This Hand of Yours (Harry-Centric)

He's standing next to Ron Weasley, walking up the marble steps, when Draco offers him his hand.

It's a simple gesture, really. Nothing to it. A quick handshake and then it's done, gone, never to be thought about again.

But somehow Harry senses this is so much more than just a gesture. Draco's telling him that if he shakes his hand, then they're friends, and that's something Harry wants.

People are going to treat him differently, aren't they? He's the "Chosen One." People will expect so much more. Maybe Draco can help with that.

On the other hand, there's Ron, and maybe even Hermione. They seem real. They seem like the kind of friends Harry actually wants, and he's tempted to say no, refuse Draco.

But that will make Draco his enemy, and he really doesn't want that, does he? He just wants to be accepted. The drive inside him to belong, to be part of something, outweighs everything, and before he can stop himself, he's reaching out his hand and shaking.

It's a quick handshake, actually, over far quicker than Harry thought. Draco's grip was firm and strong, and somehow that makes Harry think he's done the right thing. Draco motions for him to stand closer, and obediently he walks over, standing next to his side.

He's happy that he's made an ally, a friend, even, but it hurts when he sees the betrayed look in Ron's eyes.

It hurts, but Harry doesn't let him bother him, because somehow he knows this won't be the first time he lets somebody down.

The Sorting Hat actually listens to Harry, and it's strange.

All eyes are on him as he sits down in the chair and has the Hat placed upon his head, and although he's trembling with fear, nobody seems to notice.

Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin, he keeps thinking, praying that the Hat will say Slytherin.

Because Draco's in Slytherin, and Draco accepted him, so he needs to stay with Draco, doesn't he? Chosen One or not, he's Draco's…friend now, isn't he?

Yes, he is.

"You want Slytherin?" the Hat asks Harry.

"Yes," Harry thinks, hoping the Hat can hear him. Of course the Hat can, but still, he doesn't want to speak aloud.

The area is silent. The Hat doesn't even say a word until it belts out the word that probably changes everything -

"SLYTHERIN!"

And the Slytherin table is shocked. The Chosen One is a Slytherin? Didn't He Who Must Not Be Named try to kill Harry? Wouldn't that prevent Slytherin from being a good match?

But they're happy, because now they have leverage.

And Harry's happy, because he has Draco.

And it does change everything; but everyone's too young and naïve to realize it.

"Hey, anyone care to join?" Draco sneers from up high on his broom. He's holding the red orb - what was it called? Harry can't remember, which he finds slightly ironic - and everyone knows Neville will want it back, but nobody's helping him, because what's in it for them, after all?

"Malfoy!" Ron cries, and Harry glances over to him, rolling his eyes when he sees the feeble attempt the ginger's making. Draco's told Harry that the Weasley's are bad, and Harry believes him.

Because Draco made him feel accepted. He made the stares not seem so bad, the crowded isolation of being Harry Potter bearable. So Harry believes every word Draco Malfoy says, and believes it like the truth.

"Yes, Weasley?" Draco calls back, still hovering with his magnificent broom skills.

"Give it back, Malfoy," Ron replies, his voice quavering.

"Would you like to come up here and get it, perhaps?" Draco suggests, and Harry knows that Draco actually would like that, because it gives him a challenge, and Draco likes challenges.

Ron opens his mouth to say something, and he prepares to grab his broom, but then a girl - Hermione or something? - stops him from moving.

Just before the instructor and Neville come back out, Draco lands swiftly, pocketing the orb.

And Harry can't work up the courage to tell him that it's stealing.

"So, I'm thinking of joining Quidditch."

The words just come out of Harry's mouth and suddenly Draco stops eating and stares at him. "That's what I want to do," the blond says harshly. "And they can't pick two of us."

And then Harry knows what's being implied - don't try, because I want it, you're better than me and they'll pick you.

So he says, "I won't try out, then."

And Draco nods and resumes his breakfast.

And when Draco makes the team, as Seeker, no less, Harry thinks he should be happy, he knows he should, but he's just not sure if he's done the right thing anymore.

Year One's over and the Dark Lord has risen.

Professor Dumbledore's killed in the process.

To Harry's surprise, most of the Slytherin table is cheerful. They actually think Voldemort - what's the big deal in saying the name? - can help them, bring a world they want to live in.

As loyal as Harry is, he's not so adamant.

Quickly, the wizard world's thrown into chaos and Harry doesn't know what to do. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like a Slytherin anymore.

Year Two's over, as well, and Voldemort has yet to make a dramatic move.

Some students didn't come to Hogwarts that year, but Harry did, because he actually likes the school.

Most of Slytherin don't come, either.

