Where The Sun Drops | drarry post-war

seven | blaise

Draco still had Apparition powers, of sorts, but they didn't function quite as they used to in life, so he was still several minutes behind his friends on arriving to Blaise's place.

The quiet London flat was one he'd seen only once before, though looking at it now he wondered why he hadn't spent more time there, as it had a very peaceful atmosphere.

It was relatively dark inside, only a couple of soft lamps burned in the bedroom, and from what Draco could hear, Blaise appeared to be encouraging their friend to shower and change while he cooked her a proper meal. Being Pansy, though, of course she was resisting.

"What, you don't think I look nice?" she asked teasingly, posing in a seductive manner that made Blaise turn his head away respectfully.

"Of course I do," he muttered, "But you need to wear something that isn't party dresses for once. I keep pyjamas in your size here for a reason, Pans."

"But I'm still thinking I'd like to go out -" she began to protest, but he silenced her with a look. He was good at that; had rather commanding eyes.

"What did I just say?" he asked, though Draco detected no irritation in his voice, only compassion. "We're going to look after you, you've been burning out again. And I know why you do it, but there are other ways to cope."

"What, like crying in the bath about it?" Pansy sneered.

"Actually, yes," Blaise told her seriously. "Our best friend fucking died four months ago, Pansy, and since that day you've done nothing but self destruct, chasing any thrill you can get. And I've hardly seen you shed a tear."

Pansy's eyes did well up then, shining slightly in the dark. "Theo doesn't cry, either," she protested, but her voice was weak and frail.

"He does," Blaise insisted, "And at least he's taking care of himself at the moment. He's found Melody, and he's got that great job, and he keeps himself busy in a good way. But taking care also means finding the time to deal with your grief head-on."

"I can't," Pansy whispered, looking up at Blaise through soft dark lashes, "If I start.... I'm terrified I'll never stop."

"You know what, Pans?" Blaise said, his solemn eyes soft with love and concern, "I cry all the fucking time for him. And sometimes it's exactly what I need to do. So cry your heart out, little bee, I'll stop you if you need me to. You're safe here."

Draco wished his body was capable of tears in death. How terrible to be so full of this pain, his and everyone else's, and yet unable to find any release for it.

As Pansy folded into Blaise's arms and wept on his chest for what seemed to be a very long time, the ghost of the boy she cried for watched in agony outside the window, wishing they could see him and stop this torment.

"I'm here!" he tried to scream out, "Stop mourning me, I'm still around!"

But it was no fucking use, and seemed like the most unfair thing in the world. How come bloody Potter of all people could see him, but the ones he really loved couldn't?

After a while, Blaise disentangled himself and walked to another room, from which the sound of running water quickly filtered. When he returned, in the most brotherly and caring display of love Draco had ever seen, Blaise helped Pansy undress, averting his eyes politely before wrapping her in a soft dressing gown from his wardrobe, which was monogrammed with the initials "P.O.P" - Pansy Ottilia Parkinson.

"Let's get you warmed up, poppet," he said, with a softness that broke Draco's unbeating heart.

***

The ghost took some time to himself then, completely unwilling to intrude on his friend bathing and too full of grief to sit still for any prolonged amount of time anywhere else. After circling the dark clouds above the flat a few times, though, he didn't feel much better, and knew he had to leave his friends to it.

Life goes on, he thought, not for me, but it does. I'm glad Pansy has Blaise. She's in safe hands.

A familiar, stronger urge was pulling him by his core again, that magnetism that he hated to admit was there. The pull that lead him to The Laurels, the house he hated so much with those swallows under its eaves. The pull that lead him to Harry Potter.

***

Potter's face lit up when he saw Draco, a delight and relief that instantly made the ghost hate him.

"Dra- Malfoy, hi!" the boy gasped, running an awkward hand over his unruly hair, "I wasn't expecting to see you again! I was beginning to think maybe I really had dreamed you-"

"Good dream, was it?" Draco interjected sharply.

Harry looked up at him, surprised at the harshness of his tone. "It wasn't bad," he said uncertainly.

He cleared his throat. "Look, Malfoy, I've been thinking about what you said when I last saw you, about how I should've thanked you. And you're right, and I'm truly very s-"

"Have you always looked like that?" Draco interrupted rudely, pulling a disgusted expression while slowly looking Potter up and down. "Or did you just take one too many beatings from your obese troll of a Muggle cousin?"

"Draco, I'm trying to apologise!" Potter snapped, folding his arms defensively across his body. "But if you must know, I am aware I look rough recently. I'm under a lot of pressures that you wouldn't understand. Alright?"

"Oh, I wouldn't understand?" Draco mocked him with furious narrowed eyes. "Is that because you're soooo complicated and interesting and busy, or is it because I'm fucking dead and I don't know about living stuff any more?"

"Obviously none of those things," Potter sighed, tugging anxiously at his hair.

Good, a reaction, Draco thought with malicious glee.

"You're right, I should've thanked you," the boy continued tiredly. "I didn't appreciate it last time I saw you because I was so overwhelmed. But - in case you're real, and not a hallucination - I admit that I really should've been more grateful."

"Yeah, you should have," responded Draco airily. "And I'm going to make you really wish you did."

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a/n: thanks for reading this, hope you're all enjoying! vote and lmk any thoughts in the comments 💗

~ paradisedraco