Not Friends

It started raining that morning, and the downpour continued late into the afternoon. It had been an impressive service, with two beautiful coffins; deep mahogany with luxurious dark-emerald velvet linings. Both dressed in pure silk robes, a deep green to match the coffin for him, with intricate silver embroidery decorating the hems. Her robes were a bright silver, as pure and clean as the winter sky, with emerald embroidery decorating the entire garment. Hers was not deep though, it was the brightest green of any seen that day. It had been a private funeral, however, as with the nature of any event, reporters from the Prophet had tried to get through the gates. Many tried, although none succeeded.

It was now nearing dusk, and Draco stood at the window of the parlor. The rain was running in rivulets down the pane in front of him, making his reflection appear to cry, something he himself had not yet done. He slowly closed his eyes.

He didn't need to turn around to know someone was behind him, and he had not heard them either, as they had entered silently.

"Have the guests left?"

There was silence, and a painfully familiar voice answered after a moment. "Draco, would you turn around?"

Draco stood stock still. He couldn't turn around. He wouldn't. Slowly he shook his head. A barely audible sigh was heard.

"Draco, you don't have to stay strong forever. You will want to for a time, you might feel you need to for a time, but not forever. I know that somewhere, inside you, there is a little boy, curled up, filled with pain, and hurt, who wants to cry, and you can't expect that to go away. I hate to be so pessimistic, but I cannot simply go about filling you with some silly, Gryffindoric ideals." Draco felt a bare smirk touch at his mouth. "But, Draco, please turn around."

The smirk vanished, and a barely audible shudder ran through Draco. Realising that there was no other way out, as the Manor wards prevented any Apparation from the property, he turned. Severus stood in the doorway, wearing the same robes he had worn for as many years as Draco had known him, and probably longer. The man who had been his second father stood in the door, and Draco could barely look at him.

"I barely knew them," Draco said quietly, staring at the floor. Severus stepped forward, and stopped a few steps from Draco. "I barely saw them. They were busy living when I was younger, when they were happy after the first destruction of Him, and they were living the lives they had never been able to. And then I had school, and then I took the Potions job." He swallowed forcefully against the lump steadily growing in his throat. "And then they died. And I never knew them. But," he swallowed again, before continuing in an intensely quiet voice. "I loved them."

Severus stepped forward, and placed a hand onto his shoulder. "Go and see Potter."

Draco looked up then, and Severus inclined his head. "Go, and take all your anger out on Potter. All the rage, and need for vengeance, go and take it out on Potter. And then let him see all the hurt, and the pain, and let him see you cry. Because he is the only person who can help you. Because you won't let anyone in, except him. Let him help that little boy, curled up inside you, and let him grieve."

Draco couldn't tell why Severus had said to go to Potter. He hadn't seen him since he left the school for his parents funeral. Both taught there now. Draco, taking the students at Potions class, and Potter as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. McGonagall had refused to remove this from the school curriculum, even with the war over, and Potter had apparently broken the curse that no one would last more than a year. They rarely talked, except when they had to as Heads of Houses. Their previous professors who had stayed on at the school knew of their pasts, and ignored it, and any new ones simply thought that it was due to their House loyalties. But Draco never spoke to him, and he didn't know why he should now.

He looked up into the ghost's face, and nodded. Severus ran a hand across Draco's cheek, like an icy breeze off a mountain, and then walked out, robe billowing behind him.

~*Scene Change*~

Draco stared up at the door in Muggle London with a look of doubt on his face. Having traveled there straight after his conversation with Severus, it was now darkening, and Draco was about how Potter would receive him. He rasped the knocker against its pad, and waited. After what seemed like an eternity, the door swung open, and Potter looked out. When he realised who was standing there, a look of shock came over him, and he opened the door wide to allow him in.

"Malfoy...hi," he said slowly, as he closed the door. "Uh...do you want some tea?" He gestured at the kitchen table, where a pot was sitting.

Draco nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

They sat in the kitchen, on opposite sides of the table, and drank in silence. It was a long time before Potter gained enough curiosity to ask what he had been thinking since the other man appeared on his doorstep.

"Malfoy, why are you here?"

Draco stared into his cup. When he realised that Potter wasn't going to say anything else, Draco looked at him, and then out the window. It was dark, and he could see a street lamp, partially obscured by a tree, glowing brightly. He sighed. "It was my parents' funeral today."

