A Different Alter

(((Present))))

\"And that was it.\"
A soft snore came from the bed in response. Draco had fallen asleep sometime ago while Harry had got carried away with his story. The fair-haired man, like most people, looked years younger in his sleep. Defenses down, Draco looked tired. The last few months had been hard on his active spirit. The weight of the child and the weight of momentus decisions laid heavy on him.
After the whole closet incident, he and Harry had settled into a unique relationship of occasional trysts and acting. They never talked about it and in between times they continued on as they had before, both taking other partners. And then the final battle had come at the end of the year and Lucious Malfoy had drawn his son back to his side to prepare.
The fight was long arduous and at the last came down to only Harry against Lord Voldemort, a bitter battle. Around them, the rest of the war raged, oblivious to the true fight at the center. To Harry\'s right, Neville and Ron were locked in battle with a hideous creature and on his left, Hermione was chanting a protection spell to shield herself from the amassing forces. None seemed to see Harry as he dueled with the man who was once Tom Riddle. There was a moment, a single horrid moment, when he knew he was going to be defeated, he was going to die right there and Voldemort would take over everything he\'d ever loved and destroy it.
And then....there had been a scream, a blur of movement, a window of opportunity as the Lord was distracted, opening him to a final thrust of pure power that came from a place so fundamentally deep in Harry that it nearly tore him in twain.
When he awoke next it was to the news of strange victory. The forces of darkness had disappeared with Harry\'s killing thrust, dematerializing as if they\'d never been. The seventh years had been given leave on their final exams, Dumbledore called them \'the most qualified graduating class in the history of Hogwart\'s. It had also been diminished by nearly a dozen members and many had been severely injured.
Among them was Draco Malfoy. It was he who had distracted Lord Voldemort by sacrificing himself in a blinded leap. The irony of it all wasn\'t lost on the Boy-Who-Lived as he sat through endless victory celebrations. Sometimes in the stillness, he would hear his own words to Hermione that seemed hundreds of years away. Of all his friends, it was only Draco who had truly suffered and sacrificed. Only Malfoy who had seen the true battle.
Malfoy had been struck down and thought to be on death\'s door for several weeks, but with the stubborn strength he had shown for years, he recovered. Given his heroic act, he was not sent with the rest of his treacherous family to Azkaban. For many days, he visited Malfoy\'s bedside, sat with him and thanked him quietly. Then business had drawn him away, parties to be thrown, a new movement that needed its figurehead and his own real future to build. A part of him wanted to rush to the hospital when he heard that Malfoy had woken, but there seemed to be no time and there were too many conflicting feelings now to make anything clear.
Harry, Hermione and Ron set into motion the plan they had discussed for many years, becoming freelance adventurers/private investigators. They lived together in the Potter estate that Harry had finally inherited after some sticky legal work. It was a wonderful life full of fun and laughter. It was a busy life, a fulfilling one.
It was only when Hermione and Ron left to begin their own home that Harry realized just how lonely he was. Business was booming, however, and another person was needed to keep up with the tasks. So Harry put out an advert in the Prophet. He couldn\'t have been more surprised when Draco himself had come to fill the gap. There began two strange years of adventuring in pairs and trios and sometimes all four, a new balance struck. Draco was....different from his school years. Life had left its marks on the young Malfoy.
Harry had many occasions to be grateful for Draco\'s courage and stubbornness. Their relationship was again as it had once been, trysts in darkened corners and their public face, never cracking. For a long time, Harry had been content with that arrangement. But now....
Now he looked at the sleeping face of the man who had chosen to save Harry\'s life by sacrificing his own and had lived instead to be his closest, if strangest, companion. And now....carrying his child which really was an accident on both their parts....Draco had gone on for months as if nothing was wrong and when at last, the safety of the child became threaten,gavegave up the job he loved and became secretary to the firm. He even agreed to move into Harry\'s home, taking a spare bedroom as his own.
With a tender hand, Harry stroked the sleeping face and against his side felt the swell of his lover\'s stomach. More then anything, he wanted to ask Draco to stay with him, here. They had yet to talk about what would happened once the baby was born and the idea of saying the words \'commitment ceremony\' to Draco Malfos ths the mental equivalent of sticking one\'s hand in a blender and switching it to puree.
\"You\'ll be the death of me yet, Draco Malfoy.\" He whispered to the sleeping man, before rising to return to his own room.
In his dreams, Draco reached out to the warm spot on the bed where Harry hand been sitting and curled his hand to clutch at what was no longer present.

(((Two and Half Years Prior))))

It was in the darkest part of the night, when all had fallen silehat hat Draco raised himself up with a soul deep groan of pain. The infirmary was empty, all the others had gone to tonight\'s victory celebration, but he was still far to injured to move more then the dozen feet back and forth to the loo.
