Disclaimer: I own nothing. . .as all of us fanfic writers. . . sad ain't it?

Chapter Two: The Boy-Who-Died-Inside

Draco was not quite certain which was worse, the fact that he was living with the Boy-Who-Lived, or the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived was no longer the sworn enemy he had grown up with. In his place was a depressingly silent, repentant, weak, dreary, and comatose travesty of a wizard. No, Draco corrected, a Muggle. Harry Potter had become a Muggle.

By now Harry refused to use his wand or touch any of his robes and books. By now Draco was feeling murderous. And Harry was the only target around.

But no matter how hard he tried, Draco could not get a rise out of his new housemate. A week had passed and all he'd done so far was make the Boy-Who-Lived cry and apologize time and time again for nothing.

"Sorry Draco, didn't mean to be in your way."

"Sorry Draco, I didn't realize that you wanted to sit here. I'll move to the other chair."

And to add insult to injury, Harry murmured his apologies in a soft, submissive voice.

Draco was definitely not pleased. He'd already sent an owl to Professor Snape so that he might rectify this. . . travesty. But until then, Draco supposed that he ought to make do with Potter and his issues.

"Knowing my luck that fool, Dumbledore, will take his sweet time," Draco seethed out loud. Draco had not really meant for Harry to overhear, however the reaction his comment garnered made him smirk.

"Don't you talk about Professor Dumbledore like that, Malfoy!" Harry snapped.

Standing up to face his nemesis, Draco sneered, "Why not, Fairy Potter, it seems that he placed me in a house with a zombie. You used to be such a brave, stupid but brave, boy who could do anything, would do anything. Now you're nothing but a shell."

Harry's eyes immediately shot down. "I. . . .I'm sorr--"

The rest of his sentence fell on deaf ears for Draco left the room before listening to another damn apology. The obnoxious prat was in serious need of something. Though Draco was not sure what. Perhaps a potion. Draco smirked and could imagine how many potions he could probably get Harry to drink before he finally snapped and fought back.

At this rate, probably a good thousand.

Draco paused at the top of the stairs, straining to hear what Harry was up to. Apparently he was either in the basement or frozen to the spot.

Draco let out his breath in exasperation. Probably the later. But for now, he planned to work out and forget about his housemate. If he could not get out and practice Quidditch, he may as well keep in shape.

Instead of forgetting the matter as he planned, Draco ended up dwelling on the enigma of Harry Potter.

There were moments that gave Draco the impression that the boy was fixable. Every now and then, Draco would pass Harry's room and see him holding a book that only Hermione could have given him or maintaining his Quidditch broom.

More often than not though, Harry was incorrigibly blank or depressed. He had nightmares, Draco heard them. Often he would go to Harry's door after an earsplitting cry, but the boy would be lying down, with his back to the door.

It was not Draco's place to wake him. And even if Harry was awake, he obviously did not want his past enemy to comfort him in his weakest moment. Not that Harry was not always at his weakest these days. . .

Harry sat in the living room. In the chair closest to where he was standing when Draco had left. He had the look of Neville during Double Potions.

Working through his mind was Draco's words. But. . . but he . . . He could not even describe how he felt. Harry was beginning to stop feeling. That is a good sign, right? Right. If you do not feel, you do not hurt.

Harry nodded and stared at his hands. They were shaking. Maybe this was not such a good idea. Thinking always hurts. Hurt. Pain. Death. Harry's eyes shut tightly, his mind reeling and his body rocking back and forth violently.

He opened his eyes. His hands were bloody. Covered in blood from the battlefield.

"No! No more!!" Harry screamed.

Draco had been standing in the middle of the stairs, watching Harry for a while now. When Harry started screaming, Draco bolted down to the living room. But he froze at the doorway, at a loss. Now what was he supposed to do?

All he could think of was to pat Harry's back. He remembered seeing Granger hug Harry when he was upset. No way that's gonna happen. Instead, Draco walking to Harry's hunched form and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Harry." Nothing. "Harry!" The boy kept rocking and sobbing. Draco, losing his short amount of patience, pushed Harry's back against the back of the couch. "Listen up, Potter! You will cease and desist."

Harry resembled an animal petrified by fear. Draco had to breath once to shove the memories of his first lesson in the dark arts to the back of his mind. He was stronger than this.

Using his own advice, he convinced Harry to breath. In and out. One, two, three, four. Good.

"Potter, you are stronger than that. You're a grown man." Harry's head fell, finally breaking eye contact. "Potter! Listen to me and listen well, I will not live with a sniveling whining brat. We all suffered during the war. People died, but we lived. And you should be thanking Merlin for that instead of letting yourself die inside. Live Potter, live."

Harry's eyes shot up to Draco's, confused and bewildered. Draco did not know what it was like to see his friends die in front of him. Yes, some of his fellow Slytherins had died in the final battle, but Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle? How could you really be hurt by the deaths of losers like that? He knew deep down that Draco could not understand the agonizing loss he was feeling.

No one did.

But before he could tell Draco exactly that, the doorbell rang.

AN: Yes, yes I know it sucks. But that's okay. Thanks to all who reviewed. I wrote more and uhm... I changed a lot of it from what I had written up because I decided to keep the people a little more IC...don't know if I succeed there, but I'll work on it from now on.

Also, I don't think there will be much on the war, more of how everyones problems get resolved post-war. I don't really like what I did with Harry right here. Perhaps it's cause I'm not depressed enough to write a depressed man's thoughts. Well, I'm sure later on I will be depressed enough to do better.

P.S. I live for criticism (constructive or otherwise).