Chapter 4: Life is Strange

Harry closed his eyes at how utterly stupid he was. The posh accent, the drawl that came and went. The snottiness. Living alone, hidden away in the mountains in muggle country, sealed in a house obviously built to keep intruders out. And so close to where Lestrange was to meet Greyback.

But most of all his voice – it had been Malfoy's just slightly deeper, more matured. He had recognized it but instead of stepping back to pinpoint it, he had let his restless urge to leave overcome his reasoning abilities.

Harry laughed sardonically and said, "Brunet doesn't suit you."

Malfoy glared at him. "And you're newfound height doesn't suit you, Potter. It appears proper nutrition has the effect of turning you into an overbearing smart-aleck."

"Really? I've been told my confidence is sexy."

Malfoy shook his head and brought a hand to his face. "I had such a good thing going here," he mumbled forlornly.

"You look lonely, to be honest."

"I was safe," cried Malfoy, snapping his head up to look at Harry as if accusing him of bringing Lestrange down on him. "No one knows me here. The muggles keep to themselves. I'm alone...and maybe I am a bit lonely...but for the first time in a long time I was safe!" With that Malfoy buried his face into his hands and wept. "I'm tired of being afraid." He sobbed, shoulders shaking.

"Merlin," Harry whispered. He hadn't felt empathy of someone in long time. Life being the ironic bitch she was would have Harry feel it for someone he used to scorn. Something about "Taran's" demeanor had seemed very sad, though Malfoy's cheeks were full and rosy and he seemed to have filled out since his trial. He did seem to be doing better since the war.

Harry sighed. He felt bad for Malfoy but he had a job to do. "Well, it goes to show you: you can't run from the past." Harry licked his lips, knowing that what he was about to say was going to destroy Malfoy's false sense of security. "For the past two years, Lestrange has been tracking and killing ex-Death Eaters. Mostly those who have been either inactive since the war or traitors - that includes any who have been pardoned. We think he might be trying to intimidate members into reforming the group but overall his motives are unclear. You and your mother played a pivotal part in defeating Voldemort and you also helped the Aurors with information on fugitive Death Eaters after the war. He was bound to find you."

Malfoy looked positively ill. "And Greyback too?"

Harry nodded. "We caught Greyback this morning. He said he was to meet Lestrange near here and together they were to come looking for you." When Harry saw Malfoy bury his face in his hands again, he put a hand on his shoulder.

But Malfoy quickly slapped it away and yelled, "Don't!"

"Malfoy, keep it together-"

"We need to get out of here!" Malfoy turned around, flinging himself unto the floor and dragging a suitcase out from under the bed. Then he froze, back straight and stiff, like small animal sensing danger. He turned abruptly, wide-eyed and asked shakily, "My mother – my parents...did he get to them?"

"No. We haven't received any reports and Lucius is monitored closely."

Malfoy looked absolutely terrified. He started to hyperventilate and Harry groaned, "Oh no," and ran to him, kneeling next to him. "Malfoy, come on. Stay with me – hey!" He swung Malfoy around to be able to look directly at him. "Look at me. Breathe."

It looked like Malfoy was trying his hardest to follow Harry's instructions, to keep his breathing steady, but his eyes looked haunted as they stared back at Harry's, tears welled up in them. His body trembled. It dawned on Harry suddenly, even though it made perfect sense: Malfoy was as damaged as he was. The lone chair, the bricked up windows, the cold fireplace, and a month's supply of calming draughts.

"Draco," he said gently. "It'll be alright. I won't let anything happen to you." Harry nodded to see if Malfoy was on the same page. When his former rival nodded back, still struggling to control his breathing, Harry continued, "We can't do anything until the storm lets up but neither can Lestrange. He's human too."

Malfoy shook his head fiercely. Harry frowned. "He's not," Malfoy whispered. "He's a monster. He..." something in Malfoy's eyes suggested he was suddenly remembering a horrifying memory – one no doubt involving his deranged uncle. His panic attack grew out of control. Malfoy bent over as he continuously struggled to breathe.

