Chapter Text
Harry loves his friends; he really does. He reminds himself of this as he sluggishly forces himself to undress from the stuffy Auror robes he has to wear, into something more casual. It was pub night, and he'd already missed several due to work. They wouldn't let him skip again, even if he felt bone tired.
He really did want to see them; with their jobs, plus their need for "couple’s time", it was hard to find time to meet together. Weekly pub nights was their solution, although there was typically at least a person or two missing. Sadly, more often than not, it was Harry.
That's why no matter how tired he felt, he was going to go. He wasn't going to talk himself out of it, and he wasn't going to sit or lay down, because he knows the second he does, he'll fall asleep.
He threw on the quickest outfit he could, a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Double checking he had everything he needed, he rushed out the door. He felt guilty for thinking the sooner he leaves, the sooner he can head home.
~*~*~*~
It was July 3rd, 1999, and Draco Malfoy was a free man. He served out his house arrest sentence, he behaved properly, and he finally is allowed to use a wand again. Learning things the muggle way, or attempting things wandlessly, had been a struggle. He learned the essentials and little else, and even that was an adjustment. How do muggles do it all so effortlessly?!
Draco wasn't delusional; he knew how the world saw him. He knew the second he stepped out of the Manor's front door, it was him against the world. But after a year of house arrest, he was ready to flee the hellscape that was the Manor, at least for a few hours. Anything had to make him feel better than being trapped in the building the Dark Lord had inhabited. At this point, he'd be happy to see it burn to the ground.
He knew mother couldn't handle that though; there were happy memories there she clung to as best she could. He feared if she lost them, she'd lose the last bit of herself she has left. After Father passed in Azkaban, all she had left was him and their ancestral home.
Any outing held certain danger at this point, but what else could he expect? He made all the wrong choices. He couldn't do anything right, for the light or the dark side. Neo Death Eaters hated him, obviously everyone on the "good side" hated him, and he was too afraid to attempt contact with the few true friends he felt he had.
He knew the potential dangers, he knew leaving was risky. But staying put felt more dangerous; he didn't know what he'd do if he had to stay cooped up there. All he could hear was the echoes of the horrors those walls had seen. What he personally had witnessed, been crucio’d for not wanting to participate in. Better him than Mother.
~*~*~*~
The streets of Diagon Alley were surprisingly barren for a Saturday. Harry was thankful, though it would make him easier to spot. He hoped the paparazzi wouldn't think to check here; it was sadly not a routine part of his schedule at this point.
Since it was fairly empty, however, it was easy to catch sight of a man shouting and kicking at something, or someone, on the ground. Filthy slurs flew from his lips faster than Harry could keep up with. The body on the ground was curled up and letting out grunts of pain with each kick.
Instincts kicked in, and before he knew it he was pushing the man away and drawing his wand. He shoved it threateningly in the strangers face.
"What the hell are you doing?!" He asked furiously. The man recovered from the shove and seemed stunned for a moment, before snapping back harshly.
"I'm teaching this little Death Eater here a lesson. He shouldn't even be alive! After all the people we lost, what gives him the right to show his disgusting face here? You should know better than anyone!"
Death Eater? He glanced down, finally taking his eyes off the gruff man to take in the curled up form on the ground. The pieces fell into place instantly the second he saw a flash of pale blond hair. Draco Malfoy, freshly out of house arrest.
It was a big deal at the Ministry; he complied with all of their check-ins and rules, but they wanted to keep a close eye on him anyway. Harry was one of the few employees that actually believed Malfoy wasn't a threat. He saw how terrified he had been. He testified and helped him get his sentence reduced to just a year of house arrest. Not great, but better than Azkaban.
Draco was wiping his bloody lip, refusing to raise his eyes to meet Harry's. His clothes were completely rumpled, a far cry from his normal decorum, and there were several bruises already appearing on his pale skin. There were drips of blood on his shirt, which reminded Harry of one of the last times he'd seen him; a time he'd much rather forget.
Harry kept a tight grip on his wand, taking a deep inhale to help soothe some of the rage. So this man was thinking of himself as some sort of vigilante; seeking out his own justice. Not caring that by their laws, the matter had been handled. Harry knew all too well the failings of the ministry and their “justice”, but that didn’t make it right.
He drew himself up to his full stature, making sure he held the man’s gaze as he stated firmly "I know better than anyone that the case of Draco Malfoy was handled, and he is a free man. He can go wherever he wishes, and beating up an innocent civilian is a crime. I could report you; I recommend you leave now while I'm feeling somewhat forgiving." The man still looked furious, ready to keep fighting. His eyes darted back and forth from Harry's wand to his piercing glower, and he seemed to grasp how serious Harry was.
