Work Text:
Draco Malfoy was doing okay. Today was an okay day. An okay day was a rarity these days, so he welcomed it with open arms.
Sunlight seeped into the vacant Great Hall, and he tried not to doze off from the stillness. It was a late Saturday morning, perfect time for working on homework—which was towering over the eighth years at an alarming rate, and of course, to catch up on sleep.
After the war had ended, he was given two choices. Stay locked away, in the depths of Azkaban for 6 months and—and he stopped reading. He’d decided whatever the other choice was, it couldn’t have been worse than the former.
So, that’s exactly how he’d ended up at Hogwarts for his eighth year. It started off alright, he bit his tongue and apologised to Granger. Weasley. And of course, Potter.
Understandably, Weasley was reluctant at first and didn’t accept the apology, not that Draco blamed him. Potter had been all the same, and he was surprised Granger even accepted it.
No Hermione. They’d become sort-of-friends at the start. There was a time when she’d been angry on his behalf, when Macmillan tried to hex him. Leg-Locker curses, Tripping jinxes, Stinging jinxes weren’t uncommon. On a good day, he’d received about two or three. On bad days, it was more.
He sat at the Great Hall, watching Potter laugh at something she-weasle said. As usual, not many people stayed behind, the majority of them having left for Hogsmeade. He was surprised Potter wasn’t one of them. His heart tugged a little at the sight, so he stopped looking, instead turning his attention to the peas on his plate. He didn’t even like peas.
“Draco, you alright dear?” Pansy asked, her eyes tired with worry. She always worried too much, about him. He found it endearing regardless.
“Yeah,” he insisted, and put his fork down. “I think I’ll head to the library. I’ve got the Potions essay to finish.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he just didn’t want to be here. That’s all.
So he picked up his satchel, threw it over his shoulder, and left outside. He felt Pansy’s eyes on him, and made a mental note to have a proper talk with her.
Hogwarts wasn’t fully in its once glorious shape, but he supposed it wasn't doing too badly. There were cracks here and there, and the magic fizzled differently in some places. But that’s okay.
He picked up his pace, and walked, his eyes fleeting through the grey sky outside.
It was raining, and his heart lurched with a feeling he couldn’t name. It was cold, dark and just grey, and certainly his favourite. The sunlight still danced around, sprinkling some of its light across the vast of the Great Lake and the spiky green grass. The rain kissed the field with soft dews, as he stood there.
His brain supplied several memories of him and mother in the gardens; while she tended to their rose bushes, tulips, orchids and camellias, which Draco would watch. He would drink in his mother’s peaceful face, framed by the gentle rain, as if surrounding the two in a cold embrace.
Although it was cold, he never once hated it.
There was another reason he loved the rain. The first time Harry confessed, it was at Hogsmeade when it rained. Quite like this Draco mused. He remembers it very clearly, because it always holds a special place in his heart.
He had to force himself to walk, because the thought of Harry broke him a little.
There was barely anyone in the library, save for a few fourth years. Draco chose a corner, with a long table and a spectacular view of the Quidditch field.
He didn’t know why he chose this corner, because he was fairly certain he would see Harry, she-weasel, and Weasley play their usual round of Quidditch. After having witnessed it everyday for almost two weeks, he would be surprised if they didn’t turn up in the fields after dinner.
It had been Harry and me once, he dared to think. But that was almost a month ago. Draco and Harry had been in a perfectly happy relationship. Until it had all gone wrong.
Which, of course, was his bloody fault.
“Why? Why are you breaking up with me?” Harry had asked, and truthfully, he didn’t possess a valid answer.
“It just wouldn’t work Harry—”
“But isn’t it working perfectly well now?” Harry was crying, not loudly but his voice cracked every time he spoke. They were seated in Draco’s bed, an early morning when they too were lazy, not quite awake from the confines of sleep yet.
He forced himself to look away.
It pained him, to see how much he was hurting Harry. And, that’s why he should be staying far away.
Draco took a shaky breath to compose himself, and utterly failed. “See? I’m already hurting you Harry. Think of the future, a Death Eater and the Savior. People will talk, it won’t look good on you—”
“I don't—Draco—that’s what you think I care about? Why did you even bother being with me for 6 months then? Is this what you wanted?” His voice steadily grew in the otherwise silent room, and let out another muffled sob. “Does this make you happy?”
He tried not to flinch, “No, Harry, I can’t and I don’t want to hurt you more. I’ve done my fair share all these years haven’t I?” He wanted to wrap his arms around him, like how Harry would’ve if he woke up from his nightmares. Instead, he stayed close but not enough, and ignored the prickle in his eyes.
