Title: Reaching Without Touching
Author: Erik deSoir
Disclaimer: Upon reading the front of the sixth book I was shocked to discover that I do not indeed own Harry Potter.
Pairing: none Characters: Harry and Draco, a passing mention of the Weaselys and Hermione
Warnings: unrequited love
All through their first six years in school, Malfoy tortured Potter verbally and occasionally physically, though Potter usually got the upper hand.
Malfoy resented Potter for everything he stood for. He found Potter to be lacking and yet the boy always got everything. Sodding seeker, sodding broomsticks, sodding parseltongue, sodding Boy-Who-Lived.
It was one night, one stupid, fateful night when the change was noticed by Malfoy. The Slytherin had been wandering the halls on Prefect duty when he heard the noise coming from an empty classroom.
He approached the classroom and saw someone huddled in the corner.
A dark-haired head jerked up and the moonlight filtering through the window reflected off the figure's glasses. Potter.
Potter asked Malfoy what he wanted and Malfoy didn't answer. Again the blond was questioned, but again no answer. Potter just stood and as he walked past Malfoy, he whispered, "Just leave me alone."
Malfoy started at Potter's voice. When he turned around, Potter was gone.
Draco did indeed try to leave Potter alone. Unfortunately for them both, all the Slytherins were dependant on Malfoy for some fun and Weasely and Potter were the easiest targets around. Draco, however, did not find any enjoyment out of it anymore.
It was a strange thing that came over him. That night he heard something in Potter's voice. It was like a world-weary aura had surrounded him. Draco could not get that image of Potter from his head. The boy-champion, the savior, looked defeated. He looked as though he would like nothing more than to go to bed and never get out of it. He looked as though this war would be the end of him.
As the weeks flew by, Draco became more and more concerned with Potter. He hid it away as well as he could. Even as barb-laced insults were thrown at the drained boy, grey eyes looked on with reassurance. Reassurance that this was a farce. Reassurance that none of this was meant. Reassurance that someone else knew.
Potter just looked at him like a wounded animal, ready to give up the fight.
Seventh year came and seventh year went. They all graduated, even Neville. All of the Gryffindors were immediately sucked into the war. Many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs offered their assistance as well. They were given their tasks and then the war really began.
It was a hazy time. Much of it was spent trying to foresee the Dark Lord's next move and to prevent as much damage as possible. They rooted out spies of the Dark and sent their own spies over the enemy's line. Everyone working for the Light was bone-tired, but determined.
It came as a shock when Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, scion of the Malfoy line, approached the Light side. Indeed, many felt he was another spy, come to gather information to take back to the Dark Lord. They took him into their folds, with caution.
Draco asked to be put with Potter. He wanted to fight, not sit at a desk and scrounge up information. Secretly he wanted to stay close to the Boy-Who-Lived for his own selfish reasons. He wanted to watch the man. He wanted to see him take down the maniac who had ruined so many lives, his own included. He wanted to become close to Potter. He want to see him when he slept, when he breathed, when he wept.
Eventually Draco was able to prove himself in battle whose side he was really fighting for when he killed his own father. Everyone had been there and anyone who did not witness the act felt like they had. It was as if a wave went through everyone present; the lightening of a load. Lucius Malfoy was no more.
Soon after the death of Lucius the war ended. Most of the Death Eaters were rounded up with the 'help' of Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew only confessed after the Boy-Who-Lived called upon the Life Debt that was owed him.
Draco asked to help capture the remaining Death Eaters. A few people still protested against him, but a weary-looking Harry Potter said he didn't care one way or the other. The handful of protesters quieted down. Draco hunted the rest down alone and received an Order of Merlin, First Class for his efforts in the war.
Every year after the war a party was held to remember the fallen ones. Draco and Potter were both honored excessively. Potter always shrugged it off, and Draco always smiled nicely. They both claimed themselves nothing without the combined efforts of everyone at hand.
After all the speeches were made, Draco always tried to engage Potter in discussion. That lasted for a few minutes until the other people present demanded their attention. The head of Malfoy always kept an eye on Potter, just as he always had.
