to feel alive

to feel alive

Harry Potter was surprised and strangely relieved when the Death Eaters sent their first peace envoy to Hogwarts. Deep down inside, he felt that he should have been suspicious but nothing could stop the bubbling hope. Maybe it was finally all over.

The war had taken its harsh toll on both sides. Only one in three Death Eaters now survived. Only one in four Order members could still fight.

The dead had piled up.

Burial rites were impossible. They were merely placed in the ground with perfunctory words.

"One of the heroes of our age."

Harry wasn't sure whether those words that marked every grave were supposed to be so damned cynical. Here lies one of the heroes of our age. Dead. Without even the normal afterlife rituals that were guaranteed even for the average witch and wizard.

And the word hero. Such a loaded word. There was a bitter twist to Harry's lips whenever anybody used that word. It placed the person on a pedestal. Yet, at the same time de-humanising them. A hero wasn't a man or a woman. A hero certainly didn't have a family. Or friends. Or lovers. They were merely a hero. Not a son or daughter. Father or mother. Husband or wife.

But now it could be all over.

Harry was scared and hopeful as he watched the black-cloaked figures walking slowly up to the front stairs of the castle with the lead figure carrying a delicate, white, fluttering flag.

"We come to negotiate a peace settlement." Softly, even with a Sonorous charm.

Dumbledore hadn't believed them at first, but the Death Eaters were persistent. Slowly, the attacks ended. The Order was left feeling like the enemy as they hunted and killed those who would not raise a finger in return.

A month after the first peace envoy was sent, the Death Eaters sent a second one. This time, headed by Voldemort himself. He swept up the stone steps of the entrance and gave a sharp knock on the door. A moment later, Dumbledore answered and welcomed him in.

"Tom, I'm glad you have come." Like he was talking to an old friend.

Almost ridiculous in its anti-climatic nature, the war ended. With a thirty foot Treaty of Hogwarts detailing the conditions of peace. Muggle-borns were to be screened before admittance into Hogwarts. There would be no more negotiations with the Muggle world. Purebloods were to be given precedence in jobs. After all, there were so few purebloods left and the Muggle world was proving to be a menace. Even Dumbledore admitted so.

Harry still can't remember Hermione's words when she first looked at the Treaty. But he can remember her expression. Disgust. Horror. Disappointment. All flickered over her face before she gave a tight nod and turned away.

Harry pretended that it was all right. But it wasn't.

She was one of the first to leave. Over the months following the Treaty, Muggle-borns left the Wizarding World in dribs and drabs. Not nearly enough to make a difference to the peace. But enough to create a sense of unease. Even the air felt fragile.

Those who left managed to integrate into the Muggle world with relative ease. Hermione was one of the first to get a job. Working in Westminster. A secretary.

Harry remembers her letters begging him to try to get the Treaty changed. Firstly angry, then sad, then desperate.

Harry, the Muggles suspect something.

Harry didn't believe her at first.

That was soon rectified when the first Muggle bomb hit Diagon Alley. From one war to another, Harry thought bitterly as he sifted through the wreckage. What does it matter whether we're Muggle, pureblood, half-blood or Mudblood? We all smell the same when we're dead. The blood of a Muggle stains just as much.

The wizarding world was horrified. From one war into another. Would the carnage never end?

Yet they did nothing. They could do nothing.

The bodies continued to pile up. Only they were no longer bodies. Merely ashes, dust and bones. And blood. Always blood.

Slowly, Harry began to realise that they could do nothing against the Muggles. He found this strangely ironic. Wizards could slaughter their own kind by the hundreds, but when threatened by an outside force, were helpless to even defend themselves effectively. The Treaty was still in place, but it was a farce.

No contact with the Muggle world.

What wizard in his right mind would do that now? The few who tried - desperate souls looking for escape - quickly learned of the Muggle Unforgivable. The gun. Not so Unforgivable against wizards though.

Harry watched as wizards became a persecuted race again for the first time in four hundred years. He didn't have any fear that they would be eradicated completely. After all, their kind were everywhere and capable of blending in.

He watched the bright bursts of bombs from the safety of within Hogwarts. With a faint amusement, Harry realised that the school had yet again become a fortress of sorts. This time for the entire wizarding race. He supposed that was only right. After all, Hogwarts even looked something like a fortress. And they were still helpless to do anything but sit and watch. None of their weapons would be any match against the guns, bombs and missiles of the Muggles. Both Albus and Tom had forbade any overt action against the Muggles. We can survive, Albus had said. If we wait.

