This is the second of my fanfics to be posted. It's a short one chapter fic, just an idea that has been bouncing about in my head. There are some slashy elements to it (interpret them as you see fit ;-), but its not necessarily slash. Its mostly a characterization piece of post war Harry and Draco. A bit of darkness, guilt, a nightclub, goth Draco, nightmares, and more.
And for the lawyers: None of these characters and most of these ideas are not mine, They belong to J.K. Rowling and I am in no way trying to capitalize on her brain child, just killing time until the next book.
Enough of my rambling, here's the fic:
When you have done all that was expected of you. When you have finished everything you ever intended to do. When you have spent years of your life focused on reaching a goal, on completing a task, what do you do when it's done? When you have never thought beyond that final moment. When you never dreamed you'd even live beyond it, what do you do when the moment is past and you are still here? When you are still alive, and yet you have nothing to live for, then what?
These and a million other questions raced through the mind of Harry Potter, the boy who was now a man, the man who had defeated Voldemort, as he wandered through the streets of muggle London. A few months ago he had defeated "He Who Must Not be Named" in a battle that had hardly been glorious, but had instead taken place in the pitch-black night of a Scottish moor. Lost and alone amid the night creatures and rolling hills, he had killed Voldemort through sheer luck: A curse thrown blindly in the dark while he held his breath and hoped his aim had been true, shaking with the fear that at any moment he would be struck down by the Dark Lord's curse, without ever seeing it coming. Years of training as an auror had gone down the drain that night, leaving him with only what he began with: luck.
Now, three months later and a week before Harry's twenty-fifth birthday he felt as if he had stepped off a cliff and was falling down a bottomless pit. He needed time to think, time to figure things out, but no matter what he did the wizarding world simply would not let him rest. No matter where he went there was always someone asking for the story of his "battle" with the Dark Lord, and he simply needed to get away. Not even Ron and Hermione were any comfort to him.
Of course it's hard for a dead body to be comforting at all. They had died minutes before he had killed Voldemort, separated and hunted down in the dark night. Now all Harry was left with was the image of their two tombstones, side by side in a lonely graveyard, and the guilty feeling that somehow he could have saved them. He had thought that spending time with the Weasleys might help the pain, but if anything, it had made it worse. Every time he saw Ms. Weasley her eyes would well up with tears and she would hug him, quietly muttering, "It could have been you, too, Harry…" a statement for which he had no answer.
That was why one evening he had packed up everything he owned and snuck out the Weasley's back door while the rest of the family was asleep upstairs. Under the cover of his father's invisibility cloak, he apparated to Diagon Alley, and headed through the mostly deserted streets towards Gringotts Bank. Once there, he removed the cloak, to the consternation and surprise of the Bank's night shift, and asked to be taken to his vault. He grabbed a large handful of galleons, had them changed to muggle money and left, having barely said a word the entire time. The Goblins, who had vehemently remained neutral during the war, paid little attention to who he was, letting him get his money and go.
A few hours later he was standing in the middle of a muggle hotel room somewhere in downtown London. The first bits of dawn light were beginning to come through the half closed blinds in the window as Harry threw down his bags and stretched out, fully clothed, on the bed. He fell into a restless sleep, his dreams haunted by a cruel cackling laughter and the images of Ron's and Hermione's faces as he had found them the morning after the battle: blankly staring at the cold morning sky as only the dead can do.
When he woke up around noon, he was covered in a film of sweat that made his now wrinkled robes stick to him as he sat up in bed. He had a headache, he was hungry, and he felt like death warmed over. He busied himself with taking a shower and getting dressed in the few muggle clothes he had, packing his robes away into his bag, and heading out in search of a place to eat.
By the end of the day, Harry had run out of things to do to keep himself from thinking, having found plenty of food, some more muggle clothes, and a flat to move into complete with a bed to sleep on, two overstuffed chairs, and kitchen table. He had been extremely relieved to be able to walk the streets with no one calling out his name, no one knowing who he was, no one even caring if he existed. For the first time in months he had felt free. He had come home to the flat feeling almost like a new man, quickly changing out of his clothes and throwing himself jovially onto the bed, ready for the first good night's sleep he had had in months and actually looking forward to what tomorrow would bring.
