A Time to Return (H/D, G)
May. 16th, 2007 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sesheta66Title: A Time to Return
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sesheta_66
Rating: G
Word Count: 3925
Genre: Hurt/comfort, pre-slash
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco, Snape, Ron, Seamus
Challenge: A birthday fic fortwistedm who gave me the prompt of "hairbrush." My angst muse actually squeed with this, so I hope you enjoy!
Warnings: No beta. Please point out any errors you find.
Summary: Draco is in need of some help. Snape calls on Harry in a desperate attempt to bring Draco back from the darkness in which he is trapped.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. They belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: My angst muse was writing away merrily when along came my fluff muse. Caught off guard, my angst muse was overthrown at the end and fluff ensued. Exercising my rights as author, I reprimanded my fluff muse, and told my angst muse to go off and grow a backbone. Thus, this fic is a day late, because I had to tone down the fluff. Hope you like and Happy Birthday.
“Right this way, Mr. Potter,” said Snape as he guided Harry through the corridors of St. Mungo’s. Harry couldn’t explain why exactly, but he felt a sense of foreboding as he followed his former Potions professor.
He had received what he could only refer to as a desperate call from the man two days previous. Snape was at his wit’s end, and thought that Harry could help him. That alone sent up red flags. Dumbfounded that Snape would call upon him of all people, Harry had listened intently to his concern.
Malfoy, who had been missing and presumed dead for months, had recently resurfaced in a Muggle hospital of all places. Snape had apparently put out feelers in the Muggle community, not convinced that Draco was dead.
The last Harry knew of Malfoy’s whereabouts before that was on the day Narcissa had died. As punishment for not killing Dumbledore, Draco had been forced to watch as his mother had been tortured to within a few breaths of death, only to be left to linger. Draco had been kept close enough to watch her and hear her cries -- begging for death, but far enough away not to be able to help her, or even offer comfort. He had apparently watched her wither away slowly for weeks before she had finally succumbed to her injuries. Malfoy hadn’t been seen since. Until last week.
But the search wasn’t over. Snape’s dilemma now was to somehow reach Draco’s mind and bring him back. To the best of Snape’s knowledge, based on all the intelligence he was able to gather, Draco himself hadn’t been tortured -- beyond his initial punishment upon returning to Voldemort -- yet he was completely unresponsive. The Muggle doctors had no explanation beyond, “a psychological reaction to a traumatic event,” which meant that his mind had effectively shut down, except for the necessary physiological responses required to sustain life. In other words, he was a shell of a person.
The description Snape had given Harry had reminded him of the Longbottoms, and he told Snape as much. Snape, however, assured Harry that there was no sign of spell damage. Draco was in there -- they just had to bring him back. For some reason, as yet unknown to Harry, Snape seemed to think that Harry might be able to succeed where he and the Healers had failed. Not convinced, but unable to dismiss the man outright, Harry had agreed to come see for himself.
Nothing Snape had told him, nor his memories of Neville’s parents, had prepared Harry for what he was about to face.
As he entered the room, Harry actually gasped in shock. Draco was sitting in a chair, staring off into space, and didn’t react when they entered the room. More troubling that that, however, was his appearance.
Never one to carry excess weight on his frame, Draco was now almost skeletal. His skin, if it were possible, was paler now that it had been in school. It seemed almost translucent, it was so thin, and it lacked the healthy sheen that used to be there.
Harry didn’t stop to wonder how he had known instinctively what Draco’s skin had looked like before. All he knew now was that here was a man that needed help. Harry’s help. Any residual bad feelings he held for the Slytherin vanished the instant he entered that room.
Long ago he had forgiven Draco for his mistakes from their sixth year, knowing that he had felt trapped with no way out. Harry knew that he would have made different choices, but then he didn’t have Lucius Malfoy for a father. Who really knew what they’d do when placed in someone else’s position?
Harry’s feelings for the man he faced now were conflicted. He and Draco had never got on, but here was someone that was helpless, and desperately in need of help. He didn’t feel sorry for him, though. He smiled briefly at the thought that Draco would be pleased at that.
“I hardly think this is something for you to smile about,” Snape snapped at Harry. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you should just leave -- now.”
“No!” Harry argued. “No. I was just thinking that I will do everything I can to help Mal--Draco. But strange as it may sound, it’s not because I feel sorry for him. I only smiled because I thought that Draco would be pleased to know I didn’t look at him as someone who deserved pity.”
Snape eyed him warily. “Go on.”
“I want to help him because he deserves it. He is where he is because of Voldemort. Nobody deserves the kind of pain that monster inflicted. And even more than that, I am angry.”
“Angry?”
“Yes, I’m angry for him. Voldemort has ruined so many lives, and his legacy lives on, continuing to ruin even more. Draco was a vibrant and brilliant wizard. He’s worth fighting for.”
Snape looked utterly gobsmacked at Harry’s comment. “I was under the impression that you and Mr. Malfoy detested one another.” His statement held an unspoken question.
“Oh, we do,” Harry was quick to assure him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize a brilliant mind, or a worthy adversary for that matter.”
Then Snape did something completely unexpected. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and gave a brief squeeze. “It seems I may have underestimated you, Mr. Potter. There may be hope for you yet.” For some reason unknown to him, this compliment meant a great deal to Harry. He gave a nod and a hint of a smile.
