Summary: So let's say Harry Potter runs a sanctuary for Slytherin/Ex-Death Eaters just months after the war and Draco Malfoy shows up on his doorstep? 29 Day Prompts for November. Day 1: Suitcase.
A/n: I'm going to try to post all 29 days consecutively, but we all know how life happens. So anyway, here is day one :) [ Marking as Mature because I am sure it will take that turn, and if not I want to warn against any mentions of abuse in the best way I know how. Also, no beta ~kiz]
Warnings: Angst driven, bruises/marks, mention of abuse.
"I can't imagine all the people that you know
And the places that you go."
- Something Corporate, Konstantine
Harry stared through the peephole his eyes trained on the man standing outside his front door, Draco Malfoy. Despite his face being half concealed by the scarf, there was no mistaking that blonde tuft of hair peeking through. Nor the showing of the dark bruise on his cheek that was peeking under the dark scarf.
Harry took a deep breath and pulled the door open slowly, coming face to face with the man who seemed just as shocked as Harry was he was there. "O-oh, Parkinson sai-. I'm sorry wrong place." He backed away quickly, grabbing his suitcase from the ground and taking the stairs back down the porch step quick enough to stumble.
Harry reached out and caught him with a safe grip, "this is the right place," he cleared his throat and almost offered a smile but refrained, "if you really don't want to stay here I can call around."
"O-oh," Draco was a nervous mess and Harry thought that was stranger than the fact he was there on his doorstep. Well, more accurately the doorstep of a sanctuary. Harry had opened his house, a few bedrooms of it anyway to people in need. It was passed around the Wizarding World, there were only a few places available more were much more accommodating than Potter's was.
Not like everyone had a safe place to go even after the war, more accurately the Slytherin kids who didn't fight with their families, or anyone who was looking to get out of the life... they needed a place to stay and Harry felt it was his duty.
"Come on in, get out of the cold," he instructed as a shiver took the blonde and pulled him inside before he could refuse, shutting and locking the door behind him. "I'll make you a tea."
"Thank you," Draco cleared his throat nervously, setting his suitcase down about to ask for the bathroom when Harry gave a point to a side door and walked away towards the kitchen.
Draco stepped off into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He let out a breath that not only hurt to hold but hurt just as much to breathe. He unraveled his scarf slowly and stared at his reflection in the mirror, there was a bruise the size of a fist on his cheek, the mark of a hand around his throat and he knew below his sweater was a bruise along his chest.
How could Parkinson send me to Potter? He thought in disgust, staring at his own self and a set of tears streaming down his face. How could this have happened to me?
"Mal- uh, Draco?" A knock sounded on the other side and Draco turned to the door in horror, waiting for it to open, he sucked in a deep breath but the handle never tried. "Just answer me if you're okay, Draco." Harry's voice sounded strained and Draco wondered just how many people showed up on his doorstep for the end of their life, rather than sanctuary.
"I'm okay."
"I put a mug of tea in the first room off to the left, with your suitcase." Draco didn't bother to answer because another set of tears was making their way down his face and that godawful sound of a sob was caught in his throat before it came ringing out followed by another and another...
