Changed - Drarry

1

Harry hasn't been the same since the war.

But who has?

   Despite what his self proclaimed family tells him - and the Weasleys never miss a chance to tell him he's wrong - Harry wholeheartedly believes he's to blame for the deaths of everyone he loves.

and he's sad. he's so sad.

   But he doesn't think he's really all that depressed, but sometimes he thinks that's all he is, but sometimes he can't even think straight enough to remember his name, or what class he's in, and fuck, he can't even decipher between what's real and what's going on in his head, but then he's back to wondering if he's not depressed at all and this is just how he is. Yeah, that's it. He's not depressed. He's just always been fucked up. And it's different. Because some people really are depressed and it's not fair to put himself on the same level as them. Because he deserves this.

   So here he is in transfiguration staring at the back of someone's brunette head not having soaked in a single word coming from the professors mouth, distantly wondering why he'd agreed to come back and make up his seventh year in the first place.

    His drawing of a large dog is interrupted by the class being dismissed and he begins his customary walk back to the common room to go lay in bed, as he tends to do a lot recently when he hasn't got to be somewhere. He's found himself distancing himself from the greater part of most of the people he used to spend time with. Not because he doesn't love them. Of course he does. He simply feels they would be better off without him dragging them down. Not to mention that he can't be bothered to do much of anything besides getting up in the morning to go to classes, which is exhausting enough as it is.

   Halfway up to his dorm, he makes an about-face and heads for the kitchens. Being his recent anti-social self, he hasn't been down to the great hall to enjoy what the house elves so happily make, since the feat a few days ago. Nor has he really cared much, considering most food seems to have lost all flavor.

   While he makes his way to the painting of fruit, he contemplates ways he could make his death look like an accident.

Guilt.

    He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he just upped and offed himself, leaving behind everyone he loves.

Ironic.

   But he can't silence the thoughts.

   Harry tickles the pear and the portrait slowly creaks open - the sound remarkably resembles the sound of his old cupboard door - and Harry flinches. He's greeted inside by the usual excited Dobby, ready to give him whatever his heart may desire.

   "Hello Dobb-" Cutting himself short, he notices there's already someone there talking to some of the house elves. Without stopping to even register who it is, he turns and heads back out the portrait deciding he'll do without dinner tonight. As he's leaving, he slams the door on someone's foot and hears a yelp come from behind him and swings around to see that it's Malfoy. Harry can't help but snort.

   I can't remember the last time I genuinely laughed.

   Malfoy opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again, only to close it again. He seems to settle on offering Harry a minute smile and slight wave before walking away, leaving Harry confused. And intrigued. But mostly confused.

                                                                                        ***

   When Harry tries to get out of his four-poster too fast the next morning he's immediately overcome with dizziness. It's snowing outside and the light leaking in fills the heavily burgundy colored room and blue tint. Giving the whole room and pleasant violet hue.

   Only about one third of the surviving seventh years decided to come back to Hogwarts to make up their last year. Therefore the students were giving individual dorms designed in their former houses colors - Harry's, of course, being red to represent his oh-so-brave Gryffindor personality.

   So brave in fact I can't even muster up the courage to off myself.

   A loud CLUNK sounds from the window and Harry starts. Turning towards the noise he sees Hedwig waiting patiently to be let in. As he opens the window, Harry chuckles to himself, a low sadistic chuckles, thinking how Hedwig is the only living thing he's willingly socialized with since returning to Hogwarts, nearly 2 weeks ago.  After untying the letter from her leg, while Hedwig affectionately nibbled his figure, he sent her back to the owlery with a promise to have treats next time, and opened the letter to read the thin, slanted writing on the parchment:

"Harry,

I do hope you'll forgive me for the such short notice, but it seems I have a favor to ask of you. As you know, Mr. Draco Malfoy narrowly escaped a lengthy imprisonment in the confines of Azkaban after the war. A large reasoning for that being that you spoke for him at his trial. After the trial though, it is only appropriate the Ministry does not wish to give the boy free reign of his magic quite yet, and has temporarily taken away his privilege of speaking. I, myself, see this as an unusual way of dealing with the situation, when they could have put simple monitoring spells on the boys wand, but I do suppose they would like to prevent something from happening before it does. Thankfully, they have promised to lift the spell by Christmas, therefore it will only be a couple months. Because of this, I'm sorry to have to ask you to accompany Mr. Malfoy throughout the castle during the day, so as to ensure there are no emergencies or problems. If something were to happen to Mr. Malfoy, I would not forgive myself for leaving him rendered defenseless in the face of a threat. I, of course, would not have originally come to you for this task, and I am sorry to put this kind of responsibility upon you, but it seems the few remaining seventh years from the war refuse to talk to him.

Sincerely hoping you'll accept,

Professor Dumbledore"

   Harry's first thought is: this is ridiculous and it must be a joke. There's no way he has to follow Malfoy around assisting him, or whatever. Then he realizes that Dumbledore would not have written him this letter in such detail, to troll him.

    "Just bloody brilliant", He mutters in resignation before slumping back onto the mattress.

A/N
WATTPAD DELETED MY DRAFT. IT JUST DISAPPEARED. AND LIKE AN IDIOT I DIDNT HAVE IT SAVED ANYWHERE ELSE SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT