Disclaimer: I don't own anything- the world of Harry Potter, the characters, or any of the songs found in this story.

A/N: Apology in advance for the length of this first note, the rest won't be this long, I promise! Also, most of the others will be at the end of a chapter.

WARNING! Contains M/M, Violence, Abuse, Kink, Semi-nonconsent, Drinking, Language and a bunch of other MATURE themes. Also, Draco/Harry slash, Hermione and Ron bashing, Dumbledore bashing, and probably some others being bashed. If you don't like those- stop reading!

This story takes place after the end of DH, sans epilogue. If you are expecting the usual (though wonderful) fluff that most of the Harry x Draco fics out there are (unrequited emotions, soul mates, gentle scenes and peaceful love-making) then you are going to be shocked by this story. There is an excessive amount of hatred, violence (out of bed and in) sex that has nothing to do with love, prejudice, angst, more hate and over all- what it's like after something as devastatingly bloody as a war. I took a lot of liberties with this, so please understand that not everything will be perfect. I'll get details wrong, characters will (purposefully) not fit perfectly into their cardboard cutout, and sometimes I'll forget things. I'll be happy to make some corrections to it for technical stuff- but please don't make the little things your primary reason for reviewing. I've seen too many perfectly good stories get torn down because they got some silly little detail wrong.

Each chapter will alternate points of view between Draco and Harry. This means that there will be occasional repetition of scenes from the other boy's perspective. Chapter length will vary, some may be fairly short (around 4-5 pages), and others may drag on for 10-15 pages at a time. I end them when it feels natural. I never could keep my chapters to a nice and tidy medium...

In terms of the music… Music speaks to me, inspires me, and helps me focus the storyline. It colors the words with emotional depth that otherwise might have been lost. So, every chapter is inspired by a different song, often including some of the lyrics in the dialogue or scenes. Some scenes may have additional songs that are also influential. I highly encourage you to listen to the songs while you read, as many of them may be ones you've never heard before and both the tone of the music and the lyrics themselves are important for foreshadowing and unsaid thoughts. I do warn you, there is a slightly eclectic variety here, and some songs may be a little explicit.

Finally, as far as sexual content- I'll try to keep within fanfics limitations, but I'll include a Google doc at the end of any chapters that have a continuation that is beyond what fanfic allows. If you don't want explicit, don't read the docs. With that- please read, review and enjoy!

The song for this chapter is by FGFC820 - Not the World I Remember. The insert song is by Our Last Night- Fate (Acoustic version, please).

Chapter 1

Not the World We Remember

(Draco's POV)

Overcast summer skies mirrored his stormy, grey mood, though anyone not privy to his thoughts would never have known. His inner monologue huffed dramatically even as his outward appearance remained calm and detached. A delicate, long fingered hand brushed a straying tuft of hair from his sharp featured face. The war had done him no favors, but he managed to keep up with his crisp appearance. Despite his usual look at school, Draco did not spend his entire life in wizarding robes. Today he was wearing an outfit of his usual ensemble: slimming black slacks, that fit his form without strangulating him, and a silvery, light weight button up shirt, with short sleeves to keep him comfortably cool in the warm afternoon air of London. His hair had grown out a little over the summer, giving him a more 'adult' look that complimented his maturing facial features. He'd grown little since the previous year, keeping the lithe figure that some would even call predatory. To an outsider, he looked ever the Malfoy- casually bored and uncaring, but well dressed and well kept none the less.

A Malfoy was never seen in public as anything but graceful, polite, and perhaps a little bored. As his mother had so recently reminded him, a Malfoy didn't sulk, whine, pout, yell, or throw things across his room in a fit of petulant, childish anger. And yet… Draco wanted nothing more than to do all of those (well, perhaps not whine or pout) but yelling, screaming, raging against everything, it would be a welcome release of the roiling emotions that had been trapped inside of him since the end of… The 'end' of the war.

