What If? - Drarry - Chapter 58: Chapter 58

Draco opened his eyes and blinked rapidly to adjust to the bright morning light streaming in through the window. The absence of Charlie's snoring disorientated him for a moment, until he remembered where he was, and smiled.
It had been three days since Draco had moved into Harry's flat, and already they were falling into a routine. While Draco had quickly reverted from the prison's schedule back into his usual habit of lying in, Harry had always been a morning person, and Draco had yet to wake up before him. Sitting up, Draco mentally prepared himself for the coldness of the world outside his duvet for a moment before he stood up, pulled on some clothes, and followed the mouthwatering smell of frying eggs and bacon to the kitchen, where Harry stood at the cooker.
"Morning," He said, leaning on the counter next to Harry.
"Hey," Replied Harry. His hair was wet and curly from the shower he'd had, and the sun shining through the kitchen window illuminated the profile of his face and the stands of his hair, painting them gold. "You want some food, I'm guessing?"
"If I ever say no to any of your cooking, I want you to shoot me," Draco laughed, trying to ignore how good Harry looked - something he was finding increasingly difficult to do the longer he shared a home with him.
Once Harry had finished cooking, they each carried a plate each to the sofa in the living room, as well as a cafetiere and milk which they placed on the floor due to the lack of a table. Like every day, Harry turned on the TV.
Television had fascinated Draco from the first time Harry had explained it to him. He'd found out that it didn't only show men running around on green fields - Harry had explained the principle of football to him, but he didn't understand the awe with which the muggle men seemed to regard it - but it also showed things like dramas, and comedy shows, and his personal favourites: documentaries. In the mornings, though, they usually watched the news. Draco didn't understand a lot of it - muggle terms were still new to him - but he liked watching the images, and was amazed that the muggles had come up with something so complex without magic.
"Sleep okay?" Draco asked absently as they watched, turning to look at Harry.
"I didn't really get much, as usual," Harry shrugged. "What about you?"
"Pretty well. I'm thinking I might start asking around for jobs today - I finished my CV yesterday, not that it had much on it that muggles look for."
"Good idea." Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly, pushing his glasses up his forehead. "Do you have any smart clothes to wear?"
"I don't know - what sort of thing does one wear for job enquiring?"
"Let's look at what you got," Harry said, standing and turning off the TV, leaving his empty plate on the sofa. "If it comes to it, you can always borrow something of mine."
Draco had unpacked everything that had been in the boxes from the Ministry, but it hadn't really changed the unfamiliar way his room looked because there was so little of it. The only additions he'd really made were clothes to the wardrobe, books to the bedside table, and a few more bits and pieces that he'd had at Hogwarts. Everything at his father's remained untouchable. Opening the wardrobe, he and Harry stood side by side, regarding the mediocre selection of tops, jeans, and robes. Harry reached for a pair of black trousers and passed them to Draco.
"Black is a good formal colour. You want people to think you look nice, but not imposing, so maybe a coloured top? Blue's pretty neutral," He rifled through the hangers and fell on a simple blue T-shirt, which he also handed to Draco. "What jackets do you have?"
"I don't know... I have these," Draco gestured to the hoodies on the top shelf. Harry shook his head.
"I have a denim one you can borrow, it'd suit you."
"Thanks."
After Draco had changed he wandered back to the living room where Harry sat, having turned the TV back on.
"Here," Harry said, passing a light blue denim jacket to Draco over the back of the sofa. Draco put it on, noticing that it carried Harry's smell as he did so - of the same cologne he'd worn since fifth year, and of coffee, and something Draco could never quite place his finger on.
"Thanks," He said, shrugging to get the coat to feel comfortable. "You got any plans today?"
"Coaching at five, but other than that no," Harry said, turning back to the TV. "I thought I might go for a walk after lunch, though. To get out of the house."
"Good idea," Draco nodded, relieved that Harry wasn't staying indoors all day, as he had yesterday. "I meant to ask - I was hoping that maybe I could watch you make dinner tonight? I need to start learning how to use muggle stuff if I'm going to live without magic for a year."
"Sure, I can teach you. It'll be fun."
"Thanks," Draco smiled. "See you soon, then?"
"Good luck. Just give them one of your dazzling smiles, you'll have a job before you can say 'Curriculum Vitae'.
"Let's hope so," Draco laughed, as he headed out the door.
0o0o
Something felt off when Draco got back, with two business cards in his pocket and the words 'I'm afraid we aren't hiring' ringing in his ears. The TV was on, and everything looked like normal except for the fact that Harry was nowhere to be seen. He wouldn't have gone out without turning the TV off - maybe he was in the bathroom? Setting Harry's jacket on one of the coat hangers next to the front door, Draco approached the sofa, and blinked. A glass had shattered on the floor in front of the sofa, water surrounding the shards in puddles and droplets invisible from his angle at the front door. Heartbeat quickening, Draco looked around, and made to check through the house when a sudden noise snapped his head in the direction of Harry's room - something between a sob and a gasp.
