Reminders
Harry makes his way down the stairs, carrying the box that Draco Malfoy had been clutching when he stumbled over him in the street outside his home. Rubbing his neck, he wonders just how this little box and the gaunt man sitting in his drawing room were about to upend his life. Because if anything was for certain, they were going to cause him trouble.
Harry turns into the drawing room and amused, notices that Malfoy has nearly polished off the plate of sandwiches.
“Blimey, Malfoy, leave some for the rest of us!”
The blonde man nearly chokes and swallows quickly before apologizing.
“I’m sorry I was starving and I haven’t really had the chance to-”
“Just a joke. Eat as much as you want.”
Harry returns to his position on the couch opposite Malfoy and holds out the box in front of him.
“Now, I have your wand. I’m only giving you this box because I assume I can’t open it without being cursed or some shit. I swear on everything, if this is some trick, I’ll-”
“Blast the bollocks off me, yeah, yeah. I get it.”
A pensive look falls over Malfoy’s face as he leans forward to grab the box from Harry, who grabs another sandwich once his hands are free.
“Potter, it’s not a trick. I wouldn’t come to you for help if it weren’t absolutely necessary. I know we were never mates, but in the end… we kind of helped each other when it really mattered, right?”
Harry thought back to the frightened boy at his family manor who refused to name him. How he had grabbed the terror-stricken boy onto his broom in the Room of Requirement during the battle at Hogwarts, despite the fact he had gone in there to capture him. How Narcissa had lied to Voldemort’s face just for confirmation that her son was alive. How his rival’s wand served him faithfully through the Gringotts break in, the battle at Hogwarts, and in killing the madman himself. How disarming Malfoy at the manor had meant the Elder wand would never answer to Voldemort. How Harry had testified at both his and his mother’s trials so they could avoid Azkaban. They were more than even. They were both just children back then, caught in a stupid savage war. Still, in the years following the battle, Harry had wondered why Malfoy hadn’t given him up that day. Just one of the many unanswered questions he’d learned to live with.
“Alright then, get on with it. I’m tired and no one would describe me as patient, even on my best day.”
At that, Malfoy tries to stifle a small smirk before quickly turning serious again. He presses the small chest to his lips and whispers.
“Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.”
The bejeweled snake uncoils and the box opens with a small pop. He stares at the contents for a moment and Harry swore he saw a shiver run up his spine. Long, slim fingers held out the box to him and, preparing for the worst, Harry reaches out to take it. He keeps his gaze on the man before him, who just sighs and starts rubbing his temples. When Harry finally looks down at his hand, he gasps. His head snaps up and he looks at Malfoy, bewildered.
“No. No, this can’t be. Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes, Potter. A Time-Turner.”
“But how can you have this?”
“Family heirloom.”
Harry remains quiet as his counterpart studies him. Jet black hair is still as unruly as ever, a little longer than the last time he saw it. Glasses are now retro black and gold half frames instead of flimsy circular lenses, and they suit his face quite well. A faded red t-shirt hugs his muscular chest and arms, almost a bit too tight. After clearing his throat, Malfoy continues.
“It’s supposedly quite advanced and seemingly more powerful than most others, from what I’ve gathered. I’m not exactly sure how any of the Death Eaters found out about it. I’m assuming something to do with my coward of a father.”
Harry looks up to find Malfoy’s face is rigid and jaw clenched so hard he could see the muscles in his face twitch. He remembered hearing a few years ago about Lucius being found dead in his cell, a presumed suicide. Had the Death Eaters gotten to him? Harry closes the box and nearly throws it down on the table between them. This cannot be happening right now. He jumps up and walks over to a table that holds crystal glasses and several decanters. He pours himself a hearty near full glass of firewhiskey and a more average serving for his guest. He shoves the extra glass into Malfoy’s hands before he could protest and sinks back down into his couch.
“So you’re telling me that you have a fucking Time-Turner, the Death Eaters know about it, are chasing you for it… and you come here? Of all fucking places, you come to my fucking street? Why didn’t you just go to the Ministry? For fucks sake Malfoy, if I have to fight off bloody Death Eaters on my street, I’m going to finish you off myself!”
“Well, you work at the Ministry, don’t you? So technically I did! Besides, I have no idea who to trust there, do I? They’re not exactly my family’s biggest fans, after everything, you know that. And honestly, if you're going to threaten me, at least call me Draco.”
Harry huffs and sips his drink. Draco sniffs his glass and takes a swig before grimacing.
“Crikey. I always knew you had poor taste, but this is just foul.”
“Shut up Malfoy, I’m trying to think.”
