Redemption: Part 3/3
Title: Redemption
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Era: Post-Hogwarts (approx 10 years). Canon-compliant, but does not take into account the epilogue.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Discussion of past self-harm. Angst. Character death (not Harry or Draco).
Word Count: ~18,500
Betas: the lovely lia_clarissima and the marvellous hanelissar
Summary: When Draco runs into Harry Potter in Muggle London, he has no idea how much the chance encounter will change his way of life. How much is he willing to learn about forgiveness?
Author's Notes: Posted in 3 parts, due to length. First part of a three part Series (Next is Newfound Light). Also, comments are love :)
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Start with Part One
Continued from Part Two
Potter was waiting for him outside the Apothecary as Draco left Monday evening. He was surprised, yet pleased, to see him standing there. He looked considerably more casual than he might have expected, given the events of Saturday evening.
“Malfoy.”
“Potter.” Draco realized with a little thrill that those two words, exchanged in that order, actually uplifted him. Potter didn’t say his name with disgust or suspicion like so many others did. It was such a refreshing change. In fact, he rather liked the way he’d said it just now. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to get together once more.”
“Didn’t you say to forget about next time?”
As Potter’s face fell, Draco realized the casual attitude had simply been an act, a carefully constructed façade to hide whatever he was really feeling. “Right. Sorry. I’ll just be-”
“I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you’re just going to bail because you can’t tell when I’m being a prat because I can, then how are we ever going to get along and spend more time together?”
The crestfallen look took on a hopeful shade. “So you aren’t upset over what I did?”
“If I was, do you think I’d have done that last little thing before I Apparated?”
Potter looked around them, as if checking to make sure they weren’t overheard. “No. I guess not. Why did you do that, anyway?”
“Because I can.” One side of his mouth twitched upward as he saw the look on the other man’s face. “Because it seemed like a good idea at the time, Potter. Made things interesting, didn’t it? Or did you just forget it right away?”
“Of course I didn’t. And ‘interesting’ isn’t the word I’d use.”
Genuinely curious and enjoying the banter, Draco raised his eyebrows at him. “Then which word would you use?”
“I don’t know. Confusing. Intriguing. Let’s go with intriguing.”
“Intriguing it is,” Draco said simply. Was Potter going to leave it at this, or actually man up and say whatever else was on his mind? “Any other questions?”
“Er…” Potter flushed. He did that nearly as often as he smiled. “What did it mean?”
“Don’t be dense. You made a move on me. It meant I reciprocated the…the interest, let’s say. Unless you’d like to take it back?”
“No.” Draco was a little ashamed at the relief he felt over Potter’s hasty response. “I wouldn’t. It’s just that I don’t exactly know how to go about this all. The next step, that is.”
“Easy, Potter. How about we just take it as it comes? No pressure. If something happens, we deal with it then. If it doesn’t, then no harm, no foul. We simply go on, enjoying the pleasure of each other’s friendship.”
“Are we friends, Malfoy?”
This should have been an easy question. Objectively, it was simple. They spent time together socially. Draco enjoyed Potter’s company, oddly enough. Potter seemed content with his. When Draco was with him, things seemed easier in a way they hadn’t been in years. This was someone who knew his past and didn’t shoot him dirty looks when he walked by. He was the least likely friend in the world, but somehow, it was all okay. “Yes, Potter, we are.”
“Good.” He smirked. “Then call me Harry.”
“I have called you that.”
“I know. Twice. I just thought I’d mention it. Anyway, you have plans tonight?”
He didn’t. He never did. Each night saw him headed home at this time, ready to fix himself a simple dinner or order in and put on the television to something he most likely wouldn’t watch, but enjoyed as background noise. It made him feel less alone. He had finally gotten used to watching the television, or taking in a film, but he wondered if he’d ever feel entirely comfortable with them. “What did you have in mind?”
“Dinner.”
“Another pub?”
“No. My place.”
Draco arched just one eyebrow this time. “You cook? Or do you have a house elf?”
“Neither these days. But there’s a fantastic Indian place a few streets over. I was thinking takeaway.”
Draco mulled it over. He wasn’t big on Indian food, though a neighbour of his had tried to convert him a few years ago. The idea of spending the evening somewhere other than a pub, though, and especially his own flat, seemed…nice. “Alright. I’m in.” He took note of the triumphant smile on Harry’s face as they Apparated to Grimmauld Place.
Harry had done more redecorating than he had realized since the residence had become his. Draco hadn’t exactly spent time in this house before, but his mother had mentioned a few details she remembered from her own childhood visits: screaming portraits, heads of house-elves. None of it had sounded particularly cosy. Draco asked about it and was treated to an embarrassed grin. “Oh. Yes. Some of those things were on there with Permanent Sticking Charms. Turns out that if you remove the wall, the object goes with it.” He gestured to the open entrance. “I like it like this, with all the space. Not so confining. What do you think?”
“It’s nice.” It was, surprisingly. There was a lot of light in this house. It was so different from Draco’s flat. There, it was almost never bright enough. Even the sunrise that came through the window of his bedroom was dim, though the colours could be seen. He’d never figured out why that was. “Don’t suppose you’d be up for giving me the tour?”
Potter smiled warmly, leading him around. There was an awful lot of room here for one person, and though he wouldn’t have been able to tell just a few months ago, there was an awful lot of Harry throughout the house. Pictures of Weasley and Granger, on what appeared to be their wedding day, Potter standing with them dressed in expensive robes. Books on Quidditch and posters of some of the teams, nearly all autographed. Who wouldn’t want to give an autograph to Potter? Hell, they probably asked for his in return. Framed photographs were everywhere, most of them moving. Draco looked around with interest, cataloguing the little things that made up Harry’s home. A few trinkets from their school days. A new-looking Firebolt leaning against a closet door. A little pewter statue of a doe and buck, that apparently had some important meaning, given the prominent place given it on a shelf. It all contrasted sharply with his own barren flat. Draco had a framed family photo that sat in the drawer of his nightstand, away from all eyes but his. Nothing in the place spoke up and said he belonged there. He didn’t feel connected to it at all, but it was still better than the Manor.
They settled in with plates of food, and Potter flipped on his massive television, settling on some Muggle trivia show that Harry had significantly more answers for. “Muggle upbringing,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t watch this with Hermione and Ron, when they’re over. She gets all the answers and he gets bored, muttering something about not sharing his father’s curiosity.”
