Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

EGGSHELLS

TW: Domestic abuse

The air of confidence and enchanting intensity in Harry's green eyes melted away immediately. He tensed, appearing almost sheepish—timid, like a child afraid of the dark.

He didn't say anything, but his frightened expression bled through enough to speak for itself. He gestured for Draco to wait there, his face twisting in trepidation and something Draco absolutely dreaded seeing in him: fear.

Draco could not simply sit still with such a horrible feeling in his gut, so he followed Harry downstairs, far away enough that Harry didn't sense his presence. He hid in the shadows of the upstairs landing, peering at the sliver of red hair he saw rushing out of sight. When Ginny and Harry's voices sounded, it was in echoes from the kitchen, but Draco could still make out what they were saying—that, and the smack of a Daily Prophet paper on the table. His pointed ears twitched.

"I was going to tell you—really, I was," Harry said frantically.

Ginny shouted, "When?! I had to learn from a news article that you've already been on suspension for three days?!"

Harry said nothing. There was a light clatter of glass against the counter, suspiciously like that of a Firewhiskey decanter.

"Ginny, please."

She hissed, "Quiet."

He was. Several dozen seconds passed in utter silence, only punctuated by the sloshing of Firewhiskey as Ginny helped herself.

"This is pathetic, Harry," Ginny said viciously, thick-throated as the afterburn set in. "I don't care who the fuck you think you are. Until you can prove that you're responsible enough to hold down a fucking job, James and Albus will never step foot in Grimmauld Place again."

So that's what he meant by messy divorce, Draco thought witheringly.

Harry sounded like he was seconds away from crying, "Please don't do this, Ginny. You know how you get when you–"

"WHEN I WHAT?" Ginny screamed daringly, "What I do to cope with the shit you put me through is none of your fucking business!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't lie to me!" Ginny yelled drunkenly, "You're not fucking sorry. You never are!"

Draco jolted at the sound of an empty decanter shattering in collision with the far wall. He rushed downstairs, picking up his pace as he heard Ginny scream again: "Say it again! I dare you. Do it. DO IT!"

Draco held his wand fiercely at Ginny, not shaking in the slightest. "Get away from him!" he yelled.

Her head snapped viciously in his direction. She gasped, having now seen more than one person come back from the dead. She became more and more enraged as her eyes trailed down to the black silk hugging around Draco's torso.

Disgusted, she turned back to Harry. He was curled on the floor with his head buried in his knees, back flush against the maroon wall.

Ginny spat, affronted, "You're fucking sick in the head, Harry!"

Shards of crystal glass crunched beneath Ginny's shoes as she stomped past Draco, seeing nothing but red.

The front door slammed shut, causing Walburga's portrait to proclaim her enmity for the "blood traitor."

Draco resented Ginny a fair amount, too, but for a very different reason.

Draco waved his wand somberly, "Reparo," and the glass scattered on the floor drew together to reform the decanter. He examined Harry from afar; his arms and neck were dotted with shallow cuts from where the glass debris had grazed his skin. Draco was grateful that none of the cuts were deep enough for blood to pool. The scent would have tempted Samsara to front.