Reflections of War - Part 3
Title: Reflections of War 3/3
Fandom: Harry Potter
Ship: Harry/Draco
Genre: Angst
Rating: Somewhere between PG-13 and R
Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, as usual. Written before DH, so any spoilers there might be are completely accidental.
A/N: For Victoria.
Summary: Draco searches to restore the past, blindly expecting things to be the way he had left them.
Part 1 Part 2
They re-appeared in Harry’s flat, dizzy not from the travel but from the new opportunities, new possibilities spinning in their heads.
“Impressive,” breathed Draco as he looked around the living room. It was strikingly reminiscent of the Gryffindor boy’s dorm room when Harry had inhabited it, from the dirty socks to the books scattered recklessly across the carpet.
“I love what you’ve done with the place.” He kicked at an empty bottle of Firewhisky strewn across the floor. It rolled under the coffee table and made a faint clinking noise as it hit its many predecessors.
“Drinking problems, Harry?” Draco teased.
“At least I don’t order coffee when I go to a pub,”
Harry retorted sagely, kicking off his shoes and throwing his coat on the couch.
Draco sniffed. “You know perfectly well that’s cruel and unjust punishment. Completely different sort of scenario.”
“Of course.” He smirked.
Draco walked in awe as he followed Harry upstairs. However, his untimely thoughts caused him to trip most uncharacteristically over the last step, falling victim to his distractions.
Grateful and thrilled though he was, he couldn’t help but wonder about how things had miraculously improved in the blink of an eye… Draco was used to working for his rewards.
And yet, he certainly didn’t complain when Harry came up behind him and intertwined his fingers in his hair, skilled fingers massaging his overburdened mind. Or when he grazed his teeth over bare skin, sucking that spot behind his ear that made him drop his head limply onto Harry’s shoulder.
Of course not. Half the time, Draco couldn’t have complained even if he wanted to.
However, he eventually felt the need to say something.
“Harry,” asked Draco, his voice laboured as a result of the former Gryffindor’s ministrations.
“Mm?”
“I was just curious… have you ever been to a muggle club?”
“No.”
“Oh, good. I was worried that I’d have to dissociate myself from you.”
Harry raised his head to kiss Draco lightly on the lips, slipping an arm around his waist. “I take it you’ve been, then. That bad, huh?”
“It was rather like being raped by a giant disco ball.” He shuddered slightly in Harry’s arms.
Harry snorted. “I wouldn’t know. Why were you there?”
“Three guesses, you oblivious git.”
“Oh.”
“I hate you, you know. I hate you and your common name.”
“I’m touched.” He rolled his eyes, trying - and failing - to hold back a smile. “But hey, Draco?” Harry struggled to remove his shirt.
“Yeah?” Draco followed suit.
“Shut up already, will you?”
Draco didn’t need to be told twice as Harry’s fingers closed around his wrists and pushed him back against the comforter for the first time since the war.
***
Draco awoke with his lips and eyelashes resting lightly on bare skin. He could hear Harry breathing peacefully as his chest rose and fell, and warm against him, Draco had no intention of getting out of bed.
He began to trace idle circles onto Harry’s chest; content, relaxed and loved in this simple gesture. Draco found himself wishing that it had always been this easy.
As if on cue, Harry jumped up, startled awake by what appeared to be an internal alarm clock.
He had rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of boxers before he had noticed Draco’s slightly hurt expression. “Harry?”
“Fuck! Oh shit…” He rummaged around on the floor, searching for a misplaced article.
“Draco, have you seen my shirt from the other night?” he called frantically as he looked in the overflowing cupboard.
“What am I, your wife?” Draco snapped, his good mood vanishing quickly. “Where are you going?”
Harry looked over at him, green flames ablaze with a mixture of things, one of them an apology. But Draco knew better this time around. He had seen that look before.
He sprang out of bed, grabbing Harry’s housecoat off of the nearby chair, and found his wand among the wreckage just in time to charm the door shut.
Harry turned around, apologetic and annoyed.
