A/N: I know, the last thing I should be doing is writing another fic, especially since I already have one in progress and am supposed to be writing a sequal to FAAR - unfourtunately, my muse has momentarily left me for that particular fic, and so it has been put on hold. Have no fears, though, there will be a sequal. It will just take a bit longer than I planned. This fic will be updated sporadically, and may have long lags, so please don't get too attatched. It will be finished, and I've estimated that there will be over twenty chapters in all, though there may be more and though it is highly unlikely, there may be less. Once I finish WDYLM, this fic will be updated more regularly, but since not even WDYLM is updated regularly, I cannot promise you much. I do hope that you like this fic, though. Please tell me what you think!

WARNINGS: Slight OOCness.

Chapter One

A Killing

Harry had defeated Voldemort. Although the last battle had been a blur to him, he remembered, painfully, every single person that had been killed by Voldemort's hand; Ron, Remus, Neville, Semus, and so many more. Their coffins continually rested on Harry's conscious. There were so many what-if's and if-only's, and Harry was just the type to linger over every single one.

Currently, Harry was sitting in a far corner of a muggle pub, swirling the dark, ember-colored drink in his glass, staring into it as if the liquid held all the world's mysteries. The bar was nearly empty; a few muggles sat at the bar and a rowdy group of young men was gathered around a table in some other far corner. Harry was virtually alone.

It had been nearly half a year since the final battle had taken place. Harry had yet to return to the Wizarding World. Hermione Granger, so lost in her grief, had not approached Harry about it, as she normally would have under different circumstances. She kept in her room in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, most of the time, and only came out to eat meager amounts of food. Mrs. Weasley looked upon her, with sad eyes, as a second daughter. Hermione may have been, too, if only…

Harry sighed and took a long drag of the cigarette that was dangling between his fingers. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot - he had been drinking since sunset; it was nearly after midnight, now.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, and Harry jumped into a defensive stance to glare at the man who had touched him.

"Hey, buddy, I don't want no trouble," the man said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "But I think you've had enough." His eyes were drawn to the cigarette that had been dropped to the floor, and he cocked a brow. "That's gonna have to be put out. We don't allow no smoking here. This is an honest establishment here. We don't want no trouble,"

Harry remained in his stance, ready to strike at the man who was staring at him. The man was quite large, most likely a bouncer. His face was actually quite friendly, and Harry wondered if he would have made a good friend, if only things were different. But they weren't.

Harry stamped the cigarette out with the heel of his nicely polished shoe with a nod in acknowledgement, clenching his fists at his sides.

"We don't want no trouble," the man repeated, and Harry's eyes narrowed at him. He wasn't quite sure what spurred him into action. In fact, everything from that very first punch was a blur. But when his anger had finally left him, he was a panting heap on the floor, gasping for breath and clutching his ribs.

He was hurt, that was for sure. A sudden pressure at his feet caused Harry to look up. The man who had told him that he had had enough was lying there, face down, blood pooling around his head and leaking from his mouth and nose.

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. Maybe he had hit him harder than he had meant.

The loud chatter dwindled down to a low murmur, until finally; there was silence loud enough to hear a pin drop. Nobody did anything. Doing something was up to the bouncer, and the bouncer was lying on the floor. It didn't look like he would be doing anything for a while.

Harry struggled to his feet, using the wall as support more than he would have liked. He looked, stricken, down at the bouncer on the floor, his face a deathly pale color and his mouth dry as cotton. After a long bout of staring at the man on the floor, Harry went back to his table and leant down to pick up his still half-full glass of whiskey. He downed it in one gulp, and then slammed it on the table once more.

He then knelt down to the muggle bouncer, withdrawing his wand from his pants pocket. Flicking the wand at the bouncer, he murmured the 'Enervate' spell.

The bouncer's body curled and his back arched. For a moment, hope shone in Harry's eyes. That soon dwindled away when the bouncer collapsed once more on the dingy floor, not moving another inch.

