Title: Forever Indebted to you.
Author: GeorgiferRosex
Rating: M+
Words: 4567
Summary: A year has passed
Warnings: A year has past since the war. Memories are still fresh and sore in the hearts of the entirety of the Wizarding World. In the midst of the anguish and pain, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are finally brought together, like Draco had always meant them to.
Disclaimer: Slash, sexual situations are to occur, violence and relatively bad language.
A lot of people asked me later on what was going through my mind at that moment. The moment where I clutched to some stray pieces of furniture that were setting alight in front of my very eyes as the cursed fire spread. In the midst of that great war, where I cowered away like a scared puppy in a room with two wild beasts who, like this fire, had grown out of control during my absence. I always trusted Crabbe and Goyle to help me through anything - they were my best friends after all, and surely cared for my wellbeing; I guess I was wrong. They only cared for themselves in the end.
It wasn't them that I was thinking of though, as I prepared to die. All that kept racing through my mind was his name. Harry James Potter. The Chosen One. Was it not for him, I would not be so close to dying. If it were not for him, my Father would have been strong, and life would be as it used to. A half-hearted hatred scoured through my veins as an image of his face drew in my mind, and I closed my eyes as if that could erase it; I was wrong, yet again. It only made it stronger. I wished that I could hate him more, that I could truly blame him for my entire world falling apart. It would make things so much easier to have someone responsible for this mess other than myself. Even then, I couldn't bring myself to despise him as I knew I should.
It was then that I felt his strong hands grasping my waist and pulling me, pulling me away from the death that I had accepted and almost embraced. As I found myself lugged onto his broomstick, I couldn't draw my eyes away from the fire that continued to lick threateningly. Death had been cheated, and I knew he would come to find me some day. I shuddered at the thought, as I stared at the back of my rescuer's head. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, who always loved to play the hero; never had I expected though that, when given an appropriate circumstance, he'd save me. Why should he? I was everything he had hated, everything he despised about the Wizarding World ever since he had first stepped foot into the castle in his first year. My stomach crawled in embarrassment at the memory of him refusing to take my hand on the Hogwarts Express, refusing to be my friend, and I had to resist the urge to slap him. No, now wasn't time for petty confrontations to rear their ugly heads; in fact, maybe it was time to let them lie.
I watched one of my best friends die that day, die as I grew to accept that he wasn't the boy I thought I knew. "Crabbe… Crabbe." I whimpered as Harry flew me to safety, showing a rare sign of caring for the boys that had been my bodyguards for six whole years.
The rest of that day was a blur for me. How was I suppose to know that it would end in isolation for me and my family? That we were to be outlawed from a world that we trusted would have been conquered by now. As you all know by now, Voldemort was defeated by my own saviour. Celebrations begun. I found them rather sickening, how they celebrated before they mourned the dead. They were all celebrating the death of my relatives, of family friends. For me it didn't make sense.
When we finally made it home to the Malfoy Manor, I kicked off my shoes and socks and flung myself into my bed, not daring to take off my blood stained robes. I didn't want to forget the trauma of the war, and I felt as if I would be betraying it's memory if I took them off too quickly. I knew that when I did I would never wash them. I'd hang them in the corner, a memorial to the lives lost. My Aunt Bellatrix was cruel, but I couldn't bring myself to be glad of her death. She'd been almost loving to me; without her I'd never have learned Legilimency.
I tried to sleep but if I closed my eyes images of the death and torture sprung into my mind. I found myself wondering how many people would be in my position tonight, lying awake, too afraid to sleep in case the people that they had lost arose in their dreams. Afraid of what they might hear from them, maybe. A tear fell down my cheek, and I hastily rubbed it away. I knew what my Aunt Bella would say about tears. They were a sign of cowardice, and no matter what else people called me behind my back, I was determined for them to never acknowledge my cowardice.
