Chapter Text
1987
“Why are you crying?”
Harry looked up from where he buried his face in his bony hands, and promptly frowned in confusion. His vision was still blurry from the tears in his eyes, but he could see that he was no longer in his tiny, cramped cupboard. It was bright, almost a little too bright, as the sun shone strongly above his head. He was outdoors, Harry thought, bemused. He sat in the middle of what seemed like a lush garden, filled with flowers in various colors and covered completely in thick, green grasses. He faintly caught the smell of freshly cut lemons in the air.
His eyes soon fixed on another person with him in the garden, the one asking him a question. The boy stood a few feet in front of him, curiously peering at Harry’s crouching position. He was a little smaller than Harry, but he looked about the same age. The color of his hair was so light it was almost white and his two chubby cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the sun. He tilted his head and raised his pale eyebrows quizzically.
Harry, still hiccupping with short sobs, could only stare right back at him.
The blond boy took small steps toward him and kneeled on the grass, offering him one stubby hand. Still confused, Harry hesitantly took it. The boy beamed.
“It’s okay, Harry, I’m here with you,” the boy said, a small smile curved in his red lips.
“How did you know my name?” Harry asked. “Who are you?”
“Of course I know your name!” he exclaimed, voice high, as though excited. “I’m your friend, Harry. My name is Draco.”
Draco? That was a weird name. Harry was even more confused now. “You’re my friend? How are you my friend? I… I don’t have any friends.”
“Well, now you have me,” Draco said easily. “Is that why you were crying before? Because you think you don’t have any friends? I reckon it would be very lonely if you don’t have anyone to play with.”
“Uh…” Harry blinked away the remainder of tears from his eyes to look at the smiling boy in front of him. “Yes? It… it is terribly lonely. I played alone this evening and I… I accidentally broke one of Aunt Petunia’s flower pots. She was so mad… she sent me to my cupboard without dinner after that. She said freaks shouldn’t be sitting at the table with her family, and I—” He was interrupted by another fresh sob bubbling from his chest.
The smile on Draco’s face was wiped out, replaced by an upset frown. “Your aunt is a terrible person, Harry.” The displeasure was clear in his tone.
“Not only Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley also call me a freak… maybe I am—”
“You’re not a freak!” Draco interjected firmly, looking incredibly cross.
Harry stared at Draco’s scowling face. “How do you know? We haven’t been friends for long. And… and they are grown-ups, or at least Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are, they must know more than we do.”
“What do you mean how do I know?” Draco’s voice was so high he almost shrieked as though he was offended by the notion. “I know you’re not a freak because I know you. We’ve been friends for longer than you ever imagined, Harry. We’ve been friends since forever, and we’ll always be friends for another forever.”
Harry was not the brightest pupil in his class, so he was not entirely sure if Draco’s words were supposed to make sense or not. Draco seemed to be very confident, though, so maybe he was telling him the truth. “So… we’re friends? You and me? Forever? But how does that work?”
“I don’t know,” the boy shrugged carelessly and tilted his head again. “Does it matter?”
Does it? Harry had never had a real friend before. His classmates at school didn’t like him for some reason, while his cousin and his mates only saw him as fit to be bullied. And now, in a beautiful place that Harry had never been before, a boy he didn’t remember ever meeting told him that he was his friend all along.
It was confusing, but it felt right. Right like nothing else Harry had ever felt in his life.
Draco said he was his friend and his words resonated deep within him. He also said Harry was not a freak, and he believed him. Not just because he wanted it to be true, but because it felt like it was right.
Tentatively, he smiled at Draco. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, feeling elated as a grin returned to the boy’s face.
“Brilliant!” Draco squealed with a giggle. “Now, come on, let’s play. We can climb that wisteria tree over there; it’ll be fun, I promise.”
Draco tugged his hand and dragged him all around the garden, climbing trees, picking flowers, playing chase. Harry couldn’t remember smiling so much in his life.
