Coming Home

Days of repairs turn into weeks, and Harry and Draco fall into their own sort of routine. Every morning they wake up beside each other, and every night they fall asleep beside each other, sharing in moments of weighted silence as they catch each other’s gaze.

They work in the same areas, eat at the same times, and slowly but surely, get to know each other in a way they had never imagined before. Draco can’t help but notice the way Harry’s brow furrows when he focuses too hard on a spell, twisting his scar in a strange way. Harry can’t help but notice how fluidly Draco uses magic, watching out of the corner of his eye as Draco all but dances through each spell he casts.

Several sideways glances are caught between them, causing them to quickly look away, both pretending they didn’t see it, each boy wondering why the idea of the other watching him makes his heart hammer wildly against his chest.

Today they work just outside of the Hufflepuff dorms, both boys down on their hands and knees as they scrub at the thick layers of dust, debris, and dried blood. Draco watches as his hands get covered in the muddy brown colored mess as he scrubs at it, trying not to imagine who’s blood he’s cleaning up, trying not to blame himself.

He sits back on his heels, looking at his palms, his stomach turning as flashes of screams and terror flood his mind. The grime on his hands suddenly looks crimson, the blood of his classmates staining his skin. Draco frantically tries to wipe his hands on his pant legs, only to find the hot, sticky blood to smear against his clothes, staining them as well.

His heart hammers almost louder than the screams in his ears as the world begins to spin around him, the random and chaotic shots of magic closing in on him as the blood begins to burn on his hands.

“Draco!” He hears, sending him falling backwards, landing flat on his back as the screams suddenly disappear.

His eyes whirl around the room, finally settling on Harry’s face, his green eyes glistening with concern behind his glasses as he looks down at Draco.

“What happened?” Harry asks quietly, offering a hand to help Draco up.
Draco takes it awkwardly, his eyes scanning every inch of his hand and Harry’s for blood, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realizes that it’s only the grime and filth of the floor, not the freshly spilled blood of his classmates.

“I uh—” He breathes, sitting up and trying to catch his breath. “How much of this do you think is blood? Their blood?”

Harry nods his head slowly, releasing Draco’s hand as he sits on the floor in front of him.
“I’ve thought about it too.” He says quietly. “It’s—it’s a lot to process, just being here is.”

Draco nods, watching as Harry stands up, walking to the side of the room where they had set several buckets of clean water and rags. He picks up a bucket, bringing it over to where Draco sits, setting it to the side of their bodies as he holds his hands out flat.

“Give me your hands.” Harry says, urging his hands forward, trying to get Draco to set his hands on Harry’s.

Draco does it reluctantly, wondering where he’s going with this. Harry pulls the rag out of the bucket before dipping one of Draco’s hands into the water. Draco watches as Harry reaches into the bucket with the rag, beginning to slowly scrub the grime from Draco’s skin.

Harry’s eyes stay locked on Draco’s hands in the bucket, working carefully to remove all of the greyish matter from his skin, but Draco’s eyes drift back to Harry’s face. He watches Harry’s face as his eyes narrow and widen, focusing on Draco’s hands and moving so gently to clean them.

Draco’s heart hammers again, and he clears his throat to make sound in the room, convinced that Harry might be able to hear how loud it’s beating. Harry doesn’t stop though, wiping at Draco’s hands until they’re clean.

He pulls them from the bucket, taking another rag from his pocket and drying his hands gently. Harry takes Draco’s hands and sets them back in Draco’s lap, pulling his own hands away after a moment.

“There.” Harry says quietly, moving up onto his knees. “Better?”

Draco looks up, nodding his head, not expecting Harry to be that close. Harry seems to be thrown off by how close Draco’s face is now too, freezing in his tracks, still on his knees inches before Draco.

Draco’s eyes flit to Harry’s lips subconsciously, never having looked at them before, especially not this close. Harry’s eyes flit to Draco’s, following his motion, the briefest flash of wondering what they might feel like pressed against his own.

“Harry?” A voice calls from down the corridor, sending both boys staggering backwards, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they look at each other with confused expressions.

Neville Longbottom walks into the room, looking between Harry and Draco with a slight smile on his lips.
“You guys okay?” He asks, slowing to a stop a few steps away from them.

Harry and Draco both look up at him, and Harry nods as he stands up.
“Yeah, we’re good.” He says as he walks over to Neville, reaching an arm out to shake his hand. “Just heavy cleaning up here.”

Neville nods, shaking Harry’s hand enthusiastically.
“McGonagall said you guys would be up here.” He tells Harry. “Me, Luna, and a couple others are back to help for the week, but we were wondering if you guys wanted to come to Hogsmeade with us tonight.”

Draco slowly stands up, stepping away from them as he awkwardly brushes dust from his pants, looking at his clean hands, his head still reeling from what had happened just moments before.