Harry wasn't a healer. But he could tell when someone was dead. He had seen enough death since his birth to know the difference between dead and unconscious.

His panicked eyes glanced up to look around. Everyone was unmoving. The old men at the bar were each holding on to a large mug of urine colored brew, in the midst of making a loud toast. The young men at their discrete table were murmuring to each other, but Harry couldn't hear what they were saying. The bartender himself had been in the process of cleaning a mug with a dingy wash rag, but now the mug was dangling uselessly in one hand, mouth forming a nearly perfect 'O' of surprise.

The whisky had a very short-lived run through Harry's veins; it was completely gone now, leaving Harry sober in his moment of need. Harry finally broke the silence. "I…I'm…sorry," he stuttered out, before quickly rushing from the bar.

Everyone stared after him in surprise for a while, before the bartender chased after Harry. He came back a few long moments later, scratching his head in disbelief. Harry had been nowhere in sight.

"Well?" the bartender growled out. "What are you waiting for? Call a hospital!"

Panic spread throughout the room as the young men all dug for their cell phones and the old men rushed around looking for the phone that was conveniently hidden behind the counter. The bartender rushed over to the comatose bouncer, and sighed in relief when he felt a very faint pulse in the man's throat.

XXX

Harry had popped up on their doorstep rather unexpectedly, and Draco Malfoy was hardly dressed for visitors at such a late time. Grudgingly, he opened the door and allowed Harry in. Mrs. Weasley engulfed Harry in a tight hug to which Harry didn't respond. He stood stiffly in her arms until they dropped to her sides and she stared at him critically.

"Harry, are you quite all right?" she asked.

Harry stared soulfully into her eyes, his lips curling down in a worried frown. He nodded briefly, and followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen without a word.

Draco stared after Harry with his brows furrowed, then shook his head and went up to his room to change.

On his way back down to the kitchen, he grudgingly knocked on Hermione's door. "Granger," he barked, and the door was yanked open before he could say another word.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were red and puffy and her face was blotchy, probably from crying.

Draco sighed and swallowed the pity that rose in his throat every time he saw Granger in this state. "Potter has come to visit," he stated simply, and Hermione stared critically at him.

"He hasn't been here since…since…" she broke off her sentence on a sob and Draco nodded knowingly, his body wanting to do nothing more than draw her into a tight hug and smother her until she no longer felt pain. He resisted the urge.

Hermione sniffed once more and she nodded, shutting the door in Draco's face. Draco stared indignantly at the door for a few long moments, before he huffed and started down the stairs.

XXX

Harry remained silent as Mrs. Weasley served him tea. Hermione and Draco joined them moments later, Draco sitting across from Harry and averting his eyes, and Hermione sitting beside him, looking down at her cup of tea.

It was late, but they hadn't been used to getting much sleep, especially since the mounting of the war. Now that the war was over, they still held some of their war-like habits.

An awkward silence ensued, until Harry had completed his tea and sat at the table rather shakily, staring at a very interesting knot in the gnarled wood of the table. "So," Mrs. Weasley's voice caused Harry to jump in alarm. Mrs. Weasley smiled apologetically at him. "What brings you here, and at such a late hour?"

Harry looked up at her, his eyes gleaming. Good old Mrs. Weasley, she hadn't been changed at all by the war. Though her youngest son had been killed, she seemed to be faring quite well.

Hermione's questioning voice brought Harry out of his musings. "Harry?"

Harry met first Hermione's, then Mrs. Weasley's eyes, and he inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a long time.

"I've…I think I…that is…I'm so sorry," Harry began, looking once again at the interesting knot on the table.

"Sorry for what, Harry dear?"

"I…" Harry sighed, then breathed in deeply once more.

"Spit it out, Potter, we haven't got all night." Draco interjected. Hermione kicked him under the table and Draco glared at her but kept his mouth shut.

"I think I've killed a man," Harry finally said, his voice soft and his pupils dilated.

