Harry had not shaven in several weeks. His hair, unkempt as ever, and now hopelessly tangled, hung over his eyes and covered his scar. He had exchanged his trademark glasses for a pair with dark plastic, rectangular rims.
The result was that he was virtually unrecognizable. Even Aberforth, who was currently pouring Harry another glass of fire whiskey, had barely determined his identity, and that was only after Harry had allowed his former headmaster's younger brother to look directly into his eyes.
Sitting beside him, another mysterious figure, his face obscured by a tattered black cloak, leaned heavily on the Hog's Head bar's countertop, nursing his drink. The man did not talk, did not look around, and hunched his shoulders wearily forward whenever the rare patron ventured too near. The only skin left unhidden by the shabby cloak was that of his hands, which were almost unnaturally pale.
Harry ignored the stranger at first, but something about his long, slender fingers and the way they nervously, yet nonchalantly, almost arrogantly, caressed the rim of his glass with the apparent air of nobility, was eerily familiar and unnerving. He tried not to stare too blatantly as he racked his brain for where he had seen such a thing before. Suddenly it hit him.
"Draco!" he half spoke, half whispered, standing to his feet and gazing intently at his neighbor's hooded head. The cloaked figure jumped and stormy grey eyes flashed upwards, veiled by long, dark eyelashes beneath a covering of matted blonde hair.
"How did you… who are…? H-Harry!" Draco fumbled, his expression changing from shock, to confusion, recognition, uncertainty and then fear so quickly it very nearly made Harry's head spin.
"Draco…" Harry repeated, softly and gently. He had felt more sympathy than malice towards his schoolyard nemesis since he had been forced to join Voldemort's ranks around two years previously. "I was afraid that the Ministry was going to send you to Azkaban!"
Draco's gaze faltered. Harry immediately noticed the telltale signs of repeated, continuous dementor attacks, the same signs his godfather had worn for as long as Harry had known him, etched upon Malfoy's pale face.
"They did," Draco whispered, his voice wavering, "but only for one month. They took pity on me because I was young, and because I was willing to tell them everything I knew. My," his voice failed him again, "my parents were not so lucky. My mother was sentenced to three years, and my father to fifteen."
The silver eyes, so full of hopelessness and remorse, burned into Harry's mind. "I never got the chance to thank you… to thank you for giving testimony on my mother's behalf. Your account of her lying for you, claiming to the Dark Lord that you were dead, helped to undo some of the damage I caused her when I agreed to be interrogated under the influence of Veritaserum. My father will never forgive me. I never expected their questions to be so… personal."
"What do you mean?" asked Harry, eager for the opportunity to take his mind off his own grief, and also convinced that the sooner and the more Draco talked about this, the easier his recovery from his time in Azkaban would be.
Draco took a deep, measured breath before continuing. He seemed to be desperate for companionship, any companionship at the moment. "They did not only ask me about things directly related to Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, as I had expected. They asked me about my family life before his return."
The little color in young Malfoy's face faded, and he looked down at his hands. "My father, when he is frustrated, when he is angry… he gets a little mean. I mean, I deserve everything he does. I should know better than to provoke him when he gets like that… but, he hurts… he used to hurt… me and my mother. He used the cruciatus curse on me a few times, and the ministry seemed to think that that was evidence enough that he had willingly remained a Death Eater, and was not forced back into service upon the Dark Lord's return. That conclusion factored heavily into his sentencing. The fact that my mother was unwilling to intervene cast a poor shadow upon her as well."
Draco looked so forlorn and ashamed; Harry was filled with the sudden urge to hug the former Slytherin in an attempt to cheer him up. He compromised and lightly patted the blonde boy's back.
Malfoy attempted a half smile, and when his eyes met Harry's this time, they were filled with desperate longing. Harry recognized the look; it could have been emanating from his own soul. They both craved not only companionship, someone to help them forget their pain, but also an outlet for their pent up frustration.
The solution seemed to come to them both at once. Fumbling for each other's hand, they hastily paid for their drinks, and half dragged each other out of the bar. Reason and practicality were too cruel to them, and so the pair abandoned them completely.
Draco's hands curled into fists in Harry's cloak and he pushed the Savior of the Wizarding World roughly against the Hog's Head bar's outer wall and devoured his mouth with his own.