A soft knock on my door was a welcome comfort. I knew it would be my Mother even before I heard her light-footed steps and shallow breathing. I felt her hair on my face as she kissed me goodnight, an icy curtain of blonde on the pale skin that we shared."I love you Draco." she whispered to me, and I tried not to let myself go in her presence. I was a man now after all, and men weren't supposed to cry. I didn't know whether it was deemed appropriate for men to cry in front of their Mothers, but I knew that I wanted to more than anything. I wanted to be young again, for her to curl up next to me and stroke my hair and tell me that it was all going to be okay. "I love you too, Mother." I whispered back to her as she cradled my face with her hands and kissed me on the forehead. I instantly felt like a little child again; it made me uncomfortable how much I enjoyed that feeling of innocence whilst the blood clung to my robes - a reminder that life tends to throw surprises in for us all, and not all of them are good.
"Drink this, Draco. Sleep." she purred, handing me over a goblet. I didn't need to think twice. I instantly poured the goblet of sweet tasting purple elixir down my parched throat, and felt sleep take me over. The last thought that ran through my mind before my head hit my pillow was Harry Potter, and how I hoped I wouldn't dream of him. Not tonight.
Since then, the nights have not gotten any easier. It's been a year, and I am still dependent on that sacred elixir to help me sleep. At one point my parents tried to wean me off of her, but it didn't work. The nightmares started to stream in thick and fast, and after 48 hours of remaining consistently awake they gave in and brew me a fresh potion. I refer to my elixir as 'her', due to the fact that she is the only love in my life right now. I know the subject of whom my parents would rather me fixate my devotion: they are inviting the Greengrasses over for dinner now around three times a week, each time placing me next to the elegant Astoria. I know Mother's plan. She wants us to marry, and who am I to object to her wishes?
Astoria is slim and beautiful, with big brown eyes that match her flowing brunette curls that hang just to below her chest. There's something extremely elegant about her, the way she moves and the way that she talks so eloquently as if she's constantly out to make a good impression. I can't imagine Astoria ever embarrassing me, so she'll make do. I learned long ago that love shouldn't matter in this world to people like me. Love may have saved those who already loved, but love won't save me. Romantic love anyway. Let's just say that old habits die hard, and when you're a Death Eater you learn that love is meaningless.
I wake up to my Father's scratchy voice. "Draco!" he shouts loud enough for me, from where I presume is the kitchen he is sitting. I sit up in my bed and scratch my head, feeling the icy blonde mess of hair beneath my slim fingers. It's odd that the day dawns just like every other day when so much tension is hanging in the air. It's the first anniversary of the War today, and the Ministry has organised a memorial service at Hogwarts School of which anyone can attend; my family included. It's sickening how much they're trying to treat us as if they truly forgive us. We know we've not been accepted, so I don't know why they insist on acting as if we're oblivious to the fact.
I stumble out of bed and open the curtains, eyes temporarily blinded by the shocking sunshine that suddenly enters the room. It releases a warmth into the room that makes me want to just hide in there for the rest of the day and escape the eager eyes that I know will be attached to me as soon as I enter the castle. I know, however, that it would be immoral for me to stay lying on my bed in my boxer shorts whilst the whole world mourns the loss of thousands of Witches and Wizards. Therefore I take off the cotton that stopped me from being naked, and make my way to the ensuite for a shower.
The water washes away my dirty conscience. You see, I had a horrible dream last night. I dreamed that I was flying, flying above the clouds. I could just see the Ministry, and Diagon Alley, and after a long while I even saw Hogwarts. And there's me, flying above it all. I'm strong and fearsome. There's nobody there to confirm that, not even any birds in the sky, but I just have a strong gut instinct that tells me that nobody would dare to interfere with my business. All of a sudden I see a figure flying towards me. At first I shrug it off, believing it to be a bird, but then I notice the jet black hair and I swear his eyes shine brighter than anybody's I've ever known. 'No,' I groan, but part of me welcomes the Potter boy flying my way. From then on, that's it. I've lost my concentration and I feel my control weaken, my body starting to sink. A look of horror etches onto Harry's face and before I can even protest (as if I have the energy anyway) he is grabbing me, and we're flying again, except I'm not alone. Not this time. I try not to think of the details anymore as I step out, patting myself dry with a towel. Harry's going to be at the Memorial service later, of course. I can't dwell on the fact that I too acknowledge him to be my saviour. We were enemies at school, it would be mortifying.