“So what is it exactly that you’d like me to do?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know.”
That was unexpected, as was the look of pain behind Snape’s eyes. Harry could tell that this was very difficult for Snape -- admitting that he didn’t know what to do, feeling helpless, and going to Harry for help. Under different circumstances, Harry might have capitalized on the older man’s weakness, savouring the moment, but there was nothing to be enjoyed about the current situation.
“We’ll figure something out,” he tried to reassure Snape. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a fleeting look of relief on the face before him.
“Why did you think I could help?” Harry asked as they walked out an hour or so later.
“You have always elicited strong reactions from Draco. Good or bad, I thought that a reaction -- any reaction -- would be better than none.
Harry nodded his understanding. It made perfect sense. But it also put a lot of pressure on Harry. It seemed that once again he was the last hope. This time, however, it was by his own choice. That, at least, was something.
Harry began visiting Draco once a week, but it didn’t seem nearly enough. He got the approval from Draco’s Healer to visit twice a week, then three times, then four, and now -- six months later -- he was visiting daily. He had got into the habit of bringing his supper with him, so they ate together, Harry read him the interesting bits of the paper, brought him up to date on the goings on of those mutual acquaintances they had, and then Harry went home.
Harry longed for Draco to respond, to interject, or even to call him a stupid Gryffindor prat. But the Slytherin remained inside whatever depths of his mind were holding him hostage. Sometimes Harry wanted to shake him, but most times he just wanted to hold him. He felt his own emotions coming to the forefront, the feeling of frustration he had felt as a young boy locked in the cupboard. He had longed for human contact, someone to put their arms around him, to offer comfort. Nothing more. But he wasn’t sure how Draco would respond to that, and he wasn’t yet willing to take that chance.
Draco had made progress, Harry kept reminding himself. He had regained the weight he had lost. His skin seemed to have life running through it once more. And he had -- to Harry’s relief -- begun to respond. It wasn’t much, but when his eyes seemed to light up in recognition when Harry entered the room, it didn’t go unnoticed. He squeezed back if Harry squeezed his hand. He responded to noises, and even smells. He still wasn’t speaking, and he remained in a zombie-like state most of the time, but these small things gave him hope, made it all worthwhile.
The Healers had no real explanation for it, but they all agreed that Harry had been of help. Every day Harry longed to be able to do more. So every day his visits got a little bit longer. Visiting Draco had become so much a part of his life now that Harry didn’t even entertain notions of going out with his friends. Which is how it came to pass that Ron and Seamus staged an intervention.
“Sorry, mates, on my way out,” Harry had said.
“No you’re not,” argued Ron. “You are going to stay here and listen to us.” Seamus said nothing, but nodded his agreement with Ron. “Harry, you can’t spend the rest of your life babysitting Malfoy. He’s not getting any better.”
“That’s not true,” Harry disagreed. “He’s much better now. He’s back to the weight he was in school, give or take, and he looks much better. He’s --”
“Harry! Stop it! Give it up,” Ron said in desperation. “He hasn’t spoken yet, has he?”
“Well, no. But --”
“What are you trying to prove? What exactly are you waiting for Harry? He’s about as good as he can get. And to be honest, I see his condition as a vast improvement --”
“Ron!” Harry couldn’t believe that his best mate would say such a thing.
“It’s Malfoy, Harry. The git who gave us nothing but trouble all through school, the git who --”
“Oh, grow up, Ron, would you? Get over the past, and get the hell over yourself! This is a fellow human being we’re talking about here. And he has no one.”
“He has Snape,” Ron challenged; it appeared he was choosing to ignore Harry’s other remarks.
“And he has me,” Harry stated.
“Nobody would blame you for walking away now,” Seamus finally chimed in. “I mean, you’ve done your best, and it seems to me that you’ve helped all you can.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Seamus. I don’t feel like I’ve done everything I can. I want to do so much more. I know that I can. Sometimes I see a little spark of recognition in his eyes, and it keeps me going. I don’t know if he hears everything I say, or if he registers any of it, but I can’t just give up on him.”
“Do you hear yourself, Harry? We are talking about Malfoy here.” Ron was incredulous. “You sound like he‘s your long lost brother or something!”
“Maybe in a way he is. Or maybe something else entirely. I can’t explain it Ron; all I can do is what I feel is right. And helping Draco is the right thing to do.”
“Oh, it’s Draco now, is it?”
“Ron. I know the two of you have a history together that is based on, shall we say, mutual loathing. That doesn’t mean those feelings are forever. People grow, people change.”
“But he hasn’t grown or changed,” Ron pointed out. “He’s just become silent, which as I say, is a definite improvement.” Seamus snorted. Harry scowled.
“Thanks for dropping by, but I have an appointment. I‘ll catch up with you later.” Harry ushered them out the door and towards the Apparition point, Ron grumbling under his breath the whole way.
Harry didn’t see Ron later that day, nor a week later, nor even a month later. He had started spending most of his weekends with Draco as well, hoping that maybe something -- anything -- would finally get through to him. One Saturday, he decided to meet up with Snape at the Manor.
“Why is it you wished to come here?” Snape had asked as he greeted Harry at the door.