Draco nodded as if he was interested. He knew some of his neighbours and acquaintances got together and sat around the television-one had even invited him over for video games, but he couldn’t find the fun in it. This sitting around in front of Potter’s television and ignoring the feeling of awkwardness and what might have been sexual tension was still better than the video game incident. His neighbour had handed him a funny little lump of plastic with entirely too many buttons and knobs and tried to explain the basics. “You just take this and control the person in the game. Give them a command, and they’ll do whatever you want.” He had gone on to explain each of the buttons, but all Draco had been able to think was Imperius Curse, and he hadn’t been able to enjoy it at all.
As they ate and chatted lightly, Draco tried to devise some sort of counting system to track the evening. There was significantly more touching than usual. He supposed he had given Potter permission. Draco was okay with it, even enjoying it, until he ran a finger up the palm of Draco’s left hand and up his wrist. He shuddered reflexively.
“What?”
Draco had hoped he hadn’t noticed the reaction, but it was just like Harry to be oblivious to most things, yet notice the ones someone else wanted to remain hidden. “Nothing.” He tried for a dismissive tone, but came up with defensive instead.
Once again showing that annoyingly-present-at-the-worst-times bit of reason Draco remembered from school, Harry looked from Draco’s face to his own fingers, to Draco’s inner forearm. “Oh. I know it’s there, you know. You don’t need to hide it.”
“You…know?” Draco’s brow furrowed as he tried to piece together how Potter might have heard about it. The only ones who knew were his mother, who certainly wouldn’t have told him, if she’d ever even seen him again, his Muggle landlord, and a doctor or two (and assorted personnel) from the Muggle hospital. How on earth did he know about the scar?
“Yeah.” His voice was soft. “I know it’s there. And I’d guess that by now, it’s faded in sort of the same way this has faded.” He pushed a bit of his untidy hair away from his forehead to display the almost-invisible trademark scar. Unless you knew it was there, you probably wouldn’t even see it.
Draco didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or shout. “You mean the Dark Mark?”
“Yeah, of course.” He stared at Draco, brows knitted together just a little. “I know it wasn’t your choice. I don’t hold it against you or anything. And besides, you’re not the same person you were back then, anyway.”
About that last, at least, he was correct. “It’s not what you think it is.”
Potter frowned. “What do you mean? Did it not fade? It can’t still be active…”
“Of course it’s not. It’s just that…” There was no easy way to explain this. He didn’t want to explain this.
Potter took his hand, very gently, and began to undo the buttons at his wrist. Draco wanted to protest, to pull away, but he was mute and as paralysed as he might have been under a number of spells. He just watched as the buttons were undone and the sleeve was pushed up to nearly his elbow. “Oh, Draco,” he sighed. “What happened?”
Draco’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Finally letting out a shuddering breath, he managed something. “I couldn’t stand it on me. So I tried to get rid of it.”
“You…You did this to yourself?” Potter hadn’t taken his eyes off the mass of scar tissue that covered most of Draco’s inner forearm, nearly the length and width of his hand. “When? Why?”
He closed his eyes. He could still feel Harry’s touch, one hand cradling Draco’s arm, the other holding his hand to better see the scarring, thumb in Draco’s palm. He hadn’t jerked away upon seeing it, and that was likely the only reason Draco could get an answer out. And had Potter finally called him by his first name? “Once, just after sixth year. Once, before the final battle. And then again, the last time, when I was twenty-one. That one stuck. The other two times, it came back."
“Does it hurt?”
Eyes still closed, Draco shook his head. “No. Not anymore. There are a few places that are numb, and a few more that are hypersensitive. But there’s no physical pain.”
“You hated the Mark so much you cut it off,” Harry said to himself, voice an unpleasant mixture of sadness, anger, and amazement. He ran a single finger down the length of the ugly marking.
He just nodded. He couldn’t make himself talk about the rest of the details. What it had felt like to finally be set on doing something about it. The pain involved; the horrific mess; nicking a vein; feeling so woozy from the blood loss and pain that he’d stumbled, breaking dishes on the table as he fell to the floor, concerning his landlord, who lived in the flat below and knew him to always be silent; lying there, waiting for the ambulance as the Muggle had tied a tea towel above his elbow, and thinking that losing consciousness, and maybe even his life, might be a better alternative than living with the feelings he had every day. Shame. Regret. Misery.
Of course, no one believed that he hadn’t intended to kill himself. And he couldn’t well explain the Dark Mark to any of the Muggles who said that they were concerned, nor why he’d want to get rid of it so badly. So he had listened to their pointless pep talks and hoped with everything that was still left in him that all these years later, the Mark wouldn’t come back. He’d refused to use Dittany to speed the healing or minimize the scarring. When the skin had finally healed and he detected no trace of that skull and snake, he’d literally wept with relief, feeling delirious and wholly unstable. Shortly after that, he’d tentatively stepped back into the wizarding world, looking for a job. He’d never be able to describe the anxiety of that first day back in Diagon Alley, sure all eyes were on him. Finding someone who would give him a job-any job-had been surprising. Finding a job he enjoyed that kept him out of the public eye had been nearly miraculous. It had made him almost happy.
Lifting Draco’s arm, Potter pressed his lips gently into that scar. Draco opened his eyes, both surprised and moved at the gesture. He caught Draco looking and looked back at him seriously. “I understand.”
The weird thing was, Draco thought Harry actually might. He pulled his arm back easily, staring, wondering what came next. It might only be one simple fact to anyone else, but having Harry know that the scars existed as well as what they meant changed a lot for Draco. "Do you?"
"Yes. I do. And thank you, by the way."
Confused, Draco did the two little buttons back up. "For what, exactly?" It was still hard to speak. He couldn't mean for the mutilation. That would be sick.
"For letting me see. Telling me what, and why. For trusting me," he said, looking embarrassed, yet fond. "That means a lot to me, especially after our past."
Draco nodded and tried very specifically not to think of the other thing. The sexual tension that had been slowly building, fuelled by those increasingly frequent touches, had faded. Something that was awkward and pleasant in a different way had replaced it. When he got up to leave for the evening, there was no kiss, no embrace. There was simply Harry's hand on his shoulder blade as Draco walked to the door, comfortable and warm, almost as if it belonged there. He walked to the end of the street trying to puzzle out what it all meant. Should he feel ashamed? He'd kept the entire incident a secret for so long, he wasn't sure what to feel now that someone else shared it. Was he supposed to pretend it didn't bother him anymore? Would Potter be as understanding if he continued to keep it hidden? He had no answers and went straight to bed, questions such as these still swirling around in his head. The dreams that had been fading returned that night, and when he woke the next morning, Draco was surprised to realise that he had been left with a feeling not unlike hope.
