The Life In Your Years

Harry didn't look up when the kitchen door opened quietly; he kept staring into his tea as if the cup held the answers to every question in the universe.

Draco didn't speak at first, just sat down next to Harry at the kitchen table. He was only in his pyjama bottoms; unlike Harry, who was wrapped in his thick bathrobe, he didn't seem affected by the cool night air that drifted through the open window.

"Go put on a robe, you'll catch a cold." Harry's voice sounded as tired as he felt.

Draco ignored the remark. "I thought we could talk."

Harry shook his head. "I'd rather not."

"Harry, I want to talk about this."

"And I don't, all right?" Harry finally allowed himself to meet Draco's eyes, if only for a moment. "It's nothing. Go back to bed."

"The hell I will." Draco didn't sound annoyed, which was rare. He usually didn't take well to being dismissed. "It's not nothing. It's bothering you, and in all honesty, the frequency of these things happening lately is starting to worry me."

Harry shrugged, his eyes fixed on his cup once again. "I said it's nothing. Perhaps there has been too much stress lately..."

"You haven't been at the Ministry for weeks, and they slowly seem to be wrapping their minds about the meaning of the term 'retirement' and stop flooding you with owls, too. Not that I'm complaining, but I don't see what you would be so stressed about."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Then I suppose I'm just getting old."

"Harry, listen - "

Harry raised his head. "Drop it, Draco. Fine, I know I'm getting old. It's rather hard to miss at times like tonight. Not that you would know anything about it."

For a moment, it was quiet. Then Draco replied calmly, "We're the same age, Harry."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" It took longer these days for Harry to lose his temper, but now he was close to shouting. "Who do you think you're fooling? Look at me, and then look at you! I'm seventy-six, and I may be able to pass for sixty in the Muggle world, but you seem at least fifteen years younger than me at this point! Do you really think I can't see the difference? Did you really believe I wouldn't notice you seeing it?"

He felt his anger ebb away as he continued, leaving nothing but bitterness behind. "Turns out you were right about pure-blood supremacy, after all. I guess it's time we both faced reality, Draco."

Draco frowned. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I'm obviously unable to live up to your expectations any longer. I wish I could promise you that I'll overcome this little problem, but it's probably going to get worse as time passes."

"Harry - "

"Of course, I understand that I can't expect you to stick to our agreement under these circumstances. "

Draco had been about to say something, but this seemed to cut him off. He shook his head, an expression of disbelief on his face. "What was that?"

Harry went back to staring into his cup. "That's what it's all about, isn't it? About you wanting someone in your bed who does get it up on a regular basis. Fine, go and find someone, I promise I'll look the other way. I guess I owe you that much; it's not your fault that your kind handles aging better than mine."

He was answered by the sound of a chair scraping over the rough tiles of the kitchen floor. Surprised, Harry looked up to see Draco towering over him, his eyes flashing with anger and... hurt?

"Fuck you, Potter!" The use of his last name, spat out as if it were the foulest of insults, was like a slap across Harry's face; it had been decades since any of their fights had got so bad that they'd fallen back to this. Before he had a chance to reply, Draco had turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of the kitchen.

***

"Harry." Hermione's voice was stern. "Are you ever going to tell me what's wrong, or did you just come over to give me an opportunity to watch you sulk?"

Harry sighed. "That obvious, am I?"

She smiled, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. Harry had never noticed before how wrinkled the skin around these eyes had become. "During the last thirty years, you've never been here without him unless you were fighting. What did you do this time?"

Harry was about to give her a flippant answer, but something held him back. Instead, he just shrugged.

It was Hermione's turn to sigh now. "You two are utterly impossible. First he wouldn't tell me, and now you won't, either. How am I supposed to meddle properly if no-one tells me what's going on?"

Harry was about to point out that being asked for relationship advice could hardly be called meddling, but he realized belatedly what she'd said before that. "You spoke with Draco?"

"He was here this morning. Harry, I don't think I have seen him this upset ever since Severus died. What's wrong?"

"He told you nothing?" Harry wasn't sure what to think; Draco had been gone from their house when he'd woken up on the couch in the morning, and he hadn't been back yet when Harry had Apparated over to Hermione's flat in the afternoon.

