healing | drarry

nineteen

now how do i go back to the original plan without fucking up what i just wrote

dont make people flirt when they're supposed to be friends guys

this is prolly the last fic ill post on here idk i dont rlly feel like a drarry writer anymore

~no pov

"I'm not relationship material." Draco deflected, even if his heart was telling him that yes, this boy was perfect and you could actually have a future with him.

"I'll make you relationship material."

"Sounds like you actually want this, sweet Potter. Are you trying to tie the knot between the Saviour and a Death Eater?"

"I'm trying to tie a condom after a good night."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Only for the body, hm?"

"And the devilishly handsome face."

"Oh, you've wooed me. Court me."

"Are you implying that my flirting makes me sound like I'm from a different century?"

"We technically are from a different century." Draco thought back to the start of the twenty-first century, sitting alone, drinking two years after the war and contemplating ending his life, only to be saved five months later by the birth of a beautiful mini-Malfoy.

"The war was two years before the start of this century. Teddy was born four months later, and ended up on my doorstop a year after." Harry sighed. "It's crazy to think about."

"Do you ever forget that yes, you're a parent, you have responsibilities, and life isn't just about you anymore?"

Harry nodded. "Somehow, looking after someone else made me focus less on myself and both helped and didn't at the same time."

"I get that. Made me turn my life around, or try to at least."

"Why? What was the mysterious, untraceable Malfoy doing before Scorpius was born?"

"Drinking myself to death." Draco laughed self-depreciatively.

He thought he might've said the wrong thing when he saw how Potter's look turned into a curious-but-concerned one.

"Not really, but, yeah." He said quickly.

"What was life like after the war, for you?"

Absolutely not. They were not having this conversation. They were not going to talk about how he wept over everything he lost and tried to end his life a few times, before doing what suicidal people did when they couldn't succeed.

He was not going to talk about how he genuinely got drunk most nights and almost always woke up in a home that wasn't his own, leaving before the other girl (because he was yet to figure out his sexuality) could ask him why he had scars littering his arm, and fresh cuts on top of them. To ask why he hated his 'tattoo' so much and didn't just get rid of it.

Or ask about the tattoo, because it was nothing like a muggle had ever seen before.

Or ask why Draco was so thin and almost always collapsed when he stood up. He didn't want to talk about any of that, because that was too personal and shameful for him to talk about. Malfoys didn't talk about things like that. Malfoys stayed flawless and never faltered. Malfoys were strong and prideful and everything that Draco was not.

"Just boring without magic. Had to settle myself into the muggle world."

And he wasn't going to talk about how hard he tried to settle in and make himself ready to live like a muggle for the next decade of his life. How the only thing he could do was Apparate into abandoned houses, perfect a potion to convert Wizard money into muggle money and forge documents to pretend he was a muggle.

How he broke down in front of a random muggle whilst drunk and said things he shouldn't have, unable to Obliviate them after, the only comfort being that the other person was drunk too and would probably think Draco was just some drunk lunatic spewing random bullshit because of the alcohol.

He didn't want to talk about that.

Some things were better left unsaid.

"Are you alright?"

"Just realised I need to pick up Scorpius. Was lovely seeing you, and no I am not wearing joggers. This never happened."

Harry didn't know how to react when Malfoy upped and left in the blink of an eye, the only proof he was ever there being his empty coffee mug.

For some reason, he wanted the blond to stay.

Draco didn't have to pick up Scorpius for at least another three hours. Scorpius always slept in late with the neighbours, because they did too. He always had breakfast there and was dropped back off at Draco's with a smile, a report on how lovely it was having Scorpius there and how the kids would love to see little Malfoy again.

The neighbours had some understanding of Draco being trapped by memories and struggles he couldn't talk about, considering Draco had a breakdown once and politely asked if Scorpius could stay over. They heard Draco tear apart his home and sob to himself, and asked if he was alright and all they got was I'm fine, sorry for being disruptive.

Ever since, his neighbours were sympathetic and kind and Draco couldn't help but eternally regret the hatred he had towards muggles because they were caring and gentle and nothing like his father, who was the reason why he used to have those bad views.

So he went home and broke down to himself, and he knew the neighbours would hear and it only made him want to sob harder because he couldn't put up silencing charms for his own pride and privacy. Because he was a horrible person and didn't deserve magic for such a thing.

If he was to tear his hair out and scream and cry and kick things and break his glass coffee table and shatter the dishes, he would have to deal with the fact that everyone else knew. His shame was to be open; that was another unspoken punishment that he wanted to leave behind in the Wizarding World, but he wasn't that lucky.

His sorrow, the memories, his punishment, the pain, that would all follow him no matter where he went. Even after his magic would be restored, he'd still have to live with the pain that he felt when it was taken away, and the memories of his hardship when he had to find a way to live without it.

To live without his home.

The Wizarding World was home, his home, and now he was unwanted and shunned and he could never go back even after death. He'd be buried like a muggle, in a funeral home that had a singular visitor, who was his son. But Scorpius might not want to go, because by then he'd know who his father truly was.

And even his son would leave him.

And he deserved that. He deserved the life in solitude.

So he cried and cried and cleaned up and if he let the glass cut him, he pretended it wasn't on purpose as he wrapped up the wounds, and cleaned the blood stain from the night prior wishing he was careful, because the stain was hard to get rid of. It took him forever to get rid of it because he didn't fucking have magic and he didn't deserve it anyway because when he had it he abused it and Salazar he was so fed up with himself.

But then the neighbours knocked on his door and his kid was home and he had to pretend like he hadn't violently broken down in the comfort of his own magicless home and act like a father. He had to push away his own hurt and look after someone else.

He didn't deserve to be taken care of anyway.

guys i wrote that so quickly im so proud of myself

i love angst

hurt no comfort for the win