~*~
Their relationship progressed slowly, and each time they spent a few hours together, Draco felt a little more of his defences chip away. They had been seeing each other as friends for a month after the night Harry had seen the scar on his forearm, when things heated up. Harry had shown up at his flat, dressed in jeans and a navy blue shirt that had the topmost button undone. The blue made the green of his eyes even brighter than usual, and Draco was about to say so, when he saw the look on Potter's face as he opened the door.
"Malfoy." There was heat in that tone, no mistaking it.
"Potter? What are you doing here? Did we have plans tonight?" Harry shook his head, a light in his eyes dancing. He appeared to be making an effort to keep his eyes on Draco's face. Draco looked down and realized he'd come to the door without anything on below the waist besides an old pair of boxers. "Damn. Hold on." He grabbed the jeans he'd just finished washing from the back of a chair and put them on, trying not to fall over as he did so. Of course Potter would catch him in an embarrassing state. He just wasn’t used to receiving visitors.
"Oh, don't do that on my account. I was quite enjoying the view."
Draco pursed his lips in an attempt to keep a smile at bay. "I'd gathered. You're not very subtle, you know. I ask again, though: did we have plans tonight?"
"No. We didn't."
"Then why, pray tell, are you here? Not that I'm complaining," he said hastily. One of the more ridiculous things he'd discovered as their relationship or friendship or whatever it was had progressed was that he didn't like being the stimulus that caused Potter's disappointment or unhappiness. His younger self would have killed him for the realisation, putting him out of his misery in quick fashion. He'd thrived on that back at school. All those nights sneaking out, waiting to see what Harry would do that Draco could make sure he was punished for. They'd spent an awful lot of time out of bed in the late hours, sneaking around and spying on the other. Maybe he should have seen this coming after all, he thought with a smirk that escaped his control. Or maybe he'd been a stupid child and wouldn't have believed the insanity if someone had tried to enlighten him. That seemed likely.
“I just wanted to see you,” Potter said with an embarrassed grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you mind?”
Draco shook his head and opened the door wide, allowing Potter to pass. He was wearing aftershave, something he never did (as far as Draco knew, that was), and it smelled good. It reminded him of a cool autumn’s day, after rain had washed things clean. “No, not at all.”
Potter moved inside and stood around awkwardly. He’d never been past the front door before. Draco had a sudden urge to grab him by his belt, pull him close, and snog the life out of him. What on earth was in that aftershave he was wearing? Breathing deeply, he smiled at Potter’s uneasiness. It wasn’t the aftershave. It was that look Potter had given him when he’d opened the door. That, and knowing that Harry had been thinking about him enough to drop by uninvited. They’d been pretending at this ‘nothing more than friends’ thing for long enough. Three times now, Draco had thought Potter was going to make another move on him. It had never happened. Tonight, he might wait and see if the hero to the wizarding world could muster up the courage to finally do something about it.
“Did I interrupt anything?”
“No. I was just about to order in a pizza. Would you care to share?”
“Sure.” Potter surveyed the bland flat as Draco called and placed the order. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Malfoy. What is it that you do for fun?”
“Other than spend time with you?” he said cheerfully, putting down the telephone. He’d said it partially because it was true, but mostly because he knew it would make Potter blush and stammer.
True to expectation, Potter did indeed blush and stammer. “Er, well. Um. Yes, I suppose.”
"Well, other than that, fun's been in short supply lately. Would you like to suggest something?"
Potter’s face, neck, and tips of his ears turned furiously red. Draco snickered. Something had gotten into him when he’d seen the look on the other man’s face as he stood on his doorstep, and he was having a hell of a time getting rid of it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. This thing with Potter was oddly exciting. He’d had little in the way of relationships since the war. There had been plenty of short flings, nothing lasting more than a week. None of them, not one, had been anything more than a physical release, the closest thing to comfort that Draco could find. This was entirely new territory. “Er,” Harry said by way of response.
“Well-said, Potter.” He moved over to him, feeling nimble and very aware of the quick pulse in Potter’s neck, visible as he approached. "You do know there are things we could do that wouldn't require a stunning, witty rejoinder." He stood directly in front of Harry, running a finger along his exposed collarbone.
Potter leaned in with surprising speed, and Draco once again felt Harry's mouth on his. He had expected more teasing, more bantering, more self-control. As he gave in and returned the kiss, feeling Harry’s surprisingly sure mouth open, he realised how stupid the thought had been. Potter had never had much in the way of self-control. He seemed to have been bred without it, fundamentally incapable of possessing such a thing.
After a moment, the urgency lessened and Potter moved Draco back onto his own sofa, moving with a surprisingly gentle grace. His body was more toned than it looked in those clothes he wore, and Draco loved the feeling beneath his hands of those muscled arms, especially as one of them wrapped around his waist, resting on the small of his back. He broke it off after a few minutes. "That's enough."
Potter looked flustered, but not ashamed. "Alright." The husky tone, full of desire, made Draco want to rescind the comment and pull Harry back on top of him.
"So, Draco said, trying to get his racing heart back under control and find out where they stood. "More than friends?"
"Merlin willing," he replied softly, trying to get that hair of his under control. Draco could have told him it was a lost cause. He straightened the glasses on Harry's face. Harry intercepted his hand and placed a small kiss on his palm. "And you too, of course."
"Of course." The doorbell rang, and Draco remembered the pizza. He got up, having more luck straightening himself than Potter had, paid for the pizza, and set it on the table. The food could wait. Harry looked like he could not. Draco found he didn't want to make him. Could he actually have found someone with whom he not only had chemistry, but had a real relationship as well? All this, because he had walked into a lamppost? “Now, where were we?” Draco had seen the look on Potter’s face when he’d asked if they were more than friends. It had been hopeful, relieved, and blissful. As worried as Draco might be that this might blow up in his face, it seemed Potter wasn’t entirely sure about it, either. The thought put him at ease. A lingering shred of nagging doubt had dissolved when he saw that Potter had something invested in this thing as well.
“Right about here, I think,” Harry said, removing his glasses and placing them on the end table. This time he pulled Draco on top of him, smiling and looking shy. Draco smiled back down at him. Harry’s hands moved underneath the bottom hem of Draco’s worn sweater, shifting the material up just slightly. “Off with this would be nice, though.”
Draco froze. “No.” His answer was short, more clipped than he’d intended it to be. “I’d prefer not to.” All the heat, the excitement, seemed to leave the room in an instant and Draco sat back up on the sofa, scrambling off of Harry.
