Author: Nicky
Rating: Pg-13
Genre:Romance, minor Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Slash, minor OOC, alludes to rape and torture, mild language.HBP SPOILERS.
Summary: Returning home fore the last time after 6th year, Harry is left alone at Privet Drive the ni ght before his 17th birthday, and receives a shocking visitor at his dorstep. Harry/Draco
The lonely street of Privet Drive was drenched in rain, most of the occupants tucked away for rainy day activities, cars parked and lights on. Except, that is, for Number 4.
The Dursleys of Number 4, Privet Drive, were out, as it seemed, to a fancy dinner celebrating the marriage of some cousin or another. Boney Aunt Petunia, mammoth Uncle Vernon, and whale like Dudley crammed into the company car and long gone, leaving Harry Potter alone in the silent house, sitting in the dark listening to the rain.
Harry, after nearly 17 years of this treatment, was quite used to being left alone, and had no complaints about it. Tonight, however, was different.
He was quite depressed at being alone, not even the company of his owl Hedwig could make up for the company he so longed for; that of his friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. His birthday was tomorrow, and he wanted desperately to spend it with his friends.
The notion was silly of course; his correspondence with them was limited by the war. There was no access to Floo Powder, or any other means of transportation.
No, alas, Harry was alone again for another silent birthday.
A loud rap at the downstairs door roused him from his stupor.
He tilted his head, sitting up on the edge of the bed, listening hard for the sound again.
There it was, a little more insistent this time.
Who could it be, he wondered, at this late hour?
Pulling his wand from his pocket, he crept from his room and down the stairs, squinting in the dark so as not to knock into one of Aunt Petunia's many prized possessions littering the tables and shelves.
When he reached the door, crouching down, he steeled himself. His mind was racing with possibilities of Death Eaters and other various dangers, and he was quite sure opening the door would mean certain death. He couldn't, however, be sure until he tried.
"Who's there?" he called.
"Don't mind who's here, Potter, just open the bloody door!" A familiar voice shot back.
"Malfoy?" Harry asked, stunned.
"Yes, Malfoy, now let me in, you dolt!"
"Oh yes, just give me one moment to let the Death Eater into my home." Harry retorted, raising his wand.
"I'm not a Death Eater anymore," Malfoy sighed from the other side "I failed, you miserable twit, and I need your help!"
Harry didn't answer, backing up a step from the door. "Would you let me in, Potter?" Malfoy bellowed, "I'll catch my death out here!"
"Pity." Harry said, moving forward to unlock the door anyway.
"I don't know why the hell I'm letting you in here, Malfoy." Harry muttered, stepping back to let the drenched figure inside.
"Finally." Malfoy said hotly, "I was beginning to think you weren't going to let me in."
Draco's features had changed since their last meeting. He was much paler, his skin had a drawn look, like he hadn't been eating, and Harry was sure he could see bruises on Malfoy's arms and face. He said nothing, instead, opting to voice his opinion at that moment.
"What I'd like to know," Harry said, glaring at Malfoy as he relocked the door, "Is why I should be helping you anyway, much less letting you into my home."
"Because, you're one of the good guys, aren't you? That's what you lot do, help those in need and all that rot."
Harry shook his head, trying not to grin. Even at his worse, Malfoy was still Malfoy.
"What are you smiling at?" Malfoy asked him, putting his slim hands on his hips haughtily.
Harry couldn't help himself; he burst into laughter, shaking as he motioned Malfoy up the stairs. "Come on, I've probably got something dry you can put on."
Malfoy, holding up one of Harry's rather large t-shirts and looking thoroughly disgruntled, began to strip off his wet clothes.
Harry had turned away, giving him some privacy, but was drawn back to Malfoy when the other boy spoke. "You wouldn't happen to have any food, would you, Potter?"
Harry, whose eyes had locked on the scars on Malfoy's pale chest, his breath caught in his throat for a moment, started. "What? Oh, yes, I think so... Once you're finished, you can come down to the kitchen and I'll make something."
"You cook?" Malfoy asked, smirking.
"Yes, Malfoy, I cook." Harry said, glaring, "Unlike you, I don't have a million slaves to do my work for me."
"I don't anymore," Malfoy said simply, grinning, "But I guess you'll do."
"I'll do?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow "I'll do, huh?"
"Yes." Malfoy said again, his tone obviously delighted.
Wearing only an over large t-shirt (none of the jeans would fit), Malfoy followed Harry down the stairs and into the spotless kitchen. When Harry turned on the light, Malfoy instantly began poking around.
"What is all this stuff?" He asked, examining and toaster, "I mean, I knew Muggles had to make it without magic somehow, but this is not what I expected."
Harry grinned and shook his head "Well, Malfoy, that's a toaster. And no, Muggles don't live in caves, although I think this lot would be better suited for one."
"You don't like the Muggles you live with, do you?" Malfoy asked, and Harry looked at him deadpan. "Oh no, I love them."
Malfoy blinked, and Harry began to laugh again. "No, I think their filthy, ignorant, and evil human beings. Most aren't, but the Dursley's are."
This was proving to be the most he'd laughed in a long time, and in the presence of his bitterest enemy, no less. Harry felt that he must be losing his mind. Glancing over his shoulder, about to ask Malfoy if he'd prefer steak or chicken, Harry froze again. His eyes had landed on a spot just above Draco's knee, where a long red scar protruded from the hem of the shirt, looking as if it were fresh.
"Where did you get those?" Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Malfoy looked as if he'd rather not discuss it. "None of your business, Potter."
"Was it Voldemort?" he asked, noticing Draco's slight flinch at the name.
"No... It was Severus."
"Snape!" Harry asked in shock, his eyes widening.
"Yes, Snape. He offered to do the Dark Lord's dirty work for him. Said he liked the screaming..."
