Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Melody of Oblivion ❯ Beginning of Love ( Chapter 8 )

Melody of Oblivion

By Kitsune Yarisha

 

A/N: It's been four years since the defeat of the Dark Lord, and the man-who-lived has just woken from a long coma. He can remember everything aside from some minor people. He knows he's the one who defeated Voldemort but the last thing he can remember from the night of his victory puzzles him. A pale-skinned, blonde haired teenage male running towards him. Who is he? H/D

 

 

Chapter Seven, Part One: Beginning

 

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.” - Gilda Radner

 

--

 

It was destiny, wasn't it? That was the only thing that could explain how all of this happened.

 

You can't always tell a story completely and clearly. There have to be holes that should be filled.

 

So, then that was it. Destiny had predetermined it all. It was the only way that one could make it through all this after just awakening. Finally, through the loneliness, forgotten memories, absolute hatred, unrelenting persistence, and pure courage, we had at last reached the final chapters.

 

Then, finally, the curtain could raise and the actors could take the stage for once last beginning, at the very least.

 

--

It was a good thing they had been in a hospital when Harry had collapsed.

 

Hermione and Weasley both seemed anxious to talk to the brunette and shake some answers out of him. It wasn't any odder than the fact that the nurses had had to hold Hermione down from following the doctors who took Harry out.

 

She wasn't the only one, however. Shouts and curses woke the hospital as Weasley held back a livid and concerned Draco. He had to be talked down and set onto a chair where some witch soothed him with some soft words and charms.

 

It wasn't until very late that night that Harry woke. The first allowed to see him was Hermione; this was only because the hospital still thought they were related.

 

Draco paced, worried beyond all reason once more.

 

Weasley watched him from his own seat, rocking Lucian in his arms. The baby was sound asleep and well fed, so he wouldn't wake or cry for at least a few more hours. “You're going to end up wearing a hole into the floor, Malfoy.”

 

“I can't help it. I just need Hermione to tell me he is okay and then tell why he blacked out like that in the middle of the room.”

 

“Look. Harry just came out of a four-year coma and I'm sure that a few complications can occur in the first few months of his rehabilitation. Just because we didn't see it, doesn't mean he hasn't had episodes like this before on his own time.”

 

“Of course. You're right. It's just…all this stress and frustration leaves me with a short emotional fuse and seeing him just go like that was the last proverbial straw.”

 

Weasley stood and grabbed his bottled water from the side table and threw it at the blonde man. “Look, take a seat and drink some water. It'll make you feel loads better, mate.”

 

Resigning himself, Draco sighed and followed orders without question. He caught the bottle, thankfully, and with no regard for germs at all, drank heavily from the Welsh Mountain Spring water.

 

There was a companionable silence that passed in the air between them.

 

“Why is it that we never became friends, Weasley?” Draco asked quietly, staring at the swishing water within its plastic confines.

 

Weasley snorted. “For me, I never got over the little Master Malfoy that paraded around our school with his snobby little head raised high and his mouth scowling at all those unlike him and spat at my family name. Don't even try to say you're sorry for that. It wasn't your fault, was it? You were born and bred to believe and act and be more superior to all those around you. Your father is probably rolling in his grave right now.”

 

“I guess in the end, I always defied him even if it was only over the littlest things. It was funny how enraged he got when he found out about Harry. I had let it slip at dinner and mother only nodded and said how sensible of a match it was. Mother and I had not given a thought to Voldemort even though I was being trained to become a death eater,” Draco said, shrugging a graceful shoulder and shifting in the seat so he could tap a finger on his knee.

 

“How was it that you came by almost killing Dumbledore in sixth year?”

 

“There was an order issued at the last moment. Anyone who came across Harry Potter was to bring him in, if Headmaster Dumbledore was found he was to be executed on spot. Any interfering parties were to be destroyed without question.”

 

“But you couldn't do it, could you?”