With one last scowl at Malfoy, he spit on the ground near him and turned his back, stomping away.
Harry huffed out a stressed breath, taking a moment to collect himself before turning to face Malfoy. He was surprised he was still on the ground. He took in his slumped form, head tucked into his knees. His shoulders shook slightly, and with a start, Harry realized he was crying.
"Hey, are you ok?!" He rushed to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as gently as he could bring himself to in his concern. Was something broken? The man didn't curse him and he missed it somehow, right?
Draco slowly lifted his head enough to reveal his tear and blood streaked face, eyes still refusing to meet his gaze.
"Ever the hero, eh, Potter?" His voice lacked all its previous poison and luster; he sounded exhausted.
Harry couldn’t hold back a soft scoff; even defeated and bleeding, he was still Malfoy.
“You could just say thank you. C’mon, let’s get you fixed up.” Harry offered his hand to pull him up, and for a moment, they just froze, eyes locked. Malfoy seemed to assess him, and Harry assumed he trusted what he saw, because he took his hand and allowed him to tug him to his feet.
He swayed for a moment, the world wobbling around him, before steady hands settled on his shoulders. “Whoa, you alright there, Malfoy? You’re not concussed, are you?”
After making sure his vision and balance were steady, he wiggled Potters hands off and looked away. This was so humiliating.
Malfoy scoffed, though it sounded like it hurt to do so, and responded “I’m fine Potter; just your routine beating, nothing to see here. Weren’t you on your way some where?” Just let me suffer in peace.
Harry took a moment to scan him over, saying “I can’t just let you go, looking like that. Ah, my friends are waiting though. Are you going to St. Mungo’s? You might have some internal bleeding or something.” He couldn’t just join his friends like nothing happened. They’d understand.
Draco turned away, avoiding Potter’s eyes, before responding “I told you, I’m fine Potter. No internal injuries, just a busted nose and some bruises; maybe a fractured wrist. Nothing that can’t heal in time. Now run along, your little Gryffindors await.” He didn’t mention that he’s suffered far worse injuries, including at the hand of his own Father.
“You mean you aren’t going to heal them? Malfoy, that’s ridiculous! And I’m pretty sure your nose is broken, unless you want it to stay crooked, you have to set it back in place…” For a moment, Draco could see the Potter from 6th year, lying on his back with a broken nose. Another one of Draco’s failings. Another reason he deserved to not treat his injuries.
They stayed silent for an awkward moment. Malfoy didn’t seem keen to elaborate, and Harry couldn’t just leave him here, bleeding in the middle of the street. If Malfoy wouldn’t go to get healed, Harry will just have to do it himself. Maybe not in the middle of the street, though. Surely someone’s noticed them by now; it won’t be long till they end up in the papers.
Harry knew what he wanted to do; what he had to do. Mind made up, he stated “Just… come on. I’m heading to the Leaky; join me. We can get you cleaned up enough there, and if you want to leave after, you can. I’m sure you don’t want to walk around the streets like that, or let your mother see. Just let me help.” He knew it might be a low blow, bringing his mother into this, but he also knew Malfoy was proud, and his mother wasn’t in the most stable condition. If he went home looking like that, she’d be triggered for sure. Besides, Malfoy himself didn’t seem too stable at the moment. He didn’t trust him to take care of himself, or to be able to apparate back to the manor safely.
Draco bit his lip in contemplation, before wincing at the pull on the cut along his bottom lip. He could still taste the coppery, tangy blood. He didn’t want Potter seeing him like this, let alone his friends, but.. Isn’t this what he’d always wanted? To be the one Potter is looking at, to spend time with him.. To be rescued, pulled out of the darkness by him?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself nodding. He already got beat up, what’s the worst that can happen?
Potter gave a firm nod and turned away, taking the lead toward The Leaky Cauldron, and his friends. And maybe it was worth the humiliation, if Potter’s the one to see it. He’s seen him in all his worst moments, what’s one more?
Staring up at the sign for the pub, Draco started to regret everything. This was a terrible idea. Not only were Potters do good Gryffindor friends inside, including people he personally bullied and hurt; it was going to be full of people that hate him. That was guaranteed; everyone hated him. Well, maybe not everyone. Potter wouldn’t help him like this if he still hated him, right?
He should just turn around and go straight home. Or better yet, keep wandering the streets, trying to enjoy his freedom. That’s what tonight was supposed to be about.