Mrs. Weasley smothered a gasp with her fist, her eyes immediately glazed. Hermione stared at him for a moment as if she were in awe. "Oh, Harry,"

And she fell into him then, grappling with his shoulders and wrapping her arms around his waist and sobbing into his neck. "Oh, Harry, oh Harry,"

Mrs. Weasley restrained herself from doing the same by sitting heavily next to Draco, who was staring at Harry wide eyed and slack jawed.

When Hermione quieted down and pulled away, wiping her eyes and apologizing, Mrs. Weasley asked the inevitable question. "Who?"

Harry exhaled. "A muggle. I was at a muggle pub, and this bouncer, he…Oh, my god. I've killed a man," Harry stared down at his hands as if seeing blood that wasn't there. "I've killed a man," he repeated. The actuality of what he had done was finally sinking in, and Harry found himself sobbing into his hands, repeatedly saying between sobs, "I've killed a man,"

Draco met Mrs. Weasley's eyes. "Surely he can't be serious?" he asked as Hermione tried to comfort Harry.

Mrs. Weasley stared at Harry sadly. "I believe that he is, Draco,"

Draco's brow furrowed once again. "What are we going to do?"

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and looked skeptically at Harry. "I don't know, Draco."

"Surely we're going to do something?" Hermione asked, rubbing her hand up and down Harry's spine softly as Harry shuddered and sobbed in despair.

Mrs. Weasley smiled brightly as an idea popped into her head. She stood and went over to shake Harry gently. "Harry," she asked, her voice desperate as a plan formed in her head. "You didn't use any magic, did you? You didn't do anything that can trace this back to you, did you?"

Harry shook his head, then stopped mid-shake. "I, uh…I used enervate."

Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes and sighed. Opening them, she smiled at Harry. "Why did you do that, Harry?"

"I…I didn't know that he was dead."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said with a soft smile, though it was sad. "Enervate doesn't work on muggles. Hardly any magic does!"

Harry blinked and furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Because muggles have no magical power, anything magical will have no effect on them."

"But muggles can have children that have magical influence." Harry said, thoroughly confused.

"How that is possible is still a mystery," Hermione said, one side of her lips curling into a slight, knowing smirk.

"But…the enervate made him come up off of the floor. He arched his back and curled into the fetal position," Harry stated. "You can't tell me that that's not an effect of my magic."

Hermione's smirk died on her lips and she looked away.

"He could still be alive," Draco said, jumping up from where he was seated.

"But if he's not," Mrs. Weasley said, shooting Draco a look that had him easing back onto the bench. "We'll help you, Harry. We'll hide you."

"Have you gone bloody mad?" Draco shrieked suddenly, surprising both Harry and Hermione, who both jumped slightly. "I'll have no part in this! Hide him…You've gone nutters!"

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Draco, be quiet."

"That's nearly treason!" Draco continued to crow. "After my involvement in the war…wounds are still fresh, Molly! They'll never trust me again if they find out-"

"Which is why they won't." Hermione said, cutting Draco off.

Harry watched the exchange silently. "No!" he shouted. "I won't let you stick your necks out for me! I can't!"

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley began, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Please, trust me. We'll keep you safe. I promise. We will,"

Harry pulled away from her. "No one can keep me safe now," he said, his voice bitter and angry. "They never could,"

"Harry, wait!"

Harry ran out of the room, but before he got out of the house, Molly shot a curse at him, blindsiding him. Harry stiffened straight as a board, then fell to the ground, immobile.

"I can't let you," Mrs. Weasley said, staring down at him with a frown. "I won't,"

And with that, she murmured a spell that sent Harry hovering, and she led him up the stairs and into the old room that he had shared with Ron.

XXX

"You can't keep me here against my will, Malfoy," Harry said when Draco entered Harry's room later that day. The sun was up and Harry stared out the window, elbows resting against his knees, sleeves of his white, button-up cotton shirt rolled up.