“Harry, please. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry, this needs to end.” I don’t deserve you at all, he wanted to say, but didn’t.
They’d been doing so well. So well that it just fucking hurt to think about everything, but it didn’t stop him.
They had spent plenty of time in each other’s dorms, and went on little dates to Hogsmeade every week. It was so sappy, Draco would buy two butterbeers, but always insisted he was full because he knew it was Harry’s favourite. Harry would roll his eyes, but Draco liked watching him drink his share when he said he was full.
Sometimes, they were together so much that they’d miss lunch or dinner. So of course, Harry would drag him to the kitchens—No Draco, you are not going hungry on my watch, he’d say. So then they’ll invade the kitchens, and Harry will share some of his treacle tart with him.
“This is too sweet.” Draco would say, and Harry would laugh. “Salazar Potter, don’t make that joke–”
“Yeah, because it’s sweet like you!” And Harry would go into a giggling fit. Then, Draco would roll his eyes, because the bloody git has used the line about 50 times already. But deep down he wasn’t tired of it.
Not really.
He blinked down at his parchment, as his vision blurred. A drop of his tear fell on it, and he cursed under breath, pulling out a new one. He firmly glued his eyes away from the window, where three familiar figures swooshed by.
* * * * *
If Draco was honest, the weeks after their break up had been the worst. He felt like crying everyday, but he would pull himself out of bed and go to class. If his eyes didn’t obey him and sought Harry, well who could he blame?
It hurt all the bloody time. It had to stop, he had to move on. There were only about 5 months left of the year, and Draco Malfoy had to do this.
His worst fears were confirmed about two weeks later. He’d started to see she-weasel often in the company of Harry. All the time—in between classes, during lunch, during dinner and even in class, which they had to unfortunately share with some of the actual seventh years.
It was so stupid, he didn’t want love. He didn’t need it. Maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t dated Harry Potter, he could go back to pretending he didn’t need it.
It was easier pretending before. Now, he had the urge to bury his head on Harry’s shoulder every time he bloody saw him. He depended on him like his source of sunlight, like how the flowers did. Drinking in the sun, but never quite managing to be with it.
And every time they’d cross paths, his magic sent his head spinning. So he’d look away, stare at the ground and pretend how much he didn’t want him.
“Do you get affected by my magic that much?” Harry had asked, early during their relationship.
“Of course you moron,” Draco said from below him, words mushed from his forehead resting comfortably on the crook of Harry’s shoulder. He lifted his chin, “You have raw power. It radiates off of you,”
“How so?” Harry asked, tightening his hold on Malfoy’s middle.
“Think of it like an ocean current. Sometimes, when you’re really angry I feel the waves of your power moving, like it’s pushing someone.” They both knew Draco was referring to the time Harry’d beaten up a sixth year, who sent a particularly nasty jinx at Draco. The boy had ended up at Madam Pomphrey’s wing for the whole day.
“Other times, it’s very calm and gentle like this instant.” He buried himself deeper in Harry’s embrace and muttered, “I can feel your magic tickling me a bit. Mm. Makes my head spin.”
Then, Harry had actually tickled him, earning a very un-Malfoyish yelp. They’d laughed again, like the carefree people they were.
But Draco couldn’t help it if he wanted to walk a little close to him, if that was the only way he could feel Harry’s magic again.
He walked to class, Pansy by his side. Blaise and Theo had moved to Italy and France, and Greg never returned for their eighth year.
They had Transfigurations today, and then dinner—although he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry.
They were given a few spells he vaguely remembered from the previous years, and half-heartedly tried practicing them. He sneaked a glance at Harry, and found him already looking. Draco kept staring, getting lost in his green eyes and belatedly caught himself and turned, feeling his face heat up. He didn’t look at him again.
Dinner was the usual, which meant boring. He didn’t know what to do except stare emptily into space, although his eyes flitted to Harry more often than not. Except, he only did so to find him staring at she-weasley instead.
He sighed, and after waiting around for Pansy to finish, he got up. They left the Great Hall together.
“Draco!” He heard footsteps behind him, and was surprised to find Granger.
“Granger—” She frowned at him. “Sorry, Hermione. Yes?”
She had grown taller too, though Weasley still towered over her. He was surprised to find her alone, given that the trio were practically joined at the hip. “Can I talk to you…in private?” She said, looking between him and Pansy.
Pansy looked at the two of them and turned to her, “Yes of course Granger, talk to him. I’ll be in the common room.” she added to him before leaving.
Draco absently followed Hermione, as she picked up her pace with a clear destination somewhere. He wasn’t surprised when he led her to an abandoned classroom, and tightened his hold on his satchel unconsciously.
“Yes?” He repeated, and watched her lean against a desk.
