Happy H/D Holidays, enderxenocide!

Author: noticeably
Recipient: enderxenocide
Title: A Glass, Shattered
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: In which there is a tale of two men.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Deathfic,(fl)angst, non-linear narrative.
Deathly Hallows compliant? Yes, excluding the epilogue.
Word Count: 2600
Author's Notes: enderxenocide, it took me quite awhile to come up with something that I thought you might enjoy. Although this doesn't include everything that you included in your request, I attempted to incorporate as much of it as I could. Many thanks to E for listening to me freak out about this back in September, to K for all of her encouragement, and to B for looking this over and assuring me that it turned out alright. I never would have been able to finish this without all of their help. ♥



(in which there is a moment from the not-so-distant past.)
It's raining.

It's always raining, Draco thinks to himself as he leans back against the door, fingers clutching tightly at the warm mug in his hands. The rain began nearly three weeks ago to the day, he observes as he tilts his head back to stare up at the cloudy, early morning sky, and it doesn't look as though it will ever let up.

The rain beats down steadily, hitting the pavement outside in a strangely calming rhythm of drip-drip-drip-drip-drip. For a single moment, Draco allows himself to imagine that it is a song that only he can hear, a lullaby of sorts, there to help calm him. Drip-drip-drip-drip-drip-drip-drip-

A loud crash suddenly breaks the calm, followed closely by an excited shout of, "I like it when it rains!" Draco has only a moment to move out of the way before a blur of blue, green and black literally flies past him and out into the street. With raindrops cascading down his skin, the younger man laughs and smiles brightly when he catches Draco's eyes.

"So do I," Draco agrees, giving a small smile and raising the now-lukewarm mug to his lips.

Draco hates the rain.


(in which there is a meeting.)
Remus Lupin is buried on a dreary, cool Saturday morning in early July. Draco watches from the shadows of a large oak, far enough away not to be noticed, unsure as to whether or not he's welcome. Truth be told, he's not even sure why he's here - it's no secret that he never really liked Lupin, after all.

He sits for what seems like hours, although he's quite sure it's only been a few minutes, and simply watches: Granger, in tears, being led away by Weasley. Professor McGonagall, tall and proud, speaking of what a good man Lupin was. Lovegood, looking calm and collected, putting a single white lily on the casket. His aunt, arms wrapped protectively around a small, purple-haired child, standing in stoic silence as the grave is sealed.

Draco hides in the shadows until the clearing is nearly empty, fingers clutched tightly in his pockets, fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. He doesn't want to be here, he thinks. He wants to leave as soon as possible, but there's something holding him back, and it's only when he thinks that he's entirely alone that he finally steps out, quickly raising his hand to his face in an attempt to ward off the harsh, shining sunlight.

"Is there something I can help you with, Malfoy?" Potter asks quietly, suddenly appearing in front of him as though out of thin air. Draco starts just slightly, but manages to regain his composure. Maybe he did appear out of nowhere, Draco muses as they stare at each other for a long, long moment. Maybe he did - it is a feat not unheard of in a world filled with magic.

"No," he says finally, giving Potter a short nod and turning to leave.

He doesn't make it very far, because the moment he takes his first step, Potter reaches out and grabs a fistful of his shirt, roughly pulling him back towards him. "You can't just go around spying on funerals, Malfoy!" he snaps irritably. "It's rude, not to mention bloody strange. If you're here, then you should be mourning with the rest of us, not hiding back here like some sort of -"

Draco scowls and pulls his arm away from the other man. "I hardly think so, Potter. I simply came to pay my respects," he continues quietly, fingers swiftly smoothing out the ruffled fabric of his shirt. "You have no right to say what I can and can't do."

Potter stares at him for a long moment and Draco can't help be feel exposed. "Why are you really here, Malfoy?" he says finally, sounding tired.

"Isn't it obvious?" Draco replies shortly before turning and walking back towards Hogsmeade.

It isn't.


(in which there is an ending.)
It's a bright, cheerful Monday morning in mid-May when the Minister appears on their doorstep bearing bad news. "There was an accident," Kingsley says, "they couldn't get him out in time. You need to come to St. Mungos -"

The rest of the day is nothing but a blur to Draco.


(in which there is a moment before a third date.)
On their third date, Harry makes the mistake of telling Draco that he wants to tell his friends about them. "They're going to find out sooner or later," he reasons, dragging Draco up the staircase.

