Draco stared at the bottle of liquor, wishing he could drown himself in its depths. Beside him, Weasley was sitting, frozen, just as shocked as Draco himself was.
The ex-Death Eater stared down at his wrist, where splashes of red had erupted—a soulmate mark, which occurred upon the first skin-on-skin contact.
Percy Weasley had only shot out an arm to steady Draco… but it had been enough to reveal something neither had suspected.
Draco squeezed his grey eyes shut tightly. His breathing turned shallow. A soulmate meant love, and he'd learned long ago that he just wasn't made for that. After all the things he'd done… how could he be?
Draco stood abruptly, swaying dangerously. This seemed to pull Percy from his reverie, and he stepped forward, looking terribly off-guard—which Draco knew he hated. Growing more certain by the second that pursuing any sort of promise the soulmate bond might carry was a bad idea, Draco stumbled away and Disapparated.
When Draco opened his eyes again, he was in his flat. It was much too clean, much too quiet—but he stumbled to bed anyway, because the loneliness was something he was accustomed to.
He collapsed onto his bed and let unconsciousness seize him.
When Draco woke the next morning, his head was pounding like someone was trying to pry his skull open.
The blond-haired man rolled over and groaned, his stomach clenching painfully. The twenty-two year old got shakily to his feet—then bolted for the bathroom.
He'd become well acquainted with the toilet as of late.
Once finished, Draco flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth out with water from the tap, wrinkling his nose at the acrid taste and smell. He straightened up, running a hand through his hair and preparing to turn on the shower—until he caught sight of the markings on his wrist.
Draco faltered as the memories came rushing back. Two men in a bar, barely paying attention to each other, one falling off a stool and the other reaching out on reflex to catch him…
Draco shuddered. He stripped off his clothes, which he'd slept in, and turned on the water. After a few seconds he stepped in, hissing as the hot water pelted his pale skin. He scrubbed at the red marks on his wrist, displeased but unsurprised when the soulmark refused to come off.
To his horror and mortification, Draco felt his eyes prickling with tears. He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing the tears to recede. It was cruel. All life had ever been to him was cruel. Sometimes he wished he'd been sent to Azkaban with the other Death Eaters—it had to be better than living with the guilt he felt.
He was so far past redemption.
Draco shut his eyes against the onslaught of memories. The war had… awaken something inside him. He'd crossed many lines; he knew that. And he wasn't sure why he'd been allowed to go free. At the time, he'd been glad for his light sentence of Ministry supervision… now, he wished to be numb.
Hence, his newfound love for the bottle.
Speaking of Ministry supervision, however… Potter would be here soon.
Draco switched off the water and stepped out of the shower, shivering as the cool air assaulted him. He dragged the towel up and down his body, then went into his room and pulled out some clothes for the day.
There was a knock on the door as soon as Draco finished buttoning up his shirt.
"Rise and shine, Malfoy! It's your weekly Auror check."
Draco growled. Potter.
He marched over to the door and yanked it open, revealing a messy, black-haired man holding two coffees. Draco raised a brow.
"That better be black, Potter."
"As black as your soul. No cream, an obscene amount of sugar."
Draco's stomach clenched, and he winced. He didn't want any reminders of his soul, which wasn't nearly as close to saving as Potter seemed to think.
Nevertheless, he invited the other man in—not that he had much choice—and led him into the sitting room. Potter made himself at home, which used to bother Draco, but after years of these visits… well. He had Potter had become acquainted, at the very least. The feeling of mutual hate had ebbed into something slightly more tolerable.
Potter took a sip of his own drink, which really was black. "So. I was at the Weasleys' yesterday evening."
Draco glanced at him lazily. "One tends to spend time with their fiancée's family, Potter. You aren't special in that regard."
Potter's green eyes were piercing, and Draco was suddenly reminded that this was the man who had taken down the darkest wizard of all time… at seventeen. "I spoke with Percy Weasley," he said pointedly.
Draco's gaze dropped to his lap. "I see," he said tersely.
"Soulmates are powerful things."
"I'm aware."
"Malfoy. Talk to me."
Draco angrily took a gulp of coffee, hissing with annoyance when it burned the roof of his mouth and his tongue. "You're here to ensure I'm not torturing poor souls, Potter. I'm under no obligation to make small talk."
Potter sighed heavily. "It's been five years since the war ended, Draco. When are you going to start letting yourself heal?"
Draco stiffened. "We're not on a first name basis, Potter. And I don't know what you mean."
Potter adjusted his glasses on his nose, looking frustrated; Draco would take these small victories. "Malfoy. He'll be my brother-in-law, soon; it's my business now."
"Don't test me, Potter."
"Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush here. You've made mistakes. Big ones. But you so clearly feel remorse." Potter sat back against the cushions and closed his eyes. There was a slight tremor to his voice when he continued. "That's something Voldemort could never do."
Draco flinched at the name and tried to keep his hands from shaking.
"You're not like him, Draco."
Draco ground his teeth together. "I don't think I'm the Dark Lord, Potter," he growled.
"You're punishing yourself like you think you are," Potter retorted. The Auror held Draco's gaze for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Draco… you're not as far gone as you seem to think. They were crimes, but they don't have to define you. We…" Potter got a faraway look in his eyes, an expression Draco saw often in the faces of his old classmates. "We all did things we regret in the war. Myself included."
Draco didn't respond. It was true; Potter was hardly a saint. But he still hadn't sunk to Draco's level.
Potter fixed his green eyes on Draco when he failed to respond. "Do you want to be forgiven?"
Draco couldn't help the tremor in his voice—or the honesty of his words. "Yes."
Harry nodded briefly. "Then you need to make amends. And you can start with building bridges." He pointed to the red marks on Draco's wrist. "There's someone out there who feels they made just as many mistakes as you did, who feels just as unworthy. Start there."
Potter stood up then, so abruptly that he startled Draco. The blond-haired man twisted around in his seat as Potter headed to the door. "You didn't complete your check-in!" Draco called after him, the hoarseness of his voice betraying his emotions.
"Go to the Burrow!" was his only response.
The door slammed closed, leaving Draco to his swirling thoughts. On some level, Potter was correct; he did want what the soulmate bond promised him. He wanted forgiveness, and love, and all the other things Potter had fought for that had seemed so trivial in the past. The question was whether or not he deserved it.
And then—then realization hit. Maybe Potter had been trying to tell him that it wasn't up to Draco to decide whether or not he was deserving… maybe it was up to the people in his life.
Draco ran his hands through his hair. Well. There was only one way to find out.
And Potter had said that Weasley was just as afraid…
Draco hadn't even finished his first glass that evening when Weasley showed up.
"I thought I might find you here." The older man adjusted his glasses and sat down beside Draco, slightly stiff and unsure. A few drinks would fix that, Draco mused.
Draco took a sip of his whiskey. "Did Potter come to speak with you, too?"
Percy Weasley hesitated. "No… Ron did. Did… did Harry give you the speech about forgiveness and—"
"And all that shit? Yes, he did. He's surprisingly eloquent when he needs to be."
A small smile twisted Percy's lips. "The same is true of Ron." Then he turned his head, and Draco was entranced by blue eyes that hadn't seemed to interesting before today. "Listen, Mal—Draco. I'm not going to waste my time if you have no interest in pursuing this, so tell me now—is this something you want to try?"
Draco finished off his glass. Was he skeptical? Very. Did he doubt himself? Absolutely.
But oh, how he wanted to try. Try for love, for redemption. A new life.
So he met Percy's eyes. "Yes. Yes, it is."