 

“I had always hated Dumbledore, and I probably still do, but at that moment it didn't seem like it was the right time for him to die and furthermore I was unconsciously being converted every moment to the light side because of Harry. The light side in me kept me from killing a lot of innocent people in the war.”

 

“Can't imagine Voldemort was too enthusiastic about that!”

 

“No,” Draco grinned, “he wasn't too happy at all. After Snape killed Dumbledore, I think I realized what I was trying to be was wrong. Snape pretty much followed my decision because of his small lump of a heart still had some light in it.”

 

Weasley smiled when Lucian coughed and squirmed to get comfortable in his arms. “I may not have forgiven you for our school days but I sure as hell respect you for never taking that shot. Harry said he was so shocked when you came out on the roof with your wand pointed at Dumbledore.”

 

Draco nodded. He added, “Ideas, perspectives, and beliefs all changed during the war.”

 

“So did people,” Weasley said in agreement, “So did you…” The baby snored in his arms and cuddled closer to him.

 

Both men said nothing more as they waited. One stared out the window of the third floor waiting room, ignoring the white walls and motivational posters in favor of watching the stars move across the sky behind the clear pane of glass. The other watched the muted television as he cradled his newborn child.

 

--

 

“You two can enter Mr. Potter's room now,” the nurse said simply. She looked tired and drab in her white outfit. She wasn't a witch and she was likely as not working a double shift.

 

Draco took her hand, and with all the poise and charm of the Malfoy, kissed it and smiled at her. “Thank you for your time, madam.”

 

She blushed and batted his hand away as she led them down the hall. “Mr. Potter's sister is in her own room now, Mr. Malfoy. I thought Mr. Weasley would like to know that, as well,” she supplied, opening Hermione's room door first, fighting with the key for a long pause.

 

Weasley nodded and smiled his thanks.

 

“Ron!” A surprised voice called from the room. Hermione sat back against the wall in a hospital bed, looking as though she had not been moved from it even though she had visited Harry. She held her arms open and was practically beaming.

 

Draco hung back, leaning in the doorframe, when she beckoned her husband forward. For the longest time, he couldn't fathom why she was so excited until he finally realized that she had just come back from seeing Harry.

 

Hermione was whispering very quietly as Ron placed the bundle of Lucian in her waiting arms.

 

Ron for his part looked shocked, surprised, relieved and millions of other things that flickered over his expression.

 

The foot under him tapped impatiently as the couple talked. Draco saw Ron turn a contemplative expression to him before waving him on without the redhead. He frowned but nodded in consent. He turned from the room and his heel and headed out, meeting back up with the nurse outside the door.

 

“Mr. Weasley isn't following?” She asked, picking Harry's room key from the ring of keys she had out.

 

The key was gold and had a snitch carved into it, Draco noted mentally. He let a half grin tug at his mouth when he realized the irony. “No, he told me to go on ahead.”

 

The nurse nodded as if it all sounded so very sensible. She picked a door that was six down from Hermione's own room. Quite an exercise, indeed.

 

Draco frowned when she stopped just a few feet away from the door.

 

She turned toward him and began to speak in a low voice. “Listen, Mr. Malfoy, I know of your history with Mr. Potter but I don't know if what you're about to witness will be a good thing for you.” Here, she paused for a deep breath.

 

His frown deepened and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What's wrong?”

 

“Mrs. Weasley was happy enough about it but… I just… You'll see,” she finished lamely. She turned to open the door but under her breath she mumbled something along the lines of: “But it seems as if the savior of the Wizarding World has finally come home.”

 

Draco wasn't sure how much of a scowl his frown had turned into. This woman, who only a moment ago was just another nameless, was confusing him in to wondering who in the seven hells she was.

 

The door swung open into the inside and the nurse stepped away. “You have as long as you want, Mr. Malfoy,” she told him quietly before stepping away and walking down the hall and out of his sight.

