Chapter Thirteen

Wizarding England had been plunged into chaos. The Minister was dead, murdered in public by their former saviour. Voldemort had revealed himself publicly for the first time in five years. Most people did not know what to think, how to react. There was too much to contemplate, too many conflicting stories to process. Nobody knew what to believe anymore.

Mass socializing stopped. Too many people were worried that they would say something wrong, an onlooker, trying to get on the good side of the Ministry, would report them and they would be arrested, or worse, killed.

People wandered emotionlessly, terrified of everything around them. That was just the way Voldemort wanted it. Everything was going according to his plan.

There was no one leading the Ministry now, in fact, the organization itself had almost completely disbanded. Death Eaters now roamed the streets freely during the day, passing judgement, upholding the law, keeping the masses under control.

St. Mungo's was overrun with the sick, injured and cursed, though only those that met with the Eaters approval were treated.

Hermione had not been one of them, she hadn't taken the risk even trying to go.

Immediately following the battle, Ginny had whisked Hermione and Ron, or his body, rather, away to the Burrow.

"Mom! George! Help!" Ginny had wailed as she landed the group in the shabby living room.

Molly had come running as fast as she could, George following closely behind. The pair had stopped dead in their tracks as they saw Ginny crouched down low over Ron, Hermione lay nearly unmoving beside them. All three were covered in blood, Ginny covered in Ron's.

Molly ran to her children's side, flinging herself upon the body of her youngest, and only one of 3 remaining, son. "No!" She screamed. "Not my baby boy!"

George had shared in the grief, unable to shed a tear after witnessing so many deaths. There were only three siblings left now, Bill, himself and Ginny. He watched from afar as his mother turned her attention to Hermione, barely staying conscious, clinging to the body of her husband.

She had lost her baby. Her bleeding had slowed, but she had still lost a lot of blood and it had taken Molly a few hours to stabilize her. George had helped move her to one of the upstairs bedrooms, Ron's old room, and Molly had tended to her there, with Ginny never leaving her side.

She had fully regained consciousness a few hours later, only to succumb to wracking sobs of grief and anger.

Ginny had tearfully explained to her remaining family about Harry and his sudden appearance that day, her voice numb when speaking of him. She was torn between relief that he was alive, her love for him still ever strong, to anger over Harry's accidental murder of her brother and the lack of remorse he seemed to have over it, to utter devastation as she fully comprehended that the man she used to know was no more, and he was never coming back.

Molly didn't know how to comfort her, she was just as shocked by Harry's return as the rest of them.

Hermione's physical recovery was painfully slow, her emotional recovery over the loss of both her unborn child and her husband was non-existent. She didn't sleep, she didn't eat, she couldn't be persuaded to try. Nothing remained for her on this earth, especially not after it had been her former best friend responsible for the murder of her husband.

She clutched at her abdomen, all evidence of her would-be child long gone.

She would never forgive Harry. She couldn't.

Why couldn't he have just been dead, like they had all thought. Life would have been so much easier if they had just been able to suffer through it like they always had. Instead, now they clung to a hope that would never realize itself, a hope deep in the back of the minds of everyone who had seen Harry that day.

He was back. He was alive. Would he do a thing to help them? Most thought not.

There were a few who rallied around his return. Former Hogwarts students, classmates, members of the DA. Luna, Seamus, Dean, Bill Weasley, Fleur, just to name a few. They secretly rejoiced in his return. They had a tangible reason to hope now, their own struggle for freedom renewed with vigour.

They were few. They were alone. But they would fight, knowing they could die.

They would not let their world go without giving it one last kick on its way out. They owed Harry that much, whether he would ever return to them or not.

Grimmauld Place had remained empty since Draco had returned that day, none of the Weasley's returning while he still resided there. This, at least, gave him some semblance of peace. He never grew comfortable with the house though, its empty rooms reminding him too much of his mother.

He lived his days numb and apathetic, his thoughts constantly drifting to Harry. He often fiddled with the two charms that hung on the silver chain around his neck, the presence of them pulling him back to the memory of Harry's departure. He felt too far away from the dark haired man. He needed to be somewhere where he could feel his presence. Grimmauld Place still held the faint aura of the old Harry, but it was new, troubled Harry that Draco wanted to remember, and there was nothing of that man here.

He decided they would leave.

