When Harry and Draco found each other after the war, they were both very broken boys. They needed each other to survive, and they knew it. Both had been through their own kind of hell, and although it was never said, they knew exactly how to deal with each other's pain. They would cry together, laugh together, go out together, and miss each other terribly when they were at their own homes, in their own spaces.
It started shortly after Draco's trial, where Harry had spoken passionately about Draco and his mother saving his life, all without, they would never have been able to win the war. The Ministry owed them a debt of gratitude, not a sentence in Azkaban. The headlines to say the least, shook the wizarding world. But Harry didn't give a damn about what anyone thought. He knew in his heart that he had spoken the truth, Draco had never wanted that path. It was chosen for him, and given half the chance, he would never have taken it.
When he showed up at the Manor one day, about a week after the trial, it was Draco who opened the big doors. It was Draco who had a look of shock on his face, that his nemesis had vouched for him. It was Draco who was embarrassed that he had never written his thanks to Potter. It was Draco who was blown away by the mere fact that Potter stood on his doorstep, and not only that. He had a gift in hand.
When Harry was inside, he turned to Draco and gave him a hug, gentle but strong, and gave him the gift. I never meant to take it, he said. But it saved my life. It was Harry who kissed Draco on the cheek and told him, if he ever wanted to talk, or just sit silent with each other, he could come calling anytime. He would be waiting for his owl. With that he turned and left, hoping that Draco would do what he suggested.
Draco touching his cheek, as tears were forming in his eyes, because how long had he wanted to be noticed, to be seen by the savior. And why was Potter wasting his time on him. Didn't he have functions to attend. A girlfriend to date. The headlines to keep coming. He had kissed him, and Draco hadn't felt any discomfort. If anything he had felt warm and safe. Feelings that he hadn't had in a very long time.
Sitting through dinners with his mother, he would be silent, and she would ask what was bothering him, and he would lie and say nothing. But his mother knew better. Her son was sad, and what could she do to help. He would show her the gift that Potter had brought back to him, it was his very first wand, and she would cup his face in her hands, and tell him, maybe you should owl him your thanks. If not for the trial, then at least for your wand.
Draco would sit outside every day at the Manor, loving the gardens, because he hated being inside the cold dank halls that Voldemort had occupied. He would sit and think. He would think about sixth year, about how he had become something he had never intended to. He would think about seventh year, when Potter and the rest of the trio weren't there. He would think about their adventures. He would hate himself because he was never the one to share in them.
He would sit and drink tea with his mother every morning at ten, and he would contemplate that maybe he should owl Potter. If just to say thanks for the wand, and then be on his way. maybe just maybe, he did owe him that. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was tired, or maybe he just hated himself, and never wanted to see anyone from school ever again. He had seen some of his friends fleetingly, but nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same.
He would make his way to bed as late as possible, and would cry his heart out until morning, because all he wanted was to be loved. All he wanted was to feel. That was all he had ever wanted, and the chance to do that had been taken away from him. His pillow would be soaked by the morning, and the elves would change the linen in silence, as he sat by the window on his big leather chair. He would have nightmares that were so bad, he would wake up screaming, if he in fact did manage to fall asleep.
