Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR

Written for IWSC, required information at the end.

Big thanks to my beta, OBFP.

"There have been rumors of a blood purity resurgence. The members are believed to have connections with Voldemort." Harry avoided his eyes as he spoke, taking a sip of the amber bottle he held in his hands.

Draco looked around him, at the gritty muggle pub with their garish neon signs and yokel decor. They stood out hideously against the brown wood of the pub and the stools topped with worn leather. This place looked well-worn, well-loved. Draco hated it.

"How did you know I was here, Potter?" He thought he'd been quite sly, sidling across the bar towards the mess of black hair without a noise.

Harry merely shrugged. "It's my job, paying attention." He turned from the beer, staring at Draco evenly. "It's different than managing the Ministry's Finances."

Draco scoffed. "That's a rather large oversimplification of my job."

"And 'paying attention' is of mine, yet here we are."

"Drunk, Potter?"

"Afraid not." Harry's voice was flat, betraying only a flicker of how badly he wished he had tonight off and how many bottles deep he wished to be. He lifted the bottle, allowing the dim lighting to glint off it. Draco saw the liquid inside, more than half the drink remaining. "It's my first."

Draco's face twitched in confusion, wrinkles appearing over his nose and between his brows. "Then why—"

Harry cocked his head, gesturing to a back corner of the pub where the light seemed dimmest of all. His voice was little more than a growl when he spoke and Draco had to lean towards him to hear his words. "It may be a Muggle establishment, but that's not all who occupies it."

Draco shifted quickly in his seat, curiosity wiping away reason. Just as suddenly, there was a tight grip placed on his knee, Harry's fingers digging through the fabric of Draco's trousers.

He felt a flutter beneath Harry's touch, the pixies spreading through his veins in droves.

"Not too fast, they'll know we're here." Harry hissed.

"You're hardly capable of blending in with a crowd." It didn't matter that his hair was an ordinary shade of black or his eyes that perfect green, The Boy Who Lived might as well have been painted in rainbow hues. With his face plastered in the Daily Prophet more frequently than Draco was sure either of them cared for, everyone knew Harry. Everyone always had.

"Don't remind me." He took another sip, the disgust in his features unrelated to his fame — Draco was sure.

It still didn't answer his question.

This time Draco moved slowly, his face peeking ever so slightly over his shoulder. Draco knew that with his nearly white hair he was hardly invisible either.

In the dark corner sat people he knew. People he had been friends with. People he had helped convinced to join the Dark Lord's side. There was Nott, Zabini, Goyle. In the center of the three men sat the blonde girl he knew so well, had spent weekends and holidays with. Daphne.

He shifted in his seat, making to stand when Harry forced him down once more. "Are you mad?!"

"But, she's...it's…" Draco stumbled over his words.

"I know who it is." Harry glared. "If sidling over there and casting handcuffs solved anything you don't think I would have done it already?"

Draco swallowed, giving a nod. It was true. His appearance would only make this harder, make Harry angrier.

"This is your first case," Harry grumbled into another sip of beer. "Let me take the lead."

Draco had barely nodded, had hardly opened his mouth when Harry stood from the barstool he had occupied this whole time. Harry gave a whisper, his eyes locked on the group they'd been discussing. "They're moving, come on. Wand out."

Draco looked between them, doing as he was told. He pulled his wand from his trousers, gripping the handle so tightly his knuckles flooded with white. He swallowed as his footsteps fell into the spaces Harry's had vacated, the two of them worming their way through a maze of tables and drunken occupants when Daphne turned, pausing in her movements towards the back door. She stared at Draco, a look in her eyes that he didn't understand. Was it guilt that lingered there? An apology? Before he could decide, Blaise latched his fingers around her wrist pulling her away. The door swung shut behind them and Harry broke into a run.

Harry pushed against the metal bar, tumbling into the dark of the night. "Shit!"

He brought his hand up, running it along the stubble of his chin as Draco reached him. He looked past Harry, into the shadows of the alley, past the dumpsters and into the empty space.

