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Disclaimer: No profit is being made out of this harmless work of fiction, promise!
Fear of the Unknown
"Not all romances begin
Past the jaws of death;
Sometimes love begins as softly as snow;
It happens when both
Cannot let the other go…."
His dull, lackluster turbulent grey eyes scanned the horizon non-descriptively.
The snitch landed softly on his shoulder and the so-called Seeker smiled feebly at him and raised her hand for it. Sneering, he grabbed the delicately fluttering ball off his shoulder and held it out for the girl. She gripped her broom hard, trying to maneuver the broom close enough to the blonde to take the snitch. Snorting, he stood and strode over the make-shift pitch and raised his hand, the snitch struggling between his fingers. She took it from his hand, smiling gratefully and turned her broom, struggling vainly to stay in the air.
Shaking his head and trying not to despair, he retraced his footsteps back to his seat under the maple tree. He glanced around lazily, one ear cocked for the sound of a gong. What was the point here? He wondered for the umpteenth time. Why did they insist that everyone spend two hours of a day outside in the sun when there were barbed fences all around and only served to discourage and not inspire in any way? His eyes slid over the youngsters playing quidditch, again. He snorted, pathetic really! Two of the players were struggling to keep their brooms afloat in the air, paralyzed legs a dead weight and not very conducive to playing a charged game of quidditch.
There was in all possibility one person or maybe at most two in that small group of people who actually had enough of strength to play the game properly. It was sad, actually, how people who had lost every little thing in life could be so optimistic and get absolutely nothing from it.
His listless eyes continued past the players and settled on a small family in the grass.
The woman, mother, he supposed with a pang; was kneeling, hugging a little brunette boy to her bosom and crying softly. The man, father, he understood with a slight frown; stood beside her helplessly, his hand on his wife's shoulder, his eyes watering. The he knelt and pulled the woman and his son into his arms, grounding them, offering solid support, solid warmth; the boy thought watching longingly, a wistful smile pulling at his lips.
The woman pulled away, kissing the boy's head, her lips lingering, longing and whispered against his head. "Mommy's so sorry, baby." She hiccupped, her eyes swollen and red. "Mommy loves you so very very much." The little boy smiled softly. "I know, mommy, I love you too." "You know that I would give anything to be able to take you home with me right now, right?" She whispered, looking for reassurance. "Yes, mum." He glanced to his father, wisdom far beyond his years in his eyes. "Take mum home, dad."
The man stood, putting his arms around the woman and pulling her to her feet. The little boy waited till they drove away and then knelt, curling into himself and crying harshly. The boy who sat, alone, under the maple tree felt his eyes fill with tears. He reached out with his hands, as if to comfort the crying little boy, wishing he could provide what little comfort he himself had required, yet no one had offered.
A woman in white overalls clutched at the boy, her hand clenched around her wand and crooned at him in a high voice, calming him, Veela, the boy thought, his eyes glazing over. All care-takers there were Veela. No one could calm the lot of them as effectively as the Veela could. The Veela led the little boy away, gentling her crooning and lulling the boy to a restful slumber.
He shook his head to get rid of the remaining daze clouding his head. She was so very cruel, the bitch we call life. His cheeks flushed when he tasted the bitter edge of his tears and he shook his head again, feeling devoid of any feeling human. The little boy, he had been so very very young…!
A loud gong echoed around the little fenced and warded clearing.
An old man who had been drooling in a wheelchair as old as him shot awake, cursing loudly. The male half of a couple, who had been playing wizarding chess nearby, snorted. "Not in front of the children, Eric." He hollered, playfully. The man in the wheelchair grinned and wheeled himself inside. The other man leaned down and helped his wife up. Whispering to each other, arm-in-arm, they walked indoors. Sighing miserably, the young blonde followed suit.
XxX
His eyes trailed over the bleak, dull crème walls of his suite. He sat curled up on his bed, waiting for his daily check-up. His eyes stopped at the window. Winter was on its way out, he mused, spying the yellow pollen sprinkling like pixie-dust on the snowy white ground. But what does it matter, anyway? He asked himself, cynically.
His door opened quietly and a cheerful middle-aged man poked his head in, smiling softly. His unnatural violet eyes twinkled behind his wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Good Evening, Master Malfoy." He said, walking into the room, raising his wand and bidding the curtains to drift close. The curtains folded into fullness slowly, plunging the room almost at once into dusky darkness. "How are you feeling?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Well, monotonous questions deserved monotonous answers. "I'm feeling alright." He drawled, slightly mockingly. "Thank you, Healer Alphonzo." The man chuckled. "I have asked you quite a lot of times in the past to address me as Amos." He told the Malfoy Heir. "I have asked you, I believe, an equal number of times to address me as Draco." Draco retorted, dryly.
"Fair enough, Master Malfoy." The Healer replied, turning his attention to the boy's thunderous mood, taking it in quietly. "Family visited, today?" he asked, kindly, though he did not really expect a reply. Draco was silent; he did not disappoint.
'Family', what a sacred word, how important they were, he thought. Every word, every diminutive action they performed had the power to tilt your whole world on its axis. No problem there, he thought, his thoughts prejudiced, father and mother had known exactly what to do to tilt my world.