If he had not been walking so publicly down Diagon Alley, he might have given in to his 'childish anger.' This whole thing was ridiculous and completely unnecessary and would just push the family's reputation further down. Internally he paused, as his eyes drifted in a casual manner across some plain window display before him; was that possible? Could your reputation be less than dirt? Yes, they still had the Manor, the money, the Malfoy name… But Father was lost to the red tape and bureaucracy of the Death Eater Trials. No one in the old circles feared them- cowards, they were called- and no one on the 'other side' trusted them, still thinking of them as traitors or murderers. He supposed that it could get worse… He could be on trial with his father, preparing to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life… There were more than a few who thought that he should be…And yet, here he was with a bag full of Galleons buying supplies for school of all things. Apparently the Ministry of Magic did not consider the last year at Hogwarts to count as an actual year of learning and they weren't going to let some little thing like being an ex-Death Eater get in the way of his education.

Draco disagreed with the Ministry's dismissal of last year. To some extent he learned a great deal about many things, none of which were particularly helpful in the current clime, but he learned, ferreting the information away in case it became useful in the future. It wasn't just in class that he learned things. Ever the Slytherin, the political games had become particularly volatile last year. He clawed his way to the top of the pack, biting and cuffing aside any that dared to usurp his position. It wasn't easy. His family was still in a disgrace of sorts within the circle of 'friends' they had cultivated. Never the less, he'd made alliances, cut out enemies, and forged ahead with his family's plan. And for what? Nothing. The war ended. They lost, on both fronts… They had abandoned their side at the end, but had made no evident overtures to the other; not helping, but not hindering as they were ignored and forgotten in the bloody aftermath…

Considering the family reputation, Draco was utterly surprised when he received an owl with the list of this year's supplies, and a note saying that those students that should have graduated last year would be partaking in a special 'eighth year' course set to make up for the loss of both students and teachers last year. Waving it off as unimportant, he was equally as shocked when his mother told him that he would be going to buy his supplies today. What was she thinking?! Going back there? Another year? After all they had been through and had still to go through! Mother insisted that they carry on as if everything was normal… She said that just as the Malfoy name was being seen donating to St. Mungo's, helping rebuild this business, finance that charity, so should the Malfoy Heir be seen going back to school like a good boy. Well, time would tell, wouldn't it?

Coming back to himself for a moment, he stepped away from the dusty shop window he'd been 'browsing' and started towards Madam Malkins. It was no surprise to him the number of stares, glares, and hurried whispers of those around him as he passed. More than once people reached for their wands, and one or two muttered dark threats as they brushed by. This behavior was exactly why he didn't want to be going back. Entering the robe shop only gave him a brief respite, before a surprised squeak to his right turned his attention. For the first time all summer, he made eye contact with someone outside of his house. Apparently, there was a new worker here. Young, a little on the round side, and rather short, the new witch must have been standing in for Malkins. She looked absolutely terrified to find herself in the sole company of Draco Malfoy himself. Without speaking, he shoved his list of robes and sizes into her unprepared hands and set about browsing some of the other clothing items in the store. Normally he would have insisted on his robes being tailored right then and there. Considering the general atmosphere in the shop, however, it seemed more prudent to take the robes home and have one of the house-elves do the tailoring. His eyes drifted over the assortment of accessories. A new scarf might be nice; he mused, Merlin knows what happened to my last one.

As he looked through the selection, there was a moment of silence followed by the scurrying of a nervous body as his order was filled. With how quickly she cobbled the boxes together, it was obvious that the Malfoys weren't preferred customers, but their money at least was still valued here. One could only suppose that business hadn't picked back up yet. There seemed to be a number of people on the streets, but after a war people tended to hoard their gold a little more than usual. He tossed a long, silver scarf onto the pile of boxes, along with a new pair of black gloves, and a dark green, liquid silk tie. The little witch squeaked out a total and he tossed a pile of Galleons onto the counter. Bagging the boxes and accessories, she bustled him out the door like an unwanted stray.

