healing | drarry

ten

happy valentines day mls i actually got a text from a male species today

if u dont have a valentine IM ur valentine happy valentines bae

~no pov

Draco knew he was being pathetic by hyperventilating on the cold, bathroom floor in Harry Potter's house, but he couldn't help it. The thought of fire was too much and he couldn't stop the memories that flew back into his mind.

I avoided fire for seven years, and I see the boy who was there with me and bam, fire's back.

Draco felt the fear all over again, the fear that he would fall off of that heap of junk and meet his friend in the hellfire, and he gripped his hair tightly like it was the chair he held onto that day.

He needed something to ground him, but he couldn't. He was back there, oh Salazar, he was back there. The smell of things burning, the cut-off scream Crabbe made before meeting his end.

Stop it.

Draco stood up, gripping onto the door handle for dear life. He needed something to ground him. So, naturally, he chose to deal with it via an old coping mechanism. Half-there, half-here, he stumbled towards the bathroom cabinet, searching for silver.

And there it was, beautiful as ever, calling his name as though it was a firefighter ready to blow out the flames that took away his childhood friend.

How could he ignore that?

You're clean. You've been clean for five months. Don't ruin that progress.

He easily ignored that.

Draco unrolled his sleeves, found his disgusting Mark and all the scars that littered it, and made some new lines to match the old. He found relief in seeing the dark, unmoving ink replaced with hot, crimson liquid. It felt good to hurt again.

And then the smell of curry overtook the smell of burning wood, and he smiled to himself. Harry Potter saved him that day, and he was saving him again without realising.

Fuck.

The panic was over, reality slipping back, and he realised what he did.

I relapsed.

Draco began to wash his arm under the sink, letting the blood thin and fade away, the water turning a pinkish, light-red. Though it got rid of the blood, it didn't get rid of the cuts, and he felt the guilt, the shame, the disappointment, all of it all over again.

Fuck.

He wanted to scream, to slam his fist into the mirror and throw anything in sight at the ground. He wanted to hear something shatter, see something break, but he couldn't. He had to stay calm; he was a guest at someone's house.

Shit. Potter.

He didn't know how long he'd been in that bathroom, but he knew it had been far too long. Suspiciously long. And Potter probably assumed he was casting some dark curses on the house, or snooping, or-

Relax. You can't do magic- he knows that. Fix yourself up and leave.

He washed his hands and unrolled his sleeve, grateful to be wearing black, since blood stains were less noticeable in dark materials. He washed his face with cold water, dried his hands and walked out of the bathroom like nothing happened.

When he walked back into the kitchen, the stove was off, meaning he'd been gone for a lot longer than he'd hoped. But he was glad, because there was no fire to scare him, and he was safe.

Potter eyed him curiously when he returned, gaze drifting from his hair to his face, to his hair again. 

Draco's clothes were neat, but, ah, he forgot to fix his hair, the hair he tried to tear out whilst remembering the Fiendfyre. 

Oh I definitely look like utter sh-

"You alright, Malfoy?"

"Fine, Potter." He replied shortly and sat back down, playing around with his cold coffee. He'd forgotten to finish it in the excitement of making a curry with his old-enemy. "How is that you can cook but can't make a potion?"

"Shove off, Malfoy." Potter teased, and it was familiar, but didn't have the same hatred lingering behind his words like it did in Hogwarts.

Is it possible for us to be friends?

"No seriously, it's just like cooking. How can't you make potions?"

"Snape didn't know how to motivate a student." He shrugged.

Draco stayed quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, for everything, that happened in Hogwarts. The teasing, the insults that went too far, the unnecessary rivalry. I'm sorry for all of it. You had enough on your plate, I'm sure I didn't help with that at all."

"Over and done with now, right?" Potter smiled. "Besides, I retaliated, which I'm sure only encouraged you. And I almost killed you. You didn't deserve that."

Without meaning to, Draco immediately put his hand to his chest, tracing the thick, raised scars the cursed spell left behind. The brunet noticed that, guilt seeping in his stomach.

"Did it scar?"

"No." Draco lied. He knew that Potter was a good person, meaning he'd definitely feel guilty if he knew about the scars. So he lied, and it proved to The Boy Who Lived that he'd changed. 

"Why are you lying?" 

Though Draco wore a turtleneck, if you paid enough attention, you could see where a scar ended, right at the top of his neck. It was pale, hard to notice, but Potter did. Of course he did.

"I'm not."

"I can see one of them, right above your neckline."

Draco swallowed, trying to find the words to say. "I just didn't want you to feel bad."

"You really have changed, huh?" Potter smiled. 

"I guess so."

"The scars- are they bad?" 

Draco forced himself to put his hand down, though he wanted to keep tracing the scars. It felt soothing sometimes, but also protective. Like no one could make it worse if he held onto them, if he protected himself like he was unable to when the scars were made.

"No. It's only one scar, the one you can see." He lied yet again.

"Can- can I see?"

"At least take me to dinner first." Draco teased.

"Ha ha very funny." Potter rolled his eyes. "I get it. It's personal, right? I'm sure we'll get there eventually."

"You- you're okay with me now?"

The brunet noticed the childish spark in the blond's eyes at the thought of being redeemed by the person he hurt most, and it was beautiful. "'Course. Besides, our kids adore each other. What kind of parents would we be if we took that away from them?"

"Terrible. Anyways, that curry smells gorgeous so, if you don't mind, I think we should all eat now."

Nodding, the two men fetched their children and sat down at the table, and for the first time in a while, Draco felt like he belonged somewhere.

This felt like home.