“I’m not exactly sure, really. I suppose I thought maybe if I brought something from his home, maybe it would bring back some memories, and help me get through to him.”
Snape looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “Mr. Pot -- Harry. You don’t have to do this any more you know.” Harry looked up at him in shock. “I have recently had a visit from Miss Granger -- er, Hermione Weasley. She tells me that you spend every free moment with Draco now, to the exclusion of all others. I have to tell you I was shocked to hear that. I knew of course that you had started visiting daily, but this is really too much. The world has lost a great wizard in Draco. Don’t let them lose you too.”
Harry tried to control his breathing. “I am not lost to the world. I am simply determined. He responds to me now, you know. He knows it’s me entering the room, even if he doesn’t say anything. There is always a brief flash of recognition when I arrive.” And a hint of sadness in those eyes when I leave, Harry thought. “I can’t abandon him. I won’t.”
“No one is asking you to abandon Draco. But don’t abandon yourself and your friends either.”
“Fine. Now may I take a look around?”
“Of course. But we did already bring in many of his things, to no benefit. He didn’t seem to recognize or respond to anything.”
“His Quidditch robes? His broomstick? Photographs?” Harry asked.
“Not those things, not any books, not his potions kit, nothing. So far, the only thing he responds to is you. And even that isn’t much.”
As Snape walked Harry around the Manor, he pointed out some things that they had taken, including a few items belonging to Lucius.
“Did you ever take him anything of Narcissa’s?”
“I do not believe so, no.”
“Well,” Harry said, feeling a compulsion to do this. “Would you show me her room, please?”
“Very well.”
Snape led Harry to Narcissa’s room. Harry looked around, seeing all sorts of things that he thought he could take with him. “Do you mind?” he asked Snape.
“Not at all. If you think it could work --”
“Well, it couldn’t harm, could it?”
“I should hope not.”
“That should do it,” said Harry as he placed the last item into a rather large box, performed a Reducto, and put it into his pocket. “Wish me luck.”
“Indeed. I am afraid that is all we have left now.”
“No it’s not. You can’t think that way. There is a way back for him; there has to be. We just haven’t found it yet.”
With that, Harry went to St. Mungo’s. When he arrived, it was to find the matron in the room with a scowling Draco. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked. The scowl softened a bit.
“You were later coming today. I think that bothered him,” she said.
Harry smiled, somehow pleased that his absence would bother Draco. “Surely you didn’t think I wasn’t coming, did you?” he asked the blonde. Draco looked in Harry’s direction, but otherwise gave no indication that he understood what Harry had said. “I promise you that if I am ever not going to visit, I will tell you first. Does that sound fair?” Draco seemed to relax a bit more, and the matron left them on their own, giving Harry a smile as she left.
Concerned for his friend -- he truly thought of Draco that way now -- Harry squeezed his hand to reassure him. “I’m not going anywhere, Draco. I promise.” Draco’s grip tightened on Harry’s hand, and he didn’t let go. They sat like that for some time before Harry broke the silence, noting that Draco’s face had softened again.
“So, I brought some stuff from the Manor for you to look at.” Harry suddenly wasn’t feeling so sure about this. Draco had already been upset at his tardiness, and now he was going to show him things from his mother. He hoped it wouldn’t be too much for him.
He faced Draco, making sure the other man was looking at him. “They are things from your mother.” No reaction. “From Narcissa.” Still nothing. He enlarged the box to its proper size again, and began removing things. One by one, he took the things out, and laid them on the dresser in Draco’s room. No reaction. Nothing.
Disappointed, but not defeated, Harry left a few hours later, promising to return that night before Draco went to bed. He explained that he had some errands to run, but that he would definitely be back.
True to his word, Harry returned after supper to find Draco sitting in the rocking chair by the window, clutching his mother’s hairbrush. The matron, seeing Harry arrive, followed him into the room. “He hasn’t let go of it since you left. We tried to take it, but he just pulled it closer. I thought you might want to know.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, and she returned to her post.
“You like your mother’s hairbrush?” Harry ventured. No response. He approached Draco and reached for the brush, and just as the matron said, Draco clutched it tighter and pulled it towards his chest. Harry reached out again. “I won’t take it away, Draco. I just want to see it.” He relaxed his grip a little. Harry proceeded to reach for the brush, and grab hold of the brush and Draco’s hand together.
“May I?” he asked Draco, not sure what response he expected. Draco looked up into his eyes. Harry was almost brought to tears at the depths he was gazing into. The expanse of Draco’s eyes seemed to bring pain to life. The grey pools echoed sadness, such that Harry hadn’t felt from the other man before.
Intrigued by Draco’s interest in the brush, Harry asked, “Is it okay if I take this out of your hand? Maybe you’d like me to brush your hair.” He didn’t know what he expected in response, but when Draco released the brush into his hand, he was rather surprised. “Did your mother brush your hair when you were little?” he asked. No answer.
