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This time around the end of the war left everyone confused. How do you go from spending every minute fearing for your life to not having to do so? Things that were once taken for granted were now a given. Like being able to leave the house. To know that when your loved ones step out of the house, chances are they would be coming back. The end of the war was only the beginning for many.
Draco Malfoy had been one such confused wizard. At the age of seventeen, he’d seen enough to make him want to live a life of complete boredom. If nothing exciting happened to him ever again, he wouldn’t really be bothered by it. But such luxuries were not for an ex-Death Eater like him, who was waiting to be tried by the Wizengamot for charges of murder and aiding in torture; never mind that he didn’t really do either of those things. As long as he had the Dark Mark on his arm, he was capable of doing every horrendous thing possible.
All he could hope for was that he would be placed in a cell near his parents; at least that way they’d still be together. Or maybe he could get the Kiss; at least that way it would be over quickly and painlessly.
The last thing he could have hoped for was someone standing up for him at the trial. And not just anyone, but Harry Potter. The Boy who lived again and the wizarding world’s hero had been there to speak for him. Draco could honestly say that he wasn’t the only one surprised to see Potter stand when the bench called for anyone who wished to speak for him; Kinglsey Shacklebot, for one, had looked like he’d been hit by a bludger. By the time they’d announced the result and the manacles on the chair had released him, Potter had already left in a blur of camera flashes and questions from nosy reporters.
It had taken Draco an entire week to process that he was a free man, albeit with restrictions and none of his old family fortune which had been taken by the ministry for reparations. But in essence, Draco Malfoy was a free man.
Once he’d finally come to terms with that realization, it had only been natural for him to write to Potter and thank him. Old grudges notwithstanding, it was only because of him that Draco wasn’t in Azkaban like his parents, who were waiting for their trial, and he’d been raised to be courteous, at least towards those who’d saved his life, not once but twice.
Surprisingly Potter had replied quiet promptly asking if Draco could meet him. Had this been before, when he’d still had enough money to build a house of Galleons, he wouldn’t have even bothered with a reply. But as it had been then, Draco had just moved into a one-room apartment above an apothecary in Knockturn Alley that he couldn’t afford, and free lunch had sounded darn good.
They’d met at a fancy new café that opened down the street from Flourish and Blotts, a new world venture run by a man who’d earlier worked as a broom polisher in Quality Quidditich Supplies; the end of the war had instilled a new kind of strength in people, making them take risks and follow their dreams. The lunch had been less painful than Draco had imagined it would be. If Potter had noticed him eating enough for two people, he’d thankfully said nothing and had in fact ordered Draco another piece of cake when Draco had finished his dessert. As Draco had been looking for things to say to make for the sudden silence left behind once their plates were cleared, Potter had spoken up.
“Here, this is yours,” Potter said, pushing a thin box towards Draco as they enjoyed a cup of coffee.
For a minute there, Draco had thought that maybe the box contained some kind of curse and this was Potter’s revenge for years of torture in school. Then he released that if Potter had wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of saving him from Azkaban.
He’d opened the box warily, thinking it might have one of those horrid pranks from those Weasel twins, or maybe he should say twin now that there was only one of them left. What he’d found instead was the one thing he’d never thought he’d see again. Even though he was, for all intents and purposes, a free wizard, without a wand they might as well have thrown him in Azkaban and saved him the trouble. Wands weren’t cheap, and he’d doubted anyone would be willing to give a Malfoy a loan seeing as no one was ready to give him a job. And he’d tried everywhere, even applying for a job as a dishwasher in the very restaurant they were sitting in.
He hadreached out a shaking hand to touch his wand, eyes widening at the feeling of completeness he got on touching it, like a hollow ache in his bones had been filled. For the first time ever, he’d actually been speechless in front of Potter.
“I, why are you, I mean . . .” Draco had taken a shaky breath and said, “Thank you, Potter.”
When they’d parted ways that day, Draco had left feeling slightly more confident about his future. That feeling had been squashed the moment he’d reached home to find his landlord waiting for him; apparently being a Death Eater, even a pardoned one, meant that he had to pay rent early every month. He’d been kicked out within the hour, his meager possessions spread out around him on the road. He remembered his rooms at the Manor, almost ten times the size of the hovel he’d been thrown out off, and he cursed the Ministry with every fiber of his being. He knew no other Death Eater had their entire estate taken in; mostly it was just half their properties. But because he was a Malfoy, well, they were given special treatment of course.
A part of him had wanted to hate Potter in that moment; at least in Azkaban he wouldn’t have had to worry about money, but then he would be dead and well, beggars can’t be choosers. This made him laugh harder than he had in days, lying there on the street.
(*)
He was cold even though he was wearing every piece of clothing to his name, and even that wasn’t enough to keep the winter chill from reaching his bones and making every movement painful. After all, how much could two coats and a scarf protect him from the cold? He tried to curl his feet further towards his body but there was only so much his threadbare robes could cover. He started wiggling his toes one by one to make the blood flow and keep himself awake. A very big part of him was convinced that if he fell asleep, he wouldn’t live long enough to see the morning. He could feel his wand poking his ribs and for the hundredth time he cursed magic. What use was his pureblood superiority if he was so tired and hungry that even lifting his wand was a chore?
Not for the first time, he envied his father. At least without the Dementors, Azkaban would be warmer than living on the street. If he had enough energy, Draco was sure he would be laughing at his own state. Instead he took a deep, cold breath and went back to wiggling his toes.
He’d reached three hundred when he heard them: voices coming down the path. A part of him wondered who’d be out in Diagon Alley in the middle of the night, until he remembered that the war was over and people didn’t have to be scared of the dark and all the monsters that hid in it anymore. As they came closer, Draco could make out three people, and as they passed under a street lamp, he sighed at his fate. Of course it would be Potter and his merry band of followers. It wasn’t enough for him to be just homeless and dying; where was the fun in that if there wasn’t anyone to mock him for it?
He tried to pull his coat up higher and pushed himself as far into the shadows as he could. The name might not mean anything anymore, but a Malfoy never gave up without a fight, and he had no intention of doing so now. He was almost smiling as they reached the corner without noticing him, when Potter suddenly turned back, glasses flashing in what little light there was, and Draco knew without a doubt that he’d been seen. Now all he could do was wait for the jokes and hexes to come. A part of him wondered if he should just ask them to kill him. He was pretty sure Weasley would do it; there wasn’t really anything for him to live for anymore was there? Maybe death would be the more comfortable option. It’s a coward’s way out, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father’s sneered in his head, and Draco agreed. After all, no one had ever accused him of being brave, had they?
He fell asleep eventually, praying this was his last night, and instead of the escape he wanted, he was woken by a large man with grey hair who was looking at him with distrust on his face. Which was why Draco had been surprised when the man offered him a job instead.
(*)
Working at Fortescue’s was interesting, to say the least. It was hopelessly mundane of course; selling ice cream was one of the easier jobs in the world. But he enjoyed watching the people who came in all day long; his favorite past time was guessing which flavor they would ask for. He was right almost half the time. The most surprising part of the job was the number of hours he interacted with Potter on a weekly basis. The man was there almost every day, ordering a new flavor each time he came in, even letting Draco mix up the most revolting combinations and devouring them with the same passion he showed to chocolate. Draco had stopped thinking about it after the second week; how Potter chose to spend his time was none of his business, and the last thing he wanted was to show Florian that he was less than pleasant with Potter, who it seemed, was a personal favorite of the shop owner.
By his sixth month anniversary of working at the parlor, Draco was used to Potter and the inane conversations he would try to start with Draco; even more than that, Draco had stopped thinking about how eager he was for each of Potter’s visits. His system of not overanalyzing was shattered on the day Potter had asked him out to dinner, stammering and sweating the entire time, saying something stupid about celebrating achievements. Draco had agreed, but only because even though he had quite a lot of money saved up due to Florian absolutely refusing to charge him rent, he still couldn’t say no to free dinner, and it had nothing to do with how much he liked talking to Potter. It was only as he’d been debating what robes to wear out of the two he owned that it had dawned on him that maybe this was a date. He’d spent the rest of the evening trying not to panic and had cornered Potter the moment he’d arrived to pick him up.
