Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

What Remains	By : Sasunarufan13 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6084 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor make profit of it. J.K. Rowling owns it.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author's note: And here I am with the fourth chapter. Here it's mainly the second half that I'm a bit concerned about, so I hope it isn't as bad as I fear.
Thanks to the following reviewers: ANON; ANON; Jan
Warnings: Angst (although I guess that's a given by now); slight sort of fluff - well, fluff compared to the overall angst
I hope you'll like it!
Part 4
There was a letter waiting for him when they entered the kitchen.
"Isn't that Aunt Andromeda's owl?" Draco questioned casually, unclasping his robe. His hair was slightly damp from the rain that had started falling down again when they left the Greengrass' manor.
"It is," Harry muttered and relieved the owl from its burden, curiosity as to why the older witch would contact him now briefly burning brighter than the cold feeling that had taken up residence in him since he had overheard Astoria.
The owl ruffled his feathers, clicked his beak and flew over to the perch Harry and Draco kept for visiting owls, where he started selecting owl treats out of the small bowl. Clearly he had been told to wait for an answer.
Draco cocked his head slightly, threw an indiscernible look at the letter and murmured, "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be back soon."
Harry nodded and listened to the occasional creak of the stairs as Draco ascended them and the door of the bathroom opening and closing. Silence returned and the dark haired man took a deep breath, steadying himself against the kitchen counter. After a short bout of hesitation, he removed his robe, hung it over one of the kitchen chairs and opened the letter. It wasn't as if he could ignore the letter – not unless he wanted a personal visit from Andromeda.
Dear Harry
I hope you're doing well. I've heard that you returned to work a couple of weeks ago; which is good. You've never been one to let things get you down.
My apologies, but I'm not going to beat around the bush. I've hold it off for as long as I could, but he inherited his stubbornness from his mother. Teddy has been asking after you – several times already. He still doesn't comprehend why he couldn't visit you in the hospital and your continued absence hasn't made it easier for him.
Teddy misses you. There are only so many excuses I can give to him before it is no longer enough. He has heard that you're back to work and has been asking when you have the time to visit him.
I think I know why you have put off visiting him and frankly, my dear, you're being ridiculous. He loves you; he is not going to care how you look like now. I don't care how you look like; you're still Harry.
You can't avoid him forever; that isn't fair to him nor to you. Don't let your attacker win.
I've instructed Helena to await your reply – which I hope will contain a date when you're ready to see your godson again.
I hope to see you soon.
Love,
Andromeda
The letter was placed on the counter and Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes, grimacing when his left palm slipped over the jagged edges of his scar.
Fuck.
He should have expected this; he really should have. It had been nearly two months since he last saw his godson; before the attack he hadn't seen the six year old since the New Year's party at the Weasleys' home, because he had been too wrapped up in a case. And after the attack …
He was ashamed to admit it, but he hadn't wanted Teddy to see him like this: scarred and ugly. It felt … wrong to have the boy see him like this. He was afraid of what Teddy would think about him now. If he saw him like this, damaged, scarred for life, turned into a freak, how would he react? Horrified, repulsed, disgusted? Would he scream or back away in fear?
He wouldn't be able to handle his godson's reaction. He knew Teddy idolised him; his adoration plain on his face whenever he looked at the older man.
He couldn't bear to see that look of adoration turn into one of fear or disgust.
However, at the same time, he knew he couldn't keep avoiding his godson. Well, he supposed he could if he really wanted to lose his family. He swallowed and stopped rubbing over his eyes, staring at the tiled floor with unseeing eyes.
He really wanted to see his godson again, but would he be able to cope with whatever reaction Teddy would give him? It had already stung when children he didn't know gaped at him or cried out of fear when they saw him; how much worse would it feel if the boy who was like a son to him reacted like all those other children?
If he hadn't overheard Astoria gossiping about Draco with her friend – would he still be this reluctant to show his face to Teddy? He didn't delude himself into thinking that all his issues would have disappeared if he hadn't overheard that particular conversation, but …
He wanted to move forward and visiting Teddy would be the first step. It would get him back on the path to leading his life as he had been leading it before the attack. It might even be enough of a push to try breaching the gap between him and Draco, go back to how they used to be before all this shit had gone down.
But it's never going to be the same as before, a voice hissed in the back of his mind and he clenched his jaw. Even if you won't longer flinch and can touch him again – you're still going to be as broken as now. You won't ever be fixed. Draco is still patient now, is still trying, but how long before he gives up? Before he realises that you're ruined?
"Damn it!" he hissed and whirled around, slamming his hands on the counter. The stinging pain shooting through his arms from the contact with the unforgiving stone was nothing but a vague blip on his radar as helpless rage and the sensation of feeling lost warred with each other; his stomach cramping fiercely.
