War Wounds, a harry potter fanfic

UchiSays: I haven't slept in over 24 hrs, and I'm still not tired. I've been on a none stop writing binge, but haven't gotten done anything I need to do (like that sequel to the Sharpest Lives, or even my AP Lit homework) I've been churning out a lot of one-shots though. Go figure. I seriously built this story around the single line "only we can lick each other's wounds" I had gotten the idea a week or so ago at school when the quote randomly popped into my head and I thought it would be an awesome line for Draco to say to Harry, but then I started writing and began writing more from 3PL POV focus!Draco and switch the roles. So yeah. read, and please review.

War Wounds

There was the usually hubbub sound associated with the gathering of a large group of people. Old friends greeted each other, new ones meeting each other. People laughed and yelled, and talked all around. In the midst of the crowd, trying to look happy to be there, making everyone think he was proud to be the guest of honor, Harry Potter stood chatting with the Minster of Magic.

"Well Potter," the Minister said, "hard to believe five years have gone by so fast. Seems like just yesterday doesn't it?"

Harry forced a smiled. "Yeah, time sure does fly," he said halfheartedly, wanting nothing more to be away from this man, these people, this place; wanting to be somewhere where he wouldn't be constantly reminded of the things he'd done, the people he had lost, the war he had fought, and the man he had killed.

By looking at him, one wouldn't realize just how much the war still ate at Harry. He was constantly plagued by nightmares and memories of the war that had taken place five years prior, when he was only seventeen years old. He wanted to escape the fame being known as Voldemort's killer (The-Boy-Who-Lived-Again) brought to him, because no matter how many people said that he was a hero, in Harry's own eyes he was nothing but a murderer.

Harry continued to chat with the Minister of Magic, smiling and nodding at all the right places, offering his own commentary where necessary. He gave no thought to the actions, his heart wasn't in it. These were just automated responses given by a robot, his defense mechanism, his way of avoiding the issue.

Harry knew that if he put his true self into this conversation there would be no pretending the memory of the war wasn't hurting him. There would be no pretending he wasn't dying to escape this all. Five years ago he had killed a man and had walked away and unscathed hero.

Five years ago he had committed murder and walked away and haunted killer.

His war wounds went deeper than any others.

::-::-::

The annual Anniversary Party for the end of the war against Voldemort was packed with its usually large number of people. Everyone was laughing, smiling, and enjoying each other's company, somewhere in the midst of them all Harry Potter was talking to the Minister of Magic. No one was doing as they were supposed to. The whole reason for the event was to remember those who had fallen. No one was paying tribute to those they had lost. No one was still healing from war wounds like Draco.

Draco Malfoy stuck to the edges of the room, not willing to immerse himself in the social environment. He was sick of smiling and laughing at all the right points, sick of putting up a façade, sick of pretending he wasn't still hurting from the war.

He had fought in the war, first on the dark, then on the light. Each side had suffered their casualties, their deaths. People he had known, worked with, cared about. There one moment, and then dead the next. This party was supposed to be for remembering. It was suppose to be a tribute to those who had fallen, a reminder of what dark magic could do.

Instead it was a social gathering, like the Zabini's annual Christmas Ball. People were laughing and enjoying themselves. Pansy Parkinson was advising her daughter on how to properly flirt with Cormac McLaggen's son. The Weasleys and the Lovegoods were making fools of themselves. Harry Potter was chatting happily with the Minister of Magic. This whole thing was a mockery. And it was annoying Draco to no end.

Had these people no class? Had they no respect for the dead? Had they not eyes to see that he was still hurting? They called him all kinds of trash just for being a Malfoy, for being a former Death Eater. A least the Death Eaters knew how to properly mourn their fallen.

While he was thinking this, he almost missed Harry Potter escaping the Minister's clasp and making a run for the door. If the 'Hero' hadn't ran right passed him, Draco would have never noticed. As Harry ran by Draco thought he briefly glimpsed his own thoughts and feelings reflected in those green eyes.

Convincing himself that he was imagining things, Draco remained at his spot along the wall, sure that Harry had only run out to retrieve something he had forgotten and would return at any minute. Draco didn't realize that he was waiting with bated breath for the boy's return.

