Chapter 1
Muggle holidays had always been a paradox for Draco. Although religion had never really been a big hit among wizards (Christ was obviously just an overly-ambitious Muggle-born), they still celebrated the most popular ones: Christmas, Easter, etc. However, they were celebrated more for the sake of celebrating rather than some moral, religious meaning.
Despite the fact that the Malfoy’s were involving themselves in a holiday with a mainly Muggle history, the Manor never failed to hold its share of decorations come Christmas-time. The Christmas trees were always grandly decorated, 17 feet tall with a hundred silver baubles and a golden garland that reflected stars across the parlor. Nothing like these , Draco thought as he looked at the dull and simple garlands that were strung across the lampposts in Muggle London.
He sniffled, pulling his thick coat closer to his frame as he walked down the street that lead to the Ministry, forever cursing the policy of not allowing apparation within one mile of the building. (There was little chance that he would let himself step into a toilet- for Merlin’s sake- so walking it was.)
The Muggle garlands shook as the windchill swept through the street, slicing through Draco’s cloak even with a warming charm. It felt impossible to keep warm when even his magic couldn’t help much. Approaching the building, Draco readjusted the bag in his grip with the help of a muttered levitation charm, and reached out a gloved hand for the east-side entrance to the ministry (which appeared to Muggles as a sewing shop that was always closed). Just as his fingers neared a hair’s width from the door handle, another gloved hand that was not Draco’s own wrapped around it instead. The door was opened for him, and Draco turned slowly to the owner of the gloved hand. Bright green eyes- much brighter than the garlands- Draco noted, were looking at him brightly above a smug grin.
“You go first, Malfoy,” Potter told him with a head nod towards the entrance. Draco looked between the door and Potter before huffing and squaring his shoulders.
“I don't need your help, you know,” Draco told him as they walked through the long corridor that branched off into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
“I know,” Potter said cheerfully, and Draco would strangle him were his hands not occupied.
“I’m not a damsel in distress,” Draco said with a glare as he reached his office, Potter continuing down the corridor to his own.
“I know!” Potter called. Draco shut his office door with a groan. He set his bag atop his desk and sighed softly.
Ever since they had both been put in the same wing of the DMLE, Potter had constantly made it his aggravating mission to help Draco out in any miniscule way possible. Opening doors, carrying his bags, lending him an extra coat, giving him cups of tea when they both stayed late. For almost every helpful action Potter gave Draco, Draco would deny his help- but the stubborn git had not once backed down- despite Draco’s very apparent annoyance. Although he would never admit it, a part of Draco knew that the relationship between himself and Potter had developed into something akin to a friendship. Once, while they were walking to a curry place to pick up lunch, Potter had asked Draco if his benevolence truly bothered Draco or made him uncomfortable.
“ Well, the idiotic Gryffindor in you does need some way to express itself- or else I think you would burst, Potter,” Draco had said, and Potter had beamed so greatly that the street lamps seemed to dim beside him. Draco had rolled his eyes, and Potter then proceeded to sit them down at a table together, knocking their feet under the table and laughing obscenely through a mouthful of curry while they talked about Quidditch or school- Draco couldn’t really remember. All he had remembered was the warm feeling that had pooled in his gut- that wasn’t solely from the hot chicken curry they were eating from tin containers. When he had returned from lunch, he had ignored the comment that his co-worker Mona had made about the blush that had settled on his cheeks, glaring as she chuckled.
Draco’s office was shared with two other DMLE investigators: Mona Lambard and Zacharias Smith, both of whom hold extremely contrasting personalities, so much so that their interactions were the most common source of his headaches.
While Smith was obnoxious and brash, Mona- who had been two years above them during Draco and Smith’s time at school- was kind and very headstrong. In the beginning, Draco had tried his best to remain silent unless necessary; he needed to appear as unapproachable as he could in order to avoid any possible confrontations. Draco had gained enough beatings and verbal lashings following the end of the war to understand that keeping his mouth shut at all times was in his best interest.
