1,000 Days

~Chapter 1~

Harry

Harry Potter handed in his resignation. At thirty-five years old, he was tired of being an Auror. He had enough money that he'd thought he'd travel the world a bit.

His first stop would be Ireland. All the fables and things like that said that the Emerald Isle was the origin of all magic. And wasn't it funny that his eyes were the colors of emeralds?

However, two weeks after quitting his job, and no travel plans, he was really bored. He wanted to see Hogwarts again, more than he wanted to travel the world honestly. He missed Hagrid, Ron, and most of all, Hermione.

That's why he wasn't surprised when a letter from Hogwarts came offering him the DADA teaching post.

He laughed when he finished reading it, and responded right away, accepting the offer, deep down wondering who the other teachers were, and if Hermione was still teaching.

*****

August first arrived and with it, his return to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall greeted him on the front steps as he stepped out of the Thestral-pulled carriage. He chuckled noticing how her hair was still pulled back in that tight bun, although its color had turned to a salt-and-pepper gray.

Harry was shown to his office, and his classroom, (he knew where both were, of course, but he was grateful for the reminder.) and his bedroom.

He looked around the room after McGonagall left him to unpack. The room was rather large; one corner had a bed and could be hidden from view with the curtains that hung from the ceiling. There was a fireplace and one wall was nothing but windows. There were bay doors leading out side to a stone balcony, and one other door that Harry assumed led to the bathroom.

His luggage was stacked neatly along the wall and a couch and table were in front of the fireplace. The carpet was red, and reminded him of the Gryffindor common room. He chuckled as he started to unpack his things.

As he was putting his Order of Merlin, First Class on his mantle, there was a knock on the door. He looked at the award on last time, fiercely remembering what it had cost him, and went to answer the knock.

He stared in disbelief at the person standing in the doorway.

She didn't look like he remembered; she looked better. Her hair was straight now, he wasn't sure whether he liked that or not, and she had finally gotten taller. Her golden eyes seemed to have lost nothing but fear. He well remembered seeing fear in those eyes. She had fought along side him for fifteen years. Nine years ago, they'd lost touch when she got the teaching job here.

She smiled. Her teeth were still perfect; he remembered when she changed them in their fourth year.

"Oh my god," Harry whispered. "Hermione?"

She nodded. Harry saw tears form around her eyes. They hugged, for the first time in nine years. She started to cry. "I can't believe it's you," she whispered in his ear.

"Right back at you," Harry replied softly. If she only knew, he thought. If she only knew.

They pulled apart and Hermione wiped her eyes with her fingers. Harry relished in the feeling of seeing them again. Those hands, those small, delicate fingers....

"How are you?" he asked stepping back to allow her entrance into his room. He became painfully aware of the mess he'd made in his unpacking. Oops.

"Shocked," she answered simply. "We all are, teachers, I mean. When McGonagall told us all that you were coming.... Epically Malfoy."

Harry's eyes snapped to hers in shock. "M-Malfoy?"

"Oh yes," she said bitterly. "He's teaching here too. Took over potions when Snape died. Don't know why his reaction was so severe. It's not like you two were ever friends or anything, right?" she asked.

Harry hesitated. Oh, they were friends all right. They were more than friends. Hell, they'd been engaged.

"Right?" she asked again, getting worried.

"Right," Harry confirmed. "Right," he said again.

Hermione shook off his reaction and looked around. "Looks like your flat did when you just moved in."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly looking around. "I have a problem with making a mess when I'm unpacking."

Hermione chuckled. "Would you like some help getting this done before dinner?"

"That'd be great!" Harry replied, excited at the chance--and excuse--to spend more time with Hermione.

They started talking, getting re-acquainted as one does while storing knick-knacks on shelves or on the mantle. Hermione saw his Order of Merlin and asked if it was the one he received for defeating Voldemort.

"Yeah, but I'd rather not have it."

"Why?" she asked shocked.

"Because of what I did, what I lost that night. Who I lost that night."

"Who?" she repeated.

"Do you know how many died that night, Hermione? Death Eater, Order, Auror, even innocent bystanders; there were so many bodies. I don't remember much after that, I think I was unconscious for a bit, but I saw everything. That small suburban street was littered with bodies. Muggles even, who decided to come out and investigate strange noises. I'll never forget the first Muggle that died. A small child, maybe four or five; lots of black curly hair and dark brown eyes, a girl," he added seeing the first victim of that final battle.

Harry couldn't talk about it anymore. He wasn't ready. Wounds not fully healed, both emotionally and physically. He had a new scar on his face: a slash on his cheek. More than wands were used in that fight. Daggers, knives, swords, guns even. He had a bullet wound in his shoulder, and a slash across his chest from where a Death Eater had tried to cut his heart out for Voldemort.

"You okay?" he distantly heard Hermione ask.