Potter looked at him for a moment, green eyes clouded by confusion in a way that was much different than his lost, confused looks back in Potions class. There was no glimmer of recognition or realization on his face, and Draco was grateful enough that his shoulders dipped just enough that the other man might have noticed. He wouldn’t have to acknowledge it now. If he never had to, so much the better.
That’s not true, some silky voice purred at the back of his mind. You want him to see. To remember. To realize what he did. Those thoughts surprised him. He’d thought that with everything else that had happened between them in recent months, he had buried that voice for good. Perhaps there were still things deep within him that wouldn’t be resolved so easily. Besides, Harry feeling guilt was one thing. The other side of that scenario was what Draco wanted to stay gone forever.
Draco shook his head to silence the voice. Harry saw it, of course. “You okay?”
Taking a slow breath, Draco nodded until he felt confident his voice could remain normal. “I’m fine, Potter. Enough questions. Can’t we just enjoy ourselves with our shirts on?”
“I guess. I just don’t underst-” His eyes widened, no longer hiding behind those frames, and the fiery colour drained from his face in an instant. He grabbed his glasses and shoved them onto his face. There was no doubting he’d figured out what had changed things.
Draco had gone from happy and excited to miserable in record time. Now was when things would change, then. Potter remembered. He’d dealt just fine with the other hang-up Draco had, because he hadn’t been directly involved in that one. Now that he had to confront the other ever-present reminder of what Draco had been, things were no longer so easy.
Instead of running out the door like Draco expected, Potter leaned over and pulled down the collar of the stretched-out shirt. Harry made a strangled noise in his throat and abruptly let go of the grey material.
“Yes,” Draco confirmed, throat constricting. “Still there, after all these years.”
“Oh, Malfoy. I’d forgot-I mean no, I hadn’t forgotten, but I’d thought that they’d been healed by Snape, and I’d hoped…”
He didn’t finish the thought. “Well, they haven’t,” Draco said, hearing the irritation in his own voice. “The wounds healed, but the scars remained. As a reminder forever.”
Harry hung his head. His throat worked. Any moment now, and he’d be gone.
“So now you remember. It’s been fun, Potter, this thing between us. You should be on your way.”
“Wait-”
“No. It’s for the best,” Draco told him firmly, trying to make himself believe the words issuing from his mouth. “We had a good time, but there’s no way we can keep this up for much longer without this coming up. You remember as well as I do.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“Of course you-wait, what?” That wasn’t part of the scenario Draco had been dreading, trying to fool himself into believing would never happen, telling himself that they’d gloss over it.
“I didn’t know what that curse would do when I threw it at you. The book said ‘for enemies’, and I thought that’s what we were at the time, before I was totally aware of the whole situation, and I just thought that with what happened with Katie, and the way you were always-I mean, that doesn’t excuse it, but really, Draco, I can never apologise enough for what I did.”
“You’re… upset… because you feel guilty over what happened to me in that bathroom?”
“Of course. If I could take it all back, I would. I was startled, and it was the first thing to come to mind, and I never should have used it in any case.”
Draco’s head spun. “You do remember what caused you to throw that spell my way, don’t you?”
Harry raised his head, green eyes bright and-could it be?-damp. “I told you, I was startled, and it was something of a reflex-”
“I tried to use a Cruciatus on you, Potter.”
Remarkably, Potter looked relieved. “Oh. Is that what this is-I mean, wait, what do these scars make you remember?”
He didn’t want to answer this. He actually had tried to use Dittany on these, and Madame Pomfrey and Snape had tried their own methods to remove the shiny, nearly silver markings from his pale skin. Nothing had worked. The Dark Mark, when it came down to it, had been forced on him. The Crucio that he had thrown out had not been. “The day I used an Unforgiveable on you.”
“You think you-No, Draco-“
“Don’t be so dense, Potter. I remember it, clear as day.” He frowned. Surely he’d imagined Harry using his first name this time. Why was it that he refrained from using it? Maybe it was a way to distance himself. It wouldn’t matter much anymore, anyway.
“No, Malfoy, you don’t understand.” Harry reached out and placed a hand on Draco’s knee. “Did you know I’ve uttered the same curse? Twice?” Draco shook his head, unable to believe him. Not someone as undoubtedly good as Harry Potter, even if he was lacking in judgment now and then. That would go against everything Harry stood for, wouldn’t it? “It’s true. End of fifth year, in the battle in the Department of Mysteries was the first time. Your-your aunt, she’d killed Sirius, and I was so hurt that I could barely breathe, and I threw one at her. And you know what I learned about the Unforgiveables?”
“No.”
“You have to really mean them for them to work. I hit Bellatrix, but it had almost no effect. Deep down, I didn’t mean it enough.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Draco asked quietly. Potter’s hand was still on his knee. It was a gesture of comfort, but he didn’t deserve it. It was finally going to go up in smoke. He never should have gotten his hopes up. This would be his final lesson in the matter.
“I know that you didn’t mean it, either. Even if you’d hit me first, you wouldn’t have inflicted as much damage as you think. But what I did almost killed you. For years, even after the war, I’d go to sleep at night and wake up with a start, seeing you lying in that puddle of water as those wounds opened up on your chest. There was so much blood. In every one of those dreams, Snape got there too late, and I watched you die. All because of me, because I’d lacked judgment, or compassion. What kind of hero lacks those things?”
Draco didn’t have an answer for that. “But who says I deserved them?”
“I do,” Harry whispered simply. “Can you forgive me for what I did?”
Draco wanted to yell at him, to call him a bloody moron for insisting that other people had more good in them than they probably ever did, but found the lump in his throat prevented that. He swallowed past it. “Only if you forgive me for my part.”
“Malfoy. I did that a long time ago. You know,” he said with a shaky sigh, “it might be time we forgave ourselves as well. Start anew. What do you think?”
Everything in his chest constricted in a way that made it hard to speak. “I have a question, actually.”
Harry let out a little laugh, seemingly unsure if it was an appropriate time to do so. “With all the times I pester you with questions, I suppose it’s only fair to answer one of yours. What is it?”
“Why don’t you call me Draco?”
Potter’s mouth quirked up at one end. “Because you never told me I could. I thought you didn’t want me that close. Is that not it?”
Unable to trust his voice again, Draco slowly leaned forward and kissed Harry. The kiss was tender on both their parts, full of emotions Draco had been holding onto so tightly, unable to put them into words, or share in any other way. As they sank into each other, he allowed himself to let go of some of the pain and guilt he had been storing for so long, letting it eat at him. It wasn’t going to be easy to let go of everything, but he was willing to make an attempt at learning to be happy once again. He looked into those eyes, that piercing green that had been in so many of his dreams, offering hope and redemption, and promised himself that he would try with everything he had left in him.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Era: Post-Hogwarts (approx 10 years). Canon-compliant, but does not take into account the epilogue.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Discussion of past self-harm. Angst. Character death (not Harry or Draco).