Seeing Potter trying to explain had been hilarious and had helped ease his nerves a little - “What? Yes, I mean, if you want it can be a date. Or not! It’s your call, but I, umm, I want it to be a date, yes.” Draco had done the only thing he could think of to make Potter stop stuttering and had kissed him. On feeling no reaction, he’d been about to back away when Potter had grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled him closer.
They hadn’t been able to make it to dinner that night, but it didn’t matter so much because Potter became Harry, and Draco decided it wasn’t worth the bother of a headache to overanalyze it too much. He hadn’t had sex in over two years, and with Harry there, sleeping next to him on the small bed in Draco’s room, he’d actually slept peacefully for once.
Harry had wanted to take it slow. He said he wanted time to get to know Draco, and they had years of hostile feelings to get over. Draco thought Potter was stalling because he was Potter’s first male lover, and he was scared this was just a phase. It had taken Potter four months to realize that what he’d felt for Draco, and what Draco felt for him in return, was serious enough that the sight of Draco harmlessly flirting with a customer was enough to make him jealous. Draco had moved in with Harry a week after that. He didn’t know how and he didn’t know when, but somewhere along the few months they’d been going out, he’d fallen in love with Harry, and it scared him more than he’d thought it could because since the day he’d walked out of the courtroom a free man, he’d been resigned to the fact that was alone, and over time he’d gotten okay with it. But now, somewhere along the way had come Harry, and suddenly Draco wasn’t so alone anymore, and that’s what scared him. Because the cruelest fate is when you’re given hope in the darkest of times, and then when finally you feel safe and secure, it’s taken away.
(*)
The night Harry went on his first overnight raid was the night Draco’s nightmares started again. Ever since they’d gotten together, he’d been sleeping peacefully and he’d been grateful that Harry hadn’t had to experience them. If the ex-Death Eater bit didn’t throw him off, the nightmares that made him wake up screaming and convinced he was about to die would surely make Harry run in the opposite direction.
He’d woken up sweaty and disoriented, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. When Harry had gotten home three hours later, Draco had made an excuse about feeling like a hot shower to explain why he was taking one so late. He didn’t know how to tell Harry that some nights he woke up smelling the flames from the Fiendfyre on his skin and hearing Crabbe’s scream echo in his ear; he preferred this nightmare over the one featuring his parents in the middle of the raging inferno as he watched from the sidelines, conducting the fire with his wand like it was a symphony..
He’d started finding ways to stay awake, making up excuses that sounded feeble even to his own ears, and yet Harry took them in stride. Draco was almost convinced he could live this way, making sure Harry never found out about this, until it all came crashing down around him when he woke up one night, still caught in the grips of the nightmare, with Harry trying to calm him down.
The moment he realized that, Draco curled against the other arm of the sofa, convinced that Harry would finally say he’d had enough and ask Draco to move out. He’d been so busy trying to figure out the safest places to sleep outside that he didn’t notice the cup of tea Harry was holding out to him until Harry called his name.
“Drink this; I’ll go grab another blanket.”
He’d taken the tea with numb fingers, wondering if this was Harry’s way of politely breaking up, and he wanted to sob at the unfairness of reality; that even while hurting someone, Harry did it politely.
He could only watch as Harry came back and arranged himself around Draco before tucking the blanket around them securely. When he felt Harry’s arm drape across his shoulders, like it was an everyday thing that they snuggled after Draco had a nightmare so bad he’d hit out at Harry - he could see the red mark stark across his cheek - Draco couldn’t help but flinch away. A part of him wondered whether Harry was cruel enough to make him feel so comforted before breaking his heart, which was beating wildly in his chest because he knew; he’d always known it was too good to last.
“Draco?”
“Don’t. Just, just say it and I’ll clear out all my stuff.” Draco mentally swore when he heard his voice waver, he’d started losing touch on the old Malfoy manner, and what would his father say?
Harry stared at him, confusion clear across his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Look.” Draco took a deep breath. “I get it and its okay. It’s not fair that you should have to put up with this along with all of my other issues, and its fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone by tomorrow morni-“
“Draco!” Harry interrupted him, panic in his eyes. “What are you talking about? Why would you be going anywhere?”
He thought maybe Harry was just that cruel if he wanted Draco to say it out loud. “Don’t act like that, like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Of course you do! How could you not have noticed everything that’s wrong with me? Why would you still want me here after finding out one more thing that’s part of the mess I am?!” He had started shouting somewhere along the way, but it felt so good to be saying everything that had been on his mind for so long, even though a part of him wanted to do nothing more than to apologize and make Harry give him another chance.
“Draco,” Harry said calmly, “I’m not going to ask you to leave because you had a nightmare.”
Draco started to reply, probably shout again, but Harry placed a finger on his lips to stop him, so Draco waited for the other shoe to drop.
“So you have issues,” he started, and Draco willed the pain in his chest to subside, “but who doesn’t? I know I do. I can’t sleep without checking at least twice whether all the wards are up; small spaces freak me out, and so does the dark; and the only reason I don’t have nightmares anymore is because I worked through them, making sure I relax before sleeping! Are you going to ask me to leave now?”
“It’s your house,” Draco mumbled, lips moving against Harry’s finger.
Harry rolled his eyes, the movement so familiar it made Draco want to hold him tight and never let go. “That’s not the point and you know it. Draco, we’re barely 20 and have already been through things that would make people double our age have problems, so all in all, I think we’ve done just fine.”
“But –“
“No. I need you to stop for a minute and just hear what I’m saying. I love you and no matter what you think, nothing, nothing at all will make me stop loving you. Least of all something that is beyond your control. I should have known there was reason you were looking so tired lately,”
And Draco could only stare because those three words Harry had let slip so easily were ringing in his ears.
“Now I don’t know what I need to do to make sure you know in that pretty little head of yours that I love you, and I don’t care about –“
Draco crashed his lips to Harry’s, grabbing hold of his collar and pulling him down so that they were lying on the couch. He didn’t need to hear anything else. With those three words, Harry had said all he had to, and now it was Draco’s turn to show him just how much he reciprocated the feeling.
(*)
Slowly, they settled into a routine. Harry would leave for work before Draco - after all, Auror’s were needed earlier than ice cream servers - but not before making breakfast and trying to squeeze in a morning shag. Draco would get back home generally before Harry, which meant dinner was his duty. The first few weeks had been tough for him, having no idea how to cook, but Harry had been a great sport about eating everything that Draco cooked, even when it smelled worse than the stink of the apothecary.
On their first year anniversary, Harry had planned a surprise party for him, complete with a cake and a candlelight dinner. Draco had been blown away by how much effort Harry must have put into the planning, and he’d been ready to call it a night and drag Harry to their bedroom when Harry had given him something he’d thought he’d lost forever; apparently giving Draco back the things he’d lost was one of Harry’s favorite past times. Just the week before, Draco had contacted Pansy, who now worked at a solicitor’s in Diagon Alley, and Blaise, who helped run his mother’s estate. As they’d sat having tea in a small café Draco had been struck by just how much his life had turned around in the past few months.
He’d been content with everything he had. As long as Harry was with him, he didn’t need anything else. So when Harry handed him a long parchment on the night of their anniversary, he hadn’t been expecting to get his family legacy back. Or at least part of it, because Harry had used his name and approach at the Ministry, something he never did, to get them to return part of the Malfoy estate to Draco. Even though they only returned the Manor and some of its possessions, that was more than enough for Draco because no matter the bad memories associated with it, he had grown up there. He'd learned how to fly in those lawns and terrorized the peacocks with Blaise when they were kids, and no one appreciated the value of family and memories more than Harry.
