Lucius Malfoy
Sometimes, memories of the pain come back to him- phantoms of his suffering. It starts off as a dull, uneasy feeling. Starting in the deepest crevices of whatever scar has decided to make itself known at the moment, and it creeps its way outward until Draco feels as though he’s been carved open all over again.
"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you… Do you recognize that one, Draco Malfoy? This is your judgment returning to you, Draco Malfoy. The same way you wished death upon others, the lord now wishes you dead-”
Draco was shaking, remembering how he was constricted until he felt bones shatter, remembering the feeling of the blade cold against his warm skin.
It had been one week since Potter left him with a new auror and Draco successfully managed to only see or hear from him twice a day. And most times Draco ignored him. Every time that The New Auror tried and failed to open the bedroom door, Draco found himself overcome by this aching and urgent need to make sure that the door was locked all over again. He’d developed a ritual for it. Lock the door ten times, cast two locking spells over the door, and attempt to pry it open four times. That’s how he knows the door is safe. Thankfully, The New Auror hadn't bothered him in four hours, so Draco hadn't needed to try locking the door for a while.
In the past week, Draco's sleep had declined sharply. He had been struggling to sleep before, but now he was lucky to get four hours in a night. He would often switch between thinking about all that had happened and fearing that he would be found, that he would be attacked and killed.
Draco hated feeling so helpless. He was scared, alone, and vulnerable. He felt like he had during the war again, except with one major difference. During the war, he could force himself into believing that he had some sort of control, that he was making his own choices, that he was doing what he needed... Now, he felt like he was at the mercy of whoever was out there, and he was scraping at the slightest bit of control that he could exert over his situation. He needed something just so he could feel like he wasn't being tossed around by the wind.
His bedroom was spotless the majority of the time, and since having been avoiding The New Auror (and by a consequence, the entire rest of his flat), he found himself looking for new distractions from his racing thoughts often.
At first, he tried reading, but his mind kept wandering. He tried to meditate, but his thoughts kept racing. He tried to exercise, but his muscles felt weak. He was trapped in his room and in his mind, unable to escape.
Then, there was a knock on the door. Draco froze, his heart racing. He knew he had locked the door, but what if someone had managed to get in? He reached for his wand, ready to defend himself if necessary.
"Draco?" It was Potter's voice. Relief flooded through Draco's veins at the sound of that voice. He didn't understand why it was so much more comforting to know that Potter was back, and that The New Auror would finally be going away. Possibly because as much as I hate him, I know he is the most capable of protecting me, a voice piped up in his head.
Draco hesitated before unlocking the door. The moment it opened, he was greeted by Potter standing there, looking sleep deprived and unkempt.
Draco was wary. Potter did not speak. "I thought you didn't want to watch me anymore, wanted to... 'change the terms of my witness protection'. What happened?"
Harry bit his lip, suddenly looking pained.
"I- I did, but... after careful consideration, I have determined that it is best I continue to protect you in your home."
However, Potter didn't sound right, and Draco noticed that he kept glancing around the flat. Draco had only caught a glimpse of the rest of his flat and had already determined that The New Auror had left it a mess, and Draco needed to clean it as soon as possible. The way Potter was looking made Draco anxious and all he could think of was beginning to clean as soon as possible. He attempted to hide this from Potter.
"...Why the sudden change of heart?"
Potter sighed. "Uhm... it's about your father."
Draco tried very hard to kick Potter out of his flat the second the news escaped his mouth, however, Potter was not having it. Draco didn't want to hear more about it. His mind was already taking him a million different directions and he needed to be rid of it all immediately.
"Get, out," Draco strained as he pushed Potter backwards. Potter was using all of his strength to resist, and it was making Draco's heart race with fear.
"I'm, not... leaving!"
Harry was determined to not be kicked out for Malfoy to spend four hours cleaning again. He was not going to have this be a repeat of his first night here. He came back to see Draco because Harry had responded to the attack. He saw what the murderer did to Lucius Malfoy with his own eyes, and he could only imagine that the idea of Lucius being dead would be difficult for Draco to process. He was not going to leave. He needed to speak to Draco about what was going on. Draco was Lucius' last living relative.
Draco felt his chest tighten as Potter put more force into resisting Draco's pushing. He finally had to let go, chest heaving. Attempting to physically push Harry Potter out of his front door was the most exercise he'd done since he was school-aged.