A year ago his pride would have been pricked and he would have made a scene of it, but he just couldn't seem to summon up the emotional range to include his pride at all. It seemed so normal now, for his emotions to swing wide from rage and frustration, to boredom and blackness inside the suddenly silent mind. Silence seemed to swirl outward from him, and he found that the soft buzzing of cautious shoppers was tuned out. Blessed silence on all fronts allowed him to drift from one shop to the next without interruption or hissed words in his direction. Oh, they were there; the silence in his mind simply drowned them out.

The only store that he spent more than the minimal amount of time in was the Apothecary. They seemed to be one of the few shops not bothered by the war and in fact, business was booming. Wizards in dark robes carefully ticked off items from lists, a witch in a Ministry uniform ordered in bulk at the counter, a few families with children in tow gathered supplies for the coming year. No one made even looked at the lone heir of the Malfoy name - they were busy, bustling, and buying what they needed quickly and precisely and simply had no time to dally in conversation or conjecture.

A deep breath brought the familiar and almost comforting smells he had come to know so well: hellbore, armadillo bile, moondust, sharp smelling roots and magical whiffs of flowers for all uses. He reveled in it for a moment, before carefully wending his way through the packed shelves - a bottle of this, a bag of that, a vial here and a chunk there. Potions were his passion, his drive. If his family didn't think it so beneath him, he'd consider opening a potion and apothecary shop of his own, where he could immerse himself in this scent and lose the rest of the world. There was power in potions, it seemed only Professor Snape every really understood the draw of it. And now… Well… He'd have to make due on his own. Slughorn was a good professor, but he didn't have the same heart in it.

By the time Draco had gathered everything on his lists, both for Hogwarts and his own personal stock, time had drifted quickly to early evening. The owner of the Apothecary didn't blink, Draco was a regular customer for years and it being none of the owner's care who purchased from him. Coins passed hands, a few polite words spoken, and the pale blonde was moving back down the streets. Not wanting to carry his purchases around with him all night, he stopped at the Owl Post and sent the packages home. His mother would worry and fret that he didn't return with them, but this was one of the few times he was able to leave the house without her mollycoddling him in silent gestures and raised eyebrows. Even if he had no one to spend it with (in fact, because he had no one to spend it with) he intended to enjoy tonight.

While before last year he could have gone to any number of high end restaurants, be served the best wines and foods, in the quiet comfort of the well to do, the current situation would have made most of those places either very uncomfortable, or flat out hostile to him and his family. Briefly he considered simply buying a bottle of something and wandering off to a quiet end of his family's property, but somehow that didn't hold enough of an appeal. He wanted somewhere quiet, lonely, and completely anonymous. Nothing in Diagon Alley would do. Feeling as if he was breaking some kind of rule, he left the alley and wandered the streets of Muggle London. It seemed taboo for someone like him to be drifting with the crowds of mundane muggles, unnoticed, completely faceless to these lessers.

Taking streets at random, he found himself away from the more populated thoroughfare and into an area that rather reminded him of Knockturn Alley. The cobbled lanes were narrow and cracked with lack of care. The walkways were even more narrow, as dirty and disused as the store fronts. Each store seemed to compete with the next for how inconspicuous it could look and you could just make out that there was a pawn shop, a clothing store, and one that seemed to sell dangerous artifacts of some kind (if the odd blades were any indication). There was only the rare person hurrying in or out of any shop, carefully walking on the opposite side of the street of anyone else.

For a time, it was simply interesting to be here, but he had more important things planned than a simple jaunt among the less fortunate. A few notes from an unknown song drifted to his ears, leading him forward to a windowless building. He simply stood for a moment, the acoustic based song thrumming something in him. The music was clear, the lyrics well harmonized.

(Are we alone? Are we in control?

Can we choose to play a different role?

Can we change the grave?

That was dug for us?