 

A sense of foreboding washed through him and he swallowed hard. He took a short step in, listening closely to the sounds in the room.

 

A monitor beeped continuously from the corner by Harry's bed. There was a rustling of the sheets as the man in them moved restlessly.

 

A bird chirped from its cage by the door, drawing Draco's gaze. It watched him curiously, twitching its head back and forth at odd angles to follow the man's movements.

 

Its stare, however, unnerved the blonde, making him look away before very long. He took a few steps forward, silent.

 

Harry didn't seem to hear him, anyway. The other had barely moved and his eyes were closed again; he was gripping the edge of his thin hospital blanket, worrying it in his long, tan fingers.

 

Draco smiled distractedly. Even pale and in a hospital, Harry Potter still managed to look every inch the man who four years ago defeated Voldemort. It made him proud to know that he had a small hand in that defeat. Without killing his father and braving the rain, Voldemort would have never been reached.

 

“Who's there?”

 

Draco nearly jumped in surprise. He struggled to regain his voice to respond. He should remember to not get lost in his thoughts so much.

 

Harry's eyes opened, fogged by his sleep. Even still, they almost instantly cleared and focused on Draco. Recognition blossomed in those endlessly emerald orbs. “Draco,” he acknowledged with a smile filled with…

 

No… It couldn't be. Draco took another step forward, eyes bright and wide. “Harry,” he replied as steadily as he could. A tremor still shook his voice and a shiver wracked his body.

 

The man on the bed rose and stretched before looking to the blond once more. “Where's Ron?”

 

“He's with his wife,” Draco told him, not really paying attention to his own answer. He couldn't tear his gaze from the brunette's eyes. They shone and twinkled, something akin to Dumbledore, but with something that was so familiar yet so old.

 

Like a faded picture, it took Draco a long time to see it and comprehend it, but when he did he could scarcely believe it.

 

“Harry…” he tried in a small but confident voice. “What do you remember?”

 

--

 

Chapter Seven, Part Two: Love

 

“A bell is not a bell until you ring it;

A song is not a song until you sing it.

Love in your heart is not put there to stay;

Love is not love until you give it away.” - Oscar Hammerstein the Second

 

--

 

The vague whispers of time spoke to him silently as he slipped away and as he swam through the currents of consciousness and unconsciousness.

 

Harry could remember when his thoughts had been vague and poetic and dark before. He could recall the time when he had relished staying physically away from the lonely world and instead pulled others to himself via their voices.

 

He had blocked out the doctor's voices this time, however, until Hermione had come to relieve them of their mumbles and talk to him.

 

She had been quiet and motherly. Hermione was always like that though. When he had refused to speak for a long time, she decided to describe the room.

 

Medical equipment occupied what should have been the bedside table's place and a birdcage was stationed at the door with an unenchanted parakeet in it. One large window took up the left side of the room, beside Harry's bed.

 

Finally, Harry had deemed it okay to talk and he told Hermione what was going on, before she left with an expression of so much delight and relief.

 

What was going on, though? What was it he so suddenly remembered?

 

Harry wasn't quite sure he could answer those questions himself, but he felt different. He felt as if he knew more, had more, and wanted more. His body ached for another's. His fingers longed to be weaved into silken strands. His heart called for someone else's, but it would not cry out the name for which it longed.

 

The bird at the door chirped only a moment after he closed his eyes tighter and shifted, twisting his hands in his duvet.

 

He didn't hear anything beyond the bird, but for some reason his body was alive with sensation. His body recognized that scent and that power. “Who's there?” He demanded quietly.

 

No reply met him. It felt as though the vacuum of space had engulfed the room, the silence was so profound.

 

Never one for suspense, he opened his eyes and turned to look. “Draco,” he sighed out with a smile. The name fell so easily, so lovingly, from his lips. He had tasted that name and rolled it on his tongue for ages, he remembered, whether in the passion of a battle or the passion of…

 

“Harry,” the blonde responded, looking very much hopeful and stepping forward gracefully yet hurriedly. Draco's silver blue eyes were bright and focused entirely on Harry and his every move.

