Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Epilogue

They will see us waving from such great heights,
"Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"Come down now," but we'll stay...

— Such Great Heights by The Postal Service

AN: OMFG... This... I honestly didn't mean to write such a long epilogue! But once I got started, I couldn't stop!!! 6,835 words... Its about the length of four regular chapters combined! But hey, I figured, since this is the end, fuck it, right? LOL. Its my parting gift to you all! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing every word of it. Cheers! ♥♥♥

~oOo~

Every year, on Christmas Eve, Harry would find himself standing before the Memorial of his family in the center of the village square in Godric's Hollow. It had become a tradition for him after that fateful year when he and Hermione had first visited his hometown. 

It had been seven years since. 

It was the only time of year he would allow himself to take a step back from his hectic life and revisit the painful memories of his past, letting the guilt he'd kept at bay throughout the year to bleed into him as he remembered all those who had lost their lives during the War while he, himself, still remained among the living.

Harry didn't exactly know why he did this to himself. It was torture, really. But he couldn't seem to help himself. He sighed, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans, watching the snow fall and blanket the sculpture of his family. He could feel his Warming Charm fading but didn't feel too inclined to cast it again. He gazed at his parents' carved figures and wondered, like he always did, if they were watching him too. 

"Merry Christmas, mum, dad." Harry murmured, pulling his beanie lower; his breath puffing out in a white mist, curling and dissipating in the frigid air. Perhaps, he did this—torment himself in this manner—to ease his guilt, even just a little, so he could face the coming year and go on with his life until he had to do this all over again on Christmas Eve. It was vicious cycle.

After that first visit with Hermione, Harry had always returned here alone. He had never told anyone else where he went on the early morning of Christmas Eve each year. And, although, he did like the solitude, he could not deny the loneliness that gnawed at him. He had hoped that this year would be different; that when he returned this time around, he wouldn't be alone; that he would be standing here with Draco.

But he wasn't. He was still very much by himself.

Six years since Draco had been exiled. A year since it had ended. Narcissa was once again a free witch. But the Malfoys chose to remain in France. 

Harry won't deny that it had been an extremely difficult time, but he and Draco made it work all the same. They were only able to see each other a handful of times each year: a couple of weeks in June when Harry visited for the summer and Draco's birthday, and another week in December, between Boxing Day and New Year's Eve. It wasn't easy, not by a long shot, but the times they'd been able to spend together had been bliss. 

Until it wasn't. Not anymore.

The fifth year of Draco's exile had been particularly rough. Draco had kept right on working even when Harry had been over for his annual visits. Draco had become the foremost Curse-Breaker in the French Ministry, their rising star—extremely talented and sought after. Harry did understand how busy Draco was, but so was he. Harry had been promoted to Senior Auror. The youngest ever in the history of the British Ministry. He was also the Captain of his own squad. Harry had made absolutely certain he had earned that right and had not received the honor just because he was the bloody Saviour and all that rot. He had worked his arse off and he was fucking brilliant at his job. His Clearance Rate spoke for itself, thank you very much. Even still, despite his own insane work schedule, Harry had never missed his standing holiday trips to France. His boss, Head Auror Robards, knew not to give him any cases around those times.