When the Snow Melts

Waiting on a Miracle

Both Harry and Draco sat in their usual chairs in Draco's dorm room, drawing warmth from the fire as the night progressed. Draco kept looking up from his sketchpad and glancing nervously at Harry as the boy read through his battered copy of Romeo and Juliet. He wanted Harry to see what he had seen and agree to take the oath with him, but he didn't know how he was going to bring up the subject. How do you ask someone, 'Hey, let's form a suicide pact'? It seemed appalling to him to even consider talking about it out loud.

Harry sighed as he turned the last page, closing the book and setting it down on the end table. His eyes reflected the dancing flames as he stared into the fireplace, lost in thought, an unhappy expression on his face.

"So, what did you think?" Draco questioned hesitantly.

Harry startled slightly as his thoughts were interrupted, he glanced at Draco briefly before his eyes returned to the fire. "It was a bit stupid," he grumbled. "I can't believe all that actually happened. Honestly, nobody needed to die. There were a thousand different ways that should have ended."

At one point in time, Draco had felt the same way about the story. Because of his doomed relationship with Harry, his feelings had changed. Not entirely changed - he still thought a lot of it was pointless and unnecessary, but he kept getting hung up on that oath, on lovers fated to die together. He'd been hoping Harry would see it too, would understand why it was necessary. Draco knew he wouldn't be able to continue living without Harry, seeing him lying under that tree and thinking he was dead had driven that point home beyond any shadow of a doubt.

"What about the oath?" Draco probed, slowly working up his courage to broach the subject.

"What about it?" Harry grumbled back unhappily.

"Well, what did you..." he trailed off as he caught sight of the piercing look that Harry was sending his way.

"No," Harry stated firmly. "Absolutely not."

"But..." Draco pleaded, getting cut off as Harry abruptly stood up and approached him with a threatening glare, his body radiating a quiet fury.

"No," Harry growled, placing his hands on the armrests of Draco's chair as he bent down and leaned forward, his scowling face mere inches from Draco's. "I refuse to have more blood on my hands, especially yours!"

Draco shied away from Harry's scorching emerald eyes, scooting as far back in his chair as he could. This was not at all how he envisioned this conversation going. He has suspected that Harry would not agree with him, but had remained hopeful that he could convince him to change his mind. He had never imagined that he would receive this quiet smoldering rage instead. It reminded him of just why the Dark Lord feared him. He didn't look like a vulnerable little boy anymore, but a fully grown wizard with a deadly repertoire of spells and the power and ability to cast them.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Draco apologized in a tiny and fearful voice.

Harry's breathing sounded forced, a slight tremor running through his body. "Promise me," he demanded. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid when I'm gone."

Draco nodded, his heart pounding in his chest, his voice completely lost to him.

Harry reached for him, pulling him into a desperate embrace, his forehead resting against Draco's as all the tension left his body in response to Draco's promise. "I need to know that my sacrifice meant something," he whispered brokenly. "If I can save the world for you..."

Draco relaxed in Harry's arms, returning his embrace. He understood now why Harry had been so upset and it made him want to smile and cry at the same time. Everything was just so messed up. This wasn't the forever he wanted.

<<<<<    >>>>>

Harry was exhausted. He had been plagued by nightmares, the worry that Draco wouldn't keep his promise coloring his dreamscape. He gave up on sleeping long before dawn and decided to peruse Draco's sketchbook to pass the time. There was a lot more content and he'd need to get him a new one soon. The firelight illuminated page after page filled with his image. It was as if the boy were trying to commit everything about him to memory. There was a desperate feel to the artwork - dozens of hastily drawn sketches, like he was afraid the moment would slip through his fingers if he wasn't fast enough. It made Harry feel uneasy and uncertain about the pain he was putting Draco through, a familiar pang of guilt starting to turn his stomach.

When morning finally broke, he dressed and quietly snuck out of the room leaving Draco sleeping soundly. He remembered to levitate the broom back through Draco's window and used his magic to gently shut it.

Hermione was already at breakfast when he entered the Great Hall, reading The Daily Prophet as she nibbled on an english muffin. As it was Saturday, Ron wouldn't be up for a few more hours. He sat down across from her, serving himself some breakfast which he stabbed at in a half-hearted manner.

"Anything important?" he asked, gesturing to the paper.

She blinked at him in surprise. They had stopped discussing current affairs with Harry as the subject made everyone feel uneasy. He hadn't asked her about it in months, but he was feeling a little self-abusive today.

"Well," she croaked before clearing her throat to get her voice to work properly this early in the morning. "It's been rather strange. The Ministry has admitted that Voldemort has returned, but they aren't really doing anything about it. It's been almost a year - it's as if they're still in shock. From the conversations we overheard at The Burrow, The Order seemed pretty upset about it. They kept complaining that The Ministry wasn't doing enough to help them. It feels like the calm before the storm that no one is preparing for."

None of this was really news to Harry. Frustratingly enough, very little had changed.

"Voldemort's been quiet too; probably hesitating to take action because of the uncertainty surrounding that prophecy," Hermione added with a slight smirk. "Which is kind of silly when you consider the fact he already knows everything he needs to about it, he just doesn't realize he knows it all. I suppose Dumbledore is using it as the ace up his sleeve, his great big bluff to keep Voldemort at bay. The papers keep alluding to it and referring to you as 'The Chosen One' in order to further the propaganda surrounding the myth."

Harry had to smile at the thought of Voldemort, sitting in some musty hideout somewhere, wondering what was in that prophecy that caused everyone to be so certain of his inevitable defeat. Suddenly, a rather frightening thought occurred to him.

"I don't think The Ministry is in shock," Harry replied, his eyes widening in alarm as his thoughts began to swirl and take shape. "I think they're buying into their own propaganda. Why bother putting up a fight when you can just wait around for 'The Chosen One' to do his thing? That's probably what everyone is waiting for."

Hermione's face turned pale with dread. "Why didn't I see it before?" she whispered fearfully. "As long as they keep expecting you to perform another miracle, they'll never start adequately preparing. They'll be too late."

Harry's arms had begun to tingle, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as a wave of fear crashed over him. "I don't have any miracles," he whispered back. "What do they expect me to do?"

"I don't know," she replied with a slow shake of her head.

He swallowed nervously, his heart hammering in his chest, his stomach in knots. How was he going to fix this? Thousands of people might die thinking they needn't worry about a thing, that their 'Chosen One' would magically solve everything.

"I think I need some fresh air," Harry breathlessly announced. He stood up much too fast, making his head spin and blackness encroach on his vision. Icy tendrils of panic were beginning to constrict his chest. He darted away from the Great Hall, heading for the only comfort he could think of.