It didn't look like Potter had changed much over the years. He still looked drained and drawn. He still hadn't been to the bed for which he dreadfully ached. Draco wanted to whisk him away from the light and the noise, to take him somewhere quiet and dark, somewhere where no one knew either of their names. Somewhere they could just be.
Many years passed. Draco and Potter still kept in contact, but only just. It was mostly Draco popping around every once in while and taking Potter away. They never went anywhere extravagant, which Potter appreciated greatly. He never asked questions, either.
Draco ached with wanting to protect Potter. He felt the need to shield the fragile man from the harsh cruelties of life. Everything seemed to cause a wave of guilt to pass through the scarred man. Every time Draco had to say goodbye, he said so with pain in his voice. But he knew Potter would never accept more than what he was getting. He knew that Potter still liked keeping Draco at arm's length.
Potter had always mildly enjoyed the get-togethers he and Draco had. It was relieving to be in company that didn't expect anything from him. It was comforting to know that at least Draco did not want anything but the normalcy Potter strived for.
But once, Potter did question Draco as to why he kept in touch with him.
Draco had just replied with, "I don't know, Potter. Maybe because you are the only person I know I can get away with eating such disgusting food."
Potter just smiled and said, "Cheers."
They never saw each other more than once or twice a month. Draco came by; they ate at cheap restaurants; they never became closer than necessary. Draco wanted more.
Once Draco stopped by unannounced and found Potter in his kitchen, covered in blood.
The blond rushed to the man's side and grabbed his arms to him. He felt along the skin and found what he had hoped he wouldn't – torn flesh. He looked into fading green eyes and whispered, "Foolish boy."
Draco had remained by Potter while he was recuperating. Potter seemed to appreciate having the company of someone who didn't coo over him. At his insistence, Draco informed Potter's friends. That first night was filled with questions, mostly directed at him. The red-haired family could not grasp that Draco did not attack the green-eyed man in the next room.
Potter had asked them to leave the next day as he was exhausted and didn't they have lives to lead anyway? Draco smirked from Potter's bedside as the injured man told everyone to leave.
Draco took his own leave a few days later, only to be asked to come back the next day.
Potter remained in the hospital longer than he probably needed. He left after a month's stay and seemed completely normal.
Draco vastly wished he could have taken Potter home himself, but was unfortunately detained from doing so. Instead the Weasely family escorted the man home.
He instead dropped in a few days later with the offer of dinner at a sure-to-be greasy, gas-inducing food stand. Potter took him up on that immediately.
After all, Draco kept an eye on Potter. He watched him from under his lashes while the other man was turned the other way, and could still see that weariness about him. He could hear that tired voice beneath the one that laughed. He could feel the exhaustion through the haze of happiness.
Draco tried to slowly edge himself into Potter's life. He didn't want to make any sudden moves to scare the other man. He didn't want Potter to become suspicious. Draco knew that the Granger woman and her husband, Weasely, and his entire family all looked after Potter. But honestly, Draco didn't think they were doing such a good job of it if Potter's attempted suicide came as a surprise.
He started coming over more often to take Potter out. Harry even once mused about how Draco was just trying to get in his pants. Draco, of course, spluttered his drink all down his front and Potter laughed.
And wouldn't you know it, Draco didn't hear anything beneath it.
Eventually Draco and Harry became pretty good friends. Draco always kept an eye on Harry. He pushed the Weaselys away when he felt Harry sag under their weight. He watched over the man and shielded him as best he could. He was still some distant from Harry, but it was shorter than arm's length.
Draco never did get everything he wanted from the raven-haired, green-eyed man. No, the green eyes never looked his way when they truly lit up with pleasure. They sought him out for comfort and maybe some relaxation, but never anything more.
He came very close to telling Harry how much he meant to him, but decided against it. Harry was still not entirely receptive to Draco, and the blond did not want to lose what he had with Harry.
Their friendship developed over the years. They both fell into comfortable routines. More than often Draco would stop by and they would just hang around doing lots of nothing. They still went out for food that was unhealthy for them but delicious, they still walked around talking about nothing at all, and Draco always found himself hoping that maybe just this once Harry would see something in him.