Empty Spaces

Chapter 11

Harry wasn't taking Defense this year. It was a shock to everyone, including himself. But when he got his list of courses that summer, when he looked down at that little box next to Defense Against the Dark Arts, he found he was unable to check it off. He knew it was a stupid thing to do. Defense was his best subject, and would be the easiest N.E.W.T. he could possibly get. The Ministry had spent a good amount of the summer practically begging him to join their Auror department. "You've got talent," they said. "A gift," they said. And finally, "It would be a shame to waste it." But he couldn't do it. Talent, it turns out, means nothing without drive.

Then he pictured himself back in a classroom, casting and practicing those spells... the same ones he had used all last year... he'd gotten people killed with those spells. What's the difference between avada kedavra and casting a stunning spell midflight? One just kills you faster, that's all. Maybe avada kedavra isn't so awful after all. If I'm going to die, quick and painless sounds like a good way to go. I'd choose instant death over falling 1000 feet or being consumed by fire or being strangled or trampled or cut open or mauled to death... He'd seen the mangled bodies after the war. Everyone who'd been hit by a killing curse at least looked peaceful.

Hermione pointed out that he didn't have to take Defense if he didn't want to– it was, after all, not a required subject for N.E.T.Ws. So when the deadline for his course choices came up, Harry turned in his parchment with that awful little box remaining empty. He was good at Defense. Really good. But he'd come to realize just how fine the line was between defending against the dark arts and using them himself. He'd killed people. Did it matter whether they were Voldemort's followers or not? Did it matter whether he used a defensive spell or an illegal one? At the end of the day, a person is a person and death is death.

Harry hadn't cast a Patronus since the war and honestly worried he wouldn't be able to. Happy thoughts seemed like such distant memories now. But the early October sunshine was still warm, the lake sparkled, and for a moment, one could barely even tell that a battle had been fought here. It's just a Patronus. You can do this. It's okay.

He ended up spending a good amount of the lunch hour practicing with Ron. They brought a stack of sandwiches outside and sent their silver animals flying out across the lake, the stag and the terrier romping around free and unburdened. Must be nice.

"Thanks mate," Ron's Patronus said to Harry, "That's so much better now. I've got to head up soon, got any plans for tomorrow?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. Survive. Those are my weekend plans.

"You should join us for a Butterbeer. It's a Hogsmede weekend, so Ginny and Luna are coming too. I'll tell Hermione in Defense this afternoon. It'll be just like old times. See you, Harry!"

Just like old times.

Ron headed back up to the castle, silver terrier in tow, leaving Harry alone in the grass. He looked out over the glistening ripples in the lake. How could it possibly seem so peaceful now when the world had been in flames not even six months ago?

The movement of someone crossing the lawn and heading down towards the shoreline caught Harry's eye. So Malfoy isn't taking Defense this year, either. Thinking that what he was about to do was going to either be extremely brave or extremely stupid, Harry crossed the grass and headed over. He saved your life more than once. The least you can do is see if he's doing okay.

"Hey," Harry said as he approached his... not friend.

"Hey," Malfoy replied, still staring emptily across the water.

"No Defense this year?" Harry asked, trying and failing not to sound awkward.

Malfoy just shook his head.

"Yea. Same," Harry replied.

"Planning on sitting down or what?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

"Do you want company or not?" Harry retorted.

"Depends on the company," Malfoy replied breezily.

"This company," Harry said, making a choice and sitting down. "You doing alright?"

Silence. That means no.

"Yea," Harry said at last, "Me too."

They sat together, saying nothing. Somehow, Harry felt safer here than he did anywhere else– he didn't have to try and be okay here, he didn't have to put on a face or act like everything was fine, he didn't even have to talk. After a long while, Malfoy got up.

"Afraid I have some plans this afternoon, Potter. Let's do it again sometime."

"Next Tuesday." While everyone else is in Defense.

"Tuesday."

Malfoy turned and headed down to the gates leaving Harry sitting alone on the grass once more. Somehow, sitting in silence by himself wasn't nearly as satisfying as sitting in silence with someone else.

He stayed for the Quidditch match that evening, wondering what Draco's plans off campus had been and whether they involved a certain handsome stranger and why it bothered him so much in the first place. Ginny's flying really had improved a lot this year, those extra practices combined with her newfound drive seemed to be paying off tenfold. Ron had some spectacular saves, resulting in a Gryffindor win of 210 - 40. Past Harry would have been right up there with them, flying and celebrating and sharing in the joy of leaving the world behind on the ground and letting the game become your everything. But Present Harry was unable to touch his broom this year. Quidditch was one of the few things Past Harry had been passionate about and truly enjoyed. Not wanting to risk ruining Quidditch too, Present Harry remained firmly on the ground, watching from a distance, happy for his friends to be happy. Like everything else this year, it seemed.

The next day was another beautiful one, with the sun casting its thin golden warmth of early autumn over the village rooftops. Hermione was working in the morning, but promised she would be able to come by after her shift for a butterbeer. Harry, meanwhile, dedicated the morning to his homework, happy for the solitude and grateful to have something to do. The irony was not lost on him that Past Harry would never have considered this a pleasant morning, but then again, Past Harry thought he knew a lot more than he actually did. Past Harry, Present Harry decided, had an infuriatingly simple outlook on life: All the answers, it turned out, did not simply fall into place. Past Harry never took into account that winning the war would somehow mean losing everything he'd come to define himself with. If your entire identity has revolved around accomplishing this one task, what's left of yourself when that one task is over?

Sometime after lunch (cereal again, but he told himself he could pick up something real at the pub), he headed over to The Three Broomsticks where Ron was already sitting with Neville and Luna. To Harry's extreme irritation, Malfoy was also there, tucked away in the corner with that same stranger, both of them looking far too happy about something. Still, the smile didn't quite reach Malfoy's eyes. Harry understood the feeling all too well.

"Harry! Hey, Harry, over here!" Ron called out, and Harry forced himself out of his thoughts and made his legs walk over to their table. Hermione and Ginny joined soon after, and it was almost like old times, except it wasn't. Everyone was starting to look towards their futures now, like sunflowers lifting their heads up into the light. Ginny was set on her Quidditch career, Neville was looking into places where he could apprentice for herbology, Luna was making plans to start traveling again, and Ron was talking about helping George run the store. Hermione, Harry knew, had long been planning her career in magical law and was now putting together her application to apprentice with the Ministry after school. Everyone had a future. Except Harry. Harry's future had come and gone with the rise and fall of Voldemort.