Harry managed to manoeuvre Draco onto the floor in front of him, and he began to brush the blonde hair. Gradually, Draco leaned back onto Harry’s legs as he continued to brush. “Ninety-eight … ninety-nine … one hundred,” Draco said, voice barely above a whisper. He took hold of Harry’s hand, and stopped him from brushing more. Harry was stunned into silence, so used to Draco saying nothing. “Thank you,” he said to Harry, and he put his head down in Harry‘s lap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That fateful day, Draco had begun his return. Harry was there every day, and as the days turned into weeks, Draco went through a variety of emotions. It seemed, the Healers surmised, that the torture and eventual death of his mother was too much for his waking mind to handle, and it closed off. When he came out of his self-induced fog, Draco didn’t remember any of the events leading up to that day.
He remained at St. Mungo’s where they could monitor his progress as his mind began to fill in the missing time. If he had thought it strange that Harry was the one there with him, his one constant, he never said. He remembered everything from the day Snape had brought him from the Muggle hospital, but nothing from the night of Dumbledore’s death up to a few weeks after his mother’s death.
As he remembered these times, Harry was there to help him work through them. In fact, Harry stopped going home altogether, once Draco spoke that first night. As he had made to leave, Draco had said two more words. “Don‘t go.“ That was all Harry needed to hear. He took those words quite literally, and had the matron arrange for another bed to be brought into the room. Sometimes his celebrity paid off. Nobody questioned his request, and no one dared ask him to leave.
Each time Draco remembered a traumatic time, Harry held him. He wasn’t sure what made him do it the first time, but Draco had responded by wrapping his arms around Harry’s back, and just holding on, as though his life depended on it.
Weeks passed, and eventually Draco was ready to be released. He wasn’t fully recovered, they had warned Harry, but he was ready to go home.
“Home,” Harry had told him. “You get to go home.” Elated that Draco was finally well enough to be released, but saddened at the prospect of what that meant for him, Harry didn’t quite know how to react. Draco was going home. That was a good thing. And Harry could go back to his life before all this started. That was also a good thing, wasn’t it? So why did he feel so empty?
“Come with me,” Draco said to Harry, as they prepared to leave.
“Of course I’m coming with you. I’ll make sure you make it home safely, and you get settled in there.” Harry tried to keep his voice light, tried not to let on that he was falling apart inside. When had he grown so attached to the blonde? When had he become the most important person in Harry’s world? As awful as it seemed, Harry couldn’t help but wonder where this left him, now that Draco didn’t need him anymore.
“Thank you,” Draco said, and it reminded Harry of that first day he spoke. Was it that long ago? It felt like yesterday, and at the same time it felt like a lifetime ago. It had marked a new beginning for Draco, and the beginning of the end for Harry. Irritated by his own selfishness, he brushed aside his feelings, put an arm around his friend, and said, “Home.”
They made it to the Manor with little fanfare -- Snape had agreed to visit the next day, at Harry’s request -- and Draco got settled in. Harry stayed for supper, telling himself it was only so that he wouldn’t leave Draco alone too soon. Finally, around ten o’clock, he decided that he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer.
“Well, I suppose I should leave you to it then,” he said as he got up to go.
Draco met him with a quizzical look. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“But … “ Draco’s voice trailed off, and he looked confused.
“What?” Harry asked.
“I thought … I suppose … never mind.”
“What is it Draco?” Harry asked, confused.
“I just thought that your home was with me now. I had thought you would stay.”
“Oh.” Harry was stunned. Elated, but stunned.
“Never mind.” Draco looked crestfallen.
“Did you want me to stay?”
“I never imagined you wouldn’t.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Draco. I’m not asking if you expect me to stay, or even if you need me to stay. I’m asking if you want me to stay.”
“Yes.” His eyes looked into Harry’s imploringly.
“Then I’ll stay,” Harry said with a smile. He didn’t know where this would lead, but he knew one thing. He was home. Wherever they were, as long as they were together, Harry was home.
Author:
sesheta_66 Rating: G
Word Count: 3925
Genre: Hurt/comfort, pre-slash
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco, Snape, Ron, Seamus
Challenge: A birthday fic for
twistedm who gave me the prompt of "hairbrush." My angst muse actually squeed with this, so I hope you enjoy!Warnings: No beta. Please point out any errors you find.
Summary: Draco is in need of some help. Snape calls on Harry in a desperate attempt to bring Draco back from the darkness in which he is trapped.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. They belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: My angst muse was writing away merrily when along came my fluff muse. Caught off guard, my angst muse was overthrown at the end and fluff ensued. Exercising my rights as author, I reprimanded my fluff muse, and told my angst muse to go off and grow a backbone. Thus, this fic is a day late, because I had to tone down the fluff. Hope you like and Happy Birthday.
“Right this way, Mr. Potter,” said Snape as he guided Harry through the corridors of St. Mungo’s. Harry couldn’t explain why exactly, but he felt a sense of foreboding as he followed his former Potions professor.
He had received what he could only refer to as a desperate call from the man two days previous. Snape was at his wit’s end, and thought that Harry could help him. That alone sent up red flags. Dumbfounded that Snape would call upon him of all people, Harry had listened intently to his concern.
Malfoy, who had been missing and presumed dead for months, had recently resurfaced in a Muggle hospital of all places. Snape had apparently put out feelers in the Muggle community, not convinced that Draco was dead.
