Chapter Text
The wind danced across the evening sky, carrying along with it a whisper of autumn, golden leaves and another year almost gone.
Draco leaned back against the park bench, hands deep in his coat pockets and sighed, staring up at the pinks and orange of the dying day, wondering for the billionth time what would have happened if life had not turned out the way it did. Had he not been forced into making decisions he had been too young to understand.
He was still stuck in the abyss of emptiness that followed him since the fall of Voldemort, the shock of seeing his life — every little thing he had known to be forever — fall apart.
It was sad, indeed. Sadder still that he watched the world move on.
They healed.
He didn't.
For how was one to ever forgive himself for donning the garb of a monster.
The Malfoy name had power no longer, their years of land and assets now the property of the Ministry of Magic as penance for their sins.
As if it wasn't punishment enough to see his aged father wither away in a cell in Azkaban, never allowed to have even a scrap of comfort for the rest of his days.
His mother, of course, was a different story. One of a lighter melody. But still a tale that he didn't want to think about any time soon because he had no part in it any longer— a decision he firmly believed in.
In short, Draco Malfoy had found himself all alone in the world.
The leaves crunched beneath his heavy boots as he made his way back home, passing a couple sitting below an oak tree whispering to each other. They were happy, so very happy — their hands never straying from each other. Hand in hand, his arm around her waist, her hand splayed across his abdomen. Their noses so close that they breathed the same air.
Draco hated the sight.
And he wanted it.
His body ached with need to be held, to be loved, to be wanted. There was never a person in his life that wanted him for who he was.
Perhaps that was his sin. Maybe he wasn't a person made to be loved. Maybe —
He tripped, but an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him back against the hard expanse of a huge figure looming behind him, taller than him by a head.
He scowled, annoyed at the sudden gesture when he swirled on the spot, scowling up at his saviour when he frozen. His face morphed into a look of surprise, then he backed away slowly, slightly unnerved.
Because there, looking down at him was the sheepish and slightly guilty face of Harry James Potter.
"Draco?" If Harry thought he did a good job sounding surprised, he could fuck a tree. Because that was the most ridiculous dump of horse shit Draco had seen in years. And Draco once lived amongst Death Eaters who shrivelled and sniffed around Voldemort like they actually cared about the old bastard.
Rather than, you know, want to be on the side of power.
Draco frowned, his mind racing as he tried to imagine whatever the fuck Harry Potter was doing following him. There could only ever be one reason.
"Here to kill me then, Potter?" He sneered even though cold dread trickled down his spine, his hands in his pockets beginning to shake.
Death. Fuck. Was it time to die when he had barely lived?
He had never found his place in the world, never found love, never done anything worthy of being alive.
Maybe it was better this way. Yes. Maybe it was better if he was gone.
"Kill you?" Harry was genuinely startled now, green eyes widening in confusion. "Merlin's beard, why would I ever want to kill you?"
Draco scoffed, turning away as if he didn't want to believe that maybe he wasn't even worthy of not being killed. No matter, he had to get back home. Stir his soup over the fire and have his dinner like the pauper he was.
But the shadow followed him and he was made very much aware of the breathing behind him and the warmth of the man as clearly Harry was no longer hiding himself now.
A few measured steps later, he stopped and glared over his shoulder.
"Fuck off, won't you?"
Harry said nothing, merely eyeing him with a curious sort of look that Draco found hard to decipher. Green eyes looking into his very soul like clear cut jade, nicking the surface of his walls and Draco felt he had to do something or he would crumble before the man.
"Why won't you leave?"
He hated the desperation that leaked into his voice, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to like he was in charge of his own world.
Rather than his world was crumbling around him.
Harry hesitated. "Well... I was worried."
Draco arched a brow. "Worried?"
Harry nodded.
"About what?" Draco asked warily.
"You."
"I beg your finest pardon??"
"I was worried about you."
Draco was baffled. He was sure he hadn't met Potter since they the war. All he had ever seen were the many articles regarding the hero but that was is.
Harry gave him a weak smile in return.
"I was worried about you because you sighed thirty two times."
Draco stared blankly, but Harry continued.
"Your average is generally twenty seven."
Draco spluttered in disbelief. "What.. How—??"
"I counted." Harry said innocently.
Draco continued to stare at him while his mind struggled to process what Harry Potter just told him.
"My average sighing..." Draco said slowly. "And now you're... You're following me—"
"Because you sighed more than usual. I needed to be sure you got home safe." Harry was eager to be helpful, of course. But all that did was turn the blood in Draco’s veins to ice.
"You've been following me around..." Draco's voice was a hushed whisper. "You're mad."
Harry looked terribly offended when he heard that and even more when Draco backed away from him slowly.
"Draco, I've been worried about you. I've been worried since Narcissa—"
"Don't," Draco warned, fear turning slowly into rage, but he still backed away still. This man was beyond mad if he had been counting Draco’s fucking sighs. "Don't talk of her. Like she's an acquaintance of yours. I don't want to hear her name."
"Oh, stop it. She's your mother and she misses you," Harry made an impatient sound, a leather jacket clad arm reaching out to grab Draco’s arm and yank him close, not letting go even when he hissed and wriggled. "Stop moving, you prat. You've not seen her for a while, haven't you?"
"Why would I?" Draco’s voice rose a pitch and then cracked with the unsaid weight he carried on his shoulders. "She made her choice. She knew what she was doing. Now let me go!"
He tried to pull his arm away, but Harry continued to hold on as if it was barely a minor inconvenience.
"She fell in love, Draco."
"She left my father at his worst!" Draco cried out.
"They were unhappily married for years and they were divorced before he was shipped to Azkaban. Besides, you knew how unhappy she was. You told Hermione yourself after the war." Harry reminded him.
Draco froze, blinking as he remembered that.
He had been out drinking when he had met Granger a few years back. They had shared stories of the war that cold December night, before lines blurred as the drinking grew heavier and suddenly the only firewhisky he tasted was that from her lips and her nipples. How they had got themselves a room in a dumpy little motel he still had yet to figure out, but Merlin was Granger a dream.
Granger was with Pansy now. She had found the love she never believed in, having discovered it through a petty attempt to seduce her ex-boyfriend's girlfriend away from him.
Which served Ron Weasley right, Draco supposed, for the way he had dumped Granger in the wake of the war.
Unfortunately, it was at Granger’s wedding to Pansy that Draco witnessed with his own eyes the last pillar of his life fall apart.
"She misses you. You should know she misses you," Harry moved closer to him, but Draco merely shook his head.
"She knew what she was doing when she danced with him at Granger's wedding." Draco looked away at the last ray of orange that streaked across the sky. "She knew what she was doing when she married him."
"He really does love her you know," Harry tried to say, but with a hiss Draco pulled away, shaking like a leaf. "She is happy with him."
"Don't say that. Don't even—"
"Draco," Harry reached out once more, pleading, "Please... At least just visit the boy once. He deserves to know you. He is your brother, you —"
"My mother's foul offspring is no brother of mine!" Draco yelled suddenly. He couldn't stop it, couldn't hold it in anymore. "She did what she wanted and she's gone from my life!"
"He's just a boy." Harry looked very sad, not because of Draco, but for him. Pity. Draco hated the pity in his eyes. "Draco, he is your brother."
"He is not my brother, Potter." Draco turned away. "Not when Ron Weasley fathered him."