Mona, on the other hand had, for some unknown reason, decided to bypass any of the walls he had put up in front of her. She constantly reviewed her reports with him, even if he shared no response, and always filled him in on the most recent and notable Ministry gossip. Despite the annoyance she often supplied, Draco had grown somewhat fond of her over the two years they had shared an office space together.
None of which could be said in the same way for Smith. In all the time they had worked together, Draco was certain that there was not one look Smith had given him that was not full of disgust, anger, or both. And rightfully so. Draco often told himself. As much as he despised Smith, he understood that the man’s loathing towards him did not come without premise. In fact, a handful of harmful looks and words throughout the week were trivial compared to some other interactions he has had in the past with those who had put it upon themselves to punish Draco themself for his crimes.
Draco opened up his bag, retrieving the case file on the drug he and Smith were currently investigating. The lack of information they had on the case made him want to rip his hair out on a daily basis, and having to deal with Smith made it that much better. Sighing, he accioed his mug into his hand and poured some tea into it from the kettle they kept handy around the room, sipping it idly before he truly sat down and began his day.
“That’s the second time you’ve signed in the past-” Mona glimpsed at the clock, “Two minutes- what’s wrong?” She asked, Draco quirked up one end of his mouth in irritation.
“I really can’t see how it’s your concern,” Draco told her and the witch laughed.
“You fill the whole space with negativity and soon we’ll all have that dreaded, grim look on our faces,” She said, thick and dark curls bouncing as she nodded to herself.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” He said, and Mona laughed. Draco’s mouth quirked up slightly, and Mona then huffed.
“Honestly, though, why the extensively long face?” She questioned, and Draco rolled his eyes at her insistence.
“There’s nothing wrong, I’ve just been feeling a bit more sick recently, if you must know- probably lack of sleep,” He explained, and Mona nodded but her eyes were still looking him over questioningly. “Really, that’s all it is,” He said again, Mona tilted her head.
“That’s not a very convincing statement, you know, ‘that’s all it is,’” She told him inquisitively. Draco huffed and sipped more from his tea.
“Then enjoy cracking the nonexistent mystery that is the cause of my sighing,” He told her, floating the teapot over to Mona’s desk so she could refill her own mug.
“One more thing about the bloody sighing ,” Smith growled from his desk. Draco opted to take another sip from his cup, diving into the case file for the investigation. It would be a long time until the end of his shift, Draco thought dismally, holding back a third sigh (for Mona’s sake).
***
Draco shouldn’t really have been surprised when Potter all but barged into their small office space at 12:03 pm, chewing on what appeared to be a biscuit and holding a book in his other hand.
“Yes, Potter?” Draco asked, chin resting boredly in the palm of his hand.
“You’re on the Roboro case aren’t you? Smith too?” Potter asked, jaw now clenched with anticipation. There was still a crumb from the biscuit on the corner of his mouth that Draco was focused on with slight disgust, but he re-centered his gaze with a slight head tilt as he looked at Potter. Smith was looking attentively at Potter with an equally curious expression, his eyebrows furrowed.
“And what of it?” Draco asked, “Do you have something?” He asked, eyes flicking to the book, and Potter smiled and nodded.
“Well there’s been an occurrence of ten Muggle deaths- all in Wizarding London- via heart attack or seizure. But no one knows how they got into Wizarding London or why,” he said quickly, Draco and Smith didn’t reply, both silently urging him to continue. “I’m on the case ‘cause Robards thought that the cause of the deaths was due to a mutated Draught of Living Death- but when I was looking for patterns- I found out that they all had traces of a component from this plant in their system,” Potter said, opening the book he had been holding and setting it on Draco’s desk. Smith, with his mouth set firmly in a straight line, got up and stood beside Potter as they looked at the page he was referring too. “ Prunella Evalesco, the roots of this plant are usually used to heal wounds, but if used too much-”
“Their bodies can’t handle it,” Draco finished for him and Potter nodded, green eyes growing bright with excitement.
