Blackberry Jam (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Thirty Six

May 8th 1945

Harry looked out over the throng of people celebrating before him, and tried his very best to muster up a spark of happiness. He didn't want to ruin the party, not when there was so much to be merry for, so he blinked his eyes several times and tweaked his mouth into the most convincing smile he could.

Neville Longbottom and his slightly ferocious grandmother waved at him, and Dean and his best friend Seamus raised their glasses of squash in a toast. But no one came near him.

Only Draco, who refused to leave his side.

"You should...go..." Harry said vaguely, waving his hand out towards the long line of tables standing in the middle of Little Whinging's main street, groaning under the weight of all the most impressive food and drink the town could muster together at the announcement of Victory in Europe. A rag-tag group of musicians were playing all the best hits from the wireless they could cobble together, and several dozen people were dancing wildly in couples at the far end of the tables.

Draco shrugged, a little maddeningly, and popped another bite of sausage roll into his mouth. "I'm fine," he said.

Harry swallowed around the painful lump in his throat and gritted his teeth. "You should be celebrating," he said determinedly.

Draco sighed. "What would you like me to do?" he said kindly, his grey eyes fixing on Harry's. "Pretend everything is okay, that you're perfectly fine? Wander off for some ginger beer and cupcakes?"

He reached under the table where they were sitting, and gave Harry's hand a fast, firm squeeze.

"I don't want to make you miserable?" Harry protested weakly, immensely grateful in truth for Draco's steadfast support. It had only been a week, and he could still not yet get his head fully around the utterly abysmal concept that his mother was dead. That he was never, ever going to see her again.

Just the thought of it made his eyes well up, and he fiercely tried to blink back any tears before they could fall. He didn't want anyone else to know, because he absolutely couldn't bear to talk about it if they asked, and Draco took his hand again, a little bolder this time, for a little longer.

"I am only sad because you're sad," he rasped. "What kind of beast would I be if I left you and amused myself?" He raised his eyebrows and Harry was forced to give him a small, weak smile which he hoped conveyed his deep thankfulness. "I am perfectly happy by your side, offering whatever small, pitiful comfort I can. Do you understand?"

Harry risked reaching over and squeezing just above Draco's knee. It was lightning fast, but it seemed important to Harry to chance such a bold move. "I understand," he whispered, mindful of everyone around them. "And I think it's wonderful. You're wonderful."

The afternoon was bright and breezy as people laughed and chatted and danced and hugged one another. Harry watched on, envious. He couldn't help it.

Mum would have loved this, he thought, unable to stop himself. His mother had always been a ray of sunshine, the perky voice telling him all would be well. "Chin up little chap!" she used to tell him, and tap his chin to really make him do it.

He had been warned he might not see her whilst the war was still going on, but seeing Draco's mum on almost half a dozen occasions had made him hopeful. To have the prospect of peace, of returning to London dangled in front of his hungry eyes, only to have it snatched cruelly away was little more than he could bear. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

He took a deep breath and forced himself to think of all the other loved ones that would be reunited. Mothers and fathers and sons and daughters and everyone in between. Of Draco, who would surely be reunited with his father soon, as well as his lovely mother. He had to be happy for them, he couldn't let this darkness eat him alive.

"Boys, boys," Mrs Figg groused, ambling over with her cane in one hand and a plate in the other. "They were almost all gone – Draco, I would have expected you to at least have safeguarded some for us!"

She sat in the seat next to Harry and plonked down the plate between the three of them, where three blackberry tartlets rattled before settling in front of them.

"Oh," said Harry, his heart warming at their special treat. Of course, there weren't fresh blackberries as they were out of season, but Mrs Figg had improvised with some saved up jam, and they looked just as delicious as always.

He hadn't managed to eat much at all in the past week. Every time food had been placed in front of him, he thought about how his mother would never eat that again. It was melancholy and selfish and he simply had to snap out of it.

So he forced another little smile for Mrs Figg, then reached forward to take the biggest of the three tarts.