"Antigone, sweetheart, we can't stay here anymore." He knelt before her as she played with some toys in the play room.

Her little hands ceased playing with the doll and looked straight up at him, a sad, pained expression on her face. "What?" She questioned. "Are we going to America?" She became excited.

Draco shook his head. "No, no, we're not going to America."

"But you promised. you said that-"

"I know." Draco was momentarily sharp with her but pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and calmed down. "I know I said we would go to America, but I can't- I can't go there anymore."

"Why?"

"It's complicated, Tig, I don't expect you to understand."

"Where are we going then?" She stood before Draco, with him kneeling their faces were level. She put her hands on his shoulders.

"We're going to stay at Harry's house." Draco felt tears rush to his eyes at the mention of Harry's name, just speaking it brought back all the emotions that he had buried momentarily.

"Harry's?" Antigone asked, a hint of fright in her voice. "I didn't like it there! Harry was mean and scary and he yelled a lot!" She buried herself into Draco's chest, letting her insecurities shine through.

Draco sighed. "He... he's not going to be there. We're just going to stay in his house."

"Where did he go?" She asked innocently and Draco was about ready to shoot the inquisitive 5 year old brain.

"He had to go away for a while, that's all."

"Just like Miss Hermione ad Ron." She smiled as she thought that she had put together the puzzle all on her own.

"Not quite, honey." He smiled falsely. Was she ever going to give up on the questions?

"Why did he go away?"

"Something happened that made him sad and he had to go away."

"What happened."

Draco was about ready to snap. "No more questions, Antigone." He spoke harshly, and she flinched back away from him slightly.

"I'm sorry Draco." She bowed her head in shame. "You're not going to send me back to daddy, are you?" Her pleading eyes looked up at him with their puppy dog stare.

All the anger melted off his face at once and he pulled his sister close to him. "No, sweetheart, you're never going to have to see him again, I promise."

"How can you promise? He's my daddy, he can just come and take me." She began to cry, hysteria seeping into her voice.

Draco argued with himself over whether to tell her the truth or not, the image of his dead father laying on the street, blood pooling all around him, entering his mind. Truth won out. "You'll never have to see him again, Tig, because daddy's never coming back. He's dead."

Antigone's breath hitched in her throat and she let out a meek cry. Draco rubbed her back soothingly, whispering nonsense words of comfort in her ear. "Draco..." Her meek voice was barely audible, squished into his chest. Draco pushed her back slightly so he could look at her tearstained face. "Is it bad that I don't feel sad?" She asked in such a quiet voice that Draco had barely heard her.

He crushed her back to his chest. "No, baby, it's not bad at all." He smoothed down her hair.

"I hope he doesn't see Mommy." She began to cry harder and Draco realized that was what her anxiety was over. She was worried about Lucius being mean to their mother in the afterlife.

"Oh, baby, no, daddy would never be good enough to go where mommy went. Don't worry about her." He kissed her on the forehead.

The pair sat embracing for quite a while. Draco finally decided that it was time for bed, when in reality he just needed an excuse to be alone. His depression was starting to creep up on him as the night wore on, bright green eyes forcing their way back to the front of his mind.

He didn't know if it would be a blessing or a curse, deciding to stay in Harry's former home. If the things that had belonged to Harry would serve to comfort him, or drive him insane.

They left early the next morning, packing up the few possessions they had. Draco didn't think twice about taking some of Ron's old clothes from their bedroom, he certainly wouldn't be needing them anymore. The clothes were tacky and nearly threadbare, too big, but at least they were clean, and that was one step higher than what Draco had been wearing for nearly the last week straight.

He found a duffel bag and shoved the clothing inside, adding a few toys as well, for Antigone. Kreacher had obtained some clothes for Antigone as well, there were a few hidden chests around the house, containing clothes from the children of generations past. They would just have to do.

Draco took Antigone by the hand and led her out the front door of the house, not lingering on the doorstep before apparating them away.

How Draco ever thought this had been a good idea was entirely beyond him. Just stepping into the front hall of Harry's house sent waves of sorrow and pain flowing through him. He almost felt as though he couldn't breathe, his chest clenching tightly. He gripped the charms on the necklace and pressed them hard against his chest, his feeble attempt to stave off the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Antigone had continued on inside without him. She looked back, her curious gaze silently questioning why her older brother, her protector, was not following. Upon seeing the pained expression on his face, she returned to him, holding her small hand out towards him, beckoning him to take it in his grasp.

