AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Angst, H/C, my thoughts on what happend after the war. Not cannon.
After the war, Harry kept to himself. Ron and Hermione were happy together, and the Burrow didn't feel complete but it still hummed with love and life. He just couldn't bring himself to live there, though, and he didn't completely understand why. Ron hated that he wouldn't just come. Molly worried over him and sent package after package of homemade fudge, knitted sweaters, and everything she could think of that would make him feel like a part of the family-which he appreciated greatly. Hermione said it was because he didn't think he deserved that feeling.
Harry didn't really care, though. He appreciated the gesture, especially from Molly, and he joined them for dinner once a month but he couldn't ever make himself stay any longer. It wasn't like the house was even tainted or sad, he just couldn't do it. His apartment in muggle London was better because it felt more normal. Less conspicuous, less dangerous. He liked living alone, too, even if the silence was sometimes enough to suffocate him because this way, he told himself, he wasn't putting anyone else in danger.
Malfoy had certainly been a surprise. The blond had showed up on the steps outside his building, dressed in rags and covered in injuries, and Harry would have dismissed him as just another homeless man if he hadn't seen those eyes. Even if dried grime and blood caked the signature platinum blond hair, nothing could hide those eyes. Like rings of liquid silver, they pulsed and swirled with a cold kind of energy Harry hadn't felt in years-and it kind of scared him. He'd never seen Malfoy look so… humbled.
"Hey." The blond shivered, even as Harry acknowledged him, and he had to wonder how long he'd been sitting out there. It was the middle of winter which would normally be unforgiving but in Malfoy's condition? Why hadn't Draco cast a warming charm on his rags, though? Was he afraid of being tracked?
"Potter, sorry I didn't know where else to go." Draco gestured at his own appearance and then back down the street. "I don't know how muggles work. No one would take my money and I couldn't call the Knight Bus so I just kept walking. You were the only person I could think of to find." Harry felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, just at simply hearing the blond speak. It'd been years since he'd seen a Slytherin. Months since he'd seen another Hogwarts student, excluding Hermione and the Weasleys. He wasn't really sure what to do so he just buzzed himself into the lobby and held the door open for Draco-though why was he helping the prick?
Harry mumbled a disillusion charm as Draco stepped through the door. No use drawing unwanted attention by leading the bloody homeless man up to his apartment, right? That was what he told himself at least. Draco mumbled a thank you as he passed which Harry was sure he'd imagined but those silver eyes stopped and turned back to him, as if asking for direction. Right, Draco didn't know where he lived or how apartment buildings worked.
"Through here." The blond followed him wordlessly into the elevator and stayed silent, even as the doors closed and the car lurched. He looked uncomfortable and unsure, but stayed quiet. Draco didn't say a word, actually, until Harry had locked his apartment door behind them and muttered a silencing charm on the room.
"Why didn't you call the Knight Bus?" The normally confident and proud Malfoy stood uncertainly in the middle of the kitchen, bouncing from foot to foot as he shivered. It was disconcerting to see someone Harry had thought he knew so well look so… anxious. And that was the word, he decided. Because the way Draco's eyes darted around the room and the way he shifted his weight reminded Harry of a wild animal getting ready to run. Not argue, not posture or insult, just flat out run. For some reason, that thought didn't sit well in Harry's gut so he made them both a cup of tea and handed it to the man as if that might calm him down or anchor him somehow.
"Thanks." Harry nodded, and gestured for Draco to take a seat. The grime didn't bother him even if it clearly bothered Draco because he would just cast a cleaning spell the second they were done. He wanted answers, though, before he just let Draco into his life.
"You don't have your wand, do you?" Draco shook his head and stared at the tea like he was trying to channel Trelawny to predict his future. "Where is it?" If Draco's wand was just sitting somewhere in muggle London, Harry had no doubt in his mind the Ministry would be on them in a matter of minutes. He wanted to know what he was walking into, at least.
"Gone." Draco took another sip but, when Harry was clearly not satisfied, continued. "They broke it." Harry raised his own wand at Draco to perform a few healing and cleaning spells so they could keep talking without the blond dying, but Draco flinched so violently away that Harry almost dropped his cup. From the floor, those startled silver eyes blinked up at him. Just for a second, Harry saw nothing but pure terror in that normally arrogant face and he had to wonder what had happened to him. Why was he suddenly so afraid of a mere wand raise?
"Sorry." Harry shook his head that Draco didn't need to apologize, but the blond still looked ashamed. He ducked his head as he moved back to the couch and stayed stone still as Harry lifted his wand again and performed the charms. Draco was tense, though, and Harry could feel the anxiety from him.
"Are you still dark?" It was a harsh question, especially given the state Draco was in, but Harry had to ask it. He needed to know if this was just some ploy. Voldemort was dead but some of his followers-including Lucius Malfoy-were still hiding out and he had no doubt they would make another play like this. Draco, however, just shrugged and looked at his tea.
"I'm not sure anymore." As infuriating as that answer was, it was surprisingly honest as well. Ron or Hermione would have balked at that kind of uncertainty, but Harry understood it better than most people thought so he just nodded.