Harry hurried to the kitchen cabinets to retrieve the second calming draught of the day. After taking it, Malfoy's breaths grew steadier and he leaned back a little.

"You okay?"

Malfoy nodded and swallowed.

"I need to contact the DMLE but you don't have any Floo powder. You must contact your mother from time to time – how?"

When Malfoy removed a black Nokia from his jean pocket, Harry goggled. "Never in my wildest dreams...," he mumbled.

"Shut up, Potter," gasped Malfoy, still shaking but recovering his near-indomitable acerbic manner. "This stupid muggle junk doesn't get good reception here on a clear day."

"Well get your things together. After the blizzard passes we're apparating out of here. You'll have to side-along me since I don't know this area much."

"Neither do I."

"W...? Malfoy...you've been living here."

"I never went bloody exploring! I just know the town and a place up the mountain where I get ingredients. I don't go out often and only ever to stock."

Harry sighed. When Malfoy stayed still and quiet for too long, Harry shook his shoulder gently. "Hey, are you still with me?"

Malfoy nodded somberly.

"Good. Come on. I'll help you pack."

A contemplative silence ensued as they packed Malfoy's things and placed them by the front door. Harry wished he could have been more sociable; say the right things to reassure Malfoy. But the silence was tense.

Harry sent Ron a Patronus telling him what he knew and where he was – though he never sent one from so far away and hoped it got to his friend on time.

An hour later, they were sitting on the couch side by side drinking chamomile tea. Despite the two calming draughts (to which Malfoy was probably developing an immunity), Malfoy still seemed nervous and out of sorts. It saddened Harry to think of Malfoy dealing with his panic attacks here all alone. Seeing his old school rival, once so proud and arrogant, reduced to neurosis and seeking a hermit's lifestyle was symbolic of the atrocities innocent children on both sides had experienced. They both might have survived it all but they came out of it permanently scarred.

He's neurotic, I'm numb, and we're both paranoid and lonely.

"Nearly freezing to death was probably a blessing in disguise, Potter. What were you thinking? Drinking bootleg polyjuice potion? It barely lasted. Lestrange would have discovered who you are. Then what? I'd have been left an unsuspecting target for that...evil bastard."

Harry watched Malfoy closely. One arm folded over the other which held the cup of tea near his chest, almost protectively. Harry knew he was putting on a brave face.

"And what if I had not run out of solution for my contact lenses and decided to make a quick trip into town? Or what if I had thrown my last remaining pureblood pride out of the window and bought that sharp telly last week and watched the news and known there was a storm coming and never left even if I needed-"

"Malfoy, will you shut up. You sound like a nagging wife. And take those ridiculous contacts off."

"No. They are a part of me now. Plus I'm nearly out of solution."

"The glasses too?"

"What?"

Harry nodded over to a pair of rectangular eyeglasses on top of a book on the coffee table.

Draco snorted. "That's for when I go out."

"No holds barred, huh?"

Suddenly withdrawing into himself, Draco shrugged and muttered, "Didn't do much good, did it? I was still discovered and by the worst dark wizard possible...after You-Know-Who-Wasn't-Such-A-Pureblood-Afterall."

The nickname made Harry snort – which was close to a laugh as he ever got. "Which begs to question how did he find you? Is there anyone in town you think might have recognized you?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, then shook his head. "The townsfolk are all dumb muggles. I don't go often and even then I only speak with the vendors. Well...cashiers." After a short, thoughtful pause, he continued, "Well there was that salesman in the electric store that tried to sell me a Sharp telly but it didn't look very sharp to me. When I told him this he laughed and said I was funny, then chatted nonsensically and asked if I had plans later. I don't know. Muggles are weird. Maybe my ignorance gave me away?"