“It's Draco and quite frankly, I didn’t know you were capable of such undertakings. I figured Granger had always done that for you.”
Harry contemplates throwing his glass at Draco’s smug face before taking a gulp and lolling his head backwards onto the couch. It seemed the food and tea had revived some of the snark he had grown up with. Righting himself to drink some more, he is surprised to see Draco polishing off the rest of his own. Raising an eyebrow at him, the bane of his teen years just shrugged, which seemed to hurt a bit.
“Do you happen to have anything mildly less offensive to drink?”
Harry blinks at him before barking out a short laugh.
“Wuss. I think there's some vodka leftover from a party. Maybe some brandy. Should be on the table.”
Draco just stares at him before slowly and deliberately lifting a hand. Without breaking eye contact, he mutters the spell.
“Accio vodka”
A slightly dusty bottle comes hurtling over. After catching it and pouring himself half a glass, he scoots back relaxing into the couch and Harry realizes he's been sitting on the edge of his seat this whole time. Draco takes a long drink and nods, seemingly less affronted at the clear liquor. He sighs before looking back at Harry.
“Thank you, Potter. Seriously," Draco says quietly.
Surprised, Harry gapes at him for a second.
“For what? I haven't done anything.”
“Hearing me out. Bringing me inside and fixing me up. The food, the drinks. I think this is truly the longest I've sat in one place in a month. You’ve been much kinder than I ever expected.”
For some reason, Harry’s chest feels a bit tight and he can feel heat start to creep up his face. When he speaks again, his voice is gruff and surly.
“Yeah well, I still haven't decided what to do with you yet.”
“That's fine. Just… thank you for even giving me a chance, you know, after everything.”
Harry just grunts at this, not knowing what to say. They drink in silence for almost half an hour before Draco breaks it.
“I assume you'll inform the Ministry?”
“Just the Minister, I think. And Hermione. It's probably best if no one else knows about this. At least for now. If there are still active Death Eaters, then I can't be sure there aren't sympathizers infiltrated in the Ministry. Better safe than sorry.”
“That seems a wise course of action.”
Draco drains more of his glass before continuing.
“Do you like it?”
Confused, Harry furrows his brows and swallows more firewhiskey before answering.
“Do I like what?”
“Working for the Ministry. You’re an actual Auror now, all done with training, correct?”
Amused and slightly astonished at the personal query, Harry eyes the man curiously. Tonight is getting stranger by the minute.
“It’s… a means to an end.”
“Oh? Color me shocked, Potter. I’d have thought being an Auror was the stuff of your wet dreams.”
“Not really, Malfo-”
“Draco.”
Uncomfortable with Malfoy’s insistence on using his first name, Harry awkwardly scratches at his stubble.
“Honestly, I’m quite tired of fighting. The investigative side of it is interesting. I’m mostly only doing it to live up to McGonagall's expectations. She wants me to have more ‘experience’ before she’ll let me come teach.”
“Professor Potter? Wow. I’d have never guessed it from you.”
“Me either. I don’t know.... During fifth year, the whole Dumbledore’s Army thing, teaching all my friends… It was exciting and fulfilling and useful. Something I was good at, something to be proud of. I guess it stuck with me.”
“I suspect you’re hoping for Defense Against the Dark Arts?”
“Nah. I was thinking Herbology. Or maybe Astronomy.”
That earned him a quiet chuckle.
“Well for what it’s worth, seeing how my opinion isn't worth much these days, I do think it suits you. Hogwarts will be lucky to have you. I’m sure most parents would agree.”
“I suppose. What about you? Any plans?”
What little color Draco had drained from his face.
“Potter, I haven’t… I’ve done nothing but survive. There’s been no opportunity for plans.”
Harry flinched, suddenly ashamed at his question. The grief on Draco’s face is almost unbearable.
“Surely you have something that interests you?”
“Of course, don’t be daft. Nothing can come of it now though. I tried to finish my N.E.W.T.s. by owl but they kept getting followed and it became too dangerous. I’ve studied Potions on my own over the years but without the proper qualifications, what can I do with that? Nothing. I doubt even a common Potions shop would have me.”
“Are you any good at it? The potions thing?”
“Better than most, I’d reckon. I’ve read every book on Potions Theory I’ve come across. There wasn’t much else I could do for several years… I became slightly obsessed at one point.”
“Then they might still take you on. You never know.”
“I fear my name is enough to overshadow any talent I may possess.”
“I know how that feels,” Harry mutters into his glass before taking a deep drink.