Hours later—or maybe it had only been minutes, but Harry couldn’t be sure as the time in this garden didn’t seem to run normally—Harry lay on the ground next to Draco, body cushioned on the soft grass. Both of them were staring skyward, watching the sun slowly creep toward the horizon. They had played for a long time, but Harry couldn’t feel any tiredness in him. The only sensations he felt were pure happiness and contentment buzzing through his mind.
Harry turned his head and at the same time as Draco turned his, their eyes meeting each other’s. They both grinned broadly.
The grin on Draco’s face dimmed gradually. “It’s time to go,” Draco whispered.
Suddenly, dread washed over Harry. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I’ll always be here with you. But you have to get back soon.”
The idea of doing back to the Dursleys’ had never been this unpleasant. Harry contorted his face at the thought. “I don’t want to go.”
“You have to,” Draco said gently. “But remember, no matter what happens in your life, I’m your friend and I’m always with you. Okay?”
Harry could only nod, mesmerized by the soft expression on Draco’s face. For some reason, he believed his promise.
“Good.” Draco offered him a pleased smile. “Now close your eyes.”
Not knowing why Draco asked him to do that but not wanting to refuse it, Harry shut his eyes. After a few moments of peaceful silence, Harry heard a melodious voice.
Draco was singing to him.
His voice was beautiful, clear and soft. Harry never had anyone sing him to sleep before, but now he understood the fuss about it. Draco’s voice was angelic, and the fact that it was Harry’s friend singing to him only made the experience so much more heavenly. The tune was not familiar, but the purpose of the song was easy to grasp. It offered reassurance. Comfort. Safety.
Lulled by the sweet melody, Harry sank deeper into the darkness.
“Are you going to sleep forever?!” A shrill voice jerked Harry from his deep slumber, followed by harsh rapping on a door.
He blinked a couple times, adjusting to the darkness. Sluggishly, his sleep addled mind recognized the screeching voice as belonging to his Aunt Petunia.
“Up, now, boy! There are dishes to be cleaned!”
“I’m awake!” Harry called from inside his cupboard, just so that the loud shrieking would stop.
It worked. From the other side of the door, Harry could hear Aunt Petunia make an annoyed sound and walk away, shouting one last order for him to get to the kitchen quickly or else.
Despite the warning, Harry took his time, just sitting on his cot surrounded by darkness. He stroked the side of his face where his crooked glasses had pressed on all night. The fact that he had forgotten to take them off, as well as his slightly puffy eyes, reminded Harry that he had cried himself to sleep the previous night.
The memory slowly crept back to him. He had been playing alone in the backyard of Number Four Privet Drive when Dudley came marching up with three of his friends, smirking threateningly at Harry. He had tried to escape, but they had been faster to corner him. Harry remembered being afraid and things suddenly becoming blurry as one of Aunt Petunia’s pots flew right at them, only barely missing Dudley’s blond head. He remembered a lot of shouting and yelling before he’d been shoved into his damp, cramped cupboard.
Harry remembered feeling scared and helpless. He didn’t know why they had blamed him for the accident. He couldn’t have touched the pot ten meters away from him, let alone flung it at Dudley’s head. They, of course, didn’t believe him. It was completely unfair, and Harry found it in himself to be livid. Overwhelmed with the mixed emotions, he could do nothing but lie in the tiny space they put him in and cry.
After that terrible event yesterday, Harry was a bit baffled to wake up feeling calm and refreshed. Happy, almost. He vaguely recalled having a pleasant dream, but he couldn’t remember any fragment of it.
Brightness, he thought absently. It was bright, unlike here.
There was more to it, Harry was sure. He squeezed his eyes shut—which didn’t change much in the complete darkness of the cupboard—and tried to sink deeper into his memories. No visual appeared, but a voice stuck in the back of his mind.
A tune. A melody.
He tried to hum it quietly, feeling a flicker of faint happiness and something else wash over him again. Something that felt right. It was odd.
Harry was still humming to himself when a shriek rang through the house. “What’s taking you so long, boy?!”