"Not me. He asked if he could talk to Severus's portrait for a while, though. He's never done that before, you know."

Harry shook his head, bewildered. "He never mentions him, either. I assumed he was still grieving for him - "

Hermione looked down at her hands which she'd folded on the tabletop. Like her face, they seemed a lot more wrinkled than Harry remembered, veins shining blue through the papery skin.

" - and he is," she finished his sentence quietly. "He never mentions him to me, either, although he doesn't seem to mind when I do it. That's why I was so surprised when he asked today if he... Harry, won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Harry rolled his aching shoulders; his back was sore from an uncomfortable night he'd spent on the couch in the living room because Draco had locked himself into their bedroom. "I'm getting old and he isn't, that's basically it."

"Oh." Hermione seemed only mildly surprised. "Are you sure?"

"I am." Harry gave her a suspicious look. "You've been expecting this, haven't you?"

She didn't answer immediately. It seemed to Harry that she was desperately trying to find the right words, and he suddenly felt very, very tired. "So you've noticed it too."

"That you're aging quicker than he is?" Hermione's voice was gentle. "Of course I have; just like you notice that I'm aging quicker than you are. Look at me, Harry."

Almost reluctantly, Harry did, taking in her appearance with a sinking feeling. Hermione had never been beautiful, but the years had been kind to her; she'd even joked once that old age suited her better than youth ever had. Her short white hair had lost some of its former frizziness and curled around her narrow face that cracked into a pattern of tiny wrinkles whenever she smiled; she was thinner than she used to be, and although she moved with care and often used a walking stick these days, she did so with a dignified grace she hadn't possessed as a young woman.

Yes, she had aged well - but there was no denying that she was seventy-seven and looked it.

"The older I get, the more thankful I am for the fact that I'm Muggle-born," she said quietly, "it's a kind of blessing to know what to expect. I guess it's rather ironic that this is something my kind only shares with the purest of pure-blood families."

"Yes, but they got twice the lifetime to expect, and they seem to handle aging a lot better, too," Harry couldn't help pointing out; it was a subject he'd given a lot of thought lately.

Hermione looked down at her hands again. "Longevity isn't always a blessing, Harry. Not when it means living to see everyone you care for die."

Harry flinched, feeling horribly tactless all of a sudden. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about - I mean, I didn't mean to remind you..."

She shook her head. "It's fine, Harry, really. Somehow it's almost easier now that he is dead than it was during the last few years."

He must have looked stunned, because she gave him a sad little smile. "Everyone dies eventually, Harry. It's something that you can accept and learn to live with. But watching the man you love slowly waste away, seeing what it does to him to lose control first over his body, then over his mind - "

Harry's eyes widened. "I never knew it was so bad. You never said anything, Hermione. You didn't even want me to come visit you any longer while - "

"I couldn't." Hermione's voice was trembling, although her eyes were dry. "Of all the people in the world, you were the last he wanted to know about his condition. I saw him clinging to the last shreds of his dignity as long as he was able to, and I just couldn't do this to him, even if he'd never have found out. I'm sorry, but - "

Harry, still shocked about the revelation, slowly shook his head. "Don't apologize, this isn't about me. I should have been there for you then, but I just didn't know."

"That was the point, you see. He didn't want anyone to know; the only one he would still allow to see him at all towards the end was Draco."

Harry was suddenly cold. "Draco knew?"

Hermione gently placed her hand over Harry's for a moment. "Draco was there, Harry - the whole time. You know how often he came to see Severus during the last months, and frankly, I have no idea what I would have done without him. It must have been horrible for him, too; he comes from a family where he never had to deal with this - "

Harry had been listening with a growing feeling of dread. "Hermione, what did Severus die from?"

She hesitated, reaching for him again. "Harry..."

Harry pulled his hand away. "Tell me."

"Old age, Harry." Hermione's eyes were unreadable. "Severus basically died from old age. It's just that it's... worse for half-bloods sometimes."

Harry inhaled sharply. "How so?"

