Chapter 2
“I didn’t ask to be saved.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t expect anyone to come, let alone you.”
“I know that too.”
“I was okay with dying.”
“Unfortunately, I know.” Draco swallowed hard and stared at his cup of tea. They’d had this conversation at least a hundred times, word for word, like some kind of sad little talent show routine. He would start it and try to provoke the Auror into reacting—even a fist fight would have been better than whatever the hell this was—but Harry always responded in the same passive agreement.
“I hadn’t spoken to anyone in months.” Harry just continued to putz around the kitchen, making an omelette and pouring himself some coffee.
“I know.” He didn’t even glance in Draco’s direction as he said it.
“I deserved to be executed.” For weeks, now, he’d been trying to get any kind of emotional response from the man who’d practically adopted him and to no avail. Harry wouldn’t argue with him about any of it, even things Draco was sure he disagreed with.
“I know.” At first, some part of Draco had hated that Harry wouldn’t fight him. He wanted someone to argue with the little voice in his head that whispered to him like his old cellmates had for so many years. He wanted someone to tell him that he deserved to be alive—someone to shake him by the shoulders and scream reassurances so loudly that they might drown out the hatred in his blood. But Harry was not going to do that, clearly, so Draco had resigned himself to this.
“People will hate you for testifying on my behalf.”
“I know.” Harry sat at the table and began to cut up his omelette. He would be leaving for work soon and Draco would be forced to spend nine hours alone with his thoughts and Harry’s belongings. As Harry took his first bite, Draco went for the mark.
“I didn’t mean it.” Green eyes flicked up and leveled on his face. This was it: the one thing that Harry would stand his ground on, even if Draco pushed it a thousand times. They both knew what ‘it’ was. I love you. He still heard those words leaving his mouth during the nightmares, and he was sure that Harry did too. But this was their routine, and this was the one part that Draco needed more than anything.
“Bullshit.” Draco shuddered. Even now, after weeks of having the same conversation over and over again, that word hit him like a spell. Harry was so fucking passive about everything that it was maddening. But this? This made fire flare in those eyes and, once, a lamp shatter wordlessly across the room.
“I didn’t mean it.” His voice was weaker now, though, and he stumbled over the words. Harry stood and gathered his dishes, leaning down so that their faces were only a few inches apart.
“Bullshit,” he whispered. Draco had to take a deep breath just to stay upright but then Harry was gone, quickly doing the dishes and Apparating to work with a crack. Just for a second, Draco couldn’t think. His brain was foggy, his mouth was dry, and his muscles were fighting the urge to run after Harry, despite the fact that he couldn’t follow an Apparition. He took a couple deep breaths and tried to center himself again.
“I didn’t mean it…” Harry wasn’t there to hear it, and Draco wasn’t sure who he was saying it for anymore, but the words trembled in the air like a lie. Maybe it was a lie, but Draco sure as hell wasn’t ready to admit that to anyone—not even himself.
He shook that thought out of his mind and sipped his tea. It was cold. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised—it was always cold, because he got up hours before Harry and would always manage to forget he’d made the cup until after Harry had gone. He gulped the rest down just out of spite. Stupid Potter with his stupid savior complex…