Or is this the only path to take)

A hand lifted and pushed open the door, and sharp eyes took in the barely lit interior and its dusty handful of occupants. Only the barkeep bothered to look up at him, giving him the barest of nods but no obvious look of recognition. The music was coming from a Muggle radio in the back of the room, and there didn't seem to be anyone in a hurry to do anything but drink.

Yes… This was exactly the kind of place he needed right now.

Not knowing what muggles drank, he simply ordered a shot on ice of whatever was good and wended his way towards the music. A Confundus Charm at the end of the night would take care of his tab, so he simply concentrated on drinking, listening to the music, and being resolutely away from the Wizarding world…

Early afternoon light trickled in through dirt stained windows and splashed across the rumpled figure on the bed. The sheets, that had been so carefully tucked in the night before, were now strewn at the foot of the bed by the boxer wearing sleeper. Tiny dust motes drifted through the air, landing on the softly fluttering chest. As the hour grew later, the light moved up the bed, sneaking through the shuttered eyes it found.

Draco made a grimace and threw his arm over his face, trying to block out the light. The noise from the street below was pounding against his ears, refusing to let him go back to sleep. As his body slowly drifted into the world of the living, his mind drudged through the remnants of the night before. Merlin, how much did I drink?

The tinkle of a bell below him brought him bolt upright in bed, eyes squinting around the bright room as he groped under his pillow for his wand. When he couldn't find it, he whirled around in panic and tumbled out of the unfamiliar bed into a heap of rubbery limbs on the dusty, alien floor. It was then that he realized something was really and truly odd, but not necessarily dangerous. He found his wand on the rickety night stand before him, a piece of paper tucked underneath with his name addressed on the front. From the noise below, the chatter on the street, and the now semi-familiar looking room around him- he was in the Leaky Cauldron. How he got there was absolutely beyond him, but at least he was somewhere that the staff wouldn't go blabbing it about that he'd been pissed off his ass when he came in; it wouldn't do to have Mum fretting over his reputation on top of his staying out late.

Now I just have to work out how the hell I got here… He shook his head, waving his wand at the bell-pull over the night stand as he crawled back up onto the bed, perching precariously on the edge. The bar assist gave a precursory knock to the door, before whisking in with a tray full of cups and bowls. He set it down on the table by the window, closed the curtains, and whisked himself out again, all the while silent, efficient, courteous. And, sure enough, when Draco summoned the tray over with a flick of his wand, he recognized two potions as well as the pumpkin juice and porridge. The first was a hangover potion, something any good bar and inn kept in stock. The second was a mild Pepper-up Potion. The name of Malfoy may be dirt, but at least the Leaky Cauldron staff appreciated his business enough to help him keep up appearances. Downing both potions with grim determination, he set into breakfast as they quickly took effect (with only a mild steaming from his ears).

As he finished the last bit of the porridge, there was a second knock on the door, and the same assistant came sweeping into the room. He set down the freshly cleaned clothing that Draco had worn last night, picked up the now empty tray and dishes, and left with a blessedly silent bow. Draco had to admit, even if this place was low-brow compared to his usual stays, they at least knew how to take care of someone of his status, or rather, ex-status. He dressed quickly, feeling more alert than he had in a good number of months.

Perhaps I should start including the Pepper-ups as a regular regiment… He chuckled to himself, tucking his shirt in and waving his wand over his mussed hair. It would do no good to look rumpled on top of wearing last night's clothing.

That finished, he stepped back to the night stand and delicately picked up the paper that had been tucked under his wand, addressed to him simply as "Malfoy." Unfolding it, he was met with slightly familiar handwriting scrawled across a torn piece of parchment:

"Malfoy,

I figured you might appreciate waking up somewhere that wouldn't lynch you on sight and would respect your privacy. Next time, try to drink someplace a little closer to home - for a little guy, you're bloody heavy.

-P.

Ps. With the rate of exchange being what it is, I'd say you owe me 20 Galleons- bar tab, room tab, minor bribe, and dragging your pissed ass up here. "