If anyone had looked closely enough, they would have noticed something was wrong with Harry Potter, but no one did. The war was over, everyone was safe, and no one needed anymore from him, so they ignored him. Who would want to go near a boy who was broken inside, whose eyes had lost their exotic beauty? His friends were too mesmerized by the fact that they were alive and free to love so they took advantage of the time and got busy with themselves and others, falling in love and making drama all over again. He was left behind to fend for himself and get over the deaths and terror filled nightmares alone. Now that the Dark Lord was dead, Harry was a non-essential and he drifted to the background with no one and he changed.
That summer, after the death of Voldemort, Harry stopped wearing his Gryffindor colors and school robes, trading them in for green and black most of the time, causing his eyes to look shocking, but if anyone stared into them long enough they would see that there was nothing in them anymore. No love, no strength, just a dull, dead look. He mostly wore lightweight plain green shirts with black skinny jeans and dragon hide boots died the color of the sky without a moon. He was striking, sexy as ever, but no one noticed. He stopped wearing glasses and went for contacts. He fixed his hair so that it covered his lightening scar and glamoured away the scars and scratches on his body.
On the train to Hogwarts for his eighth year, he sat alone, in a compartment in the back of the train, feeling all the bumps and jumps that ran though it. His trunk was next to him, empty other than the few pairs of clothing, toiletries, and other necessary things. He didn't bother buying books or quills or inkwells or anything school related. Harry hadn't ventured from Grimmauld Place that summer, barely eating a thing and working out by running all over the house, up stairs, and in the yard. When he got to Platform 9 ¾ , he dissolved into the crowd, allowing himself to be pushed and pulled this way and that.
Harry sat in the seat with his knees to his chest and his hands clasped around them. He was silently as the compartment door slid open suddenly. He said nothing as he watched a foot and a hand move it and pushed himself closer to the seat, trying to disappear. He closed his eyes.
Draco stepped in the small compartment. He had thought it was empty, but when he closed the door, he saw Harry Potter sitting squished between the wall and the cushioned back of the seat, eyes closed, chin resting on his knees. Draco decided it wasn't his place to say anything so he just sat opposite of him in the tiny space.
Draco had had a tough summer since Potter had declared him the master of the Elder Wand before he disarmed him in the Mansion. He knew it wasn't his anymore and did not do anything major to get it, he hadn't even touched it, but people thought he was some sort of hero or a god-like person who had triumphed over the Dark Lord under his nose. Draco hated the attention, the cameras, photographs, and the large crowds that always followed him when he went outside. Draco knew he wasn't a hero or a good person, but there was nothing he could do, especially since Potter had testified for him.
He had watched his father die, his mother tortured along with countless others, and he, himself, had felt the ruthless agony of Voldemort's wand. All he wanted was forget everything. He wished he was a kid again and hadn't been spoon-fed discriminatory and prejudice sayings and hate. If he could take what he had said and done over the years to people back, he would. He never wanted to be a part of the war and now it wouldn't stay away from him.
Sitting with Potter seemed to cool his nerves and Draco relaxed and pulled out a book. The silence hung like a fog, while the two former enemies got lost in their own little worlds. Harry imagined life in a deserted flower patch with magic swirling through the air while creatures roamed in the thick forest behind him. No scars, no hate, just pure happiness and hopefulness. But he was alone. So alone. A single tear fell from under his closed eyes and made its way down his pale face, only to drop and dissolve into his shirt.
Draco was in a world of ink and paper. The words danced; jumping up to his eyes and spelling out adventures, mystery, and romance. Scenes played out in his mind: heroic men in battle; a feast with roasted pork and mashed potatoes and poison in the olives; a princess setting herself free and falling for another girl who only had eyes for a handsome young baker in the village. The muggle novels always fascinated Draco and this was no exception and finally he was able to read them out in the open instead of hiding them from his family and the Death Eaters.
Looking up from his book, Draco saw the tiny silence tears on Potter's face and didn't know what to do. He tentatively leaned forward and asked, "Potter, are you quite alright?" Potter just nodded and hid his head in his hands. Draco turned back to his book and got lost again.
The school year drifted by. Classes, teachers, breaks, nothing registered in Harry's mind. He didn't do the work or pay attention to the material. He barely used his wand and spent most of his time on his four-poster bed with the curtains pulled around him. The tears had stopped long ago, now he just accepted everything. He had no friends, he wasn't special or cool anymore. He had already died, so why was he still here, a freak of nature. Christmas came and went with no presents or hugs or feast, seeing as Harry never went down to the Great Hall. He didn't eat anymore, instead he took nutrients potions, but even then, they weren't very strong. He couldn't run anymore without feeling weak and drained after a few minutes and had bruises all over his body. Sometimes he didn't even go to lessons and just slept.
Harry read anything he could get his hands on other than textbooks. He wrote stories, poems, terrible song lyrics for no one but himself. He sang to himself, listened to music, and once transfigures his bed into a small ukulele and entertained himself for a few hours.
