Title: What We've Become
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Warning: Slash, Language, Possible Sexual Reference or Situations, CreatureFic.
A/N: This was originally titled Don't Matter. I've gone back through and started to re-do/edit this story since it had been so long since I wrote it, and I didn't like the flow or vibe of the story. I haven't changed the actual storyline much from what it was so far, since it hadn't gotten too far into the story - It's still got all the basic elements.
Chapter One; Who Are You, When All is Said and Done
He stood still as a statue at the window, the moonlight washing across pale features giving him a near ethereal look. And though he'd always been unusually pale, he was something more now – even months after the war, he was still left feeling paper-thin with skin a shade of pale that was bordering on unhealthy. He'd prided himself for years on his physical appearance, and now it seemed like he'd wasted so much time caring about things that didn't truly matter, that shouldn't have mattered to begin with. All those moments he'd spent doing something superficial, something cruel or fake or narcissistic.
Sighing softly to himself he forced those thoughts from his mind quickly, he'd made mistakes, countless ones, but he had finally dug his way out of that grave. Quicksilver eyes scanned over the backyard, his eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly, as soft breeze blew through the open window causing white-blonde hair to flutter around his face. He watched, spellbound, as the trees that lined the back of the property shivered in the wind as it began to strengthen. Those trees has always been a sort of wall from the outside world – strong, sturdy, solid; like guardians in the night. He scoffed at the thought; nothing would ever be a guardian over this place it was such a childish thought he'd once possessed though, back during a time when laughter came easy and there wasn't an ever present darkness looming over his entire life. That was all in the past now, his childish innocence, his cowardly fears, his blind obedience. He felt a fleeting moment of remorse when those thoughts brought up memories of his father, who has to receive the Kiss sometime soon.
He'd achieved a sort of freedom that hadn't come easily at all, breaking away from a father that loved control and power was beyond difficult. But, if there was one thing he'd forever be proud of, it would be his ability to finally stare down the man he'd feared for years – his own father. And though that may not seem like much to others, from the outside it would seem like the right and logical thing, but for him it had been invigorating. He had finally managed to purge and purify his life, rid himself from the darkness of that world where his father was a manic, following a maniac. He knew that his father must pay for all he has done, his wrongful choices, the pain he'd caused, the murder and torture that had come from his mouth and wand, all the lives suffered by his hand. But, at the same time he couldn't fight off the thoughts of his father many many years ago, when he was but a small child and his father would soothe all his troubles and wounds. That was not to be any longer, not now that the war had finally ended with his father having never seen the errors of his ways, even now he remained firmly in his beliefs, foolish man that he was.
He felt a sense of both pity and relief for his mother, who was left husbandless yet free from the wickedness that had always shadowed the man he used to respect so fiercely. It seemed though, that she was dealing with everything just fine, the thoughts of her nearly insane husband seemed to be tucked far away and out of sight. His mother had always been good at facades, even better than his father had ever been. He laughed softly in remembrance of the look that had settled across his father's features, that surprised, betrayed, shell-shocked look he'd sent at his wife, who'd been working for the light side all along. Blood was thicker than marriage it seemed, and family meant something very important to his mother. And in the end, his mother was the most important thing to him as well. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at his own memories of her during the actual fight, standing beside her niece with a sense of purpose clearly set across her face as she raised her wand against the Death Eaters in the last moments of the war. She'd been beautifully angelic, blonde hair whipping around her face as she faced down her demons, her past, and fought for her future, her freedom.
Over the course of the passing months after the war, he'd changed drastically. He finally felt free, of everything and anything. He rubbed the inside of his forearm, looking down and smiling at the bare pale skin, that was unmarred as it had always been. He had followed in his mother's footsteps much more than he'd ever followed in his father it seemed. Finally finding the strength to stand up against his harsh and demeaning father, he had gotten his chance during the Final Battle to prove to his father, that he wasn't the dumb, cowardly son he'd always thought he'd had. And he'd proven to himself as well that he could stand on his own, doing what he believed was right with or without the support of his very own father.
And he felt stronger than he ever had, facing off against his own father's colleagues and friends. Because, he hadn't followed someone out of fear, but he'd followed out of belief and morals, and trust. A trust everyone had placed on Harry Potter's shoulders, the boy-who-will-continue-to-live, and in the end with the support of many more than he'd ever hoped Harry had been able to defeat his own demons there on the battle field for the last time. Through the blood, the pain, the tears, the loss, Harry Potter had finally defeated Voldemort once and for all, freeing himself from the cursed life he'd been living for the past 17 years.
He smiled at thoughts of the war, and then frowned at thoughts of all the losses, and the harsh blow it dealt to the wizarding community as a whole. Nothing had been more devastating than the countless people lost to the war, the harsh reality had settled in, and yet people had still celebrated, even through their tears. Everyone, except for Harry that is. He'd gone off with Grander and Weasley immediately after the battle, disappearing nearly into thin air without so much as a whispered word to any friends or family members. No one had seen or heard from the trio since the battle, not even the Weasleys. All three refused to comment to any of the papers, none showed for any types of parties, interviews or award ceremonies. Some seemed upset by their behavior, some were worried, and some didn't even seem to notice their absence at all.
