Word Count: 3808

Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, very minor mention of suicide.

A New Pattern

"Can I have the last waffle?" Ron asked, pointing his fork to the plate in the middle of the table.

Harry shrugged, while Hermione nodded, pushing her own plate away so she could lean on the table.

They were in the Leaky Cauldron for their lunch—although lunch was relative, since they'd decided on a feast of waffles and pancakes.

Now that they were finished with Hogwarts, they had to make plans to see each other. It had certainly been an adjustment for Harry, who was used to them just… being there.

A commotion at the bar drew their attention, and Harry's eyebrows rose when he saw Draco Malfoy, clearly drunk, demanding to be served another drink.

Harry checked his watch, incredulous to see that it wasn't even two in the afternoon.

"Bloody hell," he hissed. "He's going to mess up his parole if he carries on like that. I barely managed to keep him out of Azkaban the first time around!"

"He's not your problem, Harry." Ron pushed away his own plate, the last waffle demolished. "You did what you could for him, it's up to him if he wants to mess it up."

Harry shook his head, standing up. "I'm not going to sit and watch him throw his life away."

He ignored his friends calling his name and slowly approached Draco, who was still arguing aggressively with Tom about serving him.

Draco swayed where he stood, and his charcoal robes were rumpled and unkept. It was sad to see a once proud wizard, reduced to such a state.

"I think that's enough alcohol for now," Harry murmured, stepping in between Draco and the bar. "Why don't you let me Apparate you home?"

"Oh, fantastic, it's the golden boy," Draco complained, his words slurring as he struggled to focus on Harry's face. "Of course you're here. D'you just wait around, looking for some way you can play the hero for unsuspecting members of the public?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, Malfoy, that's exactly what I do. Come on, shift your ass, you're making a scene."

"Why do you even care?" Draco demanded. "It's got nothing—"

"I didn't fight for you in front of the Wizengamot only to see you end up in Azkaban anyway, on a jumped up charge of drunk and disorderly conduct," Harry snapped.

He pushed Draco gently but firmly, and continued to do so until he'd guided the drunken man to the Apparition point.

"Are you still living at the Manor?" Harry asked, gripping Draco's sleeve firmly.

Draco shook his head morosely, looking at the floor. "Couldn't. He's in every single room and I just—"

"I get it," Harry replied softly. He wouldn't be able to live somewhere Voldemort had been, either. "Do you have the coordinates for your new place?"

Uhhh." Draco sagged back against the wall, and his eyes closed. "S'leave me here. S'fine."

Rolling his eyes, Harry got a tighter grip on Draco, and spun once, leaving nothing but a loud crack behind them.

…

"I can't believe you took him back to your place," Ron said, and even through the flames, Harry could see him rolling his eyes.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Harry asked. "Leave him there in the alley for anyone to do anything to him? There are still a lot of people that would give anything to hurt him, Ron. I couldn't just leave him there, he was vulnerable to all sorts."

Ron huffed, but Harry could tell he agreed, and that he hated that he did.

"Just… watch your back around him, okay?" Ron said. "I know he's not like… baby Death Eater anymore, but he's also not a goddamn kitten. Be careful, Harry."

"He could be a kitten," Harry replied, grinning. "Vicious little buggers when they want to be, kittens."

Ron was clearly unimpressed, and Harry sobered. "I'll be careful. I promise, Ron."

"Uh huh. Send your patronus if you need anything, I'll be there in a flash."

Harry nodded, and Ron slipped out of the fire, leaving crackling flames behind him. Harry stared into the fire for a long moment, before he reached up to run a hand through his perpetually messy black hair.

Draco was currently sleeping off the alcohol in Harry's spare room, but Harry had no idea what he would behave like when he woke up.

While Harry would no longer consider them enemies or rivals, like he had in school, they certainly weren't friends, and Harry didn't really know Draco.

Not really.

Shaking his head to himself, Harry stood up and walked through the cottage he called home to his combined library and study. He had studying to do, if he ever wanted to finish his Healer training.

…

The sound of a clearing throat made Harry jump, and he looked around to see Draco standing in the doorway to his study, clearly unsure of his welcome.

"How's your head?" Harry asked, gesturing with his head to the second armchair in the room.

"Probably better than I deserve," Draco admitted gingerly. He hesitated for a moment before he entered the room properly and sat down in the offered armchair. "Thank you for not leaving me alone in that alley."

Harry's lips tilted slightly and he nodded his head. "Well, you know I like to play the hero."

Draco grimaced. "I'm sorry about—"

"I'm joking," Harry clarified. "It's fine. You, uh, you do that often?"

