Author notes: Draco has such a sad life! Why do I give people such sad lives? WHY IS THIS SO SAD HOLY SHIT. …Seriously, you tell me. And this only the beginning of the angst overload.
Draco did not come back for two days. Harry spent day one pacing the cave, waiting fearfully, leaving it only briefly to bring back food from the surrounding mountain forest to eat and save. The second day he popped back into Headquarters very briefly to report a wild, made-up story about Draco's whereabouts and activities to Lupin.
Lupin's face was older than ever now, scarred and lined. His thinning hair was steely gray. His eyes were almost perpetually deadened and far away. Ever since Tonks had died two years ago he had not been the same.
He now gave Harry a worried, questioning look. "Everything alright?"
"Yes!" Harry gasped, shaken from his worried thoughts of Draco. "Yes, Remus. Fine…just waiting for…on the verge, big stuff…important discoveries…" He was incoherent and knew it. "Gotta go. Be seeing you." He Dissapparated as Lupin stared blankly.
When he got back, Draco was huddled in a corner.
"No!" cried Harry. "No, no, oh, Draco, here I am, I just—but I'm here, I'm here. Draco, oh, I knew I would—what are you doing?" For Harry had just noticed that Draco's wand was out and he was muttering under his breath, pointing his wand at the ripped sleeve of his robes. And even now, as Harry moved closer, he saw new rips appear on Draco's sleeve where he pointed his wand, and blood blossoming on the skin beneath—
"Holy—no! Draco, no!" Harry flew to Draco's side, murmuring frantic no-no-no's as he gently pried Draco's wand from his slack fingers and pulled back his torn sleeve. He let his breath out slowly. "Oh, Draco…"
All up Draco's left arm were deep, bloody cuts, cut in the shape of Xs all over Draco's perfect white skin. Harry's eyes burned with tears as he took Draco in his arms and began healing his cutes, one by one, with his own wand. Draco said nothing, not moving to resist or indeed do anything.
"Draco…Draco…" Harry murmured again and again, running his free hand through Draco's hair. "Oh, why, Draco, why?"
Now Draco was crying too. "I…I…" He couldn't speak. He pressed his face into Harry's shoulder.
"Did he torture you?" asked Harry quietly.
Draco should his head. "No…no…I did it!" Suddenly there was grim pride in his voice as he lifted his face and looked into Harry's shining eyes with his own streaming ones. "He didn't know. Not about you and me, or how what I was telling him wasn't true…I blocked him."
"How?"
"Concentrated on…something else."
Harry knew this to mean "my parents."
"But then…" Harry stroked Draco's slightly pink left arm helplessly.
"Them," said Draco quietly, and although his tears were gone, there was infinite hate and pain in his voice. "The other Death Eaters. They took me away when I was done reporting. T-tortured me. Taunted me. Said…Told me my mother and f-father were…were…" He couldn't do it. He began to cry again.
Harry pulled Draco close and held him tightly, cradling him like a child. "It's OK. You don't have to tell me," he murmured soothingly into Draco's hair.
"Said horrible things," sobbed Draco. "Tortured me. Cruciatus…horrible things…and when I finally got back and you weren't here, I couldn't deal with it…too much…"
Harry, stroking Draco's recently healed arm gently, suddenly realized there were older scars there, too.
"Oh, Draco…these weren't the first?"
Draco shook his head, sobbing dryly.
"Don't cry. Draco, please, no. I'm here. I've got you. You're safe, I won't…won't let them hurt you anymore."
Draco let out a wail and buried his head in Harry's chest.
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It was a long while before Harry felt able to let go of Draco.
"Um…are you hungry?"
Draco nodded, then shook his head, and then nodded more fervently. He was shivering. Harry draped both of their cloaks around him and lit a fire. Draco huddled beside it as Harry prepared a rabbit over the fire. When Harry gave him a piece, he took a large bite and chewed slowly, eyes wide and staring.
Harry sat down beside Draco, one arm around his shoulders. With the other arm, he ate small bites of rabbit, though not remotely hungry.
Harry looked at Draco, seeing the rings under his eyes, the dried tears and sweat and blood on his cheeks, his pale complexion, his blankly staring eyes. And he knew that Draco had not overcome Lord Voldemort's Legilimency with his own Occlumecy. He knew that Voldemort had set the Death Eaters on Draco as a preliminary punishment for his disobedience and treachery, knew that Voldemort knew where they were and what was happening.
"We have to get you out of here," Harry said quietly to Draco.
"OK."
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They went to Ron's house.
"H—Harry?" asked Ron in disbelief as he answered Harry's knock. "And—Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?" He shot Harry a look of alarm and stepped back slightly. However, Draco was not looking at Ron. He was surveying the street with mild interest, his eyes misted and red and out of focus. Harry had his arm around the other boy, half-supporting him.
"Ron, I…er, can we come in?"
It showed how much Harry and Ron trusted each other and cared for each other that Ron stepped aside wordlessly.