He wasn't sure what it was about Harry Potter, but there was something there. Something down within those deep emerald eyes that called to him, had always called to him from the very first moments he'd laid eyes on the small boy. And small he'd remained, short and compact yet he held himself in such a way that no one seemed to notice just how small he really was. Gravity defying hair, sloppy un-kept style, a temper that flared so quickly to life – He wasn't really anything different, nothing special that stood out about him. Yet there was something there that made people want to believe in him. It made people want to like him, want to spend time around him, want to have his attention. Chuckling he shook his head, all these years in school together and he was still obsessing about the boy.
He frowned then, shaking the thoughts from his head quickly, they left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could never quite set his feelings about Harry straight and even his feelings over the war were still a very jumbled mess within his mind. Nothing really made sense to him anymore; it was as if he was leading a whole different life, as if he was a whole different person and maybe that was the truth of it. Afterall, he'd spent so many years being who his father expected that he wasn't even sure who he was. He shrugged into the darkness, and then nodded at nothing, to himself it would seem. He stifled a yawn, and then climbed into bed, sleep finally overtaking his overactive mind. And he slept well into the next day, caught within a haze of dreamlike memories of past, present, future moments.
A few days later found him standing at the train station, staring straight ahead at the Hogwarts Express. The Seventh years were all given the option of returning to school again, to repeat their last year, to be able to take their exams and graduate without the stress of the war that had been brewing even within their own school the entire year. Stress levels had been high, and spirits had been low, and more than half the school hadn't even attended, the prospect of war had sent parents into a frenzy and they'd locked their precious children away at home where they could keep two eyes on them. He wasn't sure how he felt about returning to Hogwarts, he had attended last year although sporadically. He'd been stressed, at his wits end really and constantly on edge of being discovered by Voldemort. A soft frown marred his features, as he pulled himself once again from his dark thoughts. It seemed like there wasn't anything happy to think about these days, most of his memories were filled with fear, pain, sadness and a veil of darkness that was overwhelming and sickening.
He looked on, just a few steps through the barrier, at all the other students and their parents. Happy homes, families united, he couldn't stop the shame that bubbled up in his throat and the embarrassment of what his father had done bloomed brightly across elegant cheekbones. He turned away from the train, throat constricted as he attempted to push back the panic. He couldn't do this. There was no way he could do this. He was going to step back through the barrier and into the muggle world again. His mother would just have to deal with him living at home for the rest of her life, and having a bum hermit of a son. Because, he honestly didn't think he could handle going to school with all those people, withstand the teasing, the hateful looks, the spiteful comments. It would seem he was just a coward afterall.
He was about to walk through the barrier, when a solid yet small body crashed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He gasped in surprise as he steadied himself quickly, gripping the other person's elbow and righting them as well. He sighed to himself and then looked down, smiling sheepishly. He was met with a head of unruly jet black hair, and then bright green eyes. He felt his entire body tense, and had to fight against the urge to shy away from the smaller boy knowing instantly who had just barreled into him.
"Draco?" Harry said softly, green eyes wide with surprise, lips quirking up at the corner. "Sorry about that, running late." Draco couldn't control his eyes, as they widened suddenly, it was completely out of his control. He opened his mouth, but the train whistle cut anything he was going to say off. Harry jumped, and then grabbed Draco's hand dragging him towards the train. "Come on, hurry up!"
Draco was too shocked to even wrestle with Harry, so he allowed himself to be pulled along as Harry forcefully drug him onto the train. Later Draco would look back upon this encounter and wonder how exactly the tiny imp had managed to physically man-handle him so easily onto the train. Draco stood there in shock for a few minutes, his head leaning against the wall behind his body. He didn't even realize he was still gripping onto Harry's hand tightly, or that his breathing was raspy and shallow as he struggled to right his frazzled mind. He couldn't hear Harry trying to talk to him, and the hand being waved in front of his eyes wasn't registering at all.
Harry was getting impatient with Draco's unresponsiveness quite quickly, and it seemed like Draco had gone into some sort of shock. Harry stomped his foot and whined, feeling utterly mortified with his childish actions. He looked around quickly checking to make sure no one noticed his outburst. Harry smiled suddenly, and pinched Draco's arm with his free hand. Draco yelped loudly, jumping nearly a foot in the air as wild eyes focused on Harry. Harry smiled sheepishly, shrugging half heartedly at Draco's shocked expression.
"You went into shock or something, I didn't know how else to get your attention before you crushed my hand." Harry smiled, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, and nodding towards their intertwined fingers. Draco's hold was no longer tight and uncomfortable, but it was now soft and soothing, his thumb was rubbing over the top of Harry's hand. Harry's face bloomed in a soft flush but he didn't pull his hand away. Quicksilver eyes narrowed, widened, and then narrowed again, before softening to an almost smoky gray.