The last Harry knew of Malfoy’s whereabouts before that was on the day Narcissa had died. As punishment for not killing Dumbledore, Draco had been forced to watch as his mother had been tortured to within a few breaths of death, only to be left to linger. Draco had been kept close enough to watch her and hear her cries -- begging for death, but far enough away not to be able to help her, or even offer comfort. He had apparently watched her wither away slowly for weeks before she had finally succumbed to her injuries. Malfoy hadn’t been seen since. Until last week.
But the search wasn’t over. Snape’s dilemma now was to somehow reach Draco’s mind and bring him back. To the best of Snape’s knowledge, based on all the intelligence he was able to gather, Draco himself hadn’t been tortured -- beyond his initial punishment upon returning to Voldemort -- yet he was completely unresponsive. The Muggle doctors had no explanation beyond, “a psychological reaction to a traumatic event,” which meant that his mind had effectively shut down, except for the necessary physiological responses required to sustain life. In other words, he was a shell of a person.
The description Snape had given Harry had reminded him of the Longbottoms, and he told Snape as much. Snape, however, assured Harry that there was no sign of spell damage. Draco was in there -- they just had to bring him back. For some reason, as yet unknown to Harry, Snape seemed to think that Harry might be able to succeed where he and the Healers had failed. Not convinced, but unable to dismiss the man outright, Harry had agreed to come see for himself.
Nothing Snape had told him, nor his memories of Neville’s parents, had prepared Harry for what he was about to face.
As he entered the room, Harry actually gasped in shock. Draco was sitting in a chair, staring off into space, and didn’t react when they entered the room. More troubling that that, however, was his appearance.
Never one to carry excess weight on his frame, Draco was now almost skeletal. His skin, if it were possible, was paler now that it had been in school. It seemed almost translucent, it was so thin, and it lacked the healthy sheen that used to be there.
Harry didn’t stop to wonder how he had known instinctively what Draco’s skin had looked like before. All he knew now was that here was a man that needed help. Harry’s help. Any residual bad feelings he held for the Slytherin vanished the instant he entered that room.
Long ago he had forgiven Draco for his mistakes from their sixth year, knowing that he had felt trapped with no way out. Harry knew that he would have made different choices, but then he didn’t have Lucius Malfoy for a father. Who really knew what they’d do when placed in someone else’s position?
Harry’s feelings for the man he faced now were conflicted. He and Draco had never got on, but here was someone that was helpless, and desperately in need of help. He didn’t feel sorry for him, though. He smiled briefly at the thought that Draco would be pleased at that.
“I hardly think this is something for you to smile about,” Snape snapped at Harry. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you should just leave -- now.”
“No!” Harry argued. “No. I was just thinking that I will do everything I can to help Mal--Draco. But strange as it may sound, it’s not because I feel sorry for him. I only smiled because I thought that Draco would be pleased to know I didn’t look at him as someone who deserved pity.”
Snape eyed him warily. “Go on.”
“I want to help him because he deserves it. He is where he is because of Voldemort. Nobody deserves the kind of pain that monster inflicted. And even more than that, I am angry.”
“Angry?”
“Yes, I’m angry for him. Voldemort has ruined so many lives, and his legacy lives on, continuing to ruin even more. Draco was a vibrant and brilliant wizard. He’s worth fighting for.”
Snape looked utterly gobsmacked at Harry’s comment. “I was under the impression that you and Mr. Malfoy detested one another.” His statement held an unspoken question.
“Oh, we do,” Harry was quick to assure him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize a brilliant mind, or a worthy adversary for that matter.”
Then Snape did something completely unexpected. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and gave a brief squeeze. “It seems I may have underestimated you, Mr. Potter. There may be hope for you yet.” For some reason unknown to him, this compliment meant a great deal to Harry. He gave a nod and a hint of a smile.
“So what is it exactly that you’d like me to do?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know.”
That was unexpected, as was the look of pain behind Snape’s eyes. Harry could tell that this was very difficult for Snape -- admitting that he didn’t know what to do, feeling helpless, and going to Harry for help. Under different circumstances, Harry might have capitalized on the older man’s weakness, savouring the moment, but there was nothing to be enjoyed about the current situation.
“We’ll figure something out,” he tried to reassure Snape. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a fleeting look of relief on the face before him.
“Why did you think I could help?” Harry asked as they walked out an hour or so later.
“You have always elicited strong reactions from Draco. Good or bad, I thought that a reaction -- any reaction -- would be better than none.
Harry nodded his understanding. It made perfect sense. But it also put a lot of pressure on Harry. It seemed that once again he was the last hope. This time, however, it was by his own choice. That, at least, was something.
Harry began visiting Draco once a week, but it didn’t seem nearly enough. He got the approval from Draco’s Healer to visit twice a week, then three times, then four, and now -- six months later -- he was visiting daily. He had got into the habit of bringing his supper with him, so they ate together, Harry read him the interesting bits of the paper, brought him up to date on the goings on of those mutual acquaintances they had, and then Harry went home.
Harry longed for Draco to respond, to interject, or even to call him a stupid Gryffindor prat. But the Slytherin remained inside whatever depths of his mind were holding him hostage. Sometimes Harry wanted to shake him, but most times he just wanted to hold him. He felt his own emotions coming to the forefront, the feeling of frustration he had felt as a young boy locked in the cupboard. He had longed for human contact, someone to put their arms around him, to offer comfort. Nothing more. But he wasn’t sure how Draco would respond to that, and he wasn’t yet willing to take that chance.