I swiftly dress into robes, robes not too different to the ones that hang in the corner of my room - I was true to my word. The black makes my complexion seem even pastier than usual, although maybe that's just in anticipation for today; for the guilty stares and the way the citizens will almost certainly be celebrating the death of Aunt Bella. I'll probably stand in close proximity to her killer, and oh I will most definitely see the Potter boy. He'll make a grand speech, and everyone will rejoice in him and I'll be left sitting and staring at him from my seat without a tear in my eye; wishing that I could say I knew the real Potter.
Breakfast is a low key affair. Neither my Mother or Father speaks to me, my Mother just thrusts a bowl of fruit in front of me. I eat it without complaint, but without thanks either. It's not like I can taste anything other than the tension in the air. Mother's in her best dress and Father in his most expensive robes; oh aren't we just a sight for sore eyes? It's always been about appearances for Father. Once again, we're going to turn up upstaging the people that really deserve the attention, and for once that mortifies me.
After the pitiful breakfast I retire once more to clean my teeth, whilst Mother retouches her lipstick - god forbid she turns up and it's faded. I don't know why she bothers, nobody will be interested in her sunken beauty today of all days.
When I get back I stand by the grate. It all seems incredibly forced, as if we're posing for a ridiculous family portrait to hang on the wall. Of course it's forced, we're going to emerge at Hogwarts the dignified family we always attempt to showcase. Father reaches for floo powder, and drops it in the grate. We step in one by one, and with a clear boom of "Hogwarts," that's it. We're spinning, we're gone.
We emerge into the Headmistresses Office, where Professor McGonagall gives us a curt nod. "Mr and Mrs Malfoy, Draco." she says, and we all return the nod. "To the Great Hall, if you please."
I don't think that words can truly describe how uncomfortable I feel, walking through the Office that Dumbledore used to reside in. It's only been three years, yet the guilt hasn't gone away. I almost killed a man, and I won't be forgetting that any time soon. I am suddenly incredibly conscious of the dark mark emblazoned on my wrist, and I look towards my Father to see if I can sense any tell tale signs of guilt from him. No, he's calm and collected as always, and that helps me to gulp down and face up to my actions like a man.
When we enter the Great Hall, all eyes turn to face us. I stare with bated breathe, waiting for that initial reaction that will prove whether our suspicions are needless, or correct. As it turns out, both sides are partially correct. We get some raises of eyebrows, some rolls of eyes and one woman even dares to mutter, "What are THEY doing here?" but mostly, people just turn away as if we don't exist. I don't know which one I prefer - being treated like a monster, or being treated like a ghost. Either way, I find myself leading my parents to a set of the many chairs that have been placed facing the headmaster's stand, where the new Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt stands along with people who were seen as inspirational in this war. I know he's there, but I can't bring myself to search for his face among the ones that I instantly recognise.
When we settle into the seats my heart starts to pound. What are we doing here? We don't belong here. We belong at home, having our own private ceremony away from the prying eyes of others. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as the minutes tick by. I was just wondering when the stupid things was going to start when the big booming voice of the Minister caught me by surprise, and it began.
"Students of Hogwarts, Ex Students, Warriors, Fighters, Healers, Survivors and Grievers. Welcome, to the Memorial service of the day that shall never be forgotten." Kingsley started solemnly, and I felt the air around us instantly sharpen. Nobody could hold a room like Kinglsey could, with his slow, deep voice and air of grace. As much as I hated to admit it, I could understand why every body would want Kingsley as their Minister in this dark, recovery period."A year has past. In this year, we have rebuilt your school. Your streets have been cleaned, and restored. Your Ministry institutionalised. Your dead may have been buried, but they are not forgotten."
There is a rather pregnant pause whilst everybody waits for the Minister to continue with his speech. His voice does not waver when he does eventually, and for that I admire him. If it was me up there, I would be a wreck by now.