Eager to change the subject, he looks around before landing on the embellished little box. Harry grabs it with his empty hand, tosses it in the air and catches it before turning it over a couple times.
“So… Why bring this to me? Why not just crush it or something?”
“Please. I am not a total imbecile. You think I haven’t tried? I even came up with my own potion to dissolve it. Nothing has worked so far.”
“I see.”
“It’s imbued with centuries old magic. If it were straightforward, I’d have destroyed it already.”
Harry had been avoiding asking it, but he could no longer resist.
“Why haven’t you used it?” Harry blurts out.
“Excuse me?”
“I just, I mean, the temptation must be overwhelming. All the people I could… Aren’t there things you’d change? I don’t understand.”
“Believe you me, I’ve contemplated it. Oh I’ve wished for it, I’ve hoped for it to solve every single thing wrong in my miserable life.”
Draco peers down into his cup, swirling the liquid and laughing darkly for a moment before frowning.
“Nothing could ever be that simple though, right? I’ve researched it extensively and it’s too dangerous. I could end up dead. Or everyone could. Who knows? Maybe I’d be better off but I can’t risk fucking things up so badly that HE ends up not dead. What if one little thing I changed resulted in you not killing HIM? Not worth it, Potter. Nobody is, not even me or anyone else who died. I’m sorry but it's true.” Draco shrugs before looking back up at Harry.
“No, no you’re absolutely right. I was just wondering.”
“Oh heavens, the Great Potter, Our Savior, admits I’m right? Be still my heart. I can expire in peace now.”
Draco throws his head back and places his right arm dramatically over his eyes. His left hand is balancing his glass against his leg, nearly empty now. Harry’s eyes travel up from his hand towards his forearm, as a wave of visceral nausea washes over him. The area is horrendously disfigured, varying shades of angry pink and gray, with ugly folds of mangled skin. When he finally manages to look away, he realizes Draco has straightened again. He cautiously meets his gaze, the steely gray eyes burning a hole into him, finding there a bottomless sadness that says more than either of them ever could.
“Unsightly, eh? Not my best work admittedly, it was the early days. If I'd waited a few years, I probably wouldn’t have botched it.”
“You did that? To yourself? Jesus, Malf-... er.. How did it… What happened?”
“A potion. I got sick of seeing it every day. The mark,” Draco replies, his voice almost a whisper.
“That’s… that’s barbaric. There wasn’t a spell or something less, you know, grisly?”
“Burning, slicing, nothing worked. I did want to keep the arm, after all. I settled for distorting it beyond recognition. Mother nearly slapped my head off my body when she saw. Haven’t touched it since.”
Not knowing what else to say, Harry polishes off his drink, and Draco follows suit. Setting his glass down on the table, he stands up and rubs his hands together.
“Probably best to be getting to bed. No offense, but you look like death. You should sleep.”
Draco hums an agreement and slowly tries to lift himself from the couch. Gasping in pain, he falls back and grabs his side.
“The healing potions have done their job, but I’ll bet you’ll be sore for a few days. Here.”
Harry extends a hand. Draco looks at his hand then up at him through messy hair and Harry can’t stop himself from thinking how pitiful he looks. Not me feeling sorry for the bugger. God help me.
“Come on. I won’t bite. Let me help you upstairs.”
Draco nervously takes the outstretched hand, his ice cold fingers shocking Harry as he grips onto him. He grits his teeth as he’s pulled from the couch, nearly falling over once he makes it to his feet so Harry has to hold him steady. He begins carefully leading the hobbling man to the stairwell, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder for support. Draco can feel the warmth of it through his shirt, a hearth ablaze beside him, threatening to consume him. No one has touched him since his mother died. Calling on every god he can think of, he wills himself not to sob. I can’t make a fool of myself in front of him. Not now.
The stairs prove to be laborious for the recovering man, gasping and stiffening as Harry seizes him around his waist. After a few steps like this, Draco relents, draping an arm over his shoulders and leaning on him as they ascend. He’s never been this close to the man who vexed him for nearly a decade. He has to take a deep breath before each step, filling his nostrils with the smells of whiskey, earthy sandalwood, and a deep warm musk underneath it all. The mixture of scents is almost intoxicating. Harry is a few inches shorter than he and Draco finds himself resisting the urge to press his cheek into the dark hair. Merlin, Draco, keep it together!
Finally making it to a landing, Harry pauses to let the struggling man catch his breath.
“Nearly there, not far now.”
Draco huffs and lets Harry half drag him down a hallway to a bedroom door with a golden plate engraved ‘R.A.B.’ He leads him inside and deposits him on a large bed covered in a velvety duvet and silky looking pillows. The sigh that escapes Draco is reverent and full of relief.
