House arrest

**Chapter Three: A Slow Unraveling**

Draco's walk through the garden was a quiet one, though the thoughts racing through his head were anything but. The damp air clung to his skin, and the soft rustling of the leaves seemed to mirror the turbulence inside him. His feet crunched against the grass as he wandered aimlessly, his mind replaying Harry's words over and over again.

*"Maybe we can figure this out together."*

The thought seemed absurd at first. Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, offering *help* to someone like him—someone who had once been a sworn enemy, who had fought for everything that had caused Harry and his friends so much pain. It wasn’t just ludicrous; it was maddening. But despite his anger, a small, reluctant part of him had been touched by Harry’s sincerity. He hadn’t expected compassion. Certainly not from someone who had every reason to hate him. But Harry had said it, and that truth lingered in the air between them, like a question neither of them was ready to answer.

Draco paused by the old stone fountain that hadn’t worked in years, staring down at the stagnant water. It was overgrown with moss and tangled vines, the water murky, reflecting nothing but the grey sky above. *Like me,* Draco thought, the corner of his mouth twisting into something almost like a smile, though it was devoid of humor. *Empty, stagnant, no way forward.*

His fingers grazed the rough stone of the fountain’s edge, feeling the coldness seep into his skin. The past few days had been a blur of silence, awkward moments, and futile attempts to push away the heavy burden of guilt that clung to him like a second skin. The guilt that had followed him from his childhood, from his upbringing, from his choices.

But as the day wore on, something started to shift. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him pause. Harry’s words kept ringing in his ears. *"Maybe we can figure this out together."*

Draco shook his head, frustrated. It was *ridiculous*. How could Harry want to help him? Why would he?

A sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

“Malfoy.”

Draco turned around, startled. Harry stood at the edge of the garden, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans, looking like he had come to find him—despite his earlier assertion that Draco was free to roam.

“What do you want?” Draco asked, his tone harsher than he intended. His chest tightened as he saw Harry approaching. He was sick of this. Sick of being *watched*, of being scrutinized as if he were some sort of experiment. Sick of this *arrangement*.

Harry didn’t flinch at his tone, though he did give Draco a calculating look. “I’m not trying to be your bloody therapist, Malfoy. But you’re not going to get anywhere by bottling everything up.”

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say? That he was fine? That he didn’t need to be constantly reminded of his past mistakes?

“Why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?” Draco finally spat, his frustration spilling over.

Harry's face softened, but there was still that underlying tension. “I don’t want to be here either, you know.” His voice was low, quieter now. “I didn’t sign up for this either. But we’re stuck with it. Both of us.”

Draco’s breath hitched at the unexpected vulnerability in Harry’s voice. For a moment, Harry wasn’t the hero, the boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was just a man, struggling like Draco was. He met Harry’s gaze and for a second, the hardness in his chest eased, though he quickly buried it.

“Why do you care?” Draco asked, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. “After everything that’s happened—after everything I did—why are you even bothering?”

Harry stepped closer, his gaze never leaving Draco. There was no anger in his eyes now, only something closer to understanding, something Draco couldn’t quite read.

“Because I know what it’s like to be broken,” Harry said quietly. “And I know what it’s like to think you don’t deserve redemption. But you do, Malfoy. We all do. Even people like you.”

The words hit Draco harder than he expected. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. He could only stare at Harry, trying to process what had just been said.

“Maybe it’s easier for you to think that way,” Draco said after a long pause, his voice quieter now. “But you don’t know what it’s like to have everything you believed in—everything you were taught—completely shattered. I wasn’t just following orders, Potter. I *wanted* to make my family proud. I wanted to be something more, something… *important*. But I don’t know what I am now.” His voice broke for a moment, but he quickly steadied himself, biting back the frustration and confusion that swirled inside him. “I’m just… lost.”

Harry’s expression softened even more. He didn’t respond immediately, as though he was carefully considering Draco’s words. Then, without warning, Harry took a step back and gestured toward the house.

“Come inside,” Harry said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not alone in this, Malfoy. Whatever you think you are or aren’t, you don’t have to figure it out by yourself.”

Draco stared at him, the weight of Harry’s words pressing heavily on him. He wanted to refuse, wanted to shout, to deny it all. But something inside him stirred—some faint, lingering thread of hope. Maybe Harry was right. Maybe he didn’t have to go through this alone. Maybe, in this strange, unexpected place, there was a chance for something more than just surviving.

But the thought felt terrifying.

“I don’t need your pity,” Draco muttered, though it lacked its usual bite.

Harry didn’t flinch. “It’s not pity, Malfoy. It’s… understanding. And maybe that’s the first step.”

For a long moment, Draco didn’t move. He just stood there, trying to make sense of the confusion swirling inside him. Could he really accept Harry’s offer? Could he truly change? Could he even *try*?

Finally, he gave a short, reluctant nod.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to start pouring my heart out.”

Harry smirked, the first sign of humor Draco had seen from him in days. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And for the first time since he’d arrived, Draco felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time—*hope*. Even if it was fragile, even if it was fleeting, it was there.

As they walked back inside together, the air between them had shifted just a little. The walls were still there, but they no longer felt quite as impenetrable.

Maybe, just maybe, Draco thought, they were starting to find a way forward.