"I'd really rather it be later than sooner if you don't mind," Draco snaps, pulling his arm out of Harry's grasp and scowling at the blatant bruising around his wrist. "They all hate me, you know."

Harry turns his head and gives Draco a dazzling smile. "Teddy doesn't," he says.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh, great, the baby likes me. Surely this is a sign of some sort."

"It must be," Harry agrees cheerfully. "You know, I think he hates Neville."

For some reason he can't explain, this cheers Draco immensely.


(in which there is a passing.)
Andromeda Tonks dies on an unremarkable Tuesday evening in late March, a smile on her face and laughter on the tip of her tongue - at least, this is what the Headmistress tells them when she appears on their doorstep three hours later with one very tired, red-eyed Teddy Lupin cradled in her arms.

"Uncle Harry!" the four-year-old wails almost immediately, trying in vain to escape Minerva's grasp as a new wave of tears spill forth. "Gramma won't wake up!"

Harry is at his side long before the boy finishes speaking, arms weaving around Teddy as he pulls him into his arms. "Shh," he murmurs softly, rocking him back and forth. "It's going to be okay, Teddy. It's going to be okay."

"I want Gramma!" Teddy screams, clinging to his godfather as though he were the last person on the planet.

Harry gives Draco a desperate look. "Can you stay down here and talk to Minerva?" he asks, shifting Teddy's weight uncomfortably in his arms. "I'm going to take him upstairs and see if I can't calm him down and get him to go to sleep."

"Of course," Draco says, suddenly feeling immensely relieved. Although Draco will never say this to Harry, he fully feels that he got the better end of the deal - he'd rather deal with McGonagall than a crying, screaming child.

They stand in an awkward silence until Harry and Teddy disappear from view, and then, "how did she die?"

"The Healers aren't sure yet," McGonagall explains quietly, "but they believe it may have been natural."

"Natural?" Draco repeats dully. Draco had never been close to his aunt, but they had managed to come to an uneasy agreement in the years since he and Harry had gotten together. The fact that they weren't close aside, the idea of her just dropping dead upsets him more than he'll admit.

For a moment, Minerva almost looks as though she wants to reach out and hug him. Draco supposed the look on his face plainly says that that isn't a good idea, because she doesn't. Instead, she gives him a final nod and turns back to the door. "Remus and Tonks dictated that in the event that Andromeda were to pass away, custody of Teddy would immediately be turned over to Harry," she says. "Please tell him that he'll have to stop by the Ministry in the morning to finalize everything."

"Right," Draco says, feeling strangely numb as the door closes behind her.

Draco hates death.


(in which there is a moment in a lift. or, according to harry, a first date.)
A good three months pass after Lupin's funeral before Draco runs into Potter again. The Ministry of Magic is an extremely large and heavily populated building, and Draco finds it highly ironic that of all the people he could find himself stuck in a lift with, it has to be Harry-fucking-Potter.

"Well," Potter sighs, giving Draco a slightly irritated look. "This should be fun."

"What I fail to understand is why we're stuck at all," Draco comments pleasantly, ignoring Potter's jibe to the best of his abilities. "Aren't these lifts magical?"

"No," Potter replies, this time glaring angrily around the lift itself. "The magical ones are on the other side of the hall. These are newer, Muggle-type lifts."

Draco blinks. "Who the bloody hell thought it would be a good idea to put Muggle lifts in the Ministry?"

Potter simply tilts his head to the side, an amused look suddenly threatening to push away his irritation. "Do I actually have to answer that?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

Sighing, Draco tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. He hates Arthur Weasley.

Hates him.

"So, it looks like we're going to be here for awhile," Potter says finally after what seems like an eternity of silence.

"I suppose," Draco replies shortly. "I doubt anyone in this building has any idea how to fix this thing."

"Probably not," Potter admits, stretching. A moment later he sits up and begins rummaging through his pockets, "and I'm sure it won't occur to them to charm it for hours."

"It's a pity that you can't cast a spell inside of these things," Draco agrees.

"Hmm," hums Potter, grinning suddenly as he pulls a lighter from his pocket. Reaching to pull a small box of cigarettes from his bag, he tilts his head towards Draco and asks, "do you want one?"

"I didn't know you smoked," Draco manages, accepting the offered cigarette and lighter with a surprised look on his face.

"No one does. Well, except for Luna," Potter says cheerfully. "She thinks that the Wobbling Luftums are making me do it."