"What? Get blind drunk and make a scene?" Draco asked flatly.

Harry shrugged and nodded.

"Too often to be comfortable with," Draco replied, after a pause. "I just… I guess it's just easier. To be drunk. It." He cut himself off and swallowed, looking down at his hands, curled in his lap. "It makes the guilt quieter."

"I tried it," Harry admitted, leaning back in his chair. "It didn't work for me. Nothing would shut the guilt out, and drinking just made it worse in the end."

Draco looked up, apparently shocked to know that Harry felt guilty about anything.

"What on earth did you have to feel guilty about?"

"I lived, and so many people didn't," Harry replied quietly. "I know you seem to think that I walk around with a halo over my head, Draco, but you're not the only person who hurt others, you know?" He took a deep breath. "I cast two out of three of the Unforgivables, and only my name saved me from the same fate as the Death Eaters."

"You were fighting for the right cause though," Draco argued. "It was defence, not offence. Not like me."

"You were defending your life and that of your family, weren't you?"

"It's not the same—"

"It's not," Harry interrupted gently. "But it's also not that different. I'm not saying that you shouldn't feel bad for some of the things you did, Draco. You did things that you shouldn't be proud of. My point is that so did I. So did a lot of people who were fighting for the 'right' cause. None of us walked away unscathed."

Draco looked at him silently for a long moment, before he nodded once. "Thanks, Potter. Uh. Harry?" He paused, and then blinked. "That's weird, isn't it?"

Harry snorted.

…

"You, uh. You said I could come around, if I—"

Harry stepped back, opening the door wider for Draco to step into the cottage. He couldn't smell alcohol on him, but that didn't really mean much.

There were plenty of spells that could get rid of scents, after all.

He had to admit, he was surprised that Draco had taken him up on his offer of a place to go if the guilt got too much for him to handle alone. He'd meant it, undoubtedly, and he didn't mind that Draco had come, but he certainly hadn't expected it to actually happen.

"Do you want a drink? I think I've got tea, coffee, and butterbeer. Oh, and water."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Coffee would be good? It's freezing outside today."

Harry nodded, and led the way to the kitchen. Draco perched himself at the breakfast bar and watched Harry set off the Muggle coffee maker. He watched with rapt attention as coffee started to pour from the spout.

"That's… something," he said, when Harry took the mug from beneath it and placed it on the bar in front of Draco, before he turned back to make his own.

"Bad day?" Harry asked, when it became clear that Draco wasn't going to be forthcoming about what had brought him to Harry's door.

Draco nodded silently, wrapping his hands around the mug. "I wanted to drink, but… I thought about what you said and I think you were right when you said that it makes it worse. I just… I guess I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

"I don't know what will work for you," Harry admitted. "It helped me to talk about it. To just get it off my chest. I know someone else that did better writing it all down in a notebook. They burnt the book in a fire afterwards, and it helped."

"Who am I supposed to talk to?" Draco asked. "My parents aren't exactly the type of people that welcome guilt ridden confessions and long discussions about nightmares."

Harry chuckled despite himself. "No, I don't imagine that they are. If you want to talk, I'm willing to listen. I don't know if you can trust me enough for that, but I swear, it wouldn't go any further."

Draco stared at him. "You expect me to believe you wouldn't go straight to Weasley and Granger and spill all of my secrets, Potter?"

"Believe me or don't, but I won't. I didn't go to them with my own issues, so I wouldn't do it with yours."

"You… you didn't?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Kingsley—Minister Shacklebolt—was the one who realised how badly I was struggling, and he sat me down, and he let me talk. When I was done, he offered me his time whenever I needed it." He smiled. "He was the one that helped me look into being a Healer, rather than an Auror."

Draco nodded. "I uh, I wondered about that. Everyone thought that you were a sure thing for the Auror Department."

"I've seen enough fighting," Harry said quietly. "I don't need to see anymore. And me being an Auror would have put anyone partnered with me in way more danger. And… as a Healer, I can help people."

"Saving people problem," Draco muttered, and Harry chuckled again. They were silent for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

Harry was almost done with his coffee when Draco finally began to talk.

"I just… I feel so guilty all of the time. I didn't kill Dumbledore, but I let Death Eaters and a werewolf into a school. And I'm so angry with myself, and with my parents, and with the Dark Lord, and with… with the world, but then, I don't know how to get rid of the aggression, so I keep it, and it builds up, and it such a vicious circle that I don't know how to get out of. I just… I want to move on, but… it's hard."