“Draco…”
“You had better have a damn good explanation…”
“What are you talking about?” It was a useless, stalling question. Harry already knew the answer.
“You can’t just leave all of a sudden without saying anything and expect it to be fine from then on, you sodding idiot.”
Draco suddenly felt more tired than he had ever felt before in his life, the energy and motivation dripping out of his voice and posture. His eyelashes blurred the eyeliner from the previous night as they stuck, wet and heavy, to his cheeks.
Harry looked pathetically torn between his loyalties, but eventually the sight of a helpless Draco won him over.
Not that his next few words would make Draco feel any better.
“It’s because of Ginny. I have to go see her,” he said.
“I don’t believe you.” Draco didn’t even skip a beat.
“I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not, I’m going out with Ginny and I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“You’re a filthy liar, Potter.”
“Believe what you want, Draco…” Harry sounded strained in his retaliation, not entirely sure how to defend himself, not entirely sure if he was defending the right side.
“You love her.” Draco’s calm demeanor was the truly terrifying part of those three words. It wasn’t a question, but Harry had his answer ready nonetheless.
“Yes.”
Draco threw himself at Harry, wrestling him to the ground. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he shouted, furious and confused and alone.
“Draco, I love her...”
“Stop saying that!” He punched Harry in the face, and watched as the blood trickled down onto his shirt.
“I love her…” Harry tried again.
Draco could no longer find words to express his anger, so he resorted to punching Harry as hard as he could, over and over again.
“…because I have to.” Harry croaked, his face pale and his eyes wet.
Draco stopped abruptly, and clambered off of Harry, giving him a look that made it precisely clear just how stupid he was, and how much he resented him for it.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said quietly.
Harry sighed and sat up, wiping the blood off of his face. “You still don’t read the papers, do you?”
“I fail to see your point,” Draco said angrily, biting back the unspoken expletives.
“Do you remember the night that you convinced me to stay with you, even though I told you that would likely make you Voldemort’s next target?”
He nodded.
“The next morning, they reported in the Prophet: A young wizard killed due to close connections with Harry Pott… He killed Ron!
“I know,” Draco said softly.
“Maybe if I had been out with Order, I could’ve done something about it!”
“You’re holding me responsible for Ron’s death.” His eyes grew slitted and suspicious in their disbelief.
“No! Draco…it’s just that… I wanted to try and help everyone, I couldn’t just sit around and watch people die!”
“Haven’t you realized by now that I’ve lost every single friend I ever had to this fucking war? Except for Ginny.” he continued, struggling to keep his voice under control. “Do you understand why we need to stay together now that the war’s over? It was because of me that her brother died, I didn’t get to him fast enough…”
“Shut the hell up, Potter. If I wanted to see drama and histrionics, I would’ve gone to the opera,” Draco sneered.
“You would’ve been next, Draco. I couldn’t let that happen,” Harry continued, tears welling dangerously at the corners of emerald skies.
“You’ve even more challenged then I thought. This is ridiculous,” Draco said coldly.
“Draco, I still…” Harry pleaded.
Draco looked at him, reduced to a begging, crying infant who was trying to justify his actions by playing the hero. Part of Draco wanted nothing more than to take Harry in his arms and whisper calming words into his hair, but another part of him, war-torn and scarred, had only just realized his mistakes.
“You have to give up the life of the hero, and start one for yourself.” He hated to say it, but he knew it was true. It was what Harry needed to hear. What they both needed.
“But what was I supposed to do? Draco, I had to push people away because Voldemort had a tendency to kill those who were close to me.”
There was a pause in which Draco looked sadly upon Harry and sighed - and it was a languid, mournful thing.
“You’re more like him than you know, Harry,” he said.
With this last statement, Draco took one last long look at Harry Potter and then left out the door without looking back - stepping over the threshold and into the light for the first time.
If only Draco had known.
If only he had known that Harry would go to his second home that day to stroke hair that was too red to be silver-blond and trace someone else’s name into skin that was too freckled to be pale.
Too practiced to feel honest.
Too borrowed to be love.
-End-