“You’re going to have to talk, Malfoy,” Potter’s voice is calm as he settles on the couch across from him. There’s something cosy about the room they're in. There are more like it, but Draco knows interrogation rooms aren’t usually so plush. He’s been in enough of them to know this isn’t meant for those they deem guilty.
Draco doesn’t look up, clutching the enchanted ice to his cheekbone. The bruises on him are fresh. If it weren’t for Narcissa’s owl, Harry wouldn’t have made it in time.
“Do you feel safe at the Manor?”
He glares.
“I can’t help you if you don’t answer me,” he says quietly. “I can’t make it stop if you don’t say something…”
Draco’s gaze falls on his left hand at the ring there. As much as he wants to rip it off his finger, he can’t. The vows he took are nearly impossible to break, and he’s broken enough things in his life not to want to have broken this, too. It wasn’t like he was expecting a perfect marriage.
“It’s not what you think…”
“And what do I think?”
Draco shakes his head and closes his eyes, his fingers combing through his silver-blond hair. Things got complicated the moment they conceived Scorpius. It was like something flipped, and the demure witch he’d married was something else entirely.
“Is Scorpius safe?”
“He’s with his grandmother,” Harry said, the cushion beside Draco dipping as he sat down. “You’re safe here.”
Those emerald eyes held a warmth to them that Draco wanted to forget. It would be simpler to find the hate he’d held in their sixth year. After so many years, he feels like he’s earned the villain title.
“Am I?” he scoffed. “Is that what does it for you Potter? Still have that savior complex?”
“I’m just trying to help you, Malfoy. Tell me what I witnessed tonight.”
Draco bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. No matter where he looked, he saw her fall to the ground, her eyes cold and distant, the light inside of them extinguished.
“A curse.” Draco kept his gaze on his wedding band.
“Care to elaborate?”
There’d been too many to explain. The one coursing through Astoria Malfoy’s blood. The ones she threw at him. The ones he dished back when he couldn’t keep himself in check.
“She wasn’t herself. It wasn’t…” Harry reached for Draco’s hand, but the blond yanked it away. “Potter.” The name barely made it through clenched teeth.
Harry stiffened. “What happened?”
“What normally happens. Wild accusations, curses, and then…” Draco hated the way the wizard across him looked at him. That mixture of pity and understanding. “She found out about…that night. I just tried to shield, but you were quicker...her curse rebounded…”
Draco was grateful for Harry’s restraint, noting the twitch in his arms. Normally, he’d gladly burrow into that chest he’d come to find solace in. Past the blood and bruises, the curses and cries, he hadn’t always had a bad marriage. He felt like he’d ruined everything when he'd allowed himself to fall in bed with Harry. It’s not like he chased him; quite the contrary.
It was a fluke.
A mistake.
“I…I didn’t know,” Harry cleared his throat.
“I never told you.”