Startled from his serene bubble, Harry pushed himself to get up. “I’m coming!”
1991
“You seem so relaxed for your first Quidditch match, Harry.”
Harry stopped his humming to turn to Ron. “I’m not relaxed at all. I’m actually so nervous I feel like vomiting up my breakfast. And I haven’t even eaten it.” He gestured his hand toward his plate, food still untouched.
“You looked relaxed enough, singing to yourself like that,” said Ron as he shoved another fried sausage into his mouth before munching noisily. Hermione reached out from Harry’s other side to slap his shoulder for the bad table manners.
Harry smiled slightly, thinking of his favorite tune. “It’s my good luck charm, actually. Calms me every time.”
“Sounds weird, though,” Ron said with his mouthful, which earned him a glare from Hermione. He swallowed before continuing. “Never heard it. Is it a Muggle song?”
“Is it? I never heard it, either,” Hermione joined in.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it is? I kind of remembered it from my dreams,” mused Harry.
“Hmm, that’s weird,” Hermione said. “Anyway, you need to eat your breakfast, Harry! You’ll need your strength for your match. There are some Slytherins to be beaten!”
Groaning at the thought of walking onto the pitch, Harry looked down at his untouched breakfast without appetite. When his friends were distracted with their other housemates, feasting at the Gryffindor table, Harry quietly hummed his song again under his breath.
It’s okay, he thought with a smile as the familiar feeling of serenity and rightness slowly crept into his body. It’s going to be okay.
1994
The garden remained exactly as it was in his memory. The grasses were as lush and thick under his fingers, the sun was as bright, the breeze still carried the faint scent of citrus. He closed his eyes and hugged his legs to his chest, curling into himself.
“Harry.”
That voice. That’s different from the last time, no longer high pitched and bubbly. Now, it sounded boyishly low, almost too different in his ears. But somehow it still reached right to his core, gently reassuring.
He raised his head and was met with the blond boy, standing tall in front of him, looming over him with his hair falling to his face. “Malfoy.”
The boy smiled at him, though his eyes seemed a little sad. “It’s Draco for you.”
They stared into each other’s eyes, feeling the time frozen with them in the garden.
“Cedric’s…,” Harry choked, unable to complete his sentence.
Draco dropped to his knees, placing a warm palm gently on Harry’s hand.
Harry could feel his throat constrict as fresh tears welled up in his eyes. “Cedric’s dead, Draco. He’s dead. And I—”
“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Draco cut him off, voice soft yet firm.
“You don’t understand.” Harry shook his head as the memory of the last Triwizard tournament task came crashing at him. “I told him to take the cup with me.”
Frowning, Draco raised his other hand to cup Harry’s cheek, wiping away the tears he didn’t realize he’d let out. “It is not your fault.”
His tone was so final that Harry couldn’t say anything else. He sat there, in the middle of a beautiful garden, choking on aborted sobs and letting out more tears as Draco pulled him close. He helplessly clutched at him in return.
Harry had never wanted this. He’d never asked to be born to fulfill a prophecy, to be expected to save the world. And now, someone had lost his life because he was dragged into the cobweb of a grand, evil plan. It’s really messy, and confusing, and Harry was so, so tired.
Draco didn’t say anything, only holding him close and letting him cry all his frustration out. Slowly, Harry’s tears stopped as he tried to breathe along with the rhythmic pulses he could feel in the crook of Draco’s neck where his face nestled. When Harry had calmed down enough, Draco moved his hand up and down his back and, quietly, started singing into his hair.
That song again. The same melodious song, now being sung by a deeper voice, but still as heavenly as Harry remembered.
Warmth spread through his body, slowly but surely, serenading him to tranquility. As Draco’s song came to an end, the feeling of safety had settled deeply inside him.
“Better, now?” Draco whispered.
“Yes, thank you,” he breathed. He pulled away from the embrace to look at Draco’s face. He still had a worried expression on him, his grey eyes searching Harry’s. Harry offered a weak smile to reassure him. “You’re here again.”