Draco had made progress, Harry kept reminding himself. He had regained the weight he had lost. His skin seemed to have life running through it once more. And he had -- to Harry’s relief -- begun to respond. It wasn’t much, but when his eyes seemed to light up in recognition when Harry entered the room, it didn’t go unnoticed. He squeezed back if Harry squeezed his hand. He responded to noises, and even smells. He still wasn’t speaking, and he remained in a zombie-like state most of the time, but these small things gave him hope, made it all worthwhile.
The Healers had no real explanation for it, but they all agreed that Harry had been of help. Every day Harry longed to be able to do more. So every day his visits got a little bit longer. Visiting Draco had become so much a part of his life now that Harry didn’t even entertain notions of going out with his friends. Which is how it came to pass that Ron and Seamus staged an intervention.
“Sorry, mates, on my way out,” Harry had said.
“No you’re not,” argued Ron. “You are going to stay here and listen to us.” Seamus said nothing, but nodded his agreement with Ron. “Harry, you can’t spend the rest of your life babysitting Malfoy. He’s not getting any better.”
“That’s not true,” Harry disagreed. “He’s much better now. He’s back to the weight he was in school, give or take, and he looks much better. He’s --”
“Harry! Stop it! Give it up,” Ron said in desperation. “He hasn’t spoken yet, has he?”
“Well, no. But --”
“What are you trying to prove? What exactly are you waiting for Harry? He’s about as good as he can get. And to be honest, I see his condition as a vast improvement --”
“Ron!” Harry couldn’t believe that his best mate would say such a thing.
“It’s Malfoy, Harry. The git who gave us nothing but trouble all through school, the git who --”
“Oh, grow up, Ron, would you? Get over the past, and get the hell over yourself! This is a fellow human being we’re talking about here. And he has no one.”
“He has Snape,” Ron challenged; it appeared he was choosing to ignore Harry’s other remarks.
“And he has me,” Harry stated.
“Nobody would blame you for walking away now,” Seamus finally chimed in. “I mean, you’ve done your best, and it seems to me that you’ve helped all you can.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Seamus. I don’t feel like I’ve done everything I can. I want to do so much more. I know that I can. Sometimes I see a little spark of recognition in his eyes, and it keeps me going. I don’t know if he hears everything I say, or if he registers any of it, but I can’t just give up on him.”
“Do you hear yourself, Harry? We are talking about Malfoy here.” Ron was incredulous. “You sound like he‘s your long lost brother or something!”
“Maybe in a way he is. Or maybe something else entirely. I can’t explain it Ron; all I can do is what I feel is right. And helping Draco is the right thing to do.”
“Oh, it’s Draco now, is it?”
“Ron. I know the two of you have a history together that is based on, shall we say, mutual loathing. That doesn’t mean those feelings are forever. People grow, people change.”
“But he hasn’t grown or changed,” Ron pointed out. “He’s just become silent, which as I say, is a definite improvement.” Seamus snorted. Harry scowled.
“Thanks for dropping by, but I have an appointment. I‘ll catch up with you later.” Harry ushered them out the door and towards the Apparition point, Ron grumbling under his breath the whole way.
Harry didn’t see Ron later that day, nor a week later, nor even a month later. He had started spending most of his weekends with Draco as well, hoping that maybe something -- anything -- would finally get through to him. One Saturday, he decided to meet up with Snape at the Manor.
“Why is it you wished to come here?” Snape had asked as he greeted Harry at the door.
“I’m not exactly sure, really. I suppose I thought maybe if I brought something from his home, maybe it would bring back some memories, and help me get through to him.”
Snape looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “Mr. Pot -- Harry. You don’t have to do this any more you know.” Harry looked up at him in shock. “I have recently had a visit from Miss Granger -- er, Hermione Weasley. She tells me that you spend every free moment with Draco now, to the exclusion of all others. I have to tell you I was shocked to hear that. I knew of course that you had started visiting daily, but this is really too much. The world has lost a great wizard in Draco. Don’t let them lose you too.”
Harry tried to control his breathing. “I am not lost to the world. I am simply determined. He responds to me now, you know. He knows it’s me entering the room, even if he doesn’t say anything. There is always a brief flash of recognition when I arrive.” And a hint of sadness in those eyes when I leave, Harry thought. “I can’t abandon him. I won’t.”
“No one is asking you to abandon Draco. But don’t abandon yourself and your friends either.”
“Fine. Now may I take a look around?”
“Of course. But we did already bring in many of his things, to no benefit. He didn’t seem to recognize or respond to anything.”
“His Quidditch robes? His broomstick? Photographs?” Harry asked.
“Not those things, not any books, not his potions kit, nothing. So far, the only thing he responds to is you. And even that isn’t much.”
As Snape walked Harry around the Manor, he pointed out some things that they had taken, including a few items belonging to Lucius.
“Did you ever take him anything of Narcissa’s?”
“I do not believe so, no.”
“Well,” Harry said, feeling a compulsion to do this. “Would you show me her room, please?”
“Very well.”
Snape led Harry to Narcissa’s room. Harry looked around, seeing all sorts of things that he thought he could take with him. “Do you mind?” he asked Snape.