Harry shivered, his sympathy for Draco increasing with each moment, as he turned back to the oven and began fiddling with knobs.
"I can help, you know." Malfoy said from the table, and Harry turned to regard him as the eye of the stove heated. "How?"
"Well, I am of age now." Malfoy said, smirking a bit, "I can whip up some soup, and maybe speed up the meat and bread?"
Harry shrugged, moving over to allow Draco to work his magic.
Moments later, they were sitting across from each other at the small round table, enjoying a hot meal and an oddly companionable silence.
"Y'know, Pot- er, Harry, it really did upset me when you turned me down..."
Harry blinked, at first thrown off by the name, then the statement.
"What, in first year?" He asked, slightly confused.
"Yes, you prat, in first year." Malfoy said amiably.
"Well, Malfoy- erm, Draco? You came off as a bit of a snot, really."
"I tend to do that..." Malfoy replied, shrugging and helping himself to another roll. "It must be my father's influence."
Harry snorted, having thought this same thing. Then a thought struck him - Narcissa.
"Draco, where's your mother?"
Draco seemed to be lost in thought, for it took him a moment or two to reply.
"What? Oh, she's in the states with Aunt Bella... some mission or something."
The thought of her seemed to upset him, as he lowered his head and pretended to cough to hide what might have been tears.
"Was she there?" Harry asked. "I mean, when ... well, you know." he said, gesturing helplessly.
"When I came back? Yes. She was there, she watched." Another tear, this time not hidden. "She laughed."
Harry gaped. He found it hard to believe that Narcissa had displayed such contempt for what must have been the most important thing in her life.
"Yes, I was surprised too." Draco said, pushing away his empty plate after the fourth helping, "I guess she was afraid of the Dark Lord."
"You can say his name you know. Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself."
Malfoy chuckled "You sound like Granger."
Harry shrugged, smiling a bit and pushed his untouched food toward Draco, who was eyeing the empty bread basket with longing. "Here, eat this."
Malfoy looked thoroughly shocked, his mouth hanging open. "Seriously, I'm not hungry. Eat it."
Malfoy didn't need telling thrice. He pulled the plate to him and ate in a way that reminded Harry forcibly of Ron.
After Malfoy finished off that plate, Harry moved to clean up, but as he reached for a plate, they vanished, to return sparkling to their original place on the counter top.
Harry smiled, turning off the kitchen light and leading Malfoy back upstairs.
"I only have the one bed..." Harry was saying as he moved about, cleaning things up a bit "But you can have it, I'll sleep on the floor."
Malfoy looked as if he were about to protest. "No, believe me, I've slept on worse."
Harry turned off his lamp after rummaging about for a spare pillow and blanket, and settled onto the floor.
Malfoy crawled into the bed, the shirt sliding up to reveal a place on his arm covered in scars, where Harry presumed his Dark Mark had been.
"I'm sorry." he said quietly, causing Malfoy to lean over the bed to look him in the face. "For what?"
"For what happened." Harry said, quieter still.
"It's okay, Harry. You couldn't have done anything anyway... I deserved what I got."
Harry didn't reply, instead, he sat up to look Draco in the eye. There was a long silence that seemed to echo around the room before it was broken by Draco. "I'm cold."
Harry blinked and looked around, knowing he didn't have any other blankets, finally deciding to pull his up from the floor and hand it to Malfoy.
"But, won't you be cold too?" he asked, settling the other blanket on top of the first.
"I'll be okay."
"No... Get up here with me..." Malfoy said quietly.
Harry was quite sure he'd misunderstood.
"What?"
"You can sleep with me." Malfoy said, a little louder. "I don't bite..."
Harry was quite resolved to stay in the floor, politely denying Draco's invitation. His resolve, however, shattered in less than half an hour, as chill bumps rose on his bare arms and legs, and he rose to climb in next to his former enemy.
Feeling the instant change of temperature after settling under the blankets, Harry realized how odd this situation was. And how little he cared about its oddness.
Tonight had been one of the best ones in recent memory, he couldn't remember smiling so much, especially after last term, but here he was, full of grins and curled up next to his once bitter enemy in the dead of night.
Harry observed the clock, his back to Draco, and watched his birthday tick closer. Five minutes passed in silence, and he broke it finally as the clock hit midnight. "Happy Birthday to me." He whispered.
"Hm?" Draco asked, raising up onto his elbow.
"Oh, it's nothing. It's just, it's officially my birthday. I'm 17."
Draco smiled, then frowned. "Oh," he whispered "I don't have anything for you..."
Harry turned quickly, coming face to face with Draco. "You don't have to, it's okay, really."
"No." Draco said, shaking his head. "I should get you something, after how nice you've been tonight."
Harry began to protest again, but saw something in Draco's eyes. Another tear, and Harry couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and brushed it away with his thumb, his face inches from Draco. "Don't cry..."
Draco smiled a small smile, looking Harry in the eye. "You're the only person I know that cares about how I feel right now."
Harry smiled back. "Right now, I think I care enough for the whole world."
Whatever had changed that night seemed to hit them both at that moment, as they leaned in, closing the distance between them in a second, lips meeting in a tentative kiss that soon turned passionate, Draco moving to site astride Harry, their tongues tangled and hips grinding.
Draco moved atop Harry, working on sliding Harry's single piece of clothing down his hips: Paisley pajama bottoms. Harry, either oblivious or uncaring to the sudden temperature change, ran his hand under the shirt Draco was wearing, pushing it up over his head, and running his fingers across the scars. At that moment, he felt he could kiss every one of them better.
That moment held one other revelation for The Boy Who Lived, as well; he was now quite sure this was his best birthday ever.
/Author's Note: Draco's totally OOC, but, being raped and tortured does shit to you, man.\\