There's Always TeaWhen:
Just a quick one-shot I did for a friend who asked for Harry/Draco, comfort.
There's Always Tea
It was raining, as always, the day that Draco buried his parents on the edge of the property of the Malfoy manor.
“It should have been me,” he said to no one, fists clenching as he stared at the twin plaques added to the front of the family crypt. “It was my
decisions. He should have killed me
for my failure, not them
“It’s okay to cry for them, you know,” Harry said suddenly from Draco’s shoulder. He hadn’t been there a moment before, but the man had the annoying habit of showing up when he was least wanted. Draco hadn’t heard the crack of Apparition, which meant that Harry had popped in somewhere else on the grounds and walked up behind him without Draco noticing. That in and of itself was annoying. If Draco lost his edge, he’d be dead. He should have hexed Potter on the spot for even showing his face.
“Why are you here, Potter?” Draco bit out, not in the mood to bandy witty banter with his old schoolmate.
“My parents were killed by him, too,” Harry reminded him, shrugging and opening an umbrella over both of them. The former Slytherin tried not to be grateful for the cover.
“You and half the wizarding world,” Draco replied, harsher than he’d intended. He had been on the run for the better part of the past year, hiding from the Dark Lord whom he had failed. His right hand went to grip his left forearm as a sharp burning jolted to life. He would not
answer that call. He hadn’t answered it for nearly a year – and it had killed his parents. He was not going to start now.
The motion didn’t escape Harry’s notice, but he had the tact – for once – not to say anything.
“I thought you could use the company. I doubted that anyone else would come,” he said. “Especially since Snape –”
“Shut it,” Draco said, but without his usual vehemence. He hated that Harry knew him best, hated how his presence invaded his personal space. “Just – shut it, Potter. You don’t know a damn thing. You don’t know what it was like.”
Harry snorted quietly, and the rain began to fall harder. “I lived in a cupboard under some stairs until I was eleven, little more than a house-elf to the people that were supposed to be my family and love
me. They barely tolerated me. They mostly hated me. So I do
know.” He sighed and glanced over the grounds near them, leaves dripping with the rain. “Maybe it’s not exactly the same, but I think I might understand better than you’d imagine.”
Draco didn’t say anything for a long moment, continuing to stare at the crypt’s door. He didn’t turn to look at Harry, but a subtle shift in his shoulders indicated that he was ready to leave.
“I suppose if you came all this way,” he half-drawled, deliberately reminiscent of when they’d been at Hogwarts together, “that the least I could do is offer you tea.” He didn’t know what compelled him to offer anything besides a solid beating to the Boy-Who-Lived; the only thing he could think of was that years of training had taught him to be polite to guests, even if you hated them.
Harry held the brolly up a little higher and nodded as they began to make their way up the long path to the Malfoy manor.
“Tea would be wonderful.”
As a reminder, my D/H work can be found by clicking on the Draco/Harry tag. And comments are always appreciated!