"So, then," said Ron awkwardly as he sat down in the kitchen of his small home, bestowing glasses of water to the pair of them, "er, what's up, Harry?"
And Harry told him, told him everything. He told him about their respective assignments, their original wariness of each other, their eventual bond and realization that they could help each other. He couldn't stop talking. He told Ron about how their partnership had blossomed abruptly into love, and how Draco had been summoned back to Voldemort and what had transpired there. Harry told him about Draco's parents and Draco's pain, about their discussions in the Hog's Head and the mountain cave, about how they were doing this because they were so tired, so tired, and being together made it all go away.
Ron did not speak for a long while afterwards. He was watching Draco, who was now sleeping restlessly against Harry's shoulder. Harry was holding his hand under the table.
"You know, I reckon he's sad because of you, too, Harry. No, listen," he added when Harry looked up sharply. "You gave your heart and soul to him so unconditionally, and he feels like he has nothing to give back, and he loathes that about himself."
Once Harry might have thought it odd to hear Ron speak this way, but Ron was a changed man by the war. The Death Eaters had murdered Hermione when they were just 18, and Ginny the year after. His parents were gone, and Percy and Fred and Bill and Fleur had been killed over the past five years as well. It was just him, George and Charlie now; he had lost nearly his whole family and his only love to the war. Harry rarely saw George and Charlie, but expected they were feeling rather the same as Ron—broken, defeated, lost. Sometimes Harry couldn't believe that Ron's mental health had suffered no worse than depression and the complete loss of his youthful spirit. Although, thought Harry sadly, looking at Ron's tired face, that's certainly bad enough.
"So I suppose you want to stay here, then?" asked Ron, shaking Harry from his thoughts.
"No! Of course not. Dangerous for you. Wouldn't be…fair…"
"You're always welcome, mate."
"No, no, I would never. I just…I wanted your advice. Where we should go."
This was a lie, of course. Harry had set off for Ron's fully intending to stay with him until a better option became available, but had realized up on arrival that Voldemort was certainly searching for them, and that staying with Ron was putting him at terrible risk.
"It's OK, Harry," said Ron quietly.
Harry looked up, and realized at the look in Ron's eyes that Ron didn't care, because he had nothing left to live for.
"Ron…"
"No. The sofa folds out. Stay as long as you need. It'll be nice to have some company again, anyway."
"I—Ron, I…Alright," said Harry grudgingly. Ron smiled grimly, but his eyes were almost grateful. He stood. Draco coughed and opened his eyes.
"What's—" he murmured sleepily.
"Nothing, don't worry. Ron's going to let us stay here for a while."
"Oh. OK." He looked at Ron and smiled wearily.
"Thanks," said Draco.
"Of course," said Ron.
And in a bittersweet way, it made Harry the happiest he had been in years to see the mute understanding and trust which now passed between his best friend and his love, who had hated each other for so long and who were still filled with so much hatred for everything. And Draco had lost everything, and Ron had lost everything, and now Draco had Harry and Ron had nothing. And Ron did not hate Draco for that, and it made Harry so proud and so sad at the same time.
But in times of crisis, Harry thought bleakly, you ally with those you might otherwise avoid.
He looked at Draco, and Draco looked at him, and Ron had his face in his hands.
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That night, Harry and Draco lay together on Ron's sofa bed. Harry wasn't sleeping. And neither, it seemed, was Ron, for he came in around midnight and sat in an armchair near the window.
"Ron? You OK?" asked Harry quietly, getting up and perching on the windowsill beside him.
"Yeah...just making sure you lot are alright."
"Oh." There was a pause as they watched Draco roll over and feel around where Harry had lain, muttering. Harry went back and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Draco's hair. Ron came to sit beside him, following Harry's hand with a distant expression.
"How is he?"
"Dunno...I mean, a day and a half of being tortured isn't—well, I'm sure he's a little worse off than he was when he left me. But...I think it would be pretty tough to get worse than he was to begin with..."
"I don't know about that." Ron, who didn't seem to know what he was saying, was still watching Harry pet Draco's hair gently with a distant expression.
"You miss her, don't you?" asked Harry quietly.
Ron nodded, still watching Harry's hand, then nodded. "It's just...seeing you two...together..." He sighed and shook his head. "Brings it all back, I guess. Honestly, though, it's only been three bloody years...but..."
"No, no, that's plenty of time to...well, I'm sorry, mate. I miss her, too."
"But...I..."
Loved her, finished Harry silently. "Yeah."
They watched Draco silently for a while, until Draco's hand came up to grasp Harry's wrist and pull him closer. Harry looked at Ron.
"I should get some sleep."
"Yeah," murmured Ron, running his hand over his shining eyes and standing. "He needs you more than I do right now."
"Ron, I—"
"Don't worry about me."
Harry paused, more worried than ever at these words. "Well...goodnight, mate."
"Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."
Ron walked out of the room and climbed the stairs to his empty bed as Harry lay down beside Draco and curled around him, protecting him from all the terrible things waiting out there.
Author notes: You know, good things just don't seem to happen to nice people. God dammit.