“Draco?” Harry asks, turning around to face him. “Do you want to go?”

Draco’s brow furrows as he looks between Harry and Neville, wondering if his presence there will offend everyone in attendance.
“You can go.” He says lowly, shaking his head. “I quite capable of managing myself, and I’m sure the invitation only extends to you.”

Harry bites back a grin, shaking his head as he looks down at his shoes.
“Actually, Draco,” Neville says, and Draco wonders if he’s ever really spoken to Neville face to face like this before, “I did mean both of you.”

Draco pauses for a moment, wondering if this is some sort of joke on him. He wonders who else is going to be there besides Neville and Looney—no, Luna Lovegood.
“Are you sure everyone else would be… comfortable with that?” Draco asks, looking at his clean hands, picking at non-existent dirt.

Neville laughs lowly, nodding his head.
“Sure.” He says in a quieter tone. “We’re all from the same place, we’re all—family.”

Draco notices his pause before the last word, wondering if he means it, suspecting that he doesn’t. He looks back up to Harry, searching for approval in his face for some reason he can’t quite understand.

“Okay.” Draco says finally, shrugging to make it look casual. “I suppose I’ll go.”

Harry smiles, turning back to look at Neville.
“What time?” He asks.

Draco tunes out the details, assuming that Harry will tell him when they’re supposed to go. Neville leaves the room shortly, and Harry turns to Draco with a neutral expression on his face, not letting onto if he’s thought about what had happened before Neville came in or not.

“Do you really want to go?” Harry asks quietly, stepping closer.

Draco shrugs again, not wanting Harry to see how nervous he is.
“Sure, if you do.” He says, realizing how lame it sounds after he says it. “They’re your friends really, I wouldn’t go if you didn’t.”

He cringes internally as he tries to backtrack, not sure if he sounded casual or crazy.
“Yeah, we should go.” Harry says, walking another step closer to Draco. “It could be fun.”

Draco nods, picking up his bucket of dirty water from the floor. He and Harry pick up their supplies, disposing of the dirty rags and water before leaving the corridor. They go to their tent for clean clothes before heading to one of the bathrooms with showers, picking shower stalls on opposite sides of the room as far from each other as possible.

They shower and dress in silence before meeting back up in the center of the room, going back to the tent to throw their clothes in before they start their walk towards Hogsmeade. They walk close together, the backs of their hands rubbing together gently with each swing of their arms, neither saying a word as they near the town.

Draco’s heart beats quicker as they step into The Three Broomsticks, unsure what the night ahead of him would hold. Harry leads them to a table effortlessly, and Draco looks around at the people in attendance. He really only knows Luna and Neville by name, the rest of the students are just vaguely familiar faces.

“You made it!” Neville says, his eyes lighting up as Harry slides into the seat beside him.

Draco tries to ignore the eyes boring into him, sitting awkwardly on the seat beside Harry at the very edge of the table. He listens as the conversation starts back up, not knowing what he would say if someone were to ask him a question, not sure if people are expecting him to chime in or stay silent.

He picks up on names as they talk, finding that he remembers having classes with some of these students, remembering flashes of memories here and there as they laugh or talk to each other.

“Why are you back?” Someone asks, a girl with yellow hair, looking directly at Draco as she asks.
He’s unsure how to answer, his throat tightening as he looks back at her, then at the other people at the table, and finally at Harry. Harry reaches under the table, placing his hand on Draco’s knee in one smooth, hardly noticeable moment.

But Draco notices it.
He feels the heat of Harry’s hand burning through his trousers, warming his skin beneath as Harry squeezes once, a silent, reassuring motion.

“He’s here to help.” Harry says, turning his gaze back to the table. “He’s a Hogwarts student just like the rest of us.”

Draco feels his face flush with heat, the premise of Harry Potter speaking up for him causing him a strange sense of embarrassment, from excitement or awkwardness, Draco isn’t sure.

The people around the table nod, the conversation beginning to flow again as they change the subject, but Harry’s hand doesn’t leave Draco’s knee. Draco turns to look back at Harry, finding Harry to already be looking at him.

He raises his eyebrows, as if asking Draco if he wants him to move his hand away or not. Draco takes a deep breath before placing his hand over Harry’s under the table, squeezing it back gently. Harry smiles, nodding once as he turns back to the conversation, a motion that could be so easily ignored by anyone who didn’t know what was happening.

What was happening? Draco wonders to himself.
Why does Harry seem to care so much? Why does Draco care so much about what Harry thinks of him, what Harry does to him?

“Draco knows more about brooms than me.” Harry says suddenly, causing Draco to tune back into the conversation. “Tell them what you told me.”
Harry squeezes his leg again, causing a jolt of electricity through his body. Draco finds himself wanting to comply, wanting to impress Harry in front of his friends.

“I was just saying that a lot of flying comes from the curve of the broomstick.” Draco says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he talks, breaking his silence in front of the group. “That’s why the newest models are coming out with a different curve, higher in the back than in the front.”

