Title: The things that was left behind

Author: naturegirlrocks

Pairing: Harry/Draco, and little bit of Ron

Rated: NC-17

Warnings: EWE, Angst, Sexual themes, Mentions of prostitution, Fluff, and Draco has a beard. (All mistakes are mine)

Words: ca 3500

Summary: Draco has spent five years in Azkaban and he is not allowed to work as a wizard.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

On a bleak and eerie Tuesday morning in October the Dark and Light side of Magic came together in a strange stand still and burned down Malfoy Manor.

They were joined this day, and this day only, over a common enemy; one family.

A family, that had existed in over thirteen hundred years, and that now only consisted by one single nineteen year old boy.

Ron Weasley was the only one of the, so called, Golden Trio who attended the burning. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had found the act gruesome to attend. And maybe they were right, thought Ron as the magical fire tore though wards, ancient magic, dark magic and simple building materials.

There were celebrations on both sides, but also solemnise. It was hard to determine who off the more sombre people actually enjoyed the fire. Some stood and remembered their fallen, some grieved the loss of what could have been, and there were those - like Ron – who actually felt nauseous.

There was a scream. Not even Voldemort had eluded such a noise as he died by Harry's hands. The scream sounded again, but this time it fell apart in sobs. A terrible wailing sound that, in Ron's mind, only could compare to a banshee being exorcised.

Ron walked over to two bulky Aurors who stood towered over a thin, kneeling body with hands tied behind his back. Blond, dirty, ruffled hair spread on the ground as the crying man pushed his forehead into the earth.

"Malfoy?" whispered Ron sitting down next to the shivering body.

"Kill me now, Weasley," came the whining sound. "Kill me now…"

It was time. Draco Malfoy had been dreading this day for a week, ever since he got out of his five year 'visit' to Azkaban. He did not have any money for rent, anyway. He was banned from taking a wizarding job, nobody would hire him anyway. Not that he thought the one-room, cockroach infested, miniature, Muggle!flat was worth paying for. Still, he could exit it any time he wanted.

There was no kitchen, just one single electric cooking plate, plugged to hole in the wall. He had learned how to boil water from his parole officer, Tucker. The middle aged, rude and suspicious, wizard had also showed him how to use the boiling water to heat food in tin cans. That had been the only courtesy Draco had been given before Tucker left with a huff of insults, warnings and mutterings.

The small flat had just room enough on the floor for his thin used mattress. Still, it was nearly heaven to the cot in his former cell. He had to share bathroom with three other, not so hygienic, tenants, all Muggles. Still, it was far better than looking out for his back in the common showers of Azkaban. The old cracked porcelain toilet was defiantly better than the hole in the floor he had used the last five years.

He owned nothing but the clothes on his body. Not that he would call them clothes; old grey jogging pants, a black t-shirt commercialising some Muggle music group that he thought sounded like wounded Nifflers, and a green hood jacket. His bare feet were pushed down a pair of second hand trainers from a charity shop. He had used a simple pair scissors on his hair and beard; which gave him a quite scruffy look.

They ´had not given him his wand back, or rather; Potter had not returned it – same thing really. It was probably broken by now. Draco did not care. Five years with out it had learned to him cope without magic.

Being outside Azkaban's dampening wards had awakened something in him, though. During the first days he had learned a simple wandless cleaning spell. He had done it on pure will and necessity. A wizard not using magic discended slowly into madness. He did not need madness on top of all this. It would save him some money on laundry, and he would not need to use the shared shower that often. He could also cast a minor warming spell on himself; which came handy in the chilly spring outside. He could also a small ward on the door to the flat, much better than keys.

Those were the spells he had use for, anyway. Other spells in his repertoire were no more than very simple parlour tricks. He could use his magic for shoplifting, he thought, but that really went against his decision to try to live honestly. If times became desperate, then maybe he could use his magic to that end. If this thing he was about to do did not work out.

He had more power than a squib, but less than a wizard child of eleven. He was twenty four, going on twenty five in just a few weeks. If this had been the old world, he thought as he counted his strange Muggle coins, that day would have been his deadline to find a wife, not much chance of that now. On the other hand, he smirked; he did not have to find a wife. But, as things looked now, there was not much chance finding a husband either.