"Lives were not lost aimlessly. The dead showed a vast amount of courage, as do the living that sit here before us. It is of vital importance, that these dead are forever remembered for their true bravery - their true character. Their warm hearts and vital spirits."
I hear a sniffle from the audience, and turn to see Molly Weasley sobbing into her husband's arms. The sight of it almost breaks my stony heart.
"Lord Voldemort, the most dark wizard of all time, was vanquished one year ago - yet the scars he provided have not yet faded, not yet healed. His evil reign over our fears did not end by pure chance, however. It was thanks to the hard work of a man that he was, eventually killed. Ladies and Gentleman, I will now hand you over to the saviour of the Wizarding World as we know it: Harry James Potter."I had been looking down to my shoes as Kingsley spoke, but at the mention of his name my face instantly jolted upwards. My heart seemed to stop as I saw him walking towards the podium, his face stiff. I couldn't help but tut as I watched him stand there, looking completely thrown. After all of these years, the mixed reactions kept returning. He must have loved that. To be told that he was a saviour. The Harry I knew had always taken advantage of any situation where he could get some form of attention. Well, the Harry I thought I knew.
His hair was still as jet black as ever, his eyes green and sparkling through his round glasses. He was taller now, but still shorter than average. There was something rugged about his appearance, maybe it was the stubble that appeared on his chin and his cheeks. Maybe he had been nervous about making this appearance - although I couldn't imagine the boy who lived ever getting nervous. He was in his best suit, but all in black; no doubt a symbol for the memorial. He looked… well, good. And that wasn't a compliment that I gave out lightly.
"Thank you, Kinglsey." he started. His voice shook slightly, along with his body. I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to go up to the stand and hold his hand, to try to make his experience less painful for him. I flush slightly, bowing my head down as if scared that somebody would have noticed it - as if people could draw their eyes away from the chosen one on the podium.
"I don't pretend to be a hero." he said flatly. "I'm not. I walked into that forest meaning to die. I was prepared to leave you all, not meaning to return. I hope you realize that what I did wasn't done for myself. I didn't want to seek vengeance on the attack he made on me - the ruthless murder of my parents. I wanted to revenge you, all of you. He was massacring thousands before I was even born. I am not the hero around here; all of you are, for standing up and fighting for what you believe in. I don't deserve all of this attention. I only finished him off, it was you that weakened his defences, made it easier for me to deliver the final blow. I want to thank Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, for reasons you already know. Everyone whose lives were sacrificed, and can not be in this room with us right now. However, there is someone in our company who needs thanking above all others, who deserves recognition for a bravery above anything I have ever seen before."
Harry stopped speaking and everybody seemed to look behind them, as if searching for the one person who the boy who lived was proclaiming as braver than himself. They turn back soon enough though, and I notice Harry licking his lips before he carries on.
"Narcissa Malfoy is the only reason that I am standing here today." he says, and I notice my Mother stiffen next to me. I gasp, and my Father gives a low, agonising grunt. Out of anyone, it is Father that wishes the Dark Lord had prevailed the most. How was he going to take this news? How was I going to take this news? I'd had no idea that my Mother had been so involved in saving Harry's life.
Hundreds, no thousands of eyes turn to us. I refuse to look away from Harry, anger starting to burn in my veins. I stare into those green eyes from afar, but he looks away quickly, not keeping my eye contact. He knew, he knew I'd be angry and yet he did it anyway.
"When I was in the Forest with Voldemort, assumed dead, Voldemort had one of his followers check whether I was still alive. Luckily, the woman he asked was Mrs Malfoy. I remember she whispered to me. 'Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?' she asked me. When I was able to confirm that, she lied. Lied to the greatest Wizard of all time, telling him that I was dead. It was that one, simple lie that changed the fate of the Wizarding World forever. I thank you, Narcissa. In my eyes you are a heroine."
I'm stomping through the corridors, in a rage. My heart is pounding, my blood boiling, my cool blue eyes engulfed in a pool of black from my pupils. I feel the sweat on my brow, but I don't stop to mop it with the back of my hand. How dare he. How very DARE he. Hadn't we had enough attention recently? Did he think that we'd appreciate it? The further stares, the attention we'd never asked for?