Draco laughs, causing him to inhale too quickly, and coughs. "You have strange friends, Potter."

"I don't have the heart to tell her she's wrong," he admits. Looking over at Draco, he narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side. "You know, if we're going to be stuck here for however many hours, we may as well start calling each other by our first names, Draco."

Harry has a point.


(in which there is a moment spent together.)
On Wednesday nights Harry takes Teddy to spend the night at the Burrow. For the most part, the young boy delights in getting to spend time with his extended 'family'. As long as Harry remembers to lean down, give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and tell him that he'll see him on Friday morning, the six-year-old doesn't put up much of a fight.

So they spend their Thursdays together, just the two of them. It's a nice reprieve from their crazy schedules, and they always make sure to make the most of them.

On the first and third Thursdays of the month, Harry gets to pick what they do. These are the Thursdays spent strolling together through the park, laughing and talking, fingers entwined tightly between the two of them. Sometimes Harry likes to drag him down to the lake, and they'll spend the day down there, tossing stones and watching the ripples expand across the width of the water.

On the second and fourth Thursdays of the month, Draco gets to pick what they do. These are the lazy Thursdays they spend at home, curled up in bed or on the couch together. Sometimes Harry will make Draco watch the telly with him, and the two will spend the day watching a Crime Scene Investigation marathon (Draco is still trying to figure out just what it is that Harry likes so much about this show). Other times, Draco will curl up next to him and read.

Draco likes Thursdays.


(in which there is a second date. or, in which there is a quidditch match.)
On their second date, they play Quidditch.

"I think it would be fun," Harry says, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He glances down at Draco, sprawled out lazily in the grass, and grins. "Don't you?"

"Not really," Draco admits.

"Why not?"

Draco ponders this for a moment, and then, "I cheat."

Harry blinks at him, then laughs and shrugs. "You could, you know, not cheat."

Draco rolls onto his side and stares up at Harry. "I guess," he says, "but then I'd lose."

"You always lose," Harry croons, pushing himself to his feet and making a mad dash for the broomshed. Looking over his shoulder, he laughs. "How is this any different?"

It is the first - and only - time that Draco ever beats Harry at Quidditch.


(in which there is a now.)
"Do you miss him?"

"Hmm?" replies Draco, barely paying attention as he stares studiously at his crossword. To be honest, he's surprised that he even has time to do the crossword this morning - September 1st has always been a busy and hectic morning for most families, usually marked by things such as last minute packing and rushing about. Draco, however, has always been ridiculously organized, and things have been packed and ready to go for nearly two days now, giving them a chance to spend one last lazy morning together. "Do I miss who?"

Teddy takes a moment to stop dumping strawberry jam on his toast and glances up at Draco with wide, blue eyes. "Uncle Harry, of course."

For a moment, it's like the air has been knocked right out of him, and he feels ill. Taking a long moment to catch his breath, Draco eventually folds up the crossword and stares across the table at his cousin. "Of course I do," he replies, frowning. "Why do you ask?"

Teddy shrugs, strands of bright green hair sliding down and covering his eyes. "I don't know," he whispers, looking back down at his toast. "I was just wondering."

"You're upset because he's not here to see you off to school, aren't you?" Draco says finally, leaning back in his seat to get a better look at him. If the expression on the boys face is of anything to go on, then Draco's hit the nail right on the head.

"I don't know," Teddy mutters, "I just miss him, you know? I wish he were here with us."

Sighing, Draco reaches across the table and grabs his hand. He's always been horrible at this emotional stuff - Harry had always been the one to deal with it. "You're not alone, you know."

Teddy rolls his eyes, now a deep shade of emerald green. "I know that, Uncle Draco," he says. "I sort of dug into your desk the other night, so I already know that you're going to be teaching Transfiguration and -"

"That's not what I meant," Draco interrupts, deciding to ignore that second part for the moment being.

"It's not?"

Standing, Draco motions for Teddy to follow him back into the hallway where their belongings sit neatly stacked next to the door. "No," he says, "it isn't."

"Then what do you mean?" presses Teddy, fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of his godfather's invisibility cloak. Draco walks over to him and sits down, wrapping an arm loosely around his shoulders. A moment of silence passes between them, and he pulls the younger man close.

"Harry might be dead," Draco says finally, "but he's always here with us."

(He is.)




Death ends a life, not a relationship.
- Robert Benchley