That actually made Harry laughed – and it felt a little like coming home, familiar and missed. Malfoy, however, didn't appreciate it and shot him a glare. Then Harry had three thoughts which instantly sobered him. One was that the gay muggle salesman had probably been endeared to Malfoy's quirkiness. The second was the realization that he himself had found Malfoy funny and cute – twice in one night at that. Finally, the last thought: that while he felt fine thinking of Taran as cute, he had issues with thinking of Malfoy that way...so what did that tell him?

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now he was using his investigative skills to analyze his own feelings towards an old rival whom he had spent years disliking.

"What is it," asked Malfoy.

"Nothing. What do you even do all day in here if you don't ever go out?"

"I do go out, Potter!-"

"But you just said you didn't..."

"Well, sometimes I'll take a short drive down the road among the flower fields in the spring but it's the same road to town. And sometimes I sit outside on my lawn when the weather is nice."

"Wait...that's right – the car keys," Harry looked over at them as he realized it was Malfoy who owned them. "I can't believe it...you drive..."

Suddenly Malfoy puffed out his chest and smirked. He almost looked like his old self again. "Well believe it," he said pompously. "I own an SUV which the muggles call a Subaru – it is of Japanese origin – and I'm very good at operating it. Although I had to consult several muggles to buy the right vehicle, especially in this area which gets a great deal of snow during winters."

"Where's your license then?" Harry only said that to provoke Malfoy into showing it to him. And Malfoy did. All too eagerly, he got up, grabbed his wallet from the side table by the front door, came back and took his license from one of the pockets.

The license was for Taran Maelwaedd. Harry looked at the picture and couldn't believe it. It was a version of Malfoy with a softer jawline, black hair, brown eyes, and eyeglasses.

"Did you know that they only give you one after an instructor approves of your skill? I suppose it makes sense if you're going to operate those dangerous machines. And muggles have so many road rules! They're more organized than I thought."

Harry returned the license and Malfoy went to put it back before returning to sit beside Harry.

"Careful, Malfoy. I hear a tinge of respect in your voice."

Malfoy sneered. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. I'm only saying they're slightly better than deranged neanderthals. Besides, how do you think I brought you all the way here?"

"You drove me here? People back home won't believe it."

"That's because you're not going to tell them."

"Well, considering I have to take you back for protection."

Malfoy shook his head. "No."

"Malfoy-"

"I'm not going back."

"Until I catch Lestrange you're going to have to."

"I'll just move to another country. Maybe Switzerland wasn't far enough. I could go to Japan...or Uruguay."

"He will find you and you know it."

Malfoy slumped, seeming exhausted. He sighed dejectedly.

"Why are you running? Why do you live this way?"

"I don't want to talk about this, Potter," Malfoy said darkly.

Harry could understand that. He didn't want to talk about what was going on with him either. Even so, he was dying of curiosity.

Through his connection to Voldemort, he had caught a few glimpses of Malfoy when his home had been occupied by Death Eaters. He'd seen his rival struggle in Sixth year, though he had not fully been emotionally developed to truly grasp how traumatic that must have been to a child on the threshold of adulthood – a crucial and confusing enough time of change for anyone. Both Harry and Malfoy had been fifteen when it all truly started. Their entire adolescence - a time which was supposed to be their golden years, their first experiences of love and self-discovery, when their minds began to blossom – spent dragged through the horrors of a war.

Question was, after years of living with a monster and his pack of madmen – how did that affect the man before him? The answer was the sight of Malfoy breaking down, his words "I was lonely but safe," and how the once proud pureblood supremacist and muggle-hater chose to live – as a muggle.

Harry wanted to know more. There was rage inside himself, perpetual and simmering just beneath the surface and numbing everything else. Seeking to understand Malfoy, trying to help him, seemed to calm that anger down. It was like looking in a mirror but not at himself so it was safe.

"What are you thinking," asked Malfoy.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

Malfoy shrugged. "Fine. Keep it to yourself."

After a short pause, Harry, a bit awkwardly, asked, "Did you ever think you and I would be sitting here like this? Having a conversation over tea?"

"In my quaint little cottage no less," replied Malfoy with a smirk. "Never in a hundred years. Not before today."

"Life is weird."

"It sure is."