Where The Sun Drops | drarry post-war

four | an unexpected visitor

By the time Harry got back to his little house, he was exhausted. It had been a particularly emotionally draining therapy session, and he was glad Ginny was at the Burrow that evening - he didn't feel like having company, even from his girlfriend. No, make that especially from his girlfriend. She was getting to be really high-maintenance these days, it was exhausting.

Everything exhausted him since the war, though.

He sighed and rubbed his head in his hands after pulling into the drive, giving himself a minute to work up the energy to get out of the car and go inside. "Get it together, Potter," he muttered to himself.

God, he had a splitting headache. And with the windows down in his car, the air around the house felt much colder than it normally would be for July; almost frosty. That was weird. And it certainly wasn't helping his energy levels.

Harry wondered idly what he'd have for dinner. He'd gotten embarrassingly dependent on Ginny's cooking (not as good as her mother's, but not far off) but seeing as she wouldn't be here tonight, he'd have to fend for himself. Maybe he'd order a pizza. It felt like that kind of a night.

Yes, he decided, that was the plan. Get in, strip, shower, grab a beer, and order a pizza. With no Ginny around to lecture him about his health, he could do whatever he liked.

Finding the ghost of his school enemy lounging over his sofa, however, was not factored into Harry's plan.

"Malfoy!" he gasped, and the shock made him drop his car keys with a loud crash. He blinked hard as though the vision would dissipate before his eyes, but it didn't.

To his surprise, Malfoy looked every bit as shocked to see Harry as Harry was to see him.

"You - you know I'm here?" he gasped, momentarily thrown out of his cool and collected facade. "I thought no one on Earth could see me!"

"Uh, yeah, I can!" Harry said in a shaky voice, unsure whether he should be afraid or not. "What the fuck? Are you ...real?"

"Or have you finally gone entirely mental and hallucinated me, is that what you're asking, Potter?"

Malfoy regarded the dark-haired boy with interest. Harry began to look more and more disturbed.

"It would be an interesting development if I was a hallucination, wouldn't it?" Malfoy asked. "And I'm flattered that you think your brain would leap to me in that situation. Definitely something to disclose at your freaky little therapy sessions."

Harry stared at him, too stunned to take in more than half of the words. "So you are really here. But you died."

"God, nothing gets past you," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Always were a bit dim, weren't you, Potter?"

Harry wasn't sure what to reply to that, so just continued staring. There was still the slight thought in his mind that this could just be a product of his overtired and overstressed brain, but then he realised that this ghostly version of Malfoy was incredibly realistic and probably not something he could conjure up himself.

"This is so weird," he whispered, hands still trembling as he wiped them on his jeans. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm organising a charity bake sale, Potter," Malfoy responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What the fuck does it look like?"

Harry stared at him open-mouthed. Then he began to laugh. Slowly, uncertainly, but still, it was laughter.

"Oh, you think it's funny that I'm dead?" Malfoy snapped, instantly on the aggressive. "Having a good time living, are you, Potter? Living at my expense, I might add - I literally died saving your scrawny fucking neck! - No, don't censor yourself now, moron, it's a bit late. You just stand there with your beating heart (which I can hear now I'm dead by the way, that shit's disgusting) and laugh at me with that idiotic fucking grin on your face that makes me wish I was still able to throw up. Really, knock yourself out. Laugh away."

The smile was well and truly wiped from Harry's face after this tirade, and he shifted uncertainly from foot to foot. What the hell was the social protocol for something like this?

"I'm really sorry, Draco-" he tried, but was cut off by an incredulous snarl.

"Draco?!" Malfoy repeated with a curl of his translucent lip. "We're on first name terms now I've died, are we, Potter? I think you should show some respect."

"Malfoy," Harry nodded, subdued. "I'm so unbelievably sorry."

"I don't think you are," Malfoy shook his head. The nasty expression hadn't budged from his face; if anything it was more prominent now than before. And his voice was low, deadly. "I'll make you sorry, though. You should understand the gravity of your actions."

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "Were you always this bitter?" he asked. "So vengeful?"

"I'm not sure," Malfoy shrugged. "But this is the only version of me that exists now. So you'd better get used to it, Scarhead."

With that, he closed his eyes and allowed the energy to build up through him, just the right amount to propel him up through the ceiling and out of the house into the warm night air.

"I'll see you again, Potter," he called back, and to Harry's ears that sounded much more like a threat than a farewell.

________________________________

a/n: finally a new chapter! it's a very short one just to ease me back into writing this story, but hopefully you all enjoy it anyway

please remember to vote and comment, it means a lot!!💛

~ paradisedraco