Blackberry Jam (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Thirty Five

   After some time he checked his father's watch from where he had dropped it by his clothes, and sighed. "We should probably be heading off soon," he said, slipping his hand into Draco's. He didn't really want this magical afternoon to end, but he didn't want Mrs Figg worrying about them either.

They got dressed feeling only slightly damp still and hefted their bicycles up to walk them back down the path. "Promise we'll come back soon?" Harry asked.

"Promise," Draco replied.

The ride back seemed even more wonderful than before, and Harry found himself noticing the evening birdsong, the beautiful colours in the trees and in the sky. Even the old dirt tracks seemed whimsical to him as they sped along.

He allowed himself to dare hope, that the war was coming to an end and he and Draco could move onto the next stage in their lives, together. His head was filled with images of them perhaps going to the same university – if he got in of course, Draco was sure to but Harry wasn't so certain. But for now, he imagined them on the same campus, perhaps sharing halls together, then both getting the jobs they wanted. It all so seemed so possible.

He was so lost in his daydream, it took him a moment to realise as they turned the last corner into their lane, that Mrs Figg was sitting on the front step. The way her head snapped up made Harry guiltily think she'd been waiting for them, but then he became aware of her hands, and he knew in an instant she had not been fretting about dinnertime.

Between two gnarled fingers, resting absently next to where her walking cane was perched, was a cigarette. It was burned halfway down, but then several other stubs were extinguished in a small clay tray next to the cane. Mrs Figg never, ever smoked. Harry had only seen her sneak on or two when she'd been drunk at Christmas over the years. For her to have got through almost a whole pack of ten made his insides drop immediately.

But as he and Draco swung their bikes in and opened the gate, Harry also spotted what was in her other hand, and he felt like his heart stopped altogether.

It was a telegram.

Or at least, he thought it must be, because the post had arrived at the regular hour this morning. Telegrams cost money by the word, and were only sent in emergencies.

Please don't be for me! he prayed silently, but then he realised that would mean it was for Draco, and he didn't want that either. They dismounted from their bicycles, and ran them down the path.

"Mrs Figg?" he cried as she kept her eyes on them and stood shakily to her feet. "What's wrong, what's happened?"

She had stubbed out her cigarette even though it was only half smoked, and was trembling with the effort of keeping herself held up with just one hand on the cane, the other still occupied with clutching the scrap of paper to her chest, her eyes wide with tears.

Harry dropped his bike unceremoniously on the lawn as Draco did the same, an imploring look on his face that Harry was sure matched his own as they stopped in front of her. "What?" he rasped again. "Please tell us?"

Mrs Figg's chest gave a shudder, and she thrust the letter out.

At Harry.

"I'm so sorry love," she whispered.

Harry tore the message open, his blood pulsing so loudly in his ears he felt like it was roaring. He skimmed the few, neatly typed words, and stumbled as his vision blacked briefly out. He howled, a sound he didn't even recognise from himself, and pitched forwards. His hands grasped at the door frame, tumbling through the open door and into the cool, shadowy inside of the cottage. His legs seemed to work automatically as they fumbled up the stairs to the attic, sobs racking through his chest as he tried to catch a breath.

He couldn't see for tears though, and he tripped on the last step, sprawling on hands and knees into his and Draco's bedroom. The shock jolted something awake in him, and he screamed, a keening noise that ripped through his nerves.

He felt hands on his shoulders, felt himself being helped up and steered towards the bed where he could collapse. He then felt the crumpled telegram being eased from his fist, and the mattress shifting as Draco laid down beside him, dragging him into a fierce protective hug.

There was nothing he could do now though to save him, it had already been done. Ten words that had changed his life forever. Ten words that Draco read, then started crying too, rocking Harry back and forth, the telegram angrily balled up and clutched between them.

Ten words. How could ten words destroy so much?

"I'm so sorry Harry," Draco stuttered.

Harry couldn't form anything to say in return, so he just clung to Draco tighter, feeling like he was the only thing still anchoring him to the world, preventing him from being swallowed whole into oblivion.

Ten words.

Mother's factory bombed. No trace of her. I'm sorry. Petunia.