Harry nodded, showing he was listening, that he understood, but he didn't say anything, not wanting to interrupt.

"It's killing me," Draco admitted, rolling the now empty mug between his hands as he stared down at the dregs of his coffee sliding around the bottom. "I can't sleep. Food doesn't taste good anymore. People sneer at me in the street, or shout horrible things at me, and I can walk it off most of the time, but sometimes… sometimes, I can't and the words just circle around in my head."

He took a breath, and then continued, "People scream at me that I should be dead. That I should do the world a favour and off myself. They tell me that I'm scum, that I'm a murderer, even though I'm not, I never killed anyone, I didn't! And then there's the nightmares, when I think he's still there, still tell me that if I don't behave and perform well, he's going to torture my mother for my failings, and I just. Want. It. To. STOP!"

He screamed the last word, the mug sailing from his hand and shattering rather spectacularly against the wall behind Harry.

Harry ducked away from it—he'd seen it coming, having done the same thing himself a few times—but a knick on his wrist blossomed with blood when he was hit with a small fragment.

He cast a quick healing spell on it, and then looked back at Draco, who looked horrified at his loss of control.

"Feel better?" Harry asked, smiling as he spelled the shards into the bin, and cast a quick cleaning spell on the wall.

"I… are you okay, Potter? I can't believe I just did that. I'm sorry, really I am."

"It's fine, I'm fine. Do you feel better?"

Draco nodded uncertainly. "I… yeah. I think I actually do."

Harry grinned. "Just gotta find a healthier way to let out that frustration, and I reckon you'll be okay, Draco."

…

"I brought you a new mug to replace the one I broke last week."

Harry blinked at the offered box, taking it as he stepped back to let Draco in. "You didn't have to, you know?"

"Just… accept it, Potter."

"Alright. Well. Thanks?"

Draco snorted, wandering into the kitchen. "Don't suppose you'll offer me more of that coffee? It was delicious."

"Oh, sure."

Harry put the box on the breakfast bar and set about making coffee, before he turned back to the box and opened it.

The smirk on Draco's face told Harry everything he needed to know and he cautiously pulled the mug from the box. It was gold—perfectly matched to the set in Harry's cupboard, and the one Draco broke—and it had words inscribed across the back in black.

Saving People Problem

Harry laughed. "Well, it's the thought that counts, I'm sure. The one you broke didn't have nearly this much class."

Draco grinned, accepting the plain mug filled with steaming coffee that Harry handed over. His grin widened when Harry put the new mug under it for his own.

"I was just about to get a shower, but if you want to stick around, I think I'm going to order some Chinese food in a little while."

Draco seemed surprised by the offer, but he nodded cautiously. "I'd, uh… sure. Thanks, Potter."

…

It began a new pattern.

Harry couldn't say that he didn't enjoy Draco's company once or twice a week.

Sometimes, Draco just needed somewhere familiar to sit quietly and think. On those nights, Harry made coffee and then sat in the second armchair with a large tomb on intricate healing procedures and gave Draco the silent company he seemed to want.

On other occasions, Draco spoke about the year his family had housed the Dark Lord, and about his time in Hogwarts during the year Harry was away. He talked about the aftermath of the war, and how his parents were.

He quietly admitted to Harry that he couldn't bear to look his father in the eyes.

And on other nights still, Harry opened up a little more about what it was like, growing up with the infamous title of The Boy Who Lived, and the pressure that came with that.

"I think death, for me, was just a wake up call," he'd admitted on one such night. "It showed me that, once Volde—sorry. Once He was gone, it was time to start living for myself, rather than trying to be all of the things that other people wanted or expected me to be."

It was strange, but Draco seemed to find a measure of peace in Harry's little cottage, and Harry found that he enjoyed having someone around.

A little odd, when that someone was Draco Malfoy, but Harry was enjoying it all the same.

It was fine. Good even. Until the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts rolled around.

…

After a long day spent at Hogwarts, shaking hands with officials, offering sympathies to those grieving lost loved ones, and being made a show of on a large stage, Harry wanted nothing more than to just bury his head in a pillow and sleep for two days.

He'd left Ron and Hermione at their place and Apparated home, planning nothing more than a quick shower, and then to collapse into bed, but his path was blocked.

Draco half-lay, slumped, on his doorstep, a mostly empty liquor bottle held loosely in his hand, a small amount of amber liquid sloshing around in the bottom.

"Draco."

He blinked up at Harry blearily. "You're home! I w's g'n'a wait for you, but… but I didn't! I didn't, and now. Now, I'm drunk! Don't you wanna be drunk, Harry? It's s'good."