"I don't see you struggling against any bonds," Draco said, staring at Harry critically. "So you've killed a muggle, have you? Are you training to be our next Dark Lord, then?"

Harry glared at Draco, his eyes narrowing. "If I do, will you be a blind follower like your father?"

Draco dropped the tray of food that he had been carrying, onto the edge of Harry's bed pointedly. The teacups clattered, nearly falling over. "Don't go there, Potter," he growled out through gritted teeth.

"Idiocy runs in the bloodline after all, I've heard." Harry stated with a smirk.

"Potter, don't," Draco warned.

"Want to be my henchman?" Harry asked, biting into one of the biscuits that Draco had brought him. "No, you're too sophisticated for that," Harry decided. "You'd make a much better…slave." Harry smirked triumphantly at the angry gleam in Draco's eyes.

Seconds later, Draco lunged at Harry. "I'll show you slave, Potter!" he yelled in outrage, slamming Harry fully against the bed and holding him down by locking his wrists in one hand and kneeling on his thighs with his knees. His face was hanging dangerously close to Potter's.

Harry grinned up at Draco with a cocked brow, and for a few seconds, they were back at school, back in their comfortable rivalry, back before the war had taken its toll and nearly taken Harry's soul with it. Sadly, it ended all too soon. Draco shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable, releasing his grasp on Harry's wrists slightly, and Harry used that to his advantage.

He tore his wrists from Draco's grip and tossed Draco onto his back, tackling him, both falling to the floor with Harry landing on Draco's stomach. "I believe, Malfoy," Harry smirked smugly down at Draco. "That this slavery we are speaking of has already been introduced to you…and you like it." An evil gleam found its way into Harry's eyes, and Draco glared venomously up at Harry.

Harry had yet to secure Draco's flailing limbs, and Draco kicked and lunged uselessly. Although Draco was taller than Harry in stature, Harry weighed slightly more. He had managed to put on at least ten pounds in the three years he had been away from Hogwarts.

Draco smirked triumphantly seconds before he reached up and wrenched Harry's head down to his level. "And perhaps you'd like for me to be your slave more than you're letting on…perhaps for more…pleasurable," Draco raised his eyebrows suggestively here. "Services." He ended with a lick of his lips, and Harry unconsciously followed Draco's pink tongue with his eyes. Seconds later, his own tongue found itself being slicked along his own lips.

They stayed in their positions for quite a while. Since there was nothing and no one to interrupt them, they lost track of time, staring into each other's eyes and just wondering. It was Draco who made the first move.

A slight pressure was applied to the back of Harry's head, and Draco lifted his own to meet Harry halfway. Their lips met, warm and wet, Harry's slightly rougher than Draco's. Draco probed at Harry's mouth with his tongue teasingly, and to his surprise, Harry allowed his tongue entrance. Draco and Harry's eyes remained locked as their lips suctioned together, tongues entwining tentatively.

Draco found it impossible to read the emotions that were going through Harry's eyes. They had become more shuttered, even before the final battle had been on the horizon. Harry had withdrawn completely once. Draco wouldn't allow it another time.

Draco's eyes slipped shut comfortably, and as Harry relaxed into his grasp, he found himself more free to move. He knew that Harry probably felt vulnerable. This probably wasn't the position he had pictured himself falling into when he had first appeared on the doorstep, but Draco…Draco had been harvesting feelings for Harry since the end of Seventh Year, convinced that he was a complete mystery. But right now, Draco just found that Harry was human. Harry was vulnerable, and Harry needed someone that he could trust just as much as the next person.

Draco ended their kiss with a gentle nip on Harry's lower lip, before pulling away to stare into Harry's eyes. They were glazed over, and Draco could tell that Harry was going over some inner turmoil. "Harry, I-"

Harry's eyes focused and he smiled softly. "I knew it," he said softly, almost too soft for Draco to catch.

Draco stared up at Harry, confusion written clearly on his face. "Knew what?" he asked.

Harry gave Draco a lopsided smile, then leant in and claimed Draco's lips once more.