Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love
Chapter 1-A Tree, Dear, Not the Roots
Lunatic with a hero Complex
Harry dreamt in green. It meant of course that what sleep he got was no sleep at all, just a brief time in which he closed his eyes and deeply studied the color green.
Sometimes, Harry lived in green too. Like looking at the world under the cover of very thin green cellophane. He walked with the color, he ate with the color, he slept with the color. It was everywhere.
At first, Harry had been convinced it was his eyesight going bad from such a decidedly rough childhood. So he'd seen a mediwizard. A mediwizard that had stated "as far as she could tell, Harry's only visionary problems were the ones that necessitated his glasses."
And yet, the world was still green.
It was when Ginny told him that she didn't think that what they had was meant to go beyond the bonds of truly deep friendship, that Harry realized how much the grass tinted glasses were affecting his life.
It was also around the time of Ginny's departure that Harry realized exactly what shade of green was following him around. Acid green. Green like his eyes. Avada green.
And he also seemed to understand why it was there. It was not going to leave him. The final time, the sacrificial moment in the woods, was not planning on leaving him be. It felt that he needed reminding.
The drapes were the only things left unbroken in the house.
When Hermione came over a week and a half after Ginny left, she had trouble, to say the least, getting through the front door. The dishes that had sat tidily in the cupboards, always ready for whatever guests popped by, had now become the shattered decoration on the floor, the little golden snidgets fluttering their wings and opening their beaks in silent indignation at their broken flying space.
The dining table was kindling scattered to the four corners of the room, and the pictures on the walls were just gone, as though the force that had taken siege to the kitchen had simply willed them out of existence, leaving the nails all perfectly undisturbed.
She made it through the dining area, entering the living room and once again witnessing the gravesites of many noble pieces of furniture. A coffee table, 2 years old, deceased; a couch 22 years old, disemboweled and ultimately diseased; 10 bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey, gutted and left to bleed on the floor. Ginny had said that Harry had taken it like he'd been taking everything lately, calmly, politely, understandingly, in a word, blank. A skeptical eye looked at the space, she may be no psychiatrist, but this did not appear to be the work of a blank, calm, passive man. This looked like the den of an angered lion.
Despite her worry, her inner self snorted.
What a lovely and oh so apt pun, Hermione Granger, perhaps now we can think of a way to rhyme pope with dope.
She moved through the solemn living room and towards Harry's study. A study she really hadn't understood the function of. Harry had decided against Auror training, feeling that perhaps, he had caught enough dark wizards to fill the quota for his life. He'd foregone University, saying that really, more people trying to plan his future wasn't exactly what he felt he needed.
What exactly was he going to study?
As she leaned in the doorway and observed one of her oldest friends, she found she could think of many things he was currently a study in.
He was in his rolling chair, something she'd often walked in on him playing in during personal moments, rolling this way and that, stopping to spin every so often. She'd found it endearing. Now, however, he was sitting still, his legs propped up on the desk, and a still living bottle of firewhiskey keeping his left hand company as his right hand rested on an open book in his lap.
"Harry?"
He looked up at her, seeming completely unsurprised at her presence. "Hermione." Then his head went back to perusing the book and she was left once more in an awkward position.
She picked her way daintily across the, though intact and not destroyed, messy office. There was a stack of books in the chair that sat on the other side of the desk, the one reserved for visitors. She picked them up and sat down in it, taking a moment to look at the books she'd grabbed.
Green Light Stop By: Kildala Themen
Dissecting the Killing Curse By: Deanna Ceese
Wizards of the Middle Ages: The metamorphosis of Healing By: Renee Santant
It didn't help much. So, he was researching the killing curse. That much was obvious, but it didn't tell her why. She couldn't really see what this would have to do with Ginny leaving. Sure they'd been kind of serious for about 2 and a half years, but it had been a friendly parting, so she thought, she didn't think he was about to run off and kill Ginny, not after what he went through to obtain peace.
"Harry, we haven't seen you in a while, we've been kind of worried. What have you been doing, well besides playing ball in the house obviously."
Harry didn't even look up this time, choosing instead to keep reading and talk to her at the same time, "Haven't been able to leave, researching, its very important, got to make the green go away, then I can sleep."
Hermione had the distinct feeling that Harry had been drinking for a little while before she came to visit. She couldn't leave him like this, he looked like hell. There were deep purple bags under his eyes, and he looked like he probably hadn't eaten since
Ginny left. He was killing himself, and she didn't even know what for. It had to stop, or at least pause for a moment. She stood and walked around the desk, standing in front of him for a long moment to see if he would acknowledge her before leaning down and grabbing the edge of the book and beginning to tug it away, it looked like The Final Unforgivable By: Artemis Glask.