He hurt. More then his fractured body, but a deep ache in his core being. Voldemort had done something fundamental to him, taken from him the sureness he had always had. To be sure, Draco, had done some of damadamage himself. It had after all, been his choice to interrupt the wizard....
He wasn\'t sure why he had chosen it. Everything was happening at once, the fabric of reality was unfurling. It was pure chaos and he had been covered in blood both own own and others. It had only out of the corner of his eye that caught a glimpse of the real show down. When he saw Potter falter....something in him had snapped.
Now...now all he wanted was sweet oblivion. Every breath was pain, every morning a fresh awakening to a painful reality. His family was gone. They may not have been the perfect parents, but they had been his and they had loved him. Gone were summer days in the mansion, practicing magics under his father\'s watchful eyes or reading a book quietly with his mother. Gone even were his companions in darkness because he had betrayed them and no Death Eater forgave. He was the enemy to the society he once wanted to be a part of more then he wanted air.
But he was broken, busted down and tired. Exhausted. Done. Dust. With a sigh, softer then a kiss, he pulled the scalpel he had lifted from the nurse\'s tray when she wasn\'t looking. It gleamed idly in whatever light was left from the night sky. He knew that he was a little woozy from painkillers and wasn\'t much surprised that sliding the thin sharp metal into his arm barely hurt. He cut deep and hard, straight down the vein. He stopped when he could see the gleaming bone of his wrist. The blood wasn\'t flowing....oh by all that\'s holy please bleed....but nothing came. He turned his unsullied knife to the other arm, wincing in pain as he pressed clumsily down with the split arm. This time the cut was more jagged and it bled a little, sullenly.
\"Oh great goblins!\" A thin cry broke his concentration. The night nurse had come in, having come to check on her sole patient. She rushed to his side and started to fuss, weaving spells to close the long aching wounds. \"You\'re just lucky that the clotting spell from your surgery was still in place! You might have died!\"
I wanted to you stupid bitch, Draco thought, drifting off as she clucked.
His last thought as he slipped back into oblivion was that he very badly wanted to die this night, so he would not curse his stupidity in the morning.
When he did wake again it was to the surprising site of Severus Snape\'s morbid face staring unwaveringly down at him.
\"Well, Mr. Malfoy, you certainly have proven you point. Lost the will to live?\"
\"G\'way.\" He muttered.
\"That might be a bit of a problem, you see, I\'ve been authorized to take you under my care. I understand that things are ugly right now, Mr. Malfoy, but there is no reason for antics like this.\"
\"Do I have any say in this at all?\"
\"Not until you turn 18 next month, but you will have about five months of rigorous recovery which I suspect will be easier if you remain in my home. Your own is under some legal contentat tat the moment, though I suspect that it will be released to you within the year.\"
With a resigned sigh, Draco sank back into the bed, nodding a little. He had always been as fond of Snape as he could be of anyone not a Malfoy. The nagging voice that whispered death into his ear continued on, but he fought it down with sleep. He would deal with it later.
The six months he wound up spending in the Professor\'s home were riddled with suicidal lows, though none as drastic as the one that had brought him to drag the scalpel so deep into his flesh. He recovered bodily fairly rapidly though the scars on his arms would never fully heal and at the end of six months were still ugly pink ropes on his pale flesh.
It was at the end of his healing time that word of his estate came through. All of the Malfoy inheritance was his, including the mansion. He had declined to return, preferring the small cramped rooms of the Slytherin Headmaster to the echoing halls of his childhood home. One day, perhaps, held rld return, but now, it was enough that it existed somewhere in the distance.
It wasn\'t until one ordinary morning that saw a change in the painful cloud of endurance that had become Draco\'s life. He had been sitting at the scroll laden kitchen table, picking at another one of Snape\'s attempts at cooking. How a man who did nothing, but mix things together for a living could turn out such inedible food was a true mystery. With the sudden, silent way of his the man himself appeared, tossing down the Daily Prophet in front of Draco, before moving to stir at something simmering at the stove which had been giving off a pungent stink for three days now.
Cautiously handling the paper, he made out that it was the adverts with one in particular circled in heavy dark ink that Snape favored,
\"Help Wanted. Much adventure to be had. Must have experience in battling the dark arts. Contact Mr. H. Potter or Ms. H. Granger by owl.\"
Draco stared at the paper for a long time. Something stirred within him, a dull warm ache that started in his stomach and spread tensely through his whole body. What better way to live the rest of his life, but on the edge of death? He knew something of the Boy-Who-Lived goings on since the war. Potter and his two sidekicks had been a traveling circus of miracles and apparently they needed to branch out.