Word Count: ~18,500
Betas: the lovely lia_clarissima and the marvellous hanelissar
Summary: When Draco runs into Harry Potter in Muggle London, he has no idea how much the chance encounter will change his way of life. How much is he willing to learn about forgiveness?
Author's Notes: Posted in 3 parts, due to length. First part of a three part Series (Next is Newfound Light). Also, comments are love :)
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Start with Part One
Continued from Part Two
Potter was waiting for him outside the Apothecary as Draco left Monday evening. He was surprised, yet pleased, to see him standing there. He looked considerably more casual than he might have expected, given the events of Saturday evening.
“Malfoy.”
“Potter.” Draco realized with a little thrill that those two words, exchanged in that order, actually uplifted him. Potter didn’t say his name with disgust or suspicion like so many others did. It was such a refreshing change. In fact, he rather liked the way he’d said it just now. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to get together once more.”
“Didn’t you say to forget about next time?”
As Potter’s face fell, Draco realized the casual attitude had simply been an act, a carefully constructed façade to hide whatever he was really feeling. “Right. Sorry. I’ll just be-”
“I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you’re just going to bail because you can’t tell when I’m being a prat because I can, then how are we ever going to get along and spend more time together?”
The crestfallen look took on a hopeful shade. “So you aren’t upset over what I did?”
“If I was, do you think I’d have done that last little thing before I Apparated?”
Potter looked around them, as if checking to make sure they weren’t overheard. “No. I guess not. Why did you do that, anyway?”
“Because I can.” One side of his mouth twitched upward as he saw the look on the other man’s face. “Because it seemed like a good idea at the time, Potter. Made things interesting, didn’t it? Or did you just forget it right away?”
“Of course I didn’t. And ‘interesting’ isn’t the word I’d use.”
Genuinely curious and enjoying the banter, Draco raised his eyebrows at him. “Then which word would you use?”
“I don’t know. Confusing. Intriguing. Let’s go with intriguing.”
“Intriguing it is,” Draco said simply. Was Potter going to leave it at this, or actually man up and say whatever else was on his mind? “Any other questions?”
“Er…” Potter flushed. He did that nearly as often as he smiled. “What did it mean?”
“Don’t be dense. You made a move on me. It meant I reciprocated the…the interest, let’s say. Unless you’d like to take it back?”
“No.” Draco was a little ashamed at the relief he felt over Potter’s hasty response. “I wouldn’t. It’s just that I don’t exactly know how to go about this all. The next step, that is.”
“Easy, Potter. How about we just take it as it comes? No pressure. If something happens, we deal with it then. If it doesn’t, then no harm, no foul. We simply go on, enjoying the pleasure of each other’s friendship.”
“Are we friends, Malfoy?”
This should have been an easy question. Objectively, it was simple. They spent time together socially. Draco enjoyed Potter’s company, oddly enough. Potter seemed content with his. When Draco was with him, things seemed easier in a way they hadn’t been in years. This was someone who knew his past and didn’t shoot him dirty looks when he walked by. He was the least likely friend in the world, but somehow, it was all okay. “Yes, Potter, we are.”
“Good.” He smirked. “Then call me Harry.”
“I have called you that.”
“I know. Twice. I just thought I’d mention it. Anyway, you have plans tonight?”
He didn’t. He never did. Each night saw him headed home at this time, ready to fix himself a simple dinner or order in and put on the television to something he most likely wouldn’t watch, but enjoyed as background noise. It made him feel less alone. He had finally gotten used to watching the television, or taking in a film, but he wondered if he’d ever feel entirely comfortable with them. “What did you have in mind?”
“Dinner.”
“Another pub?”
“No. My place.”
Draco arched just one eyebrow this time. “You cook? Or do you have a house elf?”
“Neither these days. But there’s a fantastic Indian place a few streets over. I was thinking takeaway.”
Draco mulled it over. He wasn’t big on Indian food, though a neighbour of his had tried to convert him a few years ago. The idea of spending the evening somewhere other than a pub, though, and especially his own flat, seemed…nice. “Alright. I’m in.” He took note of the triumphant smile on Harry’s face as they Apparated to Grimmauld Place.
Harry had done more redecorating than he had realized since the residence had become his. Draco hadn’t exactly spent time in this house before, but his mother had mentioned a few details she remembered from her own childhood visits: screaming portraits, heads of house-elves. None of it had sounded particularly cosy. Draco asked about it and was treated to an embarrassed grin. “Oh. Yes. Some of those things were on there with Permanent Sticking Charms. Turns out that if you remove the wall, the object goes with it.” He gestured to the open entrance. “I like it like this, with all the space. Not so confining. What do you think?”
“It’s nice.” It was, surprisingly. There was a lot of light in this house. It was so different from Draco’s flat. There, it was almost never bright enough. Even the sunrise that came through the window of his bedroom was dim, though the colours could be seen. He’d never figured out why that was. “Don’t suppose you’d be up for giving me the tour?”
Potter smiled warmly, leading him around. There was an awful lot of room here for one person, and though he wouldn’t have been able to tell just a few months ago, there was an awful lot of Harry throughout the house. Pictures of Weasley and Granger, on what appeared to be their wedding day, Potter standing with them dressed in expensive robes. Books on Quidditch and posters of some of the teams, nearly all autographed. Who wouldn’t want to give an autograph to Potter? Hell, they probably asked for his in return. Framed photographs were everywhere, most of them moving. Draco looked around with interest, cataloguing the little things that made up Harry’s home. A few trinkets from their school days. A new-looking Firebolt leaning against a closet door. A little pewter statue of a doe and buck, that apparently had some important meaning, given the prominent place given it on a shelf. It all contrasted sharply with his own barren flat. Draco had a framed family photo that sat in the drawer of his nightstand, away from all eyes but his. Nothing in the place spoke up and said he belonged there. He didn’t feel connected to it at all, but it was still better than the Manor.
They settled in with plates of food, and Potter flipped on his massive television, settling on some Muggle trivia show that Harry had significantly more answers for. “Muggle upbringing,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t watch this with Hermione and Ron, when they’re over. She gets all the answers and he gets bored, muttering something about not sharing his father’s curiosity.”