"What are you doing here, Draco?" Harry asked tiredly.

"I don't… I don't know," Draco admitted, his voice little more than a whisper, and then he started crying silently.

Harry didn't know what to do. Despite the many evenings they'd shared, Draco hadn't cried at him before.

He stood there for a moment, looking down at the drunken man, before he sighed. Stepping forward, he bent down and tugged the bottle from Draco's grip before he hauled him to his feet. With an arm under Draco's and held firmly around his back, Harry let the two of them into the cottage and closed the door behind him.

He dropped Draco unceremoniously onto the sofa in the seldom used living room, and took the bottle into the kitchen. He emptied the meagre contents of the bottle into the sink and discarded it into the bin.

Leaning over the sink, Harry let out a breath. He… could have done without this, but the situation was what it was at this point. Draco was there, and Harry would just have to deal with it.

Running his hand through his hair, he returned to the living room. He was half-expecting Draco to be asleep on the sofa, but he wasn't. He was sitting mostly upright, gripping a cushion with both hands, almost hugging it to his chest.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologise to me," Harry replied softly. "You should try and get some rest. Do you want to stay in the spare room?"

Draco swallowed hard. "Won't sleep. Can't sleep. Everytime I close my eyes I see… I see things that I really don't want to see."

Harry nodded, because he understood that feeling intimately. He wasn't a stranger to nightmares, or insomnia. Just last night, he'd woken, panting and sweating, sure for a moment that Voldemort had managed to come back to life.

"It… you can stay with me, if you want," he offered, a little awkwardly. "It's helped me before; knowing someone is right there, to wake me up if I need it. I don't mind."

"I… are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "Come on. Let's… we should both get some sleep. It's been a hell of a day."

…

Harry woke up to find Draco already awake, lying on his side facing Harry, a hand beneath his chin. He looked like a child, sleep mussed and eyes lost.

"You okay?" he asked, voice rough with sleep. He longed to brush his teeth, to get rid of the fuzzy taste of sleep before he had to converse.

Instead of getting up to do just that, he waited patiently for Draco to speak.

"Are you disgusted with me?" He asked.

Harry shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.

"You should be; I'm disgusted with myself. I can't believe I did that to you. Especially yesterday. If it was going to be a tough day for anyone, then it was for you."

"Hey," Harry murmured. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Yesterday was a hard day for all of us, not just me. It's okay, Draco."

"You're so caring, Harry. You just… you shouldn't care about me, Harry. I'll… I'm not worth it."

Harry looked at him for a long moment before he shifted on the bed, flopping his arm over Draco and pulling him closer, until his head was pillowed on Harry's chest.

"Enough with the pity party, it's way too early in the day for it. Go back to sleep, and we'll deal with it when we wake up, okay?"

Draco tensed for a long moment before he relaxed into Harry's side, his fingers curling Harry t-shirt.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Draco whispered, and Harry didn't think he was supposed to hear it, so he didn't reply.

He just tightened his grip around Draco slightly and closed his eyes.

…

When they woke up for the second time, they cleaned up in a companionable silence, and then retreated to the kitchen for breakfast and some much needed coffee.

"You need to cut yourself some slack," Harry said, as he fried eggs on the stove. "I'm proud of how far you've come over the last few months, and you should be too. You might not see it, but the difference in you between now and that first time in the Leaky Cauldron is massive, Draco."

"I just… I wanted to try and turn it around. Be more than what's expected of me."

Harry smiled. "You're doing that. Getting drunk on the anniversary of the battle isn't even a backstep, Draco. It's normal."

"You didn't do it."

"I've never been accused of being normal, Draco," Harry said, his smile widening into a cheeky grin.

Draco smirked. "I can't even argue with that."

…

The first time they kissed was anticlimactic.

They'd spent the evening in Harry's little study, Harry working on his last few healing assignments before his final test, and Draco working through the application for Merlin University.

He planned to study law, to help the people he'd been taught to hate.

Harry had made coffee, and it had seemed natural to bend for a kiss when he handed it over. His cheeks flushed when he pulled back and realised what he'd done, but Draco only grinned up at him and then pulled him back down for another.

They progressed in that same easy way from there on out, each milestone of their relationship arriving naturally, like it was always supposed to happen.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if it was.

And when, years later, Ron gave his best man speech, Draco didn't even hex him for bringing up that day in the bar that changed the course of both of their lives.

…

He did hex him at the reception though, when Ron ate both his own and Draco's slice of cake.