𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙥 | DRACO MALFOY

the hollow victory

Draco Malfoy

She was still warm.

For a moment, I convinced myself that meant something that if I held her tight enough, if I pressed my hand over her heart and begged the universe hard enough, she'd wake up.

"Harp," I whispered, voice cracking. "Come on, love. You're okay. You're okay..."

But she wasn't.

Her head rested against my chest, her hair tangled with soot and blood. The world around us was quiet in that terrible, hollow way that only comes after war. The fire had burned out. The screaming had stopped. And I was left here on my knees, in the ruins of Hogwarts holding her.

I pressed my forehead against hers. Her skin was cold now. Her lips slightly parted, like she had one last word that never came.

"You promised," I breathed. "You promised we'd run."

I couldn't cry. Not at first. It was like my body refused to accept it, like even grief didn't dare touch her yet. My hands trembled, brushing over her stomach, where my child—our child—had been growing.

I swore I would protect them both. I'd meant it. Merlin, I'd meant it.

Now, all I could do was stare at my own failure.

Somewhere behind me, someone was shouting—Potter, or maybe Weasley, I didn't care. The world was ending, rebuilding, moving on without her.

"Please," I muttered, lifting her slightly, searching her face for any sign of life. "Please, not you. Not now."

And then—a flicker.

It wasn't her breathing. It wasn't her pulse. But something shimmered faintly beneath my hand, a warmth radiating from her stomach. Magic—faint and flickering, but real.

I froze.

"Harper..." I whispered again, not daring to move. "If you can hear me... I'll save them. I swear it. I'll save them."

The light pulsed once, then again. Stronger.

Hope slammed through me so hard I nearly choked on it. I gathered her in my arms, cradling her as gently as I could.

When the healers found me hours later, maybe minutes, I didn't know, I was still there whispering to her and refusing to let go.

They pulled her away. I didn't fight them. I didn't have the strength.

But when one of them gasped, when that same soft light flared again from her stomach, I knew.

Our child was still alive.

And for the first time since the world ended, I finally broke.

Because I realized that part of her had survived.

And part of me never would.

listen before i go
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Billie Eilish

I never knew what my life would be like without her. I never imagined it because I thought our love was eternal. I thought that we would be together forever. In a way, I still think our souls are connected.

I hope you knew I loved you. That I love you.

There is so much I wanted to tell you.
So many words I never said. Things I held back and bit my tongue.

Do you remember the night we spent outside looking at the stars after Sirius died?

I do.
That's all I do now.
Look at the stars and tell them all the words I never said to you. I do hope you're listening. I'd like to think you are.

I am lost in the loss of you. You were my darling, Harp. You were the most beautiful girl, inside and out. You understood my monsters in the closet because we shared the same monsters. I'm glad you're safe from the monsters now. All I wanted to do was keep you safe and that killed you.

I feel your soul everyday. The sun on my skin reminds me of your touch. The wind reminds me of your voice. The rain calls your name. Each breath I take reminds me of the ones you are not able to have.

The world was unrecognizable in the morning light.

Smoke still rose from the castle in thin, gray spirals, and the grounds were a graveyard of memories. Broken wands, shattered glass, and blood that refused to wash away. The war was over.

But victory meant nothing when she wasn't here to see it.

They'd taken Harper's body to St. Mungo's and I'd followed without hearing a word anyone said. Potter had tried to stop me once something about safety or rest but I couldn't listen. I just kept walking. I couldn't let go of her hand.

Hours later, I found myself in the sterile silence of the hospital ward. Everything smelled like potions and sorrow. The healers spoke in hushed tones when they saw me. One of them, an older witch with kind eyes led me down a narrow corridor with her hand trembling slightly on my shoulder.

"There's someone you should meet," she said softly.

And there she was. So tiny. So fragile.

A small bundle of blankets resting in a cradle charmed to rock itself. Her skin was impossibly pale, her hair soft and almost red in the light—like hers. Like Harper's.

I couldn't breathe. My legs nearly gave out.

"She came early," the healer murmured. "We weren't sure she'd make it because she's so premature... but she's strong. She's a real fighter."

I laughed a broken, breathless sound. "Of course she is."

I took a step closer. My hands shook as I reached for her, terrified I might hurt her, or that she might disappear if I blinked too long. But the moment my fingers brushed her tiny hand, she curled them around mine—impossibly small, impossibly real.

My throat closed.

"You saved her," I whispered, looking up at the healer. "You—"

She shook her head. "No, Mr. Malfoy. Your wife did. It was her magic that kept the child alive long enough for us to intervene. She must've put some form of a protection spell on your daughter."

Wife. The word cut through me like glass.

I looked down again at our baby and for the first time since the war ended, something inside me cracked open.

"I promised her I'd keep you safe," I said quietly. "And I will. I swear it."

Her little eyelids fluttered open for a moment and she had Harper's soft blue eyes. I felt my chest cave in.

"She looks like her mother," the healer said.

"She is her mother," I whispered.

I sat beside the cradle for hours, maybe longer. The world outside could rebuild itself however it wanted. I wasn't moving.

Finally, when the healer asked what to put on the birth record, I found my voice.

"Her name is Audrey," I said, the words trembling. "Audrey Rae Malfoy. That feels right."

The witch nodded and wrote it down carefully, her quill scratching softly against the parchment.

When she was gone, I leaned forward, pressing a trembling kiss to Audrey's forehead.

"Oh, your mother would've loved you," I murmured. "She already did."

The wind outside howled softly through the cracks in the old hospital windows, like the castle was mourning with me.

And for the first time in my life, I let myself cry. Not for the war. Not even for myself.

But for Harper, my girl who gave her life to save something pure.

And for Audrey, the proof that even in death, Harper's love still lived.