I'd slipped away as everybody else had started the grand feast, not managing to leave during the array of speeches. Now, though, I was free to wonder the castle, the castle I had grown so accustomed to over the years and the castle of which I was currently destroying - destroying like I had done so on that fatal night a year ago.
I hit a suit of armour with a stunning spell repeatedly, getting increasingly frustrated with each hit that didn't seem to affect it anyway. "Stupid… poncy… patronizing… premeditating… precocious… Potter." I scorn with each hit, too caught up in an anger I can't control.
"Draco." comes a soft voice, and I stop, spinning on my heel and pointing my wand towards him. How dare he follow me like this? Why had the Potter boy followed me, when it was obvious I was far too angry to see him right now?
"Why are you following me, Potter? Haven't you done enough damage." I hiss, kicking the suit of armour now instead. The only effect this has, however, is to anger me even more and simultaneously leave my foot throbbing.
"That wasn't very clever now, was it Malfoy? Calm down." Harry is raising an eyebrow at me. Juding me. How dare he judge me? How would he know what I've gone through.
"Don't order me." I snarl. "Unless you didn't realize, I don't worship you like they do.""They do? Who's they, Draco. I don't feel worshipped, not by anybody." Harry retorts calmly, and I laugh.
"Don't lie, Harry. We both know that's not true. By they I mean the Wizarding World, of course. How could they live without their stupid saviour, Potter?" I say sarcastically, in a horrible impression of a woman I've never even met.
He just looks at me sadly, and that's what hurts the most. He feels sorry for me, and here I am so angry I could curse him and split him into pieces.
"Why are you so angry, Draco? I cleared your family name. I thought that's what you wanted…""-You don't know what I want." I interrupt him flatly. My wand is shaking in my hand. Once again I know that I'm not going to do it. I have cowered out, as usual. The wand lowers in my hand, and I place it back into my pocket. I look at Harry's face, and he doesn't look relieved; just blank. I know what he thinks of me. He thinks I'm a coward. He knew I'd never do it, not really.
"You owe me." he mutters darkly.
"I know." I reply. I owe him everything. I owe him my life, twice, and now I owe him for something I didn't even want to happen. "That's the thing you see, Potter. I always end up owing you. I can never escape from you. Maybe next time you will just let me die, or rot in disgrace, and I at least won't have to live my life forever indebted to you.""I could never let you die." Harry whispers.
"That's your problem, Potter. You always want to play the hero." I shrug, and it's suddenly him who's enflamed in anger.
"You think I want this? I've never wanted this, Draco. I've always craved my privacy, a private life. A family. I was thrust into this without any control over what the hell was going to happen. You mope around like your life is oh so difficult without even considering what it's like for me. I don't play the hero, I'm just forced into the act. I want to be free to make mistakes, to live my life without constantly being scrutinised… can't you understand that? That I don't want fame. I didn't even want to speak at this damn thing but they obliged me to. Draco, can you understand?"
It was like he was pleading with me, and I find myself nodding along to his words even though I don't understand and I don't think I could ever understand.
"We don't have to be like this, Draco." he continues, starting to calm down. "We could be… well, we could be friends if we really tried."
He gives me a small smile that I can't help returning. He holds out his hand though, and I'm unsure. Maybe I should leave him hanging, exactly like he left me hanging when we were 11 years old and I was so desperate, desperate to have him in my life.
After a moment's hesitation, my hand is in his and it fits like a glove. I shake it firmly, trying not to flush with embarrassment as I come to the conclusion that even after all of these years, I've always craved Harry Potter in my life.
"We're men, not boys." I agree, and Harry smiles at me. It's not exactly friendly yet, but it's definitely more tolerant.
"Maybe we should talk more. I'll write you a letter tomorrow, maybe we can meet up and try and have a normal conversation… look, I've got to go and catch up with some obligations, but it's good to see you Draco. Truly, it is." he says. Then he turns and walks away, and I feel my breathe catch - if only for a second.