Chérie, parchments and quills

Curative company

: Curative companyNotes:

Just a heads up my dear readers - this chapter is 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 long.
I had a hard time with this one, but I hope you enjoy it.
I would really appreciate it if you would let me know what you think in the comments.
♥♥♥

Chapter Text

Once the unpleasant and disconcerting sensations of apparition had passed, and their feet had firmly reconnected with solid ground, Harry felt Draco's warm body abruptly leave his hold. The man looked confused – possibly angry, as he surveyed his new surroundings through tear blurred eyes.

"Where the fuck have you taken me Potter?" Draco snapped, but the hoarse and croaked words lacked the normal bite that Draco would have imployed, had his emotions not been dug up so forcefully. He wiped his puffy red eyes on the back of his hand, angry and humiliated, and sniffled loudly.

"My place." Harry gestured, half-heartedly, at his living room in Grimmauld Place: Low white panelling sat below the towering Aegean-blue walls; the double armed Victorian wall sconces, gave light where the floor to ceiling windows – dressed with dark azure curtains, failed; the three dark-blue chesterfield sofa's – with various pillows and throws, sat a-top the Moroccan trellis carpet, in front of a stunning white marbled fireplace. "You can't disapparate within Hogwarts grounds..." Harry continued. "...Or I'd have taken you back to your private chambers, and I didn't think you'd want the students gossiping either."

"Bet you love this Potter." Draco sniffled loudly, trying to pull himself together quickly.

Harry could almost hear Draco chanting – 'A Malfoy must remain poised and in control at all times. A Malfoy must never be weak.' But the real voice that broke through his thoughts was still angry and snipping at him.

"Do you get off on playing the bloody hero and-"

"Enough!" Harry shouted, knowing Draco's reaction only too well – having personally reacted the same way many times in the past; Draco was angry and humiliated, and snapping insults because it was better to be angry and hated then to face painful emotions. "Of course I don't bloody enjoy this! I'm trying to help. The last time I checked Draco, that's what friends do."

"I'm touched by your solicitude Potter. If your idea of friendship is kidnapping, then I think you need your head examined." Draco practically screamed.

It was obvious that the unexpected apparition had snapped Draco from his temporary state of defeat, but the failed attempts the blond made to reel in his tears and pull himself together, belied his anger. Harry could see beyond that angry façade, beyond the new mask Draco was now wearing, and he saw self-hatred, pain, grief, and hatred at an unfair world.

"I figured you wouldn't want anyone to see – to see you like that. That you might have appreciated someone to talk to that would understand!"

"You understand nothing Potter. You've never done anything wrong in your life. You weren't there. You weren't- You didn't see what HE did, what he made ME do! You have no idea what it's like-"

"No." Harry's voice started sombre - his eyes cold as he stared into shocked grey ones, but it grew louder and angrier the more words spilled from his lips. "No of course not Draco, because I didn't carry a part of him, of his soul in my fucking head for nearly seventeen years. I didn't wake up puking my guts out every time I watched him murder or torture someone through his eyes, and I didn't watch him kill my mother over and over again in my dreams because of them fucking Dementors! No of course not Draco, of course I have no fucking idea!"