The effect was instantaneous. Harry snapped his head up, pushed the rolling chair back from her and….and an angry glare so full of mindless fury that she recoiled came from his eyes, those eyes that usually reminded her of innocent children, but which today made her think of a delirious fever patient. She let go of the book and backed away. When she felt that she was far enough away not to be threatening, she steeled herself again, "Harry is there anything I can get for you while I'm here? Would you like something to eat?"
Harry stared at her mistrustfully a moment more, before resuming his studying, and replying in a muttered tone, "I'll eat when I'm done, I've got to find the answer."
Hermione felt like crying. Something in there was broken, and she had no idea what it was. Ron was on assignment in Russia, something about a very angry Russian witch with a house that most diligently defended itself and the family members within all without needing any instructions. However the point was that he wasn't here, which meant, he couldn't give her advice. To be honest, she didn't even know if he would've helped anyway. There seemed to be something else completely wrong with Harry. He had signs of mania, and hallucinations. But he still appeared aware of what was going on around him.
She thought that maybe, Harry didn't need a friend. He needed one of two things, 1) A professional that could just talk a little to Harry and find out what was wrong and how to fix it…
Or
2)An enemy who was just apathetic enough to Harry's show of anger and sensitivities that they would bypass it completely and annoy the ever living fuck out of Harry regardless of his feelings.
And she thought, that, if she could convince her mind that she wasn't showing symptoms of insanity herself, she knew a person that fit both criteria.
After the battle of Hogwarts, it had been quite obvious that the Malfoy family no longer had the world on a string. Everything they achieved was achieved throught the regular and normal channels. It was, to say the least, slow.
However, of all of his family members, Draco had adapted most easily to the work gain philosophy of their new existence. He'd decided very early on that the life he'd had, the one that had led to running from fiend fire set by his own school chum and clinging for life on the broom of one Harry Potter, was perhaps not a life he should be so dedicated to maintaining.
So Draco decided to go to University. He wanted to be a psychiatrist, help people understand why they did some of the really truly stupid things they did and try to help them stop doing them. Of course, he still had a few years to go before he was actually legally certified to be called Dr. Malfoy, but he was moving along quite nicely, attending Uni on a series of scholarships, and doing well in all of his classes.
Right now, he was camped out in the library, planning to stay there until finals week concluded and the summer holidays shouldered their way in. He wasn't the only one, there were little campsites on all floors, groups of students huddled together like conspirators, speaking the faded words of ancient books in murmurs to themselves and to each other. So he guessed that's why it really wasn't surprising when Granger came in, though her packing seemed a little light for the traditional camping trip.
He was, however, quite shocked when she made to set up right next to him. At his table. In his breathing space. He valiantly tried to ignore her, hoping that she would evaporate to a less annoying location. Draco found that the longer he tried to ignore her, the more intense and pleading her silent stare got.
Finally, he just whipped around to face her, "What, Granger?"
She flinched back, surprised at his sudden movement, and became, magically one might say, shy. It irritated him. All that time spent trying to silently gain his attention and all of a sudden, she's shy, and won't talk? Please. It must be rather major to shut Granger up. "Well, what is it? I have exams to study for, as do you, I'm sure."
The mention of academics seemed to pull her out of her shell of silence.
"You're a psychology major, right?"
"Yes, Granger, notice the plethora of psychology related materials here on my table, you see how I worded that, my table?"
"Well, I have a problem that is somewhat in need of a psychological fix, and after examining all of the aspects of it, I've discovered that you seem to be the most suitable person to help me with it."
She seemed pleased with herself for her logic and Draco found that really, he just wasn't as impressed. "Granger, I can not foresee any reason why I would want to help you with whatever psychosis has chosen to take up residence in your brain. Not to mention that I am most definitely not certified yet, and therefore unqualified to assist the mentally unstable."
And then he turned back to his books, feeling that he had sufficiently dismissed the matter. Unfortunately, it seemed as if Granger did not quite agree.
"It's not me, Malfoy…its…well….its."
Knowing from experience how impossible it would prove to ignore her, he snapped on her again, "Well what, Granger?"
He was most definitely not prepared for the rush of sound that came out of her mouth.
"WellitssortakindaHarryPotterwhohastheproblemandIreallyImeanhereallyneedsyourhelp, please."
Draco blinked at her for an interminably long second while his brain sorted out what the bloody hell she'd just said. When it did, disbelief immediately took up residence there. "Harry Potter? What, in this wide world would make me the prime candidate to psychologically sooth Harry Potter?!"
Finding that perhaps his studying was becoming a lost cause currently, he gathered the books that were his, leaving the ones that weren't, and began to leave the library. Granger persisted anyway.
He was once again, not impressed.
