Proof
Harry woke with a start, images of death and pain evaporating into nothing but distant, fleeting dreams. He blinked, becoming aware of the cold, dried out trail of drool that had run down his cheek while he slept. His arms and back were in an uncomfortable, twisted position, and his glasses were digging into his face harshly.
He had fallen asleep over his case notes. The thought came like a dull thunk at his slowly waking mind.
He sat up, stretching out as he yawned. He scrubbed at his face, his glasses lifting for a few brief moments of relief on the spots where they’d created bright red pressure marks. Harry stood, then, taking stock of his surroundings. The living area was, to his surprise, significantly more picked up than he’d left it. The sheets on his sofa-bed were folded neatly. Various empty cups of tea were washed and put away, as well as the dishes he’d dirtied when he cooked. Then, he noticed that the plate he’d left Draco was also gone. Something in his chest warmed, at that. He knew then that Draco had come out of his room. Not only that, but he’d eaten. He’d even cleaned up after Harry’s slobishness.
He glanced at the closed bedroom door, wanting more than anything to open it and-
He wasn’t quite sure what, really. Only that he felt warm inside, and he was so beyond relieved to know that Draco had actually come out and eaten, and that he wanted to see him, and he itched to feel him against himself in some capacity.
He opted instead to retreat to the kitchen and make some breakfast, hoping that this time Draco would come out to eat with him.
He made eggs, bacon, and toast. Harry took his time with it, feeling the sun filter through the windows for what felt like the first time in ages. Despite the cold in the flat, The warmth Harry was feeling inside himself was enough to feel somewhat pleasant. He enjoyed the feeling. It was much preferred over drowning in murders and case files and complicated life problems.
When he finished preparing everything and approached Draco’s room, he briefly worried that Draco would simply refuse to answer him again. His heart gave a rapid and shallow pace as he called for him, explaining that he’d made breakfast.
When Draco did open the door, his hair disheveld and soft in the morning light, Harry had to stop himself from tackling him in a hug. All at once, everything that happened the last time they’d seen each other came crashing back in his mind.
They watched each other silently, saying nothing yet everything. Draco looked like he’d slept badly, but slept nonetheless. Harry had question after question begging to be asked, yet remaining stuck in his head.
He found himself simply unable to speak.
“Thank you for the food.” Draco was the first of them to speak. “Shall we go and eat it, now?”
Harry blinked, knocked from his stupor.
“I- Yes. Sorry.” He stepped aside, allowing for Draco to go to the dining table.
“I see you cleaned up your case files.“
“I see you cleaned up my entire mess,” Harry responded, ignoring the shade or two of blush that adorned his face, now. “Thank you.”
“It was a good distraction, for me,” he responded. Just as he was about to sit, he paused, the chair half-pulled out. After a few beats, he pushed the chair back in.
“Something wrong?” Harry asked, eyeing Draco carefully. Draco took a breath, glancing up at Harry.
“One moment, please.”
Harry watched confused as Draco walked over to the window, placing his hands flat on the cold glass, fingers splayed. Harry approached him.
“Something wrong with the window? Something outside?”
“No,” Draco replied shortly, then “Please give me a moment.”
Harry stood silently as Draco simply… stood there. He stood there and felt the glass and breathed.
After several moments, Harry thought somewhere in the back of his head that the food had gone cold and he would need to reheat it.
It wasn’t until approximately three minutes after his stomach began an audible protest that Draco removed his hands from the window, his movements slow, controlled.
“Okay,” he started. “I’m sorry about that. We can go eat, now.”
The atmosphere in the flat had an odd air to it, now. Harry blinked, turning back towards the kitchen. “I’ll reheat the food,” he replied, using his wand to send the plates to the kitchen ahead of him.
When they finally did begin to eat, they were mostly quiet. Harry was glad to see that Draco was eating, though. It was something good, compared to all the other things going on, so Harry grasped at that feeling and held onto it.
He regrettably still needed to tell Draco about the news on his father, and he was not looking forward to it. He felt that Draco likely wouldn’t be able to enlighten the aurors on anything that might lead them anywhere.
“There’s an update on your father.” Harry just out and said it. No point in tip-toeing anymore. Besides, he needed to be able to scratch things off of his list of possibilities.
Draco arched an eyebrow, before straightening his posture, focusing fully on Harry. “Yes?”
“Er, do you happen to know the company your father kept after the war? We, er- discovered that he ought to have let the killer into the manor.”
“I can’t imagine I know much more than you… I’ve been confined to this flat and the surrounding areas since the war ended. It took me a while before I was granted the privilege to leave at my own will. That was when I began going to church.”
Harry nodded. “I figured, I just had to make sure. You know.”
“Yes, I do.”
The room went silent. Draco took another bite of food. Harry followed suit.
Harry is finding himself quite drawn to him in ways that he can’t quite make sense of, like the way he holds his utensils, or the way his hair subtly frames his face, or the way he sits…
Merlin, he just wants to kiss Draco again, really. There’s no two ways to go about it.
It’s wrong, he reminded himself. This is wrong.
Then he realised that Draco has been staring at him. He wondered briefly if perhaps he’d been wearing his thoughts on his sleeve, making everything rather obvious. He tried remembering if his facial expression had been out of the ordinary, or if he’d forgotten to take a bite of food at a correct, normal time, or-
“I need to show you something.”
Oh.