\"I\'ve found Mr. Potter\'s private address.\" Snape spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours. \"If you appeal to him today, directly, the job will be yours.\"
Draco didn\'t bother to utter a protest, he rose, showered and dressed. He knew this job was meant for him. The thought of seeing Potter again made his heart clutch. He\'d been told that in the worst of his delirium, he had been there, holding his hand and whispering reassurances. Official business had ripped him away.
Calmly, rationally, Draco pulled his walls up, pushing away his pain. His cocky grin back in place for the first time since before the war, he swept out the door as if he was still wearing Slytherin robes after a winning Quiddatch match.
Potter\'s house was pretty much what he would et oft of the hero. It was a little larger maybe and the garden a little more overgrown, but for the most part it was the humble white paint, cheerful blue shutters look that suited Potter to his toes.
Collecting himself a little, tugging sleeves over the ends of his scars and draped himself casually in the doorway. Trying for studied idleness, he knocked lightly, but firmly on the door.
\"Just a moment, please!\" A warm tenor came from inside the house, followed by a clanging of pots, followed by steady even footsteps. \"Be thee friend or foe?\" Was called out in a jocular voice.
\"Neither and both.\" Draco rang back merrily, internally laughing at Potter\'s antics. He had forgotten what it was to banter casually with the true meaning sitting somewhere below the words themselves.
The door was slung open with alacrity to reveal a tall, beautiful man wearing a ridiculous pair of round glasses. For a long moment, the two stared at each other. Finally, Draco broke the silence.
\"Hello, lover. I\'ve come to apply for the position.\" He gave Harry his best politic smile and tipped him a small wink.
\"T-t-the position?\" Harry stuttered out.
\"The one posted in the papers. You\'re in need of a fourth partner and who better qualified then the Salutatorian of your very own graduating year at Hogwart\'s?\"
\"Well, we already have the valedictorian.\" It seemed that Harry was roused from his stupor and able to joke again. His sudden smile was blinding. \"Bloody hell, but it\'s good to see you again! Come in, come in! I was just making dinner.\"
And just like that he welcomed his old enemy into home,ome, made him an omelet and told him about his new job. Draco responded in between gaps in the monologue with well-placed syllables, eating the rest of the time. Harry was a good cook, something Draco filed away for further reference and after his small unappetizing breakfast appreciated greatly.
\"So, are there any other positions I can fill while I\'m here?\" Draco asked when Harry\'s speech finally wouown.own.
\"I thought you\'d never ask.\" A lascivious grin appeared that looked entirely out of place on the innocent face. They kissed over the dirty dishes, remembering the tastes of a lust from another time. With some pushing on Harry\'s part, they made it to the living room couch before falling on each other like ravenous beasts. Shirts were thrown asunder and there was a long moment, when Draco was sure Harry would common hon his scars. Instead, a long pink tongue traced them from palm to elbow and busy hands went on with their business. Chuckling as he pushed Draco\'s pants out of the way, H sin sing songed as he had many years ago,
\"Some-one\'s not a natural blooooonde.....\"
\"Oh, shut *up*, Potter! That\'s supposed to be a national secret!\"
It was good to laugh during sex again. It was good to laugh. It was good to have sex. It was great to be held to sleep, the soft milky smell of his favorite lover in his nose. Draco drowsed happily, lulled to deeper sleep by the rise and fall of Harry\'s chest.
When Harry regained awareness, he called Hermione and told her that he was taking a few days off and that not to interview anyone else for the position. It had been most adequately filled.
((((Present))))
Putting together a simple meal for friends had gradually become one of Harry\'s secret pleasures. Cooking for Draco was even better. The blonde never failed to his his appreciation, even if he wasn't aware of it. Reading Draco's body language was difficult, but rewarding. He knew that Draco believed that he was tricking Harry into cooking for him all the time and that was just fine. It was better to indulge the blonde man in his see through manipulations then to rub the truth in his face.
Besides, the small bickering was a part of their relationship that neither could really live without. It kept them sharp to spar with each other both rue rue weapons training and in mental games.
But, now, watching the kettle steam and buttering toast, he wondered if their relationship was all about these small deceptions and manipulations. They danced around each other, never stepping on toes. Harry because he was afraid that Draco would leave and Draco because he didn\'t know any other way to be. In the Malfoy house, a precarious balance was a nice way of explaining family politics.
In any case, it might not matter at all what they did, if Draco didn\'t stay after the baby was born. The blonde had made it abundantly clear that their future together was unsure. It was possible that Draco might walk out the door the moment he recovered from this whole mess or worse....
Harry had never in Hogwart\'s thought of Draco as the type to give up. He had certainly been dogged enough about insulting him and his friendven ven later, when Draco had returned to him after the war, he seemed so determined. The blonde had thrown himself into his work.