Letting out a relieved breath, Draco returned his smile with a lopsided one of his own. “Of course I’m here. I promised that I’ll always be with you no matter what, right? I’m your friend, since the beginning of time and until the end of it.”
Harry’s grin widened slightly as he pulled Draco close again. “And yet you made those Potter Stinks badges.”
Draco laughed, unabashed and just a tad amused. “Please don’t hold a grudge against that boy, he doesn’t know better yet.”
Harry sighed softly against Draco’s shoulder, pondering his words. Yet he said. “So there will be a time in the future when we can be like this outside this garden?”
Slender fingers came up to his hair, entangling the strands. “I honestly don’t know, Harry. The fact that we are meant to be won’t make it any easier, considering everything. It will take effort from both of us.”
“I wish we could just know that we’re meant to be. It would be so much easier,” whispered Harry.
“Oh, we will know. Trust me,” Draco replied, and Harry could hear a smile in his voice. “But it takes time. And it’s likely going to be hard.”
They stayed together in silence after that, basking in the sunlight and cherishing each other’s company. It was beautiful, and peaceful, until Harry broke it. “Voldemort is back.”
Draco’s expression didn’t waver. “I know.”
“Fudge didn’t believe me.”
“Well, he isn’t the brightest Minister, is he?” Draco said lightly with a shrug.
Harry stared at him. His aristocratic face and pale hair seemed to match the picturesque scenery ridiculously well. Draco was here. Draco was his friend, and he was with him. “Voldemort is back,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” said Draco, “and it’s going to be a lot harder from here. Not only for you and I separately, because it definitely will, but also for us. It won't be as simple as me making stupid badges to mock you. It will… it will be very complicated.” He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed harshly through his mouth. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
Harry, hating the distress in Draco’s face, took his hand and held tight. “But no matter what you’re still here with me, right?”
That was enough to replace the distress with a stunning beam. “Yes. I’m here with you, always.”
With all he had, Harry trusted him. He trusted him because nothing felt as right as that. It was not a promise; it was a fact. They would always be here together, safe in each other’s presence. “Sing for me?” he asked in a whisper.
Still with his blinding smile on, Draco obliged.
1995
Harry was leaning on the wall of Room of Requirement, watching the other members of the Dumbledore’s Army start leaving while some chatted quietly between them. It had been a good practice day—everyone had made decent progress in learning lately—but Harry couldn’t shake the anxiety nagging at his core. It was an unpleasant feeling, and lately, it had been constant. Things were getting terrifyingly serious, and now he was restless and on edge.
“That song again.”
He turned to see Ron approaching him, two girls in tow.
“What song?” Ginny piped up from his side.
“Harry’s mysterious favorite song. No one can pinpoint it,” said Ron.
Hermione slid to stand against the wall next to Harry, a book in one hand and a parchment in the other, practically shoved to her face. “I’m convinced that he made it up himself,” she said absently.
“I’m not sure Harry had the musical ability to do that,” said Ron with a snicker. He turned to his sister. “He said he heard it in his dreams.”
Luna Lovegood, who had been silently walking beside Ginny all along, suddenly gasped. “Did you really hear it in your dreams, Harry?”
Confused, Harry nodded. “Yes?”
“Oh! How wonderful!” Luna exclaimed dreamily. “That must be your soulmate singing to you.”
Harry raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Soulmate?”
Without any subtlety, Ron leaned in and whispered in a voice that was way too loud if he really meant not to be heard, “Don’t listen to her, Harry, you know she’s Loony Lovegood.”
“Stop calling Luna that!” Ginny snapped angrily and punched her brother’s arm. It looked kind of painful to Harry, and he winced a little on his friend’s behalf.
Luna, however, didn’t seem perturbed at all. Her pale eyes glinted in serene wonder. “Yes, Harry, your soulmate. Can you remember anything about them besides the song?”
“I… I don’t understand what you meant by soulmate,” Harry said uncertainly.
