What Happens After Dark - Drarry

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New word count: 1.3k
Date (re)published: November 3rd, 2020
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— Someday - Nowhere Particular - Whenever —

Though they were split, Ginny and Harry remained friendly. Well, more awkward than friendly, but it's the thought that counts.

Harry had left the Hospital Wing the next morning, before he ever found out what was going on with Malfoy, and when he had been released, the blond had been gone. He wondered like hell what Malfoy had been in for, but remembered that he had far more important priorities to figure out before he could even begin to contemplate that thought again.

Harry had Occlumency practice to attend to, as well as Quidditch, though he wasn't sure he was up for that at the moment. He wasn't up for much in general, but especially not now that he had broken his arm, despite the fact that it had been healed.

But back to the topic of Ginny, she was now with Luna. The two of them were nice together, better than Harry and Ginny ever were. That wasn't a surprising, considering the fact that Harry and Ginny had been platonically together throughout almost the entirety of their relationship.

They were young, and immature. Harry was positive that he would never find love at Hogwarts, of all places. There were only a handful of witches there compared to the rest of the world, and even then, he didn't have to marry a witch.

He was perfectly fine marrying a muggle woman, or a Squib woman as well.

And what was with all of this unnecessary pressure that society put on the shoulders of young people to get into relationships anyway? Harry's life was hardly started, he was barely clearing early teenage life, and for some reason people expected him to have a girlfriend?

Disgusting. Harry found it absolutely disgusting.

Natheless, despite all of that, Harry didn't feel good about his breakup with Ginny. Had it been supported by both of his best friends? Sure, entirely, and that was fantastic, considering the fact that Ron was quite literally related to Gin. But...there was something about it that didn't sit right with Harry.

It had something to do with his own acceptance of the whole situation. He wasn't frustrated, or upset. He didn't cry, or scream. He didn't even miss Ginny, and you would think that after being together for a year and knowing each other for upwards of five they would have made some sort of emotional connection. It was odd. Truly odd.

Almost as odd as Malfoy not being in class after he was released from the Hospital Wing.

Now, Harry knew he had planned to attend to his other priorities, but his mind belonged to the thought of Malfoy. His head wad focused on where the hell the boy had gone, and when the hell he was coming back. It was lonely not being able to pester someone in the halls when he was bored, and he hadn't been hit with a stinging hex in nearly two weeks.

Though this didn't seem like that big of a deal, Harry had never realized how important Malfoy was to him. At least in the respect that he was a distraction from Voldy Moldy in Harry's head, and Sirius' death.

Malfoy was...special to Harry. But not special in the sense that he was important, just...special.

And there was something wrong. Malfoy wasn't...Malfoy anymore, because Malfoy wasn't there.

Where was he?

•••

— Tuesday - Outside of the Room of Requirement - 11:50pm —

It was later when the tears began to fall. Later when the day had bled into night and the sun had been nudged to the side by the moon. When the blue hues of the sky blackened, when the looming shadows swallowed the castle whole, when the stars began to show like pinpricks in the tar expanse of space.

Harry was sat outside of the Come and Go Room. He wasn't inside, because the energy to walk past the door three times was nowhere to be found. His hands met his face with a frustrated gesture, and the world went dark from behind his palms. Harry sniffed a few times, taking in heavy puffs of oxygen that brought little relief to his sob-strained lungs.

He was weak. Weak for crying without the whys and wherefores, weak for crying without any real passion, weak for crying outside of the Room of Requirement close to midnight. 

Off of the tall walls and ceilings there echoed a noise. A noise that was close, a noise that was mysterious, and a noise that roused Harry from his pitiful position. A sure surge of terror ricocheted off of the insides of Harry's mind, and he stood quickly, ignoring what previously ailed him.

He imagined Filch and his devilish cat strolling on past the room, into the corridor where Harry found himself stood against the wall. He quickly sprinted, running back and forth in front of a vacant place of the wall where there were only slightly more magical signatures than the rest of the castle. In his mind he chanted that he needed a place to compose himself. That he needed a spot to be safe from unwanted visitors, where he wouldn't be disturbed by anyone he didn't want to see. And right then, he didn't want to see anyone at all.

A wooden door popped soundlessly into existence where Harry had been pacing, and he quickly wrenched it inward of the room. He fell through the doorway, landing on the plush dark grey carpeting of a larger bedroom with a few cushy sofas and a sofa-chair that stood out from the rest of the room. It was horribly neutral in colour, with grey walls and modern lighting that was dimmed to a setting that was both comforting and professional. There was a bed—large and dark with a bedspread that looked to be sewn of soft stars—pushed against the leftmost wall, its large headboard made of moving trees that rustled in the imaginary winds. The sofas were a heavy maroon tint with silver stitches that shone like the moon through the split between the draperies that covered a large window in the backmost area of the room. It spanned almost the entire length of the room on that side, and the draperies were black and weighted. The aforementioned sofa-chair was green, though a very dull army green that seemed unappealing to Harry's taste. He wondered if the room was feeling alright, and then wondered if rooms could be sick.

Harry closed the door behind himself with his feet, hoping that the room would know to keep unwanted individuals outside. He rolled to the side slightly, using the momentum to get off of the ground that he had become so acquainted with. Harry's feet felt heavy in this room, because the air was crisp and new. The tears that were on his cheeks felt cool against his chilling skin, leaving small streaks of forgotten agony behind.

Harry saw a fireplace before a small glass coffee table in front of the sofas. It was nice and sleek, nothing like he had ever seen before. There was a small jar of floo powder on the mantle, a clear glass container without a lid. There were a few candles strewn here and there on surfaces like armoires and side tables, none of them lit and all of them without candelabras or any other sort of candle holder.

Harry questioned the practicality of these candles, but soon got distracted by something outside of the window. He moved over to it, the room seeming shorter than it appeared visually now that he had traveled the length of it. There had been a small flash of light, something that had wizzed by fast. By some miracle, Harry's seeker reflexes caught the image of whatever this mysterious light was, and he pulled back the draperies, revealing the last few instances of a shooting star painting its path along the coal skies. Harry didn't have time to think of a wish before it was gone, and even then, he wasn't sure that what he wanted to wish for could ever come true.

•••