But the second his head hit the pillow and the room filled with silence, he found that everything returned to him. Ron and Hermione really were dead, Voldemort was gone forever, and Harry Potter was just Harry Potter, only he had no idea who that was anymore. He tried to push the thoughts out of his brain, to fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, but no matter how hard he tried, sleep would not come and the thoughts and images crashed down on his brain like tidal waves. He found that as much as he had wanted to be alone, he could not take the silence, and the feeling that he was drowning in himself made him choke and gasp in the quiet darkness of the room. He sat bolt upright in bed, knowing he had to get outside, somewhere with lots of people and noise, anything to drown out the hurricane inside his head.
Flicking on the lights, he rummaged through his closet full of new muggle clothes, grabbing the first things that he saw: A pair of black jeans and a red t-shirt. Although he had grabbed them randomly, the red and black suited his mood, and he threw them on in a frenzy to get outside. He jammed his feet into his shoes and stuffed a wad of cash in his pocket, grabbing the key to the flat as he ran out the door.
This was how Harry found himself wandering dazedly through the streets of muggle London, only mildly comforted the noise of the cars going past him as he searched for somewhere to go. The cold night wind whipped his hair about his face, and made him shiver as he continued aimlessly, block after block. Store windows filled with items of all shapes and sizes passed by, their signs glowing in garishly bright colors. Some time later, although he could not remember how long he had been walking, he spotted the neon sign of a nightclub, the words "The Silver Dragon" glowing white hot over the doorway.
He could hear the music pulsing from inside as he approached the door, pulling out some money for the entrance fee. Once he had slipped inside, he began to feel slightly better, slightly less fevered, as he was engulfed by the large crowds of people dancing, drinking, and shouting to each other over the noise of the band on stage. He ordered a drink from the bar and sat down at an empty table, savoring the warm fire of the alcohol rolling down his throat.
He then turned in his chair, his eyes looking over the heads of the seething mass on the dance floor toward the band onstage. A drummer beat wildly at a set of drums on a platform upstage, his face obscured by the matted black hair that swung about it. Two guitarists, red headed twins that reminded Harry painfully of Fred and George, stood on either side of the stage. Their hands and fingers moved like lightning as they played across the strings. Then Harry shifted his gaze to the lead singer, standing center stage with a microphone in his hand. Harry's jaw dropped. The man wore black leather pants with metal chains draped from a studded belt around his waist. His black shirt was so tight it appeared to be a second skin. Slits ran up and down the long sleeves, showing skin that was paler than new snow. The man's hair was silvery blonde and hung down in wild tendrils to his chin, framing a face that was filled with a devilish glee as he sang with a voice that was nothing short of haunting. The more Harry watched, the more he realized that the shocking part about this man was not his outrageous appearance, but the fact that there was something oddly familiar about him. Though no matter how hard he tried, he just could not put his finger on it.
Harry was entranced by the strangely familiar man. He watched as the man smirked at the crowd in between lines, his silver hair flying like a halo that was far from angelic. The man's voice filled his ears and Harry could not take his eyes off of him. As his gaze followed the strange man across the stage, Harry suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the man's steel gray eyes locked on his. The man stared at him for what seemed like and eternity, during which it was an effort just to breath, and then suddenly turned away.
Harry shivered as a strange feeling rippled down his spine. The song was over; and the man was making his way off the stage, slowly followed by the rest of the band. Silence had settled on the room, and the crowd on the dance floor dispersed towards the bar and tables scattered around the club, but Harry continued to stare, bewildered, at the stage. He hardly noticed when another man got up to announce an intermission, promising more bands to come.
Harry had no idea how long he spent staring at the empty stage, and when he looked down at his drink, it was mysteriously empty. While he was busy trying to figure out at what point he had drunk then entire glass, he felt someone move up behind him. Automatically he feared the worst, as someone who had spent his days hunting down Death Eaters was apt to do. Tensing up, he reached into the pocket of his pants, and suddenly realized he had forgotten his wand in his hurry to get out the door. The thought, You're slipping, Harry, flashed through his mind as he quickly turned to see who it was standing behind him.
Harry then found himself looking directly at the exact same man who he had seen onstage only moments before. He now realized how tall the man was, for Harry had to crane his neck painfully upward to see his face. Up close, Harry was almost positive he had met this man before, and yet he was just as sure that he had never met someone quite like this before in his life. The man's pointed features lit up with another devilish grin.
"Didn't scare you, did I?" He said in a lazy drawl, "From the look on your face You were expecting something much worse. Troubled, are you?"
It took Harry a few seconds to come up with a response, "Just a bit jumpy, I guess," at he moment, he felt the distinct absence of his wand. "I liked your performance."
