Chapter Text
Harry scowled at the clock above the bar. He wasn't sure if he was reading the hands right; the two pints of beer and three shots of whisky were spoiling his naturally impaired sight. Considering the slurred songs coming from the table of rugby players, it was likely past time to leave.
He threw down enough for the tab and a tip, then slid off the barstool. He wobbled a little and had to grasp the counter to get his bearings. The sharp jolt in his thigh told him that his lack of coordination hadn't been from the drinking, though the bartender gave him an apprehensive look. He'd gotten into a bit of a scrap with their suspect that day, but he didn't bother going to the infirmary. He'd gotten hit with far worse before. It was likely just a pulled muscle.
"Need me to call ya a taxi, sir?" asked the bartender as he watched Harry hobble to the door.
Harry waved a hand, not bothering to look back. "I'm fine." Walking would probably do his leg some good. "I'm walking home."
A shattering sound pulled the bartender's attention to the rugby players. Harry slipped out the door. As promised, he began to walk home.
Home.
Harry didn't really consider Grimmauld Place home. He hadn't felt at home anywhere since Hogwarts, and, after seeing so much death within those walls, he couldn't bring himself to return for his last year like Hermione. He didn't need to anyway. Kingsley had allowed anyone who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts to become an Auror – with or without scores. Becoming an Auror had seemed only right for him. He had defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time. Why wouldn't he continue?
It had been two years since the war. Things were good. Ron and Harry were Aurors, and Hermione was still fighting for house-elf rights, now from within the ministry as part of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It was everything he had wanted for them after the war.
Of course, he hadn't been expecting to be alone. Things had gotten rough between him and Ginny after her brother's death. It was understandable. Harry could still feel a pang in his chest when he went past the darkened storefront of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Not to mention she still had two years left at Hogwarts, and long-distance just hadn't been working for them - it did make things awkward when he visited the Burrow, though.
Still, it was better for them this way. At least he didn't have the same problems as many other Aurors who had to go home to their significant others and couldn't tell them anything that was going on at work – and their job was certainly the type to follow one home.
Harry was still amazed by Robards' ability to just flip a switch when his wife occasionally popped by the office as if he had no worry at all. Harry wasn't sure he would ever be able to do that.
Harry was only a block from Grimmauld when the familiar, purple neon lights touched his face. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his head forward, but his eyes slid to the building across the street.
There was a decent-sized line outside for a Thursday night. This muggle club always drew an impressive crowd, especially since it consisted only of blokes. Occasionally they'd have big events, and the line to get in would wrap around the block. Harry didn't think there were that many gay men in England, let alone just in London.
He didn't have a good gauge, though. He'd gone to muggle school up until he was eleven, and even if he had met a gay child, then he certainly didn't know it.
He also wouldn't put it past the Dursleys to have purposefully shielded him and, more importantly, their own son from any hint of that lifestyle. Hogwarts itself obviously wasn't the most diverse place. He wondered about Seamus and Dean a few times, but he always had so much going on that he couldn't ponder it for long.
No, his only real education of homosexuality was walking past this club every night. He was careful not to appear outright curious. He'd made a complete, stuttering fool of himself when one of the patrons had caught him staring and invited Harry to join him inside. After that, he made sure to make his glances fleeting and pondering as inconspicuous as possible.
There were all types of people who walked in and out of that place. Big. Small. Old. Young. Very few of them actually fit the flamboyant picture that popped in his head when he thought of a gay man. They all just looked like regular guys.
Harry would have thought it was a normal, popular club if they weren't walking into a building with a rainbow flag secured over the entrance.
Passing the club was really the most interesting part of his nights. After work, he'd shed off his robes, take a shower, dress into muggle clothes, and go to the bar until he was intoxicated enough that he hoped he'd get a good nights' rest.
It worked on occasion. He never drank enough that he couldn't find his way home, which was really what it took to knock him out. Of course, he could buy some bottles to keep at the house, but the less time at Grimmauld, the better. He had a strange feeling that the feelings were mutual.
This night was no different from all the others, although he did consider grabbing the bottle of Fire Whiskey from the kitchen to nullify the pain in his leg before going to bed. If only he didn't have work the next day. It was tough to be an Auror with a hangover.