"Are you going to hurt me?" Immediately, Draco jumped to correct him as if Harry had burned the blond.
"No! No, I'm completely at your mercy and I won't try anything. I swear on Merlin's beard. I'll make a vow if that makes you feel better." Harry just shook his head. Maybe later, just for security, but right now Draco looked far too unsteady to do anything short of sleep. Plus, he didn't have a wand.
"You need to shower and you need to sleep. We can talk more later-don't think we're done, I want explanations-but I'm not going to be the one who pushes you to the brink of death. Bathroom is down the hall on the right. You can sleep in my bed for now, which is the second door on the left. Get some clothes from my dresser too."
When Draco stepped into the shower, the heat nearly burned him. He wished it would, actually, because then maybe he could regrow his skin and start over. The water swirling past his feet turned brown, then orange, and then finally clear as Draco reached unconsciously for the shampoo.
"Apricots… Really, Potter?" He laughed to himself, but it was short lived and cut off by another coughing fit. Laughing wasn't really his thing anymore. His shower was short, both because he didn't want to keep Harry waiting and because he didn't want to burden his current benefactor with any kind of cost-because Muggles charged money for every bloody thing! But it didn't matter, in the long run, because when he stepped out his hair was blond again and his skin was pale. Red, but pale.
"Hey, you in there?" Potter knocked on the door, but Draco didn't even think before opening it. The action was so instinctive-he was so used to people just barging in now, it didn't occur to him that he was wearing only a towel or that he and Harry were not friends. He just opened the door.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't think you grabbed any clothes so I thought…" He took the boxers and the pants, mumbling a thank you, but Harry had trailed off mid-sentences and was just staring at him. Those piercing green eyes were burning into his bare chest.
"Jesus Draco…" Why was Harry..? Oh. Draco felt his face flush when he realized Harry was staring at the scars, not just at him. He tried to turn away-to hide, to do something other than just stand there because he felt like he was going to throw up-but Harry caught his him by the wrist and held him. His stomach began to churn. Harry was staring at him, looking completely shocked, but Draco couldn't understand why. It wasn't like the savior of the entire wizarding world was completely scarless. Why did Harry care?
"Did I... do that?" Draco's brain must have glitched or something because he was sure he'd heard that wrong but Harry repeated it. "Did I do that to you, Draco?" The blond reeled. When would Harry have even have had the time to do something like this to him?
"When?" Harry gave him a look, as if to say don't you remember, but Draco clearly did not remember so he answered.
"In the bathrooms, with Snape…" Ah, the sectumsempra incident. Draco would have laughed if Harry hadn't looked so close to tears.
"No," Draco used the hand that wasn't being held hostage to point at a smaller, almost papercut-like scar hidden among the larger ones. "You did that." The relief that washed over Harry's face was almost comical. It was sadder, though, because Draco realized the man had actually thought he'd done this to him and had been feeling… guilty? But why would he care? Harry didn't give him time to ponder that, though, because he raised his free hand and gestured to the scars.
"Can I?" Draco wasn't even sure why Harry was bothering to ask permission to touch him. He was in the brunet's debt and it wasn't like he was in a position to say no to anything Harry asked of him-so he nodded. For once, the Gryffindor looked uncertain and almost scared, like Draco might panic or run the second their skin touched. His body wouldn't let him, though, even if he wanted to.
That was the thing about Draco. He could never run, the panic always cemented him to the floor like some kind of dark magic and he couldn't get away. His body would only let him stand there and take it. Even with Harry-who didn't seem like a threat, or want to cause him pain-Draco was just stuck there waiting.
A finger touched his chest. Slow, at first, but then Harry's entire palm was pressing down over his heart and Draco almost collapsed. All at once, Draco was overwhelmed with a rush of warmth that jolted through his body from the touch and it was almost enough to take him to his knees. Almost. It took all of his newfound strength not to just start bawling right there on the tile floor. Not because the brunet was pushing him or hurting him, but because it'd been almost five months since someone had touched him and Draco felt like he'd been thrown a life preserver. Finally, something grounded him amid the chaos of fear and pain that had managed to become his reality.
"Drake…" Harry didn't quite get the 'o' out but he didn't need to. His hand was moving, brushing over the ridges of scar tissue and thumbing at the particularly dark ones, and Draco wanted to scream. Some kind of energy thrashed wildly in his chest. For a second, he thought it might have been fear but he wasn't afraid-as shocking as that realization was. His body was still clinging to the sweet, unbelievable relief of finally feeling human again and he didn't have enough energy to be afraid. He wasn't afraid. Whatever it was, though, fought to make his body react and move. He couldn't tell if it wanted to be towards the touch, though, or away from it so he settled for staying still and letting his eyes close.
"What happened to you?" Draco didn't want to explain the whole thing or get into it right now. More than anything, he just wanted to eat something and maybe curl up in a blanket Harry had charmed for warmth and just breathe. But Harry was standing there, running his fingers over the sensitive scar tissue, and Draco couldn't ignore it.
