Harry Potter had never had control of anything before in his life. He hadn't had any control over how he was raised, for example, or over the fact that Voldemort had killed his parents. He couldn't control the fact that Voldemort had killed his mother first thus securing Harry's life - thus saving him so he was there to not control anything for years to come. He couldn't control that the only safe place for him to go once orphaned was to the Dursleys and he certainly couldn't control the fact that they hated magic and treated him like shit for it. He couldn't control the fact that he was a wizard or that on his eleventh birthday he'd be whisked into an unknown world that would change his life around. He couldn't control the fact that he was rich and famous despite never knowing why and that now everyone wanted to talk to him, to know him, to publish false stories about him in the newspaper. He couldn't control the fact that he had a scar that used to hurt whenever Voldemort was present or that Voldemort had even wanted to hunt him down at all. He couldn't control that a prophecy had been forced to include him. He couldn't control that he had been a Horcrux or that he was supposed to die the night he defeated Voldemort or that he was probably going to marry Ginny Weasley because that's what the wizarding world wanted him to do even though he was pretty much certain of the fact that he was gay - which was just another thing that he couldn't control.
No, Harry Potter had never had control of anything before in his life. Which was probably the reason why he had taken in Draco Malfoy when the opportunity presented itself.
Everyone was shocked, needless to say, when Harry had stepped forward to testify on Malfoy's behalf to keep him out of Azkaban. Everyone, that is, except for Narcissa Malfoy who had sat through Harry's testimony with thankful tears in her eyes, praying to nobody in particular to thank them for the boy who would save her son from incarceration. For the boy who was repaying his debt with the life of her son. Testifying on Draco's behalf was another thing Harry had done that was beyond his control. He owed him. He did. Because technically, without ever knowing it, Draco had saved his life by doing nothing more than simply surviving the war. It was only fair that Harry return the favor, especially since he knew why Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters and it had absolutely nothing to do with free will. Harry knew a little something about not having control over the major events in your life; he wasn't going to sit back and have someone else suffer through a pain he knew all too well. It was a moral obligation if anything.
What he did afterward, though, was a choice he made all his own. He was the one to escort Draco back to Malfoy Manor, something he insisted upon doing since Pansy Parkinson was still being held until her trial was over and Draco didn't have many others on his side who weren't already imprisoned or in hiding. The pair never actually got onto the grounds of the house, though. They stood outside the gate for a long time, just staring. Staring and not daring to go forward. It just didn't feel right to Harry to be back there and if the sudden paling (something Harry didn't know could happen to someone who already looked so fragile) of Draco's skin said anything at all, it didn't feel right to the Malfoy heir either. It was Draco's house now, sure, but he didn't want it, and Harry would be content if he never had to step foot on the premises again. Too many memories for the both of them. So without even a second glance, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and they Disapparated.
He later asked Draco if he wanted to stay with Harry until he was able to build his life up again. For reasons Harry would never fully understand, he said that he did.
It took a lot of convincing for the Ministry to allow Draco to move in with Harry at Grimmauld Place. There was a lot of arguing and even more paperwork involved than either of the young wizards had anticipated. A lot of compromises were made and not all of them made either one of the boys too happy. For example, Ministry officials would have to put certain privacy-invading spells on the house so that they could monitor when Draco entered and left, any time he used magic and what spell he used, and even if Draco was bringing any friends into the house. Draco wasn't allowed to Apparate unless he was with Harry (this one took the longest for Draco to accept; "A Malfoy does not solely travel via side-along Apparition," he had insisted and it was only the threat of tossing him back into the haunted mansion that was now Malfoy Manor that got him to shut up and take it). Draco and Harry were also never to be left alone together - Kreacher and Dobby (the latter had insisted on serving Harry without pay and had settled for at least minimum wages when Harry refused to take him in as another servant) were to be with them at all times unless Harry deliberately ordered them not to be. And even then, they were to monitor the room with their magic in case things got violent or out of hand.
