Drarry - Baby Steps

Sixth Step.

Ron's jaw drops. "This is a joke, innit?"

"Not in the mood, actually." Harry shoots back, waiting for them to say something hurtful.

But Hermione clears her throat and leans forward: "I'm sorry. I don't quite understand. Is this the same person who watched his aunt mutilate my forearm? The same person you've hated for seven years? Who you disarmed?"

"Who you saved from the flames in the Room Of Requirement?" Ron adds ruefully.

"He is. But he also isn't." Harry's fingers start fidgeting and he tries to find the right words, "This time, there are no more sides and he's... he's making an effort, you know?"

Hermione looks into his eyes with the same expression she'd worn when he first told them he could speak to snakes. "No, and that's the problem. We don't know, Harry."

Suddenly he begins to wonder whether his friends are right in doubting Malfoy's character, and to convince himself and them of the opposite, the entire story pours out of his mouth bit by bit. How Draco rang the bell and patiently waited for the ice to break over a cuppa. How he didn't want him to leave, how he let the muggle alcohol seller be, how he sang a lullaby for Teddy out of nowhere. How they talked about death wishes, guilt and friendship over a bottle of whiskey. How Teddy had subconsciously morphed himself to look like Draco in the morning. He can't stop the words from flowing out, but frankly he doesn't want to, either. Dwelling on the memories makes him feel just a little like Draco's still there.

Yet he leaves out some details, like how Draco cast Lumos, or what he dreamt. That feels too private, even for his two closest friends. Once he's done, he almost anxiously waits for them to react.

They haven't interrupted him at all, and now their silence seems suspicious.

"He sounds very... changed." Ron finally says dryly.

"And sincere." Hermione chimes in, clutching Ron's hands, "Harry, we're so sorry we let you down."

"I'm no good alone." Harry admits, but she continues: "It shouldn't matter who was there for you, it matters that someone was. It's nice you're friends."

It matters that it was him, Harry thinks and stirs, then convinces himself to calm down, and he turns to his first friend. "Ron?"

The ginger snaps back into reality and focuses on putting on a neutral expression that doesn't betray how torn he is. "Yeah, I'm...er... glad for you, mate. I definitely didn't see that coming."

"Neither did I, trust me." Relieved that they both seem okay with the news, Harry smiles at his best friends.

Hermione beams back at him. "So, when are you going to see him again?"

The question catches Harry off guard, he scrambles to push his glasses up and mumbles: "Actually, I don't... I don't know." And he knows how stupid he must look now, first raving about how changed and supportive Draco is when they only met once without setting up a second date. A... date for hanging out as friends do, that is. He feels the urge to slap himself.

"That's fine! I didn't mean to puzzle you of course!" Hermione eagerly answers, "You look like you haven't been sleeping much, and it's quite rude of me to ask such a thing. Just... Harry, I need you to know that we - we care and we still support you no matter what."

"No matter what." Ron agrees meekly, which only creates more chaos in Harry's head.

He barely manages to force out a bleak "Thanks."

"Man, I get that we chose a bad time to come by. I'm just glad you'd still talk to us." Ron admits and smiles nervously, revealing some of the dorky companion he always used to be.

They both look at him caringly, he almost can't stand it and Hermione suggests gently: "How about we send you an owl some time? We could go to the Leaky Cauldron and just spend a few hours."

The realisation of how much he's missed them replaces his embarrassment and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "That sounds good."

"Oh, Harry." Without a warning, Hermione gets up and hugs him tightly. In her arms, his cheeks ticked by her fuzzy hair, he allows himself to relax for the first time. When she pulls back her eyes are a little watery, yet she smiles bravely. "We're all just trying to heal, aren't we?"

The lump in his throat prevents Harry from answering. As he accompanies them to the front door, he thinks of Hedwig and bites his tongue, wondering how long it'll take for him to be ready to send an owl again.

At the door, Ron hugs him too, he smells of Molly's knitting yarn and firewood, and pats his back. Neither of them has the right words, so Harry watches Hermione and Ron walk out into the street again, waving and nodding a little awkwardly.

Once they're a minute away from the apartment, they lock hands and keep walking like an ordinary muggle couple.

Unlike Draco, they don't disapparate.

Unlike Draco, Harry didn't ask them to stay.

His head hurts. In his bright, empty apartment, he prepares himself a glass of water. Then he lies down on the couch that still faintly smells of Draco's subtle cologne. Hermione was right, he desperately needs to rest.

Without really meaning to, he drifts off into a deep, long sleep.

Upon waking, he can't remember whether or not he dreamed this time. And he's thankful for it, because his last confusing dream isn't done haunting him. He pushes the thought away and looks outside, seeing nothing.

It's night again.

Somehow it doesn't bother him that he slept through an entire day, his mind simply keeps wandering back to approximately 24-hours-ago when he and Draco sat here. Unsure of what he's doing, Harry walks into his bedroom as if in trance and waits in front of his bedside drawer.

No more guilt, his own voice echoes in his head, and he repeats it to himself, slowly making a decision. At last he opens the drawer and retrieves his eleven-inch phoenix feather wand.

Like when he first held it in Ollivander's shop he feels a warmth spreading out from his fingertips. For a moment, he's an eleven year-old boy again, perhaps bullied and lied to but also hopeful. Then the weight of the past seven years seems to return and with it the shadows of everyone he and this wand failed to save. Cedric. Sirius. Tonks.

"Lumos" he whispers weakly, then louder: "Lumos!" The darkness recedes with each breath and Harry gains back control of his spiralling thoughts. Light fills the entire room and it appears to him like he just rid himself of shackles he'd been trapped in for too long.

Flooded with surprise and relief he extinguishes his wand and stores it away in his pocket, heading for the kitchen.

For the first time in a long, long while he feels ready to take some steps forward.