No sooner had Harry trekked up to his bedroom - the same one he and Ron had shared once upon a time - and slumped onto his bed, then did his brain cells unanimously chant "Fuck it," and he went down to the kitchen.
They had just finished a case, after all. The next day would just be filling out the paperwork for it. He could do that under the influence of whatever headache relief potion he decided to take in the morning.
---
"Late night again?" Ron asked, the nag of concern in his voice. That concern had been slowly growing lately whenever Ron or Hermione talked to him. It was pointless, though. He was fine.
Harry pulled his head up from his desk to rest it in his palm. He looked up at Ron though his eyelids felt like lead weights, which threatened to fall back down. "Just a home remedy for a few of those bruises Knox gave me."
That was the wrong thing to say. Ron's worry doubled. "You didn't have that checked out at the infirmary."
Harry waved his hand. "Like I said, it was just a few bruises. I'm fine. It just made it a little uncomfortable to sleep."
"You know, some Arnica would fix that right up for you," said Neville, who had just gotten back to his desk.
Harry and Ron weren't the only ones who had taken up Kingsley's offer. Longbottom had probably been the most surprising addition to the office, but only if you didn't know him. In all honesty, he was just as likely to be there as Harry was, if not more so. Both of his parents had been renowned Auror's in their day, and he could have easily been the one in Harry's shoes all those years ago if Voldemort had deciphered the prophecy as referring to him instead of Harry, not to mention that he'd been instrumental in taking down Voldemort. Longbottom certainly belonged there; it didn't mean his old interests had disappeared, though.
Harry shot a hand in the direction of the plant-loving boy. "See! Who needs an infirmary when we have an herb savant right here?"
Both Ron and Neville rolled their eyes, but at least Neville was smiling.
Ron lowered himself closer to Harry, dropping his voice. "Hey, 'Mione's been pestering me to introduce you to Mary, that pretty blonde she works with. How about we take a break and go down there later?"
Harry was too uncomfortable to resist making a face. Mary was nice, but she was rather mousy for Harry's taste. There was also the fact that he didn't really feel like dating.
Ron looked ready to pop. He was so done with being gentle. Hermione kept telling him that they needed to let him figure it out for himself, but this wasn't a homework assignment or a puzzle, it was his life, and he was wasting it away on work and liquor. Ron couldn't watch his friend like this anymore. It was bad enough having to go home to see George's forced smiles or Ginny's empty room as she refuses to visit for anything but holidays anymore, too concentrated on her Quidditch career.
Just as Ron went to open his mouth, a folder landed on the desk between them. They both snapped their attention to the head of the Auror's department. "Everyone's busy on their own cases, but I've got a report of an Unforgivable Curse in a mostly muggle area."
"Mostly?" Harry asked, already standing up to secure his wand in its holster.
"There's one wizard registered in the area. My books say it's an Ex-Death Eater."
"No such thing," Harry grunted bitterly. "Just ones that were too slippery to catch the first time."
"Most of them are snakes," Ron added, pulling on his cloak.
"Here's the address," Robards handed Harry a half sheet of paper with an address scribbled on. "Apparate, it's quicker than finding the right Floo. And hurry before any muggles get hurt."
The pair didn't need to be asked twice. Harry was still pulling on his cloak when he grabbed Ron's arm and apparated. They lurched, clinging to one another's arm as they straightened out. They were in a stairwell. Harry looked down at the slip of paper Robards' had given him. It looked like an apartment - there were definitely muggles nearby. He took a mental note of the numbers (3B) and began to bound up the steps towards the third floor, muttering the room number on repeat to himself as he went.
They reached the apartment. Harry's head spun from the sudden movement – he was still thoroughly hungover. He raised a fist to knock but paused when he noticed the door was ajar. There was a loud crash from inside. Harry jumped into action, his previous fatigue falling away as adrenalin rushed him. He shoved past the door, ignoring how it slammed the wall behind it. Ron followed suit.
The sight inside caught Harry off his guard. Terry Skeres, who Harry recognized as being a Gryffindor a year above him, stood with his wand pointed at a bloodied Draco Malfoy who lay on a bed of broken glass that appeared to have once been a coffee table.
