Standing Next To Me

Chapter One: Perfect World

Human, all too human

Wonder what you do

And where it is you stay

These questions like a whirl wind

They carry me away

In a perfect world, Harry Potter wouldn't have to see Draco Malfoy's face ever again after the final battle. In a perfect world, Harry Potter wouldn't have had to meet Draco Malfoy's dark gaze across the hall of the Malfoys' trial, he wouldn't have had to notice the way Draco Malfoy's eyes had lost the malicious spark Harry had learned to hate over the years, leaving the grey eyes indifferent and terrible.

In a perfect world Harry wouldn't care about Draco Malfoy's eyes.

But the world wasn't perfect, even though Voldemort was gone. In a perfect world Ginny would be someone who understood Harry; she would be someone Harry could fall madly in love with.

In a perfect world, Ginny would love Harry, and not the Boy Who Lived. In a perfect world she wouldn't have loved him before they'd even spoken; she wouldn't love the idea of him more than the person behind the legend. But Ginny didn't really know who Harry was and Harry didn't care anymore because Ginny offered intimacy and warmth and he needed it, he needed it, and he wasn't strong enough to turn it down when it was offered to him.

So, every night he climbed into bed with her and hugged her warm body close at night, trying to tell himself that this was right, this was perfect, and this was meant to be.

In a perfect world, Harry wouldn't have cornered Draco Malfoy after the trial, demanding to know why his eyes were dead, he wouldn't have hissed: "You're lucky you're alive and a free man, Malfoy. That is more than you deserve, so why do you look like you've been sentenced to endure the Kiss?"

Harry waited for Malfoy's violence and the spite, but it never came and cheated adrenaline pulsed through Harry's system. Malfoy just looked torn and tired, and Harry wanted to scream. It was wrong, so wrong and so unnatural.

"Where is your damn pride, Malfoy?" snarled Harry, his grip tightening around Malfoy's collar.

At these words Malfoy lifted his gaze and met Harry's. Harry felt nauseous. Malfoy's eyes weren't gleaming with hatred anymore. They were indifferent.

"Pride?" Malfoy said, as though he'd never heard the word before. "Did you fall over and smack your pretty little head, Potter? I have no pride. My name is worth nothing. I'm sure you take very much delight in the fact that I have no money, no home, and no parents."

Harry looked away. He knew that he could have saved both Lucius and Narcissa from the Kiss, but he hadn't. He hadn't. They deserved it, his inner voice shouted awfully loud in his mind, they deserved it, they'd been death eaters.

But Narcissa had saved him, another voice reminded him softly. Narcissa had saved him for the same reason that Lily had saved Harry years and years earlier: Because she had loved her son more than she had ever loved anything.

"I don't even care," Harry said. It sounded cruel, and he knew he didn't mean it. He cared. He didn't want to.

In a perfect world, Harry wouldn't have to justify to himself how he had ripped a family apart.

Malfoy's eyes, lacking the hatred and the challenge that Harry was so very used to, reminded him however: The world wasn't perfect.

It was winter the next time Harry Potter saw Draco Malfoy. Diagon Alley was crammed with people doing their Christmas shopping, running about through the drifts of snow that gleamed in golden from the decorations of the shops' windows. Harry usually held his head down, not wanting to stop and talk to every person who wanted a chat with him. He ran into someone's shoulder and lifted his head to offer a subdued excuse, but fell silent as he saw who it was he had run into.

Malfoy looked at him coldly, brushing off imaginary dust from his heavy robe. He looked pale, and slimmer than he'd done the last time they had spoken at the Ministry, and Harry wondered if Malfoy couldn't afford to eat these days.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I didn't see you there."

The corners of Malfoy's mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile. "Yes, well, you always were a clumsy sod, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he found that he was strangely happy about the insult. This Malfoy he could handle.

"And you always were a rude twerp," Harry retorted.

Malfoy looked at him with sincere surprise now. "Really, Potter? Is that really what you think of me?"

Harry thought that in a perfect world he wouldn't think about Draco Malfoy at all. "Yes," he replied. "How does that surprise you?"