“Not at all. If you think it could work --”
“Well, it couldn’t harm, could it?”
“I should hope not.”
“That should do it,” said Harry as he placed the last item into a rather large box, performed a Reducto, and put it into his pocket. “Wish me luck.”
“Indeed. I am afraid that is all we have left now.”
“No it’s not. You can’t think that way. There is a way back for him; there has to be. We just haven’t found it yet.”
With that, Harry went to St. Mungo’s. When he arrived, it was to find the matron in the room with a scowling Draco. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked. The scowl softened a bit.
“You were later coming today. I think that bothered him,” she said.
Harry smiled, somehow pleased that his absence would bother Draco. “Surely you didn’t think I wasn’t coming, did you?” he asked the blonde. Draco looked in Harry’s direction, but otherwise gave no indication that he understood what Harry had said. “I promise you that if I am ever not going to visit, I will tell you first. Does that sound fair?” Draco seemed to relax a bit more, and the matron left them on their own, giving Harry a smile as she left.
Concerned for his friend -- he truly thought of Draco that way now -- Harry squeezed his hand to reassure him. “I’m not going anywhere, Draco. I promise.” Draco’s grip tightened on Harry’s hand, and he didn’t let go. They sat like that for some time before Harry broke the silence, noting that Draco’s face had softened again.
“So, I brought some stuff from the Manor for you to look at.” Harry suddenly wasn’t feeling so sure about this. Draco had already been upset at his tardiness, and now he was going to show him things from his mother. He hoped it wouldn’t be too much for him.
He faced Draco, making sure the other man was looking at him. “They are things from your mother.” No reaction. “From Narcissa.” Still nothing. He enlarged the box to its proper size again, and began removing things. One by one, he took the things out, and laid them on the dresser in Draco’s room. No reaction. Nothing.
Disappointed, but not defeated, Harry left a few hours later, promising to return that night before Draco went to bed. He explained that he had some errands to run, but that he would definitely be back.
True to his word, Harry returned after supper to find Draco sitting in the rocking chair by the window, clutching his mother’s hairbrush. The matron, seeing Harry arrive, followed him into the room. “He hasn’t let go of it since you left. We tried to take it, but he just pulled it closer. I thought you might want to know.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, and she returned to her post.
“You like your mother’s hairbrush?” Harry ventured. No response. He approached Draco and reached for the brush, and just as the matron said, Draco clutched it tighter and pulled it towards his chest. Harry reached out again. “I won’t take it away, Draco. I just want to see it.” He relaxed his grip a little. Harry proceeded to reach for the brush, and grab hold of the brush and Draco’s hand together.
“May I?” he asked Draco, not sure what response he expected. Draco looked up into his eyes. Harry was almost brought to tears at the depths he was gazing into. The expanse of Draco’s eyes seemed to bring pain to life. The grey pools echoed sadness, such that Harry hadn’t felt from the other man before.
Intrigued by Draco’s interest in the brush, Harry asked, “Is it okay if I take this out of your hand? Maybe you’d like me to brush your hair.” He didn’t know what he expected in response, but when Draco released the brush into his hand, he was rather surprised. “Did your mother brush your hair when you were little?” he asked. No answer.
Harry managed to manoeuvre Draco onto the floor in front of him, and he began to brush the blonde hair. Gradually, Draco leaned back onto Harry’s legs as he continued to brush. “Ninety-eight … ninety-nine … one hundred,” Draco said, voice barely above a whisper. He took hold of Harry’s hand, and stopped him from brushing more. Harry was stunned into silence, so used to Draco saying nothing. “Thank you,” he said to Harry, and he put his head down in Harry‘s lap.
That fateful day, Draco had begun his return. Harry was there every day, and as the days turned into weeks, Draco went through a variety of emotions. It seemed, the Healers surmised, that the torture and eventual death of his mother was too much for his waking mind to handle, and it closed off. When he came out of his self-induced fog, Draco didn’t remember any of the events leading up to that day.
He remained at St. Mungo’s where they could monitor his progress as his mind began to fill in the missing time. If he had thought it strange that Harry was the one there with him, his one constant, he never said. He remembered everything from the day Snape had brought him from the Muggle hospital, but nothing from the night of Dumbledore’s death up to a few weeks after his mother’s death.
As he remembered these times, Harry was there to help him work through them. In fact, Harry stopped going home altogether, once Draco spoke that first night. As he had made to leave, Draco had said two more words. “Don‘t go.“ That was all Harry needed to hear. He took those words quite literally, and had the matron arrange for another bed to be brought into the room. Sometimes his celebrity paid off. Nobody questioned his request, and no one dared ask him to leave.
Each time Draco remembered a traumatic time, Harry held him. He wasn’t sure what made him do it the first time, but Draco had responded by wrapping his arms around Harry’s back, and just holding on, as though his life depended on it.
Weeks passed, and eventually Draco was ready to be released. He wasn’t fully recovered, they had warned Harry, but he was ready to go home.
“Home,” Harry had told him. “You get to go home.” Elated that Draco was finally well enough to be released, but saddened at the prospect of what that meant for him, Harry didn’t quite know how to react. Draco was going home. That was a good thing. And Harry could go back to his life before all this started. That was also a good thing, wasn’t it? So why did he feel so empty?
