Harry sat up with a start, his heart beating roughly in his chest. Running a distressed hand through his hair, he allowed himself a moment of despair before reaching for the spectacles on the bedside table. The nightmares were always the same, he thought darkly. Five years of watching his loved ones dying under Voldemort's hand, tortured and maimed, calling out to him. Five years of watching the bodies pile up as he sat there powerless to help, five years of his loved ones and his own guilt haunting him every time he closed his eyes. The nightly display had started with Sirius in his fifth year, and despite potions and Mind Healers and even a desperate visit to a Muggle therapist, the only part of the nightmares that had changed over the years was who he saw die. Tonks and Remus had quickly joined Sirius after the end of the war, along with Fred, Mad Eye Moody, Dumbledore, Hedwig… One thing he had no shortage of was loved ones to mourn. In fact, as the years passed he found that his loved ones numbered more among the dead than the living. Harry shook his head, trying to clear the maudlin thoughts from his mind.
As he caught his breath and calmed his pounding heart, he felt a sharp tingling wash through his body, a sensation that could not be explained away by nightmares, and at once his wand was in his hand. Years of experience told him that this could only mean one thing- someone had breached the extensive wards protecting his flat. His guard up, he moved stealthily from his room and down the hall, casting detection charms as he went to check for intruders hiding under Disillusionments. He found nothing until he reached his kitchen and saw a sight he'd never expected to see, even allowing for all of the weird things that found their way into his life just because he was Harry Potter…
Draco Malfoy was sitting at his kitchen table, looking unhurried and content, eating his way through Harry's Cocoa Krispies.
Draco spooned another mouthful of chocolatey goodness into his mouth, refusing to let Potter's appearance startle him into speaking first. He kept his movements calm and his hands visible, though he had to fight the urge to squirm in his seat under the weight of other man's gaze- he remembered Potter's quickness to strike when he deemed it necessary, and he had no desire to be cursed for eating cereal. He was quite certain the brunet had more valid reasons to curse him, truthfully. Besides, squirming was undignified, and one thing Draco still had left in the years since the war was his dignity.
As he ate, he discreetly checked the brunet out, noting the changes and the unchanged with approval. Potter had grown up well, he observed, his shoulders broader and his posture improved by the addition of a hard-earned confidence. The hand that held his wand aloft did not shake, and no signs of panic or uncertainty graced his face. Of course, his hair was still wild, and his eyes wilder still, but he'd achieved a grace and maturity that was almost completely unaffected by the fact that he was wearing only pants and his glasses. He looked every bit the Hero he didn't want to be.
Draco looked down at the bowl for a moment, then cast his eyes back up to the other man, noticing things he hadn't in first perusal. He found, with reluctant dismay, that Potter did look a bit worse for wear. His ribs seemed more prominent than Draco would prefer, and the wild green eyes that he had just admired appeared positively haunted at closer inspection. Fighting down concern, he abandoned his original plan to wait for the other to break first. Putting on a casual air he couldn't claim genuinely as his own, he pushed the bowl aside and spoke.
"Are you mad?"
Harry stood in the doorway, wand in hand, staring in shock at the man in his kitchen. He took a deep breath, dismissing the emotions that swelled in him at the unexpected sight, and cast a series of quick charms to detect Glamours, Polyjuice, and other disguises. As each spell came back negative, Harry was forced to face a painful truth. Draco Malfoy was sitting at his kitchen table.
He could feel the blood rushing in his head as he looked the other man over, noting that he didn't seem to be in bad shape. His pale hair hung loosely around his face, long strands framing a face that had only grown more sculpted and refined since Hogwarts. A wand rested on the table next to the cereal box, and Harry was reluctantly impressed by the Slytherin's willingness to appear unarmed in his home. Raising a hand to tug roughly at a tuft of dark hair, he felt a rush of frustration, pain, and anger building inside, feelings that he had been suppressing for years. Desperately, he fought to replace the overwhelming emotions with a coldness he could maintain until he'd heard the explanation he was owed.
As if the blond could sense that Harry was running out of patience, he pushed the cereal bowl forwards on the table and made eye contact. Harry felt a shiver run through his body as he looked into the familiar grey eyes, and immediately cursed himself for the weakness it implied. Draco Malfoy had no right to affect him like that, he reminded himself, not anymore. He crossed his arms and obstinately remained silent. After a few moments that stretched between them endlessly enough to feel like hours, Malfoy finally spoke.
"Are you mad?" He put his arms on the table in front of him and crossed them casually. His voice was calm, politely interested. His composure drove Harry a bit mad. Making his voice steady and deceptively pleasant, Harry spoke the first words he'd said to the man in years.
"Mad? Why would I be mad? You only ate all my cereal and faked your own death for three years."