Albus and Tom.

Harry almost smiled at that thought, but managed to stop at the last second. Smiling was frowned upon nowadays. It was all right, he supposed. Nobody really had anything to smile about anyhow.

The two most powerful wizards of their era had banded together under the Treaty. And even they were powerless to do anything.

Harry let out a long breath and watched as he misted up the window. Lazily, he lifted a hand and traced a pattern. There was nothing to do but watch as the world got destroyed around him.

A suicide mission, Tom had told him coldly when Harry had demanded to be allowed to fight the Muggles.

Fury had enveloped him at these words and Harry had spat out at the former Lord Voldemort: I would have thought you would be pleased to see me die. But Harry was surprised when Tom didn't rise to his bait. Instead, the older man simply smiled sadly down at him, looking for a minute like a younger version of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry shivered.

"Potter."

The quiet voice came from behind Harry. Slowly, Harry swivelled around from where he was seated on the windowsill and saw Snape standing there.

"Snape." He returned the greeting in an even tone.

"How many today?"

It's funny, Harry thought absently. We make small talk about the explosions, each getting closer and closer to breaking the wards, as if they're nothing. "Seven," he replied quietly. "I've counted seven so far."

Snape nodded, a curiously jerking motion.

Harry frowned. There was something bothering the other man. He didn't know how he could tell. It was probably the fact they had to work together - under forced circumstances - for the past ten years and more. "Is there a problem?" He had long past using pleasantries. There just wasn't a point.

"Draco Malfoy just stumbled past the wards."

---

"Malfoy."

Malfoy looked up and Harry winced. There was a deep scar running down the left side of Malfoy's face from temple to chin. It made him look far older than his twenty-seven years. Harry's eyes travelled downwards as he took in the travel-stained and torn robes. This was a far different Draco Malfoy than had left Hogwarts triumphantly ten years before.

"Going to mock me, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was curiously free of malice.

Harry shook his head. "Why would I do that."

Malfoy gave a dry laugh that came out as more of a hacking cough. "Because that's what I did for seven years at school? How's that for a reason."

"Not good enough," Harry said quietly. "We've been out of school for ten years."

"Ah yes," Malfoy said, a bitter note in his voice. "We've been out of school for ten years and have already gone through one war. Now we're stuck in the midst of another."

"Precisely," Harry said sharply. "And if we are going to win this war, we need your help."

To his surprise, Malfoy sneered. The expression looked out of place on his gaunt face. "And why would you want my help? The help of a Malfoy? The help of an ex-Death Eater?" He pulled up his left sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark, still as black as the day it was burned on.

Harry shrugged. "And what does that matter nowadays?" His voice was deceptively light. "We're all on the same side now."

"That we are." He gave a short laugh.

---

And the bombs continued falling.

---

Malfoy recuperated in the Infirmary.

Harry couldn't help but think that it was ironic that they were letting the other man recover when they were all going to die anyway. Wouldn't it be more merciful to just let him die now?

Every day he went to visit Malfoy. It wasn't as if Harry actually cared about what happened to him. He simply had nothing else to do. There was a gnawing loneliness in him that could only be faintly alleviated by the presence of another person. And other people were so scarce nowadays.

Harry was positive that there were at least two hundred people in the castle but as he wandered around the hallways, there was nobody in sight. It was like everybody was hiding. Simply wiling away the hours until the inevitable. Hope wasn't something that any of them indulged in. It just wasn't possible to keep the flickering flame of optimism alight after they had seen the bloodbath the Muggles had made of Diagon Alley. It was a perpetual thought in everybody's minds now. We're next.

There was something faintly enjoyable about talking to Malfoy. He hadn't (yet, Harry's internal voice cautioned) succumbed to the apathy that was rampant in the castle. He still had a spark of life in him.

Harry asked him about how he survived in the outside world for the past two years and Malfoy simply replied with a shrug.

They had arguments about the most trivial of matters. About whether pudding or jelly was better. (never mind that they had neither nowadays) About which was the best Quidditch team. (even though they barely had five members from all of England's Quidditch teams put together)

Harry enjoyed these the most.

