This was written for nik-edward is my love's Love Gone Wrong Challenge. Harry and Draco. No, there is no smut. I don't write like that. Yet.
I do not own Harry Potter, as much as I like to believe I do. Harry Potter © Joanne Rowling.
Draco's soft light hair tangled into Harry's jagged nest of black hair as he rested his head on Harry's shoulder. The side of their arms were flush to each other, leading to their intertwined fingers, which were slightly visible behind the lengthy grass around them. Behind them was a dead tree, a silhouette of pure darkness and despair, hunched over under the rays of the afternoon sun. It was partly the reason they so enjoyed sitting together, leaned against the dark, dead tree; it was a sinister core for the piercing day, and its shadow cast the day into perspective, giving it an almost artificial edge. Sort of like them – Harry and Draco.
It was the reason they worked; they were each as screwed up inside as the other, and each of their own internal scars corresponded and cancelled out the other's scars. Inside they were face to face with empty, shattered, abandoned funhouse mirrors, altered eyes that lead to the same reality.
They'd been warped and changed and stretched and knotted so many times by those mirrors, and everywhere they looked it was themselves, changed, folded and unfolded so many times that they were a completely different person. And you could see the creases, slashed across them in so many places. Draco's across his mind and his eyes, Harry's across his lungs and his heart. They were so warped. They were so artificial, just like the day they sat in. But together they worked.
On the outside they were complete opposites, jet black contrasted against diamond white, the boldest emerald green against the palest steely silver, the callused sun kissed skin against the velvety moon white complexion. Harry against Draco. But together they worked.
Harry's thumb brushed against the back of Draco's hand, and his lips pressed against the white-blond hair on his shoulder. Under his gentle mouth Draco's eyes fluttered closed, basking in the heat of the afternoon.
"We can't do this anymore," whispered Draco. His voice could have been the subtle breeze to Harry, who remained still, except for his thumb caressing Draco's hand. He made a questioning noise against Draco's hair, so Draco repeated it quietly.
"Why, love?" Harry replied, his voice soft as butterfly wings.
Draco pulled up from Harry's shoulders and glared into his calm green eyes. "You know why."
Harry shrugged and removed his thumb from Draco's hand so he could wrap his arm around Draco's slim shoulders. "Can't say I do."
Draco made a low noise of irritation and tugged away from the warmth of Harry's embrace. "Because the Wizarding World thinks we're both straight!"
"That can be changed," said Harry, his eyes glued to Draco.
"Because it's your duty to marry the Weasley girl." Draco spat the name.
"It's not my duty," Harry answered, his voice even quieter. Draco tried not to listen, but his earing was too acute for his own good. "I can marry whoever I want."
Draco laughed without humour. "And how will the Prophet react when the Saviour marries an ex-Death Eater?"
"That doesn't bother me."
"Well, it bothers me! My mother wants me to marry Astoria Greengrass!"
Harry's temper was steadily but surely rising. "And you do whatever your mother wants, yes?"
Draco got to his feet in a fluid rush of rage. With his fists clenched and teeth gritted, he hissed, "My mother happened to save your life, Potter. Don't forget."
"I haven't," Harry replied with his head craned to look up at Draco, as his legs were still crossed and he was still sat in the shadow cast by the dead tree.
"You could be more grateful." Draco ducked down, picked up his small leather bag and glowered at Harry.
"It's me who has a life debt to her, not you."
"She's my mother, the very woman who suffered excruciating agony to bring me into existence. In effect, I do have a life debt to her."
"Do you want to marry this woman?" asked Harry, scrambling to his feet.
"No!" yelled Draco.
"You sure are acting like it!" Harry shouted back, his voice cracking on the tears that threatened to constrict him. "You want to leave me, don't you?"
"Of course I don't. I love you!" screamed Draco.
That stopped Harry in his tracks. Harry froze, his heartbeat running a frantic marathon in his ribcage. His breath rushed through his slightly parted lips in a whistling rush. "Really?" he said after hesitating.
Draco flushed bright red, which was so vibrant against his pale complexion. "O-o-of course I do."
Harry stared for a moment, before walking away.
"Wait, wait! Harry! Harry! Potter, come back!"
He needed to clear his head.
"Harry, did you hear the news?" asked Ron over breakfast at the Auror office.
Harry didn't look up from the Daily Prophet. "That Nicholas Stoutend is in St. Mungo's, after that dangerous Auror mission? Yeah, I heard."
"That's not what I'm talking about! Everyone knows about that." Ron smacked Harry's newspaper to the table. "The other news, I mean."
"What other news?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Malfoy's in the hospital! Honestly, Harry, you'd think you'd pay more attention to the fact your own Auror partner is missing," said Ron, taking a bite of his toast.
Harry stood up sharply, not caring that this action caught the attention of several Aurors, and immediately Apparated to St. Mungo's.
Normally, he would have been blinded for a few seconds by the startling white of the reception area, but he was too urgent to see Draco to let this stop him. He smacked his hands onto the desk and let his eyes bore into the eyes of the receptionist.
"I wish to see Draco Malfoy," Harry demanded.
"F-family only," stammered the receptionist.
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'm Harry Potter."
"He's on the fourth floor, Ward Forty-Nine."
Wasn't that the long-term spell damage ward? Regardless, Harry did as the woman said and entered the lift to the fourth floor, before walking to Ward 49. He was wary about pushing open the door, but he did so anyway.
A man straightened up. "Are you here to see Mr Malfoy? Look, Draco, you have a visitor? Do you remember him?"
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Why are you speaking to him like he's a baby? What happened?"
"He took a Stunning Spell to the temple. He's a bit, dare I say it, demented. We don't… We don't know if he'll ever recover. He can only remember major parts of his life. He forgot his own best friend, Miss Parkinson. Can you believe it?" The man's eyebrows pulled forward in worry, casting his dark brown eyes into shadow.
Harry didn't reply to the man. He approached Draco, who was perched in a black wheelchair and looking rather tense, and whispered in a voice he hoped was soothing, "Do you remember who I am, Draco?"
Draco gazed up at him with his silvery eyes wide, and replied, "Oh yeah. You're the one that hates me. You… You tried to kill me in a bathroom." Draco's eyes widened even more, and he pushed his wheelchair back with his feet to put distance between Harry and himself.
If Harry's heart hadn't already broken, it would have now.
"I think it prudent you leave, sir," said the man firmly.
Harry nodded and left without a word.
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