Potter looked shocked, then tried to mask it. "I'm sorry."

Draco shook his head. "Don't be. And I know you didn't know, so don't pretend you did. It was a private funeral, we did not want the Prophet getting their spies into it. It will not be announced." He looked back down into his cup.

Potter was thoughtful for a moment. "Why did you come to see me?"

"Severus told me to." When Potter began to perform an honest rendition of a goldfish, Draco sighed.

"His ghost, Potter. He comes to visit from time to time, and on this occasion was invited. And, before you ask, I am going to tell you what his reason was. And close your mouth - you look like a dead Plimpy. Severus came to see me after the funeral. He said that I didn't have to be strong forever, and that inside me there is a little boy who is curled up, filled with pain and hurt, who wants to cry. I haven't cried yet. I don't plan to. But he said that I needed to give him, the little boy inside me, that release to cry."

Draco sipped his tea, as though the conversation was completely normal. "He said I should come and see you, and take all my anger, and all my need for vengeance, out on you. And then I should show all of the pain, and hurt to you, and let you see me cry, and let you console the little boy. Because he apparently needs it. And you, apparently, are the only person who can help me." He stopped, and looked up at Potter, who was looking out the window, thinking.

"Do you want to practice dueling?" he asked suddenly. Draco looked at him oddly. "I have a soundproof room under the house, set out like a dueling stage. I use it as practice. Would you like to?" he asked again.

Draco sat still for a moment, then stood. "Yes. I haven't had a decent duel in years. Not that you're decent, but something is better than nothing."

~*Scene change*~

Half an hour into their duel practice, both were tired, and beginning to lose concentration. Draco lost his first, having shot a Stinging Hex at Potter, who jumped out of the way, and laughed when he realised what he had dodged. Anger surged up in Draco, and he threw his wand down, and lunged at Potter.

They tousled for a while, and Draco finally overpowered Potter, and began to punch him with all his might, over his entire body. Potter let him land the punches, over and over, until his body was bruised, and his face bloodied. Finally, Draco lost his strength, and collapsed onto Potter's chest, and wept. After a wandless healing spell over them both, Potter wrapped his arms around Draco's thin frame, and held him. Exhausted, Draco fell asleep in his arms.

~*Scene Change*~

Draco awoke with a start. The room he was in was not his, and it was not one of the Manor rooms. He sat up, and swung his legs over the bed. Then it hit him. He remembered everything. He was in Potter's house. He had beaten Potter to a bloody pulp, and then cried in his arms, and fallen asleep. Draco was humiliated, and he felt his cheeks colour.

Slipping down the stairs, he saw Potter, sitting at the table, his back to Draco. As he opened the front door, he paused for a moment, then stepped out into the cold air, and returned home.

~*Scene change*~

Back at Hogwarts, the pair acted as though nothing had changed. The staff and students alike saw no difference in their attitude towards one another. And they themselves saw no difference either, until one night in June. Draco was sitting at his desk, marking papers, when a Stag Patronus appeared before him. Potter's ghostly voice echoed throughout the room.

"I need a duel. Third floor. Midnight."

Draco glanced at his calendar, and nodded.

Standing, he turned around, to find Severus sitting in a lounge chair in the corner. "You talked to him then?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. And then I beat him to a bloody pulp. And then left."

Severus smiled. "Then it worked out well?"

Draco walked over to him, and stared into his eyes. "You spoke to him, didn't you?" His tone was accusing.

"Only after you had fallen asleep. I wanted to know what had happened, as you would never admit to me that I was right." The ghost smirked.

Draco sighed loudly, and left the room.

~*Scene change*~

Lying on the floor of the Room of Requirement, holding Potter while he cried, Draco thought of how strange the situation was. They weren't friends. There was no way that the word could be applied to their relationship. It hinged purely on one hurting the other, and that other allowing themselves to sustain injuries. It wasn't friendship. But more of a mutual acceptance of grief.

Potter snuggled closer to him, and Draco obediently drew his arms tighter. They definitely weren't friends. He would not be friends with a Gryffindor.

"Don't think so loudly. We are friends. Deal with it." A voice from the direction of his chest murmured, and Draco grinned.

Not friends.

Fin