They'd been there only once, a day after Harry had given him the papers, and he'd thought maybe he should go see the damage that was done. Surprisingly, most of it was still the same way it had always been, right down to the house elves waiting for the Master to come home; of course here and there Draco could make out artifacts that were missing but that was a given; the first thing the Ministry had done was to confiscate all suspicious items from Death Eater homes, and Merlin knows Malfoy Manor was filled with them. But it had only taken an hour-long visit for him to realize that he didn't want to live there; he'd much rather be with Harry.
(*)
At their second anniversary, Harry invited Blaise and Pansy too; it hadn’t escaped Draco’s notice that Harry’s friends weren’t there. He knew that they didn’t approve of Harry’s relationship with him and it made him feel horrible that Harry was losing his friends because of him. He’d been very insistent about it in the beginning; of course Harry would choose his friends, why would he side with Draco over years of friendship? But Harry had made it clear to him that he wasn’t going to bow under pressure and Draco had given on trying to get Harry to make with his friends.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that only his friends were invited to the party, and Pansy made it a point to start questioning him about it every time they met. At first Draco welcomed her questioning because it felt nice to have someone worrying over him, someone who wasn’t his boyfriend. But after more than a month of Pansy getting on his case, Draco had had enough.
“But Draco, don’t you think it’s weird how none of his friends, co-workers, anybody is ever at your house? Not even on Harry’s birthday?”
Draco hadn’t let the words get to him; he knew Harry had a good reason for that.
“Enough Pans,” Draco sighed. “We’ve talked about this and there really is nothing to worry about. Now I need to go home. Harry had that meeting today and he’ll probably be tired, I should get home early.”
As he stood to leave, Pansy had grabbed his hand and said, urgency lining her words, “That’s just it Draco! Your entire life, everything you do, revolve around him and it’s not healthy.”
He’d been stunned by her words, denial ready at the forefront when anger had pushed forth at the fact that she dare talk like it was a bad thing. “He’s my boyfriend! So I worry about him and like to talk about him, but that’s natural, it’s what you do when you love someone! Though, of course you wouldn’t know.”
Seeing the hurt expression on Pansy’s face, a part of him had wanted to apologize because he’d known it was a low blow to rub her recent break up in her face. But what she said next made all thoughts of an apology move to the back of his brain.
“It’s not love Draco, and you know it. Your entire life is based on that man, and I don’t know how you can be so blind as to not see just how wrong it is. Did you know he meets his friends every week for lunch? And the Weaslette? They meet up quite regularly too, did you know that?”
He’d moved away from the table then, trying to get his emotions in order, because if Pansy saw just how much her words were affecting him she would take all the advantages she could get, and he would not let her plant doubts in his mind.
“Enough! That’s enough, Pansy. If this what you think, then I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other.”
He’d left then, holding his head high and trying not to turn back when he heard Pansy say, “I’ll be here Draco, when this crashes down and you realize how wrong you were. I’ll be here.”
If she would have known just how much Harry had helped him, healed him, she wouldn’t have dared to even think something like that about Draco’s love for Harry. There had been so many reasons why Harry could have left him, never even bothered with him after the war. After all, why would the savior of the wizarding world bother with a nearly homeless, orphaned death eater? Not to mention, someone who’d made sure to torment him every moment he got in school and had been responsible for the death of so many people. And yet, Harry had saved him, not once but twice.
Pansy always seemed to forget that Harry was the one who'd made sure the fools at the Ministry knew they would be facing the wrath of the savior if they didn't give back the Malfoy estate, and she knew</i> just how important his family home was for him.
But the important point was that Draco’s life didn’t revolve around Harry; it was just that Harry was the most important part of it and how he could he not talk about him then?
As for the rest, well, he trusted Harry without a shred of doubt and her words would never change that. He knew by now that Harry would never hurt him or leave him.
(*)
Draco hurried along the walking path in the park, smiling at a little girl who was tugging on her mother’s arm to presumably drag her towards the ice-cream cart standing on the corner. He briefly debated getting an ice lolly for himself before he remembered Harry’s message that morning asking him to come straight home after work.
He barely stopped himself from full out grinning as he remembered the last time Harry had asked him to rush back home - the wonderful romantic dinner out under the moonlight had been amazing. He wondered what surprise would be waiting for him today. As he passed by the bakery where they often walked down to grab a bite when neither of them felt like cooking, Draco could remember a time when a message like the one that had gotten him so excited today would have had the opposite effect.
He sighed happily as he passed by the florist shop on the corner, taking in the heady scents of flowers that brought so many memories to the forefront – Harry getting a bouquet for him on their first date, the many roses he’d find waiting around the house for him, the lilies that made Harry smile after a bad day. Sometimes it felt like everything in his life has been touched by Harry because there was nothing that didn’t remind him of his boyfriend
Draco sped up a little as he spotted the wrought iron fence lining their small front yard. The temperature had dropped even more as he’d been walking, and he could feel the sting in his cheeks.
He almost laughed at the feeling that was threatening to overcome him, happiness, but couldn’t find it in him to disregard it for even a minute. He’d been happy before, of course, but never because of something he had worked hard for; it had always been because something had been given to him, as a gift or a reward.
As he hung his coat by the door and moved to leave the mail on the counter, Draco felt like nothing could burst his bubble that day.
That is, till he turned to see Harry waiting for him in front to the fireplace, with the same expression on his face that he’d had the day he had informed Draco his father had not been pardoned by the Wizengamot. Even then, Draco didn’t let it affect his mood. So maybe Harry’s elaborate dinner plan to surprise him hadn’t worked out the way he’d wanted it to, but that was okay; they could still order in from that new Chinese place they were thinking about trying out but hadn’t been able to find the time.
Draco stepped towards Harry to receive his customary welcome home kiss, but stopped when Harry moved a step back. He tried to push down the panic that was rising inside him. No, he was long past this, they were in love and he had nothing to be afraid of anymore.
“Harry?” Draco asked, pleased to note the stability in his voice.
Harry leaned to stand against the fireplace, his shoulder nudging the photo of them standing in the snow on the day they moved into this house. Draco clenched his fingers in his robes to stop himself from reaching out and fixing it.
He watched Harry take a deep breath and run his hands through his already messy hair, visibly steeling himself for whatever he had to say, and Draco belatedly realized that maybe this was more serious than a botched up dinner attempt.
“Draco, I think you should sit down. We need to talk.”
(*)
He tried to feel something, anything at all other than the sheer numbness that was threatening to overtake him. He knew he should probably get up, the floor wasn’t comfortable, but he’d been there since yesterday and he vaguely made out the house elves standing in his direct view. Bless their little hearts, they were worried about him. He wondered if they’d been worried about his parents when they’d been given the Kiss.
When strong arms lifted him up from the floor, Draco clung to them. He knew Harry would come back, but as he’d curled into the warm chest, rubbing his nose against the shirt to take in Harry’s smell that was uniquely woodsy with a hint of musk, he’d found it entirely different.
He started struggling to get away from the strong grip, and it was only when he’d been laid down gently on the bed that he turned to see who it was.
“Hush Draco, it’s just us.”
He could only stare up at Blaise and Pansy, the numbness creeping back over him slowly. He could tell they were talking to him, Pansy was running her hands through his hair, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care because they weren’t Harry and he was back at the Manor and this was all wrong.
All he could hear around him were Harry’s words that had ended it all.
“Draco, I, I don’t think there’s any correct way to say this so I think I should just go ahead. No wait, please let me speak and then I’ll try to answer your questions. I love you, you know that right? And for most of the past three years, you were all that I wanted and I was so happy. But over the past few months, it’s been becoming clearer to me that there’s something I want even more. Something I need. Draco, I’ve never had a family, one that I can call my own, and I want that so much. And just, you realize what I’m trying to say, yeah? In a way, we’d always known it would end like this, Draco. I know how being the only living heir of the Malfoy family; you have an obligation to carry forward the line.”
Draco had finally realized it was happening for real then, that all the times he’d convinced himself that Harry was his to keep forever was nothing but a fantasy, a lie he’d managed to make himself believe. He’d almost started begging then, to ask Harry to reconsider. He didn’t care about the Malfoy name at all, not anymore.