Draco was at the door in seconds, fumbling at the doorknob with shaking hands until he finally managed to fling it open. He barely managed to dodge the hex that flew at him in time, yelping as the flash of red light hit the wall behind him.
"Harry? Stop! It's me, it's Draco!" He yelled, raising his hands to show that he was unarmed. For the first time, he fully registered what he was seeing.
Harry was curled in the corner of his barren bedroom, clutching his knees to his chest and pointing his wand squarely at Draco's chest with a quivering hand. Tears streaked his cheeks and his eyes were red as he looked at Draco, seeming barely to recognise him. Something in Draco's subconscious jerked at the sight of the wand facing him, his instincts screaming at him to run away from the weapon. I am afraid but I am not in danger. Automatically, the words Emma had given him sounded in his mind, and he took a deep breath.
"Harry?" Draco asked again, gently. Harry's green eyes flicked up to his, and an undefinable change flitted across his face.
"Draco?" He whispered. Then, he jumped as though waking suddenly from a dream. "What's going on? How did I get-" He looked about wildly, then at his hand and the wand clutched there with shock on his face. Slowly, scared that he would alarm Harry, Draco crossed the room and knelt down in front of him, placing a hand on his arm.
"Harry, look at me," He said, firmly, and Harry's head jerked up to face his. "You had a flashback, but you're perfectly safe, okay? You're not in danger. Look around, what are you seeing?"
Harry swallowed, looking around himself. "My room."
"That's right. You're in your flat. No one's here but us." Draco wanted badly to pull Harry to himself and hold him, but he held himself back. Seeing Harry every day was hard enough - he didn't want to get any closer in case he got caught. He contented himself with squeezing Harry's arm. "Deep breaths, okay? Breathe deep and slow. You're going to be okay."
Harry shut his eyes, doing as Draco said and slowing his breathing. He wiped a shaking hand over his face.
"God, I'm so sorry," He said in a rough voice. "I was watching TV and then this scene came on with people fighting and these sounds and lights all-" he gestured at his head, forming his hand into a claw, "Got in my mind... And suddenly it was like I was fighting again and..." He caught sight of the burn on the wall where his spell had missed Draco, and covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh my God, I tried to hex you!"
"It's okay, you didn't-"
"But what if I had hit you?" Harry's breathing was becoming fast and shallow again, and he dropped his wand as though it burned him. "It doesn't matter if I meant it or not, if it had hit you, you would still have got hurt!"
Draco was carefully trying to keep his own emotions under control, but he could feel his own panic rising. He wasn't scared of Harry, but the sight of another person's flashback and fear was pushing him towards an episode of his own.
I am afraid, but I am not in danger. I am afraid, but I am not in danger.
Reaching out, Draco took Harry's face in his hands and gently brought Harry round to face him. "Look at me, Harry," he repeated. Reluctantly, he complied.
"You didn't hurt me, and even if you could have, it didn't happen so it's okay. You're safe, and so am I. Do you understand?"
He'd forgotten just how green Harry's eyes were. They made him feel drunk, and he looked away as soon as Harry had nodded his understanding, clearing his head.
"Come on," he said, standing up and offering Harry a hand. "Let's get you some water."
While Harry sat at the kitchen table, a blanket around his shoulders to ease the shivering, Draco cleaned up the broken glass and the water as well as he could without magic. Harry would have to deal with the singe marks on his bedroom wall - Draco couldn't possibly have fixed them without a wand. Then he went to sit with Harry, who was stubbornly avoiding eye contact.
"Has this happened before?" Draco asked, eventually.
Harry's jaw clenched and relaxed before he said, quietly, "Three times, not including this. But I thought they'd stopped."
"What happened the other times?"
"Ginny was there the first time. Scared the hell out of her, but she managed to calm me down. The other two times I think I lost consciousness eventually."
With a pang, Draco imagined Harry, alone and terrified, reliving the worst moments of his life as though they were happening again without a soul to help him. He realised that he knew exactly how Harry felt because the same had happened to him since he was a child.
"Do you have any calming potions?" Draco asked. Harry pointed to one of the cupboards.
"Good idea. I forgot about them."
After Harry had downed the contents of the phial Draco found, he began to look a little better. He stopped shivering, and his eyes lost the redness they'd had before.
"You okay?" Draco asked, at length.
"Bit better." Running a hand through his hair, Harry sighed. "Sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with this."