The coins were supposed to go in a box by the door. If he did not put the coins in the box he would get no electricity. Tucker had been very clear on this point. No electricity, no hot water and no heat in winter. Draco had just nodded at this, thinking that Muggles were strange. He shook his head; it was time now, this was the day. This was the day he had to sell the one thing he had left to sell to survive.

Harry was patrolling Knockturn Alley tonight. He was polyjuiced to an almost Moody-look-alike. This was probably the reason the hookers did not pay him that much attention. He smirked as he limped down the Alley past shady business fronts and seedy nightclubs, even prostitutes had standards. It was a calm night, quite pleasantly warm for a mid-August and Harry found himself enjoying the walk though the gloom.

Suddenly there was a familiar flash of red hair further down the road. What was George doing out at this hour? Harry sped up his steps. Coming closer he noticed that it was not George at all but Ron. This was even stranger. Stepping back into the shadows Harry hid. It did not feel right to spy on his best friend, but it was a slow night. He shrugged. Maybe Ron was meeting one of George's more shady deliverers. The joke-shop had an adult-section that could supply most kinks.

It became even stranger as Ron suddenly approached one of the prostitutes, talking in whispering familiar tones. The ruffled blond man leaned closer to Ron. Then Ron took hold of the man and Apparated away. The second before they were gone, Harry recognised the blond man through the beard and the scruffiness: Draco Malfoy.

Harry stood still for several minutes, feeling his disguise slip away. Had he just seen Ron Weasley buy sexual favours from Draco Malfoy? And from the looks of it, this was not the first time. He grunted. The thought of Malfoy on his knees before Ron conjured images and feelings that he was defiantly not supposed to feel. The more he thought about it, the harder he got. He grunted again, looking over to the other prostitutes. Tempting, but he never had and he never would. He was Harry Potter and he was turned on as hell by the image of his best friend getting sucked by his former enemy.

Weasley returned Draco to Knockturn about four in the morning. He was tired and he ached a little. But, he thought as he patted the Muggle paper money in his pocket, he was alive for another week. If he hurried home he could get some hours sleep before Tucker came over for his visit. The parole officer had not warmed up to Draco during the three months, just the opposite actually. The man was a right pain in the arse in fact.

"Malfoy…"

Draco kept on walking, ignoring the man. If he just ignored the haters they usually went away. And when they didn't… Well… he could always run. Judging by the footsteps that followed him, this particular person was not giving up. Draco hurried his steps. He would soon be at the Leaky and then he would loose the guy in Muggle London. Maybe even catch a bus; he had a travel pass for emergencies.

"Damn it, Malfoy!" said the suddenly familiar voice. "Stop!"

"Potter?" Draco did stop of pure surprise.

Potter came up to him. Draco watched. The hero had grown, become bulkier. The unruly hair was longer but still unruly. The look in those green eyes was… hungry? Draco stood still, waiting for the move. He felt nervous. Potter stepped closer, casting glances around him. They were alone, the morning was just breaking. Trying to put on a uncaring face, but probably failing, Draco waited for what ever the former boy wonder was struggling to ask. He could have not been more surprised when the words finally came.

"How much?" Potter asked in a low voice, his eyes still darting around.

"For what?" Draco shifted uncomfortably, probably catching Potter's nervous behaviour.

"For… you know…" Potter stepped closer, now looking straight at him; suddenly all nervousness gone. "For me to fuck you. How much?"

"I…" Draco blanched – Potter wanted to… Potter?

"How much did Ron pay you?" Potter whispered.

"Two hundred Muggle pounds, but that…"

"I'll give you three, but you got to give me more than him."

"Merlin," Draco croaked.

Apparently Potter took this as a yes and took hold of Draco's arm. Draco was too stunned to do anything but to let himself be Apparated away. Maybe he had used too little of his magic, he thought, and was going mad.

Harry Apparated them to Grimmould Place. It was probably not his most clever decision, but he had been standing in that alley for over five hours and he was desperate. His thoughts had simmered with pictures of Ron and Malfoy. And Ron and Hermione, did she know? His friends had taken a 'time-off' for the sixth or seventh time, but they always got together again. He didn't even know Ron was interested in men. Harry had never been attracted to Ron; well... he was fit, but… Yuk.

