From Beyond The Hate
Prologue: Beyond the Door
A/N: This is a sort of spin-off of From Beyond The Veil, and the two stories are interconnected. A Harry/Draco pairing of course, with much confusion and angst between them. Know that their thoughts get quite dirty, and later there will be sexual situations. You've been warned. Complain at your own risk. Enjoy!
Harry wasn't entirely sure what was going on between Sirius and Remus, but he did know that he wanted it resolved, one way or another. He knew that he didn't like being caught in the crossfire of their long, conflicted gazes and their conversations full of double meanings. Ever since Sirius had returned from the grave, or Veil in this case, something had changed in the house, and the air between werewolf and human was charged with an electricity that Harry wasn't really sure he wanted to understand.
Because ever since he had come back to Grimmauld Place and found them in Remus's bed practically atop one another, he'd been questioning the nature of their relationship.
Harry sighed. Relationship. There was one fucked up word. Covered all sorts of evils. He frowned and looked back at the letter from Ginny that lay like a searing badge of guilt in his hands. Currently, his relationship with her was that of Gee-it's-nice-to-be-friends-again-because-if-we-were-together-I'd-put-you-in-constant-danger-but-I-can't-seem-to-talk-to-you-without-thinking-of-shagging-you-in-the-broom-closet-that-one-time. Things had been rather strained between them, though good-natured, and it was work maintaining the friendship and close relationship they'd had before he had kissed her and then shagged her.
The letter she had written was at least normal. She told him what was going on at the Burrow and how the rest of the Weasleys were doing (though he'd received more than one letter from Ron already telling him the same things), asked him about the Dursleys (he hadn't told anyone of his return to Grimmauld Place, though the owls seemed to know where to find him anyway), and told him other little things she thought he might find funny. No mention of the love they thought they had found with each other. Nothing about the lovely shag in the broom closet. And nothing about the possibility of Harry surviving a final showdown with Voldemort and them popping out a couple of normal, non-saviors-of-the-world children.
The strange thing was, Harry found himself rather relieved.
There was a sharp rapping on the front door, and Harry's eyes flicked up from the letter to the darkened foyer. In any other place, he wouldn't have found the knocking worrisome, but nobody at 12 Grimmauld Place knocked. Nobody in the Order knocked, because they knew they were welcome (and had a healthy fear of waking Mrs. Black, who had become even louder now that her son had returned from the dead). But nobody could know the location of the house either. Just because Dumbledore was dead didn't mean that the house was suddenly plottable.
Harry rose swiftly and strode to the door, drawing his wand as he went. The knocking came again, and he drew his breath in slowly, readying himself for attack.
Harry flung the door open as all his muscles tensed at the ready—
And stopped.
There, swaying slightly where he stood, was a dirty, bleeding Draco Malfoy.
The blond looked significantly the worse for wear, even worse than the last time Harry had seen him. That night when his eyes were wide with fear and determination, with guilt and hate and self-loathing, when he had slowly lowered his wand. He even looked worse than when Harry had found him crying in the bathroom and accidentally ripped his skin apart with Sectumsempra.
His blond hair was a tangled mess pushed away from his face, and congealed blood matted a patch above one temple. There were scratches along his face and shoulders where his shirt was torn; his feet were bare and bleeding.
But his eyes were what struck Harry to the core. They didn't spark, didn't crackle with hate the way they used to when they would look upon the Boy-Who-Lived. They were blank, dull, and hazy, wavering like his posture. Harry wasn't even sure Malfoy had noticed he was there.
Suddenly, the blond's balance failed him, and he stumbled forward into Harry's arms. Harry staggered as he caught the taller man, though as his fingers gripped Malfoy to keep him upright, he could feel every single rib in his torso.
The Slytherin pulled back for a moment, preventing himself from falling by putting his hands squarely on Harry's shoulders. He studied the green eyes and the dark hair, his face far too close for Harry's comfort.
Malfoy laughed. "Potter saves me. Should have fucking known."
With that, he passed out and fell into Harry's unwilling arms.
A/N: I love reviews and the more reviews the faster the next chapter will come. I have a lot of this already plotted out, but suggestions are always welcome.