"Please don't apologise," Draco said. "Think of all the times you had to deal with me when things got rough back at Hogwarts. Really, I'm happy to repay the debt."
"I can't believe I almost hexed you," Harry persisted, sounding disgusted.
"Don't dwell on it, Harry. You didn't, that's what matters."
"It wouldn't be the first time, though, would it?" Harry said darkly. "Last time I threw a curse at you, it hit you. I promised myself I'd never cast another harmful spell in your direction again, and look," He held out his hands. "Look what I did."
Draco bit his lip, and without thinking, touched a hand to his chest where the scars from sectumsempra still stood shiny white against his skin. "That was different. You had no idea what you were doing-"
"You think that excuses what happened?" Harry cut across. "I almost killed you through my own pigheaded stupidity."
"We were both heartbroken and angry and frightened and in the middle of a war," Draco countered. "This was nothing like that time. You would never have thrown a hex at me now in your right mind - even then, you had no idea of the power behind that curse!"
And it had been a powerful curse. Unable to stop it, the memory of that awful day forced its way into Draco's mind. Crying alone in the disused bathroom, flooded with guilt from almost killing Katie Bell in an attempt to curse Dumbledore. Harry finding him, knowing exactly what he'd done and looking like he hated him for it. It hadn't taken long before Draco had thrown the first spell, but where he had missed, Harry's curse had struck true. Draco winced as he recalled the pain that had ripped through his skin as sectumsempra had sliced him open, and waking up in the hospital wing with a note stuffed under his pillow. 'Don't forgive me. This is unforgivable. Only know I'll be sorry for this every day that I live.'
"This is nothing like that time, Harry, and you know it." Draco finished, tearing himself away from the memories. He sighed. "I don't want to argue with you about it, it's pointless. I'm just glad you're alright. I've been through flashbacks too, though I've never felt like I was physically back where I was when things happened, and I know how scary they are."
Harry looked at him. "What are yours like?"
"I don't get them much anymore - therapy helped a lot. But I would suddenly start feeling all the same emotions that I had felt in a situation that caused my PTSD, as if my mind was there but my body wasn't. Sometimes it was really serious, and other times I'd just feel upset or angry or scared without any good reason. Or I'd get these intense feelings of self-loathing - that might have been the worst types."
"I get that too," Harry looked as though Draco had handed him a lifeline. "What you just said - it's exactly what's been happening to me. I thought I was just... I don't know. It's good to hear that it isn't just me."
Draco thought for a moment, and looked at the time. "Did you have lunch?"
"I don't think so," Harry raised an eyebrow at the change of subject.
"Let's make food while we talk, I'm starving and you definitely need to eat."
Caught off guard, Harry nodded and they both stood up. Harry decided to show Draco a simple recipe to ease him into the world of muggle cooking, and as he got the ingredients out, Draco resumed their conversation.
"So you thought it was just you experiencing your symptoms?" he prompted.
"Basically, yeah. I knew that people were jumpy, or had nightmares, but I didn't think that other people got it like I did."
"And you didn't ask them about it?"
"No." Harry placed a bunch of ingredients on the kitchen counter. "How much do you know about cooking?"
"Nothing. I've never cooked." Draco said, feeling a little embarrassed. Harry smirked - the first sign of a smile he'd shown since Draco had found him.
"Well, I feel privileged that you're losing your cooking virginity with me."
Turning pink, Draco let out a self-conscious laugh. "Thanks? I think?"
"Let's start," Harry said. He was already looking more like himself - Draco thought that maybe the distraction of cooking was exactly what Harry needed. "We'll just make a really simple sauce today, and we'll start by peeling and chopping two onions."
While Harry showed Draco the right way to dice an onion, Draco decided to ask a question. "How come you never asked any of your friends, or even told them, about what was happening to you?"
The knife halted mid-slice as Harry thought, and then continued to chop. "They're all so happy. They're all doing something with their lives, and they've got other things to think about. I don't want to be a burden to them."
"Surely they would want you to tell them what's going on in your life?" Draco asked.
"Maybe, but they wouldn't like what they heard." Harry used the knife to push the chopped onion into the pot he'd placed on the stove. "You try now. Start by peeling it, like I did. Chop off the top to make it easier."
As Draco attempted - with many interventions from Harry - to chop the onions, he said, "Well, now you know - you aren't alone. In fact, you'd be much more abnormal if you didn't have some form of PTSD, considering what you went through." He finished one half of the onion, and huffed out some air. "Can't we use magic? This is tiring."
"Magic doesn't allow for the same control. Anyway, you're learning to live without magic, remember?"
"Whatever," Draco pretended to be annoyed as he haphazardly began to dice the other onion half. After a moment, Harry said:
"It's relieving. To know that there's not something 'wrong' with me."
