Hello again! I've been working on this fic for some time. I thought I should post a chapter or two to see if anyone wants to read it at all. So, if you think it's worth continuing tell me plz:)

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own these characters.

Title: Not this time

Summary: post-war. Eighth year. Struggling and learning to heal.

"Why don't you speak to me? What's wrong with you? What was that? What is going on?" "I'm dying."…

"I can't do it again… I can't be the coward."

"Nah, I'd rather rest peacefully at hell."

"This is kinda nice, you know?"

"I'm not going to be selfish again."

"Not This Time."

Harry stared at his full plate. He still had no appetite. Dark rings around his eyes made it obvious that he hadn't slept well for weeks. The war had ended for months and people were trying to move on with what had remained from their lives. Everyone except him it appeared.

His best friends were a couple now. Hermione was getting through the crucios she had been put under in the Malfoy manor. Ron was trying to get over his brother's loss. They were healing with each other and Harry was happy for them. They would be okay after all.

George was having a harder time comparing to his brother, though. Fred's death had stroke him worst. But even he was recovering. After weeks of mourning he had pulled himself together and now he spent most of his time in the shop and tried to make others happy with the jokes he pulled and sometimes, you could see him smile faintly when someone would start cursing out loud.

In the school Harry could see people were getting better. Everyone tried to help someone. After Harry had asked them, they had stopped being against Slytherins even. The said house had changed a lot too. Slytherins weren't as cruel as before. They were more quiet now and dare Harry say, helpful. Not too much, but more than anyone could imagine from a Slytherin. He was starting to think that maybe they weren't so bad after all. Maybe they had to put on a show because of their families. Everything had changed now.

Everyone was getting better.

Except harry.

His nightmares wouldn't leave him for a night. He had started to cast silencing charms on his dorms so he wouldn't wake anyone up in the night with his screams or whines. Every time he closed his eyes dead faces of people he loved would rush to his mind.

But he couldn't appear weak in front of others. He pretended to be okay. He had to admit to himself he was getting better though. But very slowly. So he kept on wearing a mask and hoping he himself would eventually fall for his 'I'm okay's one day.

Everyone had changed to different degrees after the war. And Malfoy was holding the first place in the ranking. Harry hadn't heard him say a single word since they've returned to school for their eight year. He had become even more pale skinned and from the rings under his eyes which were as dark as Harry's he could say that he wasn't doing so well either.

Harry couldn't help but have a need to blame someone for everything. And Voldemort was dead. So was Lucius Malfoy. He had died two months ago from a disease of sorts, Harry had heard. Not that he was feeling sad or heartbroken about it. But he couldn't help but think about a slytherin student with the same blond hair as Lucius'. What if he was planning something? Revenge maybe?

He almost started following him again. Almost. Then he decided against it. The war was over and he wouldn't keep himself in the past. He would forget about Riddle and Bellatrix and Draco Malfoy.

That's how Harry had found himself in a party in the Ravenclaw's hall. It wasn't anything new. Every week everyone gathered around for a reason, any reason. No one enjoyed being alone. Being stuck in your own dorms would remind you of your dead friends that are not around anymore. So, the party.

Everyone was there, all houses were around actually. Drinking and talking and laughing and dancing. Hermione had dragged Ron in the middle of the hall to dance with him. Neville was standing next to Luna and talking and chatting about Nargles.

Harry had stepped away from the crowd little by little, happy no one had noticed his absence. After half an hour he managed to get out of the common room. Finally. He puffed out some air and decided to go out for a walk when he noticed he's not the only person who has escaped from the party.

Malfoy was standing a few feet from him. Leaning on a wall with closed eyes. His hands hugging his slim body. Harry looked at him and saw how much he has changed. He had grown out the git. The moonlight was sharpening his features. His blond hair had fallen in his eyes and looked silver in the light. He looked exactly like his father but holding almost no arrogance nor pride of the dead man. His father…

Memories of the ministry came back to him. Voldemort… Bellatrix… Sirius… Suddenly everything started playing in front of his eyes in a second. His blood boiled out of nowhere.

The need of blaming someone came back to Harry again and couldn't stop himself this time. Months of not talking and putting up smiles held more pressure than it appeared.

"How can you walk on this ground, knowing how much blood has been shed because of your master?" he said, with more venom he had ever had in his voice. Not sure if he even intended to be this harsh in the first place.

Malfoy opened his eyes and stared at him, shocked from his presence. It took him a few seconds to understand what he had said. Harry waited for him to tell him something in return. He wanted him to. So he could punch him. So he could get this anger out of his body. He couldn't stop now.

But Malfoy remained silent. He didn't even look at him in the face. Instead he looked at the floor. Like he could see the blood on it if he looked hard enough.

"Can't look at me in the face can you? Could you look in Hermione's face when she was being tortured by your Aunt?" Harry couldn't stop himself. He had kept everything to himself for too long. He was so angry he didn't hear Draco's small coughs and shortened breaths.

"How could you look in Dumbledore's face when he was falling off the tower?" More coughs and less breathing. Dumbledore's words were in his head. We can help you. He saw Dumbledore falling from the tower again. Again.

"He offered you help! He was going to help you! What did you do? You just stood by and watched as he died." Harry was almost screaming now. He stopped to take a breath. That's when he realized the other boy's rough and sick coughs. He was barely breathing now. His face was getting grey.

"Malfoy?" More coughs and less breathing. He rushed towards him, panicking. What have I done?

He reached out for his shoulder to see what's wrong. The blond was coughing so roughly now. He pushed Harry aside and ran to the other side of the corridor, near the windows. He fell down on his knees and scoffed even more. Harry didn't know what to do so he stayed put. Staring with frightened eyes. His heart beating in his mouth.

After seconds, or minutes, or hours, Harry didn't know he just stood there and watched knowing there's nothing he can do, Draco spat something and started breathing again shakily. Harry came to his senses and rushed towards him again. Falling to his knees immediately. There was something on Draco's lips. Was it?

Harry's heart skipped a beat. It was blood. On his lips. Dipping from his chin. Spilled on the ground. If he wasn't so busy panicking, Harry would've laughed at the irony. People are taking turns to have their blood on these damned floors.

"Malfoy? Are you okay?" his voice shook as he spoke. No response. The blond kept on staring at the ground, where the ugly splash of blood sat with half lidded eyes and trembling lips. He didn't even seem afraid or shocked. This has happened before?

They sat there in silence for more minutes. After that Draco stood up with Harry's helping hand grasping his arm. He took out his wand and cast a nonverbal Scourgify and cleaned the blood on the ground. Then, without a word he started walking away.

"Hey, Malfoy, wait!" Harry called after him and took his arm again. "You can't leave like that. I should take you to Madam Pomfrey." Draco shook his head and tried to get his hand out of Harry's grasp. So he held on more tightly.

"Why don't you speak to me? What's wrong with you? What was that? What is going on?" He pleaded the boy in front of him to speak.

Draco looked at him in the eyes. His once silver eyes now a dull grey. They couldn't be his. These were and old man's eyes who has no reason to fight for. He took a breath and opened his mouth. Harry's eyes darted to his lips. The blood on them now dried up and hugging them tightly. Harry couldn't believe the raspy voice that he was hearing were coming from those lips. And when his mind turned the words to a sentence, he couldn't believe them either.

"I'm dying."

This was kind of a prologue. I'll make it alright in the next (first) chapter.