Potter brushed himself off, taking a step forward. Draco instinctively took several steps back. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to know anything about what happened to his father or how. He just wanted to forget about everything and move on. But Potter was here, and he wasn't leaving. Draco felt like he was trapped, suffocating under the weight of his emotions and the memories that seemed to resurface every time he tried to forget.
"I said get out," Draco repeated, his voice shaking with anger and fear.
Potter took a step forward, and Draco felt his back hit the wall behind him. He was trapped, with nowhere to go. Potter kept moving forward. Draco felt the walls and ceiling closing in on him. Potter's face was now inches away from his, and Draco wanted to scream.
"Listen to me, Draco, please," Potter said, his voice low and serious. "I know you're scared, and I know you're hurting. But you can't hide from this.”
Draco made one last attempt to get away from Potter. His mind scrambled for a way to get himself busy and to get Potter out, but he was too frenzied to think up anything of coherence.
Draco attempted to take a breath, but it caught in his throat. Suddenly, everything was spinning. His face grew hot and tense. He couldn't tell which would come first, death by suffocation, or death from spontaneous combustion.
Potter noticed the panic on Draco's face and quickly grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. "Hey, breathe with me. In and out. In, and out." Potter's voice was calm and even, however, everything was getting awy from Draco. He could not focus outside of the feeling of his brain being squeezed from every side. Green met grey, and Draco shut his eyes.
Suddenly, everything disappeared, and it was just him, his mind, and a piercing in his ears. The things he'd been shoving from his brain flooded back to him.
He found his first love and it was ripped away from him.
His attempts to find forgiveness with the church have gotten him nowhere.
He was taken, mauled, and nearly killed by God's Wrath.
He doesn't know how to live even a single normal day of life anymore. He's scared, lost, and losing control.
And now, his father is dead.
Draco shuddered, and distantly, he heard himself sob.
The instant that the tears escaped him, he became unable to stop. His chest ached and he found it difficult to breathe, each gasp of breath was painful and ragged. His entire body gave in to the helplessness. He could not stop the images of the last month flashing across his mind.
His heart ached now as he looked back on himself and everything he'd lost, and how much he'd changed as a result. He was truly falling into a pit of despair and did not know how he would find a way out.
The sensation of two hands on his biceps shocked him into reality. He kept his eyes firmly shut and tensed.
"Hey, it's me, it's okay. It's me, it's Harry... don't worry. I've got you. Just..." Draco found himself being leaned forward into Harry's chest. A soothing warmth surrounded him, and the up-and-down of Harry's breathing kept Draco from drifting back into his mind.
Draco felt like he was unravelling, but Harry was there, holding him together. He clung to Harry's shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric.
Harry held him like that for what felt like hours. His hand rubbed soothing circles on Draco's back. Draco cried until he could cry no more, until he was completely drained. He pulled away from Harry slowly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I'm sorry," he croaked.
"Don't be sorry," Harry replied softly. "You don't have anything to apologize for."
Draco just nodded, his eyes still watery. He didn't know what to do next. He didn't know how to move on from this. His surroundings and state of being felt foreign to him. However, one ting he knew was that Harry was there, and he seemed to care. That thought gave him a small measure of comfort.
It took the two of them a while to adjust to the unusual interaction they’d just had. Harry, even though he had initiated the hug, still could not believe that he had spent more than five seconds holding Draco Malfoy. Draco was still too stunned from his impromptu breakdown to process all of the things he was thinking and feeling.
Eventually, they both moved to the couch. Draco took in his surroundings and was immediately bothered by how messy the flat was. The books were not all put-away, and Draco was sure that some of the books were put away in the wrong spot. The floors hadn’t been tended to in a week, The kitchen sink had a used cup in it and the strainer had a dish in it… It was irking him, now. What if his unruly flat was a reflection of himself? What if him not cleaning enough was what led to this invasion of his feelings pouring out, and in front of Harry Potter, of all times? Draco began to fidget.
Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.
“So, uhm… If you think you are able to speak… Since you are Lucius’ last living relative… We need to discuss a few things.”
Draco turned to him, feeling dazed.
“He was killed by the same man who tried to kill me, no?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“Then there’s nothing more to discuss. If he mentioned me in his will then I’ll take what he’s left me. That’s it.” Draco felt empty. He didn’t quite understand everything that was going on in his mind or out in the world.
After what felt like an eternity, Harry spoke.
“How… how are you feeling? About all of this?”
Draco's eyes met Harry's, and he could see the genuine concern in them. He took a deep breath, trying to gather himself, however, his mind was still swimming with a million different thoughts and emotions. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, he settled on shrugging his shoulders.