 

Those eyes were beautiful and embracing. How Harry loved those eyes. Loved? That's right… “Where's Ron?” He asked offhandedly, using his concern for his friend to give himself time to think.

 

“He's with his wife.” Draco was always like that, wasn't he? Eloquent and simply straight to the point had always been his style, even in his verbal spats with Harry.

 

That's right, I loved him…I still love him…we loved one another…

 

Before Harry could think of what to say next to the man before him, Draco interjected.

 

“Harry… What do you remember?”

 

“Tell me everything you remember, Potter.”

 

Stunned, he was unable to respond to the so sudden question. Something akin to guilt ripped through his stomach making him cringe when he turned his face away. Had he caused everyone so much grief in his temporary lose of memory?

 

Hermione had seemed too sad when she had talked about people Harry had not remembered in the recent months.

 

Snape had always tried to remind him of things.

 

He blinked. No one had ever told him… No one… had ever reminded him of Draco.

 

“Why wasn't I told?” He asked, raising his eyes and glaring, ignoring the posed question to ask his own. All the odd feelings that he thought he had never experienced before, he had. Every thought was a reenactment of an earlier time. To live through all the uncertainty again…Harry didn't know why it angered him so much.

 

Repressed emotions sailed to the surface of his fragile, awoken mind.

 

“Told?”

 

“About us,” he clarified firmly. “When I couldn't remember us in my post-coma, no one told me about our relationship.”

 

And, yet, the full blame of not seeing Draco and recalling his bond with Harry did not completely lay with those who had known. I didn't remember him by myself. I should be the first to blame….

 

Draco's eyes softened, a look he often got when Harry asked him questions he didn't want to answer; it was a habit of the blonde's that Harry only remembered at that moment. “I didn't want to frighten you away again,” he answered softly in an unsure way.

 

“Again?”

 

“My treatment had nearly made you completely hate me. We didn't become lovers until a short while before the defeat of Voldemort.”

 

The silence between the prevailed for so long that even the parakeet was quiet in its cage. Perhaps it didn't want to disturb the turbulent peace that had settled between the men.

 

“You can say his name now…” Harry noted dully, eyes focused on the course material of the duvet.

 

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing. (T.S. Eliot)

 

A slow chuckle emitted from the taller more formal looking man. “I guess you began to rub off on me during the fight and the four years I spent by your side,” Draco said with a shrug and a nonchalant smile.

 

“Four years is a long time to still love someone who doesn't remember you, Draco.”

 

“Four years is a long time to still love someone you can't remember, Harry,” he replied swiftly and cleverly.

 

Harry smiled and pressed a cool finger to the right side of his head. Applying pressure to relieve a sudden headache, he sighed. “I'm sorry.”

 

“For what, love?” Draco asked, hesitating on the last part. His term of affection did not go unnoticed by his company but the other merely smiled, he had missed that very much indeed.

 

Harry closed his eyes and patted the bed for the other to sit with him. When the other had, he explained, “It must have been a horrid affair for you. To see me and remember all the memories I couldn't, while I sat blissfully unaware.”

 

The man next to him shook his head lightly at the remark. “Not at all. What hurt the most was when you responded to me with no familiarity.”

 

“This probably won't make much sense to you, but… I can't really remember what I couldn't remember when I wasn't remembering my memories. I think I'd like to believe that I remembered your existence just not our history together.”

 

“How one could utterly forget the fights we have is beyond me, but I think I get your point.”

 

Once again, silence settled easily in the hospital room. It wasn't very big and the echoing beeps dominated their rhythmic breathing.

 

Draco shifted to lie back against the headboard of the bed and stretched out his legs. “Weasley is going to want to talk to you soon.”