“Oh sweet Merlin, that feels heavenly. I can’t remember the last time I slept in an actual bed.”
The look Harry gives him is an odd mix of intrigued and unsettled. His mouth opens as if to respond then he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. He leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with a towel and what looks like clothes. Making his way over to a beautiful desk near the room’s only window, Harry pulls out a plush chair and sets everything down before turning back to the bed.
“You should be able to walk on your own after some rest. The bathroom is just down the hall, if you’d like to wash up in the morning. It’s stocked with all the basics. Just call for Kreacher if you need anything else. Alright?”
Biting his bottom lip and forcefully swallowing the lump quickly rising in his throat, Draco barely manages to look up at the saint standing in front of him. When he does, he’s met with striking emerald green eyes that are filled with concern and confusion. He can feel his own eyes stinging, threatening to well up. Not trusting himself to speak, he just nods. Harry searches his face for a moment before nodding himself. With that he turns and exits, closing the door behind him.
Feeling almost bereft at the loss of his presence, Draco throws himself back on the soft bed, grimacing in pain at the careless movement. He lays there unmoving, staring up at the ceiling and wondering just how much the universe had to hate him to leave him at the mercy of Harry Potter once again. After wallowing in his seemingly never ending string of bad luck, he lets out a groan of defeat and rolls over to pull back the covers. Awkwardly shuffling up towards the head of the bed, he settles on the fluffy pillows and drags the blankets nearly up to his ears. His body can’t resist the soft, comfortable bed after months of his shoddy camping cot and sleep swiftly takes him.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
Leaves crunch beneath his feet as he walks deeper into the Forbidden Forest, pulled by some unknown force, as though the trees themselves are whispering to him, urging him forward. He jumps at the sound of several birds taking flight near him, his heart beating so hard it might actually burst. Every step is a war against his own body. Every part of his being implores him to turn around, to run. He grits his teeth as he presses on. He knows he has to keep going, he has to stop this fighting, he has to save his friends. As he draws closer to the clearing where he’ll meet his fate, he can hear voices rise up in cruel laughter as some poor soul whimpers and begs for their life. As he peers through the trees on the edge of the clearing, he sees a flash, and suddenly a blood curdling scream pierces the relative silence, sending shudders down his spine. Something isn’t right, this isn’t how it goes. He races towards the crowd, but no one pays him any attention, they just continue sneering and mocking the writhing form on the ground. Another flash and what he now sees is a little boy screams again, the sound disturbing him to his core. His heart in his throat, he begins to push through the throng and catches a glimpse of silvery hair as another shriek rips through the air.
Harry bolts up, chest heaving while he struggles to catch his breath. A terror filled screech echoes across the house, and he realizes it wasn’t just the dream. Snatching his wand and glasses off the nightstand, he dashes from his room and down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time as he shoves the frames onto his face. More horrifying sounds meet him as he reaches the floor below. Gut-wrenching pleading and sobbing devastate him as he races towards the room he left Malfoy in. Shit, shit, SHIT! Have the Death Eaters found him? How did they get past the wards?
Harry bursts through the door, wand at the ready. Moonlight filters in from the window, illuminating the empty room. The bed comes into view, where Malfoy is thrashing violently and wailing. As he approaches, he’s able to make out the words the weeping man is uttering.
“Please no... stop... make it stop... take me... leave her alone...”
Harry draws a deep breath before reaching out to him, gently trying to shake him.
“Take me... just leave her alone... p-please make it stop...”
“Hey Malfoy, its okay, no ones here-”
“Please… please just make it stop please just make it stop make it stop”
“Malfoy, its alright, you’re okay-”
“Please, I’ll do anything, just-”
“Malfoy!”
“Please make it stop pl-”
“Draco!!” Harry shouts, frustrated.
Draco jerks awake, eyes darting around wildly as tears flow freely down his face. He shoots out a hand and grabs Harry’s arm forcefully. He looks frightened out of his mind as he half whispers, half cries.
“Where am I? Who are you?”
Harry sighs and runs his free hand through his hair.
“You’re at my house, remember? I’m Harry.”
“H-Harry?”
“Yes, Mal- Draco, you’re at my house, everything is okay.”
“Harry Potter? I’m at your house?”
“Yes, Draco. You’re at my house. You’re safe. There’s no one here to hurt you.”
At that, Draco breaks down sobbing, pathetic whimpers and moans escaping him as he curls into a ball. Harry cringes at the distressed sounds and removes his arm from the vice-like grasp to leave, hoping to give him some privacy. Draco tugs at his hand and begs him not to leave.