Draco nodded as if he was interested. He knew some of his neighbours and acquaintances got together and sat around the television-one had even invited him over for video games, but he couldn’t find the fun in it. This sitting around in front of Potter’s television and ignoring the feeling of awkwardness and what might have been sexual tension was still better than the video game incident. His neighbour had handed him a funny little lump of plastic with entirely too many buttons and knobs and tried to explain the basics. “You just take this and control the person in the game. Give them a command, and they’ll do whatever you want.” He had gone on to explain each of the buttons, but all Draco had been able to think was Imperius Curse, and he hadn’t been able to enjoy it at all.
As they ate and chatted lightly, Draco tried to devise some sort of counting system to track the evening. There was significantly more touching than usual. He supposed he had given Potter permission. Draco was okay with it, even enjoying it, until he ran a finger up the palm of Draco’s left hand and up his wrist. He shuddered reflexively.
“What?”
Draco had hoped he hadn’t noticed the reaction, but it was just like Harry to be oblivious to most things, yet notice the ones someone else wanted to remain hidden. “Nothing.” He tried for a dismissive tone, but came up with defensive instead.
Once again showing that annoyingly-present-at-the-worst-times bit of reason Draco remembered from school, Harry looked from Draco’s face to his own fingers, to Draco’s inner forearm. “Oh. I know it’s there, you know. You don’t need to hide it.”
“You…know?” Draco’s brow furrowed as he tried to piece together how Potter might have heard about it. The only ones who knew were his mother, who certainly wouldn’t have told him, if she’d ever even seen him again, his Muggle landlord, and a doctor or two (and assorted personnel) from the Muggle hospital. How on earth did he know about the scar?
“Yeah.” His voice was soft. “I know it’s there. And I’d guess that by now, it’s faded in sort of the same way this has faded.” He pushed a bit of his untidy hair away from his forehead to display the almost-invisible trademark scar. Unless you knew it was there, you probably wouldn’t even see it.
Draco didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or shout. “You mean the Dark Mark?”
“Yeah, of course.” He stared at Draco, brows knitted together just a little. “I know it wasn’t your choice. I don’t hold it against you or anything. And besides, you’re not the same person you were back then, anyway.”
About that last, at least, he was correct. “It’s not what you think it is.”
Potter frowned. “What do you mean? Did it not fade? It can’t still be active…”
“Of course it’s not. It’s just that…” There was no easy way to explain this. He didn’t want to explain this.
Potter took his hand, very gently, and began to undo the buttons at his wrist. Draco wanted to protest, to pull away, but he was mute and as paralysed as he might have been under a number of spells. He just watched as the buttons were undone and the sleeve was pushed up to nearly his elbow. “Oh, Draco,” he sighed. “What happened?”
Draco’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Finally letting out a shuddering breath, he managed something. “I couldn’t stand it on me. So I tried to get rid of it.”
“You…You did this to yourself?” Potter hadn’t taken his eyes off the mass of scar tissue that covered most of Draco’s inner forearm, nearly the length and width of his hand. “When? Why?”
He closed his eyes. He could still feel Harry’s touch, one hand cradling Draco’s arm, the other holding his hand to better see the scarring, thumb in Draco’s palm. He hadn’t jerked away upon seeing it, and that was likely the only reason Draco could get an answer out. And had Potter finally called him by his first name? “Once, just after sixth year. Once, before the final battle. And then again, the last time, when I was twenty-one. That one stuck. The other two times, it came back."
“Does it hurt?”
Eyes still closed, Draco shook his head. “No. Not anymore. There are a few places that are numb, and a few more that are hypersensitive. But there’s no physical pain.”
“You hated the Mark so much you cut it off,” Harry said to himself, voice an unpleasant mixture of sadness, anger, and amazement. He ran a single finger down the length of the ugly marking.
He just nodded. He couldn’t make himself talk about the rest of the details. What it had felt like to finally be set on doing something about it. The pain involved; the horrific mess; nicking a vein; feeling so woozy from the blood loss and pain that he’d stumbled, breaking dishes on the table as he fell to the floor, concerning his landlord, who lived in the flat below and knew him to always be silent; lying there, waiting for the ambulance as the Muggle had tied a tea towel above his elbow, and thinking that losing consciousness, and maybe even his life, might be a better alternative than living with the feelings he had every day. Shame. Regret. Misery.
Of course, no one believed that he hadn’t intended to kill himself. And he couldn’t well explain the Dark Mark to any of the Muggles who said that they were concerned, nor why he’d want to get rid of it so badly. So he had listened to their pointless pep talks and hoped with everything that was still left in him that all these years later, the Mark wouldn’t come back. He’d refused to use Dittany to speed the healing or minimize the scarring. When the skin had finally healed and he detected no trace of that skull and snake, he’d literally wept with relief, feeling delirious and wholly unstable. Shortly after that, he’d tentatively stepped back into the wizarding world, looking for a job. He’d never be able to describe the anxiety of that first day back in Diagon Alley, sure all eyes were on him. Finding someone who would give him a job-any job-had been surprising. Finding a job he enjoyed that kept him out of the public eye had been nearly miraculous. It had made him almost happy.
Lifting Draco’s arm, Potter pressed his lips gently into that scar. Draco opened his eyes, both surprised and moved at the gesture. He caught Draco looking and looked back at him seriously. “I understand.”
The weird thing was, Draco thought Harry actually might. He pulled his arm back easily, staring, wondering what came next. It might only be one simple fact to anyone else, but having Harry know that the scars existed as well as what they meant changed a lot for Draco. "Do you?"
"Yes. I do. And thank you, by the way."
Confused, Draco did the two little buttons back up. "For what, exactly?" It was still hard to speak. He couldn't mean for the mutilation. That would be sick.
"For letting me see. Telling me what, and why. For trusting me," he said, looking embarrassed, yet fond. "That means a lot to me, especially after our past."
Draco nodded and tried very specifically not to think of the other thing. The sexual tension that had been slowly building, fuelled by those increasingly frequent touches, had faded. Something that was awkward and pleasant in a different way had replaced it. When he got up to leave for the evening, there was no kiss, no embrace. There was simply Harry's hand on his shoulder blade as Draco walked to the door, comfortable and warm, almost as if it belonged there. He walked to the end of the street trying to puzzle out what it all meant. Should he feel ashamed? He'd kept the entire incident a secret for so long, he wasn't sure what to feel now that someone else shared it. Was he supposed to pretend it didn't bother him anymore? Would Potter be as understanding if he continued to keep it hidden? He had no answers and went straight to bed, questions such as these still swirling around in his head. The dreams that had been fading returned that night, and when he woke the next morning, Draco was surprised to realise that he had been left with a feeling not unlike hope.