If he was being completely honest with those assigned to their case, Harry would say that he thought that all of the precautions were silly. Draco's wand didn't even work for him properly anymore (something he swore to never forgive Harry for) and any violent tendencies the man seemed to have possessed in the past were now gone. He barely had the strength or the will to look anyone in the eye these days, let alone try to kill the one man who had saved him from a lifetime in prison. No, Draco Malfoy was still a lot of things - cold, arrogant, sarcastic, distant, reserved. But he also wasn't, and had never been, stupid. He knew that Harry had saved him and he knew that Harry knew it. Whether either one of them liked it or not, they were indebted to each other. And that wasn't exactly a thought that made either one of them want to resort to violence. Besides, Grimmauld Place was a large house and Harry was only extending his invitation to live there until the Ministry released all of the Malfoy fortune to Draco, something he was also working on getting done (they were currently using bullshit excuses such as, "We don't know what he may buy with that gold," to keep Draco on a strict monthly 'allowance' and the fact that Harry was not only the only one working in Malfoy's defense but also working with untrustworthy goblins who hated him for stealing and releasing their dragon probably wasn't helping matters any). It would be easy, simple really, to avoid Draco in the large house. In fact, if Harry were to close his eyes and pretend the last few weeks didn't happen, he could probably forget that Malfoy was there at all.
But that wasn't what the Ministry wanted to hear. The Ministry just wanted the pair of them to sign a bunch of documents, nod their heads, say "yeah sure, uh huh, whatever you say," a couple of times and then get the Hell out of their business. No one liked helping former Death Eaters. Especially not the ones who the Ministry had worked so hard to imprison for so long. The sooner they got Harry and Draco out of their hair, the happier they would all be and the sooner the rest of them could get back to their lives. And Harry was no one to slow down that process, even if it meant keeping his mouth shut tight whenever anyone asked him if he knew what he was doing.
Because he did. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was making a choice. A choice that was strictly his own and a choice that no one would be able to talk him out of.
The only thing he could hope as he helped Malfoy unpack the few things he had decided to take from the Manor - including his wardrobe, his broom, a few pictures, and a couple of family heirlooms - was that he was making the right one.
Draco Malfoy was the very definition of controlled. Everything about him was orderly and pristine - always. His hair was always perfectly in line; his clothes were always perfectly pressed, his shoes shined to perfection. His work was always done slowly and neatly, and it was always extremely organized and structured. His daily routine was habit by now, right down to the time he woke up in the morning to the time he went to bed at night. His biological clock was more in time with his daily plans than any other, his things were always put neatly on shelves or in drawers, and he never, ever lost anything. Ever. Even his bloodline was controlled and carefully constructed with the most pure blood of any other last name he'd ever heard of. He even knew what Hogwarts house he was going to be in before he ever reached the school - Slytherin, like the generations of Malfoys before him. It was almost preordained. His name was Draco Malfoy. He was a pureblood. He was a Slytherin. And no one in the world would ever dare to think that his life was anything but perfectly in order, exactly the way he wanted it to be. Because if anyone sensed any anxiety, any vulnerability, any mistake at all...they would pounce. Then all Hell would break loose. And Malfoys were not fond of Hell breaking loose when they didn't want it to.
The problem with being Draco Malfoy, though, was despite the fact that everything in his life was supposed to be perfect, planned, and unchangeable, it was not he who was controlling it. He did not get to dictate what he wore, how he looked, when he woke up, what house he wanted to be in. He didn't get to choose his own favorite Quidditch team or food or time of the year or shirt or sexuality or wife. He was not the one who determined what job he would have in the future. He was not the one who decided that he would take the Dark Mark. He was not the one who decided he would be an extraordinary student who would meet the Dark Lord's demands. He was not the one who decided to pick the side of Dark magic. He was not the one who decided when he would be allowed to show weakness. He was not the one who decided when he would begin to think that all Hell had finally broken loose. He was not even, in the end, the one who decided if he would go to jail or not. It was never his decision to make. He never got a say in anything.
Maybe that was why he had accepted Potter's invitation to stay at Grimmauld Place. Because it wasn't something that Lucius or Narcissa or Snape or Voldemort could decide for him. They weren't there anymore. His parents were imprisoned, and Snape and Voldemort were...well, they were dead. There was no longer anyone there to give him guidance, to tell him if he should go back to the Manor even though being inside of it made him physically ill and sent his heart racing in fear or if he should accept Harry's invitation and start living with the enemy who, as it turned out, wasn't much of an enemy to him at all. It was Harry, he constantly reminded himself now, who kept him out of Azkaban. He owed him some kindness for that alone. And with no one else to turn to and no one there to tell him to do much else, he had clung to the first sign of control that he could find. And that was the control and order that Harry was offering him. A home. A legal team. A second chance at life.
