Harry froze.

He knew that voice, and knew it too well. He was thankful, at least, that Draco had said his name quietly – it was tough for 'Savior of Wizardkind, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Conquered The Dark Lord' to get a goddamn moment of peace. A little louder, and he'd have been absolutely swamped.
Harry definitely looked worse for wear than Draco did. His lids were heavy, his undereyes shadowed from lack of solid sleep. No one could blame him for how he looked – he'd seen and experienced the worst of the war.
Draco felt lost, and he'd only been a spy, playing a minor role in the war itself. He couldn't imagine how Harry was carrying on, the burden firmly on his shoulders.

"Malfoy," Harry returned, with a little nod. Their history was just that, history. With You Know Who gone, and them being out of school, the pettiness had no place in their lives. It was a chance for a fresh start.

Draco knew better than to ask about the war. He was sure Harry had to be tired of rehashing the same conversation, over and over. Instead, he asked if the brunette could use a drink.
Harry shook his head, but there was a fresh glass in front of him right quick, and Draco was sliding into the seat opposite. "You looked like you could use some company."

Harry shrugged.

They sat in silence for a bit. Barely looking at each other, nursing their drinks, before Harry cleared his throat. "How are you doing?"
"Oh. Yeah, I'm good. Working at Slug and Jigger's at the moment. You know, the Apothecary?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Was expecting you'd be at the Ministry."
"Maybe someday. But I can't go back there right now." The reason remained unspoken, but they both understood. "What about you? Auror training?"
"Oh, god no. I mean...I've had enough of that for a lifetime. Just...setting things in order, you know? Taking some time."

Draco did know.

They didn't talk about the future, it felt too far away. And the past was too painful. But the silence that fell once again was a lot less awkward than the one before. It could even be described as companionable.
Draco broke it, this time.
"Got a bird at least?"
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. He'd missed out on a lot of teenage boy talk over the past few years, and that was the last thing he was expecting to come out of Draco Malfoy's mouth.
"Can't."
"What do you mean you can't?"
"You must know how it is. Not knowing if they want you, or You. Does that make sense?"

It did.

"Heard there's a right trade for Lookalikes in Knockturn. Isn't that fucked up?"
"I've seen a few. Some of them look more like me than I do."
Draco let out a very undignified snort. He knew the feeling. He'd seen some of the lookalikes, in fact. They were convincing, no doubt, but idealised. The bigger shock for him, was finding his own lookalikes around. Of course, they were far less plentiful than Harry's.

"You're not offended?"
"It's weird. It's super weird, but...what can I do about it?"
"Self-sacrificing as ever. But I can see your point. Plus...it makes people happy. We could all use some of that."

Harry nodded slowly. Draco was right, of course. So many people had fallen during the war, and the survivors had to hold on to happiness however they could. He couldn't blame anyone for that. "What about you? And a bird, I mean."

"Pansy and I had an agreement, but..." He trailed off. She'd fallen, too. "It was a family accord more than anything. An arranged sort of thing."

"Nothing since?"
Draco shook his head. "I never really loved her. I'm still working out what that means."

When one's childhood is stolen, it can take some time to figure out who you are. It was another way in which they had an accord.

Draco glanced at the clock above the bar. Two hours had passed, between their banter and silences. He swore and tugged a notebook out of his satchel. He scribbled down a phone number, and an address in Knockturn. It was torn out of the book and pushed across the table easily.

Harry looked at the address questioningly. "...Rent's cheap, and it's close by. Just...you know. If you need to talk."
Just like that, he was gone, the ball in Harry's court.

Harry turned the piece of paper over in his hands. Draco Malfoy of all people was offering support. It wasn't a shock, not really. They'd both been through a lot, and they'd ended up on the same side. Outside of what remained of the Weasleys, Neville, Luna, and Hermione, there really weren't a lot of people he could talk to who really, truly understood. The more he thought about it, the more the idea solidified in his mind. Draco had extended the olive branch, and he was going to grab it. He didn't have anything to lose.

Shoving the paper in his pocket, he slipped out the back of the Leaky Cauldron, and back to the Muggle world. He had a nice flat in Muggle London, cost and arm and a leg, but he could afford it. He had relative anonymity, and safety. That's all he really needed.

When he went to sleep that night, his last thought was of Draco. He'd turned down the offer of friendship once...but he wouldn't let it slip by again. He couldn't afford to.

Harry dropped by the Burrow the next morning. Molly immediately shoved him into a seat at the table, and loaded up his plate. At least he never went hungry.
Molly adored his visits – the house was much more empty of late, all of her children having grown and moved out. Fred and George were there, though. Hermione and Ginny too. Still, a far cry from the house that was once packed to the rafters.
Harry didn't mention Draco. But he needed to be surrounded by those he knew loved him unconditionally. He needed the support, to know that they at least were there.

His thoughts drifted, from time to time.

What support did Draco have, if any?

What a sad thought.

His mind was made up. He'd visit that evening.