From his side, Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “You don’t understand because there’s nothing to understand. Soulmates aren’t real.”
“Why, of course they are real, Hermione.” Luna tilted her head. “It’s so sad that many wizards don’t believe in soulmates anymore. We used to, you know, a long time ago; I think it must have been so lovely.”
“Have you heard about it?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows at Hermione.
The witch huffed and put aside her parchment. “I read about it a handful times, but none of them were from a credible source. Most were written by a mad wizard with outlandish ideas.”
“It’s a good fairytale, though. I think the myth of soulmates is still being told in many magical families. Do you remember when Mum told us that, Gin?” said Ron.
Ginny seemed thoughtful for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Ah! That story about soulmates and dreams!”
“Except it’s not just a story or a myth. Soulmates are real,” Luna said easily, smiling.
From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Hermione was rolling her eyes again. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was a little curious. “What did you mean when you said my soulmate was singing to me?”
“You don’t know anything about it, do you, Harry?” Luna asked without malice, her tone simply curious. “Your soulmate visits you in your dreams. Everyone has a soulmate, someone that is especially made for them. Someone who is bonded with them forever. They come to our dreams in the hardest times of our lives to console us.” She paused for a dreamy sigh. “Back then, the soul bond magic was so strong that we could easily conjure the image of our soulmates from those dreams. But, unfortunately, the magic of soulmate bonds weakens throughout the years as more and more wizards refuse to believe in it. Now, it’s become really hard for us to feel and identify our soulmates from the dreams.”
“Yeah, because it’s not real,” Hermione hissed under her breath, exasperated.
“It’s real,” Luna insisted, her voice remained as calm and languorous as ever. “The ability to feel the bond varies between people, of course. The stronger the bond, the more you can remember from the dream. If you could remember a song, Harry, I think your bond with your soulmate is extremely strong.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but that still sounds like a made-up fairytale to me,” Ron interjected. This time, Ginny didn’t even try to defend her friend. “So you’re saying people have soulmates but they just can’t tell?”
Smiling serenely, Luna nodded. “Exactly.”
Hermione snorted so hard that Harry had to check if she was okay.
Harry regarded Luna. “Well, let’s just assume you’re right—”
“I am,” she cut in.
“Yes, you’re right,” Harry relented. “And soulmates do exist. How… how does it work? How can we find our soulmate if we don’t know anything about the person?”
Luna peered at Harry, her gaze meaningful. “Oh, you will know.”
Harry stared back, stunned as a sense of deja vu struck him. Something about Luna tugged at something in his mind. Her light blonde hair, her pale eyes. Oh, you will know.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Hemione’s impatient voice jerked Harry back from his thought.
Ginny sighed. “Well, yeah, no offense, Luna, but Hermione is kinda right.”
Luna just smiled and shrugged. Harry could feel they wanted to end the discussion at that, but he was not quite satisfied. If anything, his curiosity was only piqued even more.
“Wait. If we can’t tell for sure who our soulmates are, isn’t there a chance that we end up getting together with someone that isn’t our soulmate?”
“Mate,” Ron deadpanned. “You’re not seriously believing this rubbish, are you?”
“I’m just curious, okay?” Harry said defensively.
“That’s the most beautiful thing about soulmates, Harry,” said Luna serenely. “Someone in this universe is made just for you, but there’s no obligation to be with them. They don’t restrict you in your life, they’re just there in your hardest times so you’ll never feel alone.”
“Yeah, in dreams that you can barely remember,” Hermione said, unimpressed.
“It’s not about remembering or knowing. It’s about receiving comfort and safety in the times when we need them the most.” Luna tilted her head in thought. “Maybe that’s why people stopped believing in soulmates. Many of us probably never get the experience of being consoled in dreams, never need the comfort.”
Ginny frowned sceptically. “Have you?”
“Yes, when I was nine, after my mum died. I can’t remember anything about the dream, but I could tell that I met my soulmate there. It felt different, so distinctive.”
