Summary
*A cry, a thud, silence and a warm embrace.*
There's an almost sinister silence as Voldemort's lifeless body falls to the ground and though it only lasts for a second, it feels as though it's stretching to eternity. Draco's head is buzzing with his own voice shouting one name. Always.
"Potter!"
Before anyone else has the time to process what was happening, Draco staggered forwards, away from the frozen Death Eaters and towards the boy who lived, twice, standing alone over Tom Marvolo Riddle's body. No one has moved yet. No one quite dared believe this was really it. But he knew. Draco knew, the moment he saw Voldemort's body sway in front of Harry Potter, that it was over.
Tears were running down his cold cheeks freely. He could not feel them. People now started to move tentatively. He could not see them. His father had gotten his voice back and called out for him in what he wished to be a stern, demanding voice, but what came out as a strangled plea. Draco could no longer hear him.
It was as though all sense left his body as he approached the mess of a human that now had his whole attention on him, that now watched him so intently, any other day Draco would have stopped dead in his tracks. But not today. Not now. For today, the boy who Draco risked everything for back at the manor, lived. Lived and freed them all. The one person Draco desperately put all of his faith in was alive and well and standing right in front of him.
So, name and reputation be damned, he flung his arms around the boy's neck and buried his head in the crook of his neck, whispering a soft and heartfelt well done Harry, for the boy in his arms wasn't The Boy Who Lived, nor The Chosen One nor The Saviour. He was just a messy boy, with equally messy hair and a heart too big for his own good and Draco knew how much Harry needed to hear those words, because who else would understand better than him, really.
Harry barely has time to catch himself so he wouldn't fall backwards from the force of Draco's hug and it takes him a good few seconds to compose himself and register the words so tenderly spoken in his ear before he finally returns the hug with equally eager arms. He can feel hot tears staining his cheeks and Draco's shirt, but takes comfort in the fact that the blond is crying just as hard as he is. And as he inhales deeply and Draco's scent fills every bit of him he knows. Knows it's finally over.