"Why didn't you use magic?" Draco's voice sounded lame even to his ears as the words escaped him.

"It's a muggle pub." Harry's voice was flat, though he was too distracted to be brusque. "That's why they chose it."

"Where could they have gone?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" He lifted his arms in frustration, slapping them against his sides as they came down. "We've waited so long for this tip."

Draco stared out into the alleyway, an idea lighting inside him. "Daphne...you don't think they'd be stupid enough?"

Harry turned, looking at him. "It's bloody worth a try."

Draco reached out, gripping his wrist. He felt that rush of adrenaline filling him again, freezing his lungs inside his chest. He drew in a breath, pushing away the feelings that had plagued him longer than he could remember and disapparated.

They were pulled into the night, landing with expertise inside another alley, far from where they'd been before. Draco stared up at the mansion across the street. The lights had been extinguished and by all appearances, it looked empty, but he didn't allow his heart to sink. Not yet.

He stepped towards it, this time leading the way towards the home he had known so well. How many hours had he spent inside this place with Astoria locked in his embrace?

The Greengrass family was complicated, filled with dark intentions of their own. They had never joined the Dark Lord's side, but the support had always been there in galleons and traded Ministry secrets. With their actions buried beneath excuses and with no paper trail to accuse them, they had escaped the war unscathed. But, now, Draco wondered if that hadn't been enough. Not for Daphne. His family.

The men she'd been with tonight were dangerous. He'd seen the results of their actions, seen the spells they'd cast and the people they had hurt. They deserved to be in Azkaban, and, Draco knew, so did he.

He swallowed, pushing away the thoughts that had tortured him beyond the war. The Greengrass' weren't the only ones who had escaped prison with a large sack of galleons. His family had too. That was the only reason he was able to be here now, with Harry following behind him as they reached the gate of the mansion. He wondered if that, too, was how he was accepted into the Auror program when his skin was still tainted by the dark mark he had so foolishly taken. He wondered if the Malfoy name itself had been enough to sway his application, or if other forces were behind it.

Whatever it was, it had brought him beside Harry again. Brought him back to the pixies pounding in his stomach every time those bloody green eyes looked at him.

"We can't go barging through the front door," Harry whispered, breaking Draco's stream of thoughts.

He pushed the gate inward, his eyes scanning the bricks of the manor, the ornate windows. "That invisibility cloak of yours would have been useful here."

"How did you kn—"

"It doesn't matter." Draco's voice cut through the confusion in Harry's voice. Now wasn't the time for an explanation. Wasn't the time for Harry to learn that Draco had watched him.

"There's a back door," he began instead. "It leads to the service kitchen. Unless you'd like to break a window, I think it's our only option."

They wound past the well-groomed hedges and meticulously cared for flower beds, cloaked by the black of night. Draco had walked these grounds with his wife so many times. He didn't need a Lumos to guide him.

They reached the door. It was black, nondescript. He would have missed it had he not already known it was there. He gripped the handle, pausing in his movements when Harry spoke behind him.

"We need to bring them in for questioning. Don't cast any spells that will hinder that."

Draco nodded, wondering just what Harry was expecting from him. Draco was not the person he had been in Hogwarts, but Harry didn't seem to know that. Harry had no reason to.

The kitchen was quiet. Pans were hung and though the scent of chicken lingered heavily on the air, any evidence of a meal had been washed away, the house-elves along with it.

Draco stepped slowly across the wood, careful not to make any sound. He could hear murmurs from beyond the swinging door, heard the whisper of a name that was familiar.

"...Parkinson...interested…"

Their group was growing.

Draco tightened the grip on his wand, pushing through.

"Defodio!" The sparks burst from her wand, catching them both off guard.

The spell cut across him, gouging into his skin. Draco gasped, clutching the front of his robes. Blood leaked between his fingers, dripping down his hand.

More spells fired from the men around her, stopped only by Harry's shield. Draco seemed incapable of casting another of his own, too distracted by the crimson leaking from him and the tremendous pain it brought.