Was this how his life was going to be the entire time? Constantly doubting whether Draco still wanted him, whether he was still good enough, whether or not he was fucking up Draco's life? He knew the Malfoys had been trying to rise up the social ladder again, but was his appearance really going to keep them from shooting up in society? Were people really wondering whether Draco was touched in the head simply because he hadn't dumped Harry as soon as he saw how he looked like now?
Would it even be worth it to stay …
He let out a sigh and pressed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes for a few seconds; multi coloured spots dancing in the darkness of his eyelids. Not casting another glance at the letter – he couldn't deal with that, not now – and ignoring the scolding hoot of Andromeda's owl, he walked out of the kitchen, up the staircase, and into the bathroom, which was now empty. The mirror was still a tad fogged up, proving that Draco had only recently left the room. He was probably changing into pyjamas now.
Having taken a shower this morning, Harry decided to just say fuck it to taking one now and instead reached out to grab the toothpaste and his toothbrush. Mechanically he filled his cup with water, squeezed some toothpaste on the brush and started brushing his teeth; the heavy mint taste coating his mouth barely registering as his eyes remained fixed on the drain in the sink.
When he was done brushing his teeth, he spat it out in the sink and gurgled some water of his cup before he got rid of that as well. He snatched the towel on his left and dapped his mouth dry before throwing it back on the rack. He went to turn around and leave the bathroom, but his eyes caught the mirror and he froze, staring back at his scarred face.
Since nearly destroying every mirror in the house, he had tried his best to avoid looking in the only remaining mirror. He had never been particularly vain and hadn't spent any significant time in front of a mirror before his attack, but now it physically made him ill to see the ruined mess that was supposed to be his face staring back at him from the reflecting surface.
Now that his eyes were caught by his reflection, he found he couldn't look away even though nausea was starting to creep up and he flinched.
As he studied his face he wondered silently what was exactly keeping Draco with him. How could Draco stand to look at him without feeling disgust? Harry could barely look at himself!
Was it pity like Astoria's friend had said? Was Draco pitying him because he had essentially become a social pariah with the way he looked now? Or did he fear it would reflect badly on him if he broke up with Harry now? Was he afraid he would lose the reputation he had built up so far if word got out that he had dumped Harry for no longer fitting the image of beauty? But if this had to do with his reputation, wasn't staying with Harry doing more harm?
The dark haired wizard knew all too well that appearance was everything in the higher circles. He had mostly survived the Pureblood gatherings because of his fame and as Parkinson had teasingly pointed out once, "Because you're easy on the eyes, Potter. Now shut up, drink some of this champagne and dance with me!"
He had no grace to speak of – something which he was sure made Narcissa despair quietly – and as he hadn't grown up in that world, he didn't know how to act, how to talk, who to talk to, who to avoid … The gatherings had been mostly him staying near Draco and being dragged into boring conversations while trying not to mess up too much.
So really, he didn't have much to offer Draco. Especially if his scars were reflecting badly on the blond wizard. He knew how hard Draco was trying to better his reputation, to show how much he had changed since the war. Harry didn't want his efforts to be in vain simply because other people wouldn't be able to look past his scars. It wouldn't be fair to Draco to be judged for something that only really affected Harry.
Arms slipped around his waist and he barely kept himself from flinching at the touch. Draco placed his chin on Harry's shoulder, his chest radiating heat against the younger man's back, and grey eyes locked onto his in the mirror.
"What are you thinking about?" Draco asked; fingers idly caressing back and forth over Harry's hipbones.
Harry shook his head. "Nothing in particular," he muttered, unwilling to divulge what he really had been contemplating. That would most likely end in an argument and he didn't have the energy for that now. Although there was a part of him that wanted to …
"I saw the letter," Draco mentioned casually and his fingers paused. A calculating look crossed his face. "What answer are you going to give her?"
Harry's hands clenched around the edge of the sink as his stomach rolled in response to the question. "I don't know," he admitted begrudgingly. "I haven't decided yet."
Draco looked visibly taken aback. "Why wouldn't you go? He's your godson."
"I know that!" Harry snapped and pulled himself free from Draco's grasp, taking a few steps sideways so that he ended up next to the shower. "I know that, okay! I just don't want him to -" He cut himself off and wrapped his arms protectively around himself as shame flared up once more.
"He's not going to care, Harry," Draco said quietly. He looked quite pale in his dark blue pyjamas.
"You don't know that," Harry replied miserably and the lump in his throat made it come out choked, which was something he could do without right now. He wasn't going to break down, he wasn't, damn it!