The blonde man pulled out an empty chair next to Harry and sat down. "So I noticed," he replied, "I saw you watching and thought you might be an interesting character to speak to."
"That's interesting…." Harry was beginning to feel slightly uneasy, and he could not stop the prickling feeling on the back of his neck. "Why?"
"You look like you've got quite a lot going on up here," he pointed to his temple. "That and for some strange reason, I feel like I have met you before," he said as he raised one white blonde eyebrow.
"Strange," said Harry, but before he could get out another word a cocktail waitress stopped at their table.
"Either of you want a drink?" She said, grinning and winking at the blonde man.
The man winked back. "Why thank you Diane," he said and reached out for one of the several glasses on her tray. As his fingers wrapped around the cool glass, Harry noticed something flashing in the dim lights: a ring. It was silver, and looked to have some letter on it, which was slightly obscured by another bit of silver that appeared to coil around it. Harry stared at the ring, again feeling as if he saw something strangely familiar.
"Something wrong?" The man had noticed Harry staring at something.
Harry quickly snapped out of his trance, "What? Oh, no, sorry"
Again the devilish grin. "There is something on your mind, I can tell," he said peering at Harry with unnervingly steely eyes. "People fascinate me, such strange creatures, don't you think?" When Harry failed to answer, the man rapidly changed the subject. "Ah, forgive me. I have been most impolite, I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Drake. I sing for the Black Serpents," and he held out his hand.
As Harry reached out to grasp Drake's hand, a wave of realization rolled over him. Drake, serpents, the blonde hair, the pale skin, the drawl, the ring… Harry knew that ring. The last time he had seen it had been more than a year ago, attached to the rapidly cooling hand of Lucius Malfoy, dead after Harry and a few other aurors had raided a Death Eaters meeting at the Malfoy Mansion. It was the Malfoy signet ring: a serpent twined around a letter M, but this was not Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy was most definitely dead, and so this must be…Draco. Harry recalled that after Lucius's death, aurors had searched for Draco for months, but he was nowhere to be found, and had been assumed dead as well.
Harry looked up from the blonde's hand right into the now recognizable storm gray eyes, "Drake. Draco…Malfoy?"
Those same gray eyes immediately grew wide with astonishment. The glass of liquor that a moment before had been held nonchalantly in a long fingered hand fell to the floor and shattered, spraying bits of glass and drink all across the floor. The sound was barely noticeable over the noise of the band that had begun to play at some point during their conversation. Draco shot up out of his chair, took one step slowly backward, and took off toward the back door.
Harry, momentarily bewildered, leapt out of his chair and ran after him. Harry had always been small and light, and so was a fast runner, but Draco was as well. Once he was through the back door, he found himself standing in an alley behind the club. Stopping, he looked down the narrow passage and heard rapid footsteps retreating around a corner. Wishing for his wand, he followed the echoing noise. He passed dumpster after dumpster filled with garbage from the restaurants and clubs that he passed, and his feet splashed through puddles left over from spilled dish water. But no matter how hard he ran, nor how many corners he turned, nor streets he passed, the echoing footsteps grew no closer.
At some point in his chase, Harry suddenly realized that not only were the footsteps not getting closer, they had stopped. He had lost Draco, and from the looks of the alley he now found himself in, he had lost himself too. He stopped running, and stood still, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Looking to his right, he could see an open door that appeared to lead into the kitchen of a restaurant. He turned towards it, figuring he could ask one of the people inside for directions back to his flat. The idea of giving up wasn't at all appealing to him, but wandering lost through London's back alleys wasn't going to do him any good.
Just as he was about to reach the door, he felt a hand latch on to the back of his collar. He was jerked backwards and slammed, gasping, into the wall of the building behind him. Now, he found that he was firmly and painfully pinned to that wall by a pair of strong hands. Looking up, he found himself eye to eye with Draco, his hair hanging in wild tendrils, and his eyes boiling like a hurricane. The look of rage on his face was reminiscent of their years at Hogwarts, as the leaders and champions of rival houses.
Through his teeth, Draco gasped out the words, "How. Did. You. Find. Me?"
"I wasn't exactly looking for you, I just happened into that club you were playing in," Harry answered truthfully.
"Then why did you chase me?" Draco countered.
"Because you ran from me, I figured there might be a good reason to. And I was curious as to why Draco Malfoy was singing with a rock band in a muggle club."
"Curiosity killed the cat, Potter. It is you, isn't it Potter? I didn't recognize you without the glasses, or the robes."
"Yes, it's me," he answered.