 

“I know,” Harry said quietly. He shifted backwards and moved to lean against Draco's strong, broad shoulder. “I'll have to have him talk to me and interject when I remember something. That's how it went with Hermione.”

 

“Oh, I see I don't receive that kind of lovely treatment,” Draco laughed in a quiet sort of way.

 

Harry blushed lightly. “If it helps you feel better… I remember you. I remember meeting in you the robe shop, speaking to you again on the train, having that quick spat before McGonagall directed us into the Great Hall, and than everything from there.”

 

“Yeah, I always was rather fond of tormenting you whenever I saw a fit opportunity.”

 

“Gee, thanks, mate.”

 

“However, the heart cares not, for that other person is in their entirety the only reason for its existence; however, all those goods things over and over again, make the heart yearn to experience the real thing…”

 

Draco chuckled at the soft banter. “You're welcome, indeed.”

 

“Ron and I talked about your lover.”

 

Harry fiddled with the blanket uncertainly. “So, yesterday when you and I were talking before seeing Hermione. The man you were talking about was really me?”

 

“Yes, he was you. It felt odd to explain in all to you in such a roundabout way.”

 

“It's odd for me to look back on it and think that it was about me, what with the way you spoke. I think I felt jealous for a little while. All I could think of was, does that guy really still deserve to hold Draco's love for so long and not return it?”

 

“And then you find out you said that about yourself. What, then, is the answer to the question you posed?”

 

The brunette replied almost as soon as he was done. “Yes, he does deserve it.”

 

Draco nodded. “I thought you might say that.”

 

“It was a welcome back gift of sorts.”

 

“And the locket?” Harry asked, actually having forgotten about it for the longest time. He reached into his shirt and pulled it out.

 

Draco's hands reached from either side of him and helped him open it.

 

Almost immediately, it sprang to life and played the beginning of the Melody of Oblivion.

 

“I was trying to reawaken your dormant love. Unlike some people, I was trying to play an active role in making you remember. I missed saying it, but I really do still love you, Harry James Potter. Even after four damned years and a couple extra months of waiting for you,” Draco said, no blush dusting his pale skin and nothing but an affirmation in his eyes confirmed his words from as far as Harry could see.

 

“You'd come over at the most unfortunate times and tease me. I can't believe you ending up being okay with me. I remember you even sent me poems you had written. Funny, I can't remember what they said.”

 

“And the poems were love poems, weren't they?”

 

“Yeah, from the first time.”

 

Harry remembered. He remembered it very well now. Tears prickled at the back of his eyes. “The first time you wanted to show me how much you loved me. Look at this, I made you wait for so long and I'm not even worth it.”

 

Draco scuffed, “Please! Like the savior of the world would ever not be good enough for me.”

 

The smaller man blinked and looked up, in surprise. What did he expect? Draco had waited for four plus years!

 

“Listen; don't tell anyone this because it'll ruin my reputation. I'm not even close to being worthy of you, but I trying to be. This waiting for you bit you keep spewing, it was just a part of my commitment to you. I can't propose to you because our union wouldn't mean anything in the eyes of the Wizard World and people would condemn you, their savior, for marrying a man anyway. I can't bear you children or let you live a normal life. I can't give you what a woman can give you, but I can…” He paused, struggling for something mushy and gushy but true. “I can give you my heart, my body, my soul, and my years. Everything I own I want to own with you.”

 

The clock ticked silently in the hallway, noting the seconds it took for Harry to react. The parakeet started up again by the door, twittering off about something or another concerning itself.

 

A laugh broke through from the brunette. “You…you have gotten so much softer since I've been…away!” Harry shook his head. He remembered the rougher more up front Draco of yesteryear. This new one was nice but still very much different. He calmed down enough to smile and lean up to capture Draco's lips in a chaste, affectionate kiss. “I would gladly share everything we own together with you for now and as long as I can wield a wand, wooden or not, and then some.”

