My Beautiful Dragon

Summary: After an unexpected midsummer attack on Muggle-borns Harry is forced to leave the safe haven of the Dursleys and fight alongside his friends in a war that saw the demise of Voldemort. Harry returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year with his friends, carrying the memories of the bitter war and trying to come to terms with his feelings for a certain Slytherin. But where is he? And will Harry find out who really killed Voldemort?
Draco is missing from Hogwarts but returns unnoticed as Harry's life takes an unexpected turn and sends him towards oblivion.

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A/N: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta naycit. I couldn’t have done this without you. This is my first Harry/Draco fic so please be gentle with me.


Chapter 1: Avada Kedavra


'Avada Kedav- aargh..., No, please, stop it! You're hurting me, please! Ron, Hermione, help me! Who's that? Malfoy, what the hell?'

Harry woke up from another of his regular nightmares. Covered in sweat and gasping for breath, he slowly tried to calm himself down. Every night since he had returned to his Hogwarts home after his fifth year he was lost in turmoil of painful memories, not just of the war, but something more degrading. He knew Voldemort could never hurt him again, but his Death Eaters could and still did, but the dreams refused to die alongside the Dark Lord. His yelling had awoken his best friend Ron.

"You alright, mate?" he asked in a sleepy tone. "You were calling out my name and Hermione’s. What’s wrong?”
Harry continued to breathe raggedly, eyeing Ron with a vacant expression. “Sorry…” he mumbled.
Ron sighed. “Stop apologizing as if it was your fault. I don’t mind having to wake up in the middle of the night if you are having a nightmare, truly. I'm just worried about you, Harry. You’ve not slept properly for ages."

Harry tried to focus on the figure at the side of the bed. Praying Ron wouldn't get any closer, he rubbed at his temples with his thumb and forefinger, and then he reached across for his glasses, sighing heavily.

"I'm fine, Ron. It’s just a few ghosts that refuse to leave my head, that's all." He took a deep breath. "Can can … we talk?"
Ron nodded. "'Course we can; sleep can wait." Ron moved to settle himself on the edge of Harry’s bed, but Harry panicked and threw off the covers and manically made his way toward the door. "Whoa, steady on, mate, I thought you wanted to talk?" Ron was puzzled by his friend’s sudden outburst.

"I … I do, but not here. It's late and I don't want to wake the others." Harry motioned his head towards the sleeping figures of their other roommates, Seamus and Dean, before averting his eyes to the vacant bed near the window.

The two boys made their way out of the warmth of their dorm and quietly descended the stairs that would take them to their common room. It was cold, the fire no longer ablaze with the warm glow. Harry settled himself on one of the squashy, yet comfortable, armchairs beside the fireplace, and Ron used his wand to re-light the fire. They sat in companionable silence for what seemed liked hours, but only minutes had gone by, watching the shadows of the embers dancing around the room. Harry shifted in his chair and spoke to Ron, keeping his eyes fixed on the glowing warm fire.

"Ron … I … I keep having these flashbacks about… well, you know." He swallowed the sick feeling rising from his stomach. Something was telling him to tell Ron everything, but the emotional scars were far too painful just now. He left that bit out and continued. "About the war, and …and Neville. Oh, Ron, it was horrible! One minute he was yelling at me to look out, the next I'm falling, and I can taste blood, and … and I looked at Neville, who was trying desperately to stop me from falling. He was so scared, then Voldemort -" Ron winced at the name. He found it hard to bear the sound of it even though the Dark wizard was already dead. "Voldemort hit me with the Cruciatus curse and I blacked out. I tried Ron, I really tried to save him, but someone yelled the Killing Curse and I blacked out."

Harry felt the tears begin to push their way out of his eyes. He let them come; he needed to. Ron rushed to his side and tried to pull Harry into a friendly embrace, but Harry froze.

"Don't. Don't do that, Ron. I'm fine. Just leave me to calm myself a bit okay?"

"Erm!"

"Please, Ron, I'll be okay in a minute."

Ron knelt down beside Harry instead, puzzled as to why he didn't want a hug. He let the thought mull around in his mind for a bit, then tried another approach to stop his friend’s heart shattering before his very eyes. He gently placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, and even though the smaller lad flinched, he didn't push it away.

"Shh, Harry. It wasn't your fault, and you know that. Merlin, you were subjected to Crucio! There wasn't much you could have done. Neville's death wasn't in vain, Harry; he died trying to protect you, the Boy Who Lived. You’re the one that helped us survive for the last five years. Anyone would have done it, Harry, anyone."

"Even Malfoy?" Harry choked out.

"What?"

There was silence. The only sounds were the ones coming from the fire.

"What are you talking about, Harry?"

Harry fixed his eyes on Ron. Was his friend really that stupid? He knew Malfoy was there; everyone had seen him with the Death Eaters. "I saw Malfoy, Ron. I yelled the Killing Curse at Voldemort even while under the Cruciatus curse, but it didn't hit him. He still had his wand on me, and I was slowly losing all sense of normality. I heard Neville yelling, and then a second shout of 'Avada Kedavra', and finally a sickening thud. As I tried to lift my head, I noticed his lifeless body slumped next to me and M-malfoy standing over me, wand in hand, and calling out my name. It was then that everything went black."

Ron was sitting in stunned silence, trying to take all of it in. "I don't know what to say, Harry, I really don't. I didn't expect that stupid, bouncing ferret to be there, ferreting around. Hermione said he'd been rejected by… You-Know-Who …into his circle of followers because he refused to be branded with the Dark Mark. You said he was calling out your name. What name, Harry?"

"Huh?"

"Did he call you Harry or Potter?"

"Potter. He always calls me Potter … unless you add 'Scarhead', which he's only used in extreme circumstances – namely during Quidditch. As if he thinks that that would be enough to put me off trying to get the Snitch, the stupid git."

Ron let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. Still with his hand on Harry's shoulder, he shifted a bit to wrap his arm entirely around his back. Harry leaned back against the sudden warmth of the friendly touch and closed his eyes. He knew deep down that Ron would never hurt him. Not in the way he had been hurt three weeks ago, just after Voldemort’s demise. His eyes began to flutter as the demons began to invade his inner thoughts again. This time it wasn't Neville's death or Malfoy's bloodstained robes he was seeing. This time it was worse. It went beyond evil, it took Harry to Hell, and somehow, he knew he would never return from that.

Ron removed his arm from Harry’s back and left him to sleep by the fire. 'No point in leaving him on his own,' Ron thought as he settled in another armchair and watched Harry drift away to another fitful sleep. If only he knew the other secret that his friend was keeping, then he could try to help. Then maybe it would ease the pain a bit.

"I think I need to speak to Hermione," Ron said under his breath as his eyes closed slowly.

TBC