~*~
Their relationship progressed slowly, and each time they spent a few hours together, Draco felt a little more of his defences chip away. They had been seeing each other as friends for a month after the night Harry had seen the scar on his forearm, when things heated up. Harry had shown up at his flat, dressed in jeans and a navy blue shirt that had the topmost button undone. The blue made the green of his eyes even brighter than usual, and Draco was about to say so, when he saw the look on Potter's face as he opened the door.
"Malfoy." There was heat in that tone, no mistaking it.
"Potter? What are you doing here? Did we have plans tonight?" Harry shook his head, a light in his eyes dancing. He appeared to be making an effort to keep his eyes on Draco's face. Draco looked down and realized he'd come to the door without anything on below the waist besides an old pair of boxers. "Damn. Hold on." He grabbed the jeans he'd just finished washing from the back of a chair and put them on, trying not to fall over as he did so. Of course Potter would catch him in an embarrassing state. He just wasn’t used to receiving visitors.
"Oh, don't do that on my account. I was quite enjoying the view."
Draco pursed his lips in an attempt to keep a smile at bay. "I'd gathered. You're not very subtle, you know. I ask again, though: did we have plans tonight?"
"No. We didn't."
"Then why, pray tell, are you here? Not that I'm complaining," he said hastily. One of the more ridiculous things he'd discovered as their relationship or friendship or whatever it was had progressed was that he didn't like being the stimulus that caused Potter's disappointment or unhappiness. His younger self would have killed him for the realisation, putting him out of his misery in quick fashion. He'd thrived on that back at school. All those nights sneaking out, waiting to see what Harry would do that Draco could make sure he was punished for. They'd spent an awful lot of time out of bed in the late hours, sneaking around and spying on the other. Maybe he should have seen this coming after all, he thought with a smirk that escaped his control. Or maybe he'd been a stupid child and wouldn't have believed the insanity if someone had tried to enlighten him. That seemed likely.
“I just wanted to see you,” Potter said with an embarrassed grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you mind?”
Draco shook his head and opened the door wide, allowing Potter to pass. He was wearing aftershave, something he never did (as far as Draco knew, that was), and it smelled good. It reminded him of a cool autumn’s day, after rain had washed things clean. “No, not at all.”
Potter moved inside and stood around awkwardly. He’d never been past the front door before. Draco had a sudden urge to grab him by his belt, pull him close, and snog the life out of him. What on earth was in that aftershave he was wearing? Breathing deeply, he smiled at Potter’s uneasiness. It wasn’t the aftershave. It was that look Potter had given him when he’d opened the door. That, and knowing that Harry had been thinking about him enough to drop by uninvited. They’d been pretending at this ‘nothing more than friends’ thing for long enough. Three times now, Draco had thought Potter was going to make another move on him. It had never happened. Tonight, he might wait and see if the hero to the wizarding world could muster up the courage to finally do something about it.
“Did I interrupt anything?”
“No. I was just about to order in a pizza. Would you care to share?”
“Sure.” Potter surveyed the bland flat as Draco called and placed the order. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Malfoy. What is it that you do for fun?”
“Other than spend time with you?” he said cheerfully, putting down the telephone. He’d said it partially because it was true, but mostly because he knew it would make Potter blush and stammer.
True to expectation, Potter did indeed blush and stammer. “Er, well. Um. Yes, I suppose.”
"Well, other than that, fun's been in short supply lately. Would you like to suggest something?"
Potter’s face, neck, and tips of his ears turned furiously red. Draco snickered. Something had gotten into him when he’d seen the look on the other man’s face as he stood on his doorstep, and he was having a hell of a time getting rid of it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. This thing with Potter was oddly exciting. He’d had little in the way of relationships since the war. There had been plenty of short flings, nothing lasting more than a week. None of them, not one, had been anything more than a physical release, the closest thing to comfort that Draco could find. This was entirely new territory. “Er,” Harry said by way of response.
“Well-said, Potter.” He moved over to him, feeling nimble and very aware of the quick pulse in Potter’s neck, visible as he approached. "You do know there are things we could do that wouldn't require a stunning, witty rejoinder." He stood directly in front of Harry, running a finger along his exposed collarbone.
Potter leaned in with surprising speed, and Draco once again felt Harry's mouth on his. He had expected more teasing, more bantering, more self-control. As he gave in and returned the kiss, feeling Harry’s surprisingly sure mouth open, he realised how stupid the thought had been. Potter had never had much in the way of self-control. He seemed to have been bred without it, fundamentally incapable of possessing such a thing.
After a moment, the urgency lessened and Potter moved Draco back onto his own sofa, moving with a surprisingly gentle grace. His body was more toned than it looked in those clothes he wore, and Draco loved the feeling beneath his hands of those muscled arms, especially as one of them wrapped around his waist, resting on the small of his back. He broke it off after a few minutes. "That's enough."
Potter looked flustered, but not ashamed. "Alright." The husky tone, full of desire, made Draco want to rescind the comment and pull Harry back on top of him.
"So, Draco said, trying to get his racing heart back under control and find out where they stood. "More than friends?"
"Merlin willing," he replied softly, trying to get that hair of his under control. Draco could have told him it was a lost cause. He straightened the glasses on Harry's face. Harry intercepted his hand and placed a small kiss on his palm. "And you too, of course."
"Of course." The doorbell rang, and Draco remembered the pizza. He got up, having more luck straightening himself than Potter had, paid for the pizza, and set it on the table. The food could wait. Harry looked like he could not. Draco found he didn't want to make him. Could he actually have found someone with whom he not only had chemistry, but had a real relationship as well? All this, because he had walked into a lamppost? “Now, where were we?” Draco had seen the look on Potter’s face when he’d asked if they were more than friends. It had been hopeful, relieved, and blissful. As worried as Draco might be that this might blow up in his face, it seemed Potter wasn’t entirely sure about it, either. The thought put him at ease. A lingering shred of nagging doubt had dissolved when he saw that Potter had something invested in this thing as well.
“Right about here, I think,” Harry said, removing his glasses and placing them on the end table. This time he pulled Draco on top of him, smiling and looking shy. Draco smiled back down at him. Harry’s hands moved underneath the bottom hem of Draco’s worn sweater, shifting the material up just slightly. “Off with this would be nice, though.”
Draco froze. “No.” His answer was short, more clipped than he’d intended it to be. “I’d prefer not to.” All the heat, the excitement, seemed to leave the room in an instant and Draco sat back up on the sofa, scrambling off of Harry.
Potter looked at him for a moment, green eyes clouded by confusion in a way that was much different than his lost, confused looks back in Potions class. There was no glimmer of recognition or realization on his face, and Draco was grateful enough that his shoulders dipped just enough that the other man might have noticed. He wouldn’t have to acknowledge it now. If he never had to, so much the better.