 

Draco smiled brightly at Harry, pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss that had forever wished to be expressed in the deep down soul of the former Slytherin.

 

The parakeet sang louder as the door opened and Ron walked into the room. His eyes alighted on the rather occupied romantic pair and a blush painted its way onto his cheeks. “Oh, so… If I stay in here long enough will I get a kiss, too?”

 

--

 

Harry's hands wove into Draco's as they walked through the parkway.

 

Only slightly ahead, Lucian Weasley danced around his parents, tugging at his mum's hand to show her over to the slide and away from his attention-grabbing father.

 

Harry smiled at the sight. “He's growing quick,” he commented to Ron as they caught up with the redhead.

 

The man smiled proud and puffed out his chest. “Just like his dad, he is! He'll be a strong lad when he's grown!”

 

The four year old climbed the ladder of the jungle gym with quick steps, pulling him up to the slide and sitting down gently. With a push, he made his way down, tumbling into his thinned mother with a fit of giggles. He flashed a big smile to Ron.

 

“Daddy!” A call came from behind the three men.

 

“Over here, Lucretzia!” Draco called, flagging down the young girl with jet-black hair. She had an Asian look about her and was only around seven years old. She looked nothing of the sort related to her fathers.

 

Harry had adopted her a year or two after his reunion with his lover and friends.

 

Lucretzia rushed to the tall blonde haired man, collapsing into his arms with a big whoosh of air. “There was this mean boy at the swings who yelled at me to leave my swing, Daddy!”

 

Harry kneeled to give her a hug, prying her from Draco's legs and patting her head. “I remember when Daddy use to be like that, honey.”

 

Wide green eyes looked up into his emerald eyes gleaming with unshed tears of frustration. “Really, Daddy use to be like that, Mum?”

 

“Yes, Daddy use to be like that,” Draco said monotonously, talking to himself with no happiness. He did grin however at the blush that colored the other's face when their daughter called Harry `mum'.

 

“I learned to ignore people who act like that. You can always swing at home in any case. Do you want to play with Lucian, honey?”

 

“Yeah, Mum! I'll go play with Luc!” She lurched clumsily over the ground, her summer dress floating around her legs. “Lucian!”

 

“Beautiful thing, she is. I'm right proud to be her godfather! I wonder how anyone could ever abandon such a good kid like that,” Ron commented with a sigh.

 

Harry gave a sad shrug. “Some people.”

 

Out of the blue, Draco commented, “We need a black haired male in this group.”

 

“Why?” Ron and Harry asked at the same time, bewildered at the sudden change of subject.

 

Draco pressed a kiss to Harry's lips before walking to meet up with Hermione and the kids. “We've got every other hair color already,” he threw over his shoulder with a robust grin.

 

A pause sailed between the red-haired man and the brunette.

 

Ron replied, dryly, “I don't want a druggie near my kid, Harry. He'd be a bad influence.”

 

“He's not smoking anything, Ron!” Harry said, scandalized.

 

“Uh-huh, say what you will, Potter!”

 

They ran off to meet up with everyone else, laughing.

 

Somewhere, where all the flowers grow and stretch, a little song is played to the dance of the wind. The melody of oblivion circled around the lovers, embracing them in the warmth of unconscious notes.

 

 

The End

 

Author's Notes: I believe, officially this is my longest Harry Potter slash story. The last chapter was supposed to be a treat to everyone who stuck by and didn't really want the story to end. Therefore, the double chapter of doom! I hope it didn't end badly for anyone. Yes, the boy's did adopt a little Asian orphan. They couldn't very well birth their own child after all! Um, if you have any question about this story or something was off or amiss, go ahead and tell me in the review. I don't like flames, but if you feel the need, go ahead. It spurs me to write better and even more!

 

I love you all for sticking with me through Melody of Oblivion. I will try to write another story soon and if anyone has an idea that they would like me to try to write, go ahead a email me!

 

Lots of love, Yarisha.