“Harry’s not okay.” She said, and looked at him expectantly. She folded her arms across her chest, and somehow it made him think of a mother scolding her children. He tried to put that ridiculous thought away.
“Nobody is okay these days, Hermione. I’d imagine fighting in a war would do that to some.” he answered, not particularly knowing where this was going.
“No, that’s not what I meant. He hasn’t been doing okay since the two of you—broke up.”
“Well, I don’t—I can’t be with him anymore.” He sighed. “If this is you trying to scold me, have at it.” Salazar knows I deserve it.
“No, that isn’t what I’m here for. Look—can’t you give this thing another go? Just please, Draco. Harry needs you.”
A headache formed between his temples, and he tried best to ignore it. “Think about the papers, Hermione. What everyone will say—it certainly won’t be good for him. Besides, he’ll do just fine with Ginerva.”
“How can you even say that? He doesn’t care about the papers Draco, he cares about you.”
But Draco cared about the papers. And well, maybe it was selfish of him to think about the papers when Harry didn't. But, he can't stand the thought of bringing Harry’s name down just because he was with a Death Eater.
Besides, he wouldn’t be surprised if Harry moved on. Especially with the fan mail and all the ladies lining up for him.
“And for the record, Ginny is like a sister to him.”
He scoffed. “Right, if you’re done.” He walked outside the classroom, leaving a disappointed Hermione behind. And if his heart broke a little more, well there was nothing to be done.
Sometimes, a selfish part of him wished they’d fallen in love sooner. Before he was a Death Eater. Would that have been different? Maybe, but Draco didn’t know.
* * * * *
On the final school day, he cornered Hermione again, this time to give her a letter. He fastened it in her hands, “Give this to Harry would you?” and walked away, without waiting for a response.
She just blinked at him, bewildered. Weasley, who was sitting next to her, was surprisingly silent during the whole ordeal. He knew they’d talk after he left though.
He burned the letter that he got in return, and fled a month later to France. He was able to get an apprenticeship at a famous Potions branch, and was content enough.
Mother missed the Manor’s gardens dearly, and Draco resolved to earn enough to buy a bigger Manor for her. A routine formed somehow, and he let it carry him.
Between studying, endless hours in his grubby potions room, and reminding himself to eat, he allowed the days to roll by.
He missed the Manor. Not the horrid memories from the drawing room, where his father had made it his duty to discipline him, or the guest hall where they’d housed Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.
No, he missed his bedroom most of all, with a view so breathtaking and memories so dear that sometimes he hated himself for falling asleep. He should’ve cherished it more in his younger days, how the moonlight would creep in between the curtains, and disappear behind his desk. How the air would be fresh, crisp, keeping his mind brisk and awake. Until sleep would envelop him, and he’d give in.
He pretended that his heart didn’t break every time he saw Harry’s face in the Prophet that Pansy would send him—by his request, to keep up with everything. It was unhealthy, he knew that. But it couldn’t be helped.
Harry had become a successful Auror, and Draco couldn’t be prouder.
He was at their usual pub, accompanied by Pansy—it was their monthly meet-up. They’ve become regulars at a small pub in the muggle part of London, obviously to avoid people he knew.
Draco was quite busily narrating his new invention—a more advanced version of Pepper Up that lasted longer, and was more effective than the standard recipe. This was the first time his mentor had let him experiment. And though everything was in French, he managed somewhat, and felt like he accomplished something for the first time since forever.
She nodded along, watching him closely. In the same wary manner, as if she awaited him to break. His heart still broke, and he’d cry his heart out to Pansy occasionally, and always ended up feeling guilty about it. But today he won’t—he’ll be a good friend to her.
“How are you Draco? Really?” She pressed, her knees knocking into his.
“Yeah, I’m great. You Pans?” He asked sincerely.
She said something—something about starting her Healer training. He was sure it was just amazing, but he didn’t hear, his eyes were trained on something—someone, entering the pub. His hold on the glass tightened and he stood up.
“Draco, is something wrong? What are you—”
“It’s—just look,” She followed his gaze, and soon enough she saw Harry Potter in muggle clothes; much like herself and Draco.
He was accompanied by another guy that they didn't know, a tad taller than Harry. He had brown hair, and was laughing at something Harry said, and—and his arm was wrapped around Harry’s waist, in a way that made Draco sick.
“Can we go,” He slammed his glass on the table, and looked at Pansy pleadingly. “Please, let’s go Pansy.” He said, panic evidently rising in his voice.
He was surprised, the way Harry made him feel even after two years. It was bloody scary and just pathetic.
“Draco you don’t even know who that guy is.”