Instinct said to restrain Malfoy first. Auror training noted that Skeres was the current hostile threat and should be the one that was contained first. Harry's throbbing head refused to let him make a decision, so Ron made it for him. He threw a body-bind curse at Skeres first before tossing a rope tying jinx around Malfoy.
"ARRGH!" Skeres fell to the ground with a loud thump.
Curious mumbling in the hall called Harry's attention. He swiftly shut and silenced the front door with charms.
"Malfoy?" Ron asked, peering down at the tied up man on the ground. It was a valid question. He had changed quite a bit in just three years, and it wasn't just the blood matting his shoulder-length hair.
His face had become gaunt, sunken in from lack of nourishment. His once fair skin was now waxy white as if he hadn't let the sun touch it since Harry last saw him. It reminded Harry unsettlingly of his godfather after he had spent twelve years in Azkaban.
Malfoy hadn't gone to Azkaban, though. Harry knew that as a certainty. He had been the one to assure it. After Draco's mother, Narcissa Malfoy, had lied to Voldemort and saved him, he felt responsible for repaying the debt by speaking at their trial. His testimony had saved them and put quite a strain on several of his friendships. Nevertheless, he knew it was right, and he considered his debt paid.
"Why are you tying me up?" Malfoy snarled, struggling in his restraints. "This is my house! He's the one attacking me!"
They glanced at Skeres, who could only move his eyes. He glared at Malfoy as if he was attempting to perform a wordless, wandless Avada Kedavra.
"Yeah, right," Ron scoffed loudly. "This is a muggle apartment. There is no way in hell Draco Malfoy," he said his name like it was a horrible disease, "would ever live here."
Harry wanted to back his friend up, but he remembered what their boss had told them. "Actually, Robards said an Ex-Death Eater lived here." He cast another look at Skeres, who hadn't changed. "And I don't remember him being a Death Eater." Skeres' scathing look flicked up to Harry as if he had just insulted his whole existence.
"Why would Terry attack you?" Ron questioned.
"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" Malfoy spat. Ron took his suggestion and lifted his wand towards Skeres. "Not here, you bloody fool!" Malfoy roared. "He's trying to kill me. At least untie me so I can defend myself!"
Ron dropped his arm again, heaving a sigh as if this was a great inconvenience. Harry knew he was really just upset that Malfoy made a minimal amount of sense. He should have considered that.
Ron's stepped crunched across the broken glass before he knelt down to place a hand on Skeres. He looked up at Harry. "Want me to send someone over to help you with him?" He tilted his head towards Malfoy.
Harry shook his head, barely restraining rolling his eyes. "No, I think I can handle him."
Malfoy let out a noise of offense, but neither paid it any mind. "Tap on the two-way if you need me."
Harry gave a small grunt of assent. Ron took that as enough confirmation. He disapparated with Skeres, the usual loud snap echoing behind him.
Once they were alone, Harry brought his eyes back down to Malfoy. The moment of adrenaline had passed, and now he felt even more tired than before. He could barely keep his eyes open. "So, what did you do?"
Malfoy showed off one of his famous sneers though it didn't look as arrogant as it once had when they were children. "And why do you think I did anything?"
Harry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Please, Malfoy, it's you."
"I didn't do anything," Malfoy said in a low snarl, each word spat out like its own sentence. Harry didn't budge, only adding a raised brow to his impassive look. "Can you at least untie me so we can have a civilized conversation?"
"Not until you tell me what happened?" Harry said. He went on when he saw Malfoy's eyes flare. "How am I to know you won't just try to attack me or try to escape if I don't know what led up to all of this first?"
Malfoy's eyes fell to the metal legs of the table that once stood where he lay. "I couldn't attack you if I wanted to. You kept my family out of Azkaban."
Harry straightened. That had woken him up a bit. He assessed the young man on the ground. He looked utterly pitiful, and it wasn't just his sorry state or the restraints; it was his whole demeanor. It was like the world had kicked him when he was down, and he just never felt like getting back up again.
Harry flicked his wand.
Malfoy's arms relaxed the moment he felt the conjured ropes loosen. He started to pull them off as he sat up. A low hiss fell from his teeth. He carefully reached back to touch his back, which had several small shards embedded into his skin. Before Harry could move to help, Malfoy had pulled them out and started getting to feet, trying to avoid putting his hands on the ground as to not cut them up as well.
