Drarry - It Was All Just A Game (REWRITE - CLEAN VERSION)

CHAPTER 45 - SOMNIUM AMICA MEA

TW: Suicidal Ideation; recall to attempt but no graphic scene with attempt

———————————————

Harry reread it six more times over the following few days—since they were so bored in hiding.

He tried looking at it from Draco's perspective, which hurt. But reading it from Harry's perspective made Harry's own heart still guarded. Could he forgive Draco for everything he'd done to him?

And what if this was a trick, still? It probably wasn't, but... stranger things had happened. He'd felt so much more healed, still sore, but his world wasn't torturous anymore. There was still a part of him that wanted to watch out for him, but for so long Harry hated him, so much so his own body built up a defense mechanism to keep things like this from happening. He's just trying to lure you in again, hurt you again, a voice said, but he knew it wasn't his own, it was just a voice trying to protect him.

Were all of those sweet memories with Draco not poisoned? Harry had been poisoned and Draco's diary was his antidote?

"I'm going to cast the spell tonight."

They'd talked about it several times, whether or not he should do it, since he didn't know what type of magic the spell was, or what consequences could come of it. The war was still going on, and if Draco was bonded to Voldemort, there was a possibility that this could jeopardize everything.

But Harry wanted to see him.

"I'll keep watch," Hermione said. They'd packed everything up in case they needed to flee quickly. "Be safe. If you need to leave, then leave. I'll wake you if something is going on, we'll apparate and leave the tent."

Harry nodded. He then went back into the tent and lay on his cot. Closing his eyes, he whispered, Somnium Amica Mea.

There was a quick wind. His eyes were heavy, but then light, and he opened them. The walls around him changed: rather than being surrounded by a cloth tent, he was now in walls of stone.

The room wasn't necessarily Draco's that he knew of. It was more spacious. It had copious bookshelves and a large desk. There was a four-poster bed twice the size of the one in the Slytherin Common Room. With someone on it.

Draco.

Draco sat crisscrossed on it, looked up and met his eyes. Harry swallowed hard. The thought of being with him, the thought of Draco being right there, right in front of him after months of hating him...

"Hey," Harry said nervously, and then slapped himself. Hey. That's what you're going to say? "H-How are you?"

Draco didn't react, and Harry wondered if he heard him. If he could see him. Maybe it was just a spell that let them visit each other, but not necessarily talk to each other.

The clock midnight and chimes came from the Clock Tower, which Harry could see out the window. Draco stood, climbed off the bed and stood. He grabbed a quill on his desk and opened his wardrobe doors. There were tick marks up and down the inside of the paneling.

"What's that," Harry asked.

Draco looked at him, then looked away.

He has to see me.

"Are you going to say anything," Harry asked.

"You're a shitty ghost." Draco's voice was small and cracked as he spoke.

Harry blinked. "I'm not a ghost."

"You would have at least said 'Hey you' you fucking shit ghost. You're nothing like him."