𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Author: mizbean

Title: Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Draco/Blaise, a slight nod to Snape/Draco and another pairing I'll keep a secret.

Summary: Who did Harry Potter think he was: my knight in shining armor?

Rating: R

Warning(s): None

Epilogue compliant? If you squint. Most of this fic takes place in the years immediately following DH.

Word Count: 7,600

The ghost of Severus Snape walks in my dreams. He is the product of my nightmares and the hope I sometimes cling to in the first hours of morning. The hope that someday I'll find peace.

::

Some stories start at birth, or like Harry's as a baby left on a doorstep in Little Whinging. Mine starts here in Malfoy Manor, exactly thirty days after the end of the war.

I was eighteen years old and my father was standing in shackles in our front hall. I had the mad idea I could save him.

Thank God my mother was there to stop me.

She took hold of my chin and forced me to look at her. There were tears streaming down her face. "Now is not the time, Draco. You understand me?"

My mother is the strongest person I know. I owe everything to her. To see her so inconsolable hit me straight in the gut. I don't think I can ever repay her for the sacrifices she made.

She reached down and pried the wand I had clutched in my hand. Like I said, it was madness. What could I do against a dozen Aurors? I couldn't even hold my hand steady.

I had failed. Again.

My mother had a curious smile on her face. I didn't understand. "You are the head of the family now," she said.

Why did my mother have so much faith in me? I certainly didn't deserve it.

I had also started to bawl. It was embarrassing. Pansy was there too. She kept trying to hug me. God, she was annoying.

Meanwhile, in the midst of all this was Harry Potter, in a set of newly sewn Auror robes, standing there looking awkward as hell as two burley Wizards pushed my dad into the Floo.

Ten years in Azkaban. We were told we should be grateful. You can guess my response to that.

But it was the look of pity on Potter's face that I remember most.

He pitied me. Harry Potter pitied me. A Malfoy.

Please.

I told him to fuck off. What kind of Gryffindor feels guilty about winning?

Then I think the world tilted on its axis, because Potter actually looked relieved that I had just insulted him. Like a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

Fucking weirdo.

So am I, I guess, because the next thing I knew Potter was extending his hand and I actually took it.

"Take care of your mother," he said to me, shaking my hand. He had a firm grip. "Mrs. Malfoy." He turned toward my mum, bowing his head slightly, and then in an instant, he was gone, Apparating away with a crack and leaving us all gaping at the empty space where he had just been standing.

Pansy was the one who spoke up first. "He'll get his someday," she said, looking at me. "Trust me."

One thing you should know about Pansy. She is girl of her word, but as I stood there watching my mother blot the tears from her eyes, I think my heart broke all over again. Potter was right. My mother needed me now. "Leave it," I told Pansy. Potter wasn't important. Not anymore.