“I don’t want to do this, I wish there was an alternative, but Draco you know this is the only way. Family has always been everything to me, ever since I’d go to the park and see parents pushing their kids on the swings while I hid from Dudley and his friends.” Harry had sighed then, running his fingers through his hair, messing it even more. He looked up to see Draco standing still where he’d entered the room and moved a step towards him. When Draco hadn’t moved back, he’d taken it as permission and reached out a hand to touch Draco’s arm. The moment their bodies had contact, Draco had flinched back, moving back in the direction of the door.
“Draco,” Harry whispered, looking devastated but it was not even close to how Draco was feeling. All that hope, the warm feeling that being near Harry had given him, was crashing down around him, leaving him cold and shaken to the core. He maybe knew now how the Dark Lord must have felt in those final moments before Harry had killed him - the feeling of seeing everything you’d built up, all your beliefs and dreams and fantasies come crashing around was something common to the two of them.
“Say something,” Harry begged, and Draco could see tears forming in those green eyes he’d loved for so long, still loved in fact and will probably always love.
He took a deep, shaky breath that rattled his bones and made him hold onto the door frame for support. He hadn’t realized he’d almost reach the front door, the wood cold and biting through the layers of clothes he was wearing. “I need you to say it.”
Harry had looked confused for a minute before realization dawned and Draco could see the courage he’d been building up to confess leaving his body.
“Draco. . . “
“Say it!”
And as Harry had started to say those three words that would break him forever, all Draco could think about was that he wanted to comfort Harry because even now, after everything, seeing him in pain was killing Draco.
“It’s over Draco, I need something you can’t give me and I’m a selfish, horri-“
But Draco hadn’t stayed to listen to the rest of it; he’d walked out the door without looking back once he’d heard those three words.
(*)
He pushed the door open and stormed inside the men’s room, fury blurring his eyesight until he couldn't see anything clearly and had to brace himself on the wall. He wasn’t sure what made him come here tonight, he had known from the day he'd received the invitation that they were over, the perfect life he thought he finally had a chance at was gone. Maybe he had needed proof, to see with his own eyes whether this was really happening. And now that he had he wanted to do nothing more than burn the image from his mind.
When the invitation had arrived, he’d been sitting in his mother’s room, curled up on her chair like he used to do when he was little. The sudden flaring of the Floo had jolted him but he’d gone back to staring at the wall thinking it was most probably just Blaise or Pansy checking up on him. The letter had flown right into his lap, pale pink parchment with golden embossed letters on the cover. An overwhelmingly fruity smell came off the entire thing and Draco had in no way connected it to Harry because it was nothing like him.
This was why he’d been unprepared for the words that jumped out at him from the parchment, the invitation stunning him. He knew it was from her because Harry might have been a lot of things but he wasn’t so cruel. This was why the betrayal hurt because Ginerva Weasley would have no other reason to send him the letter if she didn’t know that Harry had ended things with him because of her. Blaise had found him two hours later, on the same couch with the invitation bunched up in his fist.
Even though it had been nearly two months, there were days when he still woke up feeling like he was back in their bed, waiting for Harry to get back from his shower and make breakfast. It still felt surreal, like this wasn’t really happening, and Draco would let himself get caught up in the thought that it was all just a nightmare he was yet to wake from. And then he’d hear the house-elves moving about the house and reality would come crashing down on him.
Draco ran a shaking hand through his hair, angrily swiping at his eyes. He stared as his fingers came back wet, his vision turning burly again. He blinked to let the wetness slide down his cheeks but in that brief instant when his vision was blank he saw the physical manifestation of his torture again - Harry smiling as the Weaslette walked down the aisle, Harry slipping the ring on her finger, Harry kissing her the way he'd once kissed Draco.
With a choked sob Draco slide down the wall and let the tears fall; he would rather cry all night than close his eyes and go through that pain again. Even if it already felt like his heart was tearing into pieces that were slipping away with every tear.
(*)
Salvation was amber. Dark, liquid amber that blurred reality and made the sharp edges dulled so that they could not hurt him anymore. There was peace in the amber and he reveled in it, drowned himself in it and welcomed the darkness that it gifted him.
There was also the clear kind, the one that had no color but was equally powerful. The one that helped burn out the image of Harry slipping the ring on that woman’s finger each time he closed his eyes.
The salvation helped him sleep at night. They kept the nightmares away so that he didn't crave that warm body next to him anymore. It was simple really: if there were no nightmares, then he wouldn't miss the comfort that warm body had provided, holding him tight and wiping away the wetness on his face.
Sometimes there were voices, people he may have known once calling out to him, but he would let the salvation overtake his senses and drown him once more.
The only time he would step out from its warm embrace was when he needed more, kept needing more and more and he finished all that his father had kept collected spread across the mansion in their pretty little crystal decanters. He laughed as he ordered some house-elf to bring more, he laughed as he drowned again; Lucius Malfoy had no use for salvation - he'd died believing in the farce that Malfoys come out on top.
A day, a week, or a month- it didn't matter how many hours had passed because each time he'd let the haze lift up, the hollow in his chest would ache again and that was too much too bear.
Too much had been asked of him, from the day he'd been born to the day he'd become a man. Expectations, honor, family, duty had all been asked of him when he was still learning to stand. He'd earned this; he had the right to end his life the way he wanted, and no one could take that from him.
(*)
The humming in the air was what woke him. He’d woken up to different, and disgusting, smells and feelings over the past few months but never to a new sound, which was what made him wary. Did he manage to finally achieve what he’d been aiming for?
“Draco?”
His body stiffened at the sound of his name. It sounded wrong, didn’t sound like the way he said it, and the thought made Draco want to laugh until he cried. Of course he would have ruined this too for Draco, why stop with only his heart and everything that kept him alive?
“Draco? Are you awake?”
Playing possum was one of the few things that had saved him from suffering the Cruciatus Curse from that evil bastard all those times, and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to revisit those moments once again. So he lay there, still, until whoever it was gave up and let him be.
It was only as he heard the sound of the door closing that he registered an empty feeling that had started building in the pit of his stomach, a thirst that he needed to quench as soon possible before it consumed him.
By the time he’d managed to open the eyes, the thirst was making his body sweat and he knew what he needed. But when he tried to get up he realized that his arms and legs had been bound to the bed with ropes and no amount of pulling or cursing could free him. He remembered screaming till his throat felt raw. There were people in the room but none of that mattered because they were keeping him from salvation and he needed it; because even through the burning he could feel the pain crawling up. He wasn’t even shocked to see Granger above him because she made the pain stop, and he welcomed the darkness again.
(*)
"You have a problem, Draco."
"Let me go." Draco was proud to note his voice was calm just like Granger's. They'd been at it for almost an hour now; he had been counting his breaths to keep his mind off the panic building inside. He needed the pain relief so bad, if only they would let him go.
"Is there anyone we can call?"
"Let me go."
"Draco." Granger sighed and Draco was pleased she was the one to break first.
Another deep breath – in then out.
A part of him was tempted to ask if she'd told him yet but he was scared of the answer because it would confirm what he already knew. What he’d heard at the wedding.
“You look beautiful darling!”
Draco moved further behind the pillar to stop himself from doing something irrational, like creating a scene or blowing up the bride.
“Thank you! The dress was designed just for me by Theodore Roland; do you know how difficult it is to even get into his stores? But the moment he heard it was for me, he Floo-ed all the way here to discuss about it.”
He’d cringed on hearing her talk. Just for her indeed! Theodore Roland was one of Pansy’s conquests and he was pretty sure the only reason he’d even met the Weasley was because she would be becoming a Potter soon. He bowed his head as another shot of pain lanced through his chest, and he downed his wine in one go.
“We’re so glad he finally made an honest woman out of you, my dear. After the war and all the drama in the newspapers, we were wondering if it would happen.”
He heard her laugh and the sound made him want to hex something into oblivion.