So he had said yes. Hadn't even hesitated. Potter, of course, looked a bit surprised at the fact that Draco had responded so quickly, but the expression had quickly faded and he had immediately made arrangements to move Draco's things in and get Ministry protection so that the pair of them would be safe in the backlash that was sure to happen after the war. Unable to come up with a better plan for himself after years of submission, Draco had simply gone along with whatever Harry wanted. Harry was in control now. He was the one that Draco was falling behind.
He hated it.
He wasn't sure when he had sunk this far. He didn't know the exact date when fighting back with Harry and teasing him and harassing him had become nothing more than bothersome, just that it had happened sometime during their sixth year. He didn't know when he had lost the will to smirk whenever Harry entered the room or to call Granger (who made up the better part of their legal team now) a Mudblood or even to start thinking of Weasley as anything other than a blood traitor. He wasn't sure when exactly he had lost the spark that had made him who he was, when he had lost the independent streak that kept him proud, cocky, and arrogant for all of those years at Hogwarts. He just knew that at one point in time, he would have laughed at Harry's offer of a house. And at one point in time, he would have made a comment about how Harry was just trying to find an excuse to be near him. Or that he wouldn't want to stay in the pig sty Harry called home if it was the last place on Earth. Now, though - now he was happy that someone was willing to take the reins in his life once again because he sure as Hell didn't know how to steer himself anymore. Now he was just happy to still be alive. Now the only reason people thought he was controlled was because he was reserved. If he didn't say anything, nobody could doubt him.
So he remained silent.
If this bothered Harry at all, though, he didn't say anything. He let Draco stay quiet; he let him brood and unpack his things in peace. He gave him a tour of the house when he first arrived then dumped Draco in his room. And then, just like that, he was gone, and Draco was left to wonder when exactly things had turned around the way that they did. He tried to remember the time when he and Harry went from rivals to two pieces of a giant puzzle that had been broken beyond recognition - broken until they strongly resembled one another but looked nothing like how they once were. Because Harry had changed, too. People could deny it all they wanted but with the amount of time Draco spent with him during his legal battles, he'd seen it the way he'd seen the change in himself. He was different. Harry's smile never quite reached his eyes, now, and he rarely spoke to anyone unless spoken to first. He spent most of his time staring at walls as though they held the secrets of the universe in them; Draco would bet more than anything that he wasn't thinking of anything, either.
He knew. He understood. He did the same thing. Sometimes one just needed to escape the world.
He thought about leaving as he began to move himself into the spare room Harry had given to him. He thought about just leaving the city, the country, the wizarding world as he knew it. He thought about leaving it all behind and trying to recreate himself in a different world, a different time where nobody would know who he was. But he found a strange comfort in occupying the empty spaces on the shelves in his room. He found something beautiful in the idea of living in a place where he was free to do as he pleased. He found solace in finally having someone around who willingly put themselves in his presence. Besides, he understood Harry. And he had a feeling that Harry understood him, too.
He kept trying to put a date on when they had become two broken pieces of the same messy whole. It was only after he'd finally been settled at Grimmauld Place that he realized that he would never find the date he was looking for. Because this hadn't happened overnight. People didn't lose their humanity in a matter of hours. It was something that had grabbed a hold of them both during the war and it was now working its way through their systems until they were able to take control of themselves and cast it aside.
The only problem was that Draco had no idea how to handle himself anymore. Everything he'd done in the past was carefully constructed by someone else. He was a person of someone else's design. He couldn't cast anything aside until someone taught him to. And even then he was positive that he'd never be exactly the same again.
His only glimmer of hope was that he had finally made a decision that didn't seem as though it could possibly result in his death. And he had made the decision all his own.
Maybe he and Potter were both broken. But it gave them more in common than he had with anyone else.
And so he stayed.