Valentine
The war was over. There were trials, many of them, but eventually they were over too. In the days and the weeks following the trial, Draco was at a loss of what to do with himself. He had been raised to assume his father's role as a Death Eater. Now Voldemort was dead and gone and the only Death Eaters that were not locked up or under similar punishments as his father were on the run. Draco had no answer on what came next and he was growing increasingly agitated. He had never considered a life without Voldemort. In truth, he had never even considered what he would do to occupy himself with, in between the times he was called upon to do service for the Dark Lord. Now he was set adrift.
Going out in public wasn't an enjoyable experience. Once people made way for the members of the Malfoy household, they were a powerful and a respected family. Now, they were the objects of scorn and ridicule. Draco didn't know which was worse, the people who whispered to one another as he passed, the looks of loathing, or the people that made out right death threats. There had even been one or two missed hexes.
Draco spent most of his days questioning his very existence. It was on one of those days, a Sunday, that the house-elf Kori came to the library where he was lounging. She informed him that there was a Mr. Potter at the door asking to see Master Draco. Blinking in surprise, Draco closed the book he was reading with a snap.
Figuring there was only one way to find out what in Merlin's name Potter was doing there and what he wanted, he sighed and got to his feet.
"Show him to the parlor, Kori."
An odd feeling seemed to take up root in Draco as he headed toward the sitting room. He supposed he was just glad that he had a distraction from the insipid monotony that was quickly becoming his life.
Pausing at the entrance to the parlor, Draco drew himself up, straitening his robes, running a hand through his hair. He told himself that he needed to look sure of himself before facing his former school nemesis. Taking a deep breath he opened the French doors and stepped inside.
As Draco stepped into the room Harry turned his head. He was standing by the fireplace, only half turned towards it. It was late September and a low fire burned taking the chill from the air. While Potter didn't look completely comfortable, he looked much too relaxed being in Malfoy Manor considering his last experience here. Draco's eyes swept the room and in particular the mantel above the fireplace. A habitual impulse to take stock of any incriminating objects that may be in the room. The reflex was unnecessary, the last ministry raid just after the war had cleaned out anything that could even could be conceived as a dark object. Draco was surprised they had left the knives in the kitchen.
Draco pulled himself up to his full height which was only three or four inches taller than the Gryffindor. Eyeing the dark haired boy warily he exuded the haughty disdain that was customary.
"Malfoy." Potter nodded by way of greeting.
"Potter," Draco drawled, "to what do I owe this . . ." he smirked. "Well, I can't say pleasure, and it's certainly not an honor, so I guess intrusion will have to do."
With a frown, Potter reached into his robes.
"I have something for you."
Draco's eyebrows shot up, loosing his composure for an instance before regaining it again and swaggering toward the slightly shorter man. "For me, Potter? You shouldn't have." He responded acerbically.
Rolling his eyes, Potter withdrew a long thin package. "Actually I did." He offered it to Draco. "It's yours already. Your wand that is."
Gazing at the package nonplussed for a moment, the blond finally plucked it from the other's hand. "Oh." Then he scowled at his short and inarticulate response.
Potter merely shrugged.
"There was no reason for you not to have it. I certainly didn't want to keep it. Did you buy a new one?"
Turning away, Draco freed the wand from the package, staring at it for a moment. He wondered if it would work the same way now that it supposedly had changed loyalties. Whatever that meant. Expecting he would find out soon enough, Draco tucked it into his robes and walked away again. He needed to put some distance between himself and Potter to reclaim his equilibrium.
"No. You didn't have to bring it, you could have had it delivered."
"I know," Potter's voice sounded nervous, "I guess I just wanted to . . ."
"Wanted to what, Potter?" said Draco with a bitter edge in his voice. "Wanted to come and see for yourself how my family is doing being treated like pariahs now that the war is over? How my father is doing without magic?" he sneered, turning around. "Or maybe you just wanted to come and boast your own victory. Perhaps even remind me that I now owe you a life debt. Oh, I am well aware of that."
Potter's eyes widened and he shook his head bewildered.
"No, no, that's not why at all. I just . . . I don't know," he splayed out his hands before him, "I guess I did want to see how you were, Malfoy. To see if you needed anything?"
The sudden anger that had seized Draco ebbed slightly, though the comment should have made him even more furious. He suddenly felt very tired. Not to mention abashed at showing his weakness.
"What in Merlin's name would I need from you, Potter?" he sighed.
Shrugging again, Potter's gaze dropped to the floor. Draco wished Potter would just leave. While he was craving human contact and some one to confide, in that person was definitely not Potter. Draco didn't know him and didn't trust him. They weren't friends and never would be. He didn't know why Potter was hanging around and figured it had to be some sort of noble Gryffindor thing. Helping other people even when they didn't even deserve it. Like Potter saving him in the Room of Requirement. Draco grimaced and tried to decide on the most cutting remark to send the Gryffindor on his way.
Unfortunately, Potter started talking again.
"How is your father?"
Incredulous, Draco stared at Harry before giving a mirthless laugh.
"Like you give a damn about my father."
Potter bit his lower lip.