The four other Gryffindor boys wondered about him sometimes. Neville had at some point stood outside of Harry's bed and battled with himself to talk to him or not. He decided against it. Hermione had a fight with Ron about going to see Harry, but they decided he needed space. Whenever they saw him, they let him through. They didn't talk to him, or walk by him, or even look at him anymore. They thought he didn't want to be near them so they stayed away. None of them realized that he needed them.
Draco didn't have a perfect year either. Between the beatings he received from dozens of students in the hallways, the annoying owls he got from some reporters, and the way his own housemates treated him, it wasn't hard to see why. He saw Potter nearly every day. He could see the small limps and how skinny he looked and how he was never at any meals. He saw the bags under his eyes and the way his skin seemed to sink onto his bones. The green shirts and black skinny jeans that used to fit him were too big now and unflattering. The unruly hair that stuck out everywhere had lost its shine, and the green eyes, their beauty.
One weekend, Draco decided to go back to his home to see his mother, all he found was empty drawers and a house elf waiting for command. Distraught he had thrown anything in reach around the room, shouting at the top of his lungs, tears splashing down his front. Eventually, he calmed down and flooed back to the castle and spent the weekend in his bed.
Days, weeks and months when by and Draco just tried to stay alive through the broken bones and self hate. No one paid attention to him anymore other than the bullies. Teachers let him be, accepting his work without really looking at him. For the breaks, he stayed in the castle, mostly in bed just wishing the year would end and he could run away. NEWTS went by and Draco easily passed them, having read so many books and practicing spells and incantations, wanting to dissolve into them.
On the train ride back, Harry found himself in the same compartment as the ride to Hogwarts. Malfoy was across from him. They didn't talk, as before, silently wanting to escape and never come back. Harry fell asleep at some point in the middle of the ride, exhausted from the effort to get out of bed and pack his trunk and then drag himself to the train platform. When he awoke, he found his head in Malfoy's lap with a hand in his hair.
"Malfoy? What?" His voice cracked with lack of use and his throat felt sore. "What are you doing?" for along time, Malfoy did not answer, he just played with a lock of hair that was wrapped around his finger, unblinking.
"I- I- I don't really know, Potter. I just… you were asleep and…" He closed his eyes finally and stilled his hand, drawing it back.
"No! ...that felt good." Harry exclaimed before realizing what he said. "Please." He suddenly didn't care that it was Malfoy who was holding him, all he wanted was to be held. Being deprived of a friendly touch for so long did things to his better judgment and the sensation of his anti-arch nemesis made him feel good. The hand came back, followed by the other.
"Ok."
"Thank you. You have no idea how long…um…" Harry closed his mouth and stopped talking before he said something stupid.
"It's ok, you don't have to explain, I know what you mean. Come on, get up, you'll get a knot in your neck." Malfoy helped Harry reposition himself on the seat. Since he was so weak and skinny he could barely hold himself up and leaned into Malfoy's shoulder. "You need some food too. Let me get you some…" Malfoy leaned down to pick up a small bag he put a few sandwiches and a few snacks in that morning. He took out a tiny lemon square and broke off a small piece. Harry chewed on the gooey lemony goodness for a moment, letting his mouth get used to the unfamiliar sensation of food. He swallowed slowly the food hitting his stomach painfully. When he looked up, he saw Malfoy asking him silent questions.
"Malfoy?"
"Look, Potter, I know we're not friends and you probably hate me for my father and the incredibly terrible and idiotic things I've done and said in the past, but you need help. You need to eat and it doesn't seem like anyone is here for you. I can help you, if- if you want. I sold the mansion after my mother disappeared and thanks to you, I still have the Malfoy millions. I know you have the Black vaults in Gringotts, because my mother told me after Black died, and the Potter fortune as well. If I'm overstepping a boundary, I understand, but, um, do you want to stay with me? Just for a little bit if you want, just to get healthy again…"
Harry stared at him for a long time, Malfoy playing nervously with his fingers, not daring to look up. "Ok." Harry mouthed, unable to get his vocal chords to work, but tried again, "Ok, Malfoy. Let's try it."
Malfoy looked up at Harry and smiled, Harry smiled back. It was weird for him, exercising the much-neglected muscles around his mouth, but it felt nice. In his head he promised himself he would smile a lot more from now on and maybe eat. Just maybe. And he would give Malfoy a try. When they weren't trying to beat each other up, he seemed nice. Maybe they had something in common. Maybe this would work out. He would let Malfoy take care of him and talk to him and smile at him. Finally, Harry felt like someone cared about him and that feeling went straight to his heart that had not been so alive in so long. He was going to be ok. He was going to live and be relatively happy and have someone there for him. He was going to feel loved and appreciated.
Harry nestled back into Malfoy's- no- Draco's arms and closed his eyes.