His family had been, once, feared and revered throughout the wizarding world. What normal wizard or witch didn't quake at the name 'Malfoy'? His father had been the be all and end all of the Ministry once upon a time. Rich, powerful, ethereally handsome, even the Wizengamot danced to Lucius Malfoy's tunes. He was the epitome of all-round perfection, the perfect son, perfect husband, perfect father and many years down the lane, perfect slave to Voldemort. Everything he touched turned into proverbial gold.
His mother, she was the embodiment of all the qualities his father had wanted in a wife. Draco had always known there was no love lost between them. As long as his mother was discreet, Draco's father usually left her to her own devices and he had his own clique of admirers, of course. All Narcissa was to Lucius was a trophy wife of sorts, he kept her by his side, clothed her in the finest silks and the most precious of gems and gave her the freedom to do all that she wanted, providing she hosted his parties and approved of his guest lists.
Draco had been raised by house-elves, his parents somewhere in the back-ground to approve or disapprove of the cloths they made him wear and the way they styled his hair.
As far his parents were concerned, they had an ideal life, a life like in the fairy tales until the war descended upon them and everything changed. The Light, of course, won the war and almost all the death-eaters were rounded up and thrown into Azkaban. Draco snorted, having had to put an entire fist in his mouth to not tell his Father, that that's what you get for licking the boots of a clearly crazy man. The Malfoy name had still had some sort of worth and with Potter testifying for his mother and Draco himself; the entire family had somehow escaped persecution.
His father had settled somewhat and his mother had stopped holding trysts and for a little while, Draco had somehow been convinced that everything was going to be fine, after all; that maybe somewhere there was a God looking down kindly at him, after all.
That's when they had discovered his condition…..
To their credit, however, they had ached for the little boy who had had all his hopes and dreams crushed in a moment, whose bright, sunny future- for what other kind of future could he have? He had worked hard to ensure that it would be so- had turned into an endless abyss of darkness.
His father had initially outright refused to believe. He had insisted, and been extremely vocal about his opinion that no heir of his could be victim to such an abominable disease. Draco remembered that he had always been his father's heir, never his son. He recalled his mother looking down her nose at him and her eyes glazing in distaste. "Am I expected to bear another heir for you, Lucius?" She had asked, almost heartlessly, and Draco had simply ached with the need to cry. He remembered how Healer Alphonzo had sneered and the exact derisive tone of his voice when he told Draco's father 'sickness is never a crime, Mr. Malfoy, it is a condition and most of them curable at that.'
"Mother wants me transferred to New York." Draco told his Healer, presently. "Apparently, she still has hope that if I can be cured, she won't have to give Father another Heir." He snorted. "The poor, deluded woman." His voice was bitter and his smile, humorless.
The Healer sighed and carried on chanting, his hand held over the boy's abdomen and glowing green. Ignoring the man and his crooning voice, Draco let his mind wander again.
He harked back to the evening after the visit to the Healer. The yelling and the cursing, his father throwing around things and his mother pleading at him to stop, lest they have visitors and someone comes to know….
He was the taint, the black sheep, the little tear in the seam of otherwise blameless cloth; the streak of black in pure white, the fault in the otherwise faultless portrait of his flawless family. His father had made good use of what little contacts he had left, unheeding of his mother's advice not to ruin the family name even more by letting people know of the state of affairs at home.
Few people had been sympathetic, "Poor little thing." They said or "Nice young boy, really, though maybe a little weak." And sometimes, "He always seemed so very healthy to me, even though rather on the thin side…" Others not so much, "He deserves it really, for all his flaunting…" And "People always get what they deserve, in the end." He had borne everything with the dignity his station in life demanded.
His so called friends had abandoned him in favor of healthier people and the only person he still kept in touch with was Blaise Zabini. That was only because that kind of closeness was not something you give up for anything. Blaise was the first person in the arms of whom he cried. Blaise had cried with him, his chin on Draco's bent head and his strong arms around his friend's shaking frame. "It's going to be okay, mate." He remembered Blaise telling him. "You've come out of worse with your sanity intact." Draco had tried to believe him, really tried.
He hadn't succeeded.
His father had finally led him here. "It's a nice place, Draco, for people like you." He had said. "They take very good care of their….patients." People like you….he said, how quickly, how easily, they had isolated him, not that he had ever been connected to his parents in that primal way all parents and children were connected. He had agreed, politely. If they had no qualms about letting him go, then he could very well extend the same favor to them.
That had been his first experience with "St. Barakiel's", the more sophisticated version of St. Mungo's, for the more affluent. To their credit, the hospital was lovely. They kept it that way, the nurse giving them the tour said, smiling gently at Draco, to give the residents there hope. "Hope." He had echoed after her, tickled by the irony. 'Hope in a Hospital.' It was a cosmic joke of some sort. Hope was something vital, he supposed to man's continued survival. Yet, most people he knew, including himself, needed but the slightest of reasons to lose it. He wondered how people still existed and why they had not become extinct like Manticores.
Thus, he would say, he met the acquaintance of the place where he was going to spend, he supposed and hoped it wasn't true, the rest of his miserable existence.