"I know it can't be easy."
"You don't know anything, Potter." Draco spoke slowly, his voice low and deadly. "You have no idea what it's like. Since the Ministry bound Father's magic, he drinks himself into a stupor, staring into space, barely communicating with anyone. That's on his good days. On his bad days, he starts hurling objects and screaming suicide threats. Mother . . . Mother just starts sobbing and begs him to calm down. I've never seen her in such a state. And me? Well, I now have no future. Nothing to do with the rest of my life but rot with my parents in the catacomb that is my home."
Draco inwardly cursed himself. For the second time in a matter of minutes, he had lost his composure and he was certainly not a man that was accustomed to showing his vulnerability. He wasn't sure what made him suddenly confess what he was feeling to Harry Potter of all people. Perhaps it was a testament to how isolated he really was now. His father was slowly going mad and his mother was overly concerned with his father. She adored Draco, that was true, but there was nothing she could do to help him with the particular problems he faced. He didn't have anyone to talk to nothing to do with his time and the hopelessness of his situation was starting to stifle him. Draco assumed that the dam that held his resentment and frustration at bay was cracking.
Potter looked thoughtful for a moment.
"What about your friends?"
"Slytherins don't have friends. They build alliances with the right families," Draco said scathingly, "and my family doesn't count for shit anymore."
"I'm sorry," said Potter, softly.
Draco shot him a dubious look.
"I'm not sorry that Lucius is being punished." he amended. "I am sorry for what you and your mother have to go through. I truly am."
Sighing, Draco lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "You hate me, Potter, you have always hated me . . ."
"No." Potter interrupted shaking his head. "I never hated you. I though you were an annoying, infuriating, selfish prat and I didn't like you most of the time," He gave Draco a lopsided smile. "but I never hated you."
"High praise," replied Draco derisively.
Of course, it didn't really matter, Draco hated Potter.
Actually, if he was honest with himself, he didn't necessarily hate Harry Potter. Draco hated how the Gryffindor got so much special attention. He knew that Potter didn't want it, he bitched about it often enough, but it didn't change the fact that he got attention, fame, and most of all seemed to get out of any trouble. It wasn't jealousy, it was just plain irritating.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Draco squeezed his eyes shut.
"Why are you here, Potter?" he opened his eyes to glare at the other man.
Potter's eyes darted around the room coming to rest on the chessboard in the corner of the room.
"Do you play?"
Draco's head snapped towards him. "What?"
Potter gestured to the board.
"Do you play? Chess I mean."
Shaking his head, Draco managed a weak humorless chuckle.
"You can't be serious."
"Well," Potter's lips quirked up in a small smile while heading towards the parlor door, preparing to leave at last, "I just wondered how your chess skills measured up to your Quidditch skills." Reaching Draco, he spared him a glance as he passed him. "Then again, I always beat you at Quidditch, so why would chess be any different?"
It was a deliberate provocation and they both knew it. It didn't matter though. Neither of them could ever back down from a challenge. This was something they both knew as well.
Potter had reached the door of the parlor when Draco spoke up.
"Hold it, Potter."
Turning slowly, the Gryffindor raised and inquiring eyebrow.
"Yes, Malfoy?"
Draco contemplated him for a seemingly long moment, his eyes narrowed in distrust before answering.
"One game."
"Right." Potter smiled.
The one game became two. Potter was a fair chess player having played against Ronald Weasly for so long but Draco was better. Draco let himself get lazy after his first victory and lost the second game. There was a third game to break the tie. They spoke little. Potter inquired about the house-elf. Draco explained his mother had bought her shortly after they returned home after the trials. Potter warned him to treat this one right. Draco asked about Potter's plans to become an Auror, as everyone said he was aiming to be. Potter shook his head and mumbled he was tired of fighting dark wizards.
After Draco successfully crushed him in the third game, Potter rose to his feet and stretched.
"I guess I should be going." He said, something close to reluctance in his voice.
Looking up, Draco nodded and started putting away the pieces.
"I trust you can see yourself out."
"Yeah . . . um, I guess I'll see you around then."
"Guess so," said Draco solemnly.
Walking to the parlor door again, Potter looked back.
"Goodnight, Malfoy."
"Goodnight, Potter." Draco watched him leave, a feeling he wouldn't dare identify as disappointment spreading through him.
After a few moments, he stared at the now empty board in front of him. He had to admit that the afternoon had been one of the most enjoyable ones he'd had in longer then he could remember. All because of Harry, bloody, Potter. It was a bit of a tease really. One good afternoon to show him how it could be if he actually had a friend. Now, somehow, the manor felt emptier than it had been only that morning. Draco felt even more alone because of it. In a way, Harry's presence had made things worse. It was always better when you didn't know what you were missing.
Two Sundays later, Harry was back.
"Forgot something, Potter?" drawled Malfoy stepping once again into the parlor.
Harry was back by the fireplace again. He looked up at the sound of Malfoy's voice with a sort of half-smile and shook his head.
"Not at all, I was just in the neighborhood?" He winced when he realized his answer sounded more like a question.