The mask had cracked only once, but that had been more then enough for Harry to realize exactly how broken oy woy was. Then, it hadn\'t really mattered. Then it had been a day of vulnerability, sweet in it\'s revealing. Now, Harry saw if for what it was, a glimpse into the deep weakness and depression that lingered in Draco\'s soul and might cost them both their happiness if it was not healed.

(((A Year and a Half Ago)))

\"Shit shit shit shit...\" Harry chanted to himself as it started to snow.
The day had run long. First, his broom had to go in for maintenance and then he realized he\'d run out of floo powder. Of course, he only realized this when it was time to go home. And naturally, today was the day that Draco had told him that he would just meet him at his house, instead of at a restaurant.
The temperature had dropped unexpectedly in the middle of the day, so now Harry was walking the last few blocks home. It was snowing hard and there was no doubt in his mind that Draco had already left. The blonde hated tardiness and would never wait if he thought Harry was even a few minutes late.
So he was cold, a half mile from home with no sex to meet him on the other end. Hence the mantra of swearing.
Finally, his house came into view even through the thick veil of snow. It was the best thing Harry had seen all day. He hurried up the path and bustled up the steps. Out of the corner of his eye something moved.
\"Stupid cat. Outside on a day like this....\" He stopped. It wasn\'t the cat. It was Draco, sitting in one of the chairs that Harry kept forgetting to move into storage.
The blonde had obviously been there from some time as there was a light layer of snow on his clothing. He hadn\'t been prepared for the weather either. Long pale fingers were reddened and he was shivering under his light jacket.
\"Sorry, I\'m late.\"
Then it was Harry\'s turn to shiver. The blue eyes that he was so familiar with looked dead as he turned. There was a blue tinge to Draco\'s lips, but the blonde seemed unaware of the cold. His fingers were turned inward stroking the tips of the parallel scars on both his arms.
\"Hullo.\" The voice was faint, lost in the wind.
\"Come inside and warm up.\" Harry held out his hand and was shocked when icy fingers gripped his. The coas bas bone deep.
Docilely, Draco followed him inside, shivering more in the heat as snow melted down his back. Gently, Harry stripped off the blonde\'s jacket and started rubbing his arms.
\"Why were you out there? You should have gone home!\" Harry scolded idly. A pit had formed in his stomach.
\"I wish it had been different.\" Scratchy throat and the pit sunk deeper. Slowly turning his gaze from frozen flesh, he looked to Draco\'s eyes. They were red around the edges. They looked wet. Draco didn\'t cry. Ever.
\"What had been different?\" He asked gently, leading him over to the couch and lighting the fireplace with a quick spell.
"Light and dark is a misnomer. Everyone thinks of white as good and pure, but black is darkness and evil. It's not true. I've always been white. Washed out. The snow is a killer. White hides things, shields sins. Black is comforting, it is night. It's a promise of an eventual end.
\"I wish things between us had been different when we were younger. I wish I hadn\'t gone with my father in the first place when the war started.\" The voice was small too. He was curling into a ball, his body rocking a little. \"I wish I was a better man.\"
Harry stared for a long moment, entirely unsure of what to do. He\'d never seen Draco like this and it scared him the same way Hermione admitting she didn\'t know the answer to a tricky problem scared him. It was out of the paradigm.
\"I like you the way you are.\" He said, lamely.
\"Sometimes.....sometimes I wake up and I feel empty. Nothing helps and I wonder what it would be like to die.\"
\"Stop.\" Harry pleaded. He went to the couch, curling around the ice-cold man. \"Shhh. It\'s going to be all right.\"
The blonde moves closer, seeking warmth. The blue tinge had gone out of his lips, the redness fading from his fingers. He said nothing, staring into the flames. They fell asleep like that. When they woke it was full dark and Draco looked almost normal. Without speaking, they moved together with seeking fingers and warm lips. The silence made it strange and wonderful, a cocoon of warmth.
Afterwards, Draco seemed back to his usual self.
\"Get off me, Potter. I\'m in the wet spot. \"
Harry made a small protesting noise, before managing to roll off.
\"Bed?\"
\"Food first. I\'m starving.\"
They ate cold cuts on fresh bread that Harry had bought before heading home. It was a filling quick meal filled with pleasant silence and lazy touches. Harry was still itchy about before, but sensed that the time of confession had passed. So he let the silence mellow between them, letting concern show only in his eyes.
\"Stop staring at me Potter, I don\'t do tricks.\"
\"I was just wondering how you get your hair to stay like that. Do you use glue?\"
Everything back to normal, though he was ashamed to admit it, Harry pushed the whole event out of his mind because he was so relieved that the moment had passed.