“Yeah! The plant is supposed to help strengthen and heal them if they faced a minor wound, but too much strength- and their body is overwhelmed by the plant’s chemicals in their system- and as a result they suffer a seizure or a heart attack.”
Despite how awful the subject of their conversation was, Potter was smiling, eyes ablaze and determined. The look he had was a tad frightening, Draco thought idly, but his determination made it so very endearing. Draco’s gaze flicked to Mona- who he had nearly forgotten was in their presence- as she had been strangely quiet ever since Potter entered the room. Maybe she’s intimidated, Draco thought. She was looking at Potter with an unreadable expression on her face, finger tapping on the edge of her desk.
“But what does this have to do with the Roboro file?” Smith asked, raising a brow at Potter who’s smile grew, and Draco felt a small blush form on his cheeks at the sight. Merlin, help me.
“That’s the thing! I think it’s more than just a drug for Muggles- I think it’s the lead-” Draco’s eyes widened as Potter spoke, this means- “The main component of Roboro!” Potter said triumphantly. Roboro, the center of their investigation, was a highly addictive and extremely powerful drug that had been circulating underground for months before the Ministry picked up on it.
The potion lead to unusual instances of wizards being able to perform spells much stronger and accurate than normal; its increasing popularity heightened the pressure on Draco and Smith to solve the case and shut down its production and distribution as quickly as possible. “I think it has the same capability to strengthen wizards as it does for Muggles, but with their magical-power instead of their wounds,” Potter finished, an excited flush strongly present on his face. Draco and Smith looked at each other in shock, looked to Potter, and then stood up rapidly.
“Merlin, who knew there was a brain underneath all of that hair,” Draco said quietly. He smiled greatly at the ex-Gryffindor, who returned it immediately, despite Draco’s quip at him. “But how do you know for certain that it affects wizards too?” He questioned and Smith dipped his head forward at Potter expectedly.
“That’s the thing, I may need your help with that,” he said sheepishly. Draco rolled his eyes at Potter fondly, that wouldn’t be a problem. The information he had given them was more than enough to work with, and he already has an inkling that Potter’s deductions were correct.
“Then we’ll run some tests then, I reckon we’ll have to get permission from the Minister, but that won’t be any trouble if he’s as frustrated as we are.” It felt as though he and Smith had been running in circles over this case, weeks worth of work leading them to dead-ends and false leads. But now they had something, Draco could’ve kissed Potter in that moment. Don’t deny that you want to. A voice muttered in his head and Draco flinched. Potter cocked his head at him in confusion. “Malfoy?” He asked, concern laced in his voice.
“Fine, just excited,” He said steadily, giving Potter a small smile.
“Feels good to get something beyond a vague witness account,” Smith said gruffly, mouth quirked into a small smile, and Draco was surprised. Smith had looked kindly towards Draco, for once. Despite his shock, Draco schooled his expression and nodded at Smith in agreement.
“We’ve gotten our breakthrough,” he said, smirking, and Smith’s expression matched his. Potter coughed and Draco looked back to him to see the git tapping his fingers together nervously. “What is it?”
“Well, this means we might have to stay till after five,” Potter said quietly. Draco was sure he and Smith’s groans could be heard throughout the entire DMLE. Mona had still said nothing.
***
When the clock on top of the door chimed 11:00 pm, he and Smith decided to call it a night. Draco didn’t know if he should’ve felt relief or dread when they did. The thought of his armchair, fireplace, and Bun (his cat), were all very appealing. However, even the thought of walking the long and cold mile to the apparation point seemed to tire his body out. Snow was gently falling beyond the window of their office, and Draco watched it with discontent. That bloody snow. It’s a shame it’s so cold, Mother would think it’s pretty. Draco thought, reminded of the way his weakened mother would sit in the parlor behind the large windows, watching the snow gradually cover the Manor in a white blanket. She had died in the spring, a year after the war, and right when the snow was just finished melting.
