Wrong Turns

It wasn't a mansion, as he had been expecting. It wasn't a shabby or rundown and decrepit old cottage, as he had feared a broken man would inhabit. It wasn't remarkable in any way, yet something in the walls of the house before him screamed some sadistic song, curdling the blood in his veins. The very aura of the place twisted the skin around his chest, holding him where he stood, frozen in that bloody corridor called No Man's Land, determination churning in his stomach.

Home, whispered the harsh, invisible enemy. Home!

A home which wasn't his. A home which he had not built. A home which he had not even entered. He almost turned away, momentarily strangled by the desire to never enter. But the door was suddenly open, and he choked on the desire to never leave.

"Harry?"

Rooted to the spot, mute and fearing he was going insane, Harry nodded his head, wishing he actually was going insane, just so he would have an excuse for being so emotional and oh so empty. He wanted Draco to turn away, to close the door so quietly it would hurt, and to never say the name "Potter" again. He wanted to touch and to taste, to never let go, to never hear the name "Voldemort" again.

But, having said nothing, Draco, or Fate, made the final damning decision.

Taking halting, careful steps, Draco made his way towards Harry, appearing amazed and fearful, as if he was approaching some strange and unknown creature, some angel. Harry didn't feel like an angel, though. He felt like he had been to Hell and back, and been cheated out of the free T-shirt.

Two steps away, the distance stretching across oceans and skies alike, Draco and Harry faced each other once again, silent and still, as still as the statue of Harry gilded in gold among the fountain-folk hailed in the Ministry.

"They said you were dead." No accusations, no emotion.

"I was." Broken, haunted words, like the gravel no longer crunching beneath their feet.

"Come inside."

Harry's eyes flickered to the watchful shadow in the window, his blood cooling as a larger shadow fell from the house and washed over him like a malevolent wave. Home, it whispered, the words carving painfully into his skin and burrowing deep.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Following, as that shadow of death had once trailed maliciously along behind, Harry entered Draco's home and came face to face with a cold and harsh world, with an equally cold and harsh guardian. Feeling like a dirty intruder, his skin itching under the searing gaze of such an icy woman, Harry rubbed his elbow and glanced at the alien surroundings. No comfort could be found in his own chilled fingers, though.

"Gemma, this is Harry. Harry, Gemma."

"I know who he is. Hello, Harry Potter. What do you want?"

"Gemma." A warning glare, a line drawn.

Retreating with a small, disgusted shake of her head, Gemma returned to the kitchen. When she was gone, Draco turned to Harry with an unreadable expression and then away, leading him in the opposite direction. Harry followed, analysing the carpet in a detached manner as he mourned the loss of the past, when once he knew Draco better than he knew the colours of the sea and the sky.

"Sit," Draco said, waving to the faded sofa cushion beside him. "Tell me what happened."

Harry sat and stared at his feet, almost afraid to look at Draco.

"They found me, apparently, beside Voldemort. We were both dead and they said Hermione immediately began trying to bring me back. Somehow they managed, but I was in a coma. I woke up a couple of months ago, but I didn't remember everything at first, and I still don't remember the week before the battle and everything after that. Hermione and Ron filled me in on a few things I still can't remember, kept me hidden away from the press, making sure I was safe until I was ... okay again."

Harry twined his fingers, twisting them slightly.

"What are you doing here?" There were still no accusations, simply emotionless questions.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. It's not that I didn't believe Hermione when I asked, but I needed to see for myself."

"Were you planning on knocking, or were you just going to disappear again and keep me thinking you were dead?"

Harry didn't flinch from the slight anger. He had been expecting it, after all, and he couldn't blame Draco for taking it out on him. Not this time.

"No, I was going to knock. I just ... I didn't find what I expected."

"Gemma?"

"Yes."

Draco turned harshly, his body tense as he held back his anger. "You were the one who told me to forget you and move on. You were the coward who gave no explanation and then died the next bloody month!"

"I know."

Digging his fingernails into his palms, Harry risked a glance at Draco and then wished he hadn't. Feeling his heart twist and his stomach clench, he looked away from that angry and tearful glare, his head aching in sympathy.

"I should have hit you the minute I saw you." A calm threat, only half-empty, like Harry's cup.

"I wouldn't have hit you back."

"I know. That's the problem." With a bitter half-choked chuckle and a tired sigh, Draco leaned his arms on his knees and bowed his head. "I dreamt of this day, begged for the blood we'd spill. But you never could do what I wanted you to."

Daring a second glance, Harry's stomach rolled and his heart untangled itself at the sight of Draco's small smile.

"I wouldn't be me if I did," he ventured.

Reaching out for that tentative connection, it felt like they'd been dragged back to square one. Yet the board had shifted, had been pulled back into unfamiliar territory.

Draco looked over and Harry attempted a smile. Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco stared at him, scrutinising his face. Harry resisted the urge to squirm, trying to make the new puzzle piece fit. Yet it was such an odd shape, and the picture was already taking shape, leaving him hovering above, uncertain of what to do with it. He wasn't sure it was even the right colour.

"So ... what do we do now?" Harry asked, sounding just as uncertain as Draco looked. It was comforting and terrifying, as everything between them had always been.

"I don't know."

"You've really moved on?"

"Yes."

"You're happy? With Gemma?"

"Yes."

"You don't want to ... be with me any more?"

With a slight scowl, Draco turned and stared at the far wall. "It's not that simple. You were dead. I buried you and walked away." He didn't need to add that he hadn't exactly had a grave to keep a silent vigil over, whilst railing inside at the Fates and Higher Beings.

Harry looked down at his feet again. "I know."

It was funny how they both knew so much, yet could do so little. Perhaps that was the price of knowledge; understanding the limitations and the consequences, seeing each situation in 3D and also the murky shadows created in and around them.

Draco sighed and rubbed his hands down his face tiredly, burying his head in his hands and muffling his voice when he finally spoke. "I think you should go. This ... isn't what I expected, either. Whatever we do, it won't work. Just ... go back to your friends and ... live like you're supposed to."

Without another word, Harry stood and left, as silent as the ghost he had become. Neither one looked back, but neither one said goodbye. Then again, they had never learnt how to say hello to each other.