House arrest

**Chapter Six: Beneath the Surface**

Draco had walked for hours, letting the cold air and the dull throb of his thoughts keep him company. The streets of London were quiet at this hour, the occasional echo of distant footsteps or the rustling of trees the only sounds breaking the silence. He was used to being alone with his thoughts, but tonight was different. The more he walked, the more he realized just how *unsettling* the evening had been.

Ginny's words kept ringing in his head, twisting inside him like a dagger, sharper than he'd expected. She had every right to hate him, to distrust him. He hadn't exactly given her a reason to think otherwise.

But Harry’s reaction had unsettled him too.

The way Harry had stepped in, stopping Ginny’s tirade before it could go any further. The way Harry had looked at him when their eyes met, full of something that Draco couldn’t quite understand. Sympathy? Pity? No, it wasn’t that. It was something else—something deeper, something more *human*. It was the thing that Harry seemed to keep hidden most of the time, but Draco could see it now, under the surface: Harry was *still* trying to make sense of him.

Draco was *still* trying to make sense of himself.

The night had grown colder, and Draco found himself wandering near the river, the faint glow of the streetlights reflecting off the water. It was late, and he should have gone back to Grimmauld Place. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Not yet. Not when the knots in his chest were still too tight, when the weight of Harry’s gaze and Ginny’s accusations were pressing down on him like a physical burden.

---

Back at Grimmauld Place, Harry was pacing the sitting room. He’d tried to keep things calm when Draco had stormed off, but the truth was, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Draco’s face when Ginny had spoken. The mixture of anger, frustration, and something else—something Harry didn’t have a name for.

He hadn’t expected Draco to leave, though. Not like that.

*Where is he?* Harry thought, glancing over at Ron and Hermione. They were sitting in the corner, quietly discussing the latest reports from the Ministry, but Harry couldn’t focus.

“Harry,” Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re not listening.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “I—" He looked up, his gaze darting to the door. "I should go find him.”

“Go find him?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. “Mate, are you serious? It’s nearly midnight. He’s probably off sulking somewhere.”

“I know. But I... I don’t know. I just need to make sure he’s alright.”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron, both of them silently exchanging a thousand unspoken words. Finally, Hermione spoke. “We’ll hold down the fort here. You go. Just don’t do anything… rash.”

Harry didn’t answer. He just grabbed his coat and slipped out of the house, following the faint outline of the moon against the dark sky. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the feeling of urgency inside him wouldn’t let him stop.

Draco had been quiet ever since Ginny had arrived. Harry hadn’t missed how Draco had flinched at Ginny’s words, nor the way his eyes had darted to Harry when the tension had become too thick to bear. It was like a crack had appeared in the wall Draco had so carefully built around himself—and Harry wasn’t sure if he should fix it, or let it stay open.

---

By the time Harry reached the riverbank, he could just barely make out Draco’s figure in the distance. The other man was standing there, staring out at the water, his back hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

"Malfoy," Harry called out, keeping his voice steady, though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

Draco stiffened but didn’t turn around. He stood there for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice tight, guarded. “What are you doing here, Potter?”

Harry stepped closer, hands shoved in his pockets to ward off the biting chill. “I’m not going to let you walk off like that and disappear, Malfoy. Come on, let’s go back to the house.”

Draco didn’t move. He stood there, staring at the water, lost in his thoughts. “I don’t belong there, Potter.”

The words hit Harry harder than he expected. His heart skipped a beat as he took another step forward, trying to keep his voice calm. “What do you mean, you don’t belong there? You don’t think you deserve to be there?”

Draco finally turned to face him, his eyes clouded with frustration. “I don’t *deserve* any of it. The house arrest, the pity, the second chances. You all think I’m some tragic case. I’m not. I’m just… *broken*.”

Harry’s gaze softened, and he closed the distance between them. His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “We’ve all been broken, Malfoy. The war, what happened to us—none of us came out of it whole. But that doesn’t mean we have to stay broken.”

Draco laughed bitterly, but it sounded hollow, as if he didn’t even believe his own words. “You’re so bloody optimistic, Potter. What’s it like to have all the answers? To always be the hero?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t have all the answers. I’m not some perfect hero. Hell, I’m probably the last person who should be giving advice on how to fix your life.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to the ground, the anger in his posture slipping away just enough for Harry to see the exhaustion there. He saw it—the weariness that had been following Draco around since the war had ended, the weight of guilt he’d carried even before that.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Draco said softly, his voice shaking slightly now, though he was still doing his best to hide it. “I don’t know how to be a *better person*. I don’t know how to fix any of this.”

Harry stepped closer, carefully, as if not wanting to push Draco too hard. He could feel the cold air between them, the walls Draco had built, and yet there was something fragile in the way Draco was standing, something that wasn’t as hard as it once was. He reached out, carefully placing a hand on Draco’s arm.

“You don’t have to fix it all at once. You don’t have to *fix* everything,” Harry said, his voice steady. “I don’t have all the answers either. I never did. But maybe… maybe we can figure it out together.”

For a long moment, Draco didn’t respond. His gaze was distant, the storm of thoughts still clearly raging inside him. Harry felt the tremble in Draco’s arm beneath his touch, the unspoken words, the weight of everything left unaddressed between them.

Draco turned his head slightly, just enough to meet Harry’s gaze. There was something in his eyes then—something soft, almost vulnerable.

“I don’t know how to trust anyone anymore,” Draco murmured, the admission coming out in a quiet rush. “But… maybe I can start with you. Maybe.”

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest at the hint of something more—something tentative, fragile, but there nonetheless. He squeezed Draco’s arm gently, giving him a half-smile. “That’s all I’m asking, Malfoy. *Maybe*.”

For a brief, quiet moment, the world seemed to fall away. It was just them, standing by the river, the night stretching on, and the awkward, fragile beginning of something neither of them could quite name.

Draco’s eyes flickered away, but there was a soft exhale, a tiny crack in the armor he had worn for so long. Harry felt it. He saw it. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he *hoped*.

They weren’t finished yet.

Not by a long shot.

“Let’s go back,” Harry said, his voice gentle. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”

Draco nodded, though he didn’t speak. Together, they walked back to Grimmauld Place, neither of them saying anything more. But for once, the silence didn’t feel so oppressive.

It felt like a beginning.