He couldn't remember ever seeing Hermione fumbling for words like she seemed to do now. "What you need to understand is that it's different for each person with a mixed heritage, Harry; it doesn't necessarily happen to everyone. But being a half-blood means that anything can happen as you grow older; some age like Muggle-borns and don't live much longer than we do, others live almost as long as pure-bloods and age just as slowly; most people with a mixed parentage are somewhere in between. It's just that sometimes... it's like the Muggle part of a person can't keep up with the wizarding part any longer at some point, and when this happens, the body starts... failing, for want of a better word. It's still like aging, but everything's happening a lot quicker; it affects physical, intellectual, and magical abilities, everything."

She was once more reaching for his hand, and this time he let her; he felt too dumbfounded to move. "I won't sugar-coat this, Harry; it was utterly horrible. During the last two years of his life, Severus' only wish was to die while he still had a bit of himself left, before it was all ripped away from him, and during the last months, all I was hoping and praying for was that he could finally die and have his peace. Seeing him suffer like this was - I just didn't know what to do anymore. You knew him, Harry, he never was comfortable with showing any weakness, but towards the end, he needed help with everything, and there were days when he didn't even recognize me and wouldn't let me near him..."

Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, but she kept talking, as if she'd been dying to tell him about this for a long time. "He had no control over his magic anymore, and I needed to take his wand away, but I just couldn't do it because I knew he'd never forgive me. Draco finally did it, and Severus didn't recognize him either and hexed him two times before Draco managed to take the wand from him - and the following day he remembered and asked me never to give it back to him because he was afraid he might really hurt me or Draco the next time. I'll never forget the look on his face when he said that, never."

She took a deep breath and grasped Harry's hand more tightly. "I grew up among Muggles, Harry, so at least I'd seen before what age can do to people. Draco has never been exposed to it, and I'm not sure what it did to him to see someone he's always looked up to die like this."

"Oh my God." Harry felt numb; this was worse than everything he'd feared. "Until now, I always thought it was just about attractiveness..."

Hermione frowned slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"He's watching me." It was Harry's turn to stare down at his hands now. "He thinks I don't notice, but I do. He gets this look on his face when I'm a little slower to move than he is, when I'm too tired to talk after a day at the Ministry, or when things are not working out between the sheets like they used to - "

Harry caught himself a second too late, wishing he could take that last statement back. "Uh, sorry..."

Hermione smiled. "I'm a very mature woman, Harry, don't worry. Do you think all these things really bother Draco?"

"Hermione, I've known him for sixty-five years; I can tell when something bothers him. Like I said, I thought it was all about looks and fitness, but after what you've told me - " Harry swallowed, not sure how to put the gnawing fear into words. "I'm afraid that after seeing what happened to Severus, he's asking himself if he's really willing to go through all this with me."

"Harry, what happened to Severus doesn't necessarily have to happen to you, and Draco knows this."

"Yes," Harry replied very quietly, "but he also knows that it might, and he has seen what it would be like."

Hermione had no answer to that.

***

It was late when Harry came home, and it took him another hour until he'd finally worked up the nerve to knock on the door of Draco's study.

There was no sound from within, but when Harry opened the door, Draco was sitting at his desk and didn't look up from the book he was reading. Harry watched him for a while; it didn't escape his notice that Draco's eyes weren't moving, but seemed to be glued to the same spot on the page.

Usually Draco was the first to cave in situations like this; while he was very good at sulking, he usually wasn't able to do it silently for long. Tonight, however, Harry was sure that Draco would refuse to make the first move. This wasn't one of the rows they used to have every other week when they were younger, easily started and just as quickly ended by an hour of enthusiastic make-up sex. Neither was it just another bickering that had got out of hand, as it still happened rather frequently. Draco wasn't just sulking tonight, he was genuinely upset; that much was obvious to someone who knew him as well as Harry.

"I'm really sorry, Draco." Harry inwardly cringed at the stilted sound of the words; it seemed like a rather pathetic olive branch, and he fully expected Draco to tell him so when he finally turned away from his book to face Harry.

Instead, Draco looked at him with wide, bright eyes and said quietly, "I love you."

Harry's breath caught in his throat; he could only stare back, at a loss for words. It was utterly unlike Draco to make such a declaration, let alone so totally out of the blue. He was quick to throw tantrums and cause a fuss over pretty much everything, but he'd never been comfortable with expressing feelings - especially not when it came to anything concerning their relationship.