“Nonono, please! Don’t go! Please!”
“Fine, fine! Hey look, I’ll just sit here for a bit until you get calmed down, alright?”
Still crying, Draco nods and shakily scoots back against the headboard, holding onto Harry’s hand like a lifeline. Harry sits next to him on the bed, kicking his legs out and letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Draco curls into him a little and Harry waits silently as the other man slowly resumes breathing normally. After he seems a bit less fragile, Harry decides to risk talking to him.
“So er- are you-”
“My apologies, I normally cast Silencing Charms when I have the chance to sleep. I can’t do those wandless.”
Draco sits up straighter, drawing up his knees and separating their hands to wrap his arms around his legs. He steals a glance at Harry, before turning his head to stare blankly across the room.
“I don’t- that’s- I mean, are you okay though?”
“I’ll be fine, I’m used to it.”
Crikey, how often does this happen to him? A few moments pass as Harry tries to figure out what to say next. The words are tumbling out before he can stop them.
“I still get them too. The nightmares.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I was having one when you woke me up. I actually thought the screams were in my dream.”
Draco winces before answering, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep.”
“No that’s not- I have them anyway. Just- you’re not the only one. That’s all I was trying to say. I get it.” Harry moves the hand that is still on the bed between them and clasps them both together in lap.
He doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches on for a few minutes before Harry breaks it.
“Was it your mom?”
“Yeah. It usually is. Sometimes its Him. Back at the Manor before... well you know. You?”
“Its usually Him.Tonight, I was in the forest. That last night, before I killed him. When he killed me first.”
“What? How- No you beat him. You didn’t die.” Draco shakes his head as if Harry is spewing nonsense.
“Oh, but I did. There was a part of him in me, keeping him alive. I had to let him kill me in order to get rid of it. I died, and I had the choice to come back or move on. When I woke up, that piece of him was gone, he was mortal again. He sent your mother over to check if I was done for. She asked me if you were alive and then she lied for me. She saved my life. She’s the only reason I was able to surprise him and finish him off.”
“That’s- that’s insane. I never knew- she never told me all of that. I always wondered why you testified at her trial.”
“I testified at your trial too. Why… Why didn’t you name me at the Manor? You knew it was me, I know you did.”
“I- I don’t know. I was tired of watching people die. I didn’t want to be the reason you died. I know we didn’t get on, but I- I didn’t- I never wanted you to die. Not really. He was terrifying and horrible, even to his followers. Who else was going to face him? You were the only one brave enough or stupid enough.”
“Ha! That’s not true. Many people stood with me against him. I could never have done it alone. You helped too.”
“Not really, I just stayed quiet. Hardly qualifies.”
“Malfoy- Draco. Do you remember that I disarmed you before we escaped that day?”
Draco stiffened at this, nodding curtly.
“It was your wand, Draco. I killed him with your wand.”
Draco turned to him then, eyes wide in disbelief.
“And what’s more, you had disarmed Dumbledore before he died and then I disarmed you. Voldemort didn’t know that. He tried to use Dumbledore’s wand against me, not realizing its allegiance was to me. It refused him. So without you, things probably would’ve gone terribly for me that day. That’s why I testified for you. I owed you.”
“Bloody fucking hell! That’s- bloody hell. I- that’s- that’s a lot to process.”
Harry let out a loud snort that turned into a chuckle.
“Imagine how I felt when I realized.”
“I would’ve been annoyed beyond all belief.”
“Exactly. Quite on brand for you, always trying to bother the shit out of me.” He flashed a grin at Draco then, and saw the corners of his lips quirk up into a lopsided little smile.
“Yes, well. I suppose someone must do it. Almost tradition at this point.”
Harry clapped him on the knee and made to get up.
“Listen, I keep Dreamless Sleeping Draught stocked up so I can get back to sleep on a rough night. I probably should have offered some before. Would you take some? You really do need to rest to finish healing.”
“Yeah sure. I- er- Thanks, Potter. For sitting with me and telling me all that. I haven’t really had anyone to talk to since my mother passed. It- it means a lot. Thank you.”
“No one deserves to suffer alone. Well, most people don’t. You don’t- I don’t think you do. Anyways, let me grab that potion for you. Be right back.”
Harry hurriedly grabs a vial from one of his stashes, the medicine cabinet in the bathroom down the hall. He brings it back to the room and hands it off to Draco with a small nod, before returning to the floor above. He climbs into bed and lays there for a few minutes before succumbing to tears of his own. What the fuck just happened?