But if he’s truly free, he should be able to go into a bar and use the loo, maybe even order a drink, right? Maybe it’d be cursed or poisoned, maybe it wouldn’t be. The chances would go down though, with Potter at his side.
He didn’t want to use him to clear his name, but he didn’t fancy being killed his first night out either. Well, first things first. He needed to get the blood off himself. After that, he’d test the waters maybe. One thing at a time; just take it one thing at a time.
He could feel Potters eyes on him, likely sensing his trepidation, but thankfully he stayed quiet. With his decision made, Draco grabbed the handle and yanked quickly, not letting himself second guess or over think any further. His resolve was already leaving him.
The noise met them immediately, and the lingering headache Draco was trying to ignore flared up with it. Eyes turned their way, and glares quickly followed. He saw more than one person already drawing their wands. His breathing started to shallow, and oh, this is why he didn’t want to go places or do things in crowds anymore.
Before the panic could truly take hold of him, those warm, steadying hands were back on his shoulders. He couldn’t have pulled away if he wanted to, and right now, he really didn’t. They were the only thing keeping him from fleeing, or trying to apparate and spliching himself.
Harry glared back at the crowd, locking eyes with as many people as possible. If a single hex was thrown their way, he was ready to block and throw it back. Malfoy had been through enough, and he was a free man. He was allowed to walk into any bar he wished.
Just because he was off duty, didn’t mean he wasn’t always ready for anything. Most days, the adrenaline never fully faded from his system. He had recently taken to breathing exercises just to try to break free of his fight or flight response. It made for fitful bouts of sleep. Most of the time, his mind raced until the exhaustion finally took him out for a few hours. That exhaustion sat heavily on his shoulders now, and if someone tried him, he was likely to snap.
After he scanned a good portion of the crowd and seemed satisfied they wouldn’t try anything, he used his grip on Malfoy’s shoulders to start pushing him forward, guiding him towards the loo. He needed to focus on the task at hand, like he always does.
On the way past the tables, he caught sight of his friends at a corner table. They noticed him pushing through the crowd and waved, before freezing at the sight of who he was with. Oh, and let’s not forget the blood. What a sight they must make. He gave them a subtle shake of his head, pursing his lips. He’d explain later.
Finally making it to the men’s room, Harry double checked they were alone, and then spelled the door shut. He turned to see Malfoy bracing himself on the sink basin, loosening his tie, breathing still labored. With the blood on his white button up and face, hair in disarray, expression strained, Harry couldn’t help but remember the last time they were alone in a bathroom together.
Guilt clawed at his heart, as it so often does. Guilt for the ones he couldn’t save, the ones he hurt, the ones who sacrificed themselves for him..
Maybe this time, his hands could do the healing. He was here to help, not to hurt. He just needed Malfoy to let him.
Potter stood by the wall behind him, looking at their reflections as he soothingly said “Deep breaths, that’s it. Take your time, there’s no rush.” Draco scoffed, trying to work the panic out of his system. There was a rush; the second he walked out of this room, someone was bound to curse him. He needed to get it together, and get back to the Manor.
He was about to say as much, but when he glanced into the mirror to look at Potter, he was taken aback. Potter himself didn’t look very steady. His eyes were staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest in the mirror, but they looked vacant, far away. He almost sounded like he was talking to himself as much as he was Draco.
Maybe they were both still a bit messed up. War will do that to you, I suppose. His breathing slowly returned to normal, and he could tell Potter was coming back to himself as well.
Potter opened his mouth, eyes still focused on Draco in the mirror, darting from his face to his chest.
Draco could make a guess at what was about to come out of his mouth, but he was in no mood for apologies, or talking about the war. Once that door opened, he wasn’t sure to could ever be closed. He had too much to apologize and atone for.
“Save it, Potter. Talking about it will do no good.” He broke their eye contact and turned the faucet on, rinsing his hands of the gravel and blood that clung to them. He didn’t dare glance up again, though he knew Potter wouldn’t remain silent for long.
Potter inhaled sharply, responding “Talk about what? The war, the trials, the bastards who beat you up-“ “Any of it!” I can’t! Not with you… not now..
He gripped the side of the sink again, clenching his eyes shut, taking a moment to just breathe. When he dared to glance Potters way again, he didn’t seem angry or hurt, at least. Disappointed or frustrated, maybe.
He went back to the still running water, cupping his hands underneath. He braced himself, trying to be gentle as he brought the water to his face, softly washing some of the blood away.
When he looked in the mirror again, all he’d managed to do was wet the dried blood and smear it even worse across his face. He couldn’t hold back a sound of frustration. This was going even worse than he thought it would’ve. In front of his old arch nemesis; how embarrassing.