He lost track of the time he spent waiting after having deterred three attempts at conversation by happy revelers of the party. Finally not being able to take it anymore, Draco made his own escape from the gathering, opting instead for a walk in the fresh air.

He was walking around the corner of the building towards the back garden area, when he heard what sounded like an aggravated scream. Ducking around the corner cautiously he witnessed the most peculiar sight.

Harry Potter was yelling, screaming, and cursing, while kicking and punching at the stone wall of the building. Draco watched in silence until the boy finally lost his steam and collapsed against the wall, sobbing his eyes out.

Deciding he had seen enough, Draco figured he had two choices 1) go back to the party and pretend he'd never witnessed the scene, or 2) make his presence known and talked to Harry.

Neither sounded like a very good idea to him, but he was robbed of the choice when a sudden rustling in a nearby tree drew Harry's attention in his direction. Tear-filled emerald eyes stared shocked into Draco's liquid mercury ones. To his surprise Harry didn't even try to wipe his tears, or even speak to Draco. Their eyes held for a moment and then Harry turned away. He stared straight ahead into the star-filled sky above them.

Eventually Draco took a seat on the ground next to him and stared up at the sky as well. "I hate these things." He snarled softly.

Harry nodded his agreement, and neither of them spoke again.

Two days later at around ten a.m. on a Saturday morning someone knocked on Draco's front door. He opened it and found none other than Harry Potter standing on his porch. He invited him in and about half and hour later Harry was kissing him on the couch. Not even ten minutes after that they had sex for the first time.

::-::-::

Three years later…

An incessant tapping noise invaded Draco's peaceful dreams and pulled him awake at what he dubbed to be an ungodly hour of the morning solely because he himself hadn't chosen to wake up at that time. He tried to muffle the tapping out by putting a pillow over his head, but it didn't work. Being too tired and lazy to even reach over to his bedside table to grab his wand and mumble a silencing charm, he figured he might a well get up and see what in Merlin's name was causing the stupid tapping anyway.

Silver eyes like liquid mercury cracked up and peered around his bedroom; it was a plain room really with fancy furniture but dull colors, the scheme of the room being white and silver. Pushing himself up on his elbows he gave the whole room a scan, his eyes settling on the window across the room. A beige colored owl sat outside one the ledge, repeatedly tapping its beak against the glass. Well, he'd found the source of the tapping noise, now he just needed to know who the hell on god's green earth was sending him a letter at this time of morning so he could hex them into the middle of next week.

Of course he recognized the owl as Helenia, Harry's new owl, but Draco's sleepy mind didn't exactly tie that to meaning the letter was from Harry. Draco grabbed his wand and charmed the window open. Helenia flew in and landed on his bedside table, raising her leg and waiting to be relieved of her burden. Draco took the letter from the owl and unrolled the parchment:

Wake your lazy arse up and come open the door.

~Harry

Draco rolled his eyes and tossed the parchment in the bin. Climbing out of the bed, he pulled a pair of pants over his slender, Quidditch-toned, hips leaving them unbuttoned and unzipped, forgoing a shirt all together. Helenia flew back out the window as Draco opened the bedroom door and made his way down the hall. Pausing before the front door, he took a deep breath and schooled his features into an annoyed scowl.

"I didn't appreciate the wake up call, Potty." He growled when he opened the door, using the old schoolyard nickname that he knew Harry hated.

"What? Is the amazing bouncing ferret not a morning person?" was Harry's playful retort.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know damn well I hate being out of bed before noon."

Harry gave Draco a once over, his eyes taking in the bare toned chest, drifting to the flat stomach, and following the happy trail of platinum blond hair down into where it disappeared inside Draco's open pants.

"Answering the door dressed like that is a sure fired was to get us back in bed pretty damn fast."

Draco scoffed. "Horny git."

"As if you got a problem with that," Harry stated. "Are we going to take this reunion inside, or will I be stuck on the doorstep like yesterday's newspaper?"

Draco rolled his eyes again and pushed the door wider open, letting Harry duck in under his arm. He mumbled something that sounded remotely like, "Keep giving me these bloody wake up calls and you will be yesterday's news."

"I heard that, you know," Harry said from where he had already made himself comfortable in the living room, "And you know you can't get rid of me like that. Not until after tomorrow at least."