“You should know better than to believe in everything the papers say, Romilda. Harry and I did take a break after the war, but we got back together about four months ago. We’d always known we’d be together; a small break didn’t change that. There wasn’t any point in stalling it further when we just knew that we were going to be together forever.”
As the simpering crowd around the bride laughed and aww-ed, Draco felt sick to his stomach. Harry had broken it off with him a little more than four months ago, which meant that he’d gotten together with her just a few days after ending things with Draco, as if he’d been waiting for the chance to be free of Draco and finally get his happy ending.
Without worrying about anyone noticing him, Draco Apparated out of the ball room; he needed more wine.
In and out.
“Draco, listen to me please, you need help. When your house-elves got you here, you were barely alive.” Granger was almost sounding like she cared, and Draco wondered why.
“Let me go. Please.”
He wondered if Father would be proud of him for maintaining his composure.
(*)
Ironically, the decision to finally listen to what Granger was saying was cemented after hearing news that made him want to break one of those pretty decanters that held salvation and end it all.
They’d been keeping him under some kind of stasis to stop the thirst from developing, but he knew the moment he was stable enough to breathe without the help of magic, they would lift the spell and he’d feel the pain come rushing back in. He made a mental note to ask Granger if he could order Tippy to bring some of those special bottles here.
He’d been lying in bed after another hour-long discussion with Granger, which ended the same way each time no matter how times a day they talked. He was almost asleep when the loud giggle of one of the Assistant Healers outside his door had snapped him awake. He closed his eyes and played dead once more, not wanting them to call Granger again.
“Are you sure?” one of the two young trainees asked, a tall one who liked to stare at Draco when she thought he was asleep.
“Of course I’m sure! I just saw them leaving the Healer’s office; I’d been there to get some charts Healer Granger had asked for. The Potters are having a baby! The way they were smiling, and he was holding her. . . “
Draco vaguely noticed how he was finding it difficult to breathe; the hollow in his chest seemed to be expanding, growing until there was no space for anything else. He felt empty inside, like someone had suddenly doused all hope he might have had and there wasn’t anything left in him. Like Draco Malfoy - the boy, the man, the Death Eater – none of them was here anymore, and he’d never felt more lost before.
He needed to leave, go home, drown in the burn of the salvation and let it fill up the emptiness inside. There was a ringing sound in his ears, blocking out all outside noises, and it made Draco feel safe. Like he was in his own his little cocoon where no one could get him. Now if only he could get Tippy here, his safe place would have everything.
Before he could open his mouth to call Tippy, the ringing stopped and he heard someone shouting something before there was darkness once again.
“Breathe, Draco, breathe . . .”
(*)
He woke in a room he hadn't seen before, in a bed that wasn't his. This was becoming too much of a regular occurrence for his liking. With a sense of relief, he noticed that he wasn't bound to the bed anymore. Yet when he tried to move his arms, he felt pain rush through them that made him clench his teeth and gasp.
"I'd suggest not moving. They haven't given you anything for the pain and it will hurt like a bitch."
He turned his head, trying to locate the source of the voice. There was a man standing at the entrance to the room, a tall man with a shock of curly blond hair, he was smiling slightly at Draco, like they ever meeting under very pleasant circumstances.
"I'm Healer Hiddleston, welcome to Grant Lodge"
Draco wondered if this was one of those frequent hallucinations he used to have after the war. Along with the nightmares, they'd made his life hell, at least until he had found the perfect balm for all the aches that can't be fixed by spells or potions. He waited for the hollow in his chest to contract at the thought of him and he wasn't disappointed.
He tried to stop himself from wincing; but he was clearly was out of practice. The Healer, though he looked more like one of those Herbologists that believed in natural healing his Father always warned him about, walked towards Draco.
"I'd ask you if it hurts, but I don't think you'd answer me."
Draco rewarded him with a glare for pointing out the obvious.
"Yeah, I thought so." Hiddleston sighed and waved his wand, making a rolled up parchment appear on the table next to Draco’s bed. “Here you go, all you need to know about this place. When you're ready, just call."
Draco closed his eyes and averted his face as the man walked out. This place of course he knew what this place was. Being Blaise's best friend meant many trips to Grant Lodge to drop off and pick up his mother. He could remember the look on Blaise’s face clearly every time he’d get an owl from the people here informing him that his mother had been admitted again. He wondered how Blaise would react now if he knew Draco was here.
He took a deep breath and waited for them to remove the spells keeping his body in a state of stasis. That was how they worked. They made the patient aware of his malady and then worked on curing it. Except there was nothing wrong with Draco. He was fine and they'd just have to let him go.
He just had to keep taking deep breaths.
By the end of four hours, Draco was calling out to anyone who could help him.
(*)
"Do you want to start from the beginning?"
Draco stared out the window, ignoring what Healer Hiddleston was saying. They’d been at it for three days now. He knew he had to wait it out only a week, maybe two at most, and they would let him go. He could already feel the tremors that had wracked his body for the past two days subsiding.
Hiddleston was a mind Healer, which made Draco want to listen to him even less. He knew what mind Healers did and he thought it what a load of rubbish... Draco waited to see the look on the man’s face when he had to let Draco go because there was nothing to fix.
“Okay then, how about we take a little trip down memory lane? If you could come and stand closer to the pensieve, please."
Draco looked up, surprised to see the taller man standing next to a table near the window. Even with the sunlight coming in, Draco could see the waves of light created by the surface of the pensieve. A part of him was scared, memories were things he rarely revisited and his trips into pensieve’s had never been pleasant before. When he’d been six, he’d accidently broken one of mother’s vases and while she hadn’t said anything his father had made sure to give him a punishment he’d never forget. Every time after that if Draco would need to be punished he would be shown that memory and he’d always leave the pensieve crying and apologizing. With a heavy sigh he got up and moved towards the table, anything was better than having to talk about his feelings and he was pretty sure Hiddleston didn’t have that memory. He’d made sure to destroy it the day he’d gone back to the Manor for the first tie after the war.
Without waiting for Hiddleston Draco plunged face first into the pensieve and . . . landed in his room. He could see the fire burning in the fireplace, casting an orange glow over the room but even that wasn’t enough the cover the sense of gloom presiding over the entire setting. Like, whoever’s memory this was had known something bad was going to happen.
He turned around at a sound from somewhere near the back of the room, closer to the balcony and stopped dead in his tracks on seeing himself lying across the armchair he’d smuggled from his father’s library in his fourth year. He could only recognize it was him because of the hair and clothes he was wearing, otherwise he looked nothing like Draco Malfoy, one time Slytherin prince; Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a mirror. He was all skin and bones, with a shallow pallor to his skin and cheeks so sunken in that he looked dead. As he looked on, the memory version of him finished the bottle in his hand and threw it against the door, struggling the entire time; as if lifting an empty glass bottle was a tough task. He could only watch as the memory him called out to Tippy, voice feeble and broken, and when the elf didn’t appear making an attempt to stand up and walk till the door, heading for the study.
Or that might have been the plan because as soon as he managed to pull himself out of the chair, he could only walk a few steps on suspiciously wobbly legs before he threw up on the expensive carpet and then fainted on the spot.
Draco didn’t remember any of this happening.
(*)
Once upon a time, when Draco had been a small boy of seven his father decided to reward the excellent report Draco’s private tutor had presented to the Lord Malfoy. So he decided to take his son to Gringotts and show him the foundations for all governments – glittering golden mountains of galleons.
“One day this will be yours Draco, along with the title of the Lord of Malfoy Manor.” Lucius Malfoy had said, enjoying the wide eyed look in his son’s eyes, after all every father wants their children to be proud of them.
Little Draco had nodded his head eagerly and held on tightly to his father’s hand as they rode through the tunnels with the nasty goblin in the really fast cart. As they’d been walking back home his father decided to step into the apothecary for a minute and look up a few ingredients, asking Draco to walk about the shop but stay inside. Now Draco may have been a Malfoy but he was still a little boy and as curious little boys are wont to do, he stepped out of the shop the moment he heard some commotion outside. Pushing and pinching the legs of all the grownups standing in his way, Draco managed to reach the front of the crowd and get a glimpse of what all the noise was about. Or rather who, for it had been a man, a short balding man in tattered robes who was stumbling around the cobblestone street leading to Gringotts. As Draco watched the man had tripped and fallen over his feet face first into a barrel of eel’s eyes outside the apothecary. All the while the crowd had only laughed and pointed at the man, no had attempted to help him.