It often pained Draco to think of how broken his family had become. Lucius was rotting away in Azkaban, and Draco’s physical health wasn’t one to vouch for. A once strong and prideful Malfoy family, was now reduced to rubble. The war had taken its toll on them, and as the years passed, it felt impossible to recover from it. Draco, who was now the only sane and living Malfoy left, was in a state far worse than one would expect from a healthy 23 year old. Having been given the Crucio from his Father, the Dark Lord, and the occasional Manor guest a myriad of times during the ages of 16 to 18, Draco was on a one-way path for long-lasting damage.
No matter how many healing potions and remedies he used and researched, Draco had been facing a constant decline in his strength and stamina ever since he had first been given the Crucio at the age of 16. As a result of the curse, he was often overtaken by cold spells, and sometimes blackouts- where he would simply lose consciousness and wake up a few minutes later at most. He knew there was no cure. The strength of the Crucio was far beyond the help of common magical remedies. His own weakness was a constant source of his frustration. For how could he proudly call himself a Malfoy when he barely had the strength to be on his feet for more than fifteen minutes?
Stretching his legs under his desk and frowning, Draco then proceeded to spell his materials back into his bag, mentally preparing for his commute home. He looped his bag over his shoulder, waved a quick goodbye to Mona and Smith (not surprised when only Mona returned it), and headed out the door.
Draco breathed sharply out through his nose upon seeing Potter leaning against the wall-space beside his own office’s door, tapping on one of those Muggle communication devices in strange earnest. Draco threw his scarf over the lower half of his face and proceeded forwards. The click of his boot-heels on the floor had Potter turning his head up, glasses crooked on his face. He grinned.
“Cold already?” He asked, looking at Draco’s grey-woolen scarf. Draco rolled his eyes.
“No- I’m sweltering,” He said monotonously through the fabric. Potter snorted, taking Draco’s bag- slowly, as though giving Draco time to stop him- from his hands. Draco did not object this time, it was a relief to have the weight of his bag gone from him, as most of his depleted energy was directed towards a warming spell.
“Y’know Hermione just came back from Australia, so we’re inviting some of our year over for dinner next Tuesday,” Potter started, “And you’re very much welcome to come,” Potter said casually as they walked. Draco’s heart stuttered in his chest.
“I don’t think-”
“It was Hermione’s idea to invite you- and I wanted to anyways,” Potter cut him off. Silence overcame them, the few remaining murmurs of conversation at eleven pm on a Thursday and their shoes shuffling on the floor the only noise permeating the space.
“We’re not friends, Potter,” Draco said, a few moments later. Potter’s mouth tightened.
“Well- then take it as a dinner for adversaries- will that satisfy you?” Potter quipped.
“Maybe,” Draco replied quickly, and Potter’s head whipped towards him.
“Really?” Potter asked excitedly, the man’s face lighting up like Teddy’s did when they put a slice of cake in front of him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Draco rolled his eyes, though he secretly kept the image of Potter’s face looking so bright away in his mind.
“As long Pansy is there, yes- maybe ,” Draco said and Potter’s smile grew.
“Yes! And yeah- Pansy’ll be there- as long as she and Gin don’t get into one of their day-long breakups again,” Potter told him, and Draco laughed through his nose a bit. They reached the outside, and Draco involuntarily shuddered, tears almost coming to his eyes as wind swept through him, ten times worse than it had felt that morning. “Malfoy?” Potter asked, voice and eyes filled with concern.
“Fine, Potter. Don’t get your snitch-themed boxers in a twist,” Draco grunted. Potter smiled- but his eyes still conveyed worry.
“Here,” Potter said, and he began to unbutton his coat. To Draco’s confusion however, Potter didn’t take it off, but rather opened his arms. Draco flushed profusely. “C’mon,” Potter said, motioning him forwards with his hands.
“No- Potter, have you gone mad?” Draco asked him and Potter shook his head.
“It’ll help-” he started, but Draco was already walking past him, ignoring the offer of warmth with all the dignity that remained in him. He wasn’t a damsel. Draco coughed and cast his warming spell again. Potter caught up to him, and they walked beside one another once more in silence. The apparation point felt eons away.