Harry shook himself. "No," he replied honestly. He realized he'd been thinking about that night for a while. He looked at what he was holding in his hands: a small black onyx. A stone he'd found on the abandoned property that had once housed his parent's house.

Funny, he'd thought, that the Muggles hadn't done anything to the house's remains in 22 years. He was 23 when he saw it for the first time. Bricks and planks of wood were everywhere. Plaster and dust covered everything. He sifted through the remains of the house, at an area that was clearly a bedroom, and found this stone. He remembered something then. This was the room his mother had died in. It was a stone that had been in his crib.

He was startled by the sound of a door shutting. He looked around; Hermione was gone, leaving him to his thoughts. He thought about going after her, but decided against it. She was still here, she always would be, and they could talk later.

He wondered what the students would be like, if any of them were like Ron, Hermione and him. Or if any of them were like Draco had been. He well remembered those six and a half years that Draco was anything but civil to him.

He wondered out of his room and the castle, coming across Draco.

"Harry," he said with a voice laced with sorrow and pain.

"Draco," Harry said in much the same way. A year had passed since their paths parted, and here they were crossing again. Was it fate? Or was it some cruel joke plotted to make them both suffer?

"H-How are you?" Draco asked awkwardly.

"That's not the right question," Harry answered. "How are you?"

"Really bad, actually," he answered. "I'm not sure if it's that bloody curse, or if it's you being back, but I've been really fucked lately."

"I'm sure they'll find a cure soon."

"No, they wont. They refuse to help me, so I've got to do this all on my own."

"Then I'm sure you'll find a cure soon."

"Right, whatever," he said suddenly angry. "And I'm assuming you still know nothing?"

"If I could help you I would, you know that. You're the one who turned me away. Remember?" Harry demanded loudly.

"Of course I bloody fucking remember! It's my goddamn life!"

"Then remember that I know and was there the day it happened!"

Their yelling had brought the castle to life. Teachers seemed to crawl out of the stone walls to stop them. Harry didn't remember that from school.

Hermione stepped forward. "Harry, Malfoy, stop it. You're working together now, you have to get along."

Harry looked around. There were so many familiar faces in this gathered crowd, most of them from his year at Hogwarts. There was Parvarti and Lavender, Neville and Luna, Hanna Abbot, and Ernie Macmillan. There were also teachers he'd never met before but thought he'd recognized.

Harry stepped back, allowing the fight to end. He hated fighting with Draco, always had, and he wasn't about to let their past interfere with his life now.

*****

The next day, Harry set off to visit Hagrid. His only job now was training the gamekeeper, as he'd retired from teaching and was looking to retire from keeping the grounds.

When Harry reached the small cabin, he realized just how long he'd been away from everyone. Fang didn't bark when he knocked, Hagrid had gray in his hair, and he had a wife. Madam Maxime sat at the table, sipping tea and the cabin looked...well, like a woman lived here now. There were no dead carcasses hanging from the ceiling, or a canary yellow blanket on huge bed. The cooking didn't look the same either, Harry noticed as he sat down at the table.

"Missed yeh, Harry," Hagrid said pouring tea.

Harry smiled, scratching a drooling Fang behind the ears. Poor dog must be ancient now, Harry thought absently sipping the amber liquid.

"'S been how many years?" Hagrid asked watching Harry.

"Too many, Hagrid, too many."

Hagrid studied him for a moment. "Yer goin' ter be a great teacher, Harry, I know it. Jus' do yerself and yer students a favor, don' try ter be anyone else."

Harry smiled. "I won't, Hagrid."

Madam Maxime smiled warmly. "You'll do fine, I think," she assured him.

"An' save the really dangerous stuff fer yer older students."

Harry chuckled. "I will, Hagrid."

"An' don' loose faith in yerself."

"I'll try."

"An' Harry,"

"Yeah?"

"It's good ter have yeh back."

"Thanks, Hagrid. It's good to be back."

Harry drained the last of his tea and stood. "I've got to run, Hagrid, thanks for tea."

Hagrid nodded. "Come back anytime," he invited.

Harry nodded and walked out, heading back to the castle as the sun set over the Forbidden Forest. Harry looked up at the sky. Sunset was the time the Final Battle had begun in the streets of some Muggle neighborhood Harry didn't know the name of. The face of that little girl swam in font of his eyes. He closed them, trying to block out the images, but they kept coming.

He was circling Voldemort; both of them had their wands pointed at eachother. They dead and dying lay all over the street and lawns of this once quiet Muggle street. This wasn't a planned battle, this was an accident. They'd run into eachother by accident and their backup started to show up. Most of his Death Eaters were dead; most of the Aurors were dead, and so many of the Order.

Harry dropped to his knees. Make it stop, he pleaded with his mind. Don't show me anymore.

But the images kept coming.