“I don’t need to know Pansy—”
She slammed her fist, “No, you will not run away just because Harry sodding Potter showed up—That guy could be anybody,”
“Let’s leave Pans.”
“Draco—”
“Please.” He croaked, and looked at her. Her eyes shimmered from the sparkly glitter under the dim lights, and it beautifully matched the sky blue shimmer of the dress she wore.
She looked at him exasperatedly. “Fine. I guess we’ll just find another pub.”
He waited for her to stand, and couldn’t help it when his eyes found Harry again. Except, he was already looking at him. His eyes widened, and the smile on his face vanished.
He urged her, and stopped looking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them approach.
Harry nodded at them, “Parkinson, Draco,” a hesitant smile on his face. Seeing the small dimples form on his face crushed him, and he wanted to frame them somewhere nice.
“Potter.” He nodded back, and his eyes flew to the guy behind Harry, looking at them warily.
“Er— how are you?” Harry bit out, and it made Draco’s skin crawl. This was not how they spoke to each other, it was all so wrong.
“Fine. We were just leaving actually,” He said and made to leave before Harry caught his arm. It all happened so quickly, he was moving at light’s speed, and then Harry pulled him back by the elbow.
His back crashed into his chest, solid and warm. For a second, he felt he was transported back to their Hogwarts days, when they’d been happy.
“Malfoy, can we talk? If you—if Parkinson’s okay with it?” He asked, his breath tickling Draco’s neck.
“Of course I’m okay with it, go on!” She said, and Draco watched with clear alarm in his eyes. This was not what was supposed to happen damn it.
He watched Harry whisper something to the other guy, who left after a quick goodbye to them. He tried not to shiver at the familiar magic he felt around him, concentrated at his elbow, and kept his eyes trained on the ground.
* * * * *
They stood outside the dingy pub, and the lighting was just terrible, much to Draco’s advantage.
“Potter—”
“Harry. Call me Harry, Draco.” He said, and Draco tried not to flinch when a warm hand held his wrist.
His heart was pounding, trapped in his chest, and blood rushed to his ears. He was a little drunk, not majorly but enough to get lost in Harry’s presence.
“Harry.” He breathed, and looked at him. His green eyes bore into his, and Draco swore he stopped blinking.
“You never answered my letters, Draco.” He sighed, and looked away. “Do you still hate me? Is that why you never answered any of my letters?” And after a beat, “I’m sorry for interrupting you and Parkinson.” He said, and Draco watched his black eyelashes flicker as he spoke.
“Me and Pansy? You weren’t interrupting anything… In fact it was I who… ” He cut himself off, and settled for “I apologise for ruining your date, Harry.”
“My date?...you mean—” Then he went off on a giggling fit to Draco’s surprise, and he focused on the sonorous noise, deep from Harry’s throat. His magic turned warmer, and he felt it calm his nerves.
“That’s just George, Draco. George Weasley. He dyed his hair brown because of a bet he lost, and no, he was certainly not my date.”
He licked his lips and looked at Draco, waiting for his reply.
“Oh,” he said, feeling stupid. “Pansy and I are just friends, Harry. You know, she’s my best friend.” He blurted, feeling stupider.
“Yeah? That’s great Draco.” He said, and then, he was pulling him closer.
Steady hands settled around his shoulder blades and the small of his back, and he felt Harry’s warm face melt on his shoulder. He stiffened.
“I’m sorry for not answering your letters, Harry. It’s just, I didn’t think it could work… ” We were too perfect, You were too good for me. We just weren't meant to be.
They held onto each other, and he felt Harry's heart thud against his own. Fast and unsteady, until they found a slowing pace together.
Then, Harry pulled away and looked at him. “Can we—”
Draco stopped him with his hand. “No, let me.” He closed his eyes, relishing the moment before speaking again.
“I am sorry for hurting you all those years ago—Just let me finish this please,” He added and took a long breath through his nose. “Harry, I’m sorry for still hurting you. I didn’t want to bring your name down because of the papers, and because of me. And I know you don’t care about them, but I did. I might still…”
He carded his fingers through the soft, unkempt curls, and tried to keep the quiver off his voice. “But you are everything I ever want. I feel empty without you. I still love you, and even if I try to move on, a part of my heart will always belong to you, Harry. I don’t blame you if you have moved on.”
Then, he was cut off with a soul crushing hug and a muffled “You stupid git.”
* * * * *
Dear Draco,
I assume you have gone back to Harry’s. I’ve sent a letter to your mother, saying that you’ll stay in England for a few days (of course I haven’t revealed to her about you and Harry, but you owe me the details you wanker!).
When you get time, tell me when at Hog Pub, and I’ll be there.
Love,
Pansy