It's five years after the war. Draco a happy healer at Mungos. Harry an Aura. But is he happy? When they meet once at Mungo's, Harry sees Draco at a time Draco would have preferred him to have not seen, their surprising friendship grows.
All the wor...
"Draco can you hear me?" Harry? Why Harry? "Draco!" It always came down to him. Harry. Potter. Harry. He painfully opened an eye and saw Harry leaning over him. "This is my house, well not the one I'm living in but..." Draco stopped listening. After he noticed Harry had stopped talking he tried to summon his usual drawl. It was a lousy attempt. He was just too tired. "Why Harry, I am quite okay thank you. Do tell, where are we?" Harry gave him an annoyed look. "I've literally been telling you for the last five minutes." Draco just stared back until Harry continued. "This is the house I inherited from my godfather. I just moved in yesterday so it's still really dusty and kind off a wreck. But I'm going to fix it up tomorrow." "Oh." Draco's posh accent dropped and he mentally cursed himself.
It was too tiring. Life was too tiring. And everything was annoying. Not being able to meet Harry without having a panic attack was annoying. And breathing was so hard. He still felt the flames on his back. But why? It was so annoying. Stupid. Just like Harry's hair. Annoying. That one bit that flopped over his eyes. It was all so annoying. Just like Harry. Was he always this annoyingly hot? Of course people stopped him on the streets. He was just so hot. And not the gorgeous i-want-to-stare-at-you-forever hot. The annoying hot. Like his life. Annoying. Harry was just too hot. No one should be able to be this hot. Just so...hot.
Harry's gaze kept creeping back to draco. Why did he invite him to stay at his house? It was already Awkward between them. And...shit. He'd have to explain to hermione. Harry knew that Hermione would tease him endlessly and do that weird suggestive eyebrow...thing. They both sat on the tattered kitchen table Harry had found under a pile of stuff. Each thing they had found over it was as creepy and mud covered as the other. Harry poked at the eggs on toast he'd managed to scrounge up. Probably wasn't as fancy as anything he'd had at his posh place. "Thanks for the food." Was that a smug grin? Did he actually like it? He probably didn't. "That's cool. Um..." Harry began while mindlessly toying with his eggs. {Winter here, why does that sound bad?} "I'm going to start the cleaning tomorrow, well, today," he corrected after looking at his watch that read: 4:37 "So I'm not going to be able to be around you, what are you going to do?" Stay in bed and cry. "Just hang." "Okay."
Harry was using his wand to make five sponges clean the walls while Draco was in his room. He dipped the sponges in the water and moved onto the other wall with the portrait of Walburga Black hanging on. "Half breeds! Scum! Dirt on the property of the fine and dutiful house of the Blacks!" The lady shrieked. Harry tucked the curtains closed and muttered, "Oh shut up Walburga." "Rude!" Was all you could hear before the curtains were properly closed. "Well she's a nightmare." Harry whizzed around and saw Draco standing on the stairs leaning against the wall. "Draco." It had been many hours since the very awkward, and very early breakfast they had had together. Draco had just stayed in his room doing what Harry could only guess what the whole time he'd been cleaning. But now he'd come down. Why? "Hey." But Draco didn't offer Harry a reply. He just picked up a sponge with his wand, and started scrubbing.
Why was he doing this? It was a suicide mission. He was going to mess it up. He knew it. Draco's thoughts were still going wild ten minutes later. Harry hadn't spoken and so he hadn't. He didn't want to interrupt his zone right? But Draco knew that was bull. He was just a coward. Just a stupid, panicking, frightened coward. "So, ah, Harry. How's work?" Some minuscule part of his dumb brain must have been remembering the conversation they'd had at the appointement. "I quit." "Really Harry? I thought that the 'chosen one' was meant for catching baddies' greatness." Baddies like me. As if Harry had heard his silent comment, Harry's eyes flicked to the dark patch under his long sleeved shirt that was dangerously close to hitching up.
God he hated that name. The 'chosen one'. "I guess not. I've been searching for a space in Diagonally to rent. So hopefully i'll be able to start a bakery." "Hopefully." Was that a snide comment or sincere? He just didn't know. He was sick of not understanding Draco. He was trying. Harry threw down the sponge and turned to Draco. "I'm sick of it Draco! I don't know If that was some stab at me or not! I just wish, I just wish it was easier! We aren't kids. And you can drop that posh talk because we both know that it's not real." He started talking more to himself now. "It was supposed to be easier after the war! It's done! But it's not. And I can't stop it. And they're all dead." He faced Draco again. "All because of me. I was supposed to fix it and I couldn't. I couldn't Draco. They're all dead. " He was nearly sobbing now. They're all dead. Mum, Dad. Sirius. Lupin and Tonks. Collen, Ced, Fred. They should all hate me. They do hate me. He brushed a hand over his tears, and walked up the stairs, not looking if Draco was following. He wasn't.
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