Draco eyed him suspiciously, "So, if you weren't looking for me, what were you doing in that club, and wearing muggle clothing no less."
"Same thing you were doing there, Malfoy. Hiding." Harry winced and tried to move under Draco's grip, "Now, would you mind letting me go, as I am obviously not going to do anything to you. It wouldn't serve the whole 'hiding' purpose very well for me."
"Well neither did chasing me, Potter, so I think I'll just keep you here a bit longer," he said as he sneered elegantly, "Nice try at dodging the question though. I commend you for that. Now, who or what are you hiding from?"
"Again, I would have to say: same thing as you are, if I guess correctly."
Draco's grip tightened, "Stop playing games, Potter. What might that be?"
Harry sighed, suddenly loosing the thrill of energy that the past few moments had given him, "Everything and everyone. I just got sick of it all."
The smirk returned to Draco's face. "I can sympathize with you there," he said, sensing Harry's abrupt loss of steam. He released his grip on Harry and backed up a foot or two. The storm in his eyes had calmed from a the prior hurricane into a mere heavy rain. He was once again the calm, mysterious man from the club. "But I think there's something else that you are not telling me. Of course, I wouldn't expect you to, seeing as I've never exactly given you any reason to confide in me."
Harry was slightly surprised in the rapid change in Draco's manner. He had gone from ready to murder Harry to completely calm and almost friendly in a matter of a few seconds. Talk about a mercurial temper, he thought. "True," he answered, rubbing his shoulders where Draco had pinned him to the wall.
Draco laughed, at first quietly but proceeded to get louder and louder, until he was left leaning on the wall next to Harry for support. In all the years they had spent at Hogwarts, Harry had ever seen Draco laugh like that. Of course, he had also never seen Draco wearing clothing quite like this either. "I'm terribly sorry, Potter. But you have to admit, this situation is rather comical. I mean, look at us, look at where we are, at what we are doing…"
Taking another look around the dark alley and recalling how moments ago they had been bickering as if they were still back at Hogwarts and smiled halfheartedly. "You have a point," he admitted.
"Here's an idea, Potter. Why don't you come with me back to my flat and we can sort this all out. A couple of old…acquaintances should at least be able to catch up on things."
Harry eyed Draco suspiciously and again wished that he had remembered to bring his wand. Draco caught the look on Harry's face and smirked again.
"Don't look so worried, Potter," he drawled, "I'm not secretly plotting your demise. I meant what I said. If it makes you feel better we can go back to your flat instead. I just want to talk, perhaps share a cup of wine with you. I think we both owe each other a bit of explaining. Just for," the corner of his mouth lifted up, "old times sake."
Harry still felt slightly funny about Draco's proposal, but consented, "Ok, fine. Just show me how to get back to the pub and I can get home from there."
A while later, Harry found himself unlocking the door to his new flat while an unsettlingly quiet Draco Malfoy looked over his shoulder. The entire walk back Harry had been shocked every time he stole a glance at Draco. Never in his life had he thought he would find himself walking together with Draco Malfoy through muggle London. On top of that, Draco's mere appearance was enough to draw stares from passerby, not to mention Harry himself. The stark contrast of black leather and white skin compounded with the metal chains made him look like some creature from the muggle video games that he had seen advertised in store windows lately, minus the claws and soul stealing powers. Yet for some strange reason, by the time they had reached the flat, Harry didn't feel at all threatened by the ex-Death Eater's presence. Mere auror's instinct kept Harry from completely dropping his guard.
Once they were inside, Draco gracefully settled himself into one of the living room chairs and began to scan the room. "Haven't been here for very long, eh, Potter? Doesn't look like you've had much of an opportunity to decorate," he drawled in a tone that sounded exactly like the Draco of old.
Oddly enough, Harry did not issue a terse retort as he would have back at Hogwarts, but instead answered, "No, actually, I haven't. I just moved in…" he looked at his watch, the tiny hands pointing to roughly two in the morning "…yesterday." For some reason, Draco's comment had not angered him a bit, and he continued into the kitchen to look for the bottle of wine he had bought that day.
He returned to the living room to find Draco reclining in the old chair as if it were a throne. He chuckled at the sight, and Draco raised one pale, imperial eyebrow at him. Harry poured the wine into two brand new glasses and, having nowhere else to put it, set the bottle down on the floor. He handed Draco one glass, and settled himself into the second chair opposite him. He watched Draco take a sip, finding himself slightly disturbed by the bloodlike quality the wine had when contrasted with Draco's pale hand. The signet ring glinted in the dim light, reminding Harry that this was the son of one of the most notorious Death Eaters who ever lived. He wondered exactly how much blood Draco himself had on his hands.