"Master Malfoy." The Healer's voice brought his wandering thoughts back to the now. He raised his eyebrows in query. The Healer put his thumb on Draco's wrist. The pulse beat steady and strong under his enquiring finger and he met Draco's eyes significantly. Healer Alphonzo's eyes were gentle, coaxing and they seemed to be begging him not to give up. He nodded, faintly.
Draco didn't want to be responsible for anyone losing their hope. He hoped to Merlin that the good man's hope anchored him all his natural life.
The door opened slowly. "Healer Alphonzo, your new patient has arrived." The nurse chirped, almost happily. Both the Healer and the young boy raised their eyebrows in perfect synchronization. The woman at the door continued smiling and it looked far too cheerful to be ideal on the face of someone who frequented shifts at a hospital. "I'm coming." The Healer said, and turned to collect his wand from Draco's bedside where he had paced it before the physical examination. He gave Draco a pat on his head, "Smile." He chided, flashing the boy one of his own. Then he walked out of the room.
Draco curled into himself as soon as the door shut and let himself drift off into oblivion.
XxX
"Move the bishop." Draco told the woman, his eyes focused with an almost scary intensity on the chessboard. She grinned as the bishop moved and cruelly smashed her husband's horse into pieces. "Checkmate." She said, proudly. The man grimaced.
"I could have used some help too." He told Draco, slightly put off. Draco smiled, slightly, amused. "Maybe next time, honey, isn't that right, young man?" The woman winked at Draco. He moved away quietly leaving the couple to continue their game. Things happened all at once and too fast to comprehend.
Draco heard a warning shout in a very familiar voice and started. Before he could turn and check though, a huge mass of sleek black fur hurled itself at him. He tried to brace himself but could not stop the rather inevitable fall in time. He went down in a tangle of limbs unable to catch himself in time or take the dead weight pressed smack-dab in the middle of his chest. He felt a wet, rough tongue lap at his face and grimaced in disgust.
He opened his eyes, cautiously.
A pair of innocent, shining black button orbs gazed back at him. Then the owner of the pair of button eyes leaned close and licked his face again, from the tip of his ear to the corner of his mouth. It was like time stood still for a moment as he stared down the obnoxiously friendly dog.
Draco lifted a hand to push the –thing- the hell away from him when he heard a hoarse call.
The dog's owner came flying down the stairs and stopped short when he saw the blonde. Draco's eyes took in the shaggy, eternally messy midnight black hair, the tasteless round glasses and the goblin green eyes shining behind them and suddenly his heart beat faster and slower at the same time. The dog gave a short bark and that spurned the frozen boy into action. "Sirius, honestly." He reprimanded, sharply, pulling at the dog by his collar. The dog gave a joyful bark and slobbered all over his hand. He held his clean hand out to Draco. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, here let me help you." He said, with a friendly smile.
Draco ignored the boy's greeting, his hand and his own stupid traitorous heart for feeling stupidly happy to see a familiar face and got up on his own. Brushing himself off, he glared at the boy from the corner of his eyes. "Potter, what an….unpleasant surprise." He drawled. Going red and feeling rather foolish, Harry pulled his hand back and put them in his jean pocket. Sensing Draco's discomfort at being covered in dog spit, even with the hostility he exuded, Harry pulled out a clean cotton handkerchief and handed it to him.
Draco took it from his hand, none-too-gratefully and wiped his face. Then he turned and looked straight into Potter's shining- why were they so bright? - eyes. "I'll have it washed and sent to you, Potter." He informed the boy curtly. Harry smiled. "Oh that's alright, really. You can…" Draco did not let him complete. "I am not keeping it. I will have it washed and sent to you." He repeated. He put the soiled handkerchief into his pocket and abruptly, he turned and walked inside.
Harry stood staring after his once school-yard nemesis, a faraway look in his jaded green orbs. The dog moved closer as if sensing his distress. Sirius nudged at Harry's palm with his wet nose and he absently curled his fingers around the dog's collar and pulled him closer. Sirius whined.
Harry smiled, but this time the smile did not reach his eyes. This time, his smile was sad, an oxymoron really, for how can a smile be truly sad?
"His eyes, Siri." Harry told the dog, the dog on whose forehead a bright white starburst stood in stark contrast to the rest of his jet black fur, the dog whom Harry had named after his dearly beloved Godfather. "His eyes are so blank…" He said, quietly, contemplatively almost. "I think perhaps, what Draco needs the most right now, is a friend who won't judge."
The dog whined again, his way of agreeing with his young master. When Harry turned and walked indoors, Sirius following at his heels, there was a new spring to his steps. Perhaps, just perhaps, the world could use the Savior once more.
XxX
He stood in line, tiredly.
There was no point to this really, he thought, his eyes aching and gritty. He resisted the urge to rub them. You must eat something, though, a sensible part of his worn-out mind insisted. Why, he argued back, why should I eat when I'm not even remotely hungry?
Then he shook his head, a slight self-depreciating smile dawning across his lips.
Now I'm talking to myself, while standing in the queue for food, in plain sight, he thought dryly. What did a monotone routine life in a hospital do to a person's sanity? He collected his salad bowl, decided against the main course and made his way to an empty table. He didn't feel like company tonight. In fact, he never felt like company these days. Just another quirk, acquired in another lifetime. He chuckled quietly, wondering to himself what had been so funny about that thought.
