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 couldn't just sit still—not with such a horrible feeling in his gut, so he followed Harry downstairs, keeping enough distance between them 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. Ginny and Harry's voices sounded, 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 from Draco's pointed ears and fangs, down to the black silk hugging around his 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 her 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.
Not willing to risk coming any closer, Draco's wand quivered as he cast a wordless healing charm. He knelt down after the cuts had sealed completely, yet he was still hit with a faint whiff of something sickeningly sweet that nearly threw him off balance.
O negative, Samsara whispered to him. Draco shoved away the intrusive thought, burying it in the deep recesses of his mind. It was at times like this that he really hated his curse. His innate desire for a mere taste, a taste that could quickly turn into a lethal feast, tried often to swallow him whole. Now certainly wasn't the time.
After all he had witnessed, he couldn't bear the thought of hurting Harry. He would have to hate himself for it, just as he despised Ginny.
"I told you to stay upstairs," Harry said.
Draco knelt beside Harry cautiously, "And I'm glad I didn't."
Harry averted his gaze, "I didn't want you to get involved."
"And what would she have done if I hadn't intervened?" Draco asked, his eyes sharp but his voice low and grave. He understood Harry's silent reply to mean something horrible.
Draco sat next to Harry and sighed, not being particularly sensitive, "No wonder you got divorced. . ."
"Actually," Harry said timidly, "she was the one who filed for it."
Draco tried to mask his astonishment, "It's better this way, though. Isn't it? You sure dodged that crazy bullet."
"She's not crazy!" Harry argued.
Draco was stunned at his tone of voice, that he would ever defend his attacker.
Harry lowered his shoulders, "She . . . wasn't always like this."
"What happened?"
"She was the captain of the Hollyhead Harpies before the accident—a Bludger to the temple," Harry explained, trying not to reminisce or break down into tears. "The Healers at St. Mungo's said there wasn't any more they could do to reverse the damage, aside from waiting it out. That was back in '08, though."
Draco shook his head, flummoxed by the fact that eleven years had passed since 2008, "But I thought you separated five months ago?"
Harry only nodded, unable to say anything more.
"Harry. . ."
Things were just shitty, to put it in plain terms. While on suspension from work, Harry had no stable income. He had plenty in savings, but the Wizengamot would never allow full custody to him without a consistent wage to fall back on—in the event that those savings petered out.
As for his children's mother, Harry was afraid to challenge her on the matter. He was quite used to walking on eggshells around her, trying not to set off her temper. It broke his heart, though, because he knew his children did the same.
James was three years away from eighteen, so he'd soon be able to decide, for himself, who he wanted to stay with, but Harry knew he'd never abandon his little brother.
Harry's eyes began to water as Draco helped him stand, eleven years of sadness flooding him all at once. He folded weakly into Draco's arms, sobbing into his shoulder.
For eleven years, Harry held on to the ruins of his marriage. For eleven years, he hoped to Merlin that Ginny would miraculously get better, and for eleven years, he watched as she never did.
He stayed because he didn't want his children to suffer at her hand. He stayed to protect them until they could protect themselves. He stayed so that he could take the brunt of Ginny's abuse, sparing James and Albus from most of it.
He knew they recognized the bruises, heard the screaming, saw him flip on a dime when Ginny entered the room, but he also knew that couldn't be helped. He did everything in his power to make sure his children were safe. After Ginny forced him to leave, he could only hope that they were.
By now, James was old enough to know when to avoid Ginny at her worst, but Albus was a different story that caused Harry great distress. He loathed the thought of James having to take his place, protecting Albus, but there was nothing Harry could do to assuage their peril.
"Can I stay with you tonight?" Harry asked diminutively.
Draco pulled away, misinterpreting what the request entailed, "I don't think–"
"I just don't want to be alone," Harry admitted.
Draco sighed, understanding at last how Harry felt—why he never slept in the master bedroom. The vacant space beside him was too harsh a reminder of what he had lost—what remained lost for eleven years and counting.
Draco cared a great deal for Harry; of course he did, and that meant he only wanted what was best for him. Being alone on a night like this would've taken a toll on his happiness, so Draco acquiesced, "I'll be up in a bit."
While Harry went upstairs, Draco shuffled over to the Floo and made sure no one could drop in unannounced. Even if Ginny wanted to, she couldn't return to finish what she started. He locked the front door and all the ground-level windows before heading upstairs
Harry was gazing at the sky full of stars under the canopy. It took him a fair second to notice Draco had entered the bedroom.
"I meant to ask," Harry said weakly, pointing to the canopy, "What spell did you use for this?"
Draco climbed under the duvet, maintaining a significant distance between them, "The incantation is 'Stellairis,' but it's not exactly the same as sleeping under real stars."
"What do you mean?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. He lifted his wand to a constellation in the mirage. A white dragon manifested above them, glowing like moonlit smoke as it emerged from the stars. It flew elegantly over Harry's head, vanishing when he reached out to touch it.
"It disappears when the caster falls asleep, so I haven't been able to wake up to the stars like I used to." Draco shook his head, not wanting to sound ungrateful, "But sleeping in an actual bed is nice, for a change."
Harry smiled against his pillow, "I'm glad you're here."
Draco swallowed back the urge to reply instinctually. Me too, he thought. "Goodnight, Harry."
Draco turned his back to him, unaware that Harry was gazing upon the spot where his blond hair curled at the nape of his neck. His green eyes then returned to the enchanted canopy of sparkling stars.
If I could give you the entire night sky, all the stars included, I would.