---

"Malfoy," Harry asked one day, "why are we not fighting the Muggles?"

Malfoy gave him a twisted smile. "Because it's futile. We'd be like lambs to the slaughter. We wouldn't win."

"But..." Harry trailed off with a frustrated, weary sigh. "This," he gestured with his hands, "just sitting here. It doesn't feel right. Besides, you survived for two years out there. They must have some weaknesses. We're not even bothering to find any."

"How do you know?"

Harry was puzzled. "What?"

"You don't know what Albus and Tom are doing." Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe they're secretly fighting the Muggles."

Harry fought to keep the hope from bubbling up within him. Life had taught him that hope was bound to be quashed anyway. "You think so?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Oh."

---

And their conversations simply circled whenever Harry tried to bring up the idea of fighting the Muggles. So he finally stopped. It was useless anyway. Suicidal. And Harry didn't think he was suicidal.

He had taken to sleeping in the Infirmary to keep Malfoy company. Or at least that's what Harry told himself. In truth, Harry just wanted confirmation that he was still alive. That he wasn't simply a ghost wandering around haunting an empty castle.

There were now even fewer people. The few times Harry ventured out of the Infirmary, he managed to walk around the castle three times before he saw a single person. He hadn't seen either Tom or Albus for over two weeks now. The last time he saw Snape was when Snape had told him about Malfoy. And nobody had spoken to him since.

So he stayed with Malfoy.

The Infirmary was tended by House Elves but even they seemed subdued nowadays. There was no chatter by Dobby as he changed the sheets on the empty beds. The other House Elves didn't even bother to stay out of sight anymore. They simply moved around noiselessly in plain view with dull blank expressions on their face.

We're disappearing, Harry thought faintly. Fading.

And Harry found himself not caring.

---

The bombs fell thicker than ever. Harry sat up with Draco one night and counted the number of bright flashes they could see from the windows of the Infirmary.

One

Two

Three

...

Twenty-six

They had fallen asleep after that.

Mornings still came bright and sunny and that particular morning, Harry found himself entangled in Malfoy's arms. In any other circumstance, any other time, Harry would have been horrified, but as it was, he simply curled up into a ball and let Malfoy's arms tighten around him.

It felt comfortable.

Safe.

And it kept the aching feelings of loneliness at bay.

"Do you know," Malfoy said quietly when he woke up, his arms still around Harry. "Do you know that this would have been our ten year reunion at Hogwarts?" If... There was a silent if.

Harry didn't, but he nodded anyway. "I wish," he murmured drowsily. "Don't you just wish that none of this had happened?"

Malfoy shrugged and Harry could feel the ripple go through his body. "But it has happened," he said softly.

Then he leant down and pressed a kiss to Harry's lips.

... and it felt like a breath of fresh air in a musty room. Harry felt a delicious tingle go through him as he returned the kiss.

Life.

We're still alive.

Malfoy's eyes were bright when he finally let go. He opened his mouth but Harry beat him to it. "Don't say that was a mistake," he whispered. "Please, please, Draco. Don't say that."

Harry watched as Draco studied him for a minute before the other man nodded tightly.

"Thank you." And Harry pulled him down for another of those breathless kisses that reaffirmed that he was still alive, still breathing and managed to reduce the gnawing loneliness to only a twinge.

---

After that morning, they still talked, but not as much as before. Sometimes talking was just too painful so they just kissed and touched and reaffirmed to themselves and each other that they were still alive.

---

And still, the bombs kept falling.

And falling.

---

Harry could now feel the wards of the castle weaken with each bright flash of light. They were barely holding the castle together. Just a few more now, he thought as he slowly rocked into Draco, holding the other man tightly. Just a few more until it is all over.

He pressed a kiss to Draco's pale white shoulder that hadn't seen the sun for over a year and the other man shuddered in his arms. Harry watched as whiteness spurted on the sheets. White on white.

Another flash from outside and the castle rocked on its foundations.

"Harry, what was that?" Draco murmured sleepily.

"Nothing," Harry answered softly. "Nothing, go to sleep."

And then there was a bright, bright flash...

... and the wards shuddered for a second

... then collapsed, shattering into a million different pieces

Draco opened up on eye and Harry pressed a gentle finger down on it. "Love, go back to sleep. It's all over."

And with the next flash of light and heat, it was.