He felt a pull on the back of his collar as Harry shot a stunner over his shoulder sending Daphne tumbling unconscious to the ground.

The kitchen door they had begun to pass through now shut behind them, Harry locking it in its place with a spell and shutting the two of them inside the small kitchen.

They could hear the sparks of spells colliding with the wood of the door, slicing across it, could hear the angry shouts of the people who had been his friends in what felt like another lifetime.

They, too, were skilled. The door didn't stand a chance.

"Protego horribilis!" It was Harry's voice this time, casting the bubble that shimmered down around them. Harry pointed his wand upward, a wisp of message pouring out of it before dissipating.

They were silent a moment more, staring at the distortion Harry's shield had caused in their view. A sign that it was working.

Draco's breathing was ragged, every movement sending a wave of agony throughout him. He wanted something to take the pain away. He looked at Harry and found his thoughts reflected in the green of his eyes.

"Are you all right?" His voice trembled in a way Draco was sure Harry would never admit as he lowered Draco to the floor.

"Fuck no!" Draco lifted his hand just enough so Harry could see the scarlet that stained his skin. "The blood is supposed to be on the inside, git."

It was enough movement that he winced, taking a sharp inhale of pained breath. His chest burned, the marks Daphne had made flooding him with anguish.

Harry looked down at him, sincere concern etched in his features. "It was an ambush. They knew we'd follow."

There was a thundering against the door that kept them safe, whatever spells Harry had cast just keeping them at bay.

"No shit," Draco grumbled. His eyes closed in agony and he reclined backward, clenching his teeth together.

There was a sound of apparition around them, the pops of appearance echoing in the small room. Back up.

Draco opened his eyes, looking at the men and women that stood in this room, mostly unrecognizable. The only one he knew was the redhead who stood amongst them, shooting a worried smile at Harry.

"Get him out of here, Potter." The biggest man of them all grumbled. He towered over every single one of them and even Draco found him intimidating. His large frame, his deep voice, it did something to Draco's already shredded nerves.

"Yes," he agreed, glancing at Harry. "Get me out of here, Potter."

The protective bubble around them thinned, the magic fading until nothing but the Aurors could keep them safe.

He felt Harry pull him close, his hands latching around Draco as they disapparated. As they were pulled into momentary nonexistence, Draco could hear the shouts of the Aurors pushing through the kitchen door and towards the wizards barricaded behind it.

Then he felt carpet beneath him, a welcome comfort compared to the wood of moments before. Draco heard the lights above him buzz to life, bathing the previously pitch-black room in light.

"This isn't St. Mungo's." Draco rasped in disappointment

It was a flat, and from what he could see, it was nearly empty, sparsely furnished. There were no pictures, no evidence of a family.

"No, I'm afraid you just have me."

Draco looked at him, an awkward silence stretching between them. When he couldn't take the quiet or the pain any longer he growled, "I'm bloody bleeding here, Potter."

"Right." Harry cleared his throat. "Right." He stood, walking away and Draco took the chance to crumble, for his face to contort in the pain he hadn't let fully show in his features. He hoped Harry would take it away, that something in those bottles he clinked together across the room would ease Draco into an existence that didn't hurt so fucking much. He didn't just mean the wounds across his chest.

"Unbutton your shirt." Harry's voice was curt upon his return, his eyes carefully focused elsewhere.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take me out to dinner first," Draco replied with a recomposed smirk, his fingers fumbling on the top button of his robes.

Harry said nothing. He instead fiddled with the bottles in his hand as he knelt on the floor beside Draco. They delved into another stretch of awkwardness and Harry looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else and that his eyes certainly couldn't linger on Draco as he undressed

"Gin and I...we haven't told anyone yet," Harry mumbled. "We're divorcing."

Draco paused on the final button of his shirt, the moment between them suddenly serious, no longer a humorous distraction.

He didn't know what had happened between Harry and Ginny. He could have made a hundred guesses, but was sure he would never be completely right. What he did know was that losing someone you loved was excruciating. That, Draco had learned the hard way.