Malfoy's voice was soft, and his eyes gleamed with something indefinable. "It doesn't. The only thing that surprises me is that you think of me at all these days."

Harry tensed, and said flatly: "I don't, really." He wondered if it was true.

"I see," said Malfoy lightly, looking everywhere but in Harry's eyes. "Well Potter, as much as I enjoyed this little chat of ours, I have to go."

Ignoring the stark sarcasm in Malfoy's voice, Harry reached out without thinking and gripped Malfoy's upper arm. "Wait," he said, and for some reason he added: "Would you like to get a cup of coffee somewhere? I know a small place just around the corner from here."

Malfoy looked in disbelief from Harry's hand, still gripping the Slytherin's arm, to his face. His eyebrow was arched. "I don't think so, Potter. We don't have much to say to each other, now do we?"

Harry knew that in a perfect world, they really wouldn't have had much to say to each other, but he knew that a world without a snarky, rude Draco Malfoy in it seemed impossibly small.

He hadn't realised he'd actually missed their bickering until now. He felt alive again, he felt... young.

"I just… Is there anything I can do for you?" Harry asked, mentally slapping himself. What a stupid, stupid thing to say, especially to Malfoy.

Apparently Malfoy agreed, because he shrugged Harry's hand off of him. It was quite a feat; Harry thought dully, how Malfoy managed to look down his nose disdainfully at him when they were practically the same height.

"I'm not wealthy, but I get by. I'm not looking for charity, Potter. Especially not from you. I'm afraid you'll have to get cosy with that cup of coffee by yourself."

"I didn't mean to offer charity," Harry said hurriedly.

Malfoy still looked suspicious.

"You can pay, if you want to," Harry added. He didn't know why he was so desperate to talk to Malfoy. He was in a hurry, Ginny would be wondering where he was. It didn't make much sense, but Harry's life didn't make much sense anymore. He couldn't explain why Malfoy's crooked grin didn't annoy him anymore.

"Don't be absurd, Potter. If we're going to have coffee on your suggestion, of course you will pay. I was merely making a statement."

Malfoy turned around and started to walk towards the alley Harry had indicated earlier. He still moved like an aristocrat, Harry realised when he watched the other walk down the snowy street. When Malfoy had reached the corner he turned around, looking back at Harry.

"Well?" he said impatiently. "Are you coming or what, Potter? I believe there was coffee offered, and I'm freezing my bollocks off here."

Twenty minutes later, and the caffeine was playing through Harry's system and his completely numb fingers were finally starting to warm up again. He watched Malfoy across the table. He'd shrugged out of his dark robe but he'd kept the green scarf. Harry couldn't help smirking.

"Still in your Slytherin colours, eh Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked down to his scarf, blonde bangs falling into his eyes. "It was my father's," he said, his voice neither melodramatic nor sentimental but Harry could feel the sadness that had surrounded Malfoy since they ran into each other. He felt guilty.

Damn it, Harry shouldn't have to feel guilty over Lucius Malfoy. But he did. He did, because he knew that Malfoy was nothing but a mere shell of the person he once had been, what he could have been, still, had he not lost everything after the war.

Malfoy sat before him now, more subdued and quiet than Harry had ever seen him. In school, Malfoy had been loud and obnoxious, cruel and unavoidable, but he had been alive. He'd possessed a spark and a soul and a seemingly infallible determination to never give up.

Harry picked up his napkin and started playing with it, trying to distract himself from looking Malfoy in the eye. "You said you get by. What do you do for a living?" he asked evenly.

"I'm a Potions brewer for St. Mungos," Malfoy told him soberly, after taking another sip from his coffee cup. ("No milk, for God's sake Potter, you complete imbecile, why would you ruin coffee like that?")

Harry wasn't surprised. Malfoy had been an excellent brewer at Hogwarts, even though Harry would have eaten a dozen of slugs back then rather than admitting it. "I work for the Department for Magical Law Enforcement," Harry told him. "I'm an Auror."

Malfoy's laugh was low. "I know that, Potter. The whole Wizarding world knows that. I do read, you know."

"Right," Harry said, blushing slightly. He never really got used to the fame, but he doubted he would earn anything beside a scornful look if he told Malfoy that, so he kept quiet.

