When The Smoke Clears

Infinite Grace

Draco couldn't tell how much time passed within the Room of Requirement. From the moment he stepped in, the chamber was steeped in pitch-black, as if someone had just thrown Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. He'd felt his way into a warm space, knees knocking against a bed-like shape; it was soft and cushy, and covered in plump pillows.

He fell asleep from the sheer exhaustion of being alive.

His dreams began and ended in undiscernible points in time. Draco remembered his childhood, the first time he met Potter, being sorted into Slytherin, all the moments that somehow led up to him being sworn into a cult of terror. But when its leader was vanquished, Draco had thought, Now what?

He asked himself the same question now, staring up into the void, his back pressed into an invisible mattress. Now what, indeed.

When he was younger, about twelve or thirteen, Draco used to make lists. He'd organize his assignments, plots of revenge, snappy insults for Potter, people whom he liked, people whom he wouldn't mind seeing dead - or at least seriously maimed. Crabbe and Goyle used to make fun of him for being so methodical. Draco let them if only to entertain himself.

Why're you making extra work for yourself? Crabbe had asked, jaw hanging open dumbly. If you want more homework, do mine for me. I dunno how to write stuff.

"But you did figure out how to write properly," Draco said fondly into the darkness. "Fumbled your way into passing your O.W.L.s, didn't you? Not without my help, of course."

A faint chuckle in the darkness.

Draco sat up, his heart throwing itself against his ribs. Never in his many years exploring the Room of Requirement did he meet a ghost within it, but he wasn't about to rule out the possibility. "Hello?" He called cautiously.

The silence that ballooned felt cheeky, as if someone was holding their breath to keep from laughing.

"If you won't show yourself," Draco said petulantly, "You might as well not exist." He tried to sound cocky to comfort himself, but he didn't relax for a long while.

The seconds, minutes, or hours - Draco couldn't tell - ticked by. "Okay..." He murmured to himself. "Where was I?" Right. Lists.

Number one: Surely, every single person at Hogwarts, living or dead, knew that he and Harry were romantically involved. Their discovery would lead to some sort of consequences, but Draco tried not to think about that right now.

Number two: Henrietta was in love with him. Supposedly, anyway. Draco couldn't believe that anyone would ever love him...except for the fact that Potter did. Which brought him to his next point.

Number three: Draco was utterly, impossibly, in love with Harry Potter. He covered his face with his hands in the dark, smiling beneath his palms. How had it come to this? How had he allowed himself to become so vulnerable? It wasn't Harry's eyes that kept him by his side, the iridescent green that became Draco's favorite color the moment he saw him. It wasn't his lips that he'd gotten used to having all to himself. Instead, Draco figured he loved Harry for all the reasons he used to hate him. For the heart that forgave so sincerely, the hands that steadied the stumbling, the smile that reassured the helpless.

Potter possessed infinite grace, an attribute that Narcissa had often attempted to teach Draco and various other young purebloods during pre-Hogwarts etiquette lessons. According to her, grace meant mostly patience, but perhaps a bit of mercy and compassion, as well. It was the ability to be polite under pressure, to remain smiling in a bad situation, to encourage others and the self to continue living even in the darkest of times.

Grace had never come easily to Draco. But for Harry, he'd leastwise try.

He tilted his head to the not-quite-silent shadows. Yes, at least one entity hummed about here, whether it was a manifestation of the Room of Requirement itself, or something more sinister. But Draco felt sure that it wouldn't hurt him - or else, couldn't.

He touched a pale hand to his forehead, surprised to find it slick with sweat. He looked down at himself, even though he couldn't see, and noticed how hungry he suddenly felt. How long have I been in here?

"I'd like to leave now, please," Draco commanded, voice trembling. "If you'll allow it."

For a moment, the Room did not respond. But then a scraping noise echoed from the far end of the chamber, and a square of morning light slid into existence.