Take this Longing
take this longing from my tongue, all these useless things these hands have done.
Let me see your beauty broken down like you would do for one you love.
He sat and stared into space a lot, in the months after the war. Everyone figured it was because he had a lot to think about and left him alone, but really, he was trying hard not to think. There were so many topics he didn't want to talk about now, so many names he could never mention again for fear of breaking down, and if he just stared blankly at the ocean or the sunset or a forest, sometimes his brain shut off and he forgot. The Weasleys were like ginger-haired guard dogs, bless them, and they firmly ushered away any reporters, biographers, rabid fans and Ministry of Magic officials who wanted to speak privately with him. He'd testified once at the Wizengamot; he'd had to, in order to sentence the guilty to Azkaban and clear the innocent of all charges. But what was guilty and what was innocent, anymore? There were too many shades between red and green, and if he'd learned anything from all of this, it was that he was wrong more than he was right about the people who really counted. So he sat and didn't talk and tried not to think about anything particularly, especially not about how disappointed Ginny was with him. Especially not how the family he was imposing on had extra space for him because they'd lost a son. Especially not how her eyes never seemed as bright after the war, and how she just seemed selfish and childish to him in the harsh light of all the things he'd done. Especially not how, while Ron and Hermione cheerfully planned their wedding, he sat and wondered why his awareness of the world had shifted and beautiful women had lost their appeal. Definitely not how, of all idiotic, pointless things, he still had Draco Malfoy's wand in the back pocket of his jeans because he didn't know how to give it back. He certainly couldn't have during the wizarding trial where he told everyone as star witness how Narcissa Malfoy had concealed the fact of his continued existence from Voldemort and how Draco had refused to identify him at Malfoy Manor. He hadn't seen him since, though he supposed it had only been a matter of months. It felt like forever. The days dragged out and the nights were longer and sleepless. It was almost worse because his scar didn't hurt. At least he'd had a purpose when he was fighting Voldemort. He knew what he was supposed to be doing. Now… now he sat at parks and fed ducks and missed the dead.
Draco Malfoy was off his probation. Being a minor and clearly under coercion at the time of his actions in the service of the Dark Lord, his probation was much shorter than that of his parents, who would be carefully monitored for the rest of their lives. Draco was now allowed to do magic again and to go out in public places other than the Ministry-approved list they'd given him at his sentencing. Of course, he couldn't have disobeyed the Ministry's orders even if he'd wanted to. Harry Potter still had his wand, a matter requiring his immediate attention. If he could even get within ten kilometers of Potter now, seeing as he was an undesirable and Potter was the savior of the wizarding world again. There was another matter regarding Potter requiring his immediate attention, but he'd worry about that once he got his wand back. First, though, he'd go to the park and watch the sun set in solitude, something he'd been unable to do with the Ministry's ever-watchful eye on him since the war.
Harry looked up as he heard the footsteps approaching, but he didn't move from his position on the metal bench. The ducks quacked and ruffled their feathers in indignation as he heard a familiar voice say, "shoo! shoo!" and a person's weight settled down next to him.
"Potter," the voice said. Only one person still living called him 'Potter' now. Funny how much easier it was to identify people once half your friends were dead.
"Malfoy," he said peaceably. His probation must be up. Well, he has as much right to the ducks and the sun as I do, Harry thought. They sat watching the sun set in silence for a while.
"Never pegged you for a nature-lover," Harry said eventually, because he had to say something, and 'how's your family' didn't seem quite right, given the circumstances.
"You'd be surprised," the other man said easily. "Are all these ducks naturally obese?"
"I might have been feeding them a lot recently," Harry admitted, and Malfoy snorted.
"It's a wonder they don't sink." Harry regarded the ducks with a keen eye. Now that he mentioned it, they did seem a bit pudgy. He grinned sheepishly, the recently neglected smile muscles straining in protest. Draco Malfoy looked much the same as he always had, which was a comfort. His hair was longer and he'd regained a bit of the weight he'd lost during the war, but he was essentially unchanged. "At first I mistook you for a bum, Potter," Malfoy said bluntly. "Don't you shave?"
"It's my clever disguise," Harry told him, "to get people to leave me alone."
"Ah." They stared at the colors in the sky again for a bit.
"Don't suppose I could have my wand back?" Draco asked, with a sidelong gaze at Harry.