"Do you need a healer?" Harry asked.
Malfoy was hunched over in an uncomfortable position. He ignored Harry, eyes scanning the ground. When he spotted what he was looking for, he bent down awkwardly and picked up his wand from the debris. Harry tightened his hold on his own wand instinctively.
Malfoy didn't look at him, though. He straightened out the best he could and reached his wand back over his shoulder, a grimace crossing his face from the small contortion. He mumbled something incomprehensible. Slowly, he stood straighter, the pain fading from his features.
Harry watched with wrapped amazement. Self-healing was a tricky thing, especially when one couldn't see the actual injury. There were several healers in the Ministry's infirmary he was certain couldn't do that, although that was one of the reasons he rarely went to them - it was only after leaving Hogwarts did one realize just how great of a healer Madam Pomfrey really was.
Though his cuts and bruises quickly vanished from his body, Malfoy still didn't appear healthy. The source-less, drying blood on his face didn't help.
Harry cleared his throat, pulling Malfoy's attention back to him. "So, what happened if you didn't do anything?"
Malfoy's shoulders fell. His eyes flicked up and down Harry before he let out a sigh. "Fine, maybe I had done something."
In the blink of an eye, Harry had his wand pointed at Malfoy's face. Malfoy threw his hands up in defense. "I knew it," Harry hissed.
"Not directly!" Malfoy exclaimed. "I didn't do anything to him. I'm just the easiest person to blame."
Harry didn't lower his wand, but a frown creased his face. "Blamed for what?"
Malfoy swallowed hard. His eyes fell to the ground, his face somehow looking even more sunken in. "He said it was for his brother. I guess some of the younger students snuck back to join the fight at the Battle of Hogwarts." Harry had to re-grip his wand. The picture of Colin Creevey's small body lying in the rubble of the school still haunted his dreams some nights. "I don't even remember him."
Fury filled Harry's chest, and he barely managed to get the question out and wait for a response before he started letting curses loose. "You killed his little brother?"
Malfoy's eyes went wide with utter horror. "No!" he bellowed. "I didn't kill anyone!" His shoulders fell, and his eyes suddenly became distant as if he was no longer there but somewhere else far away that Harry couldn't see. "At least… not directly…"
"Then why-"
"Because I'm the poster boy for Death Eaters," Malfoy snapped. "If it's not the Dark Lord himself, then they picture my family and me. People are furious that I got off."
"It's been three years."
"Yeah, well, I'm guessing it's hard to forget that your loved ones are dead!"
To busy himself and fill the sudden silence, Malfoy pointed his wand at the glass shards on the ground. They began to magically mend themselves, soon forming one large glass piece that fit perfectly back on top of the metal legs.
"You're acting as if you aren't upset that he attacked you," Harry noted.
"I stopped blaming them a long time ago," Malfoy sighed. "I would do the same if someone killed my family, and one of the people who helped them is still walking around, scot-free."
"Does stuff like this happen often?"
"It's not supposed to," Malfoy snapped, turning back to him. "It's why I moved into a damn muggle apartment in the first place. I don't know how he found out where I lived."
"He could have followed you home."
"Doubtful."
"Why?"
"He wouldn't have seen me out."
"Why not? You might not have seen him." Harry was genuinely curious why Malfoy was so confident that he hadn't been followed.
Harry, himself, hadn't seen Malfoy since the trials. The wizarding world was a small place, no matter how spread out it was in distance. It was hard for one to go completely unnoticed – Harry should know.
Was Malfoy walking around under an invisibility cloak? Was that why Harry never saw him? Or was he just that good at lurking? It wouldn't surprise Harry.
"I don't leave," Malfoy finally said.
Harry tilted his head. "You haven't today?"
"Not ever, really."
Harry eyed the boy's frail body. His next question came out before he could consider how it could have been perceived. "Not even for groceries?"
"Not in some time."
"I don't remember house arrest being a part of your verdict."
"It wasn't. I'm staying by choice." Harry started to question this, but Malfoy spoke over him. "Obviously, there's a problem here because the only people who know I live here are my parents and the Ministry, and we made sure that it wouldn't be on the public record."
"What about your friends?"
Malfoy shook his head. "Pansy wouldn't tell anyone."
