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

chapter 33

As always, he can’t help searching Draco’s face for something, for some flicker of recognition, for some slight variance from last time, for anything. But there’s nothing. He’s exactly the same. He’s the same as he was five years ago, and the same as he’s been for the last month.

Harry’s been staying with Ron and Hermione the whole time, and it’s been nice to be useful. Hermione is due any day now, and Harry’s taken over much of the housework, and he keeps her company while Ron is at work. Evenings, he spends with Draco. It’s fucked up, he knows that, and he doesn’t blame William at all for fleeing straight back to America. At least he was kind enough to box up Harry’s personal things and ship them over. He’s a decent man, and he deserves better than what Harry could give him.

Sometimes Harry feels guilty for William. Like by being with him he’s betrayed Draco, in a way. He knows that’s not true. And he knows that Draco would understand. He went through the same war Harry did. He knows that shit happens and people die and those who get left behind have to find whatever happiness they can. Draco wouldn’t begrudge Harry trying to move on; he’d encourage it.

It’s something he’s spent the entire month thinking about. Harry’s been trying to move on, but he’s come to realise that moving on is impossible with half of himself tied up here with Draco, maybe more. And he’s going to need that part of himself back if he’s ever going to heal. Because what he’s doing now isn’t working. He hasn’t moved on or let go. He’s just pushed it down, buried it deep and pretended the pain didn’t exist whenever it got too much to handle. He hasn’t fully accepted that Draco’s really gone, even as he tried to tell himself he had. And that’s not right, not for himself and not for Draco.

Tonight, Harry lets Draco speak almost all the way to the end. He watches carefully, taking the time to memorise every detail. The precise way his eyelashes curl. The shapes his mouth makes as he says Harry’s name. The way he grips his wand. The cuff of his sleeve slides back as he casts, exposing one slender wrist. As always, Harry’s struck by how delicate the bones are, how fragile.

“This is the last time,” Harry says when Draco’s said almost everything he’s going to say. “This is it, I’m not going to see you again.” Draco leans forward and Harry’s standing in the right place. He closes his eyes, and for a moment it’s like ice pressing against his nose and mouth and chin. “I’m letting go, for both of us.” He takes a step back and opens his eyes just in time.

Draco smiles at him and pushes his arm through Harry’s chest, right through his sternum, and Harry feels the chill down through the very bottom of his heart. “Be off with you,” he says with a laugh. “And we’ll have that conversation later.”

Harry takes another step back, counts six seconds, and there it is. Draco glances back over his shoulder and his mouth tips up into that fond smile he only gets when he looks at Harry, then he turns around again, determined and focused, but with a hint of a smile still lingering on his lips. He loops his wand through the air.

“I mean it,” Harry whispers. “This is goodbye. I love you, but you’re gone.” His throat feels scratchy and thick. He swallows past it. He needs to say this aloud. “I’ll see you again someday, I think. And when I do, that’s it. I’m never leaving you again.” His eyes are tearing up and this time he can’t stop it. He swipes across them with the back of his wrist. “So, I mean it. This really is the last time I’m leaving without you. Never again, okay? This is the last time.”

He nods to himself and squeezes his eyes shut as he turns away, because if he’s looking at Draco he doesn’t think he’ll be able to leave. He hurries away, because he doesn’t want to see the end. He’s already seen it happen so many times before, but Harry wants this time to be different. He doesn’t want the very last thing he sees on Draco’s face to be that horrible fear and panic. He doesn’t want the last thing he hears to be that terrible split-second scream. He wants to remember that fond smile aimed at Harry, and the fierce joy he took in doing his job, his bright laugh and the warmth in his voice. That’s how Harry wants to remember him, determined and smiling and happy.