Chapter Text
Harry Potter didn’t know why his legs kept moving. He didn’t remember starting the walk.
The sky was darkening. He felt cold, and hunger gnawed at him, but it didn’t register as urgent.
One moment, he was falling asleep in the dormitory at Hogwarts. He was sure of that. He remembered the smell of parchment and ink, the muffled sound of students shifting restlessly in their beds. That was where he should be. That was where he belonged.
But now, he was here, walking somewhere unfamiliar. His body moved, but his mind lagged behind, like he was trapped in some heavy fog. Watching himself from a distance, he tried to think of a reason, something that had set him on this path. But nothing came, just blank space. All he knew was stopping wasn’t an option. Every step felt heavy, yet inevitable, like his body remembered something his mind refused to.
He was supposed to be at Hogwarts, finishing his 8th year. That much he was sure of. London, yes, but the streets around him weren’t familiar, and the air felt strange.
He stopped when his hand reached out without thinking and touched a gate. Black iron, delicate scrollwork, slightly cold under his fingers. A house stood beyond it, two storeys, white stone walls, dark green door, silent.
He stared at it, confused, unsure why his chest hurt. He didn’t recognise the place, he couldn’t. And yet, something told him he was supposed to be here. His hand trembled, his legs locked in place.
The door loomed closer. He didn’t remember stepping forward, but now he was standing at it, his hand half-raised. He hesitated, his heart racing. A sharp inexplicable dread crawled up his spine.
Then the door opened.
Harry flinched, stumbling back, arm half-raised like he’d expected an attack.
But it wasn’t an attacker, it was Draco Malfoy.
For a second, Harry couldn’t breathe. Malfoy looked the same and different all at once. He looked older, not the smug schoolboy from his memories, but a man. His hair was longer, tied loosely back, his clothes weren’t formal robes, but a plain grey jumper and jeans, like he’d been living a life Harry had never seen. His face was thinner, eyes shadowed, as if sleep had been a luxury for too long.
But what struck Harry most wasn’t how different Malfoy looked, it was the look in his eyes. Not anger, not smugness, something worse, something broken.
“Harry,” Malfoy’s voice cracked on the name, like it hurt to say it. “You came back.”
Harry backed another step, his head shaking before he could speak. His voice came out strangled. “What…what is this?” His chest heaved. He wanted to demand why Malfoy was here, why his legs had brought him to this house. But the words tangled.
Malfoy didn’t move to stop him, he just watched, eyes red-rimmed, like he was afraid Harry would take off running if he did.
“Come inside,” he said softly.
“I’m supposed to be at Hogwarts.” Harry heard himself say it, helpless. He gripped the doorframe. “I don’t understand. Why aren’t you at Hogwarts? what’s going on”.
“I will, but not standing out here.” Malfoy’s throat worked as he swallowed. Then he turned slightly, stepping aside. “Please, Harry, just …come in.”
There was something in his voice, not a command, something smaller, sadder, like someone who had nothing left to beg with.
Against every screaming instinct in his mind, Harry’s body moved again, just like before.
The house felt warmer than it should have, smothering. He stood awkwardly in the entryway while Malfoy shut the door behind him, heart-hammering in his throat. His eyes darted around, scanning unfamiliar walls, photos in frames he didn’t recognize, furniture he’d never sat on. Nothing made sense.
“Sit down”, Malfoy said, Then “if you want.”
Harry didn’t. He hovered in the small entry, unsure, but followed Malfoy down a short hallway to a sitting room. The curtains were drawn, the fireplace was unlit, a blanket crumpled over the back of the sofa.
“I’ll make tea,” Malfoy said quietly, moving towards the adjoining room, like this was all normal, like Harry belonged here.
Harry ran both hands through his hair, breathing hard. He focused on the details of the room, trying to anchor himself. Books on the shelves, photographs he refused to look at. Everything felt wrong, or worse, like it should feel right.
Malfoy returned moments later with two mugs, steam curling from them. He set one down gently on the table between them, not pushing it toward Harry. He didn’t sit.
“You can drink it, if you want. It’s just tea.” His voice was slow. “You look cold.”
Harry didn’t touch the tea. He stared at it, then at Malfoy. Finally, he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.
“I thought you were at Hogwarts.”
Malfoy looked at Harry. “I’m not.”
“But you should be.” Harry’s voice cracked. “I should be.”
“What year do you think it is, Harry?”
Harry frowned. “Eighth”.
Draco’s throat worked as he swallowed. “It’s not”.
Harry blinked, chest tightening. “Then what?—What’s happened? What is this place? Why are we here?” His voice cracked, anger flickering through the confusion. “Tell me what the hell is going on, Malfoy!?”
Malfoy flinched. He looked at Harry for a long moment, then he said, “This house belongs to you.”
Harry shook his head slowly.
“You bought it,” Draco said softly, “for us.”
“What?”