That’s not true, some silky voice purred at the back of his mind. You want him to see. To remember. To realize what he did. Those thoughts surprised him. He’d thought that with everything else that had happened between them in recent months, he had buried that voice for good. Perhaps there were still things deep within him that wouldn’t be resolved so easily. Besides, Harry feeling guilt was one thing. The other side of that scenario was what Draco wanted to stay gone forever.
Draco shook his head to silence the voice. Harry saw it, of course. “You okay?”
Taking a slow breath, Draco nodded until he felt confident his voice could remain normal. “I’m fine, Potter. Enough questions. Can’t we just enjoy ourselves with our shirts on?”
“I guess. I just don’t underst-” His eyes widened, no longer hiding behind those frames, and the fiery colour drained from his face in an instant. He grabbed his glasses and shoved them onto his face. There was no doubting he’d figured out what had changed things.
Draco had gone from happy and excited to miserable in record time. Now was when things would change, then. Potter remembered. He’d dealt just fine with the other hang-up Draco had, because he hadn’t been directly involved in that one. Now that he had to confront the other ever-present reminder of what Draco had been, things were no longer so easy.
Instead of running out the door like Draco expected, Potter leaned over and pulled down the collar of the stretched-out shirt. Harry made a strangled noise in his throat and abruptly let go of the grey material.
“Yes,” Draco confirmed, throat constricting. “Still there, after all these years.”
“Oh, Malfoy. I’d forgot-I mean no, I hadn’t forgotten, but I’d thought that they’d been healed by Snape, and I’d hoped…”
He didn’t finish the thought. “Well, they haven’t,” Draco said, hearing the irritation in his own voice. “The wounds healed, but the scars remained. As a reminder forever.”
Harry hung his head. His throat worked. Any moment now, and he’d be gone.
“So now you remember. It’s been fun, Potter, this thing between us. You should be on your way.”
“Wait-”
“No. It’s for the best,” Draco told him firmly, trying to make himself believe the words issuing from his mouth. “We had a good time, but there’s no way we can keep this up for much longer without this coming up. You remember as well as I do.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“Of course you-wait, what?” That wasn’t part of the scenario Draco had been dreading, trying to fool himself into believing would never happen, telling himself that they’d gloss over it.
“I didn’t know what that curse would do when I threw it at you. The book said ‘for enemies’, and I thought that’s what we were at the time, before I was totally aware of the whole situation, and I just thought that with what happened with Katie, and the way you were always-I mean, that doesn’t excuse it, but really, Draco, I can never apologise enough for what I did.”
“You’re… upset… because you feel guilty over what happened to me in that bathroom?”
“Of course. If I could take it all back, I would. I was startled, and it was the first thing to come to mind, and I never should have used it in any case.”
Draco’s head spun. “You do remember what caused you to throw that spell my way, don’t you?”
Harry raised his head, green eyes bright and-could it be?-damp. “I told you, I was startled, and it was something of a reflex-”
“I tried to use a Cruciatus on you, Potter.”
Remarkably, Potter looked relieved. “Oh. Is that what this is-I mean, wait, what do these scars make you remember?”
He didn’t want to answer this. He actually had tried to use Dittany on these, and Madame Pomfrey and Snape had tried their own methods to remove the shiny, nearly silver markings from his pale skin. Nothing had worked. The Dark Mark, when it came down to it, had been forced on him. The Crucio that he had thrown out had not been. “The day I used an Unforgiveable on you.”
“You think you-No, Draco-“
“Don’t be so dense, Potter. I remember it, clear as day.” He frowned. Surely he’d imagined Harry using his first name this time. Why was it that he refrained from using it? Maybe it was a way to distance himself. It wouldn’t matter much anymore, anyway.
“No, Malfoy, you don’t understand.” Harry reached out and placed a hand on Draco’s knee. “Did you know I’ve uttered the same curse? Twice?” Draco shook his head, unable to believe him. Not someone as undoubtedly good as Harry Potter, even if he was lacking in judgment now and then. That would go against everything Harry stood for, wouldn’t it? “It’s true. End of fifth year, in the battle in the Department of Mysteries was the first time. Your-your aunt, she’d killed Sirius, and I was so hurt that I could barely breathe, and I threw one at her. And you know what I learned about the Unforgiveables?”
“No.”
“You have to really mean them for them to work. I hit Bellatrix, but it had almost no effect. Deep down, I didn’t mean it enough.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Draco asked quietly. Potter’s hand was still on his knee. It was a gesture of comfort, but he didn’t deserve it. It was finally going to go up in smoke. He never should have gotten his hopes up. This would be his final lesson in the matter.
“I know that you didn’t mean it, either. Even if you’d hit me first, you wouldn’t have inflicted as much damage as you think. But what I did almost killed you. For years, even after the war, I’d go to sleep at night and wake up with a start, seeing you lying in that puddle of water as those wounds opened up on your chest. There was so much blood. In every one of those dreams, Snape got there too late, and I watched you die. All because of me, because I’d lacked judgment, or compassion. What kind of hero lacks those things?”
Draco didn’t have an answer for that. “But who says I deserved them?”
“I do,” Harry whispered simply. “Can you forgive me for what I did?”
Draco wanted to yell at him, to call him a bloody moron for insisting that other people had more good in them than they probably ever did, but found the lump in his throat prevented that. He swallowed past it. “Only if you forgive me for my part.”
“Malfoy. I did that a long time ago. You know,” he said with a shaky sigh, “it might be time we forgave ourselves as well. Start anew. What do you think?”
Everything in his chest constricted in a way that made it hard to speak. “I have a question, actually.”
Harry let out a little laugh, seemingly unsure if it was an appropriate time to do so. “With all the times I pester you with questions, I suppose it’s only fair to answer one of yours. What is it?”
“Why don’t you call me Draco?”
Potter’s mouth quirked up at one end. “Because you never told me I could. I thought you didn’t want me that close. Is that not it?”
Unable to trust his voice again, Draco slowly leaned forward and kissed Harry. The kiss was tender on both their parts, full of emotions Draco had been holding onto so tightly, unable to put them into words, or share in any other way. As they sank into each other, he allowed himself to let go of some of the pain and guilt he had been storing for so long, letting it eat at him. It wasn’t going to be easy to let go of everything, but he was willing to make an attempt at learning to be happy once again. He looked into those eyes, that piercing green that had been in so many of his dreams, offering hope and redemption, and promised himself that he would try with everything he had left in him.