"I think you have to take it from me," Harry explained. "You know, since I took it from you. So, no, you can't have your wand back." Draco rolled his eyes, wrapped one arm around Harry to pin his hands to his sides, reached into Harry's back pocket and took back his wand. Harry had a strong suspicion Draco had just groped his ass, but he wasn't going to say so.
"Much obliged," he drawled. Nice jeans, Draco thought. Also nice ass.
"No problem." Harry paused. "You didn't just-"
"What?" Draco widened his eyes, all innocence and confusion.
"Nothing." Harry decided it was better not to know. There'd been rumours about Malfoy's sexuality, of course, over the years: 'he shags anyone gorgeous enough' was the general consensus. It was none of his business, but Harry had always been perversely fascinated by the glamorous train-wreck that was Draco's private life.
"I owe you a life debt," he said abruptly, cutting off Harry's embarrassing thoughts of Draco having sex with anyone.
"You do? When did I…" Harry stammered, caught out. "Oh, right. The broom." He raised an eyebrow. "So? What do you want me to do about it?"
"I've always wanted to be able to do that," Draco said enviously.
"What?" said Harry, losing the thread of the conversation completely.
"That. Eyebrow thing. I can waggle mine suggestively, but not one at a time like— oh, never mind. You don't have to do anything about it. I, on the other hand, have to follow you around trying to keep you out of danger, I expect."
"Wormtail didn't-" Harry began.
"His folly," Draco said shortly. "The longer you leave a life debt unacknowledged, the harder it comes back to bite you in the ass. I saw how he'd strangled himself with his own hand." He shuddered at the memory. "I don't want that happening to me."
"Understood. But I've saved Hermione and Ron tons of times, and they don't have a-"
"A life debt is only created when there was no prior bond of kinship or friendship between the wizards. They have no reason to save each other. Honestly, Potter, didn't Dumbledore ever tell you?"
"There were a lot of things he forgot to mention," Harry said bitterly. "So, what…"
"I have to save your life now. It's the only way to cancel out my debt to you."
"Oh."
"Why'd you do it? It's not as if we were ever friends. Why did you save my life?" Harry shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know. It just happened. I reached out my hand and you were there. I didn't exactly stop to analyze." He glared at Malfoy.
"I suppose you're thinking I should seem more grateful. But my family have always prided themselves on- well, whatever you believe about my family, we honor our contracts fully, whether we like it or not. Which is why we are careful about whom we do business with. We have a saying, 'better dead than indebted'. If that gives you any idea."
"So what you're saying is, you don't like this any more than I do."
"Brilliantly deduced, Potter," Malfoy sneered- no, Draco sneered. He was a person, had become a person to Harry during the war, and it was more of a smirk, really. He'd say the other man was teasing him if he didn't know better. Harry almost laughed in relief; the familiar insulting tone was so normal. He felt normal around Draco. What did it say about his life recently that he took comfort in the insults of his childhood rival?
"There were so many people I could have saved. Yet I choose the person who'd rather I have let him die."
"I didn't say-"
"Stupid. Ginny was right, I was stupid. I should have been there to help Colin or Fred or Tonks." So why didn't you? An inner voice hissed. Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, are we?
"You can't think like that, Potter," Draco offered, seeming as surprised as Harry at this outburst. "It's madness to think you're responsible for everyone in a war. If Weasley couldn't see that, she's just as dim as the rest of her family. Not," he added thoughtfully, "that I had any doubts on that account." Harry took a breath to defend Ginny's honor, but he couldn't muster the energy to care. He sighed instead.
"You didn't ask them to die for you," Draco said relentlessly. "They knew the risks they were taking." It was that simple. The green eyes met the gray with a desperate kind of hope.
"Not just saying that because of a heightened sense of self-preservation, are you?"
"I'm saying it because it's true," Draco said, exasperated. "Now stop sniveling, Potter. I'm not your therapist, for Merlin's sake. Go rushing headlong into danger like you always do so I can rescue you from it, and you'll be rid of me." He almost didn't want to be rid of Draco, he thought oddly. Draco treated him the way he'd always treated Harry, not treading on eggshells around him or revering him pointlessly. The droll disrespect in his tone was refreshing.
"What do you suggest," Harry asked, amused. "Know any other Dark Lords that need defeating? Please don't answer that," he added hastily, just in case Draco had contacts somewhere.
"You could light yourself on fire, I suppose, and I could stomp out the flames."