Draco seemed to realize what he was doing, and dropped Harry's hand as if he'd been burned by it. Color flushed brightly across Draco's cheeks immediately, and he felt like crawling into a hole forever. Harry fought back the smile that was threatening to break out across his face, as he watched the color rise on Draco's cheeks. He couldn't help but think it was endearing and sweet, before he was instantly confused by his own thoughts– Draco Malfoy endearing? He supposed anything was possible, and if half of what he'd learned about Narcissa Black was true, Harry had no doubt that Draco truly was a sweet but lost boy. But deep down Harry had always known that Draco wasn't as evil as he wanted everyone to believe he was. Those eyes had softened sometimes, with a pain and regret so deep it had almost been tangible to Harry during some of their worst fights.
And if he was truly honest with himself, it had been thinking of Draco over the years that had kept Harry from going insane and feeling completely alone all those summers with the Dursleys. Harry could only imagine what living with a heartless bastard like Lucius Malfoy must have been like for Draco, and even his mother. Harry couldn't help but smile at the thought of Narcissa, she'd been so helpful over the years and so sweet to Harry. Making sure he was always looked after, and taken care of, when the thought sometimes slipped the other members' minds that he was just a kid still. She never forgot that the weight of the Wizarding World was a lot to bear for a kid, no matter how powerful and what any prophecy might say. She had been a key factor in the successful killing of Voldemort and a big part of Harry's life for the past handful of years.
"I'm on the train." Draco said suddenly, breaking Harry from his thoughts.
"Um, yes you are." Harry's brows furrowed together, and he looked up at Draco oddly. Draco had always been taller than Harry, one of the many things Harry had envied him for. Harry was very petite for a boy, and he was even smaller than more than half of the girls his age. He'd grown used to the fact that he'd be short forever, standing barely at 5'3". Though he was small, he'd surprised many people over the years with just how much his body could withstand. It just seemed his body didn't build and keep the muscle visually like most do, which had annoyed him at first. But he'd grown accustom to his small stature, and had learned to use it to his own advantage; in his personal life and during the war. He had a much smaller target for anyone, and one soft look with those bright green eyes and pouty mouth and he could get his way just about every time. Harry smirked remembering all the good his small size had actually done for him.
"I didn't want to be." Draco said lamely, twisting his head to look out the door window at the trees passing by. The action had caused his platinum hair to sway and fall into his eyes, he absentmindedly pushed his overgrown hair out of his eyes and then turned back to Harry. Harry had noticed in fourth year, that Draco had stopped wearing his hair gelled back and it had started to hang freely into his face. It was the same year Draco had started to lessen on the hexes and names he'd thrown at the Trio as well. It was the year that Draco had stopped being Malfoy Junior, and had become just Draco.
Harry frowned, "Oh. Well, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I figured, well you were right inside the barrier. I guess I didn't stop to think that you'd been facing the barrier, as if to leave. Umm, I'm sure that once we get there McGonagall will understand and let you leave."
"Possibly, but I doubt my mother would agree to it anyways," Draco muttered to himself, his head dropping slightly.
"Draco, I really am sorry." Harry whispered softly, wringing his hands together nervously, as he watched Draco closely.
"It's fine Potter." Draco said, before he turned away from Harry towards the compartments, hoping to find an empty one to seclude himself within.
"Harry. My name is Harry." Draco stopped suddenly, and looked over his shoulder. He smiled sadly at him, and nodded.
"You've always been Harry," Draco said softly, before turning away again, leaving a gaping Harry standing in the middle of the train.
Draco made it half way down the train before he realized what he'd said to Harry. He groaned and smacked himself on the forehead in a very un-Malfoy like fashion. Forgetting about all his impeccable breeding, and hours of tutoring he leaned against the wall heavily, pressing his head into the cool glass and he drew deep breaths in through his nose in an attempt to calming his racing nerves. He'd been so out of it since the moment he'd ran into Harry at the barrier, like a veil has washed over his entire being making him forget that he wasn't suppose to confide in Harry as he had, they weren't friends, Harry did not like him.
And to top it all off, he may as well have just bloody well told Harry he'd never disliked the damn git. And he was a right git too, because he always made Draco feel so out of sorts as if he couldn't ever quite get his footing. Draco frowned to himself, he was acting like a bloody girl and that thought alone was depressing enough without having given Harry a sideways confession. Righting himself, he turned away from the wall that he'd practically been laying against and wandering towards the back of the train in search of an empty compartment to privately beat himself senseless in. He was a Malfoy, even if his father had basically destroyed their name. And Malfoys did not fall apart, at least not in public Draco thought to himself as he locked himself into an empty compartment and promptly fell apart.
Review! There is more to come soonish.