𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐗

Just as I'd anticipated, May came around much quicker than I would've liked; and not without the memories and flashbacks associated with it.

On the thirtieth of April, I woke up early and without noise, immediately locking myself in the bathroom connected to the dorm. I couldn't let Draco see me like that—anxious and weary—when he was dealing with the trauma of his own. I looked in the mirror for a long time, contemplating the choices I'd made and why I chose them, contemplating whether or not they were the best ones.

On the first of May, it was a Saturday; therefore no classes. Draco seemed to catch on to the fact that I had distanced myself from him, though, he didn't realize that he was one of many. He had woken up earlier that morning, trying to catch me in the act of slipping away, but I was already gone.

The second of May came like a punch in my gut and a blow to the head, knocking the wind completely out of my system. I felt breathless. I shut myself away in the bathroom again, but this time, I didn't look in the mirror. I couldn't. And I couldn't have Draco see me cry.

I knew that he was right outside the doorway the whole time, listening to the muffled sobs hidden in my towel as the sink ran steadily in the back of my mind.

I had heard the shuffling of him sliding down the door and to the floor, and I didn't hear it again until I heard his voice along with it.

"Harry, please come out now."

I ignored him. I hastily balled the damp towel and shoved it deep within the hamper.

"Hey," Draco said softly with a light knock on the doorframe.

I splashed my face with cold water, rubbing the unfiltered minerals into my eyes before shutting off the faucet and hovering over the sink.

"Harry." Draco persisted, "Don't hide. I can take it."

I let one last cry escape from my throat without my permission. I used the hand towel to wipe my face and flung the door open.

Draco stumbled back against my feet, quickly standing and gaining his balance.

"Harry."

"Draco."

"You look like shit."

"I'm scared."

"Scared of what?" asked Draco. "Of the past?"

"I'm scared that it wasn't all just a dream. That it actually happened to us. That all those people are actually dead," I whispered. I didn't quite have the energy to talk properly, but Draco leaned in close and listened to every word I had to say without asking me to repeat myself.

"What do you mean?"

I sighed, a small tear pooling in the corner of my eye.

"It's all the same," I tried to explain, not seeming to be able to find the right words, "Hogwarts, the Burrow, everything. It all looks just the way it did before. It's like the war never happened. Nothing's changed. Only the people. And when I look around at them or speak to them, it's a reminder of everything that I wished never happened."

Draco stared into my eyes with an expression that I assumed was sympathy—or something close to it—I had never seen that look on Draco before.

"I think that was the point," Draco told me, "to try to make people forget."

"But that just seems wrong!" I said, exasperated at my own confusion.

"What? You want to dwell on it forever?"

"No!" I threw my hands up in the air, wishing that I could explain the feeling within me in a way that would make people understand. "I just wish it never happened!"