"No, thank you. You've stomped on my face once; I don't care to repeat the experience."
"Hmm. Tell you what. I have an idea. Why don't we brainstorm ways for me to save your life, say, one a week, until we come up with something that works?"
"We really have to do this?"
"Yes."
"What's the alternative?" Draco's eyes darkened.
"I die a gruesome, unpleasant death. Not happening. I'm going to save your life, Potter," he threatened, "like it or not."
"Fine," Harry sighed, not all that displeased by the idea, actually. It would give him something to do, and he sort of had a purpose again. His purpose was to save Draco's life again by letting Draco save his. Sure. Whatever. It'd do. "Could we maybe think about it over sandwiches? I'm starving."
"We should rename you the Boy Who Ate Everything," Draco said two hours later, watching in amusement as Harry finished his third tray of sandwiches. "Got any bright ideas yet?"
"Well, you saved me from that potentially deadly BLT with a deft 'wouldn't eat that if I were you, Potter'. Will that do?" Harry asked hopefully.
"Doubtful. Mild food poisoning and death aren't the same. And honestly, it was green. Don't know how you couldn't notice."
"My glasses are dirty."
"So take them off."
"Okay, but I'm practically blind without them. Just so you know."
"Really?" Draco perked up. "How blind? Can you see me if I do this?" He waved his hands about in an obscene gesture.
"No," Harry said flatly, "you're all blurry. But at a guess, I'd bet you're waving your hands about in an obscene gesture." Damn, thought Draco. He pulled his chair closer and made a face.
"How about now?"
"I can tell it's a face coming toward me, but not a lot of definition." Draco leaned forward over the table toward Harry. "And now?" Harry automatically leaned closer, opening his eyes in surprise when he didn't have to squint.
"Oh, there you are!"
"I should hope so." Their noses were almost touching. "That's pretty blind," he agreed. Harry could smell Draco's aftershave from here. It was nice, crisp and a little like spiced cider. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and peered closely at the offending sandwich. "It really is green. Why would the kitchen serve me something so moldy?"
"Maybe because you're eating them out of their entire stock of pumpernickel bread and deli meat?"
"Could be," Harry said, mesmerized as Draco sucked thoughtfully on his spoon. It was sinful, what he was doing to that crème brulee. His tongue flicked out and lapped up the last drop. He snapped his fingers.
"I've got it! How do you feel about peacocks?"
"Did I hear you right? Did you just say 'peacocks'?" Draco smiled and steepled his fingers together. "Okay. I don't think I want to know."
"Attack!" Draco shouted at the albino peacocks preening themselves at his father's estate. They ignored him.
"Um, Draco? I'm covered in birdseed and this still isn't working. Are you sure it's legit if you engineer the danger you're saving me from?" Draco shot him a withering glare.
"What's wrong, Potter? You used to love recklessness and idiotic bravery."
"Yes, but…"
"You'd dive in headfirst until one of your friends or a teacher or the bloody Headmaster himself came to bail you out of it. Some of us weren't that lucky. Some of us weren't showered with favoritism by every professor at Hogwarts." He sounded not so much resentful as resigned.
"I'm sorry, Draco, I guess I never-"
"No. You wouldn't, would you? Too busy being the Boy Who Lived. Twice. Hypocrisy's never comfortable, is it?" He said cheerfully. Harry shuffled his feet. He felt sticky.
"So much for this worthless lot. I should have you all put down." Draco kicked a peacock. It bit him.
"I don't think they're meant to be birds of prey," Harry offered, trying to be helpful. "Same time next week?" He tried not to sound too eager. Despite the birdseed and the moldy sandwich, this was the most interesting day he'd had since- well, he couldn't remember. And that aftershave and suspected grope weren't helping matters, since this was also the closest thing he'd had to a date since the war. Many marriage proposals and offers of sexual gratification from busty witches had come in the mail, but George had stopped reading the most entertaining ones out loud. Now they just burnt them. Shame, really. Ron might have enjoyed them.
"Same time next week," Draco confirmed. "Until I save your life. Sorry about the birdseed." Harry shrugged philosophically. He took a breath. Draco held up a hand. "Stop. I can tell you're about to make some terrible Muggle joke, and just don't. Be off with you so I can fricassee Gertrude here." Harry smiled and Disapparated. The echoes of his laughter remained, haunting Draco long after he'd blasted all the tail feathers off the birds.