The distinctive feeling. Harry thought about that time he woke up in his little cupboard on Privet Drive. Then another time when he woke up in the hospital wing after the Triwizard Tournament. The feeling of something sure and warm. Right . The moments when his favorite tune echoed the loudest in his head.
“Harry.” Hermione elbowed his ribs.
Startled, Harry turned to her, finding the witch raising her eyebrows judgmentally. “What?”
“You’re not believing all this soulmate crap, are you? It’s not real.”
“I’m not,” Harry said, shrugging in feigned nonchalance.
Hermione gave him a sceptical look but let him go with that.
Truth to be told, Harry wasn’t sure whether he believed it or not. It was a strange concept at best, and the fact that most wizarding community members had decided to abandon it just added to the case. But Harry wouldn’t lie and said he wasn’t at least intrigued. He liked the idea of having someone who would comfort him whenever he needed it, knowing that someone who was made for him was out there somewhere, knowing that he would never be alone.
Real or not, Harry didn’t really care. Thinking that he had a soulmate singing to him when life got too hard felt right. Right like the sensation after he woke up from the pleasant dreams he always failed to recall. Right like the feeling his favorite tune always gave him. So he would keep it that way. His friends didn’t need to know, anyway. It was just between him and his mysterious soulmate with the angelic voice.
1998
“It’s over.”
Harry didn’t know how long Draco had been sitting next to him. Maybe he had been there all along, constantly living in the sunny garden. Harry couldn’t imagine this fairytale-like place without his presence.
He found Draco was watching him, face expressionless. “I died,” Harry blurted, not knowing where it came from.
“I know,” Draco replied without missing a beat, “but you came back.”
“I did.”
“I would have died with you.”
“Does it work like that?”
Draco leaned back, arms supporting him as he squinted up toward the sky. “If you’re asking about him, no, he wouldn’t die. But I, part of his soul, would. When I said I’d be with you forever, there was no exaggeration in it, you know.”
Now it’s Harry’s turn to watch him, sitting so carefree under the brightly shining sun. He was very familiar, and yet couldn’t be any more different. He thought about Draco, the one outside this garden, and the only images that came to his mind were the gaunt look of his face the last time he’d seen him, the fear in his eyes. And fire. So much hot, scorching fire.
“Does he have this too? I mean, a part of my soul just for him?”
Draco’s lips curved in a smile. “Of course. Why are you asking?”
“I think he might need it.”
“He does,” said Draco. “But he made it. And you did, too. It’s over.”
“I can’t believe I made it,” he whispered. “Many didn’t.”
Draco didn’t say anything, just scooted closer to press his arm against Harry’s, offering silent comfort.
“I don’t know what to feel. I can’t feel anything. It’s like, I should at least be relieved that this whole thing is finally over, but there’s nothing. I just feel empty.”
Still without words, Draco draped an arm across his shoulders. Harry leaned into the touch as he stared toward the far end of the garden, where a huge wisteria tree stood, faintly remembering when he climbed it with Draco in his childhood. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Remember when my biggest problem was being sent to a tiny cupboard?” Harry asked quietly. “I feel like these days someone has to die before I can see you.”
“You don’t have to see me to know that I’m always here.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”
Harry closed his eyes, relishing the tranquility that felt almost absurd after the life and death battle he had just gone through. But Draco was right. It was over. The war was over.
“Will it be easier for us, then, after this?” he asked in a whisper, not wanting to break the serene atmosphere blanketing them.
Draco hummed thoughtfully. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “As I once said, it’s going to be hard. We have each other, yes, but the fact that we need each other like this—” he gestured to himself and the garden, “—tells me that it’s really not going to be easy. You and I have both gone through a lot; it’ll probably take time.”
Harry regarded him, longing growing in his chest. “But I have you.”
Draco leaned in, ducking his head to plant an innocent peck on Harry’s cheek. “Yes, now and until forever. Always,” he whispered to his ear. “Want me to sing for you?”
Nodding, Harry closed his eyes again and waited for the melody to wrap him in the warmth he had been yearning for.