Draco went looking for Harry after the death of the Dark Lord, of course he did. How could he not? The boy saved his life - he suspected more than once - during the battle. His mother had tried to make him leave earlier but he had refused adamantly, and surprisingly she had understood. He was still in shock as he searched.
He strode purposefully down each corridor, checking behind each door he walked past, searching the castle systematically from top to bottom. He finally slowed to a stop on the third floor as his eyes fell upon the figure slumped against the wall next to the burnt out doorway of the Room of Requirement. Somehow he had managed to lay hands on a bottle of firewhiskey - several bottles actually, two were already discarded, empty by his feet. Draco watched silently as the Boy Who Lived took timed, mechanical gulps of firewhiskey, staring blankly at the wall opposite with empty eyes. He should be celebrating, he thought. But he clearly wasnât.
Wordlessly, he sat on the floor next to Harry, close enough for it to be seen as a comforting gesture, but not so close that it could be considered uncomfortable or intrusive. They sat like that for a while, Draco disconcerted by the fact that Harry hadnât acknowledged him at all and feeling the oppressive silence as if it weighed on his heart somehow. He was surprised at the sadness he felt for the broken boy sat next to him, he had never once thought that he would one day mourn for Harry Potter. His sadness slowly simmered into anger, raging fury at the unfairness of it all. Harry had never asked for this fate, yet he had been living his life since eleven years old, knowing that one day he would have to kill or be killed. It was sick. He glanced at the boy next to him, feeling unexpected, overwhelming compassion for him. He finally broke the silence.
âThings will get right again, you know? It wonât happen right away, itâll take work, but things will get better. Youâll be okay, Harry.â That was the first time Draco had ever called Harry by his first name out loud, if Harry was surprised he didnât show it. He didnât respond for a while - Draco didnât think he was going to at all - when he did, his voice came out harsh and cracked, and so low that Draco wasnât entirely sure that he didnât imagine it. He didnât take his eyes off the wall. âIt doesnât feel like it now.â Draco looked up at him quickly as Harry clarified. âIt doesnât feel like Iâm going to be okay, it doesnât feel like weâll ever be able to move past this.â He threw back his head suddenly and gulped down the remains of the bottle before setting it down violently. Draco was sure he felt his heart shatter at the completely hopelessness in that short statement. He doesnât understand why he did it exactly, but he shuffled closer to Harry and tentatively put his arms around the boy. Harry let him.
âWe will, you will.â Draco murmured softly, not caring in the least how sappy it sounded. Suddenly, a broken sob pushed past Harryâs lips and he buried his face in Dracoâs shoulder and began to cry bitterly.
And so Draco cradled the Boy Who Lived in his arms, rocking him with surprising tenderness as he cried for the first time in who knows how long.