Ginny Weasley was murdered that year, too.

Harry sees the hurt in Ron's eyes, and he thinks back, knowing the two of them could've been friends.

But Harry called that friendship off, and he can't change that.

Hogwarts isn't a save haven anymore.

Year Three passes, as does Year Four, and slowly almost every single Slytherin pupil is gone, including Draco.

He doesn't even say goodbye to Harry, after all those years. He's just there one day, and then he doesn't show up for Potions the next.

Or the next. Or the next.

And Harry's alone.

Just like he feared.

Year Five comes and the Order of the Phoenix comes to Harry and tells him that he should join them.

Harry thinks about this for a long, long time. He wants to. Really, he does. But he's tired of having so much expected of him. He doesn't want to be the Chosen One. Draco's taught him that his destiny doesn't have to be fulfilled if he doesn't want it to; he's the master of his own fate.

Harry likes that idea - he likes the ability to control his actions, not someone else.

And so he says no. He doesn't give an explanation even though one is demanded of him. He just says "No."

After that, nobody approaches him about what to do, how to fight, and how not to die.

The Chosen One suddenly isn't so Chosen anymore.

It's Year Seven, and Voldemort strikes, and he strikes hard.

Somehow, every single Hogwarts student that left is in his attack force, some of them Death Eaters.

Harry knows Draco's among them, but he doesn't search.

Hogwarts tries to fight but it's minutes before the entire school is burnt to ashes. Rubble surrounds them, and students lay around Harry and the final cluster of defense, dying and bleeding out.

Hermione's then on the ground, shot with the killing curse, along with Neville (how did he last this long?) and then Ron's shot with something else, that doesn't kill him, but he's in a lot of pain and Harry knows he's dying.

And then it's just Harry and Voldemort, like everyone knew it would be.

Harry just thought it'd be slightly different than this.

"Potter," Voldemort sneers. "Care to join?"

And then Harry's thrown back to Year One, when things seemed simpler, when it was just him and Draco and nobody else, no destinies or magic feuds in the way.

"Hey, anyone care to join?" Draco had said, and Harry had denied then, because he knew - he knew - that Draco's word was what he followed and nothing else mattered. If he joined Draco, it would've seemed like open defiance because Draco would've wanted to fight for Neville's orb. And somehow, Harry knows now it's exactly the same.

Harry gave up his destiny. He let it all go. He took the weight of the world off his shoulders and dumped it onto the ground, letting it crumble.

And he didn't even realize it.

Voldemort's word goes now, and Harry doesn't like it. He wants to go back in time, to undo everything he's ever done, to find a way, somehow, to change it all. There must've been something. Something he did that landed him here, surrounded by the rubble of a place he knew and loved.

That didn't love him back.

"I'm sorry," he whispers then, and whether he's answering Voldemort or talking to himself he's not sure, but it's enough. He can't win. There's no point in trying anymore. It's all futile.

And he thinks Voldemort could at least have the decency to kill him quickly and painlessly, but he doesn't.

A large nail - yes, a nail. A nail takes out the Chosen One - is suddenly spinning towards Harry and it hits him in the chest. He gasps out in pain and suddenly the small piece of metal is being wrenched through his body slowly, puncturing arteries, causing a fatal wound.

Voldemort's laughs are all he hears as he's crashing to the ground, his head hitting another piece of wood, his glasses thrown off his face.

He finds himself staring at Ron, and he thinks about how close the two of them could've been. Ron's evidently thinking the same thing, because he chokes out, "You know, you shouldn't have done it, mate."

"Done what?" Harry whispers, his head lolling until he's staring up at the stars that seem to be fading faster than he can count.

"Taken his hand. You changed it with a handshake. You know that, right?"

And Harry knows.

Ron weakly lifts a hand and places it on Harry's shoulder. "Wish I could've stopped you, mate. Somehow…" As Ron says his words, more stars are blinking out and Harry wants them to stay. They're like a beacon of hope.

And Harry knows that, too. He wishes he could've stopped himself.

He thinks about the handshake as Ron's hand slowly falls off his shoulder, the life leaving both their bodies. "It's over now, anyway," Harry finally says, barely above a whisper, but enough for Ron to hear him as he breathes his final breath.

"Maybe the Chosen One was Chosen to end the world."

And then both of them are gone, wondering about things that never happened, about possible futures they could've lived, words that should've been said, actions that would've been performed, friendships that should've been solidified, and enemies to be made.

Just before Harry's life string is cut, and he's forever off this earth, his mind shoots back to the handshake and suddenly he thinks, trying to reach Draco, even then -

This hand of yours, Draco. Did you clutch mine so tightly for a reason?