In almost sixty years, there had only been two times when Harry had heard him say those words, and Draco hadn't even been aware that he'd heard him on the first occasion. It had been after the final battle; Harry had been at St. Mungo's, tethering between life and death for days, and when he'd finally come to, Draco had been there, holding his hand and whispering "Don't you dare leave me - I love you" into his ear. Harry had only realized a while later that Draco had believed him to be still unconscious. He never mentioned it to him; the fact that he had heard him was all that mattered.

The only time Draco had ever told Harry to his face had been almost a decade later, when the memories of the war had finally begun to fade and they had been about to start living again. They'd bought their house a few months before and were beginning to get comfortable there - which was when the rows started. After years of chaos and turmoil, they both seemed unable to get used to the normalcy of this new life, and the slightest occasion led to a shouting match of epic proportions. One fight that Harry still remembered clearly had got particularly ugly, and in the end, they'd both yelled things at each other that they knew the other one would never be able to forgive. Harry, after telling Draco to go to hell to keep his Dad company, had been mentally packing his bags already - when all the anger had hatred had suddenly seemed to drain out of Draco's face, and he had looked at Harry and had said "I love you" in a strangely flat voice.

That had ended their fight, and things had never got so out of hand after that, as if they'd both realized in the nick of time how close they'd been to damaging their relationship beyond repair. It had taken Harry years until he'd had the nerve to ask Draco why he'd said it. Draco's answer had simply been, "Because I couldn't lose you."

It was all Harry could think about as he stared at Draco now. He stared until Draco whispered almost hesitatingly, "Harry?"

Thirty years ago, Harry probably would have slammed him against the nearest wall and kissed him breathless now. However, those days were in the past; instead, he quickly walked over and caught Draco in a fierce hug. It wasn't something that they usually did, as Draco had never been one for excessive cuddling, but now he leaned into the embrace after just a moment of hesitation. His arms came up to wrap around Harry's neck, and some of the tension in his posture seemed to ease as Harry held him close and repeated "I'm sorry" over and over.

It took a while until Harry let go. He stepped back and extended a hand to Draco, pointing into the direction of their bedroom with the other. "Can we talk now?"

***

It was strange, Harry mused, how their bed was the place they always ended up in when there were serious matters to discuss. Many couples he knew tried to turn their bedroom into a safe haven from the problems outside, but it had never worked that way for the two of them. Harry sometimes suspected that Draco, never comfortable with opening up, found it easier when he didn't have to face Harry at the time and could create a bit of distance by burrowing under the covers.

So they had ended up in bed tonight, with Draco spooned against Harry's pyjama-clad back and Harry holding onto Draco's arm that was wrapped around his waist. This was rare, too; Draco hardly ever tolerated any kind of touch on these occasions.

Harry took a deep breath; he'd no idea what would come out of this, but he needed to know what was going on. "Why did you never tell me about Severus?"

It was obvious by the slight pause which preceded Draco's answer that he hadn't expected the question. "What would there have been to tell? You knew he was sick for almost two years."

"Don't give me that. Why did you never say how bad it was? I had no idea..."

"...and that was exactly how he wanted it." Draco's voice was calm. "It was hard enough for him. Knowing that people knew what was happening would have made it even worse, and I wouldn't have done that to him."

"You needn't have told him."

"I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone, especially not you. Are you saying I should have broken my word, Mr Gryffindor?"

This was getting them nowhere, so Harry decided to change tactics. "How bad was it really?"

There was another pause. "It was horrible," Draco said then; there was a strange edge to his voice. "I never imagined that something like that was even possible. Body, mind, magic, all... crumbling, falling apart while he was still alive and conscious enough to notice what was going on. I thought I'd seen the worst that could happen to people during the war, but I realized that I had been wrong. He'd always treasured his pride above everything else, and to be reduced to... this, to the utter humiliation of being totally helpless, of losing every bit of control - I'm sure he would have preferred death to that. I know I would have."

"This isn't something that's likely to happen to you, you know." Harry tried very hard to sound nothing but reassuring.

"I know." Draco's grip around Harry's waist tightened, and he pressed his face into the back of Harry's neck.