***
Bun was curled up on the kitchen table when Draco arrived home to his flat. He greeted the black cat with a gentle hand to the place between her eyes. She blinked her dark eyes at him in and twitched an ear in response. A chill swept through the apartment, and Draco started a fire up in the fireplace with a flick of his wand. Unfastening his coat, the image of Potter- arms extended and mouth downturned into a pout- flashed through his mind. His fingers clenched the fabric of his coat before he hung it up on the rack.
“I don’t get it, Bun, why do I let him make me his charity case?” He asked the cat. “If he didn’t notice that pattern…" Draco sighed, "I can’t even do an investigation without him bumbling in.” Bun yawned, clicking her jaw at him in boredom. Draco huffed.
There was a part of his mind that told him to snap at Potter- make a big deal out of things and have him stop breathing over his neck- but there was another that reminded him of a bright smile, cloaks that weren’t his own being draped across his back, hands holding open doors and resting on his arm, awful jokes and arguments over Quidditch teams, biscuit crumbs and fierce green eyes. So many things that brightened up his day- even if only for a moment- that for some reason he couldn’t bear to lose. Bun leapt off the table and stretched out her back before trotting to the couch and meowing impatiently.
“Alright I’m coming, I’m coming,” Draco said, prepared for a night of bad Muggle television, Bun on his lap, and the heavy weight that was Potter in his mind.
***
“Well, I think you should go,” Mona told him affirmatively the next morning. “It’ll be good for you,”
“That sounds like something my mother would've said,” Draco replied, a bit amused. “And I’ve already promised Potter I would- so I must.”
“You’re acting like it’s a chore!” Mona laughed. “Anyways, I’m off on my own date tonight,” She smiled, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers, and Draco raised his brows.
“With who?”
“A Muggle I met a few days ago at the park, he seems cute,” She said absentmindedly, eyes now fixtated on a random section of the wall.
“I hope it goes well,” Draco said politely.
“You really mean that?” Mona asked and Draco quirked a brow in confusion.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh nothing- I just assumed you’d be very anti-romance, what with you denying Potter every time he flirts with you,” She said casually, and Draco’s head shot up. His eyes widened and a blush encompassed his face, mouth dropping open slightly.
“He- he does not flirt with me!” Draco cried. Smith shushed him, but Draco ignored him. “That’s preposterous!”
“You’re just too embarrassed to admit it,” Mona said, shaking her head fondly. “But if any man looked out for me and cared for me the way Potter does to you, I’d ask him out right away,”
“But this is different!” Draco stated sternly.
“And how so?”
“Because- it’s Potter ,” Draco said, flustered. Mona laughed again, shaking her head in exasperation.
“You’ll go to that dinner at Granger’s, and I’ll go to my date, and we’re both going to give our men a chance, alright?” Mona stated, leaning over her desk slightly. Draco groaned.
“You’re ridiculous, Potter is not my man-” Draco started.
“ Alright? ” Mona cut him off, Draco leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling and closed his eyes with a grimace. Sometimes Draco truly detested how stubborn the girl could get.
“Alright.”
***
“Draco, you made it!” Luna pulled her cousin into a tight hug upon his arrival. Draco smiled, kissing Luna’s cheek. One of her Grindylow-shaped earrings swiped at his hair as he pulled away.
“Where are the Gryffindors?” He asked holding up the bottle of wine he had brought in explanation.
“In the kitchen, I’ll take you,” Luna said, looping her arm around his own and leading him through the apartment. Granger and Weasley’s flat was a bit smaller than Draco’s own, but very homey. Photographs took up much of the wall-space, there was at least one or two books stacked on each table, and small post-it note reminders were tacked up on any free surface. It was an organized chaos, to say the least. Luna and Draco found Weasley, with an abhorrent pink apron on, taking a tray of cooked lamb out of the oven. Draco cleared his throat, and Weasley turned with an eyebrow raised.