“Come with me,” Draco said to Harry, as they prepared to leave.
“Of course I’m coming with you. I’ll make sure you make it home safely, and you get settled in there.” Harry tried to keep his voice light, tried not to let on that he was falling apart inside. When had he grown so attached to the blonde? When had he become the most important person in Harry’s world? As awful as it seemed, Harry couldn’t help but wonder where this left him, now that Draco didn’t need him anymore.
“Thank you,” Draco said, and it reminded Harry of that first day he spoke. Was it that long ago? It felt like yesterday, and at the same time it felt like a lifetime ago. It had marked a new beginning for Draco, and the beginning of the end for Harry. Irritated by his own selfishness, he brushed aside his feelings, put an arm around his friend, and said, “Home.”
They made it to the Manor with little fanfare -- Snape had agreed to visit the next day, at Harry’s request -- and Draco got settled in. Harry stayed for supper, telling himself it was only so that he wouldn’t leave Draco alone too soon. Finally, around ten o’clock, he decided that he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer.
“Well, I suppose I should leave you to it then,” he said as he got up to go.
Draco met him with a quizzical look. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“But … “ Draco’s voice trailed off, and he looked confused.
“What?” Harry asked.
“I thought … I suppose … never mind.”
“What is it Draco?” Harry asked, confused.
“I just thought that your home was with me now. I had thought you would stay.”
“Oh.” Harry was stunned. Elated, but stunned.
“Never mind.” Draco looked crestfallen.
“Did you want me to stay?”
“I never imagined you wouldn’t.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Draco. I’m not asking if you expect me to stay, or even if you need me to stay. I’m asking if you want me to stay.”
“Yes.” His eyes looked into Harry’s imploringly.
“Then I’ll stay,” Harry said with a smile. He didn’t know where this would lead, but he knew one thing. He was home. Wherever they were, as long as they were together, Harry was home.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2007-05-16 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-16 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-16 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-16 11:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-16 11:30 pm (UTC)It would be interesting to see how Harry's friends react to the new situation. They did not seem supportive at all and would probably try to sabotage their relationship.
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Date: 2007-05-16 11:42 pm (UTC)I wouldn't worry about Harry's friends. They were not so much unsupportive as they were concerned for Harry. He had completely isolated himself (because of his determination, compassion, and his growing feelings for Draco). Once Harry 'comes back,' I think they'll see that it was just Harry being Harry ...
Well, maybe not Ron ... ;)
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Date: 2007-05-16 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-16 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 01:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 01:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 02:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 04:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 04:21 am (UTC)Glad you liked it. Thanks for reading & commenting.
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Date: 2007-05-17 04:31 am (UTC)harry's determination was amazing, and he was soo devoted.
beautiful.
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Date: 2007-05-17 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 04:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 04:47 am (UTC)BTW, were you ever able to get the friends groups to work?
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Date: 2007-05-17 06:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 06:28 am (UTC)Thanks ... glad you enjoyed it.
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Date: 2007-05-17 06:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 09:41 am (UTC)And the hair-brushing was so sweet and heartbreaking at the same time...
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Date: 2007-05-17 09:23 pm (UTC)for MEEEEEEE!!!!!!
*deep breath*
you really wrote a fic for MEEE!!!!
*second deep breath*
ok, i'm calmer now. i loved this. the slow build, the way you used the prompt (i KNEW i wanted to give you a really open-ended prompt), the post-war situation, the suggestion of things to come, the Harry who barrels in, everyone else be damned, the Malfoy redeemed...
this was a totally excellent birthday present. thank you so much!!
Re: for MEEEEEEE!!!!!!
Date: 2007-05-17 09:25 pm (UTC)I am sooooo glad you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it too. Hope you had a great birthday. :o)
Re: for MEEEEEEE!!!!!!
Date: 2007-05-31 01:14 pm (UTC)Re: for MEEEEEEE!!!!!!
Date: 2007-05-31 09:50 pm (UTC)Thanks. I'm so glad. I always want the birthday fics to be something special & in line with what the person wants/likes.
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Date: 2007-05-17 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-17 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 08:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 09:33 pm (UTC)So ... speaking of beautiful *points to icon* *drools*
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Date: 2007-05-20 12:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-20 01:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 02:06 pm (UTC)Thanks Rehsi.
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Date: 2007-05-18 09:36 pm (UTC)All this - from a hairbrush.
I can't explain it ... the whole story just came to me.
Think you shaved the fluff down to just the right prickly stubble.
Thanks - I still wanted a hopeful ending, but not to fluffy. :o)
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Date: 2007-05-18 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 06:24 pm (UTC)♥
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Date: 2007-05-18 09:38 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you enjoyed it. And very glad it evoked such emotions. I really enjoyed writing it, and it's so rewarding when others "feel" it too. Thanks ♥
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Date: 2008-02-25 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:44 pm (UTC)Normally my angst muse can stick up for herself, but this time ... ah, well. I really wanted a hopeful ending too. I'm glad you enjoyed it. :o)
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Date: 2010-08-05 03:27 pm (UTC)I started to lurk around your LJ a couple of days ago though and loved your fics. Original and amusing :D <3
This will be one of my fave fics I think, its just brilliant and made my heart ache for Draco and my lips quiver ^^" <3