He cradled his face in his palm and let it loll to a side.
He pushed around his salad with a fork, his mind and thoughts a million miles away. His happy-place, he thought wistfully, was someplace where there were no people at all. He would have the whole world to himself, just him and perhaps a few Manticores, since they were extinct anyway and as long as he was dreaming, he would be perfectly healthy and-
"Hey." Masculine, he thought absently, noting the husky tenor of the voice. And familiar, he added, crossing his fingers when that thought finally sunk in. He looked up, uninterested and his eyes met smiling, shining, -why were they so bright, anyway? Was Potter stupid? - moss green eyes. "Can I sit here, Malfoy?" Harry asked after a pause, grinning as if in an effort to melt the ice at the poles- all straight pearly white teeth on display. Draco nodded, without a smile and stood, collecting his untouched salad. "Sure, enjoy your dinner, Potter." He said, wryly.
"No wait, don't go. I meant can I sit here with you, prat." Harry said, hurriedly, upset. Unexpectedly, Draco's lips curled into a small smile. "You could have killed Voldemort with your pesky persistence if nothing else." He commented, surprising Harry with the careless use of the Dark Lord's name. Harry grinned. "How do you know I didn't kill him with my, 'pesky persistence'?" He asked, using air quotes. Draco shook his head, smile still in place, in a slightly better mood than he had been.
"I'm done for today, Potter." He offered, making an effort to be polite. "Perhaps tomorrow?" He would skip dinner altogether tomorrow, he promised himself, his eyes shuttered.
"But…" He turned his back to the flailing boy deliberately, hoping that that would kill Potter's optimism and walked to the waste bin. He gently lowered his unfinished, untouched rather, salad into it, feeling a nasty prick of guilt.
"Malfoy, least you can do for baling on me is calling me Harry." Harry called out, almost desperately.
Draco turned to face the dark-haired boy. He shrugged. "Okay, if it'll keep you off my back, Harry it is." And he turned and walked away, praying to anyone who was listening to let Potter take the hint and stay away. As he walked up to his suit, he wondered why he hadn't extended the boy the same favor. He didn't actually have anyone to please here or anyone's standards to live up to except his own. Once upon a time, he would have been glad to have the boy call him by his given name. That hasn't changed actually, he mused, sardonically.
For some unphantomable reason, he wished he had asked Potter- Harry- to call him Draco.
Shrugging, he put Harry and all the confusing miasma of thoughts and emotions that came with him out of his mind. He was simply too tired to stand toe-to-toe with Potter like he had done a million times in the past. Back then, he had had something to lose. Now, well, peace and isolation was the way to go. At least that way, no one would spit on his grave. Someone might have even been so grateful to him for leaving them alone that they placed flowers on his head stone. He snorted. One could only hope.
Behind Draco, in the cafeteria, Harry smiled triumphantly.
XxX
Draco fluffed up the pillows impatiently. Pulling the comforter aside, he climbed on the bed, kneeling close to the edge with his feet sticking out and slapped his heels together to dislodge the remaining dust. It was a habit he had formed early on, when sometimes the house-elves forgot to give him his bath and he had take one himself and run naked and barefoot all the way to his bed and tiny dust particles stuck to his feet. He hated the grainy feeling and the habit had begun out of sheer frustration and he couldn't seem to break it no matter how clean his feet were before he got into bed.
Oh well, he supposed, some things are not worth stressing over.
He sank with a soft, pleasurable sigh down into the mattress. Immediately he felt the rush of comfort that came with knowing that he could lose himself for awhile, till the rising sun brought with it a new miserable day. He lived day in and day out waiting on tenterhooks for the night, the time when he could lose himself in dreams, dreams of times when he would attend Wizarding University and become an 'Arguer', dreams of when he would work his way up and clear the stain his father had placed on the Malfoy name and bring his family up to a respectable status again. He dreamt of a world where Draco Malfoy was married to a nice witch, not one he necessarily loved, but coveted as a dear friend, perhaps with a son whom he promised himself he wouldn't raise as his father had raised him. He would love and nurture his family and build up a solid reputation of his own, all on his own.
Draco lived, mostly for the night, night- when he could lay all his inhibitions, guiltlessly- to rest.
He burrowed into his soft cotton pillow and gently shut his eyes. The comforting hiss of the cooler in the background- use of magic on grounds by anyone but the Healer himself was not authorized- lulled him closer, yet, to oblivation. Very slowly, the darkness crept around his eyes and his face slipped into a small, cozily content smile-
He was pulled sharply back into awareness by a gentle knock on his door.
He jerked awake; his stormy silver-grey eyes wide and sat up, his back ramrod straight on the bed. His heart thumped urgently and he put a hand to his chest, feeling faint, moaning gently as perspiration build up on his forehead. The knock came again and his hands shook. He calmed himself down with a mammothan effort and stood unsteadily. He dragged his feet to the door, trying to convince himself that they did not feel like lead.
Before the person on the other side could knock again, he pulled open the door a scant few inches and poked his head out, cautiously. The boy on the other side smiled, nervously. "Hullo, Malfoy, did I wake you?" Rather distressed to find that he had to look up to meet the Hero's eyes, he shook his head, numbly.