Malfoy’s voice cracked. “Harry….we’re married.”
Harry stared at him.
And then laughter. Harry didn’t know what got into him, but suddenly he was laughing, harsh, broken, the sound of someone losing their mind. Was this some kind of a joke? He was dreaming. He had to be.
“What?” He managed, through gasps of laughter. “You expect me to believe that?”
Malfoy looked frustrated, but not the angry kind of frustrated, the exhausted kind.
“You’re my husband,” Malfoy repeated quietly. “We bought this house together. You’ve lived here with me, and then you disappeared. Two years ago,” he swallowed hard, “and now you’re back”.
The laughter stopped, just like that, like it had been torn out of him. Malfoy looked heartbroken, saying the words seemed to hurt him, but watching Harry laugh like that had hurt him more.
“That’s not…” Harry forced himself to breathe. “That’s not possible.”
Malfoy didn’t look at him.
“I’d remember.”
“You don’t.”
“I’d know if I— if I married you. You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
Harry’s mind raced. Married? To Malfoy? Malfoy of all people. It was absurd. A trick. He was dreaming. Or cursed. Or worse, he looked down at his own hands, as if they’d confirm reality one way or another. But they were just his hands.
“No, that’s not… I’m at Hogwarts. I’m finishing school. I’m seventeen.” He looked at Malfoy desperately. “Why are you saying this? What’s wrong with you? Who put you up to this?”
“You’re twenty-three.” Malfoy’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “And you haven’t been at Hogwarts for a long time.”
Harry’s knees almost gave out. He stumbled back until he hit the wall, gripping it like it could stop the world from tilting under him.
“I don’t believe you,” he whispered, eyes wide. “I don’t remember anything.”
“I know.”
“And Ron?” He rasped. “Hermione? What have you done with them?”
Malfoy looked up. The pain in his eyes was raw. “I didn’t do anything. You disappeared together.”
Harry shook his head, desperate. “That’s not true.”
“It is. They did. Everyone who fought beside you. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, George. They’re all gone. They disappeared one by one, just like you did.” Malfoy’s eyes were wet. “You’re the first one to come back.”
Harry’s world shattered. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, arms around his knees, shaking.
He did not remember Malfoy kneeling beside him. He didn’t remember the mug of tea being pressed gently into his hands. He only remembered Malfoy’s voice, soft and breaking.
“I’ll help you remember,” Malfoy said, “if you let me.”
And Harry, too tired to speak, too broken to fight, held the tea in trembling hands and said nothing.
Malfoy sat beside him in silence, not too close, close enough that Harry could feel his presence, but far enough that he could pretend he was alone if he wanted to.
The tea cooled between Harry’s fingers. He hadn’t taken a sip. He didn’t trust anything, not the tea, not the house, not Malfoy, not even himself.
It was dark now. He didn’t notice when night fell.
“It’s late. You should sleep,” Malfoy said at last. His voice, gentler than Harry remembered anyone sounding. “You don’t have to understand anything tonight.”
Harry swallowed hard. “I can’t stay here.” His voice cracked again. “I don’t even know where here is.”
Malfoy looked at him carefully. “You don’t have to sleep in our…”
Malfoy’s voice faltered. He looked away, jaw tight. “In the master bedroom. There is a guest room upstairs. It’s yours if you want it. I’ll get you clothes. Just try to rest. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. I promise.”
Harry felt sick. “I don’t even know if I’ll still be here in the morning.” He wasn’t sure if he meant physically or mentally, but if this was a dream, he will wake up at Hogwarts tomorrow.
“I hope you are,” Malfoy said. Then he rose up, moving towards the stairs. His footsteps sounded too loud in the heavy silence of the house. Halfway up, he paused.
“I’ll leave the door open, if that helps.”
Harry stayed on the floor until he realized that he had gone stone cold in his hands.
Time passed strangely after that. He didn’t remember standing up or following Malfoy up the narrow staircase. He didn’t remember changing into the pajamas Malfoy left folded neatly on the bed. They were Harry’s size.
The guest room was small but clean. A bed with dark blue sheets, a dresser, two windows, one curtain half drawn.
Harry stood in the quiet. His hands were shaking.
There was a photograph on the bedside table. He didn’t want to look at it. He looked anyway.
It was him and Malfoy standing together outside the house. In the photograph, Malfoy laughed. Harry watched himself smile. Not forced, not awkward. Genuinely happy.
He looked like someone else. Who belonged here.
He shoved the photo face down, heart hammering. The walls felt like they were closing in. He wanted to scream, to run, but his body wouldn’t obey.
Instead, he lay down on the bed that wasn’t his in the house he didn’t remember. With the man he couldn’t trust, sleeping somewhere behind a half-open door.
And eventually, exhausted, terrified and hollow, Harry Potter fell into a restless, broken sleep.
Tomorrow, Malfoy had promised.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
If he was still here