"Are you alright, Potter?" Draco asked, not sounding in the least bit concerned, "I just saw you shiver."
Harry grimaced. "Yeah, I'm fine, just…never mind," he answered, sipping his wine.
A few more minutes of silence followed as the two once-rivals watched each other warily, neither sure whose was the next move. Finally Draco broke the silence, "Well, this was my idea, so I might as well start. I guess you want to know what I've been doing during the…war."
The war had begun their sixth year at Hogwarts, the year Harry had graduated early in winter in order to become an auror and help in the fight against Voldemort. Hermione, Ron, and many other sixth years had soon followed suit at the end of the year, all entering themselves in the rigorous six month training program the ministry had set up for the exact purpose of churning out as many new aurors as possible for the war effort.
Harry also recalled a number of other students who had opted for the wartime early graduation and yet had not shown up to train at the Auror's Academy, but had simply disappeared. Most were suspected to have joined the rapidly growing ranks of new Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy had been one of them.
All of this flashed through Harry's mind in an instant, and he swallowed, his eyes flicking towards Draco's left forearm. He knew that beneath the sleeve of his shirt was where Draco's Dark Mark would be, his now broken link to the dead Dark Lord. Grimacing, he answered, "I guess I do."
Draco kept his eyes on his drink as he proceeded to tell of how he had followed his father's orders to graduate from school early at the end of sixth year and had come home from school that day to find Lord Voldemort waiting for him in his parlor. "He gave me the Dark Mark right then and there. I can't even try to explain to you how that…felt. I can remember my father smiling and telling me not to scream, although I can't recall whether I did or not. From that moment on, I was a real Death Eater."
"I was sent on my first…mission immediately after I recovered from receiving the Dark Mark. My father was there, practically leading me by the hand. We were assigned to a small muggle town just outside London. It was mostly a training mission with no real purpose, and I wasn't the only new Death Eater there. I suppose it was just to get us used to the way things were done. I think that was the first time I used the Killing Curse on a human being."
Harry could tell this was not going to be an easy story to bear, and took another sip of his wine.
"Over the next few month's Lord Voldemort discovered that I was particularly good at using the Imperius Curse, much better than I was at the other two 'Unforgivable Curses' and put me on a special squad assigned to spy inside the ministry. You see, the Killing Curse and Crucatius Curse both require a certain…deep desire to kill or cause pain, one that I have never been terribly good at manifesting. Imperius requires something different." At this point Draco looked up from his wine glass and met Harry eyes with his cold gray ones. His smirk held no warmth. "You could probably have me killed or thrown in Azkaban for what I've told you so far."
"I could," replied Harry, and left it at that.
Draco sipped his wine and continued," I worked on that squad for…oh, years I guess. I eventually ended up in charge of it. My father watched me like a hawk the whole time, making sure I never slipped, making sure the Dark Lord always knew when I did. He said it was better, healthier for me, that way."
Draco continued sipping his wine and talking for another full hour, telling Harry of all the things he had done as a Death Eater and almost never taking his eyes of his wine glass. There was something about the tone of his voice that made Harry feel like Draco was talking about the doings of another person, as if he had distanced himself completely from those years of his life.
An hour into his story Draco stopped talking and sat in silence. He took one last sip of his wine and finished off the glass, setting it down on the floor. As he sat up, his cold eyes locked on Harry's. They were filled with an odd, unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke again. "Now here comes the part of the story that you may find rather hard to believe," he said, eliciting a puzzled expression on Harry's face. "At some point in my service to the Dark Lord, I began to develop a distaste for my work. For some reason, I had never revered the Dark Lord as my father always did. Over time I had somehow come to realize how truly depraved my master was, a fact my that father was blind to. I of course still supported the theories of wizard supremacy over muggles… but I began to despise the senselessly destructive methods our organization employed, as well as my master himself. I came to the conclusion that only a madman would let himself be lead by a madman, and I wanted out. I guess it was something like three years ago, I managed to contact Dumbledore and tell him of my…predicament."
