What If (Drarry)

11. After Life

Draco stayed beside Harry's body. He tried to reach for him. He didn't even care when he stuck his arm in the shield to grab the boy, and the familiar burning flames appeared around his body. He didn't even feel them.

But however desperately he tried to get Harry out of the strange, burning membrane, and however desperately he wanted to believe that the boy was still alive, he could do nothing.

After a while Harry's body started to fade, until he completely disappeared. The shield swallowed him. Draco watched as the small body faded and faded, and when it was almost invisible, disappeared in the shield. He could only hope that the boy got to a nice place in the afterlife, and not straight into the Death Eaters' arms.

Draco felt miserable. He heard the Death Eaters' shouts and screams from the other side of the shield - they surely saw the flames - but didn't care. He didn't even care if they found him.

Just find me. Kill me! Even that would be better. I'm a killer, I don't deserve life anymore. Not that I deserved until that. But I'M A FUCKING KILLER! I KILLED HARRY POTTER!

Heavy teardrops spilled from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. When they reached his chin, they stopped, gathered together just to jump into their own suicide one by one right after that. Draco couldn't stop crying. Neither he wanted. He sat on the ground curled up under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, smelled in his scent, and didn't move for a couple of hours.

When he realized that it started to get dark - he didn't know how many days had passed - he decided to go back... home.

Home. Was he really going to go back home?

What is home, actually? He stayed too much time with the Death Eaters, and spent way too much time with Harry to just go back where he came from. He felt he wouldn't even have been able to enjoy his life anymore. He wouldn't have been able to feel himself home anymore. Not without Harry. Not with the thought that he was the one responsible for the boy's death. He felt miserable.

Finally, when the night sky was already pitch dark, he gathered himself and Disapparated. First he didn't know where to go. The only thing he knew: not to home. Not yet.

Since he didn't know where Harry had lived, he couldn't go to his house either. So he thought. And then remembered how exactly he'd got into this whole thing. The Weasels and Granger!

They'll definitely kill me if I tell them. Maybe I deserve it. But I can't do it. I can't just Apparate on their treshold in the middle of the night and say 'Hi, I've just killed your best friend. But I'm here!'. No, that would be the worst idea ever. And besides, I wouldn't even be able to look them in the eye. I wouldn't be able to tell them.

So Draco Apparated to the only other place he knew, and was sure he will get the worst punishment he deserves.

The cold stone floor of the Atrium hit him hard. For a moment he couldn't move. Just sat there in the dark and let the pain go away. Then stood up. He knew there must've been a night-shift receptionist - or sort of - who stands guard at night. So he looked around.

Soon enough he spotted the small cubicle in the corner, in which a quite old wizard sat, trying to solve an even older-than-him crossword, illuminated by dim wand light.

Draco pulled off the Cloak and slowly stepped towards the man. He was so deeply buried in his crossword, that only got aware of Draco's presence, when the blond boy arrived in front of his cubicle. The man looked up at him questioningly, as if he didn't believe completely that there was really standing a man.

"Er." Draco started, his voice a bit hoarse, while clutching the cubicle's edge for comfort.

"So you really aren't a ghost."