The dog beside him barked quietly. Harry glanced down at him sharply. "Heel, Sirius." He barked. The dog dropped immediately to a half-crouch and fell completely still and silent. "Potter!" Draco exclaimed when he found his voice. "Harry." He corrected the blonde smiling. "Harry." Draco repeated, duly. He shook his head. "It's after lights out, what are you doing here?" Draco wondered in a moment of insanity if he was dreaming.
"Never was much of a follower of rules, remember?" Harry asked, with a wink.
He was dressed simply in a soft crimson sweater and black pajama pants. He put his hand into his pants and pulled out a hastily wrapped packet and held it out to Draco. He took in hesitantly from Harry and gently peeled off the covering. He saw a croissant, a bowl of mashed potatoes and a chocolate frog. Not knowing whether to be amused or distressed at the eclectic mix of food, he raised an eyebrow enquiringly at Harry.
"You didn't eat your dinner, today." Harry said, shrugging. "I thought you might be hungry."
That was just so sweet and so simply Harry that Draco felt his eyes water a little bit. "I…I beg your pardon?" Draco whispered, afraid to simply accept the gesture as friendly and hoping his voice didn't come off sounding as hopeful as he had felt it had. Perhaps he had been starving for more contact than he thought he was.
Harry gestured simply to the packet in Draco's hands, smiling; all lips with a hint of pearly white teeth. "Eat, you git." He whispered, almost fondly.
The light overhead lit him with a strange, almost ethereal glow and his raven hair looked to Draco like it had pale blue highlights via the moonlight streaming in beams through the un-curtained window. Angel, Draco thought, dazed for a moment; then he cocked his head to the side, actually more like an incubus demon, he mused. Harry Potter was a devastatingly handsome boy, Draco realized silently, in the darkness and quiet of his most private thoughts.
"Come Sirius." Harry told the dog, his voice firm, even as it was quiet. The dog rose obediently. He turned to go. Suddenly every living pore in Draco's body screamed at him to not let Harry go, not let someone else walk away from him, which was clearly ridiculous because Potter wasn't going anywhere, not really. Helpless, he obeyed. "Would you, maybe, like to come in for a little while?" He asked, quickly. When his brain caught up with his mouth, he gave himself a tight mental slap. He bit his tongue to keep himself from actually rescinding the invitation.
Harry turned, smiling happily. "Sure." He sounded almost giddy with excitement, like he was entering some forbidden territory. Draco sneered, inwardly and held the door open for him.
"Stay, Sirius." Harry told the sleek black beast. He whined unhappily, but dropped obediently beside the door. "He can come in." Draco said, surprising himself. "I don't really mind." He was apparently not lying, even to himself, he was startled to note. Harry glanced quickly down at Draco, his eyes assessing. "Thanks Malfoy, but no. He will be fine out here." He walked inside and Draco shut the door gently after him.
"Nice." Harry told Draco, smiling, his eyes taking in the room. "But it needs a little color, though." He paused, thoughtfully. "Maybe a few photos or something?" Draco shrugged. "Family photos are not very good for my general mood." He said, leaving it at that. Harry took the hint and sat on the bean-bag placed in the corner of the room. Draco watched him, nibbling on the croissant.
"You know, if I can call you Harry, you should call me Draco." He said when Harry had settled comfortably on the bean bag. Harry smiled amused. "It's not some big favor you have to return. I can still call you Malfoy if you're more comfortable with that." Draco shook his head. "Draco." He insisted. Harry grinned, pleased. "If it will get you off my back, Draco it is." He parroted and Draco cracked a small smile.
Silence settled between them as Draco ate.
Harry sat watching him, quietly. Draco looked up suddenly. "You must pardon me, Potter." He said, abruptly. Harry raised a curious eyebrow. "I am grateful to you, you know, yesterday for the handkerchief and today for…" He gestured at the food in his hands. "I'm just…" He shrugged, helplessly. "I've been rather poor at emoting since the end of the war." He said, with a self-depreciating smile.
"Is that why you're here then?" Draco froze and Harry looked rather affronted himself. Before Draco could say anything, Harry spoke, softly, apologetically. "I'm terribly sorry, Mal- Draco." He wrung his hands and stood. "Please, pardon my insensitivity." He smiled, poking fun at himself. "I guess you know by now that my foot lives permanently in my mouth." Draco stared. "I really should think before speaking." Harry seemed almost scarily ashamed of himself. He glanced up at Draco, "You don't have to answer that, of course."
Draco decided to put the boy out of his misery. "It's alright, really." He said, sounding amused. "I'm not offended, Potter." "Harry." He corrected, reflexively. "Harry. No, that's not why I'm here." Draco chuckled. "I'm here because of my…" He stopped himself, almost horrified, his eyes wide.
Harry watched Draco quietly for a moment or two. Silence reigned. Then he walked to Draco's side and raised his chin with his index finger. Draco looked up, eyes turbulent grey and anguished. Harry's eyes mellowed and became almost tender. "I really don't care why you're here, Draco." He smoothed his hand over Draco's smooth cheek and he stiffened under Harry's touch. "I'd like to be your friend, regardless." Harry held out his hand. "Will you do me that honor?" Draco glanced down at the hand held out to him. This was one of those break or make moments, he mused. He could take his revenge on Potter right now. He could refuse his hand and humiliate and hurt him like the boy himself had done when Draco had offered his own hand.