Everyone at the table nods, and Neville leans forward in his seat, looking over at Draco.
“Is that why Durmstrang was always faster than we were?” Neville asks. “They’ve always had differently shaped brooms.”

Draco nods, smiling a small, hesitant smile.
“Yeah exactly.” Draco answers. “They’re more aerodynamic than other models, they have them specially made at the school, not really sure how they’re regulation… Maybe the judges just haven’t noticed yet.”

The group laughs, startling Draco with their response. It isn’t a cold, bitter laugh, but a warm, friendly one. One he isn’t used to hearing from a group of peers.
He turns to Harry, finding an easy smile on his lips, and his familiar green eyes sparkling with laughter. Draco can’t help but laugh as well, finally feeling more at ease in this group. The conversation continues, and Draco pays attention, listening to the way people talk, the topics they talk about.

“The rest of the bloody Death Eaters should be persecuted.” One of the boys at the far end of the table says when they begin talking about the rest of the work that is to be done at the school. “It can’t be that hard to find them, everyone knows who they are—”

He trails off as his eyes meet Draco’s, a hush falling over the table as people trace the rims of their glasses with their fingers, or suddenly decide to look at the artwork on the walls. Draco knows they mean his father; they know he knows where he lives. He isn’t entirely sure, but he assumes they could mean him as well.

“I agree.” Draco says finally. “I’ve seen the destruction at the school. Someone should pay for it. They all should.”

Harry doesn’t squeeze his leg this time, instead trailing his thumb in a soft circle around his knee instead. Draco finds the action somehow even more reassuring, somehow even more comforting.

“So, you’d let them persecute your own father?” The boy asks, leaning forward on his elbows. “Your own mother?”

Draco takes a deep breath, nodding once.
“My mother was uninvolved.” Draco says in a stern voice. “But my father deserves to pay.”

The hush at the table thickens, but everyone’s eyes turn back to Draco. He doesn’t elaborate, unsure what he could say to make them believe him, what he could say to make them somehow believe that he is any different from his father.

Something that could make himself believe that he is different from his father.

“Have you boys seen any Crumple-Horned Snorkack at the school yet?” Luna asks, breaking the tension, causing people to look at her with confusion. “I heard that they’ve been spotted around there.”

The conversation strikes back up with slight laughter, and Draco exhales loudly, slumping back against his chair.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Harry asks, his voice only loud enough for Draco to hear as he leans over to him.

Draco grins, nodding once. He watches as Harry expertly excuses them, smoothly creating an exit for them. The group bids them goodnight, and Harry’s hand leaves Draco’s leg as they stand, creating a cold spot where it once sat.

They leave the restaurant, stepping out into the cold, night air. Harry walks close to Draco again, their hands brushing like they had before.
“Did you mean all that?” Harry says quietly as they step onto the path back to Hogwarts. “What you said about your father?”

Draco nods, watching his feet as they walk.
“He did terrible things.” Draco says lowly. “I did terrible things. I deserve the same fate as him I just—I don’t know.”

Harry doesn’t answer, only confirming Draco’s suspicion that they agree, he is exactly like his father. Draco takes a half step away from Harry, leaving enough space between them that their hands no longer touch. They walk to their tent in silence, changing in opposite directions before laying in their sleeping bags, staring up at the ceiling in silence.

“Draco?” Harry asks, turning to face him in the dark.
Draco turns to face him as well, nodding once as they meet eyes.
“You aren’t like your father.” Harry says lowly, scooting himself closer. “You are a good person.”

Draco doesn’t answer, but he scoots himself towards Harry slightly.
“He wouldn’t have come back; he didn’t come back to help.” Harry continues, reaching an arm out to Draco. “You came back, you help, you—you care about other people.”

Draco breathes deeply, steeling his nerves before reaching a hand back out towards Harry, placing his hand in Harry’s outstretched palm. Harry laces his fingers through Draco’s holding his hand securely.

“Do you really believe that?” Draco asks, his voice as soft as Harry’s in the darkness.

Harry nods, his thumb beginning to trace soft circles on the back of Draco’s hand.
“I do.” Harry whispers. “I don’t think you’d be here if you weren’t a good person. I don’t think you’d be here if you hadn’t cared.”

Draco nods, looking at their hands in the space between them, smiling to himself.
“Thanks, Harry.” He says softly. “You’re a good person too, though I’m sure you knew that.”

Harry laughs lowly, shaking his head.
“No better than anyone else.” Harry replies. “Goodnight, Draco.”

Draco expects Harry to pull away, turning the opposite way and going to sleep. But he doesn’t. He keeps Draco’s hand securely in his own, closing his eyes with a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Night, Harry.” Draco replies, closing his own eyes and falling asleep to the gentle circles from Harry’s thumb on his hand.