Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I'm Leaving Without You)

chapter 25

Harry appeared on the doorstep with a soft bang, and was surprised to hear music coming from his home. Muggle music. Turned up so loud that it shook the windows. He let himself in, wand firmly in hand, because the explanation that someone had broken into his house and put the Rolling Stones on full-blast while they robbed the place seemed far more likely than the idea of Draco voluntarily listening to “that awful Muggle racket,” as he referred to it. Harry hadn’t realised Draco even knew how to work the stereo.

He crept through the living room and stopped dead because against all logic, there was Draco. Dancing. Bloody dancing, arms over his head, hips swaying, spine arched, shirt riding up to give Harry a tantalizing little glimpse of his lower back. Fucking hell, Harry was going to have to figure out just what the hell was going on here so he could make damn sure it happened again. He hadn’t quite ruled out Imperius or some sort of head injury. Multiple personalities. Demonic possession. Polyjuice.

For long moments, Harry was lost in watching him dance, so loose and uninhibited, each movement graceful and flowing. And then Draco spoiled it all the same way he usually spoiled things: by opening his mouth.

“Tiiiiime waits for no one!” Draco sang in the most appallingly off-key voice Harry had ever heard, and he couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. Draco whipped around to face him, his arms falling back to his sides. “Potter!”

Harry waved at him. “Hello.”

Draco twitched his wand at the stereo and the volume dropped to something less deafening. “You’re, ah. You’re home early.”

“And you can’t know how grateful I am for that. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for the world,” he said with a grin, walking up to Draco. “I had no idea you were such a rotten singer.”

“You can hardly expect me to be perfect at everything,” Draco said, and he sounded so absurdly sulky over it that Harry leaned in and stole a kiss from his pouting mouth.

“Hm,” Harry said. “I suppose that’s fair enough. Besides, what talent you lack in singing you certainly make up for in dancing.”

“Liked that, did you?” Draco said, his sulk fading. He backed away a couple of steps and shifted his hips, the motion a faint echo of his movements from just a minute earlier.

Harry flicked his wand at the stereo and the record started over with the first track. “Come here, you ridiculous arse.”

Draco came to him, and Harry slid his arms around Draco’s waist, leaving Draco to loop his arms around Harry’s neck. He let Draco take the lead, following along as best he could.

“You’re a terrible dancer, Potter,” Draco said.

“I know,” Harry told him, sliding his hands down to give Draco’s arse a squeeze. “This is mostly just an excuse to feel you up while you’re dancing. You’re so bloody hot when you dance.”

“And you’re wicked,” Draco said, but his mouth curled up in a small, pleased smile.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Harry said, hauling him close and rubbing against him. “I haven’t even begun to show you wicked.” He caught Draco’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss. With a flick of his wand, he turned the music higher.

The blast of sound catches Harry off-guard. Hermione doesn’t usually listen to music and he didn’t think that Ron would be home this time of day. But when he appears in their living room, the latest Weird Sisters album is playing full-blast.

“Hermione!” he yells. “HERMIONE!”

She comes tearing up the hallway a moment later, dressed in a loose tee-shirt and jeans, with her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She has her toothbrush in hand. “Harry?” She takes one look at his face and her eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”

“Hermione,” he says again. He feels jittery and sick. “Draco. I saw him. He’s here, he’s still here.”

“What?” she asks, but his throat closes up and he can’t say it again so he just shakes his head and twists his hands together. “Harry, you’re frightening me.”

In response, he grabs her and Apparates her back to the warehouse. They appear near the doorway to the front room, and Harry takes her by the arm and pulls her forward.

“Harry,” she says gently. “There’s no one here.”

“Watch,” he says. Earlier, Draco didn’t appear until he was halfway across the room. He slows as he approaches, easing forward a step at a time, until…

“What?” Hermione has time to say before Draco appears.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he says.

“Oh my god,” Hermione says, her eyes widening. “Draco?”

“He’s saying everything from my last conversation with him,” Harry tells her. “He won’t respond to anything else, he’s just repeating everything he said before.” He can’t take his eyes off Draco. God, it’s been so long, and he’s exactly as Harry remembers. Every expression, every movement, every inflection of his voice. When he says ‘Potter’ Harry nearly sobs aloud, because it’s just as he remembers, so crisply enunciated, Draco always spits out Harry’s name like a seed. Harry always loves how Draco says his name. It’s one of the reasons he’s never bothered trying to get Draco to call him Harry.

“He’s a shade,” Hermione says as the conversation ends and Draco turns his attention back to casting.

Harry frowns. “But, he’s a ghost.”

She shakes her head, and the towel starts to slide off her hair. She yanks it off and drapes it over her shoulders like a cape. “No, he’s a shade,” she repeats, her voice gaining strength now that she’s back on the familiar ground of educating someone else. “A ghost is what happens when someone doesn’t want to die so desperately that they refuse to move beyond the veil. A shade is what happens when someone doesn’t want to die, but their death happens so unexpectedly that they don’t have time to fully decide before they get pushed beyond the veil. Sometimes when that happens it leaves behind… well, it’s rather like an imprint. He’s not really here, Harry. This isn’t really him, it’s just an echo.”

“An echo,” he repeats, watching Draco cast. “So, he’s gone.”

Hermione comes up beside him and slides her arm around his waist. “He’s gone. And over time, this echo will fade as well. Most shades only last a decade or two, or until their haunt is destroyed.” She glances around the warehouse and Harry knows she’s looking at the glimmer of spells holding the building together. She’s probably wondering why it hasn’t been torn down already. “I’m sorry, Harry. This must be so hard for you.”

“I don’t understand why they didn’t tell me,” he says, his eyes pinned to Draco again. “Obviously people were in here to clean it up, I don’t understand why they wouldn’t tell me he was here.”

“They might not have known,” Hermione says carefully. “Sometimes shades have very specific triggers. And since he’s caught having a conversation with you…”

“It’s me, you think?” Harry asks.

Draco turns away and Harry braces himself. Then there’s the too-late realization and the expression of terror, and that awful scream. Hermione flinches, and Draco disappears. Harry takes several big steps back and waits, and Draco doesn’t return even though Hermione walks over to where he was standing. Taking a deep breath, Harry creeps forward a little at a time. Draco appears, starts to turn to look over his shoulder, and Harry takes a quick step back. Draco disappears again.

It takes a bit of convincing, but Hermione persuades him to come home with her, and she and Ron cancel the date they had planned in favour of sitting up with him. Harry talks about Draco, and cries for a while, and talks some more, and they sit beside him and hug him and say all the right things. He stays in their guest room, and as Harry drifts off to sleep, the only thing he’s thinking of is who exactly he’d have to go and see in order to buy that warehouse.