As he walked down the library steps, determinedly trying to focus only on where he was going, Granger followed him, "Draco, I know you didn't get along at all while you were at school and that you haven't exactly been pen pals since the end of the war, but I really think you're his best chance."
Draco stopped cold again. He had to accept that he was not going to get away from her. She would more than likely follow him all the way to his apartment. A location he really did not want her to have. He turned, "Listen Granger, I'm going to finish this right now. I caused the death of his mentor. I almost killed him. I insulted his friends. I was very much the thorn in his side. I do not think that it is at all logical that I am going to be his miracle cure. So. Find. Someone. Else." He bit the last part off and turned around yet again, believing that at last he had shut her up. He was to be disappointed.
"I think he's dying."
He stopped.
"The house was destroyed, it doesn't look like's he's put anything in his body except air and firewhiskey for at least a week. He doesn't sleep. He barely talks. All he does is sit there and read and read and read. If you try to stop him, he…he..changes. I don't want to hurt him, and I don't want to make him angry. I need someone who doesn't care about that, but who will know when to stop. You're the only one I can think of. I think you're his only chance."
Draco stood quite still. He was hoping that the whole situation would just pass him by. How he always got drawn into the thick of things, he would never know. "I will look at him, Granger, and I do mean just looking. I won't promise you anything helpful, or even anything at all, but I will look at him. I'll come by Saturday."
And then finally, at last, he walked away.
Draco Malfoy had made a point of not paying attention to what was going on in Harry Potter's life after the war. He had felt that it was best if he left himself completely out of the man's life and vice versa.
He had to admit, he was a little curious.
The house that Granger had taken him to was nice, but not opulent. Two stories, but a medium sized two stories. The house was white, but the shutters were a dark green and there were columns in front of the door attached to a second floor balcony.
However, on the inside, things were completely different. Granger had warned him, but he just was not prepared. Smashed dishes, destroyed furniture, empty liquor bottles, exactly like she'd said. "Did you not think to pick any of this up?"
Granger blushed and he knew she actually hadn't thought of it, "I was just so worried about Harry, I didn't think to…." She didn't finish, but she didn't have to, Draco knew what she meant. Just in such a rush to help the boy wonder, she didn't have time to clean up his home.
But she continued anyway, "And to tell the truth, it makes me nervous to be in here too long, its starting to feel a little bit like walking around in a graveyard."
Draco looked around and realized she was right. There was a desolate sort of feeling about the rooms, as though all of the spirit that had made them a part of the home had simply moved on to a better place. Draco knew when they were approaching the study, though Granger hadn't warned him. It was the only place in the whole house with any light, or any life for that matter. It seemed like a frightening place to be headed, despite the light, and Draco felt that maybe he didn't want to see what was in there.
Granger entered the door before he did and when came into the doorway she was already moving towards the chair in front of the desk.
Draco was, to say the least, stunned. This was not what he had expected. Though he couldn't exactly inform himself of what he had expected. Harry Potter was sitting in an office chair, with a mostly empty bottle of firewhiskey resting next to his arm among a mountain of already drained ones. His eyes were fixed on the book in front of him. But he looked….just terrible. His eyes were large lonely green things in his face and his cheeks were sunken, though it was hard to tell how sunken as from this far, those shadows blended with the bruises forming under his eyes. His hair, still pitch black, looked oily and more wildly unkempt than usual. And Draco wasn't sure, but he thought that perhaps Harry Potter smelled as well. He didn't think he'd been avoiding going to the bathroom for the call of nature, but he most certainly had not been bathing. Draco hated to say it, but Granger was right.
He looked like he was dying.
Whatever he was doing, he wasn't an almighty war hero now. He was half raving. Suddenly, a thought of the special variety maneuvered its way into Draco's consciousness. If Draco Malfoy brought Harry Potter back from the brink of an insane death, there might just be a little bit of a decrease in the incredibly potent anti-Malfoy sentiment of the greater England wizarding world.
It was a plan that might just work.
And one that he was willing to try.
He moved from the doorway and sat down in the chair next to Granger's and watched her attempt to communicate with Harry, "Harry, I brought someone to visit, its Draco, don't you remember Draco?"
Harry's head didn't rise, but he surprised Draco with the incredulous tone that came from under his hair, "Of course I remember Malfoy, Hermione, I'm not an amnesiac."
Draco stifled a giggle. So the real Harry Potter was still in there after all. That would definitely keep things from getting boring. Granger simply sputtered, as if she really hadn't expected such a coherent response. He supposed in her despair and panic she'd reverted to thinking of Potter as a mentally handicapped child or a head injury patient. That was more than definitely not conducive to a healing sort of situation.
He nodded his head to himself and stood to leave, "Granger."
"Yes?"
"I'll do it."
Yes, it would be worth it to have his opponent back again. Not to mention the reputation.