Refilled

December 31, 1996, 10:30 p.m.

In an hour and a half, 1997 would begin, a new year, a new start. But Harry just couldn't see it. Sirius was dead, he couldn't trust his best friends and he found himself just wanting the world to go away...or wanting to take himself out of it.

Sure, suicide was overdone and it would be really selfish, considering he was the only one that could kill Voldemort as things stood. But, as things stood, he didn't really give a damn about Voldemort or Ron and Hermione or anything. Not a damn thing.

And he didn't give a damn about not giving a damn...for once, he felt good. Really good, all because he didn't give a damn. Well, maybe that was the solution. He'd simply not give a damn about anything for the rest of his life, kill Voldemort eventually, not give a damn and then keep on going the way he was.

It was misguided, simple, and he knew it wouldn't last beyond three am. Even so, he still felt good, and it was nice to live in the moment for a little bit.

Now, the new year of not giving a flying fuck was but an hour away, and as Harry watched the happy Gryffindors, he knew he couldnt watch them hug, kiss and be all happy. The sense of not belonging overwhelmed every fiber of his being like a stuffy, suffocating haze that choked him. He had to get out before he died.

Without saying a word to anyone, he exited the common room, making his way outside as quickly as possible.

As soon as Harry hit the open air, he took off running, running until he could go no more. His lungs felt as if they would burst, and his heart threatened to jump out of his chest any moment now. His worn out legs reminded him of how full of life he was...and for once, it felt great to be alive, even if it hurt like a bitch.

He heard footsteps approaching and wanted to get up and run away, but he barely had the energy to turn his head to see who it was.

"Pity you aren't dead, Potter," Draco Malfoy drawled, dropping down on the grass next to him.

Something clicked in Harry's mind. It wasn't that he couldn't talk...it was that he didn't feel that anyone would understand. And that all they'd want to talk about were his problems...but now, with his worst enemy glaring at him like he wanted him dead, Harry felt as if he had a million things to saw.

"There's no protest on my part to that," Harry answered. His voice was rusty, from six months of hardly ever being used.

"So you talk now, Potter?"

Draco wondered why Harry fucking Potter would speak his first words to him, someone he'd hated for years and someone who would have absolutely no reason to listen. Except, now...Draco had to admit he was damned curious. Maybe Potter had ulterior motives and...Draco laughed at himself. Harry Potter? Ulterior motives? It was more likely that Dumbledore was carrying on a torrid affair with his mother.

Wondering why Draco Malfoy looked as if he was contemplating something disgusting yet amusing at the same time, he noted that the Gryffindors weren't the only ones who had noticed his self imposed silence, that, now, having spoke again, he didn't completely understand why he'd kept up so long.

"You're the first person I've said anything to since...Sirius was killed," Harry answered, surprised at how voicing the fact made it a bit less painful.

"Sirius Black?" Malfoy asked sharply, inhaling deeply.

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "He was my Godfather..." Why in the hell was he telling Malfoy all of these things? "Bellatrix Black...Lestrange, rather, she killed him." His voice hardened and he felt his nails break through his skin where he clenched his fists in new fury. "And I'm going to kill her."

"Bellatrix? She's Narcissa's sister." The Slytherin's voice held a slight air of contempt.

Harry found it strange he didn't say "my aunt" or "my mother's sister". "Your aunt, you mean?"

He brushed it off. "That would imply familiarity of some sort. The Malfoys aren't that sort of family, if you wish to call it that."

"Oh...I...sorry, I guess. That must suck or something."

Draco, as Harry was really starting to think of him, shrugged and answered "It would if I gave a damn."

"So, My dear aunt killed your godfather. Never really knew either of them, but sorry for your loss if it helps any. I think its rather sickening, the way those Death Eater scum find it necessary to kill everyone that means something to someone else." His voice had a far away tone, as if he truly understood where Harry was coming from.

A silence passed. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't completely comfortable either. Harry cleared his throat. "So...why are you here? Why aren't you, you know, at some wild party with a whole bunch of illegal substances floating around your head while surrounded by members of your clique?"

The glare he received in response cut through the arrogant nonchalance that Harry had been trying to fake, cut right down to his soul, asked the question he was sure Draco would soon voice.

"Is that all you think of me? Are you that far stuck in the past? Think about it, have I done anything to you this entire year? No, and I could've."

Why had he asked so stupid a question? Why did he always let those stupid assumptions come to sound before he thought about what the hell they would do once said? He had absolutely nothing to say. Sorry just didn't seem good enough.

"Exactly, Harry. Nothing. I've done nothing. I suppose it's impossible for you to think that things and people can change."

Something inside him snapped. "You want to talk about change, Malfoy? Everything in my life has fucking changed in the last year. My godfather is dead, I'm murderous, suicidal, and I cant stand to be around the people who I used think I'd die for. And for fuck's sake, I'm sitting here, starting the New Year by talking to you of all people. And the worst part is, you're the only person who understands me."

"So, you changed. You're starting to become friends with a person you used to hate. Your godfather is dead. He died. No, he was murdered, and killing Lestrange wouldn't make you feel any better, and even though I didn't know the guy, he knew you, so I'm quite sure murder and suicide wouldn't exactly be on the top of the list of things he wants you to do. I don't really know what else you want me to say."

Harry fell silent. True, he knew those things, but he'd always known them. Now...everything seemed to make sense, all because someone was just saying what needed to be said without tiptoeing around how they thought he felt. It made him feel so...so...light...like all of these things were starting to remove their hold on him. He snickered slightly as he remembered how he had sworn not to give a damn about anything just a few hours before.

"And what, may I ask, is so damn funny?" Draco had lain down on his back and was now staring up into the sky.

"I made a strict agreement with myself about...an hour ago, and now I've completely gone against it."

"What was it about?" Draco asked, staring straight up into Harry's emerald eyes.

"I swore never to give a damn about anything again. Dumb, isn't it?"

Draco nodded in agreement, lacing his hands behind his head for support. "Very. So, if I may ask, what made you give a damn again?"

Harry wasn't exactly sure...but it had something to do with Draco Malfoy and his simple way of understanding and telling it like it was. "You, I guess."

"Oh, I do feel honored. Might I approach your greatness, to ask the humble and ever undeserved honor of being allowed to lick the soles of your boots?"

Harry could do nothing but laugh, and when Draco could no longer hang onto his ridiculous façade, he too began to laugh.

They fell back onto the grass, ignoring the itching sensations they felt when the grass tickled their cheeks.

"You know, I don't know if I can hate you tomorrow," Harry said, half-serious, half-joking.

Draco turned his head, starting when he realized how full Harry's lips were, and how close they were to his own. "Then don't."

He couldn't, he wouldn't. Any person who could make him feel so honest and at home couldn't be anything but a friend.

"Your eyes are brilliantly green," Draco blurted, feeling slightly thankful he had at least blurted out that slightly harmless musing instead of some of his others.

"Yeah? Well yours are..." he trailed off, trying to find the right word. "...piercing. No one has ever gotten so much out of me in so short of a time. And I don't even trust you."

"You should," Draco said softly. With that, he turned his eyes to the sky, struggling not to smirk as Harry licked his lips and attempted to look at somewhere other than Draco's face.

Draco smiled the smile that he knew made people want to jump him.

"Happy New Year...Harry," Draco said softly.

Harry smiled at him, and they turned their eyes back to the stars.