“Here, let me.” Before he could react, Potter was turning him carefully by the elbow, reaching toward his face with a wet paper towel. Draco remained frozen, mouth parted slightly as he stared at Potter’s suddenly too close face.
He should object. This was Harry bloody Potter, he shouldn’t be here, treating a Death Eater so gently. Potter should be out there with his friends, enjoying a peaceful evening. He knew Potter was kind, but this is just too much. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Wasn’t this really what he wanted? To be taken care of? He’d always been selfish.
Maybe getting beat up isn’t so bad, if this is the result.. But no! He doesn’t deserve to be treated kindly; he deserved the beating, and anything else they wanted to dish out. He deserves whatever punishment they decide to dish out.
With that thought in mind, he went to push Potter away. He meant to be jarring and rude, but all he managed was a weak push at Potter’s chest. As soon as he made contact, he winced, realizing too late it was his bad arm. Scrunching his face in pain just made his nose and lip hurt more, and he couldn’t hold back a small whimper of pain. His thoughts were so distracting, he hadn’t paid much attention to the full extent of his injuries.
“Malfoy! Merlin, be careful! You’re too injured, just let me help!” Draco opened his mouth to protest, but before he could Potter continued.
“You’re in no shape to heal yourself. Just.. just let me help.” Damn Potter and that swift, gentle voice. No one’s used a tone with him like that in a long time, aside from his mother.
Speaking of Mother, Potter was right before; there’s no way he could return home looking like this. She’d end up in the Janus Thickey ward.
Sighing softly, he gave in to Potter’s kindness, raising his hurt wrist to his line of sight. Potter scanned his face, making Draco feel far too seen, before giving a small but firm nod. They were doing this.
A few short but painful minutes later, he could roll his wrist and scrunch his face with no pain. His ribs were mended, though still bruised and tender. The only thing left was his split lip.
His tongue snuck out to push at it, relishing a bit in the pain that zinged through it. The moment Potter caught what he was doing, however, that changed.
“What’re you doing? Stop that!” Potter raised his wand, most likely trying to heal the last visible wound, but Draco ducked away from him, putting a few feet of distance between them.
Free of Potter’s orbit, his brain started at full speed again. He shouldn’t be here. He was healed enough; it was time to go home.
“Leave it, Potter. Mother won’t be expecting me to come home unscathed; she’s not that delusional.” He made to shove past him, but Potter caught his arm, thankfully now healed.
Potter’s gaze jumped from one of Draco’s eyes to the other, saying “Malfoy… Listen. Let’s go get a drink. I’m buying. We don’t have to talk, we don’t have to have some heart to heart… I promise my friends will play nice. Honestly they’ll probably be more pissed at me for skipping out too many weeks in a row. Just... Don’t go yet.”
A drink sounded amazing right now; he needed something to deal with today. But a group of Gryffindors whom he’s spent his whole life tormenting awaited him, not to mention the bar-goers who were likely just waiting for a chance to hex him, or worse. But… He was free now. If he was going to have a chance of surviving out in this world, he couldn’t just hide away when things got hard. As much as it pained him, maybe he needed some of that Griffindor courage. At least he could trust them enough to not hex him in front of a crowd. Or Harry, apparently.
Huffing softly, he said “Fine, Potter. One drink. I might as well stick around and watch your friends reprimand you, saves me the trouble.”
I’m going to regret this immediately.
~*~*~*~
They made it to Potter’s friends with minimum incident, all things considered. A few glares here, a murmured threat there, but no hexes or curses were thrown their way. Whispers and murmurs followed them up until they reached Potter’s group, where a sudden hush fell.
Potter waved a quick hello and promptly stated “Hey guys, Malfoy here is going to join us for a bit, I hope that’s alright.” It wasn’t a question. His friend’s paused for a few awkward seconds, glancing between the two, and Draco tried his best to keep his head up, meeting a few of their eyes. He was a bit surprised to see if wasn’t just Gryffindors; Luna Lovegood was there, as well as Cho Chang, Ernie MacMillian, and Hannah Abbott. While there was no other Slytherins, it did help ease some of the pressure. Though seeing Luna again made his heart clench, he was determined to put on a brave face.
Neville, showing his Gryffindor spirit, spoke first: “Harry, mate, good of you to join us!” Awkward silence broken, the group started chattering over one another, even including a few brief “Malfoy”’s as greetings. Draco let the rowdy group carry on, taking the chance to glace around at the other pub goers. The pub was once again carrying on at a sedated volume, eyes darting their way and shifting away just as fast. He knew much of their conversation centered around him, and what he was doing there… what nerve he had, to be around a group of heroes. He really didn’t belong, did he, not anywhere, but certainly not here, surrounded by greatness. Souls kind enough to give him grace when he literally stood by and watched them be tortured, or worse…
His breathing started to pick up again, but before he could get himself into a full on panic, he felt a warm hand on his bicep. He didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to, but he couldn’t help but meet those emerald eyes anyway.