He glanced into Harry's dancing hopeful green eyes and took in his shy, coaxing smile.
And Draco lifted his hand and put it in the Savior's hand, his paleness against the boy's golden brown tan. "Draco Malfoy." He said, smiling. "It's nice to meet you, finally, Harry Potter." It seemed like a beginning. Harry smiled like he had conquered the world. "Pleasure's all mine, Draco." He leered, his eyes freaking glowing. Draco chuckled quietly.
After a hurried glance at his watch and a farewell, Harry left, a few hours of sleep poorer, yet filled with so much peace he believed it was simply worth the tiredness and depression that would be clawing at him all day tomorrow.
Back in the room, Draco curled into himself on his bed. Sleep wouldn't come anyway, not with his mind as pleasantly busy as it was. He set his head down on the pillow and his lips curled upwards. As he settled to wait the night away, he let his mind and his thoughts wander free.
XxX
Months passed, crawling at first, and then walking, then running and then it flew almost right out of his hands….
Before Draco knew it, a whole year had passed. It was December again and nearing Christmas.
He sat under the Christmas tree, his eyes staring almost blankly at nothing. This past year with Potter, he realized, he hadn't even been counting the days. He wondered why he had stopped. He wondered why he had not noticed that his parents had stopped visiting or that he never replied to Blaise's urgent letters anymore.
Harry, he had given Draco the entire consideration one would give a precious child to adjust to new surroundings and new people. Draco had been very weary at first, not very used to people doing things for him unless they wanted to bask in the glory of the Malfoy name or simply get him into bed. But, Harry had seemed inclined to do neither. Even so, Draco flinched back at the slightest indication that Harry was getting too close.
Harry freed Draco from his shell slowly, peeling off layer after layer of insecurity and fear of commitment-one caused by years of neglect- one at a time, like unwrapping a much awaited gift. He never rushed, lingering and careful, never allowing the wraps to even crinkle slightly under his fingers and when Draco closed up, he backed away at once, allowing Draco to deal with it on his own, assuring him gently that they had 'all the time in the world.'
Draco sometimes caught himself smiling softly at Harry when he somersaulted over the grass with Sirius or when he agreed to marry the crinkled old witch with amnesia because she liked his beautiful young eyes. Harry changed the entire atmosphere of the hospital, drawing out one resident at a time after another. He brought smiles to people's faces by just being in the same room as them, people coveted the boy's presence because he was Harry and not because he rid the world of one of the most evil wizards to walk it. He was Harry, with shining green eyes, crinkled at the corners and a bright sunny smile, husky voice, gentle reassuring words and the warmest damn hugs Draco had ever received in his life.
With an almost scary intensity and careful perseverance, Harry finally reached the last of his road-blocks, the almost impenetrable wall Draco had constructed over the years around his heart.
He took his time with it. Gently, he grew Draco out, telling him stories about his own childhood, the Dursleys and how he had made his peace with them soon after the war, when he had gone for a condolence visit after Uncle Vernon's unexpected death. He told Draco how Aunt Petunia had pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing against his chest, apologizing for every time she had hurt his feelings. Harry described how his eyes had watered when he stood in her arms, feeling the warmth of a mother figure for perhaps the first time in his life, not counting Mrs. Weasley's crushing hugs.
He told Draco how Dudley had gripped his hand, awkwardly, looming above Harry and had told him gruffly that, 'you're okay, Potter.' Harry laughed then and explained that coming from Dudley that was like an Order of Merlin, First Class. Draco had chuckled. He made Draco laugh until he had cried when he described some of the pranks he had helped the twins pull on Ginny that involved a lot of hair cream and rainbow colored hair and singing freckles. Draco had cracked up, commenting on how painful that might have been considering how many freckles the Weasley's supposedly had. Harry had simply smiled and smiled and smiled.
He had snorted once, spilling tea all over himself when Harry had told him about Ron's gag-prank, a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and a box of teeny tiny condoms, just as he was about to drink it. Draco had punched him hard on his bicep for that and Harry had smiled like an angel.
Draco listened attentively when Harry had stressed that he had grown from childhood to adolescence and from there into an adult literally with the Weasleys and it had been a roller-coaster ride, tiring, yet rewarding in many many ways. He led Draco, holding his hands, his presence warm by Draco's side through all the chapters of his life and through the doors and down the corridors of his memory lane.
Gradually, Draco had begun to talk back, finding common and impersonal topics like Hogwarts and Quidditch. If Harry noticed that he never talked about his family or his friends other than Blaise, he never mentioned it. It was a taboo as far as Draco was concerned and Harry respecting his wishes, never once broached the topic.
Until, one day, as Harry had been describing his encounter with his parents through the Mirror of Erised, the longing clear in his voice and his eyes and Draco had without warning felt the tears leak out of his eyes and he had been simply powerless to stop. It was as if the dams had cracked when Harry had first begun talking to Draco and the crack had widened until nothing could be kept safely behind it anymore. Harry had stopped talking and pulled Draco as close to him as he would allow and rocked him as Draco had cried, harsh wracking sobs, his face pressed into Harry's shoulder, tears soaking through Harry's shirt.