He had loved and lost Astoria and was left with the raising of a thirteen-year-old boy, alone — that prospect was nearly more terrifying than losing her at all.

And, Daphne. She hadn't been able to cope. Tonight was evidence of that, evidence that she no longer cared, that she wanted vengeance even if what had taken her sister was untouchable. Draco understood, he had fallen into the valleys of despair so many times before. But, he hadn't expected her spell, hadn't expected a person he had once loved like a sister to betray him so easily. And that hurt, too.

"I'm sorry." Draco's voice was flat as if he'd never said the words before when the truth was he had never said them enough. But all the 'sorrys' in the world wouldn't fix anything. That, too, he had learned.

Harry's gaze fell across him, across the several deep wounds that had been gouged across Draco's chest. With his hand out-stretched, a bottle of red liquid held in it, he smiled. For the first time that night, he bloody smiled. "You're a shit Auror."

"And you've moved on from expelliarmus. Learn a second spell did you, Potter?" Draco took the bottle, uncorking it and downing the blood replenisher inside.

"I figured it was time."

Harry leaned towards him, his fingers grazing across the bare skin of Draco, dragging through the spaces between his ribs and along the long ago faded scars. He reached the new ones, the ones Daphne had sliced into him, where Draco's flesh pulled away. Draco gasped beneath the touch. And then there was cold, the drops of dittany falling from the vial and sizzling across the torn flesh, there was a pull as his skin threaded itself back together.

He felt the drips, the sizzle as Harry moved across him, healing what had been torn away.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Draco breathed, his body finally beginning to relax, the pain finally beginning to subside.

Harry glanced at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment and Draco was — once again — surprised at the beautiful bloody shade of green they were.

"You learn things when on the run." A pause, a blush filling his cheeks. "More particularly, Hermione forces you to learn them."

"Granger." Draco laughed.

"And you, that's an astounding bit of pain tolerance you displayed. I've seen weaker spells take down bigger men."

Draco shrugged as if the answer was obvious. "Yes, well, while you were running from The Dark Lord, I was facing him." He expected a rush of Harry's always present anger, at least of the Harry he had known before. The one who sat beside him now was different, depressed. The defeat of the Dark Lord brought more than freedom, but he knew Harry suffered more than any of them. More than Weasley, more than Granger, and absolutely more than Draco himself.

"Those scars...they're not from him."

It wasn't a question, Harry knew. The shame that edged his words told Draco more than he was sure Harry intended to.

"No. There was a rather bullheaded boy — a real prick, I might add," Draco smirked. "He wouldn't let me have the girl's bathroom to myself." Draco chose to skirt over the reasons he had been in that bathroom, the fear that had overtaken him. The tears. He couldn't relive that part of his life. Not here, and hopefully not again.

"Sounds like a wanker."

"He was a bit, yeah." Draco drew in a large breath. He felt the moment opening up between them, the stretch of time when these words would be okay. He had waited so long for this, and once again, he was afraid. "But, bloody easy on the eyes."

Harry said nothing and Draco felt the fire of embarrassment creep up his neck, blossoming into his cheeks. He'd been so stupid.

Harry gaped instead, his mouth opening and closing like a grindylow out of water before the words finally formed. "That dinner you mentioned earlier? Could I take you out to one, one day?"

The pixies inside Draco ricocheted against his stomach, leaping with joy until he was sure he'd be sick. "I suppose that'd be all right."

Harry Potter. Harry Bloody Potter had asked him out. After all these years of pining from afar, never knowing if his feelings were returned, it was much more than all right.

I may extend this fic at one point. For now, it will remain as is.

Story Title/Link: Different this Time

School and Theme: Illvermorny, The Room of Requirement

Main Prompt: A Better Son by Rilo Kiley

Additional Prompts: Hurt/comfort, Betrayal

Year: 3

Wordcount: 3195 (10% leeway)

Prompt explanation: I don't like to use actual lyrics or quotes in my fics, but the song for this round was highly inspirational, particularly the line "And crawl back into bed to dream of a time, When your heart was open wide and you loved things just because"