A high-pitched scream filled the air. A little girl had come running out of her house after hearing the loud bang of a gun. Harry and Voldemort looked over at her at the same time. "Poor little girl," Voldemort said raising his wand in her direction. Her curly locks bounced as she looked around at the chaos before her. "Too bad she'll never grow up." He whispered the killing curse then. The child didn't know what was going on, she didn't have time to call for help. She fell to the green grass of her front lawn before Harry could stop him.

"No!" Harry shouted in life the same time he did in his memories. Damn Voldemort. Damn him to Hell.

But of course, Voldemort didn't have a spirit to go to Hell with, so he wouldn't be damned to torture, just a final Death. A death no one could come back from.

He realized he was crying and didn't stop himself. The counselors said he bottled too much in and needed to let it out. They told him that it was normal for a person to feel like this after fighting a war for so long. Harry couldn't help but disagree with them. They didn't and couldn't know what it was like to be fighting from the day you were introduced to the magical world. They didn't realize that he'd been fighting these demons from the time he was eleven or that he'd forgotten what happiness was like, couldn't remember what it felt like to have a good night sleep. They didn't know what had happened to the Boy-Who-Lived-Who-Eventually-Killed. They never would.

"Harry?" someone asked softly. Harry didn't respond. Go away, he thought. But the intruder didn't. This person placed a small, delicate hand on his shoulder and he looked up. Hermione.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Memories," he choked. "Just memories."

She helped him stand and walked him back to the castle. Harry didn't even care that Draco saw them; he was too upset.

She led him to his room and lay him on his bed. "Get some sleep," she ordered before walking out.

Harry snorted after she had softly shut the door. Sleep? Please.

The door burst open and Draco walked in. Harry sat up shocked. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

Draco rushed to him.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" he asked kneeling at Harry's side. "I've never seen you like this before."

Harry lay back down, resting his head on his arm. How to explain it? Draco was there; he knew what happened that night. "The Final Battle," Harry finally answered. "I was thinking about the Final Battle again."

Draco sighed. "The little girl?" he asked. Harry nodded. "The little girl," he echoed.

Harry knew nothing of her life, only her death. The poor child had of been only eight. "Always innocent are the first victims. So it has been for ages past, so it is now." Ronan's words echoed in Harry's head as he remembered the small child of no more than eight. Always innocent....

Fresh tears formed at Harry's eyes and fell. He felt Draco's hand wipe them away almost instantly. Harry tensed under his ex-lovers touch. Some wounds ran too deep to be healed.

I can't let you see me die.

Those were Draco's last words to Harry. Well, it looks like those words won't hold true. He was dying; Harry was there. What good could possibly come of this kind of emotional torture? If Harry had known he was here, he wouldn't have taken the job. Still, it wasn't too late to back out. Not really anyway.

"Leave me alone," Harry whispered.

"No," Draco answered. "I know all to well what happened the last time I left you alone when you were like this."

"I'm not like that anymore," he answered.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Harry. That's what you said when you gave yourself those bloody scars. I'm not making the same damn mistake twice. You will not die before me. I can't see you die."

"Just like you can't let me see you die, right?" he asked bitterly.

"No," Draco answered sadly. "Not like that. Do you have any idea how much I loved you?"

"It's hard to believe you know, all things considered."

"You really are an ass," Draco said firmly. "You don't understand, do you? I left you because I loved you, Harry. That is why I couldn't let you see me die. I still can't but there's not much I can do about that now is there? Hell, Harry, I'll probably be dead before the year is done. I'm not having an ounce of luck finding this bloody cure."

"Loved, huh?" Harry asked. "Anyone new in your life then?"

"No, not really," Draco answered. "And yes, 'loved.' Time changes people, Harry. You above all people should know that."

"Get out," Harry demanded firmly. "Get the fuck out."

"I told you, I'm not leaving you alone."

Harry stood and pointed to the door. "I SAID GET OUT OF HERE!" he shouted. "Get out now, Draco, or so help me god, I'll do it just to spite you."

"You wouldn't dare," Draco replied standing as well.

"You bet I would."

"You would kill yourself in front of me just because I wont leave you alone?"

"No, I would kill myself in front of you just because I know the thought would be on your mind ever day until the day you die, maybe then would you know how I feel every time I see an eight year-old Muggle girl with curly black hair and dark brown eyes, because my picture would haunt you just as she does me."

"I've got my father haunting me, Harry, I don't need anymore ghosts, thank you."

"I never said I'd be a ghost, I said my memory would haunt you as the little girl does me. You know, I don't even know her name? Or the name of that street? And they won't tell me."

"I wonder why," Draco asked rhetorically. "You seem to have enough trouble knowing the name of the place your godfather died. And the world cant put that kind of pressure on its hero, now can it?"

"I told you to get out, Draco."

"Fine, I'm gone," he said dangerously.

He strode out of the room, and slamming the door.