“Hullo, Malfoy- you can leave the wine there,” Weasley said in greeting, nodding to the counter space beside him. Draco did as told, nodding to Weasley before he and Luna continued on through the house. Draco ignored the pooling relief he felt in his gut when he spotted a mop of black hair in the living room. Luna gave him a strange grin, and to Draco’s shock, shoved him quite roughly into said mop of black hair.
“Wh-” Draco let out a shocked noise as he fell right into Potter’s figure, bells sounded from somewhere though Draco wouldn’t be surprised if they were simply from his head ringing in slight pain.
“Wotcher there, Malfoy,” Potter rumbled, setting a hand on Draco’s shoulder to steady him.
“I truly didn’t mean to do that, Potter, I apologize,” Draco said, “Seems Luna was keen on using me as a quaffle,” He quipped and Potter laughed, squeezing Draco’s shoulder before letting go. It was when Draco truly looked up, that he realized the strange bells weren’t just in his head. “What in Merlin’s name is that ,” Draco stated, letting out an affronted gasp at what he could only assume was something that was supposed to look like a sweater donned on Potter. Small golden bells and baubles were strung about the front of it, ringing every time Potter so much as breathed. Flashing lights were draped about his shoulders and collarbones, and a set of stars shone at the hem of it.
“A Christmas sweater, what else?” Potter replied with a grin. “It’s December!” He added, as though that would give some explanation to the monstrosity he wore.
“It looks like St. Nicholas spilled his stomach on it,” Draco commented, head tilting to the side and his lip curling marginally in disgust. The sweater was ridiculous yet Draco found it somewhat endearing on Potter’s figure.
“Well, Merry Christmas to you too, Malfoy,” Potter laughed. Draco smiled, shaking his head at Potter’s abhorrent sense of fashion. He’s made you go soft! A voice in his mind that sounded awfully like Pansy told him.
“I’m not soft,” Draco muttered to himself.
“You’re not what?” Potter questioned, eyebrows turned up cutely in concern. Draco willed his mind to stop thinking.
“Er-nothing,” Draco said, embarrassed as he felt himself blush lightly at the tips of his ears. Horridly soft. The Pansy-but-not-really-voice told him. “Have you seen Granger? I haven’t said hello yet,” Draco then asked, and Potter nodded.
“Right over there,” He pointed past Draco’s head to the couch and Draco thanked him before going on his way, relieved to be able to leave Potter and his frustratingly adorable self behind. Granger smiled politely at him, and he joined her on the couch.
***
“You’re really staring, mate, it’s creepy,” Ron said, pink apron still tied about his waist even though he wasn’t cooking anymore, waving a hand in front of Harry’s passive face.
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” Harry scratched the back of his neck absently, moving his gaze from where it had been stuck on Draco, chatting lightly with Hermione, a small grin present on his sharp face. “Just blanked out for a bit,” He told Ron.
“Right,” Ron smirked, “That blanking out wouldn’t have to do with a snot-nosed, white-haired Slytherin, would it?” He asked, and Harry flinched. A blush formed on his nose and cheeks, and his hand clamped down on the back of his neck.
“Not a chance, just thinking about something from work,” Harry explained, though Ron’s laugh told him he wasn’t being very subtle in his half-assed excuse.
“Don’t you mean someone, ” Ron said, laughter still spilling through him. “The man just exists and you’re looking at him like he hung the moon!” Ron said. Harry groaned.
“You’re not making it better,” He moaned, and Ron only laughed harder.
“C’mon, drink up, mate.” Ron handed him a rather tall bottle of Firewhiskey. “It’ll help,” He said, and Harry gratefully took a large sip from it.
At this point he would do anything to make himself stop thinking about how nice Draco’s light blue knitted sweater was, how cute he looked as he tapped his gloved fingers together in thought when talking to Luna earlier, or how great his arse looked in his- okay, time for another drink, Harry thought as he took another swig and shook his head as though to clear his mind of the thoughts.
