Archive of Our Own ^beta

Moonlight creeps in through the cracked bay window, its soft kisses against Draco’s shoulder the only reminder that all of this is real. With a heavy sigh, he runs his fingers along the inside of his forearm, closes his eyes, and waits. He hopes it won’t be long this time.

“Severus,” he whispers, eyes boring into the pale face hovering over him, a grey strand of hair falling against his cheek. “You must know that Draco--”

Severus threads his fingers with Lucius’s before squeezing his hand, in the same manner he used to touch Narcissa all those years ago, in the midst of the Dark Lord’s resurgence. “You needn’t doubt me or your son, Lucius. Draco lives, even still.”

The silence surrounding their bodies mourns and Severus closes his eyes.

“Draco, my darling, won’t you stay?”

“I understand,” Draco says as he shifts in the tufted chair, threading his fingers together beneath his lap. “Why you cannot return, mother. Nor would I ever ask you to. But I--”

“I’m afraid that it hasn’t been--”

“Six years. There are opportunities, now…” Draco trails off, eyes wandering about the room.

When Draco stands, the sunset presses against the windowpanes of his mother’s sitting room. He steps toward her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder before disapparating, leaving an unanswered ‘I love you’ in his wake.

Wind hisses against the nape of Draco’s neck, issuing its all-too-familiar warning. The air surrounding him is crisp, despite the dead leaves echoing their cries beneath his feet. Iron gates respond to his touch with a gentle creak. He swallows, hands clenched at his sides, ignoring the heavy, rapid breaths clawing at his throat for release.

The moment he steps through the threshold, he’s showered in clouds of dust from above. He ascends the stairs to his right, determined to hold his breath to keep the stench of a decade’s worth of ghosts with their metallic tongues and hollow eyes at bay. The assault holds off until he reaches the sitting room and clutches his stomach, the blush-colored quiver of his lips the sole survivor of the war.

In his state of wilderness, Draco manages to latch onto the swish that echoes up the stairs. He imagines Severus looking down at him, his lips stained a crimson red with caked ash settling into the corners, his dark, beady eyes screaming silent disappointment. He tried this time. When the door creaks open, Severus will find him hunched over in the corner of his childhood room, knees to his chest and fingers laced together, crippled with fear. His nails are manicured and perfectly rounded, but if he blinks one too many times, he can see their beds caked with blood and ash. He swallows and closes his eyes once more, concentrating on sucking all of the life from the room and into his lungs, a weighted reminder that yes, he lives, even still.

“Draco,” Severus murmurs, the monotonic edge noticeably absent from his voice. “I wasn’t expecting you back quite so… soon.”

The way Severus’s voice trails off and the way the last syllables lilt upward force a half-hearted chuckle from Draco’s throat. He coughs.

“You sound exactly like mother. Go ahead, admonish me. Lest you forget that I’m a grown man.” Draco replies harshly, rolling his eyes.

“Need I remind you, Draco,” Severus drawls, stepping toward Draco, hovering over his lithe frame. “You’re the one who… summoned me.”

“How observant, Severus. I was beginning to worry you’d lost your touch,” Draco quips, brushing a strand of his now golden blond hair behind his ear. He looks up at Severus, his eyes dark and heavy with want, skimming the surface of deeper questions he isn’t sure he wants the answer to. The last time he asked the important questions -- will you stay, do you love me, why won’t this work, can’t you just try? -- Harry blinked, twice, his bright green eyes sucking the color from Draco’s world before he disapparated. When it’s quiet, he’s still haunted by its echo.

Draco sucks in a breath at Severus’s hand on his shoulder. He shivers, cursing himself inwardly.

“How… interesting,” Severus says, his mouth turning upward at the corners.

Draco shifts his weight and nuzzles in the curve of the older man’s neck. “Stay?” Draco asks, uncertain. His shoulders tense waiting for the answer he so desperately wants Severus to give.

“Oh, Draco,” Severus begins, frustration evident in his voice. “You should know that I’ll always protect you, but I cannot offer you what you so desperately seek. What you wanted Potter to give you.”

Draco stumbles out of Severus’s touch, fists clenched at his sides, jaw clenched and gray eyes stinging with betrayal. “Merlin, you’ve a lot of nerve, Severus. Coming in my house with your robes billowing in the dust of the Dark Lord’s reign behind you and assuming that you’re the cure-all for what ails me, except, wait, you can’t be, because that was what Harry was supposed to be -- the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Saviour for us all. Especially me. How dare you. I’m not a child any longer, Severus. You can’t cheer me up with a game of hide-and-seek in mother’s rose garden. This,” he spits, gesturing wildly around the room, “is what’s left. My life in a mausoleum. Tell me, am I still my father’s son? Is there a single piece of this body left that’s mine? Or did the Dark Lord take that, too?”

Draco steps backward, heaving, brushing his fingers through his hair.

“Draco.”

“You should go,” Draco murmurs, covering his face with his palm, his laboured breaths echoing off the manor walls.

“I think not. It’s obvious that you need…”

“Oh, wait, let me guess,” Draco breathes, chuckling softly. “Help?”

Severus rolls his eyes and tugs at the collar of his robes. “Rest. Must you be so insufferable, Draco? Is it so difficult to understand why I would want to help you?”

“I know why, Severus. You made a promise to my mother, and father, if I know you as well as I think I do. I’m not an idiot.”

“A promise only holds so much weight, Draco. Especially now, in this world. The aftermath.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Draco scoffs, straightening his back against the wall, his eyes bright and challenging.

“What do you want?”

Draco sighs, exasperated.

“I want you to stay. And I dare you to tell me that this is nothing more than protection. You’ve never been a very convincing liar, Severus. It nearly cost you your life.”

“I’ve told you already, Draco. I cannot give you what Potter should have. Nor should you desire it.”

“You can’t,” Draco murmurs, stepping forward, pushing himself into Severus’s space. “But do you want to?”

Severus’s mouth is set into a hard line as he meets Draco’s eyes without a word. Moments pass between them and Draco feels as if he’s the Dark Lord’s puppet once more.

“You should rest, Draco.”

“Severus --”

“Enough.”

The chains around Draco’s ankles loosen, his heavy footsteps echo as he ascends the stairs to his room, a prisoner to his unanswered questions.

“Sleep, Draco. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“You’ll try to cure whatever it is that ails me?” Draco snaps, though his quip lacks its usual venom.

“Not quite.”

“What, then?”

“Get your rest.”

“Nox.”

Draco shifts onto his side, reveling in the way the bed dips as Severus slides in beside him. He leans into Severus’s touch, long, thin, fingers running through his golden blond hair. He feels himself drifting off, but refuses to succumb to sleep until he requests something he knows Severus will always grant.

“The spell,” Draco whispers, his lips pressed against Severus’s shoulder. “Will you?”

Severus nods, and Draco can feel the smile against his lips in the dark.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Draco sighs, losing himself in the soft glow of blue light enveloping the room. He thinks briefly of his mother, of Harry’s, before closing his eyes, a silent promise to live.