He’d jumped on feeling a large hand grip his shoulder tightly and had turned to see his father standing behind him, staring at the man struggling to stand up, covered in slime, and had sneered. “That Draco is a prime example of a weak man, someone who’d rather drown his weaknesses away than face it headfirst. That’s what makes us Malfoys different son, we are never afraid but we’re also not like those silly Gryffindor’s who mistake courage for brute strength. It’s all in the mind boy, always remember that.”
(*)
As Draco watched memories upon memories of himself drinking away bottle after bottle before promptly spilling his guts all over the place he was reminded of his father’s words. He could only watch in horror as the memory version of himself stumbled around the house, drinking and fainting and hiding as the house-elves watched in vain, unable to intervene because of Draco’s orders.
He can’t remember when exactly he started crying but the moment he saw the memory of himself stumbling to stand up he couldn’t stop the tears because somewhere along the way he’d become a weak man. This man in front of him, the one falling down and refusing to fight wasn’t the Draco he was; this was a man who had decided to give up and Draco didn’t recognize him.
When they’d finally come out of the pensieve, Hiddleston said nothing, moving to stand by the window again after handing Draco a glass of water. When Draco felt like he could talk without throwing up, he looked towards Hiddleston and whispered, “Help me.”
_________
"Did you know they've reduced the number of cookies from 6 to 4 in the breakfast cart?" Draco asked, paying more attention to the book in his hand than to Healer Hiddleston.
"Yes, it was a big topic of discussion at the quarterly meeting. What I do find interesting is that you're the only resident who noticed."
Draco could hear the meaning in his tone but he refused to look up because doing so would mean having to hear what Hiddleston really had to say and Draco didn't care for that.
He shrugged, "Maybe I'm just more observant."
"Or maybe you've been here long enough?"
Draco pointedly turned the page in his book.
"Draco," Hiddleston sighed, "it's time."
He turned another page and mumbled, "No, it's not."
"You've been better for almost two months now; at this point you should have been out there, getting back to your life."
Draco willed his hands to stop trembling, holding onto the book so tight he could hear the pages crinkle.
"Draco, its normal to be scared and -"
"I'm not scared" Draco cursed and moved to stand near the door, a tactic he'd learnt early into his recovery when the things he'd be forced to remember and talk about had been too much.
“I’m not scared,” he repeated calmly. “It’s just . . . “He stopped again, not sure how to go ahead and say it because in a way it did sound like he was scared and he didn’t know how to explain the difference to Hiddleston. He looked up to the see the man looking back at him, no judgment or impatience in his eyes and Draco took a deep breath, because Hiddleston was the one man who’d seen him at his worst and still not stopped helping him. He’d been there when Draco would spend nights lying awake in his room, lavish and in no way resembling the room of a rehabilitation center patient, praying for something to take the thirst and pain away.
"I'm not scared," he took a deep breath and continued because he'd learnt long ago that he couldn't lie to Hiddleston, the man had seen him at his worst and yet there was never a shred of pity or disgust in his gaze, "I'm not and you know that. But there's nothing out there for me, there's nothing for me to go back to. Besides, I’m comfortable here; they finally made me the president of the Book Club."
When Hiddleston only continued to stare at him Draco edged back towards his chair, gripping the book tightly. It was only when Draco was seated once more that the Healer spoke up, his calm voice sounding the same as always, “I may not have known you for long Draco but what I do know is that you're someone who doesn't give up. So what I can't understand right now is what is it exactly that's making you prolong your stay here? I know it's not my wonderful company if the number of times you've called me boring is anything to go by."
Draco mentally swore and sank down in his chair, swearing that one day he’d find out if mind healers were allowed to use legilemncy on their patients because there was no other way that Hiddleston would know what he was thinking about. He’d barely just realized it himself but it was as he’d been thinking about what was there for him outside that it had hit him.
He mumbled a reply, hoping to get away with it.
“I’m sorry; I don’t think I caught that. Could you repeat it little louder please?”
Draco smoothed his fingers over the book’s cover, looking only at his fingers and said, “He’s out there. And I’m not ready to face that reality yet.”
He heard more than saw Hiddleston moving in his chair before his still calm voice washed over Draco, “On the contrary I think you’re more than ready to face reality head on Draco. I know the first step is hard, but it gets easier after, you know that.”
And a part of Draco knew that was true, he’d already braved the act of talking about him to Hiddelston and though it still hurt to talk about the person he thought he’d be spending his life with, Draco no longer felt the need to drown himself in his father’s alcohol in order to escape the crushing vacuum in his chest.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have anything waiting for me out there. Nothing at all, I made sure of months ago.”
To Draco’s surprise Hiddleston smiled, a small rare smile and hummed. “I think you’ll be surprised by what you’ll find waiting for you outside.”
Draco nodded and wondered if he could bribe the caretaker to let him have an extra key to the back door so he could slip in whenever he wanted.
(*)
The Manor was as he’d left it, spotless and empty except for the house-elves who eyed him with same level of devotion they’d always had. He couldn’t help but noticing that all the rooms were clear of alcohol and even though he no longer felt the urge for it he couldn’t help but be grateful.
The biggest surprise (which he suspected was also the one Hiddleston had mentioned) was the two people waiting for him in the study. Draco stopped dead in his tracks on seeing Blaise and Pansy sitting by the fire having a discussion about something, as if they did this every day, sitting in the house of someone who’d made sure to cut them off from his life.
When they’d finally noticed him, Draco could only watch as Pansy had rushed to wrap him in her embrace, tight enough that he had trouble breathing and Blaise had been right after her. Before he’d known what was happening there were apologies being exchanged and Draco was reminded of their sixth year, when he’d asked them to leave Hogwarts the night he’d let those murders into the school. He could still remember the look on their faces as they’d stared at him like he was crazy. Blaise had been the one who’d said it but he could see it still held true today as it had all those years ago – “We never leave one of our own behind.”
They’d left that day promising to check in regularly and Draco had felt for the first time in months that he might actually be able to make it. His optimistic thoughts lasted all of eight hours till he received the paper next morning and saw the headline – THE POTTERS ENJOY A DAY AT THE ZOO.
The picture hit him like a punch to the gut because he was smiling and had an arm around the Weaslette with his little boy in his arms and all Draco wanted was for it to end. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to go through life knowing that the one good thing he’d had was taken from him while he was left on the side of the road alone.
He barely registered getting up from the table and moving to his room but as he called for the house-elves to help him, Draco saw a plan forming in his head. He needed to leave the country, escape everything and go somewhere far away because no matter what Hiddleston thought, he wasn’t ready to face reality yet.
As the house elves packed a few of his clothes he penned down short notes to Pansy and Blaise, explaining as best as he could why he needed to leave and that he’d be in touch with them soon. He hoped that would be enough for now, he didn’t have time to be elaborate and he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep.
Within the hour he was ready to leave and after a final round of farewells and instructions to the house-elves, along with handing over the notes for Pansy and Blaise he walked out the door.
As somewhere in London Harry Potter ate ice cream with his son, Draco Malfoy left the country.
(*)
Morocco was overwhelming and Venice was the opposite of what he was looking for. Yet at each new place he visited, it was as if he was leaving a piece of his hurt behind as a memento to proudly proclaim, “Draco Malfoy stood and healed here.”
There was something new for him at each destination, and he embraced the sense of adventure it brought for him; the feeling of not being tied down was overwhelming at first, the thought that he was under no timeline or constraints but over time it was that feeling that helped him breathe easier with each passing day.