"The next thing I knew I was secretly passing information about Death Eater meetings, raids, and plans to him whenever it was possible. No one knew about it but Dumbledore, and I managed to remain unsuspected by even my father for quite a while. But at some point I guess the Dark Lord gained some knowledge of my other…ties, as the information given to me began to grow less and less important, and I suspected some of it to be false. I knew that my time was probably short, so I made plans to pass along one last bit of information to Dumbledore, and then make a hasty disappearance. I was almost absolutely sure that this bit of information was true, because it came from my father, not Voldemort, and I was reasonably sure that Voldemort had not told my father of his suspicions." A this point he paused and something strange flickered behind his eyes, disappearing so fast it could have been just a trick of the light. "I believe you might be familiar with this part of the story," he said in an oddly cryptic tone.
When Harry responded with a puzzled, clueless look, Draco reached into a pocket in his pants that Harry hadn't even noticed existed and pulled out what appeared to be a newspaper clipping. He unfolded it carefully and handed it to Harry.
Harry took the paper in his hand and was surprised to see that it was indeed a newspaper clipping, from the Daily Prophet. On it, a moving picture depicted a strange scene. In it, wizards in midnight blue robes – An auror strike team – picked through the ruins of what appeared to have been the dining room of an extremely well to do wizard family. Shattered mirrors and torn paintings in ornate frames hung crookedly on the walls and the remnants of a magnificent dining table and chairs were scattered about the room. A fallen crystal chandelier lay in the center of the floor. Beneath the picture was written in huge bold letters:
Auror Strike Team Conducts Successful Raid on Death Eater Meeting
Malfoy Mansion in Ruins!
An auror strike team lead by Harry Potter himself, skilled auror and one of the most prominent leaders in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, raided a Death Eater meeting last night at the Malfoy Mansion. The meeting was composed of several suspected highly ranked Death Eaters including Lucius Malfoy himself. No information could be found on how the strike team received word of this obviously important meeting, but the Daily Prophet has reason to believe the information came through Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. All who attended the meeting were successfully captured with the exception of the Malfoy Family themselves. Lucius Malfoy died resisting aurors and his wife Narcissa was found dead by her own hand shortly after the raid. Aurors were unable to catch Draco Malfoy, the Malfoy's only son and heir to the family fortune, and are now searching for him (if you have any information on his whereabouts, please contact ministry officials immediately). Aurors are currently searching the Malfoy Mansion for any more information pertaining to the War.
When Harry had finished reading the article he found himself at a loss for words. It was Draco who had supplied the information about that raid, the one that Harry had lead, the one where Draco's father had been killed. Given his entire lifetime, Harry would have never conceived of that possibility.
Silence reigned in the air for a full minute after Harry had handed the article back to Draco. Finally, Harry broke it with a question, "How did you escape?"
"Quite easily. You see, I only had Dumbledore tell you I was going to be at that meeting, but I never attended it. I was long gone before it even started, off to hide amongst the muggles that the entire wizarding world knew I despised and would thus never even think of me pretending to be one of them."
"Oh," was all Harry could manage to say.
A crooked grin appeared on Draco's face, "Time with these people wore off my aversion to them. It was either that or my sanity – of course there's no real accounting for that either, possibly. I found I actually have an affinity for some of their… not so average lifestyles." With this, Draco spread his arms out, indicating his outlandish appearance as evidence of this.
"So that's how you ended up in that nightclub," Harry said, searching for a conclusion to the awkward moment.
"Essentially, yes. Now what we have yet to hear is how you ended up in there yourself…" He trailed off, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
Taken aback, Harry tried to come up with a response. The result was a bit of wordless jaw movement with an, "Uhh…" thrown somewhere into the middle.
Draco laughed, the grim demeanor he had taken on during his recounting vanishing in a graceful chuckle. "Caught you off guard, did I? What happened to all that Auror training?" he said, jokingly.
Harry did have an answer to this one. "My auror training tells me you should be unconscious and on your way to prison by now," he said, deliberately avoiding the word Azkaban, "but as you can see, I've been ignoring it for the most part."
Draco smirked, "For the most part?" With this he glanced down at the tip of Harry's wand protruding from his pants pocket, which he had fetched while looking for the bottle of wine, just in case.
Harry glanced down at the wand and grinned. He pulled it out and laid it on the floor in front of him, well within Draco's reach. "Maybe even less than that," he said, feeling silly for ignoring his gut instinct about this…new Draco. He knew for sure now that he was in no danger at all.
Draco glanced at the wand on the floor and raised a quizzical eyebrow. As if it were some formal act of truce, he pulled his own wand out of some unseen pocket and set it down on the floor opposite Harry's. "Sounds good to me," he said. "Now we still must attend to the matter of your side of this story."