When he had been finally able to calm himself enough to speak, Harry had rubbed at his back, his palm moving in gentle circles and Draco had blurted out all that he had seen, heard and felt all these years and never spoken of to anyone. He had told Harry how insignificant a part of his family he had always felt, how he always felt like a monkey at the zoo when his parents came to visit. He told Harry how he put his hands through the bars pleading for some sign that they cared like the monkey did for peanuts and how they refused and turned their backs to him.
He listed, one by one, sometimes crying, all the indignities he had been through with Voldemort in the Manor. How he had finally killed Greyback to protect himself and Pansy and how she had never spoken to him once after that. Harry's arms had tightened around Draco then, his face buried in Draco's hair, laying a kiss there, reassuring, always comforting, being the solid warmth he had simply longed for all this time, solid blessed warmth.
Draco had evaded Harry for a few days after that, embarrassed beyond words for crying on him like that. But Harry had sought him out, assuring him that it was all-right and sometimes even the bravest of people deserved to cry for all that they regretted and all that they had lost. Draco had become a lot more genuine and open with Harry after that and as the seconds had turned into minutes and minutes had turned into hours, days, weeks and months, Harry had taught him to smile; truly and honestly with his eyes.
Presently, Draco smiled as he heard a loud bark.
Sirius came bounding into the room and stilled for a moment on seeing him, head cocked to a side. Draco held out his arms and the dog, letting out a joyful bark bounded into them. "Hello there." Draco said, softly into the dog's clean, soft fur. Sirius swiped his tongue over Draco's ear. Chuckling, the boy nuzzled the dog's nose. "Have I told you how much I love you?"
"Oh, be still my beating heart." Harry exclaimed, dramatically, staggering into the room, one hand held over his heart. Draco looked up grinning. "I was talking to Sirius, idiot." He reached over and smacked Harry on his arm. Harry gasped. "How you wound me, Brutus." He cried, playfully. "How can you claim to love another when I have been here all along?" He dimpled at Draco.
Draco threw back his head and laughed.
"Oh, hang on." He reached into his sweater pocket and pulled out a wrapped gift. "I want you to have this." He said, taking Draco's hand and placing it gently in his palm.
Surprised and rather delighted, he pulled the ribbon off the slight parcel and peeled the wrapping gently. Harry sat down on the floor beside him and watched, smiling. Draco stared speechlessly at the small yellow teddy-bear with silver buttons for eyes, grinning with small enamel teeth. In its arms, it held a black heart with italicized jade green writing on it that said "I love you for all of Eternity."
Eyes wide open and rather alarmed, he glanced up at Harry. The smoky intensity of his eyes made Draco's breath catch quite abruptly in his throat and he gulped, discreetly. His eyes welled up suddenly and he shook his head, feeling annoyed at himself. Harry moved closer and crooking a finger under his chin, made him look up into his smiling green eyes. "Read the card, love." He drawled, grinning.
Draco, feeling like he was in a limbo, extracted the tiny card from the ripped wrapping paper and placing the teddy bear gently in his lap, he flipped the card- wishing the recipient a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year on the front-open
It said-(in Harry's chicken scrawl)
Draco love,
Merry Christmas!
You know, I've heard Mrs. Weasley say to Ginny every time she cries, "Never stop smiling sweetie, because you never know when someone might be watching and falling in love with your smile."
And I think, lucky you then, Draco, because you didn't even have to actually smile to make me fall in love with you. Look up…and pucker up, pronto!
Lots of love (and kisses if you allow me),
Yours forever,
Harry
He looked up, his heart thumping as if it wanted to jump right out of his chest.
"Well?" Harry breathed, his eyes shining impossibly green. Once again, all Draco had to do was look away and shake his head, and he could break the boy without lifting a finger. The thought did not even cross his mind as he flung his arms around Harry, pressing himself close to the Hero's warmth. "Harry…" He whispered, against his neck, trying not to cry. "Harry, I…" Suddenly, he was shaking and there was perspiration beading across his forehead. "Hush, Draco, love….calm down." Harry urged, holding him close. Draco was breathing hard now, his vision swimming dizzyingly.
"Harry…" He breathed out, his eyes closing, as Harry's arms went around him and his husky voice summoned him back urgently. It doesn't matter now, he thought, someone doesn't want me to die…..
XxX
He came to consciousness slowly, like swimming up from quicksand. His eyes felt gritty and heavy and he felt like he was tied down to whichever surface he lay on. As he regained more of his senses, he felt the soft Egyptian cotton quilt under his searching fingers. He heard a familiar husky voice rise pleadingly and he flinched. That voice should never sound so hurt, he thought indignantly. He opened his heavy eyes to see if maybe he could do something about the pain in that voice.
"Welcome back, Master Malfoy."
Healer Alphonzo smiled gently at him and leaned closer. "How are you feeling?" Draco frowned; this was not the voice he had heard. "I'm okay." He croaked. His hand was taken into another, warmer one. He turned his head slightly. Harry hovered over his face, looking for all the world like he had died and been resurrected. "Draco." He breathed when Draco flashed him as much a smile as he could muster. "I'm okay." He repeated, in a stronger voice.