As soon as he did, some of the warmth returned to his body, the tight grip on his chest loosening slightly, but not much. She smiled up at him and pulled him farther into the house. Antigone was now his only grip on sanity, his only light in the ever darkening world around him.

He placed the duffel bag on the floor, next to the armchair, the only place he had seen Harry sit. He grazed his fingers along the rough material of its arm and smiled. He felt the connection.

His eyes scanned the rest of the room, flashes of encounters bombarding him with every glance of something.

Empty liquor bottles lay strewn on the floor, which was covered in a layer of filth, having never been cleaned, not by Harry, at least. He felt a sudden surge of responsibility to make this place liveable. His sister could not live in conditions like this, it was not healthy. Really, though, he wanted it presentable for when Harry came back.

Draco's mind stumbled on that last thought. Harry come back? Yes, he was still clinging to the hope that Harry would return.

Of course he remembered vividly the look on Harry's face when he had left, how could he not. He did not intend to come back. But Draco couldn't just give up, not now. Not after Harry's confession. He would not let that man walk out of his life twice without making an effort to see him again. That's why he came to this house now, and that's why he never intended on leaving.

A few spells and a lot of elbow grease had the dingy house looking almost homey by the end of the day. What anybody would have given to see Draco Malfoy covered in sweat and dust after a hard days work.

The work had, at least, managed to distract him for a few hours, so focused on his task that he didn't have time to let the darkness sink down on him any further. Night was fast approaching and he was sure he wouldn't be able to keep the pain and loneliness away for much longer, especially not when he intended Harry's room to become his own. Harry was a very powerful wizard, and his magical aura was lingering, Draco was sure it would be weeks before it was gone completely.

He got Antigone settled into her room, the walls now bright and cheery with the removal of the grime. Her toys were already scattered over the floor. He stood in the doorway to her room, leaning on the frame and watched her as she played, imagining innocent worlds where nothing mattered other than what was right in front of her. He envied her innocence.

He conjured a kitchen full of groceries with a spell he had sometimes used in America when he was too lazy to go to the store himself. He wouldn't risk being seen in public, not now, not with Antigone to care for.

Draco had been careful not to sit on any of the furniture yet, unsure of how he would react once he finally managed to settle down and relax. But he couldn't avoid it for much longer, his body ached and he was tired. It was getting late. He hadn't dared go into Harry's room yet, except to quickly clean it.

Antigone was put to bed, sleeping angelically in her new room. He couldn't avoid it any longer. He slowly entered the room, removing his clothes and pulling on a pair of sweatpants he had taken from Grimmauld Place. He walked to the foot of the bed, reaching his fingertips out to graze the charcoal bedspread. Walking along the side of the bed, he let his fingers trail behind him on the comforter until he reached the head.

He carefully peeled back the linens and stared at the charcoal sheets that rested beneath them. Tears prickled at the back of Draco's eyes. He could almost picture Harry laying there, sound asleep. He lowered himself onto the bed, the soft mattress sinking slightly under his weight. He swung his feet up onto the bed as well, sitting in a half upright position.

He pulled the soft down pillow close to himself, hugging it under his head. He pulled the comforter over himself and curled into a ball, pulling it closely under his chin to keep the chill of the night out. Though the bed was now warm, a shiver still ran through Draco's body.

He breathed in deeply, trying to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. In an instant he was assaulted with Harry's unique smell. A combination of spices, cinnamon and pine flooded his senses. How he had missed this. A perfect match to the memory he had in his head. This was truly Harry. So many nights they had lay together in Italy, Draco breathing deep in his lover's scent.

The smell overwhelmed Draco more than he had ever expected and he was bombarded by images, flashbacks of the two of them together, every happy moment they had ever shared. It was too much for Draco to bear. He broke down, crying into the pillow to which he clung so desperately, willing it to change forms, to become the man he wished were laying next to him.

Eventually, Draco grew so exhausted that he fell into a fitful sleep full of dreams, nightmares really. Those haunting green eyes floated in the forefront of all these dreams, but there was something different, something new. The ocean was the backdrop. A dark, ragged shoreline, looking out to the setting sun, violent waves crashing upon its bank.

Wherever he was, Harry was near the ocean, the violent brooding nature of the sea a perfect match for his tormented love.