Fic: "Fragments"

Title: Fragments

Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Category: Post-War, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly.

Summary: Sometimes you only remember what you wish to forget.

A/N: This is a Valentine's Day ficlet set in the Broken Glass verse.

~*~*~



Harry’s fingers are tracing the outline of the red tinfoil heart Draco has placed before him on the kitchen table.

"You’ve given one to me before," he says.

Draco didn’t expect Harry to remember. He nods, too surprised to speak.

"It’s from Honeydukes," Harry continues, turning the heart over in his hand. "I remember the owl dropping it into my soup. Ron had to go change his shirt, that’s how much it splashed. Everyone wanted to know who sent it."

"And you told them." Draco smiles at the memory. The entire school had talked of nothing else for days.

"I did." Harry carefully unwraps the heart. "That was a long time ago."

"Yes." Sometimes Draco wonders if anything that happened before the war is real at all.

Harry picks up the chocolate, breaks it in two halves. "How long?"

"That was our last year, so…" Draco pauses, halts, needs to count the years. "Six years."

"Hmm." Harry nods, and holds one half of the heart out to Draco. "For you," he says, eyes bright, alive, almost sparkling.

As the chocolate melts in Draco’s mouth, he wonders if Harry realises just how much he’s given to Draco, and how much more Draco is willing to give in return. When Harry’s brows draw together in a frown, Draco knows he failed to keep his thoughts off his face.

"You’re always so sad," Harry says quietly.

Draco reaches for his most comforting voice. "I’m not. I promise." He walks over to the sink. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Harry’s hands twisting in his lap.

Draco sighs inwardly, and starts on the dishes.

There is one plate left when fingers gingerly reach for his hip, then fall away.

Draco rinses the plate, sets it aside to dry, turns the water off. The fingers are back on his hip, a firmer grasp now, tugging at his jumper.

"Draco?"

There’s that uncertainty in Harry’s voice again, and it cuts right through Draco. He turns around, feels himself drawn into Harry’s arms before the turn is completed.

"Please don’t be sad," Harry whispers. "I love you, Draco."

Draco says it back in his head, over and over again, but the words won’t come out of his mouth. Instead, he holds on tightly because he needs Harry to understand that he is loved as well.

Harry’s fingers wind through Draco’s hair in the same rhythm as the tick-tock of the clock, minutes passing by.

"Can we go to the park today?" Harry finally asks.

Draco hesitates, ponders, thinks. There are always a lot of people at the park, especially on the weekend. But Harry has been getting better about being outside lately, has spent some time in the garden, even by himself.

He pulls away to look Harry in the eyes. "Yes."


~*~*~

They leave late in the afternoon. It’s almost dusk when they step out of the house, evening chill already in the air. Draco is glad that Harry insisted on wearing one of his old Weasley jumpers. Ugly as it may be, it will keep Harry warm.

"Ready?" Draco asks.

Harry nods, but doesn’t move.

"Something wrong?"

"It’s just that…" Harry begins, reaching for Draco’s hand. He slowly peels the glove off, pushes it into his pocket, laces their fingers together.

Draco squeezes Harry’s hand and makes a mental note not to wear gloves when, if, should he go for a walk with Harry again.

They walk slowly, Harry staying close to Draco, his eyes on the pavement the entire time, which Draco is grateful for. Some of the muggles look at them in way Harry doesn’t need to see. Draco curses all of them, wishes he could take out his wand and hex them properly.

When they reach the park, Draco leads Harry on hidden-away paths, apart from the remaining crowds. White-frosted trees cast long shadows as they make their way to a bench that’s tucked away in a corner of the park. Harry’s fingers rest loosely in Draco’s hand now, but he never lets go of it.

A sense of wonder spreads across Harry’s face, along with a pink flush on his cheeks, all traces of the usual hesitancy, doubt, confusion gone. For now, at least.

The bench faces a small meadow, still thinly covered with snow that fell two days ago. They sit down. Harry rests his head on Draco’s shoulder, their entwined hands enveloped in the warm pocket of Draco’s coat. Silence settles around them. For once, the unbidden memories that surface in Draco’s mind aren’t unwelcome.

"Do you remember, on the day I sent you that heart, d’you remember what you did on the Quidditch pitch?" Draco asks.

Harry shakes his head.

"Let me show you."

Draco walks a few metres into the meadow, Harry trailing behind him. Deciding against using his wand, Draco kneels in the snow to draw a large heart. He ignores that it’s slightly crooked and writes their initials in the middle, HP+DM.

Harry gives him a curious look. "I did that?"

"Yes. Except you used a spell and burned it into the soil. Took a month to grow over. Oh, and it was also about ten times bigger than this."

"Sorry that I don’t remember." His fingers tremble against Draco’s hand.

"It’s not your fault."

"You always say that."

Draco’s thumb brushes across the back of Harry’s hand. "Because it’s true."

Harry bites his lip, doesn’t answer, his eyes still on the heart in the snow.

"Maybe we should go home now," Draco suggests. The sun has almost disappeared behind the horizon, a thin golden line against a sky of darkening blue.

"Can we stay just a bit longer?"

Draco nods, finding it impossible to say no.

They sit back down on the bench.

"There are some things I remember," Harry says. "From school, and later…from the hospital."

Draco draws in a sharp breath. The hospital. That’s a time he wants to erase from his memory; he’d hoped Harry didn’t remember any of it.

"You were there, always. Sitting next to my bed, holding my hand, reading, or just talking to me."

"I…I didn’t know." Draco remembers the first time he’d seen Harry after the final battle, pale, skin drawn too tightly over bones, no sign of life in him, like a bird with clipped wings. Draco had wanted to run, flee, escape, but Harry had needed him.

"You never asked."

"Do you remember anything else from…from the hospital?" Draco’s mind flickers to healers passing by, to grey days that never seemed to end, to nights full of screams.

Harry’s head rests on Draco’s shoulder again. "No. Just you."

~*~*~

When Harry can’t fall asleep that night, Draco wonders if going to the park had been a bad idea, if Harry saw something there that upset him.

Harry has curled up on his side, back pressed against Draco’s chest. The steady in and out of Harry’s breathing is deceptive; it obscures the tension Draco feels as his hand traces the outline of Harry’s body with long, slow strokes.

The words Harry mutters into his pillow are too soft-spoken for Draco to understand at first. As Harry’s voice grows louder, Draco thinks he misheard, until he can no longer pretend he doesn’t understand.

"I remember him," Harry says, "I remember him."

Draco doesn’t know what to reply.

"I remember him," Harry repeats.

"Shh, don’t think about it."

Harry turns to face Draco. "He’s still in my head."

"No," Draco says firmly, "No. He’s gone. You killed him."

Uncertainty lingers in Harry’s eyes.

"He can’t hurt you anymore."

"I don’t want to remember him. Can you make me not remember?" Harry asks shakily.

Unwilling to break the faith Harry has put in him, Draco hesitates. "I can’t, love, I’m sorry."

Harry tucks his head under Draco’s chin. "Okay."

Draco cradles Harry closer to him. "I won’t let anything happen to you. You know that, right?"

Harry nods against his chest.

"Will you try and go to sleep?"

Another nod.

Draco’s hand resumes its soothing motion, continuing long after Harry has fallen asleep.



The End.


Thank you to angryhamster and not_vacillating for beta and britpicking, and to lost2mercy and lola_thursday for their thoughts on earlier drafts.


Part 3.

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