This entire situation still felt quite foreign and... well, odd. He hadn't even begun to think about the line that had clearly been crossed in his acquaintanceship with Potter.
He glanced around the room again, and couldn't help the nagging in his head to get up and start cleaning. With a start, he stood, attending to his bookshelf, first and foremost. He could sense Harry Potter watching him, could sense the concern radiating off of him. Draco tried to ignore it, to begin resorting his bookshelf... Who did The New Auror think he was, anyway? To read my books off of my shelf and then put them back incorrectly?
Draco had already found books to place in their correct spots, and by the third book, he could feel the sense of control returning to him. His hands trembled as he grasped at the feeling, continuing with his task.
Harry watched as Draco moved around his apartment, tidying up his bookshelf, and taking care of other small tasks around the room. He could see the tension in Draco's movements, and he knew that the sudden shift to cleaning was a coping mechanism for him. He wanted to help, to do something to ease Draco's burden, but he didn't know how.
After a few moments, Harry decided to try and break the tension with some small talk. "So, what are you reading?" Harry asked, motioning to the books on Draco's shelf.
Draco stiffened momentarily before turning to face Harry. "Various things," he replied, his tone clipped.
Harry nodded, not wanting to push too hard. "Anything interesting?"
Draco paused, considering the question before answering. "A few things… poetry, novels, cookbooks…”
The room grew silent, and Harry quickly searched for something to settle the tension.
“Would you like me to help you tidy up?”
“No.” Draco’s response was immediate.
Harry wanted to show support. He felt the need to help Draco, now more than ever. He pushed gently. “I mean, it’s really no bother-”
“I want to do it.”
Harry was quiet for several moments after that. Draco was adamant about doing all of his sorting and tidying up on his own and Harry couldn’t quite puzzle out why. He had figured by now that cleaning was a sort of coping mechanism for him, but why do it alone? Why not accept any help?
Several hours later, it was about time for the two of them to go to sleep. Harry came to realize that this might have been the most peaceful the two of them had ever been towards each other, and he found that maybe this situation wouldn’t be so terrible if their tentative relationship went up from there.
Unfortunately, that thought lasted less time than Harry hoped. And it began when Draco’s door was left ajar and Harry happened by the man kneeled on the floor and with his hands folded over the side of the bed and- wait…
Was he praying?
Well, it made sense, Harry guessed. He had seen Draco at church more than once. Well, for funerals, but…
Still, it felt so odd to actually see that Draco was… praying.
Harry found himself stopping to watch as Draco softly mumbled to himself, eyes closed and with utmost concentration. Harry waited until Draco made the sign of the cross before speaking.
“What was it that you prayed for?”
Draco jumped, startled. His heart began racing and he whipped his head around to find Potter standing halfway into his room and
What was going through my mind that I left the door open? Why would I do that? I am not safe with the door open. I need to close it, now. Now! Do it, do it or you will lead the killer right to you-
He sprinted towards the door and shoved Potter away, not taking even a moment to process his wide eyes and hands in surrendered position. Draco slammed the door and turned to lean against it, panting.
Murderers can open doors, you know.
Draco turned to lock the door one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten times.
Well clearly this method hasn’t been working, since I still managed to forget one time and leave the door completely open.
Trembling fingers closed around the lock again.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…
Draco’s new method to locking his door is to lock the door twenty times, cast four locking spells over the door, and attempt to pry it open eight times.
It was only after he established his new routine that he was able to breathe a bit easier.
I can’t believe that I just let somebody in like that. What was I thinking? What if that was the murderer? What if I’d died?
Draco found himself spending the next fifteen minutes wondering if he should put new wards over the windows and walls or if he should trust Potter’s magic.
He put new wards over the windows and walls.
When he finally collapsed into bed for the night, he finally found a moment to slow down. An ache formed by his temples as he went over what had occurred.
He kicked Harry Potter out of his room… Not a stranger, not a murderer.
The most capable person to protect him. If anyone should be allowed to step foot in his room, it’s him, right?
But the more Draco thought about it, the more he determined that, even if that was Harry Potter, there’s no telling that it will be him in the future. And he cannot falter in locking his doors again, lest he wants to die.
It wasn’t until much later into the night, long past any reasonable time to have fallen asleep, that the reality of the days events began to haunt his conscious.
His friends are dead. His lover is dead.
His father is dead. His last parent is dead. He has nobody, now.
With a pang to his chest and a sinking in his stomach, it hit Draco.
He is completely and truly alone, now.