“Just breathe Malfoy. I’m going to go get that drink; I think Luna wanted to talk to you. Why not keep her company until I get back?” He walked toward the bar without waiting for a response.
Because I let her be held captive and tortured? Because I have no right to be here among you all, so good and pure, when all I’ve ever done is bad?
Before he could try to make his excuses and leave, Luna caught him, smiling up at him. She was wearing a blue dress with something pink that looked like a marshmallow bird perched on top of her blonde hair; he couldn’t describe her aesthetic as anything other than candy floss.
“Draco, so lovely to see you. You have a lot less Wrackspurts than last time I saw you.”
~*~*~*
Talking with Luna was surprisingly tolerable; she didn’t try to bring up anything about the war, or being held captive at the Manor. While he couldn’t say he understood everything she talked about, it was pleasant enough.
Once Potter came back and gave Draco his drink, he settled into the chair beside him and never left his side. He didn’t force him to converse, but he was there, a steady presence that never shifted further than a few inches away.
It only took a few minutes for him to settle in enough to listen in on the conversations around him, even adding a point here or there about a quidditch match he caught on the radio. While no one openly invited him in or asked his opinion, they didn’t shut him out or ignore him either. He could handle a few too many glances his way. Something told him he didn’t have much to fear from this group, at least with Potter by his side.
One drink turned into two, then three, and he was feeling pleasantly buzzed. He was leaning on the table, telling Dean Thomas about a chess move he recently read about, when he felt a stinging hex strike him. He sat up straighter, interrupting his sentence. His eyes shifted around, instantly on high alert. He knew rationally he wasn’t in the kind of danger he was previously; there was no Greyback here, no Bellatrix, no He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That didn’t stop his instincts from kicking in at top speed.
And even if someone here wanted to Avada him, he should let them. If that’s what they thought he deserved, who’s he to say that their wrong? Even so, he found himself wanting to flee, to take cover, to hide. Apparate to the Manor, even though it didn’t feel safe, because at least there it was just him, Mother, and their ghosts.
Before he could act on any of his emotions, he felt a back pressed against his own, standing behind his chair. Once again, he knew instantly who it belonged to.
“Who threw that hex? I said, who threw it!? Draco Malfoy is with us, and we won’t stand for any hexes or curses. If anyone has anything to say about that, they can deal directly with me.” He felt Potter shift behind him, likely making eyes at the attendees of the pub, before he shifted away again. Not more than a few inches, but enough for breathing room.
Draco waited taught in his chair until the chatter started back up, the tense moment shifting passed. He inhaled, one, two, three, exhaled, one, two, three, repeat. Once his heart rate felt close to normal, he pushed his chair back. While the pubs chatter continued, the Potter Club slowed to a hush. He felt eyes on him, but he wasn’t focused on them. When he stood up, his eyes moved only to Potter, who was still standing, clutching the back of his own chair.
Their eyes locked, and whatever Potter saw there must have showed his resolve to leave. It was long passed time.
“Let me walk you out.” With that simple sentence, he followed him toward the door, trusting that he would be safe, at least until he was out those doors. To his surprise, Potter continued to walk with him toward the apparition point Draco had arrived at a few hours earlier. When they arrived, they both lingered, wondering what to say, what could possibly bridge the gap that separated them.
“I just-“ “So-“ After an awkward pause, they shared a small smile. Somehow it felt more monumental than almost anything that had happened in this strange night.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Draco stuck his hand out.
Last time, he had been rejected. Last time, he’d been shut out, and his life had steadily continued down a dark path.
Maybe, this time could be different.
He didn’t have to wait long, thankfully. His heart rate didn’t even have a chance to amp up fully before Potter’s hand was in his, giving a firm shake and squeeze. Before he could fuck this up worse, ask more of him, he gave a firm head nod and a “Potter” before releasing his hand and apparating back to the Manor.
Lying in bed shortly after, he found himself reminiscing on his evening. He didn’t expect to be received well. A medium beating and basically being saved by the savior, being somewhat excepted in his friend group, at least for a night… Somehow, it went better than expected.
His tongue prodded his split lip. Potter never healed it. He smiled and felt himself drift off to sleep, somehow feeling safer than he has in years.