"I know him," Draco retorted calmly. "I've seen the way he looks up to you. He adores you, Harry, there is no way he's going to care about the scars. You two love each other. Don't let – don't let him take Teddy away from you."
Don't let your attacker win.
Those were the unspoken words grey eyes were screaming at him.
Harry looked away, fidgeting with a button on his shirt. "I'll think about it," he acquiesced, knowing that he couldn't keep ignoring his godson.
"Good," Draco said resolutely and the corners of his mouth curled up in a gentle smile.
Having Draco's gaze trained at him, without once flinching or looking away, caused the questions he had been torturing himself with for weeks to well up once more and he swallowed; stomach filled with violently fluttering butterflies.
"Draco? Are you …" he trailed off; his hands suddenly feeling clammy.
Draco cocked his head and asked lightly, "What?"
The words were on the tip of his tongue, burning to be let out, but after a few seconds of wavering, he lost his courage and he shook his head with a wan smile. "No, nothing. Let's go sleep; I'm knackered."
Something that looked like disappointment flashed across Draco's face before his expression smoothed out and he inclined his head. "Okay."
When they slipped into the bed – large enough to hold three to four people, because Draco hadn't wanted to get a smaller one and had been stubborn about it – and Harry felt arms slipping around his waist, pulling him closer until his back was pressed against Draco's chest, it was easy to imagine that nothing had changed.
He desperately wanted answers to his questions, but he was too scared to actually ask them, fearing what the answer would be. Ignorance was bliss, as they said.
"You ready?" Draco looked at him expectantly and visibly shivered when cold wind howled around them.
He and Harry were standing in the small front yard of Andromeda's house, waiting for the dark haired man to gather this courage. Harry had sent his reply a week ago, after a day of dawdling and doubting and knowing he would keep kicking himself if he didn't go see his godson. They had agreed to meet at Andromeda's place on Sunday afternoon and apprehension and fear had followed him throughout the entire week.
He wasn't ready. Not at all. But if he wasn't ready now, when would he ever be ready? If he didn't go through with this now, he would just keep putting it off, keep finding excuses to avoid his family and he couldn't do that. He wouldn't allow himself to do that. He loved Teddy like his own son and he couldn't let the attack take him away too. Besides if he couldn't even visit his own godson, how would he ever manage to go on with his life? This would be the first step to getting his life back to normal.
Still, dread filled his stomach like lead and his legs had the consistency of rubber as he stared apprehensively at the modest house in front of him. The urge to turn around and leave was growing with each second that passed and he scowled, angry at himself. When had he turned into such a coward?
"Not really, but let's go," he muttered, rolling his shoulders in a useless attempt to get rid of the tension there.
"It'll be okay," Draco reassured him and entwined their hands before they made their way to the door.
Taking a deep breath, Harry pressed on the doorbell, hearing the sound ringing loud and clear through the wooden door.
Andromeda might have been waiting right next to the door because it only took three seconds before the door opened, revealing the older witch dressed in a soft purple dress with her black grey hair done up in a simple bun. Dark eyes stared at him solemnly, studying him intently, before her eyes softened and she reached out with her arms, drawing him into a hug.
"You look good, Harry," she said softly and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly when she pulled back.
He shifted uncomfortably and mustered up a weak smile. "Thanks; you look great."
She narrowed her eyes a bit before she nodded and stepped aside to greet Draco, who was lingering behind Harry on the porch.
"It's good to see you again, Aunt Andromeda," Draco greeted her with a genuine smile and she returned it with a warm smile of her own.
"Yes, it is." She waved the blond inside and closed the door behind him. "How has my sister been?"
Draco chuckled. "She's well. She's attending gatherings mostly, trying to estimate where we stand now."
"That's my little sister," Andromeda said fondly and shook her head. She looked at Harry with an amused glint in her eyes. "Narcissa was always at her best when she could work her magic at social gatherings."
Harry tried to summon some amusement, but now that he was actually inside the house, nerves were running rampant through his body and he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to avoid seeing them tremble. "Where – where is he?"
Andromeda immediately sobered up. "He's in the living room," she answered; her dress rustling gently around her legs as she turned around and nodded at the closed door leading to the aforementioned room. "I told him to wait there and you'd meet him there."
"How much does he – you know." Harry waved half-heartedly at his face and he felt rather than saw Draco taking a step closer to him.
"I told him you had been attacked and you have some scars that can't disappear with the help of magic," she answered calmly. "He said it doesn't matter, because you're still his godfather." She looked pointedly at him.
Harry couldn't hold back a bitter snort. "We'll see," he mumbled, grimacing. He wanted to have more faith in his godson, but he also could recall all too vividly how other children had reacted to seeing his face.
