Chapter Text
Draco woke to the familiar sound of persistent knocking at the door in the middle of the night. On the doorstep, as always, stood a worn-out and drunk Harry Potter.
He wordlessly stepped aside, letting him in. Potter didn't even stop in the hallway. He went straight into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed like it was the only thing he needed.
Draco followed him.
Neither of them said a word.
It started a year ago.
The first time Harry showed up at his door late at night, he had a split brow and blood slowly dripping down his face and right onto Draco's white doormat with "Welcome" on it.
Welcome indeed.
Draco wasn't used to the idea that the Saviour could look like that back then.
Everyone knew Draco was a healer. Not in a hospital, no one there trusted him. His past had a long memory. He took patients at home, and everybody knew that.
Apparently, Harry did too.
He didn't explain anything, just sat on the edge of the sofa while blood dripped onto another rug in Draco's living room, staring at a fixed point, as if his body no longer belonged to him.
And Draco hadn't said anything either.
Since then, Harry had been showing up regularly. Not always beaten or injured, but always in a terrible mental state and usually drunk. They almost never talked about it, and he often disappeared before Draco could wake up properly.
And now, Potter was lying on the bed with his eyes closed.
Draco lay down beside him. "Bad day?"
Harry mumbled something unintelligible, but shifted on the bed, turning his face toward Draco without opening his eyes. He looked miserable. Draco ran a hand through Potter's hair, massaging his scalp gently. Harry leaned into the touch and moved closer.
"I assume you're not going to take a shower?" Draco muttered, grimacing. "You're just going to sleep in my bed, stinking of booze and Muggles?"
"Fuck off. Just do what you usually do with it."
Draco sighed, cast a cleaning charm over him, and lay back down, turning away from Harry.
Harry scooted closer anyway and pressed his face into the side of Draco's neck.
When Draco woke up in the morning, Harry was already gone.
He showed up again five days later, not drunk or injured, but there was something haunted in his expression that made Draco examine him for a second longer than usual before stepping aside to let Potter in.
Draco went straight to the kitchen to make tea as Harry went and sat on the sofa. Their ritual.
"Are you hungry? I've got leftovers if you want."
Harry looked up at him and gave a silent nod. He obviously didn't care about food.
He pretended to eat, still wearing that same distant expression. Draco couldn't stand it anymore.
"Either you tell me what happened, or you watch a film with me. You love all that Muggle stuff anyway and I didn't let you in to put up with all of your brooding," Draco said irritably.
Harry shrugged. "Film, then."
They never really watched it.
Harry sat there completely absent, staring at the floor most of the time. Draco didn't really watch it either — mostly because Harry's silence was getting under his skin, and he hated how much he wanted him to leave or finally talk.
Harry left again early the next morning. Draco hadn't been asleep and he'd heard Harry trying not to make any noise as he moved around the flat. Draco was getting sick of it.
He decided that he wouldn't let him in anymore. Potter could go to his friends instead or finally find himself a lover. Draco wasn't running a charity, and whatever this was had started affecting him far more than he wanted to admit.
The next time Harry showed up was two days later. Drunk out of his mind and barely able to stand.
"Go home, Potter," Draco said without opening the door. Harry didn't answer, he just kept standing there.
Draco could feel his presence with his entire body. "Go home," he repeated, less firmly this time.
Harry swayed slightly before finally speaking. "Let me in, or I'll sleep outside your door."
Draco didn't particularly want Harry Potter scaring away his clients first thing in the morning, so he gave in and opened the door.
Harry stumbled inside with a frown, muttering under his breath, "Who pissed in your tea today, Malfoy?"
That was the last straw. Draco actually choked on his anger. He caught up to Potter in two quick steps and grabbed him by the arm.
"You fucking pissed in my tea, Potter!" Draco shouted furiously.
Then, quieter, as he let go of Harry's arm: "I don't want you coming here anymore. I don't want to ever see you again."
Harry stared at him with wide eyes, like he was seeing Draco for the first time. Then he took a step back and walked out without a word.
The first day he didn't show up, Draco felt relieved.
For the first time in months, he slept through the night uninterrupted and woke without the usual disappointment and guilt that came with always letting Harry in.
By the fifth day, the anxiety started creeping in. Had Potter found someone else to go to, or was he lying half-dead behind another muggle pub somewhere?
By the eighth day, Draco started waking up to phantom knocking at the door.
Two weeks after sending Harry away, he felt miserable.
Draco found himself lying awake more often than not. He buried himself in work, staying up late into the night just to avoid thinking about Harry — drunk, bleeding, exhausted.
It wasn't Draco's responsibility anymore. It had never been his responsibility to begin with.
Three weeks later, Pansy ran out of patience with Draco "constantly sulking and barely leaving the house," so she planned to drag him and their friends out to a club to "cheer him up a bit."
"And this is not up for discussion," she added. "I don't know what happened between you and Potter, but I am not going to keep watching you ruin my mood with your sour face."
Draco didn't know how Pansy had found out about Harry's nightly visits, but he wasn't surprised. Pansy always knew everything about everyone.
Maybe he should check his house for listening charms, Draco thought dryly. Not that Pansy would be above something like that.
Still, he told himself it was time to let go of whatever had been going on with Harry. He had been the one to push him away, after all — and this was the freedom he had wanted.
Freedom to go out to a club and not worry that Potter would show up at his door while he was gone.
They weren't friends. They barely even spoke. Of course Draco could live without him.
So now he stood in the club with a drink in his hand, not quite sure what to do with himself.
Pansy was dancing with some guy in the middle of the crowd, occasionally nodding at the man who had clearly been interested in him all evening — and then toward Draco.
Maybe this was a good idea. Maybe distracting himself was exactly what he needed.
So Draco smiled back at the man who had been watching him all night. He immediately walked over.
"You look good," he said.
Draco smiled at him. "Thanks. You're not bad yourself."
The guy laughed and held out his hand. "Evan."
"Draco."
They spent a while flirting, as Draco slowly let himself relax, until he noticed familiar dark curls near the bar.
Of course it's him. How typical.
Potter was sitting at the bar, a girl with long blonde hair and a short black skirt on his lap. They were kissing.
Something inside Draco tightened as he gripped his glass a little too hard, forcing himself to look away.
It didn't matter. He was having a good time with Eric — or Evan, or whatever his name was.
He turned back to the guy in front of him and let his hand slide up to his neck.
"Do you want to kiss me?"
Evan leaned in immediately, pressing his lips to Draco's. When he finally pulled away, he found familiar green eyes staring straight at him.
Draco shuddered.
There was nothing good in that gaze.
Draco braced himself for his reaction. He knew Harry lost his temper easily, so he expected it now.
But Harry just stared at him. Unblinking.
Then he clenched his jaw once, twice, like he was physically forcing something down, downed the rest of his drink in one go, turned away, and walked out.
What was that?
Draco's stomach dropped as he turned back to Evan.
"Sorry. I don't feel well. I should go."
Before Evan could respond, Draco was already pushing through the crowd, searching for Pansy.