Harry sighed softly; there was nothing for it now. "It might very well happen to me one day, though."

Draco didn't answer, but Harry felt him go rigid against his back. He sighed again. "Is that it, Draco? Is that why you're watching me when you think I don't notice? Why you get this look on your face whenever it becomes obvious that I can't keep up with you any longer?"

It was quiet for a long time after that. Finally, all that Draco answered was a soft "Yes."

Harry clenched his teeth. He'd fully expected this; why did it still hurt so much to hear Draco admit it?

"It's almost strange," Draco continued after a while, "I witnessed everything Severus went through, but I never saw the connection. It wasn't until his funeral that it hit me."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean? I don't remember anything particular happening at his funeral." It had been a quiet, solemn affair; apart from Hermione, Harry had been the only non-Slytherin in the crowd of mourners, and he couldn't recall many occasions in his life when he had felt more out of place.

"It was something Blaise said when I was talking to him after the ceremony, something along the lines of 'Well, he had a long and successful life'. When I pointed out that Severus had died at age 98 which hardly counts as a long life for a wizard, Blaise shrugged and said, 'It's not bad for a half-blood'."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, but Draco spared him the decision. "I had never thought about it before - of course, I knew that the average life expectancy is lower for those who are part Muggle, but it had all been theoretical up to then. It was only then that I started realizing what it could mean for us. And that was when I began to notice certain things I'd overlooked because I had never paid attention to them before..."

"Like my grey hair or my wrinkles?" Harry realized how bitter the question sounded, but he couldn't help it.

Draco drew in a sharp breath. "Harry, you utter moron, don't tell me you think this is about looks?"

Harry shrugged. "I did for a while," he replied matter-of-factly, "and then, lately, I thought it was more about sex. I realize I shouldn't have presumed, but you never told me about Severus. If I had known what you had seen there, I might have understood you better."

"What exactly do you think you understand?" Draco sounded as if he were suddenly getting angry again.

"Draco, I've said it before, I can't blame you for not wanting to go through all this with me. I am obviously aging faster than you are, and even if it never gets as bad as it did with Severus, I suppose you don't have very much to look forward to in our relationship any more." Harry tried to sound as calm as possible, steadfastly refusing to ponder what it would mean in the end if Draco really thought along those lines.

"Harry." Draco seemed very close to saying 'Potter' again. "I'll chalk this up as stupid Gryffindor posturing, because I'd have to get my wand and hex you into next week at this point if I didn't. It's been almost sixty years, and you still think I'm in only for myself?"

Harry froze. "But I didn't mean to - I mean, I never..."

"Oh yes, you did. You think you understand me? Have you ever considered what it does to me to watch you going on as if nothing had changed, as if you were still thirty and nothing could ever harm you? I had to practically force you to retire when it became clear that you were breaking down under the workload. You ignore every signal your body sends you, you think that it will all go away somehow if you just clench your teeth like a good little hero. You haven't seen a healer since the war ended! You whine about aging, but I don't see you starting to take care of yourself, and when I say something, you accuse me of wanting to get rid of you! What do you expect me to do - sit by and twiddle my thumbs until the day I walk behind your coffin as I walked behind Severus's?"

Draco had let go of Harry's waist during this outbreak; now he turned his back on him and pulled the blanket over his shoulders, obviously regretting already what he'd just said. Harry, utterly astounded, slowly turned around too and reached out to touch Draco's shoulder. Draco jerked away, but Harry wouldn't be deterred.

"Draco, are you scared?"

It took Draco a long time to answer; when he did, his voice sounded tired. "Of course I am."

This time, he didn't move away when Harry reached for him. Harry snuggled against Draco's back, not sure what to think. During the sixty-five years that Harry had known him, Draco had never admitted to being scared, not even when they were looking at each other's greenish faces and shaking hands on the brink of a battle. Something had changed, and Harry had no clue how it had happened. Unless...

"Draco, are you telling me this is all about - losing me?"