"In the neighborhood?" Malfoy smirked. "Even for you that's a pitiful lie. What are you here for this time?"
Heaving a sigh, Harry shrugged. "I don't really know. I just . . . felt like coming by."
That was the truth, though Harry wasn't certain why he was feeling a compulsion to come here. He'd fought it at first. Harry tried to find other ways to occupy his days. He had spent most of his time trying to make Grimmauld Place livable, which was keeping his mind off what Malfoy was up to. It was none of his business and he didn't know why in Merlin's name he even cared.
Unfortunately, at night, when he went to sleep, his mind tended to wander off the house that needed repair and before he knew it his brain had formed more than one excuse to go see Malfoy. The last couple of nights his wayward mind even started setting up scenarios of "running into" the blond man, somehow. He chose to ignore exactly where his thoughts went from there.
Harry figured the only way to quell the need to see Malfoy was to visit him. For all he knew, he might just get a reminder of how much of a jerk Malfoy is and how annoying he had always been.
"Checking up on my family again?" asked Malfoy leaning on the door frame curling his lip contemptuously. "Or were you just feeling sorry for poor Draco Malfoy, lamenting in his house with a father slowly going mad?"
Harry was quite proud of himself for rolling his eyes and not shooting back an angry retort. Clearly, Malfoy was on the defensive. Even though going back to a childish argument would probably have made them both feel better, it was, after all, something they were accustomed to, it wasn't going to do any good in the long term.
Harry responded, speaking quietly and evenly. "No. Nothing like that. I thought. Well, I had a good time when we played chess. I though you did too. I was wondering if you wanted to play again?"
Malfoy swaggered into the room, pompousness and arrogance radiating from him.
"All this way for a friendly game of chess? I don't think so." he came nose to nose with Harry. "Why. Are. You. Here?"
There was no threat in the Slytherin's voice, just a quiet determination. Harry stared up into those gray eyes. He wanted to tell Malfoy the truth, if only he knew what the truth was. Harry decided that he should just say the first thing that popped into his head as his wayward thoughts were primarily responsible for bringing him to this point anyway.
"You make me feel normal," said Harry, his eyes widening a bit as he realized it was the truth.
Apparently, the truth surprised Malfoy as well. He stepped back fixing Harry with a quizzical look.
"What?"
"You make me feel normal." Harry's voice was stronger and surer now as some of the pieces fell into place, letting him finally understand the draw. "I can't really go out very much either. Not in the wizarding world at least. People are always stopping me, wanting to talk, to thank me, taking pictures."
"Oh well, then break out the violins, Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "How very horrible it must be for you."
"Let me finish!" snapped Harry. "I am aware it isn't the same thing for you. It's not something that I'm comfortable with and not something I wanted. There aren't many people in the wizarding world that think of me as 'just Harry'. Ron and Hermione do but they're obviously going to start building a life together even if they don't really know it yet. Mrs. Weasley fusses and it's only gotten worse since Fred died, I guess she deals with her grief by over compensating with everyone else. Ginny and Luna are back at Hogwarts this year. Neville has started apprenticing for Professor Sprout. I'm only . . ."
Harry stopped, he had been unaware how much he had been holding in and it was a shock to him.
"So that's it?" scoffed Malfoy. "Everyone else is off and leaving their precious champion behind. I can't say I'm surprised though." He shrugged. Only an elegant roll of his shoulders. "I could have told you it would have happened sooner or later. Once they don't need you, they don't care anymore. They move on with their lives."
"That's just it." Harry shook his head. "Everyone is moving on. I'm just sort of stuck where I am. I'm still at Grimmauld Place. I still don't know what to do with my life. Then there was you . . ." He trailed off.
Malfoy scowled.
"I am well aware that I'm not going on with my life, Potter. I'm not here for your entertainment. I'm not going to be used just so you have 'something to do'. It may have escaped your attention but I am a human being and I do have-"
"Feelings?" Harry cut him off with a small, sad smile. "I know, Draco."
Again, silence hung over them. Both of them a bit startled, whether by Malfoy's admission of being a mere mortal or Harry actually calling him by his given name, it wasn't clear.
It felt like hours until, finally, Harry cleared his throat. He figured he was in deep enough.
"I think a part of me always thought you would be there, like Hermione, like Ron. Hermione, besides being a girl is too practical. Ron is too laid back. You always pushed me. You kept challenging me. I needed that, I still do, I guess that's why I keep coming back. Even if some day we are able to move forward and live our own lives again. I still need some one to push me."
"You were the only one to push back." Malfoy almost smiled. Another moment past and he sighed. "Well, I guess I really don't have anything better to do. Shall we get on with it then?"
So began the Sunday ritual. At first, even with so many confessions, they still didn't talk much. When they did talk, they kept to safe subjects. Quidditch, rumors about Harry. Harry didn't like to talk about press that concerned him. That's why the Slytherin brought it up over and over.
Draco didn't like to be reminded of the times that Potter beat him at Quidditch. That's why Potter talked about it again and again. Slowly, a tentative friendship began to form. They found that with out the expectations of school, of other people, of society itself, it was remarkably easy to get along.