The moment he got Malfoy in side the door he pushed the blond up against the wall. He pressed his hard erection against the warm body, rutting against the course fabric of his clothes. Malfoy was not hard, but Harry did not care. The short beard was surprisingly soft and Harry stroked his cheek against it, smelling things like soot, pepper and mint. Smells of Ron. He grunted; he wanted to smell Malfoy.

"Shower," he breathed, taking Malfoy's arm again and Apparating them to the second floor bathroom, the one next to his bedroom.

"You want me to…?" Malfoy's eyes were wide, staring around the tiled room. "Potter, I ca… Is that Madame Dina's shower cream?"

"Yeah…" Harry blushed a little, feeling a bit embarrassed over buying designed body products. "She is the best… I've heard."

"Move over, Potter!"

Malfoy shoved him roughly to the side and was out of both his hoody and t-shirt before Harry had time to blink. He was thin, almost disturbingly so, but he had only been out of Azkaban for three months. Still, thought Harry, he was beautiful. It was so unfair that Ron had got there first. And how many others? Harry bit his lower lip as Malfoy pulled off his trousers and underwear with one hand while turning on the water with the other. The hipbones were visible though the thin fair skin. The sight was strangely more endearing than arousing.

Arousement came two seconds later when Malfoy moaned in pleasure to the heat of the shower. Harry almost came as the sound kept going on and on. Then Malfoy opened the bottle of shower cream. The noise that escaped that gorgeous throat and those wet lips as he inhaled the herbal scents was too much. Harry came so hard his knees buckled and he had to support himself on the sink. He whined and pressed his palm against his groin, trying desperately to open the fly before he was spent.

He managed to push his hand inside his boxers, squeezing his now half hard cock as the orgasm ebbed out.

Breathing roughly he glanced at Malfoy. The man stood under the spray of water, bottle unused in his hand, staring at him. The look on his face was somewhere between arousal and disgust. His cock was almost erect. It looked red and breathtaking against the pale skin of his thighs.

"Sorry," Harry cleared his throat, still lightly moving his hand over the sticky warmness. "Go on… please…" The last word was whispered.

Malfoy seemed more than a little weary as he poured a more than generous amount of shower cream to his palm. Harry watched mesmerized as the blond begun to rub his skin, hair and bread with the ointment. The perfume of camomile, clover and vanilla mixed with the steam from the hot water. Harry's glasses fogged up. It was not until he felt fingers pulling on his t-shirt that he noticed Malfoy in front of him. A soft spell was whispered and the fog cleared from his vision.

"You did that without a wand."

"Yeah," Malfoy stroked slippery digits under Harry's t-shirt. "Never thought that spell would be useful for anything."

Harry helped to thug off the shirt, his trousers and boxers were hanging on his knees. He graced Malfoy's lips with his own. It was not supposed to be a kiss, but it dug deeper and deeper. Their tongues swirled together finding heat and wetness. Malfoy tasted like lemons, sugar and... liquorice?

"Is that going to cost me more?" Harry asked as the pulled apart.

"On the house," Malfoy smirked and gave him another light kiss.

Harry groaned and pushed their erections together. It felt wonderful, perfect. He roamed his hands over Malfoy's backside, finding the crack of the buttocks and the amazing soft heat therein. There was a copious amount of shower cream there, already laid out for him, just to push in. The blond, soft beard rasped against his collarbone.

It made him sad to think that this was just work for Malfoy. He had thought, he had really thought, that he could disregard that. He had thought that the worry and the guilt would come in the morning, not now, as he pressed two fingers inside Malfoy – Draco, he decided. How could those hands running over his hips and back be so right and so wrong at the same time?

"Please be gentle," he heard Draco whisper against his neck. "It has been a while."

The words were slow to sink in. It was not until he added a third finger that he realised the meaning of them. Suddenly he felt sportingly happy and panicked at the same time.

"How long?" he asked, working his fingers slowly.

"Christmas… yes… Sixth year…" gasped Draco, rubbing harder against him.

Harry stopped everything and pulled away. Draco looked confused.

"That's nine years, Draco."

