Drarry Oneshots (𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆)

To Dwell on Dreams

Top!Harry

Bottom!Draco

Author: flitwickslittlebrotha (on ao3)

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The Malfoys had been dealt a better hand than some, after the War. Lucius had been sent to Azkaban, yes, but Narcissa and Draco were sentenced with two years community service. No prison time. Draco had spent it volunteering at the Muggle Center in Hogsmeade. For two years his unpaid labor involved filing wand applications for squibs, charting unusual magical activity in muggle households, scheduling Hogwarts scouts to confirm the abilities of young muggleborn children, and all other business related to the frayed and tense liminal space between their world and his.

But the people were nice. Of all the things he hadn't expected, it had been for the people to be nice. But they were. Not a single one of them sneered at his pureblood features or disgraced last name. He was careful to keep his tattoo hidden, wearing long-sleeves even in the summer, but he had a feeling that his coworkers wouldn't flinch if he accidentally let it slip.

So he stayed on. He'd been working at the Center for four years now, ever since the end of his trial. And he'd been trying, really trying, to be a better version of himself. The version of himself he might have been if he hadn't been raised a Malfoy, if he hadn't surrounded himself with the children of his father's friends, if he hadn't grown up with so singular a perspective. The kind of young man he might be if he'd talked to a muggleborn at any point in the eighteen years of life before his second one started.

He tried making new friends. It wasn't easy – he was still him, after all. But slowly, he'd started mingling with those familiar faces he'd scorned for so long. When he ran into Justin Finch-Fletchey at a bar four years ago, he'd stayed for a conversation and even bought the other man a drink. When his co-worker invited him as a plus-one to The Quibbler's annual Yule Ball the following year, he'd spent a surprisingly-pleasant evening befriending Luna Lovegood. Two years ago he'd been sent the invitation directly, to the Patils' summer garden party, where he made awkward but efficient conversation with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. And for the past year he'd been a regular presence at Neville Longbottom's intimate dinner parties. Neville Longbottom, of all people.

Still, despite Draco's gradual acceptance back into the society he'd once tried to destroy, the Malfoys were subject to their fair share of vitriol. He and his mother haunted the Manor, a cold and empty place whose happiness came in fits and spurts, most often when Aunt Andromeda would visit with the grubby little Teddy. Even their presence, though, was not enough to keep the attacks at bay.

Howlers that crashed through windows with the force of their aggression. Jinxes that made the whole house shake. Hexes that poured ash through the walls. And on two very memorable and very terrifying occasions, thieves that apparated right into their dining room and trashed the place.

It was Andromeda's suggestion (and likely her influence) that brought Draco to the situation currently facing him: a room full of aurors in the great hall. His mother had politely appealed to the department for assistance, and with the persuasion and pockets of a Black, she had succeeded in securing their help. Monday morning, and a small team was gathered in the Manor, prepared to protect their house from spells and intrusions. Even the Malfoy name wasn't enough to deter them, and it was quite obvious the department had sent over some of its best witches and wizards. And a trainee. One trainee. One particular trainee.

Harry Potter was standing in his hall.

The two had... not quite made amends, per se. But they also weren't actively trying to hurt each other, either. In fact, their delicate relationship was best aided by the fact that they hadn't shared two words since the War. Not a hello. Not a how are you. Still, they had seen enough of each other. Potter was always a guest at Longbottom's dinners. And Diagon Alley only had so many taverns. Every so often their paths would cross, and they'd greet each other with a nod or a forced smile.