“It’s not like he’s gonna blow up or something,” Ron said, “You don’t need to always watch him- it’s like 6th year all over again with that look on your face.” Harry huffed out a breath through his nose.
“It’s not like I can help it,” Harry said, “No matter what I do.” Harry’s grip on his bottle tightened, “I can’t stop looking out for him,”
“That’s pretty bad,” Ron said, shaking his head.
“I know,” Harry sighed, and Ron chuckled, patting Harry’s shoulder.
“Well- it could be worse, it’s not like you’ve fallen for Hagrid or something,” Ron said in thought. The pair burst into laughter, Harry’s shoulders shaking with it as he leaned into his best friend. Yeah, I guess it could be worse . He thought, sneaking another glance at the blond. Despite Ron’s charismatic empathy, Harry couldn’t help the gnawing feeling in his gut that told him Malfoy was much too far out of his reach. However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t at least try.
Harry had figured there was something wrong with Draco ever since the Slytherin had collapsed one day at work. No one was around save for Harry, and Draco had just fallen to the ground in the middle of the hallway, slumped over himself and paler than usual. When Harry checked over him, he seemed to be fine physically save for the shivers wracking through his body. With a determined flush on his face, Harry had wrapped Draco in his cloak and levitated him to the medical ward- not regarding the strange looks he got on the way there.
Two years ago…
“Looks like a Crucio aftershock,” The healing-witch had told him.
“Crucio- aftershock?” Harry had asked. He had looked back down at Malfoy’s paler-than usual face, mouth twisted up uncomfortably even as he slept.
“I don’t know if this is my place to tell you this, Mr. Potter,” The witch told him. “I think you should ask Mr. Malfoy to give you the details.” Harry had nodded glumly in understanding, his gaze never leaving Malfoy’s form. Seeing the man in such a vulnerable state- it almost flipped a switch in Harry’s mind. How could someone once so imposing, cruel but set on appearing strong- be so weak and frail? It reminded Harry of that awful day in 6th year, seeing Malfoy bleed out before him, knowing one of his fellow students- death eater or not- was suffering because of him.
That guilt had consumed him, but he had grown from it- and when he had finally apologized to Malfoy for it during the war trials- Malfoy had smiled at him. It had been a small one, but a smile nonetheless, tired eyes overborne with stress and pain crinkling up in mirth for only a moment.
“Trust me, Potter, I’d much rather have me take a Sectumsempra than you a Crucio- I was mad, yes, but I’d always known I had deserved it in a way,” Malfoy had said. Harry was quick to tell him the opposite- that no one deserved that sort of pain, but Malfoy had cut him off, “Quit it, Potter, you’re rambling,” Malfoy had said. “But thank you- for everything,” He whispered it so quietly that Harry wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly. But before he could say anything more, Malfoy had then joined his mother’s side, and Harry didn’t see him until three years later when they both started at the Ministry.
As expected, Malfoy didn’t give much of an explanation when he had woken up. The ex-Slytherin had his arms crossed and chin up when Harry had come to talk to him after he woke up.
“There’s no need to make such a fuss, Potter. I’m more than capable of handling myself,” He had said begrudgingly, as though Harry hadn’t had to carry the unconscious git across the Ministry.
“Is it from the Crucio ?” Harry had asked quietly. Draco’s smirk had fallen from his face, arms dropping to his sides as his body tensed.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Potter,” Draco told him again, expression closing off. It made Harry want to rip his hair out.
“You- you passed out!” Harry cried in frustration, “You’ve been looking like death for months! That’s not nothing.” He wouldn’t let Malfoy brush what happened off as something insignificant. Harry had seen too many people with lasting damage from the war to know that Malfoy’s condition wasn’t something to ignore. He needs my help , Harry thought, even if he never admits it.
“Why do you care Potter?” Malfoy’s stiff question had halted his thoughts. Harry was stunned for a few moments, lip tugged between his teeth in confusion. Why did he care?