"What did you think?" Draco sounded as if he was trying to get angry again and failing. "I've told you once that I can't lose you, Harry. You've been the foundation I've built my life on ever since we started fighting on the same side during the war. I never let myself think about the future then, because I never expected either of us to come out of it alive. But afterwards, when it was obvious that against all odds, we had both survived and were actually going to have a future together - it seemed that we'd suddenly been given eternity, and the only thing I was afraid of was that I would mess it all up and make you walk away from me one day. It never occurred to me that there will likely come a time when I have to spend the rest of my life without you, but now it's all I can think about."

Harry could hardly believe that he hadn't just imagined the things Draco had said. He realized he should probably feel touched or something along those lines, but all he actually felt at the moment was exasperation. "It took you sixty bloody years to tell me that? Most of the time, you've acted as if you were barely able to tolerate my company! How was I to know what was really going on behind this perfect facade you're so careful to maintain? It almost killed me to think that you were getting sick of me!"

It was quiet for a while before Draco cleared his throat and replied almost sheepishly, "I'm sorry."

"You'd better be." Still, Harry's anger was ebbing away; he turned to lie on his back and crossed his arms behind his head. "So, where do we go from here?"

"St Mungo's would be a start." Draco turned around too, stretching out on his side so he could watch Harry who was staring at the ceiling with a frown.

"St Mungo's? What are we supposed to do there?"

"You are going to see a healer and not only have them look into the little problem you've been having recently, but also give you a complete check-up to make sure nothing else is wrong with you. And you will listen to what they tell you to do or not to do, especially if Staying up with Ministry owls into the wee hours is high on the Not To Do list!"

Harry's frown deepened. "Right, because I can't wait to discuss my... performance problems with a healer who is half my age and has grown up with stories about my alleged war heroics!"

"For pity's sake, grow up and realize that the whole world doesn't revolve around you! I'm sure you'll be able to find a healer who's able to behave like a professional even around the Great and Famous Harry Potter."

Harry sighed again. "Very well," he relented, "I'll go if it makes you feel better. But you're coming with me."

"Of course I am. I wouldn't miss seeing you fidget in the waiting room!"

"Oh no, I meant you're going to get a check-up too. You know, I don't even remember the last time you saw a healer!"

"This isn't about me, Harry."

"Oh, and why not? You may be the most inbred pure-blood in Britain, but the last time I checked, you were flesh and blood like us poor part-Muggles and no less mortal, either! Or must I remind you that your grandfather died from a ridiculous children's disease when he was about your age?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "All right, I'll do it if that's what it takes to make you take care of yourself. Happy now?"

Harry still wasn't looking at Draco when he said matter-of-factly, "Even the best healers in the world can't change the fact that I probably have less time left than you, Draco."

"I know." Draco's whisper was almost to soft to hear it.

When Harry turned to face Draco, his expression was serious. "Do you think you can do it, Draco? Can you deal with this even now you know what I might put you through one day?"

It took Draco a long time to answer; Harry could hear the thumping of his own heartbeat growing louder in the silence.

"I'll have to, won't I?" Draco said finally. "It's not as if I've got much choice in the matter, Harry - because you know I can't let you go."

"One of us will have to, one day, and chances are it will be you," Harry replied gently. "Draco, I don't want to spend the rest of our time together like I've got a death warrant hanging over my head. I don't know how much time I still have, and I want to make sure I make the most out of it - but I can't do this if you keep tiptoeing around me as if I were to drop dead any moment. I repeat, do you think you can deal with this? Because you need to tell me if you don't."

For a moment, Draco just looked at him, his expression unreadable. The soft glow of his wand on the bedside table cast shadows over his face that made him, ironically, look much older than he was - until he extended an arm to Harry and simply said, "Come here."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He came into Draco's arms and nestled his head in the crook of his shoulder with a feeling of profound relief. It wasn't really an answer Draco had given him, but then, there probably was no way to answer the question Harry had asked.

They obviously would have to live with it.

Harry leaned into the warmth of Draco's body, inhaled the familiar scent and swore silently that he'd start treasuring moments like this a lot more from now on. "Draco?"

"Hm?" Draco had closed his eyes and seemed to be drifting off to sleep.

"You'd better not wait another forty years before you tell me again that you love me."

Harry rather felt than heard the low chuckle deep in Draco's throat. "Well, you know it anyway, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry answered softly, "I know."

FIN