"Um, ok," Harry answered, beginning to wonder where to start. After a pause he decided to begin where Draco had, with his graduation from Hogwarts, the last time they had seen each other.
After a stuttering, unsure start, Harry fell into his tale easily. He recounted his time at the Auror's School, of his first battle in the War, and of how he somehow managed to end up in charge of the Ministry's top auror Strike Team. Images of the people of his past, particularly his Team members – Ron, Hermione, Rhemus, Tonks, Moody, Fred and George, and Ginny – came flooding back to him as he continued to talk. He barely even stopped for breath in his tale, his memories flooding into words in a continuous stream. Draco sat silently through it all, the strange unreadable look returning to his eyes.
Harry finally slowed down when he came to the final fight with Voldemort. He told of how he decided that he would complete the mission on his own, of how Hermione and Ron had somehow found out and followed him onto the moors where Harry knew Voldemort was in hiding. Here there were holes in his memory, places where things had happened too fast for him to recall, or perhaps things he just hadn't wanted to remember. He recounted the sheer luck behind Voldemort's death, and waiting anxiously for the morning so he could be sure he was dead, and so he could find his friends. There had been no sign of them for hours and when Harry found them in the early light, his fears were confirmed.
When he had finally finished telling of how he had escaped to the muggle world to find some semblance of peace, the tiny glowing numbers on his watch face read four in the morning. Draco didn't show a single sign of weariness, but Harry could feel his eyelids begin to droop as soon as the last word of his tale left his mouth. "I got here two days ago, I guess," he said, "that pretty much all there is to tell."
Draco smiled in a disconcertingly sincere way. "So it seems that we are both runaways hiding among muggles."
Harry answered wearily, "I guess so. Do you ever plan to go back?"
Draco's brows came together, making worried furrows in his forehead, "I don't see how I can. As far as the wizarding world is concerned, I'm still a fugitive Death Eater, infamous slave master of the mind, son of the notorious Lucius Malfoy, and all around bad guy. It would be nice to go back, but I doubt I'd receive a friendly welcome."
"Oh," said Harry, feeling bad for asking such a dumb question. After a drowsy pause he continued with, "Hey, its been a long night, and I'm kinda sleepy. Would you mind all that much if I went to bed? You can stay, if you don't mind sharing a bed. I really don't have anything else for you to sleep on, unless you want to sleep in that armchair."
"Now that you mention it, it is rather late. I think I'll take you up on your offer," Draco answered, rising up out of his chair and stretching like a cat, "but would you mind lending me something to sleep in? It seems I'm rather inadequately dressed for the occasion," he said with a smirk.
Harry grinned back and said, "No problem."
A few minutes later Harry lie on his stomach in bed a foot or so away from Draco. In the dim light, Harry could see the outline of Draco's features as he lay on his back, staring up into the dark ceiling. Just before he nodded off, he again found himself marveling at this strange turn of events that had landed him sleeping in the same bed as Draco Malfoy without even the slightest worry for his own safety. If anything, he felt safer than he had in years.
About an hour later, Draco lay quietly in the bed, still staring into the darkness and now listening to Harry's soft and deep breathing as he slept. He too was pondering the almost absurdity of his current situation. He wasn't yet sleepy because in his new environment he had grown used to turning in during the early hours of the morning and waking late in the afternoon. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure why he had told Harry he was sleepy too.
Glancing to where he knew his clothes lie in a neatly folded pile on the floor, he found himself amused and slightly disturbed at how he had changed from his former self. He wondered what Harry thought of his radical change of heart. This thought lead him to turn his gaze to the sleeping man next to him.
Since their years of rivalry at Hogwarts, Harry had changed a great deal as well, if perhaps not as drastically as Draco himself had. The merry gleam that Draco had once despised had left Harry's eyes almost entirely, to be replaced by a weary, secretive, and slightly haunted look. Harry had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and Draco could see that the years of war had not done him well at all. Even in sleep, Harry looked somehow worn out, as if there were still some great evil that haunted him even in his dreams.
Looking at Harry's sleeping form, Draco felt a terrible wave of guilt come over him. He couldn't even count how many good people's lives he had helped to ruin, or personally destroyed, during his years with Voldemort. Harry was perhaps one of the best people Draco had ever known, a fact that his former self could have never admitted, and the thought of having taken part in all of the many wrongs that had been done to him made Draco feel sick with shame.
As he lay there watching Harry, he realized that Harry's face no longer held the quiet, relaxed expression of peaceful slumber. Harry's brows were creased together and his lips were pursed in a thin, anguished line. This caused the horrible feeling in Draco's gut to increase tenfold and without thinking he reached out to Harry.
