saved him, I would have wanted nothing more than to be with him, but you’re both probably happy to have him back with you. I know he missed you both dearly.”

He pried open the golden box and stared blurrily at the contents. It didn’t seem like much, it didn’t seem like his Harry could have compacted down to this bit of ash he held in his hands. “Harry, I love you. I’ll be with you soon.”

At his last words, he tipped the golden box over and let the ashes settle over the graves of Harry’s parents. It seemed like the right thing to do.

“I love you so much, Harry. I only wish I could have had more time to tell you that,” he whispered to the scattered ashes on the ground.

He let the tears fall then, hot and fast. He had held back as long as he could, but the feeling off loss wracked his body now, bowing his spine and ripping the sobs from his lips.

He didn’t know how long he sat that way, minutes or hours, but it was fully dark when he looked back up. He wiped at his swollen face and sighed, reaching into his robe pocket for the small silver dagger.

He turned the blade over and over in his hand, mesmerized at the way the moonlight reflected off of its surface. It was an old family heirloom; he had brought it with him on his very first day to Hogwarts. It was just longer than his hand and about two inches wide at the hilt. The handle was made of silver, and had an intricately carved snake staring back at him, two emerald eyes sparkling in its face.

Harry’s eyes. It suddenly seemed even more appropriate that he do this, here over Harry’s parents graves and Harry’s own ashes.

The blade slipped slightly in his trembling hands and sliced into his hand. Draco hissed at the cut on his palm and winced. “Ouch, that smarts,” he muttered, trying to stop a bubble of laughter. Here he was about to slice into his own throat and he was complaining about a little cut on his hand.

He squeezed his injured hand into a fist, watching the blood trickle down, landing in fat drops and mixing with the soil and ashes at his knees. He watched the blood sink into the ground and disappear.

Draco took a deep shuddering breath and pressed the tip of the blade lightly against the pale skin of his neck. “Here I come, Harry,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Several things happened at once. Draco felt a terrible chill well up from the ground below him and he opened his eyes and jumped back. Lowering the dagger, he watched as the ground over the graves shimmered and shifted in the moonlight.

The soil in front of him erupted in breathtaking flames, blue and green in color. Draco stepped forward, reaching a hand toward the fame. It was cold to the touch, not hot at all. He watched his fingertips dance in the glistening turquoise light.

A moment later the flames were gone, disappearing back into the ground as quickly as they had come up. Draco felt a little bereft at their absence, but when his eyes trailed down to the graves they had disappeared into, his heart jumped.

There in a quivering heap, naked and pale, was a teenage boy. Draco knew that messy black hair, the curve of that spine, and the beautiful phoenix tattoo anywhere. His dragon mark burst to life on his chest, stretching and clawing against him, and in that moment his heart felt whole again.

“Harry!” he shouted, not caring that it was broken and raw from the evening’s emotional events. He had his Harry back and it was more of a blessing than he could have prepared for.

He knelt beside the quivering boy and ran his hand down his back. “Harry,” he whispered, quieter this time, right against his ear.

The boy turned his head weakly and stared at Draco, his brilliant green eyes penetrating his soul. “Draco?” The tone was soft and questioning, his voice cracked and shaky like he hadn’t used it in a while, a week to be precise.

Draco nodded and pulled Harry into his arms. “It’s okay, we’re together now, and I won’t ever let anything happen to you again.” He was sobbing into the Gryffindor’s messy black hair, pressing his lips against his head intermittently between whispered loving comments. “I love you, Harry. I love you.”

Harry looked up then, locking eyes with Draco and a slow smile spread across his previously confused face. “I love you too.”

--

Ten Years Later

Draco shuffled and kicked at the gravel walkway, irritated, sending sprawling showers of pebbles careening ahead of him. They were on their way home from Hogwarts, having just attended another Quidditch match, the last of the season. Hermione had left them at the entrance gate, opting to apparate home to her flat in London, rather than put up with Draco’s sulky mood.

He hated losing. Harry walked beside him with a silly grin plastered to his adorable features, which just only served to annoy Draco further.

The lights of Hogsmeade were directly ahead of him now, and he consciously sped up slightly. Might as well get the gloating over with. Gryffindor beat Slytherin yet again, expertly securing the Quidditch cup. It had been a blood bath; the Slytherin’s hadn’t even scored once, before those blasted lions swooped in and grabbed the snitch, ensuring their victory.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your drink now?” he asked Harry as they came up to the Three Broomsticks.

Harry walked toward the pub automatically but then stopped abruptly in his tracks, causing Draco to crash into him roughly. “Hey, watch it, Potter,” he sneered.

Harry chuckled lightly and pulled Draco by his robes quickly into the alley. He pressed him up against the wall and kissed him fiercely. Draco seemed shocked at first but quickly responded to the kiss, his pale hands reaching into Harry’s robes to pull him closer.

They broke away panting for breath, even after all these years, their bodies seemed to melt into one another, their kisses still held the same passion as the very first time. “I was thinking,” he whispered seductively against Draco’s ear, “that we could establish a new tradition for the winner of our little bets.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, his voice breaking slightly at his own arousal. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

Harry chuckled lowly and it sent shivers down Draco’s spine. “I might.”

“Come on then, Potter, spit it out,” Draco replied with feigned impatience.

A smirk broke across Harry’s face. “The winner gets a sexual favor from the loser.”

Draco pretended to mull it over for a moment, there was really nothing to think about, there wasn’t a single thing Harry could ask him to do that we wouldn’t be happy to oblige him with. “Sounds fair. Any ideas?”

Harry’s smirk turned into a predatory grin and Draco shuddered with anticipation. Harry whispered against his ear and the Slytherin’s eyes widened. “Here?” he sputtered, looking around to the entrance of the alley where the occasional witch or wizard still passed.

Harry only nodded, still grinning.

Draco shook his head in fake irritation. “I swear Harry, you get dirtier and dirtier all the time.”

Harry laughed then, and it was filled with liquid desire. “At least you won’t get bored,” he added huskily.

“No, Harry, I could never get bored with you, you’re stuck with me. Love like ours is eternal,” Draco replied, his voice already thick with lust, as he pulled him into another searing kiss.

-- FIN --

Author’s note: You have all been the best readers a girl could ask for! I hope you enjoyed the story.