He spoke off-handedly, but Draco sensed the weight behind the words. "Now that you know, I really think you should consider seeing a therapist. They're incredibly helpful - look how much better I'm doing now compared with when you first visited me in prison!"
Harry nodded slowly. "I'll think about it. I don't know. Also, you need to cut the onions smaller than that. Take your time."
It seemed that they had finished speaking about the flashback for now, and Harry went on to show Draco how to cut up garlic and fry it with the onions before adding chopped tomatoes and herbs. Then they boiled the pasta while allowing the sauce to simmer for a while, and served up two bowls. Feeling oddly proud, Draco carried his serving to the table.
"That wasn't so hard!" Draco said happily as they sat down to eat. Harry looked at him, amused.
"I still can't believe you've never cooked before," He said. Draco swatted a hand at him.
"Oh, piss off."
0o0oHarry0o0o
Harry felt immensely better once he'd eaten something. He was still shaken, but as long as he avoided thinking about almost hitting Draco with a hex, he didn't feel too affected. What he'd have done if the spell had hit Draco, he had no idea. It scared him to even consider.
Not long after they'd eaten, Harry went to get changed into his coaching kit for Quidditch. The club had been underbooked when he'd first started volunteering, but somehow word quickly spread that Harry Potter was teaching the class - despite the fact that he was only an assistant coach - and before long, the club was the most popular in the whole area. They weren't competitive - Harry's classes were ten to eleven-year-olds: too young to be allowed to play official matches by Quidditch rules - but they still held tryouts because the class was so overprescribed, and they needed to shortlist. Harry had found his love for teaching through Dumbledore's Army in sixth year, and loved helping to teach the class, but more than that, he loved the opportunity to fly. The pitch, of course, was concealed from muggles by magic as it was in a muggle district of London, making it much easier for him to go flying after classes without a swarm of wizards and witches accosting him after practice.
Once he'd changed, he headed through to the front door to get ready to leave. Draco came out of the kitchen where he'd been washing dishes, drying his hands on a towel.
"You sure you're okay to coach? You can always take the night off if you think you need to," He said.
"I think the thing I need most right now is flying," Harry said, pulling on his boots and walking to the coat closet, where he kept his Firebolt. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"Well, If you're sure."
"Draco?" Harry added before Draco disappeared back into the kitchen.
"Hm?"
"I don't think I said before: thank you for looking after me. I really appreciate it."
Draco smiled and shrugged. "Glad I could help."
"See you in two hours, then?"
"See you."
0o0o
After the class had finished, and Harry had helped Ben, the head coach, pack away the equipment they'd used, Harry politely declined the offer of a pint at the local wizarding pub, as he did after every evening class. It was only after Ben had disapparated that Harry jumped on his Firebolt, and twisted high into the air, adrenaline pumping his veins. He warmed up for a while, diving and turning, before dropping back to the ground to retrieve a practice snitch. Giving the snitch a fifteen-second headstart each time, Harry started playing seeker's games, with time as his only opponent. When he finally returned to the ground, he was surprised to see a young, short man in smart clothes standing by the entrance to the pitch. Thinking that it might be the parent of one of the kids, Harry quickly packed away his equipment before walking over to him.
"Can I help you?" He asked.
"I was hoping you could," The man began, smiling at Harry. He held out a hand. "Rodger Whyte, at your service."
"Harry Potter," Harry shook the man's hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Mr Potter," Rodger Whyte said, "I am a representative of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch Team - a talent scout, if you will, and of course when I heard that Harry Potter was a coach, I knew that I had to find out more. I must say, Mr Potter, you are a formidable flyer! I'm guessing you're used to playing seeker?"
Harry struggled to process the torrent of words that had come from the man's mouth, and it took him a couple of seconds to answer. "Yes, I played seeker at Hogwarts for Gryffindor," He managed eventually. Rodger Whyte nodded excitedly.
"You're an excellent build for a seeker, and clearly very skilled judging by your performance just now," He flashed a set of white teeth at Harry. "On behalf of the Chudley Cannons, I'd like to invite you to tryouts - I think you could make for a valuable asset to our team. What d'you say?"
"Uh..." Harry felt a little overwhelmed. "I uh... I don't know."
"Oh, don't worry, there's no rush to decide, sir, none at all. Tell you what," Rodger Whyte reached into his jacket and produced a piece of card, "Here's my business card. We are holding our annual tryouts next Saturday, so please get in touch if you decide you'd like to come."
Taking the card, Harry nodded. "I'll certainly think about it."
"Thank you very much, Mr Potter!" The man beamed. "And please, do give it a chance, I'm sure you won't regret it!"
The man shook his hand once more, said thank you, and disapparated, leaving Harry dazedly staring at the business card in his hands.