"I'm so, so sorry," he whispered as he gently pushed Harry's sweat dampened hair away from his face. He pulled his hand away slowly. "If I had only known…how could I have been so blind? How many more people can't even sleep at night because of me?" Draco spoke into the darkness as he rolled to face Harry. Harry's fists now clenched the bed sheets next to him and he bit his lip as a bead of sweat rolled down his nose. "Harry, what terrible thing ever made me hate you? You, who never did anyone wrong…" he trailed off as Harry let out an anguished moan that trailed off in to a whimper. His breath came heavily, whistling through his nose..
At this, Draco's gut wrenched terribly. "Oh God," Draco whispered. "What can I do, Harry? What are you dreaming? What can I do?" Draco felt as if the darkness of the room were a weight pressing down on him, on Harry. It made a wall between them, a wall of guilt and terrible deeds, of nightmares made real, and a damnable, immutable past. Harry rolled onto his back, groaning horribly as Draco watched, helpless. Seconds became like hours as Draco tried again and again to reach out to Harry and was blocked by that terrible wall.
"No!" Harry suddenly screamed, his eyes flying wide open, searching the darkness in utter terror. His eyes landed on Draco, lying horrified next to him, and he screamed again. Draco sat up slowly, trying to decide what to do. Whatever Harry had been dreaming still veiled his thoughts, causing his chest to heave violently and his eyes to fill with loathing as they stared at Draco. "Harry, calm down…" Draco said, the look in Harry's eyes filling him with shame, "You were dreaming, I…"
Harry cut him off, "That real funny Lucius, but can we just cut to the chase? I'm unarmed so you might as well…"
The sound of his father's name was like a knife twisting in his gut and Draco couldn't help but yell, "I'm not my father! Its Draco, Harry! Draco!" His voice cracked mid-sentence.
Harry blinked in confusion and then, all at once the events of the night before came flooding back to him. He sagged like a punctured balloon. "Oh my god," he said, not meeting Draco's eyes.
"You were dreaming, Harry," Draco said, sounding more than slightly injured.
"I was," Harry stated flatly, still staring at the bed sheets.
The awkward, guilty silence dragged for what seemed like forever before Draco finally spoke, "Well, um, we could try to go back to sleep. At least we wouldn't be just sitting here in the dark."
"OK," Harry answered weakly.
So they slid themselves back under the sheets; this time Harry lay with his back to Draco and Draco lay on his side, staring at the back of Harry's head. The terrible guilty feeling in Draco's gut persisted as he watched Harry begin to shiver even though the room was in no way cold. After a minute or two, he couldn't stand watching anymore and reached over to Harry, laying a hand lightly on Harry's arm. Harry jumped slightly and rolled to face Draco. The sheen of unshed tears, barely visible in the darkness, compounded the haunted look in Harry's eyes.
Harry rolled over to look Draco in the eyes. Through the somewhat embarrassing blur of tears he could see Draco's anguished expression as he searched Harry's face. They lay there for a moment, neither moving, unsure of what to do next. Draco again broke the silence.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry," he said, the quavering tone in his voice betraying the terrible guilt he felt.
At that moment, Harry felt something snap deep inside of him, as if a dam had broke loose in his mind, setting loose a flood of emotions that he could no longer hold in. "Its not your fault," he said, ending in a sob that sent a torrent of tears down his face.
Draco, acting on impulse, did what no one had ever done for him but through some instinct knew how to do. He closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around the now weeping Harry. Harry clung to him, hot tears sliding down his cheeks to where they met with Draco's own. Draco cried so silently that Harry did not even notice, he neither sobbed nor sniffled, his eyes simply trickled down tears that Draco too did not notice.
Draco held Harry to him until his shoulders no longer shook with terrible heaving sobs and his sniffling had eased back into calm, regular breathing. Harry remained curled just where he was, at last peacefully asleep.
By then, the room was beginning to brighten as tiny slivers of morning light made their way through the blinds in Harry's window. Perhaps all is not lost, Draco thought to himself as a genuine smile spread across his face. Finally, his now dry eyes slid closed and he nodded off, his arms still wrapped protectively around Harry.
Enjoy? I hope you did. Comments of all sorts are welcomed, praise and otherwise. If you see anything that needs fixing or a touch up, feel free to let me know and I'll hop on it as soon as possible.
Thanks a bunch, and please do review…
-Lady Cyclamen