"Punishment." Harry hissed as if that word physically hurt him, but was clearly waiting for more information. "I did something they didn't like." He could see the curiosity eating at the brunet, but Harry didn't ask. To his credit, all he did was trace the scars and occasionally swallow a little too hard like he had a lump in his throat-but he didn't ask or interrogate Draco.
"Can I hug you?" Chills ran down his spine but Draco wasn't sure anymore if it was the idea of Harry touching him, or the idea of being hugged. He owed Harry his life, though, so he nodded.
Instantly, Harry pulled him into the tightest hug Draco had ever experienced. Maybe he was just weak from not eating but he felt like Harry's muscles and strength could have strangled him with ease, and Draco could barely stop shaking enough to breathe. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arms around Harry's neck and hugged him back. It felt… strange. Draco hadn't been hugged in years-since Blaise had said goodbye, before the final battle-and he didn't really remember what it was supposed to feel like. That felt like a lifetime ago. When Harry tangled a hand in his hair, though, Draco was sure that that was not normal-but he didn't mind it.
There was something intoxicating about the way Harry hugged him. It was sharp, and desperate, and it would have scared Draco if he hadn't understood that feeling so bloody well. Familiarity was familiarity, even if it came from a former nemesis, and Draco was not going to be the one to break their embrace because he understood that. The smell of apricots invaded his nose and Draco laughed, sparking a small coughing fit. Harry didn't let go of him, though. And for some reason, the longer he stayed like that, surrounded by warmth and security, the more he felt the walls begin to crumble. Tears slipped silently down his cheeks and into Harry's shirt. He wanted to scream at himself or run away or do anything but just stand there and be weak but he couldn't make himself break the hug.
"Who did this to you, Drake?" Maybe it was the nickname, or maybe it was the protectiveness in Harry's voice but Draco just shattered. It wasn't immediately visible, but he felt it. The tears fell faster. He couldn't breathe and he wanted to just disappear into the woodworks until whatever this was had passed but Harry kept holding him. Tight, against his chest, so Draco could listen to his steady heartbeat. When was the last time Draco had had something steady to lean on like this, let alone to hold him? He couldn't remember. But he was grateful nevertheless and he felt like he owed Harry something, so he steeled himself to answer the question.
"My mother." He hadn't meant to let his voice break over those syllables. It did, though, and Harry hugged him a little tighter. Slowly, the golden boy began to rub comforting little circles between his shoulder blades and if he'd done it even a second longer, Draco wouldn't have been focused enough to hear him speak.
"Your… mother?" Draco nodded. "Why?" That was the question, wasn't it? For someone who had grown up without parents, Draco found it hard to believe that Harry would understand someone like Narcissa. Hell, it was hard for anyone to understand who hadn't been there to watch her break.
"Because I killed someone." At that, Harry did stop. The Gryffindor reeled, and Draco could feel him starting to let go. His body screamed at the loss of contact and tried to lurch back into the warmth, to preserve some sliver of the comfort he'd been surrounded with, but he stopped himself. He didn't blame Harry-he'd just admitted to murder for Merlin's sake-but just as quickly the brunet pulled him back in.
Thank Merlin! Draco wasn't sure what he would have done if Harry had let go but he didn't want to find out. He could have pushed the man away and composed himself. He could have put up a mask. He could have even tried to start a fight or create distance between them because this felt too damn fragile to even let someone like him near it. But, honestly, Draco didn't really want to push him away. Both because the floor looked hard and unforgiving, and because Harry reeked of security and safety. Something Draco hadn't had in a very long time.
"Who." Harry wasn't asking anymore. He didn't threaten or tighten his grip too hard on Draco's shaky frame but there was steel in his voice. It was clear that this was not a question Draco would be able to dodge.
"Please don't…" He had to try, though, because his chest ached at the mere thought of admitting what he'd done. Harry would be disgusted. Draco could still feel the surge of power as he cast the killing curse, and he could still see the flash of green light. What an ironic color for the deadliest curse, he thought. He could still see his mother's face in his mind-the slow, gradual decline from disbelief to pain and then to fury. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face just shatter. Entire pieces of who Narcissa Malfoy was just disintegrated, leaving jagged edges and shards of vengeance in their place. If he let his mind wander for too long, he could still see the look on her face when she'd raised her wand at him, curses flying off her tongue.
Crucio.
Sectumsempra.
Transmogrifio.
Sectumsempra.
Crucio.
Sectumsempra.
Avada keda-
But then the screaming stopped. Draco was vaguely aware of someone else in the room trying to control her but that was all he needed. He reached for the piece of boot in the corner, and touched it. Immediately, the port key dropped him somewhere. Barely breathing, he tore it to shreds and managed a jumbled cry before someone noticed him. Then, it was all a blur until he woke up in a muggle hospital.
"Who did you kill, Draco." He'd let his mind wander again and Harry was still waiting for an answer. His mouth hesitated, though. He knew the second he said it Harry would throw him off faster than he could even blink. Honestly, he just wanted a few more seconds of comfort before he was at the end of this wand too.
"Draco. Who."
"My father."
Thanks for reading! Please please please review and let me know if I should continue?