She gave him a disapproving look, clearly scolding him for his lacklustre response, but he ignored her and made his way to the living room, Draco following closely behind him like a shadow; like he wanted to reassure the dark haired man he would be at his side the entire time.
Or he wanted to keep Harry from changing his mind and leaving the house. Either one was possible.
Hand resting on the doorknob, he took a deep breath to steady himself, but it didn't do much. If anything the nerves seemed to become worse and he was honestly starting to worry that he would throw up with how queasy he felt now.
"It'll be fine," Draco murmured and squeezed his arm reassuringly.
Biting his lower lip hard, using the sharp pain to distract himself, he pushed down the doorknob and pressed it backwards, opening the door slowly. It swung open soundlessly and after another moment of hesitation, he stepped inside, feeling like his heart was about to beat straight through his chest.
He knew he shouldn't be this nervous, because this was his godson, the boy he had raised from the start, but …
"Uncle Harry?" The high, innocent voice came from his right and he steeled himself before slowly and with a lot of trepidation turning around, barely aware of Draco and Andromeda slipping in behind him.
Teddy, who would turn seven years old in just a couple of weeks – Merlin, time went by fast –, was sitting on the cream coloured couch, swinging his legs back and forth. As Harry watched on, Teddy changed his neatly combed, caramel brown hair to a messy black and his blue eyes coloured a mixture of grey and green – a colour combination he usually took on when he visited both Harry and Draco.
Those grey green eyes were studying his face intently, swivelling from his left to his right cheek, to his forehead, his nose, his eyes, before doing it all over again. Harry could do nothing but stand still in front of the small boy, wondering what he was thinking about. Tonks might not have wanted anything to do with the Blacks, but Teddy was getting remarkably good at smoothing out his expression. Only the blatant curiosity and something else Harry couldn't identify immediately in his eyes betrayed the fact that he wasn't unaffected by seeing Harry's scarred face.
"Do they hurt?" Teddy inquired after a long moment of utter silence had passed.
"Sometimes," Harry admitted quietly and sighed, sinking down on the coffee table in front of Teddy, pathetically relieved that the boy hadn't started screaming or running away yet. "I'm sorry I didn't see you for a long time, Teddy. I – "
Teddy shook his head. "It's okay," he told his godfather solemnly. "Grandmother says you needed time to get better. But the scars aren't going away? Magic can't make them disappear?"
The dark haired man swallowed. "No, the scars aren't going away. Magic – magic isn't capable of making these ones disappear."
Teddy nodded thoughtfully before his face cleared up and he looked at Harry with a bright grin plastered on his face. "But you're okay now, right?"
"Ah, eh, yeah," Harry replied, honestly bewildered at seeing that grin directed at him.
He had expected Teddy to blanch in fear or disgust, try to avoid looking at his face once he saw the extent of the damage. Maybe even run away.
Never, not even at his most optimistic – and these last few months had sucked out a lot of his optimism – had he dared to image that Teddy would be comfortable looking at him, seemingly not bothered by the fact that his godfather's face was now heavily scarred.
"Then it's okay," Teddy said confidently and jumped off the couch, flying into Harry and nearly knocking him over as he hastily wrapped his arms around his godfather's waist as much as he could. "I'm happy you're here, uncle. I missed you."
Harry froze, not entirely sure he could believe his ears. "Aren't you – don't the scars bother you?" he asked hesitatingly and cringed at how pathetic he sounded.
Teddy pulled back a little so he could look at him confused. "Why? They're just scars, just like the one on your forehead and the one on your arm, right? It's bad that you got hurt, but I'm happy you feel better now." A small hand reached up and gently touched Harry's left cheek. "I'm a big boy, Uncle Harry! I'm not scared of scars!" He looked insulted that Harry would ever even consider that thought.
Something in Harry cracked and he took a shuddering breath, pulling Teddy in a close hug as he hid his face in messy soft hair, tears threatening to spill over.
Teddy burrowed his face in Harry's shoulder. "I love you, Prongslet."
Harry's breath hitched and this time tears dripped down his cheeks, splashing apart in Teddy's hair. "I love you too, Moonlet."
For the first time since he had been attacked, Harry felt that his life was finally taking a turn for the right, there surrounded by his family.
When he and Draco arrived home a couple of hours later, there was a message from Kingsley waiting for him on the kitchen table.
'We got him.'
Harry froze.
AN2: I figured it was time I brought some old nicknames back. So yes, what do you think of it? Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; I really appreciate reading your reviews about this story! Should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
See you all in the next chapter!
Cuddles
Melissa
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What Remains