"Do you like it?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. "I… I guess so. It's what I always wanted to be."

"But what about no- oh, stop fumbling with that stupid napkin Potter and look at me," Malfoy snapped and reached across the table, snatching the napkin out of Harry's hand. When Malfoy's fingers briefly closed over Harry's there was a sense of electricity tingling over Harry's skin, making Harry lift his gaze to Malfoy's and from the look of the other's face he'd felt it too.

His eyes met Malfoy's, whose gaze had darkened and was completely unreadable.

Then, Harry's mobile rang, and reality suddenly reminded itself in a universe that had only been about the two of them and the weird sensation between them seconds ago. Harry quickly reached into his pocket for his phone.

The display read: Ginny. Bollocks. He had completely forgotten about the time.

Full of dread, he answered: "Hello?"

"Where are you, Harry? I've been waiting with dinner for over an hour. You said you were on your way home – "

"I know, I'm sorry Ginny, I ran into an old friend," Harry muttered, trying to ignore Malfoy smirking at him from across the table, miming: 'An old friend?'

"And you couldn't have made a phone call? I've waited – "

"Alright, Ginny, I'm sorry. I really am. I'll leave right now."

He hung up. He knew she would be upset about that later, but right now he was almost grateful that he had a reason o leave the café and Malfoy and whatever weird moment they'd just shared.

He tossed a few galleons to the table and threw on his cloak. "Well, I have to go."

Malfoy nodded at his phone. "Yes, I suppose so. Wouldn't want to keep you from the Mrs."

"We're not married," Harry said quickly.

"Engaged?" Malfoy asked, politely.

"Just... Dating," Harry explained. He didn't want to talk about Ginny, not with Malfoy. "Well, this has been… Nice. See you around, Malfoy."

Harry left the café without waiting for Malfoy's reply.

He'd almost walked down the entire Diagon Alley before he realised that he had, willingly, spent half an hour in Malfoy's company.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Defeated Evil Then Succumbed To Madness.

Two months passed, and Harry didn't see any more of Malfoy. He thought about him, sometimes – he thought about the green scarf and the way his eyes had looked when he spoke of his father. He was unsure why he still thought about these things, but he didn't dwell on the fact that he did. He assumed it was only natural to be curious.

One night in February, the doorbell to Harry's house rang. Ginny was at Hermione and Ron's place, and so Harry had no choice but to get up from the couch and drag himself to the door. Assuming it was a salesman of some sort, he had a 'No thank you, I'm not interested' on the tip of his tongue, but he completely forgot about that when he opened the door.

Malfoy stood before him in the pouring rain, looking very much like he had done the last time Harry had seen him: Long black robes, green scarf and grey eyes gleaming beneath blonde bangs.

"Hi," said Malfoy.

"Um, hello," Harry replied.

"I'm sorry to just show up like this," Malfoy told him, "I would have sent you an owl, but I'm afraid this is urgent. Do you have a minute?"

Harry stepped aside. "I suppose," he said, granting Malfoy entrance. "Come in."

"Thank you," Malfoy answered graciously and stepped into the hallway which now appeared terribly small with both of them there. Harry led the way into the living room, gesturing towards the sofa.

"Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Scotch, coffee? Ale?"

Malfoy sat down, still in his robes. "Some scotch, please. Is that Bulgarian, Potter?"

Harry followed Malfoy's gaze to the big moving painting of a huge, scaly magical animal in the corner of his living room. He'd helplessly watched Hagrid place it there 'As a proper birthday present for yer, Harry!' on his twentieth birthday.

"I think so," Harry said. "It was, er, a gift. From Hagrid."

"It's incredibly ugly," Malfoy told him.

Harry silently agreed, poured them both a glass, and then took a seat. "So... what can I do for you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy took a sip from his scotch, watching Harry over the brim of his glass. After he put his drink down a little too hard, he said: "I think someone is trying to sabotage my potions."

Harry blinked. "Why do you think that?"

"Because my flasks and ingredients have been meddled with. Labels have been switched, my tools have been hidden, and things have disappeared from my personal storage room."