“O-oh, okay, yes! Okay. Something- Okay, yes.”
Draco’s expression was rather stiff and withdrawn. He looked like he was in conflict.
“Are you done with your meal? I’ll clean up, first.”
Harry glanced down at his plate. It was mostly empty. Draco’s was the same. “Okay.”
It was over the clattering of dishes that Draco began to speak, keeping his eyes away from Harry.
“I feel it necessary to share this with you, seeing as we’re rather… entangled, as of late.”
Harry was confused, and a bit concerned. Draco kept his eyes away, finishing the dishes and drying his hands off. He walked to the living room, and Harry took it as a signal to follow. Draco stood facing the couch, face impassive. Harry sat down in his line of sight, not missing how Draco’s expression tensed slightly, while otherwise remaining neutral.
Harry couldn’t help the reactionary widening of his eyes when Draco wordlessly moved to take his shirt off, the cloth landing on the floor with a barely audible thud. He tried to school his reactions, unsure what was happening, and perhaps a bit scared to speak. He took in Draco’s form in front of him, attempting to calm his heart rate, which had increased suddenly and of it’s own volition.
He had seen this before- the smattering of discoloring on his chest from all those years ago, the three scars on his left arm, disfiguring a faded Dark Mark, the gash across his stomach-
Well… it’s been a while since it was a gash, yes. Now it was a deep, discoloured and disfigured scar. Harry hadn’t quite seen that, yet.
“I have obtained these scars from different events, and in different ways.”
Harry made himself look at Draco’s eyes. Draco was not quite looking at his, though.
“Some of them are magical, some are not. However, they are all because of the same thing.” Draco did make eye contact, then. “I am not a good person… I hope you see this. I have not changed the way you claim, and this is proof of it.”
Harry’s eye stung with the threat of tears. He blinked, composing himself.
“I felt it necessary to share with you,” Draco added. “Because you deserve to know. You are treading in dangerous waters here with me. It’s better you let God do what he wishes, how he wishes. Don’t make this into more than it is.”
Harry took a moment, to speak, taking another good look at what Draco was showing him, then back at his face. His chest swelled with emotion.
“I disagree with you,” he said, softer than he thought.
“I’ve been marked as a reminder that I cannot escape my past,” Draco tried, but Harry cut him off.
“Maybe not escape, but it certainly didn’t bar you from changing in those years.”
Draco stayed silent for a moment. Harry spoke again.
“It means a lot that you’ve shown me this… but I disagree. You… have changed. So much. Your scars don’t define your character, otherwise what am I? Always just The Chosen One?”
It had been a hard thing for Harry to learn himself. His scars had molded his identity throughout his childhood and into his adulthood. He’d joined the Aurors because of it. It took him a lot of time, and crying, thinking, and support… and alcohol and isolation, before he realised he didn’t need to always save the world. This case had been meant as the last one. That is, before it got so, so much bigger than him. He searched Draco’s eyes, trying to convey everything he was feeling just by looking at him.
“Please stop crying.” Draco’s voice had gone small. Harry wiped at his face, unaware that he’d begun to cry.
“Sorry, just. I disagree with you. Wholeheartedly.” Harry stood, taking a stabalising breath. He took a few steps toward Draco. “I get the feeling you intended to show me this to get me to leave you for dead… or just leave, in general.” Harry was very close to Draco, now, his head tilted up ever so slightly to ensure he was looking right into those grey eyes. “But it didn’t work.”
Draco’s eyes moved rapidly between Harry’s, his expression remaining neutral, even as his eyes turned red from irritation. Harry had that urge again, then. The urge to show Draco just how much he disagreed with him. Part of his mind did begin it’s usual protests of ethics, but it was somehow dimmer. Suddenly, ethics and a murder case weren’t quite at the forefront of his mind, just Draco and how much he has changed and how much he would like to show him care. Harry began tentatively to reach out his hands, moving slow.
“May I… put my hands on you?”
Draco blinked. Surprise flickered across his face for a moment. “Don’t be sudden, please.”
“I won’t.”
Harry put his right hand up, to hold Draco’s face. He could see a tear track down his cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb. “My hand ought to reach you, now,” he warned. Fingers came into contact with cold skin. Draco flinched mildly, but otherwise didn’t move. “Okay?” Harry asked, hoping to any powers that be that Draco didn’t run off in a panicked shame this time. Draco nodded, so Harry placed his hand firmly on his bare waist, not daring to move more at the moment.
The emotion in his chest swelled so thoroughly at that moment. He had never gotten so far with Draco before. The moment felt rare, and precious. He felt Draco’s hand grab at his shirt, simply holding.
“You aren’t going to leave, are you,” Draco said. “I thought you might, when you realised.”
“There wasn’t much to realise,” Harry responded. “Good on you for recognising that your past isn’t going to drive me away.”
They kissed, then. Slow and soft, The hand that was on Draco’s face moved to his shoulder, and he squeezed, the affection that he felt overwhelming him.
When the kiss ended, the both of them had tears streaming down their faces. Harry chuckled wetly, wiping his face on his sleeve.
Draco pulled Harry into a hug, which surprised him. Draco was still cold, from having stood shirtless in a flat with no heat. Harry laughed again, squeezing the hug, reveling in the comfort it brought.
Harry sighed, resting his face on the crook of Draco's neck.
They stood for a moment, simply holding each other.