"Eight and a half," Draco bit his lip, feeling empty and cold. What had made him confess something like that? "Does it matter?" He hugged his arms around himself.

"Of course it matters!" Harry roared, and pulled up his trousers. "I thought you were a… a…"

"I gathered as much…"

He was not going to cry, he was not. He watched Harry struggle to close his fly over the hardness. Trembling with cold; Draco turned back to his disregarded, moist, clothes. Slowly he kneeled to pick them up.

"Draco…"

"No, I understand," he pulled on his trousers without bothering with the underwear, cursing his erection that was still just as erect. "You wanted a whore, you got me…"

"I never wanted a whore!" Harry grabbed hood of his shoulders. "Never! You don't understand! You were with Ron and…"

"Weasley gave me a job!" screamed Draco, not able to hold back his sudden rage. "Weasley was the only one that even bothered to visit me in Azkaban! If it was not for his visits, I would have died in there!"

"Why…?" Harry stared. "What…?"

"I'm not allowed to get wizard employment with my parole…" Draco pulled on his stupid t-shirt with the stupid Muggle band. "So twice a week he picks me up and I help him and his brother test stuff for the joke-shop."

"That's why you tasted liquorice…" murmured Harry, still holding on to him, not letting him go. "Why did they not tell me?"

"Tell an Auror that I'm breaking my parole?" Draco snorted a laugh. "Did you even think of me while I was in there, Potter?"

Harry looked away to the door, letting him go. Without a word he left the bathroom. Draco watched him leave. He felt sticky with the expensive shower cream still sticking to his skin. The ache and emptiness in his arse was nearly unbearable. He wondered what time it was, if there was a bus-stop close by. Did he have time to get home, shower in the sulky chaired bathroom and have wank, before his meeting with Tucker? Slowly he stepped into his shoes and wrapped his hoody around him.

He was on the stairs down when a hand grabbed him from behind.

"Draco," Harry's voice whispered. "This is yours."

A wand, his wand, was placed in his hands. He could feel the magic rushing through him. It felt like coming home. Home… the memory of the fire. The fire burning down everything he ever loved. Memories were rushing in of happier moments. His father beaming with pride, buying him this wand. His mother teaching him to yield it with grace.

He did not know what happened, but he was sitting in the middle of a staircase, crying on the bare shoulder of Harry Potter. Strong arms were holding him close stroking his back. Soft lips were kissing his brow and the top of his head.

"I thought of you, Draco, many times. The day they burned the manor, I was so disgusted. I could not even be there. I don't know why Ron never told me, but I'd have gone with him if he did…" He sighed. "I won't tell anyone you are breaking your parole."

"Thank you," Draco sniffed, leaning closer to the sweet smell of Harry's skin mixed with salty tears.

"I never wanted a…" he did not say the word. "It was because it was you. I wanted you."

"You can still have me…" Draco tasted the moist skin. "If you still want to…"

"Of course I still want you. You look very sexy in that beard."

On a warm and beautiful Tuesday Autumn morning in October the Light side of Magic came together to celebrate the bonding between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

They were joined this day, on the ground that were once Malfoy manor had stood, creating a family; a new family.

A family, that would exist for many, many years, but for now only consisted by two men, aged twenty six.

Ron Weasley stood on attendance on Draco's side. Hermione Granger stood by Harry.

Everyone said it was a beautiful ceremony. And they were right, thought Ron as the magical binding spell wrapped itself around Harry's and Draco's hands. Ancient magic, strong magic and love.

There were celebrations long into the night. But there was also solemnise. The moment when Harry and Draco joined hands to spell clear the ground where their new house was going to be built. Some stood and remembered their fallen, some grieved the loss of what could have been, and there were those - like Ron – who actually felt more happy that he even done before.

There was a laugh. A wonderful heartfelt laugh that, in Ron's mind, only could compare to a his own when Hermione had agreed to marry him.

Ron walked over to the two grooms, who were laying on the ground together with hands clasped. Blond, ruffled hair was spread on the ground next to messy black as the laughing men looked at eachother.

"Guys?" smiled Ron sitting down next to them.

"Thank you, Weasley," Draco's other hand took Ron's. "Thank you…"