Harry leaned down and kissed him.
Draco groaned and shut his eyes, kissing back, almost desperately. The Healer cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling. Harry pulled back with an embarrassed smile and Draco almost wished he hadn't woken up. "I'll leave you to it, then, if you're feeling better Master Malfoy." His eyes regarded Draco over the top of his glasses. Draco nodded, firmly. "I'm okay." He said, for the third time. The Healer nodded. "Please don't exert him too much, Mr. Potter." He added as he closed the door, with a smirk. Harry blushed.
Draco took Harry's hand in his. "How long have I been out?" He asked. Harry's eyes looked away from his. "About two days." He replied, his voice breaking. Draco shook his head and took Harry's chin in his fingers. "Hey." He tugged gently at Harry's ear-lobe, "Hey. Look at me, Harry." Harry turned anguished eyes to him. "I'm alright." Draco whispered, lifting Harry's hand to his lips and kissing the palm. "I'm okay, now, I promise."
Harry's lips trembled and he nodded, leaning down for Draco's lips again. They shared a sweet, lingering kiss and Harry pulled back, laying a wet kiss at the corner of Draco's mouth.
"Have you slept at all these past two days, prat?" Draco asked him, crossly, spying the dark circles and the bloodshot green eyes. Harry climbed into bed with him in answer and grinned cheekily at Draco. He wrapped the duvet around them both and pulled Draco flush against him. "Sleep, now, Dre." He whispered, against Draco's hair. Draco snuggled closer, searching for warmth and closed his eyes.
He could in all probability get used to this.
XxX
The rain splattered on the glass windows with an almost ruthless intensity.
It was storming outside; the sort of storms that mothers used as a ruse to lure children into bed. The rain came down hard in drops as big as bullets, hitting the asphalt, the fog rising and swirling a few inches of the ground. Visibility was almost zero. His eyes dilated with pleasure, he watched the rain. A pair of arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer to a warm body.
He grinned.
"Solid warmth is always….mhm…nice…" Draco murmured, leaning into Harry's warmth. Harry hummed in agreement and kissed his neck, gently. Draco shivered and closed his eyes. Harry moved suddenly, the arm around Draco's waist tightening and his other arm sneaking higher and across and forming a band around Draco's chest. Draco struggled in his arms for a second and Harry let go of him, surprised. "Don't." Draco said, his eyes shuttered. "Don't ever hold me down." Harry's eyes were sad when he replied. "I'm sorry." He said, calmly, his voice bleeding with guilt.
"I only wanted to move us to the couch." He pointed at the leather recliner in the corner of the huge room. Draco smiled, with an effort. He held Harry's hand and pulled him to the recliner. "All you had to do was say so, Harry." He chided gently, pushing Harry onto it and settling against him. Harry smiled gently into Draco's hair and tightened his arms around the boy.
Draco shifted closer and laid his head on Harry's shoulder. He shut his eyes and let the calm of being in the arms of one of the people he coveted the most in the world, now, wash over him. How the tides have changed, he mused. "I could get used to this and never let you go, you know." He whispered, almost loath to speak any louder and shatter the complacent atmosphere shrouding them. Harry shifted against him, too subtly to bother him and buried his face in Draco's soft blonde tresses.
All was quiet for awhile, the pitter-patter of the raindrops serving as a gentle background.
"Draco?" Harry's husky voice called him out of his drowsy, dreamy head-space and he cracked open an eye. "Hmm?" His voice was sleep-addled and content. Harry took a deep breath. "I…" He ran out of air and took a deep breath again. "I have…" His voice got stuck in his throat and he took another deep gulp of air. Draco put his arms around Harry, encouragingly, his eyes still shut, a small smile playing about his lips.
"I have something to tell you." Harry got out, awkwardly. The discomfort in his voice made Draco glance up at him, sharply. "What?" He whispered and regretted the impulsive question the moment it left his lips. Harry smiled sadly as he took in the fear that darkened Draco's stormy quick-silver eyes and the slight tightening of the skin around his mouth. Draco was terrified and Harry could not bear the thought of telling him what he had in mind.
A loud barking sound echoed around the room and Sirius came prancing in. Draco stood, leaving Harry's arms abruptly and pulled Sirius close as if seeking comfort. He looked up at Harry again. "Well?" he asked, in anticipation, tension, a tight coil in his stomach.
Harry nodded at Sirius. "He's celebrating, you know. His master's in love." He informed Draco seriously. Immediately, relief broke out on his face and to Harry it looked like the blissfully warm sun coming out after a wretchedly cold day. Draco smiled, shyly, standing. "Did you tell him?" He asked Harry, his eyes laughing. Harry shook his head. "I don't know how he'll take it." Draco moved closer. "I think, maybe you could convince him that you're perfect for him." Harry's eyes danced and he held out his arms for the blonde. Without a second thought, Draco moved into them. "You think?" He whispered into Draco's hair.
"I know." Draco said, his voice muffled by Harry's sweater.
Over Draco's head, Harry Potter smiled mirthlessly at Sirius. He would tell him, sure, just not today and just not like this, when Draco was warm and willing, soft and pliant in his arms, especially not when he had so very little time to savor it.