Blackberry Jam (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Nine

   Draco did, blinking as his eyes adjusted again to the bright summer sunlight, and then he gasped in delight. "Blackberries!" he cried, lurching forward to the bush heavy with fruit before them.

Harry had been vaguely worried that the birds might have gotten to his prize over the past few days, or someone else might have found the burgeoning supply of fruit, but it was just as he remembered it as he and Draco threw themselves to sit on the ground and began picking berries as fast as they could eat them.

"Good present?" Harry asked, licking his fingers.

"Urgh," Draco moaned, popping several more blackberries into his mouth, his lips purple with juice. "The best!" he mumbled around chews, then covered his mouth with his hand and giggled at his bad manners.

When Harry's belly began to hurt, he gave a satisfied grunt and flopped onto his back, looking up at the clouds floating by in the sky above the tree tops. "We should collect as many any we can," he said, feeling Draco slump down onto his back beside him. "Bring them to Mrs Figg so she can make jam."

"Do you think she could make blackberry tarts?" Draco asked dreamily, and Harry turned to face him.

"It doesn't hurt to ask," he said sincerely. "It is your birthday after all."

Draco turned so they were facing one another, with matching purple smiles. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he apologised, reaching over to brush a stray bit of berry skin from Harry's mouth. "I thought I could pretend it wasn't really my birthday, and then it might hurt less?"

Harry understood what he was saying, Draco was good at explaining things like that. "It's okay," he said. "I'm just sorry you were sad all day."

"I'm not sad now, though," Draco sighed happily, and they lay for a while looking at the clouds again, trying to make out shapes.

Harry spied at least half a dozen he swore adamantly were just like Spitfires, whilst Draco saw a variety of creatures and even one he suggested looked like a broomstick. "The kind you fly on," he added laughing, as if that were really a possibility.

After a while in comfortable silence, a question popped into Harry's head, and he didn't pause to consider whether he should speak it aloud before he did. "Draco," he began, wiping his mouth to make sure he'd gotten the last of the berry juice off it. "Do you think, if we weren't...living together, we would be friends now." He almost said 'sharing a room', but they never, ever talked about that. Harry figured that Draco, like him, knew that wasn't really something that was supposed to be shared with other people, it was their special secret. Even if he sometimes wanted to assure Draco he actually really liked it, that he found it of great comfort, he never said the words out loud, and neither did Draco. Harry hoped he felt the same though, just as he hoped the answer to his question would be, 'Yes, of course!'

But Draco contemplated his response. "Honestly," he said after a few moments. "I'm not sure if we would."

Harry felt like ice flooded his chest. He couldn't imagine Draco not being his friend. He was his special friend, different to his best friend Ron. Draco was like his brother or something. They shared everything, and when they were apart Harry felt like he was missing some part of himself.

"Oh," he said, then cleared his throat to try and dislodge the lump there.

"I mean," Draco said carefully. "You played on the football team, and ran around in the muck. I played piano and never ran anywhere. I'm not sure we would have talked much, if we hadn't been placed in the same house."

"Yeah," Harry said, chewing on his lip. "I guess you're right."

He was surprised by Draco taking his hand, their palms and fingers sticky from all the berries they had devoured as they interlocked, and Harry turned to look at Draco once more. "I am extremely glad we are friends now though," he said, his grey eyes wide and shining. "If anything good has come out of this ghastly war, it is that at least we got the chance to become friends."

"Great friends," Harry agreed enthusiastically, his chest swelling again with happiness.

"Best friends," Draco insisted solemnly. And Harry supposed that was true. It didn't mean Ron was any less important to him, but he got to see Draco every day, and where as Ron was fun and loud and great at football, Draco was like Harry's special secret. They were two halves, two sides of the same bed.

"Best friends," Harry repeated, squeezing their hands together, as if making a promise.