“I could’ve ended the war sooner,” Harry started quietly, and Draco’s head snapped towards him
“Potter-”
“I could’ve ended it sooner, if I had tried harder,” Harry took a deep breath, and Malfoy didn’t interrupt him again. Harry met his eyes, “There’s been a lot of people hurt because of it, so I blame myself- for this,” He said, waving a hand at Draco’s form in the hospital bed. Draco was silent for a moment, before his eyes lit up in fury and he reached over, grabbing the front of Harry’s shirt in anger.
“You’re an idiot, Potter,” Malfoy growled. “The Dark Lord gave me the Crucio , Lucius gave me the Crucio . Whatever guilty, self-deprecating monologue you have going on in your mind I want you to get rid of it- I am not something you can just fix because you want to- you don’t-” A quiet sob escaped Harry’s throat, and Draco stopped. His grip on Harry loosened, and the air around the pair stilled.
“It’s unfair,” Harry whispered. Draco swallowed, eyes trained on his own lap. “It’s not right. Even if the war is over, it’s not really- is it?” He asked. Draco’s laughter cut through their dismal reverie, and Harry’s eyes widened in shock.
“Of course it’s not over, Potter, but there’s nothing to be done about that,” Draco said, voice softer than Harry had ever heard, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t heal.” Harry had smiled, a small smile, but a genuine one nonetheless, and the weight in his chest had been lifted- even if only by a bit.
Harry was drawn back to the present when Ron spoke once more, whisking him out of his remembrance.
“I always thought he’d end up with Parkinson- who knew they’d both end up playing for the other team,” Ron said. Harry nodded idly, as he watched Ginny laugh across the room, arm strung around Parkinson’s shoulders comfortably. His eyes flicked back to Malfoy, where he continued to sit in polite conversation with Hermione, pale hands curled around a glass of wine. “I think I’m gonna go steal my wife back from him now,” Ron said casually, and Harry snorted before patting his shoulder.
“Alright,” He said, and watched as Ron approached Malfoy and Hermione with his hands on his hips, before squashing himself right in between the pair. Harry laughed through his mouth a bit, and sipped his firewhiskey some more, letting the burn of it in his throat distract him from the scene in front of him.
“Is everything alright, Harry Potter?” Luna’s voice said in his ear. Harry turned to her quickly.
“Oh- yes, Luna, I’m fine,” He said, nodding, “I like your earrings- Grindylows?” He asked, and Luna beamed.
“Yes! Rolf got me them when we went to visit Russia, you know they have quite the infestation there in all of their lakes- it’s strange how Muggle-sightings have been so low with them-” Luna proceeded to talk about Grindylows for the next several minutes- Harry occasionally nodding and excitedly adding along what he remembered from his interactions with them during the Triwizard tournament. The firewhiskey in his stomach made him feel giddy and warm- and when he caught Draco’s glance from where he was cracking up over something with Pansy and Theo- he felt the warmth strike through his whole body.
***
“I know we’ve both fallen for Gryffindors, darling, but you really shouldn’t make it so obvious,” Pansy whispered to him. She was perched practically on his lap, and Draco didn’t really mind save for when her large platform boots knocked against his shins painfully.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about- and why do all the women in my life seem to know more about who I’m in love with than I do?” He asked amusedly. “Mona said the same thing to me earlier. You both really are alike, except she's a bit less of a slut,” He said jokingly and Pansy shoved him lightly with a smirk.
“Well, at least I pull it off. But don’t think I can’t see all those doe-eyed, Hufflepuff looks you’ve been giving him, not to mention the ones he gives you ,” Pansy drawled with a laugh, and Draco looked at her in alarm, before sinking back down into the couch glumly.
“You’re horrid,” He said, and Pansy rested her cheek atop his head.
“Oh, I know, love,” She said softly. “Have you gotten anywhere with that narcotic case yet?” Draco grinned and shook his head lightly.
“Yes! Bless Merlin we did,” Draco began to tell her about the discovery Potter had told him and Smith- when a great shiver suddenly wracked through his body- and everything began to feel very cold.