Painkiller - A Drarry Fanfiction

Final

"Harry, please, I—"

He catches my arm, his touch hot and firm. My balance thrown off, I almost fall down the stairs, barely managing to stand my ground. I pull away and keep my eyes set forward, not daring to face the pain that looms behind me.

But he tries again. "You can't do this."

I'm snatched around aggressively and, in a blink, his face is in mine. I find his fingers hard around my wrist as we stand in the silence of our room, both of us steaming heated breaths. Whatever burns in my chest is in his eyes, too. Something like anger, heartbreak, and grief.

I tear myself away from him. "Why can't I?" I cry, the words sprouting from the depths of my stomach. "Because you can't bear to see me go back to the trenches you found me in? Because it would mean you failed?"

"Because I..."

Biting back the waves that threaten to overflow, I clench my jaw and ignore the hurt that drags away his gaze. I think of his selfishness, his carelessness. I try to keep my mind there. I try, so hard...

When I flicker back to reality, he's sitting limp on his bed. He stares at the floorboards, breathing weakly, picking at his nails. I wonder if I've hurt him as much as he's hurt me. I wonder if I even tried to heal him the way he healed me.

"I should be in prison."

His words are like a cold arrow through the still air, landing in my gut. "What?"

He lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "My parents used to work for this... guy. He was bad, and they were bad, too. They would've gladly killed for him, died for him with honor. But when I was younger, I had no idea why my parents were always busy. I just assumed they hated me, enough to choose work over spending time with their own child. Eventually, I started to figure things out, like how my parents did hate me and how they work for the guy who everyone's too scared of to even name. By the time I was apparently old enough to serve the big bad guy, I knew better than to fall for it."

I sit down across from him on my bed before my legs give out. There's an unfamiliar emptiness to his voice. Steady and numb, it's as if he just wants to get it over with. The more he speaks, the more questions form, but his words are too quick to ask any of them.

"Then, the guy died a little over a year ago," he says. "It was great news to most people, but to those who fought on his side, it meant a horrible end. The Ministry sought out as many of the guy's followers and sent thousands to jail through months of court. My parents were two of the thousands, even though they tried to run away, out of the country. I stood court with them, too, but I was told only they were guilty. I was told that I was young, that I didn't really stand on the losing side even when my parents tried to convince me otherwise, and that I was simply born into the wrong family.

"A few people walked free from the trials, the majority of them children. Except, I don't know if the Ministry made the right choice, at least about me."

Words escape my throat before I can stop them. "So you think you should be in prison?"

He scoffs, the sound almost haunting. "I don't think I deserve to walk free."

I frown. "Why? You didn't do anything to deserve jail."

"My parents did a lot of bad things," he says. "The lives they ruined, ended, don't even begin to be compensated by them rotting behind bars. But I'm here, alive and well. I didn't do anything to deserve this, either."

"And when you told me everyone deserves to live? Does that include me, but not you?"

"It includes the people my parents killed."

There's a moment. I open my mouth, but fail to speak, over and over. He still keeps his head lowered. "Why are you telling me this?" I say to the top of his head.

There's another moment. "To tell you that you're right," he says. "I can't bear to see you go back to the trenches I found you in. It would mean I failed, again."

My heart drops.

"The day I walked out of the Ministry as a free man, I didn't give myself another choice but to prove the Ministry's judgment fair," he says. "I told myself that I would help people and spend every breathing second I have doing so. Remember I said this job was a redemption thing?"

"You need me to be happy so you can feel decent," I say. "That is—"

"No."

I blink, a dumbfounded breath leaving me. "What are you trying to say, Draco?" I say.

Then, carefully, he looks up, tearing his gaze from the ground and locking them with mine. "You changed everything," he whispers.

/////

"It took three months of begging every department of the Ministry to give me anything to do. Then I spent every bit of time outside the Ministry during those months questioning if I even deserve to be redeemed. Every time I asked, the answer was no, but I dragged my useless self along anyway because at least my suffering would do something more than my irresponsible death.

"When I got the job, I didn't give a shit how small the department was, or how niche the work area was. I was willing to do anything. Working on the cases I had before you, I felt worthy, at least a little. Even as I focused obsessively on the happiness of the magical children to wash away my own guilt, I felt good without realizing that the path I was going down was the same as my parents.

"But you, Harry—because of you, I saw and I felt. Your words sounded like mine. When I saw you—all of you—I saw my pain.

"So, maybe not everything's changed, because, yes, I'm still greedy. But, please believe me—none of this is about redemption anymore. My selfishness wants to save you from the same pain I feel. I know how it hurts, how it breaks you, so my greed can't let go. I just want, so egotistically, for you to be happy."

/////

It wasn't all that I needed, but it woke me. I still took my time—a good few days—but I wouldn't have even considered doing anything to that effect if not for him. He was patient with me as the days seemed to pass endlessly, so I could be patient with myself, too. I wanted to be prepared, and I was glad he supported me.

All the time gave me space to think—to really think. Through it, I realized I was terrified of living on as if a muggle, not just because I was making a huge decision, but because agreeing with the decision the Dursleys made for me would destroy something in me. I realized mindless support wasn't what I wanted from him, but support of what made me happy, even if I refused to see it myself. And I realized I had found someone bigger, so much bigger, than I thought when he walked through the door on that rainy day.

More than thinking, though, I cried a lot, but on his shoulder. I was tempted to skip meals, but he sat me down in front of a plate every time. I had a couple of nightmares for the first time in a while, completely unrelated to my own body killing me, but I was in his arms through every one of them.

And, once week four of his case rolled around, I was done with taking time.

"I want to go, tomorrow."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I am."

"I want to go with you."

"I want you to come with me, too."

He held my hand as I knocked on the front door. My heart throbbed in my ears, my palms were clammy in nervousness, and dark memories came back to me, but he was holding my hand. Vernon and Petunia didn't let things be easy, but I argued back, and when they signed their names, he was still holding my hand.

I kissed him the moment we left the house and, as he held my hand, all my pain seemed to disappear like magic.

//////////

You've made it! Painkiller has come to an end!

The first part of this story was posted a little over a month ago—thank you so much for sticking around all month. I hope you had a good time here, and if you did, please don't hesitate to comment. Any none-hostile criticism is welcome, too!

Thank you for reading, once again, and come back tomorrow for the epilogue 🖤