Harry frowned. "And you're sure you haven't mixed it up yourself? These things happen easily."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "I'll pretend I didn't hear you question my organisation skills, Potter. I'm pedantic when it comes to my work. I know exactly where I keep every little plant. You have to be extremely careful and organised when it comes to brewing potions, a small mistake can be fatal." Smirking, he added: "Potions never was your speciality, Potter."

"And are you the only person with access to the lab?"

Malfoy nodded. "I'm the only one with keys, yes."

"Keys can be copied. Are there any wards set?"

Malfoy's face darkened. "That's what troubles me. There are plenty of wards that protect my lab. I'm talking about dark magic, Potter. If someone is able to not only penetrate these, but also re-set them when they're done, then that means they're exceptionally educated when it comes to the dark arts."

Malfoy took another sip of his scotch, before continuing: "You understand now, of course, why I couldn't simply contact the Auror's Department. With my, ah, history, I can't put a toe out of line without being shipped off to Azkaban."

Malfoy suddenly looked very tired and pinched, and Harry waited for him to continue.

"I know I took huge risks with the wards and using dark magic, but... I never imagined that anyone would ever bother with me or my potions making. It's not as though the Malfoy name counts for anything anymore," he finished resentfully.

"Why did you come to me?" Harry asked. "How do you know I won't floo the Auror's Department right now and turn you in?"

Malfoy's pointed face didn't betray any emotion. He simply said: "I don't. I don't know that, Potter. I admit; I'm not used to taking these kinds of risks. But I have no choice. I can't let this person sabotage my work. It was sheer dumb luck that I discovered the switched labels. People at St. Mungos depend on my potions; it's a matter of life and death. I can't..." Malfoy paused, avoiding Harry's eyes. "I just want to be able to do my job and live in peace."

Harry watched Malfoy under silence. He knew that face very well. The grey eyes that had gleamed with hatred when they'd met Harry's across the Great Hall when they were still children at Hogwarts. He knew the way shadows fell across his sharp cheekbones, and how his lips looked when his mouth curled into a defiant sneer.

He used to hate that face.

He didn't know if he hated it anymore. Hatred demanded so much energy, energy Harry didn't have these days. Besides, Malfoy looked so worn, so tired, even though he tried to mask it behind the aristocratic air he was born with.

In a perfect world, Harry wouldn't have to justify how he had ripped a family apart.

Harry clenched his teeth so hard that his entire jaw ached. He felt guilty. He knew he needed to do this for Malfoy.

"I'll help you."

It wasn't until the words hung in the air between them that Harry realised how much he meant them.

Harry hadn't noticed the tension in Malfoy's shoulders before he visibly relaxed into the armchair. Malfoy's eyes were steady and grey.

"Thank you, Potter."

Harry heard the door slam shut, and he rose hastily from the couch. Malfoy did the same thing across the table.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, keys in hand and her long red hair cascading down her shoulders over the soaked robes. Harry could smell the wet wool. She narrowed her eyes when she spotted Malfoy.

"What are you doing in our house?" Ginny's voice was terribly cold.

Malfoy smile was artificial, and it didn't reach his eyes. "I believe Potter here invited me in," he replied coolly.

Ginny glared between the two of them. "Well, get out, Malfoy. You're not welcome here."

Harry had only seen her this menacing one time before: When Bellatrix Lestrange had taunted Molly about Fred's death. Her eyes had looked almost black that night, and Harry had shared her rage then. He didn't now.

"Ginny," he said firmly. "I invited him in. He's my guest, and you have no right to talk to him like that."

Ginny's eyes glittered dangerously. "He's your guest," she repeated slowly. "You call a bastard, cowardly death eater your guest?"

"Calm down." Harry's tone was sharp. "That's enough, Ginny. Malfoy –"

"You don't have to say anything, Potter." Malfoy said, looking at Ginny with a cold fury. "I'm not going to waste my breath by claiming my innocence to people who will never believe it, and neither should you."

With a nod of mock courtesy in Ginny's direction, he left.

Harry stared numbly after him.

AN: My latest work. I hope you liked this first chapter. I will publish the next chapter in a week. Reviews are, of course, love!

Lovely Slytheriness