The last time he’d met Pansy and Blaise, around two months ago in Tokyo; Pansy had commented that he looked fitter than he had in ages. After they’d left Draco had spent hours in front of the mirror comparing himself to an old photo of his family that he carried with him. Gone were the sharp edges and upturned chin, so like his father’s. In place of that was a man with the smoothed features that came from hard work. And he’d done it all, from working as a deck hand on a fishing ship in the Indian Ocean to ferrying parcels in the bustling streets of Shanghai, the moment he’d have enough money saved up he would move in search of a new city.
He didn’t actively go out looking for the Wizarding quarter in every city he visited but made sure to check in at least once a month so he could Floo Pansy or Blaise and let them know he was fine. After spending ten months and a few days away from home, Draco felt like he was ready to try going back.
He was under no assumption that he was completely healed; he was nowhere close to being the boy he once was. But in a way that made him happy because no, far away from it all he could see everything that been wrong to begin with. Pansy had been right; it hadn’t been healthy from the moment he’d decided that Harry was the only one could help him.
As he’d been waiting at the Melbourne Station for his turn, his eyes had caught sight of a paper lying on someone’s desk at the counter. The man in the photo on the front looked the same as he had all those months ago. And for the first time instead of the all-consuming pain in his chest that he’d felt all those months ago, Draco only felt a dull ache, like a deep hurt that had healed and all that was left was the scar.
As the Ministry attendant handed him his Portkey, Draco took it with a smile and closed his eyes. He was ready to face reality now.
(*)
“- and then I told him point blank that there was no way I was going to wear that hideous ring his mother keeps trying to force on me.”
Draco smiled and sipped his tea, enjoying listening to Pansy rant about her soon to be mother in law and the stress of wedding planning. He settled into his chair, ready for another hour long sermon on – “she’s a horrid woman Draco! Makes my mother seem like the paragon of kindness and compassion in comparison!”, and not for the first time he offered his thanks to the God’s above for helping him find this place with its sinfully comfortable couches and the best cupcakes he’d had in years. He knew that no matter how much Pansy complained about how Muggle the place was Draco knew she loved it too which was why it’d practically become tradition for them to meet here for tea every Monday.
And Pansy was right, this was a Muggle place, he’d found it while walking around the area to get a feel of his new neighborhood. And despite their reservations about him moving into a Muggle part of the city Pansy and Blaise had helped him set up the small one bedroom, even though on returning from his trip he’d found his Gringotts vault sufficiently more filled than before, which was when he’d realized that he hadn’t checked it in months. Ignoring all that extra gold, he’d used his savings to rent his new home and asked the house elves to use to the vault money to renovate the Manor. Even though he’d asked them not to bother with cleaning the apartment, there were days when he’d get back from work to find the place spotless and in his tired state he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He’d tired living at the Manor when he’d returned but it seemed to empty, too big for him after spending months living in cheap pay per night hostels. Even the Leaky Cauldron had been too central to the Wizarding area than he’d liked. After spending months living like Muggles he’d found that he rather liked their simple lifestyles. When he’d told this too Hiddleston, when they’d met a month ago for lunch, the man had only smiled a little and asked him how his new house was. It was only when they’d been leaving that he’d been drawn into a hug that left him feeling like he’d done something right. He wondered how his father would react had he been alive to see Draco living as a Muggle and having a Mind Healer for a friend.
“Draco, darling, are you even listening to me?”
He started on hearing Pansy’s voice, too intent on wondering what Tippy would have left him for dinner that day. As he blinked to clear his head, Draco realized he’d been staring at someone while he’d been lost in thought and said person was now busy staring back at him, lips curved in a small smile.
He watched as the man, though he was definitely younger than Draco, turned to say something to his friend, moving long fingers through brown hair that fell into equally brown eyes that were sneaking glances at Draco every now and then. He was surprised to find that he actually liked the attention; it had been over a year since he’d even looked at anyone and yet here he was, in the middle of a Muggle tea shop, sneaking glances at someone across the room like he was teenager all over again.
He turned back towards Pansy when she pointedly cleared her throat and subtly directed the conversation towards her mother in law and china patterns again. If Pansy noticed that he smiled a little each time he caught those eyes she said nothing about it... By the time they’d left to go do some more wedding shopping, Draco had chalked it down to a onetime thing and decided to just remember it as a sweet memory and nothing more.
Of course his plans were thwarted when he came back from work and ran into someone as he was exiting the lift. After the momentary shock of falling had subsided he’d looked down to see impossibly brown eyes staring back at him in shock.
“I’m so sorry!”
Draco shook his head and got up, offering his hand to the other guy, “It’s fine; I should have been paying attention too.”
“I’m Ryan, I just moved in across the hall”, he’d extended his hand and Draco had reached out to shake it without hesitation.
Despite being exhausted after working all day he’d spent three hours helping Ryan move his things from the lobby to his apartment. Surprisingly Draco hadn’t minded it in the least, it was fun to just manual work after brewing potions all day long and he liked hearing Ryan talk about himself.
Ryan was a writer from America who’d apparently travelled to London two years back to get some inspiration; he was still looking for it but was somehow convinced that the change of residence would be a good move.
Draco had asked him out a week later.
Of course it hadn’t been so easy, because after spending the first day helping him move in and talking to him, Draco had all but had a nervous breakdown. He’d floo-ed Hiddleston the minute he’d entered his own apartment. Thankfully the man hadn’t made him wait and had been there within the hour.
Within minutes of the Healer’s arrival, he’d pushed Draco to get to the root of the matter. It had been almost a year since he’d been independent and he no longer flinched on hearing Harry’s name, so what was it that was stopping Draco now?
He’d had the answer within a minute of Hiddleston asking that question. He’d always know he’d be scared if ever the time came where he would feel something for someone else. And he also already knew what the main difference between this time and last time would be, he wasn’t the same person.
(*)
From the start, Draco could tell there was stark difference in his relationship with Ryan from the one that had left scars too deep to erase. This time around, they were equals from the start. Neither was better or worse than the other, and Draco relished that feeling, even though he knew that most of it had been his own thinking last time. He’d long ago learned how to be independent, and the fact that Ryan respected that was what had made Draco realize he could do this.
Their first date had been a disaster. Draco decided they could have dinner at a small café he liked, but it had turned out to be closed because of renovations. They had to walk for twenty minutes to the next restaurant, where they had to wait for a table outside in the cold. By the time they had entered the building’s lobby, Draco had been convinced this was all a mistake and he wasn’t ready and what was he thinking? And yet, as they’d reached their floor and he’d almost started to apologize, Ryan leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, just a small peck, thanking him for dinner and walking towards his door, turning back to smile at Draco before going in.
He hadn’t told Pansy and Blaise until he’d gone out with Ryan at least five times and knew this wasn’t a onetime thing. If the fact that they hadn’t gone above making out hadn’t been an indication, then the fact that Ryan knew when to give him space and when he needed reassurance had been a big deciding factor for Draco. The reason he hadn’t told Pansy and Blaise was because they’d be quick to not only point towards the elephant in the room but also put spotlights around it. This is exactly what happened when he finally did tell them.
“He’s a Muggle, Draco!”
“Oh come on, I thought we were past this pureblood nonsense!”
“You know I’m not talking about that! How do you even think it can work out?”
And so it had gone on and on until apparently their shouting had gotten loud enough for Ryan to come over from his apartment to check if everything was okay. After the customary round of meet the friends, Pansy and Blaise had left and he hadn’t needed Pansy’s look to know he had to tell Ryan before it got too serious.
“So that was awkard,” Ryan had joked, helping himself to some cookies from Draco’s kitchen before settling down on the sofa. Seeing him like that made Draco feel something warm in his chest, where there had been nothing for so long.
“Yeah,” Draco agreed, snagging a cookie before falling onto the sofa himself, enjoying the way Ryan leaned into his embrace. “I have something to say, and I’d really appreciate it if you would hear me out with an open mind.”
Ryan pulled Draco’s hand into his lap to stop his fidgeting and said, “Sure, what is it?”
Draco took a deep breath and decided to just blurt it out without building it up first. “I’m a wizard.”