Draco continued to scoff, but knew Harry spoke the truth. Tomorrow would make the eighth anniversary to the death of Voldemort, that was the day that they needed each other the most, especially since they had that stupid party to attend.

Draco couldn't believe they had kept that stupid farce of a "Memorial Celebration" going for so long. People still had no respect for the dead if their behavior at the party was any inclination. And they were still as blind as bats if their behavior towards him and Harry were any sign.

In all these years no one had noticed.

Harry Potter, supposed savior of the Wizarding world couldn't stand the sight of himself. He couldn't look in the mirror without wanting to shatter the glass and use the shards to end his own wretched existence. He couldn't stand the sight of a murderer staring back at him. And no one cared enough to notice this but Draco.

And Draco himself was in right condition. He couldn't sleep at night without a dose of Dreamless Sleep, or else he would be plagued with nightmares of the dead coming back to life, coming after him, blaming him for their demise. Dreamless Sleep was a very addictive potion, and Draco wasn't afraid to admit that he wouldn't be able to live without it. But no one cared enough to notice this but Harry.

They were both prone to tantrums like the one Harry had thrown three years ago at the anniversary party. They had violent fits of depression, thoughts of suicide, and self-mutilation. They would just a quickly laugh as scream their heads off. Both of them tried to maintain images of normalcy, but inside they were a couple of seventeen year old boys still crying their eyes out and dieing from having to watch the dead fall. Eight years had gone by; they had matured on the outside, but inside time had frozen in place for them. They were terrified; they were dieing. And no one noticed they're suffering but the other.

In all these years no one had noticed.

Harry had become an important part of Draco's life. The only nights he could rest peacefully without his addictive aid were the nights when Harry were by his side.

Draco was equally important to Harry. The only time he didn't hate the sight of himself was when he saw himself reflected in Draco's eyes.

"Hey Dray, I'm tired. How about we do go on back to bed for another few hours of sleep?"

::-::-::

"Well Potter," the Minister said, "hard to believe eight years have gone by so fast. Seems like just yesterday doesn't it?"

His emerald eyes searched the crowd until they fell on a familiar pair of liquid mercury ones. He gave a small smile.

::-::-::

Instead it was a social gathering, like the Zabini's annual Christmas Ball. People were laughing and enjoying themselves. Pansy Parkinson was advising her daughter on how to properly flirt with Cormac McLaggen's son. The Weasleys and the Lovegoods were making fools of themselves. Harry Potter was chatting with the Minister of Magic. This whole thing was a mockery. And it was annoying Draco to no end.

His silver eyes scanned the crowd until they met with a pair of green ones. He gave a half sort of smirk.

It was the same thing every year for them. Protocol, really. They were creatures of habit. Eventually Harry would tear himself from the Minister's grasp and make a run for the door. Draco wouldn't be far behind him. They kept saying that one year when the left, they would never ever come back. Except it was expected of them to be there. To maintain an image of normalcy they had to meet expectations.

"Mr. Potter, we've recently added a portrait of you to the hall. Would you like to see it?"

Smile; feign interest. "I would love to see it, Minister, but I really must make a quick run. Could you show it to me when I come back?"

"Of course, of course, run along then. I'll be waiting here for your return."

Nod, turn, run, escape, five seconds later and Draco will give chase.

::-::-::

Harry screamed Draco's name as he met with his release, a few thrust later and Harry's name was being screamed as well. They collapsed on the bed next to each other, Draco waving his wand to clean them up. He circled Harry in his arms, holding the slightly smaller man against his chest as they panted and regained their breath. Neither of them spoke until:

"I hate those things." Harry nodded his agreement and silence reigned again.

After their first time, three years ago Draco had asked Harry what had prompted him to initiate their relationship. The former Gryffindor had stared into Draco's eyes for an immeasurable amount of time, before he'd said, "I thought it was pretty obvious, Draco."

"To you, but not to me," Draco had replied.

Harry had snuggled closer into Draco's warm embrace. "Can't you see Draco? Out of all of us who fought the war, only we suffer. Out of all of us who survived, only we mourn. We were the only one's who walked away with lasting damage, so only we can lick each other's wounds."