"What about the others?"
Malfoy scowled at him. Harry straightened and muttered, very intelligently, "Oh." He supposed an Ex-Death Eater couldn't have much of a social circle. Anyone he considered a friend once was either dead, in prison, or likely desperately disassociating with anyone that could connect them back to Voldemort.
"Clearly, someone in your ministry is giving out private information," Malfoy accused. "If people are still going to track me down and attempt to kill me, then I might as well just have stayed at the manor. At least there's some room there."
"I'll look into it."
A bitter, breathy snort came from Malfoy as he crossed his arms. He clearly didn't believe that Harry would actually help him. If someone was really giving out his information, then could Harry really blame him? He would lose faith in authority, too, in that case. Hell, he had done precisely that when Fudge was in office.
There were several people in his Ministry that Harry would have gladly testified against. Dolorous Umbridge was one of them. Sadly there had been no proof that they had broken any law nor purposefully intended to cause harm. Hermione nearly had a hernia after hearing that one. Ron swore she slept with a law book beside her for two weeks, trying to come up with a way to catch that woman. None prevailed, but Umbridge did have enough sense to skip off out of the country after that.
"I promise, I'll look into it," Harry pressed.
Malfoy slid a glare in his direction, but it quickly eased as he accessed Harry. He pursed his lips and looked away again. "I'll believe it when I see it."
Harry sighed long and hard. He forgot how obstinate the Slytherin could be. He looked around the room; nothing looked out of place as far as he could tell. "Alright, whatever. Just don't go out too much for now, okay?"
Malfoy scoffed again. "Not a problem."
A chill ran over Harry. He eyed the malnourished man. "Right." He looked over at the kitchen, which was spotless other than the yellow tea tin sitting out. He wondered if there was anything at all inside that fridge. He wondered if Malfoy even knew what a refrigerator was - it had amused Ron for nearly two weeks until Hermione scolded him for leaving it open and spiking up their utility bill.
"I guess my work here is done. Someone may come by with follow up questions later."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Lovely, more people who know my address."
"Or I will," Harry sighed.
Malfoy ignored him, silently shooing him off towards the door. Malfoy unlocked it before they got there, and Harry stumbled out. He paused at the entrance, turning back to the blond. "Well, er, goodbye."
Malfoy scowled. "Are you always this awkward when leaving a crime scene, or are you used to the damsels in distress throwing themselves at your feet as you leave? Trust me, Potter, I'm no damsel."
Harry rolled his eyes, but a knowing look lit Malfoy's eyes when Harry scrubbed the back of his hot neck. So maybe something like that was known to happen once or twice. It wasn't always women, though. People just thanked him a lot - it came with being the 'Chosen One' he supposed. "It's not always damsels," he muttered out.
Malfoy screwed up a brow. "Oh?"
Suddenly, Harry felt like he was standing outside of Allure, talking to that flirty brunette again. His face felt just as warm as it had that night. "I mean, it's not like that. People, men or women, are just grateful in general of me- Of me being there- Of help being there." Harry licked his chapped lips. "You know what, it doesn't matter. I'm going."
"Yeah, I think that's best."
Harry turned away again, but a fleeting thought popped into his head and ran out of his mouth before he could catch it. "And eat something, Malfoy."
It seemed, to Malfoy at least, that Harry hadn't thought about the words coming out of his mouth at all. The young Auror turned and walked back down the hall the way he came, a muffled snap sounding from the stairwell the moment he walked through the door.
A heavy sigh left Malfoy's mouth. Harry Potter was just as reckless and short-sighted as he had been in school. Of course, nothing would have changed for Potter. He was still the Boy Who Lived – now twice. People adored him when he walked down the streets.
It wasn't at all like that for Malfoy. No, they glared and spat at his feet. They showed up at his family home to shout obscenities at his family or sent curses in the mail. It had driven them all so mad that they abandoned their ancestral home.
Eventually, just the idea of leaving his safe, muggle hideout to go to the shop sent him spiraling into a panic. No one would expect to find Draco Malfoy there. Or at least, they didn't before. Four months, that was all the peace he could have, and they were back. They might as well just have put him in Azkaban. At least then, he didn't feel pathetic when he couldn't bring himself to break past the threshold.