He’d been expecting loud exclamations and Ryan leaving. What he hadn’t expected was Ryan shrugging and saying, “Okay. Can you do magic to get me the remote? I don’t feel like getting up.”
Draco turned to stare at his boyfriend then, wondering whether he’d missed something. “What?”
Ryan, in turn, just shrugged and turned to Draco with a sly smile on his face, and cooed, “Oh baby, I’d always known you were made of magic!” waggling his eyebrows and winking exaggeratedly.
Draco hadn’t been able to help it; he’d burst out laughing until he’d fallen on Ryan, pressing him into the sofa. One minute they were laughing, and the next they were snogging, hands urgent and bodies too warm. When Ryan dropped to his knees in front of Draco a minute later, Draco thought that waiting had so been worth it.
It was as they rested on the sofa later that Ryan had confessed he had a cousin who was a wizard; though he still maintained that he’d always known Draco was something special. This had then led to round two of making up for the wait.
(*)
He sold off the Manor a few months later, now that he knew for sure that there was no way he was going to be able to live there. The house-elves had been devastated until they’d seen the house he was planning on buying; at which point they immediately started discussing kitchen rotations and laundry schedules.
He would have asked them to find a new home, but Ryan loved the little buggers. Draco couldn’t find it in his heart to ask them to leave after he’d come down in the morning to see his boyfriend reading out parts of his story to the house elves in the kitchen. Draco was pretty sure that their excited cheering and clapping was what made Ryan so fond of them, but he wasn’t going to point that out.
He was whole and he was content, living a life he’d made all by himself, and he had a boyfriend he’d soon love to call his fiancé. But that still didn’t stop the dull ache that would sometimes arise when he read about him in the paper or on the one memorable occasion when he’d run into the Weaslette and his son in Diagon Alley. It had been like a punch to the gut and he’d almost gone ahead and done something reckless. It had only been the thought of Ryan waiting for him and the little engraved Galleon that Hiddleston had given him just a week ago, which proudly said One year and still counting, that had made Draco take a deep breath and head home.
Ryan knew there were things from his past that would probably always haunt him, things Draco might never be able to talk to him about. But he was fine with it because he knew at the end of the day that Draco was coming home to him, and that was what mattered.
2 years later . . . . .
Harry cursed as he walked down the path, making sure to keep checking the numbers on the houses so that he didn’t miss the one he was looking for. He figured he should be glad that Albus finally had a friend, even though the name Scorpius didn’t really make him feel all that reassured. But when his son had come home from the first day of his second year at Pendall Academy for Young Wizards smiling and talking a mile a minute about his new friend, Harry had been overjoyed.
Though his good mood had been short lived the moment Ginny had interrupted Albus’s recounting of the entire day by shouting from her room that she was working and if they could please talk softly.
It had taken Harry all the will power he’d possessed to not go barging into her study and shake her until she realized just how horrible she was to her son. Every day it was getting harder and harder for him to control himself, and he was scared that the day would soon come when he would snap.
He wondered when things had gotten so out of control that he felt suffocated being in the same room with his wife for too long. He wanted to tell himself that it hadn’t always been this way, but a part of him knew that it was life. They’d always been like this, too out of sync, and the only reason they’d enjoyed the early days was because they were hardly ever together.
He was happy staying at home, working on the cottage and make it look like a perfect family house, while Ginny was be out all day, attending parties and trying out for teams. When they’d found out they were expecting James, Harry had been over the moon. Finally everything he’d dreamed of was coming together. He could finally have his happy ending.
His fairytale bubble had bust the day he’d heard from Hermione that Draco was in St. Mungo’s for addiction. Ginny had been there with him at the time, and her snide remark of, “Serves him right, git got what he deserves,” had made Harry feel disgusted with his wife.
It had taken him days to build up the courage, but when he’d finally snuck into St. Mungo’s under his cloak, he’d found Draco had been shifted elsewhere. He hadn’t heard about Draco since then, and everyday he offered a little prayer to whoever was listening to make sure that Draco was fine.
As he trudged down the cobblestone path, avoiding little puddles, he wondered who Scorpius’s parents were, seeing as how this was an entirely Muggle neighborhood. Maybe they were Muggleborn and wanted the best of both worlds for their son.
He could sympathize with that mentality; he’d once suggested this to Ginny when they’d just had James- that he wanted his son to know both worlds - and she had vehemently refused moving from Godric’s Hollow, saying she’d rather her son grew up in the house his grandparents had built for his father. Harry had refrained from pointing out that that house had long been destroyed and rebuilt according to her specifications.
He’d found himself biting his tongue many times over the past few years.
Harry sighed in relief as he finally saw the house number he was looking for, and walked up the walkway to the bright yellow door, which shined in the light of the setting sun. He rang the doorbell and waited, hoping they could get the introductions over with fast so that he could go home and lock himself in his study without having to face Ginny that night.
The last thing he’d expected was to see Draco Malfoy open the door.
For a minute, he’d been stumped, wondering whether he was seeing things because there was no way the Draco Malfoy he’d known (the one’d he’d, for lack of a better word, destroyed; because he had seen the papers on Hermione’s desk, asked her subtle questions so that he knew enough to deduce that he was the one who’d done that to Draco) would have been caught wearing ratty old jeans and a sweatshirt that said World’s No. 1 Dad.
And yet, as he’d kept staring, he could make out the faint scar on his chin from that broomstick accident when he was four. And those eyes - he could never forget those eyes.
Those same eyes were staring back at him now blankly, no sign of emotion in them, and Harry hadn’t been ready for the sharp pain that pierced his chest, making it hard to breathe for a minute.
“Draco – “ He breathed, grabbing hold of the doorframe for support.
“Do come in, Mr. Potter, the boys will be down shortly. I think they’re watching a movie on the telly.” Draco smoothly cut him off and moved to the side, a clear invitation.
Harry wanted to reach out and touch him to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, because this was like one of his fantasies come to life. Of coming home to Draco, of Draco waiting for him, of never breaking up for a lie that he’d convinced himself was what he wanted.
“Tippy,” Draco called out, turning to the house elf that had materialsed next to him. “Let little Albus know his father is here and ask the boys to come down.”
The elf vanished with a pop and Harry continued staring at Draco, wondering who his wife was and whether she would mind if he grabbed hold of her husband and never let go.
He turned on hearing the sound of running coming from behind him to see two boys running towards them. And while Albus was a miniature version of him, Scorpius was all Draco, right down to the sparkle in his eyes as he laughed while he chased his son. He knew Albus was talking to him but he couldn’t take his eyes off Draco leaning down to talk to Scorpius. The adoration in the young boy’s face and the unconditional love in Draco’s eyes was a sight that made his heart clench. For a minute, he hoped Draco’s wife was just like Ginny; that he was as miserable as Harry was. The next second, he erased the thought from his mind; he loved his kids and there was no way he could have had everything that he had now had he still been with Draco.
As he’d been preparing to make some excuse about dinner so that he could go home and drown himself in what if’s he was cut off by Scorpius’s shout of, “Daddy look, this is Mr. Potter, Albus’s dad.”
And if Harry had thought the pain he’d felt on seeing Draco had been bad, it was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the heart-wrenching feeling he got on hearing Draco introduce the tall, handsome, brown haired man who had climbed down the stairs with a sleeping baby in his arms, his brown eyes fixed on Draco and Scorpius, as, “Mr. Potter, this is my husband Ryan and our daughter Cissa.”
He wanted to think that maybe Draco could still read him like a book, because Draco looked at him with pity in his eyes before taking his daughter and holding her down for Albus to see as Scorpius asked to be picked up by his daddy.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself any longer if he had to stay a minute more and watch what he could have had. Making hasty excuses with a voice that sounded off even to his own ears, he grabbed hold of Albus’s hand and walked down the street until they could use the Portkey to go home.
It was only after he’d tucked Albus in and made sure Lily was sleeping that he’d locked himself in the study and let the walls go down, falling to the floor and crying for everything he could have had, but had been too scared to reach out and take.