On The Wings of A Dragon

11. Guilt

Harry decided not to overstep any boundaries, and would stay away from the Manor and it's occupants until he was certain he was ready to go back, no matter how many times he was summoned.  There was just one problem.  

He wanted to go back without being called or invited.  Almost as if he craved it.  Even after just one visit, he knew Draco was going to be a hard nut to crack, but he meant what he had said to his mother.  He would not rush him.  Draco had to want to do this, nobody could make him do anything.

And he was also sure that the hate Draco had said he held for him wasn't real.  Wait, that's not true.  It was still there, it just wasn't as deep as it used to be.  

He had noticed the tears in his silver blue eyes when he had shouted at him yesterday, almost as if his mouth was saying the exact opposite of what he was feeling.  

Harry was sitting on his couch, enjoying a fire whiskey, replaying the events as they had happened the previous day.  He paid particular attention to the elegant hands, and how they held his cup of tea.  How the pinkie finger would be raised, but not too high.  Just enough to let the world know that he was a snob.  Harry snorted at that.

The way his hair had become longer, with the fringe just covering his eyes.  His eyes, like liquid mercury, hadn't been so blank yesterday, as if new life had been breathed into them.  As if he had seen something beautiful and was trying his best to hold on to that memory, and he had also seen that the dark circles seemed lighter.  Not altogether gone, but not as dark as they had been before.  

The way his clothes hung off his frame, making him look almost skeletal.  Harry wondered if Draco was eating.  If Harry was allowed to visit him more often, he would see to it that he ate, even if it were tiny bits of food at first, because he knew the pains of starvation.  He knew the mental reasons behind it as well.  But the more he thought about Draco Malfoy, the more he grew angry.

He didn't want to, but dear Circe, that man was a spoiled brat.  He had the audacity to sneer at his name as if he enjoyed having a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.  Being subjected to the killing curse more than once, he wondered if Draco knew that the shape of his scar was the exact wand movement to perform the deadly curse, excuse the pun.  Probably not.  

Draco made his way back to his room after Potter had left.  He was seething, but he felt sorry for himself.  He hadn't meant to be so rude again, but hey.  He was famous for his mouth, so he let it be for now.  He took off his jacket, and went to hang it up inside his cupboard.  Just as he was closing the door, he noticed a parcel on his bed.  Frowning, he wondered what it was and how did it get here.

He sat on his bed, and picked up the wrapped box.  It was black and long, tied with a silver ribbon.  His name, also in silver was on a white card.  He undid the bow quickly, because he wanted to know what was going on, and there on green silk lay a wand.  

His old wand, the Hawthorn wand that had chosen him when he was eleven.  This was the gift that Potter had promised him.

Inside there was a note.

Dear Draco

Thank you for the use of your wand, it saved my life many times.  It is also the wand that should go down in history for ending the war.  I never did apologize for taking it from you, so consider this my official apology.  I have so much I need to apologize for, if you'll give me the chance.

Take care of yourself Draco, 

Yours

Harry Potter

He must have left it on his bed before leaving.  The idiot.  Gods, he was so confused.  He had told him he hated him, but there was no way that what he was feeling was hate.  Was it love?  No!  Was it lust?  Perhaps.  He threw himself back on his bed, wand in hand, and wept with confusion.  And that was how his mother found him hours later when she returned from her date with her friend.

He told her what had happened, and Narcissa knew that she had to step aside.  It was up to Draco now, he had to take full responsibility for what he had done.  She would not spoon feed him anymore, and the time had come for him to realize that.  "Draco, he's only trying to feel again", she said, still holding him.  

He sniffed.  He knew he was being pathetic.  "I know.  But you know that I'm spoiled, and I don't like any disruptions in my perfect life", he sighed.  

She laughed at that, and said to him, "Haha, yes I know my dragon.  But don't you think he is the perfect disruption for you?", knowing full well that her son liked Harry.  He shook himself out of her embrace, smiled and said he was going to go and see Potter when he felt better.

"There comes a time in everyone's life that names don't matter anymore Draco.  You will do well to remember that", she said with a wink.

He nodded, and knew what she meant, but it was going to be hard.  "Yes I do.  And I will try not to be an asshole about it".  

It was time to start calling him Harry.

She smiled, and said that's what I want to hear.  Leaving his room shortly after, she arranged dinner, and was filled with warmth when she saw Draco at the table to join her.  They shared a bottle of wine, and Draco told his mother that he was going to write a few letters.  It was liberating to talk to people he used to go to school with, maybe it was time he let his other friends in too.  

Friends like Pansy and Blaise.  Perhaps they also had some life changing advice to give to him, and who knew, perhaps this time he would listen, without first thinking and analyzing everything.