Chapter 1: Hear Me

Title: Is Anybody Out There?

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, he would have been snogging Draco Malfoy in the books, not just my fanfics.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Luna, brief Harry/Ginny, former Draco/Astoria.

Rating: R to be safe, though I don't intend to be too explicit.

Warnings: Slash, sex or implied sex, language, character death (not Harry or Draco), discussions of a past suicide, and past canonical child abuse.

Summary: When grief threatens to overwhelm Harry Potter, the only person who can pull him out of it is Draco Malfoy. Meanwhile Draco himself is drowning in secret guilt that nothing can overcome – or can it? This is a story about grief and guilt, with a side of lust and love. It goes back and forth between post-epilogue story and pre-epilogue, post-war story. Also, Scorpius and Albus are comic relief. Epilogue compliant.

Author's Notes: This is my first fanfic since I was eight. I'd really appreciate all the reviews I can get, letting me know what I'm doing wrong (or right). I don't intend to have graphic sex as a part of this, as I'm pants at writing it. Thanks, and enjoy!

Is Anybody Out There?

Try to hear my voice
You can leave, now it's your choice

Maybe if I fall asleep, I won't breathe right
Maybe if I leave tonight, I won't come back

I said it before, I won't say it again
Love is a game to you, it's not pretend
Maybe if I fall asleep, I won't breathe right

Can nobody hear me?
I've got a lot that's on my mind
I cannot breathe
Can you hear it, too?

Hear Me - Imagine Dragons

"Come on, Dad; let's go!"

Scorpius tugged his hand, face flush with excitement. And why wouldn't he be excited, thought Draco wryly. It wasn't every day that young wizards made their first trek to Platform 9 and ¾ and the Hogwarts Express.

He glanced to his left, where Narcissa strode regally. A burst of gratitude flared inside him that Narcissa had insisted upon accompanying them to the station, as had happened so often in the last eleven years, over the many various tasks of child-rearing Narcissa had insisted on helping him with. Draco knew, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to admit it, that he would have been utterly lost without her.

It was unspoken between them, how much the two of them needed one another. After Lucius had been sent to Azkaban, Narcissa had been lost. She and Draco began to slowly, painfully attempt to rebuild their family name. He bore the mark of a Death Eater, but Harry Potter had testified on his behalf and that had gone a long way towards redeeming him in the eyes of the wizarding public. After all the years he'd spent hating Potter for his fame he'd never expected to reap any benefits from it, much less feel grateful for it, however grudgingly.

A few years passed in which funds were donated; charities and post-war causes supported, and Draco finally managed to acquire a job at the ministry – not because he needed money but because it helped to make him appear more respectable. Narcissa arranged a marriage for him with the pure-blood daughter of another rich and powerful family who had a fair bit of sway in politics; which Draco wasn't pleased about and he went along with it only because he knew that it would go a long way towards the rebuilding of their family name and respectability. That talking about his wedding had made Narcissa smile for the first time since his father had been sent away was purely irrelevant. That his objections had died on his lips upon seeing a glow in her eyes that hadn't been there since before the war didn't matter; it was politics. He was a Malfoy, and he didn't need emotions.

Guilt flooded him at the thought, and the image of a fair-haired woman, a beautiful young thing, rose unbidden in his mind. He quashed it quite firmly and thoroughly. He could not think of Astoria Greengrass now.

He quickened his pace, but said, "Scorpius, behave."

He was rewarded with a cowed look and a petulant sigh from the boy in front of him, who stopped trying to wrench his arm from its socket. The ghost of a smile crossed Draco's face, and Scorpius grinned back at him, unable to stay calm for long. The tugging resumed.

Draco let out a long-suffering sigh of his own and allowed himself to be dragged to the barrier. "Wait for your grandmother, Scorpius," he said, giving the boy a stern look.

Scorpius nodded, then began hopping from one foot to another in impatience. Draco opened his mouth, then shut it again. He wouldn't be seeing Scorpius again until the Christmas holidays. Why make his last memories of his father for some months be of reprimands for decorum? He reached out and stroked the boy's blonde hair indulgently.

"Da-ad!" Scorpius flushed and moved away from him.

He smiled. "You used to love that," he informed his son.

"When I was a baby, sure. I'm eleven now, Dad, and I'm going away to school. What'll the other kids think if they see?"

Draco chuckled. "You win." His mask had slipped, but he didn't bother to correct it yet; he'd always struggled with the mask around his son, from the time he was born he had been like a tiny, squalling knife that cut right through Draco and all his pretenses. And since he was going away there would soon be no one around him who could cause him to falter.

His smile faded. He was going to have a lot of free time on his hands, and hadn't yet decided what he planned to do with it. He swallowed. Maybe he would go back to working at the ministry. It shouldn't be too difficult to secure a job there, and it would keep him occupied.

Narcissa had caught up and motioned to him to continue, so they did; straight through the barrier and onto the platform, and Scorpius had stopped bouncing around excitedly and instead stared in awe at the Hogwarts Express. Draco looked around, nostalgia sweeping over him. He hadn't been back since returning to complete his seventh year with the others in his age group who had missed out on a chunk of their education because of the war. It had been a miserable experience, in many ways. He'd been grateful to get his NEWTs and get out of there.

As his gaze swept the platform, he caught sight of the Weasley boy glaring at him. And where he is, he thought, anxiousness filling him, Potter's not far. He tried to squash the thought, snapped his mask in place and tried not to show how nervous he was, suddenly.

And just as suddenly, Potter caught his eye, and gave a brief nod, before looking away. Draco's stomach flip-flopped dangerously, and his heart thudded in his chest. Potter looked – well, Potter looked great. His eyes were just as deep and intense as Draco remembered and had him holding his breath during their brief moment of contact to his own grey ones. His black hair just as thick and messy as it had always been, and Draco found himself thinking of his own slightly receding blond hairline with a faint tinge of embarrassment. The vanity he thought he'd buried long ago reared its head then, and he cringed, instinctively.

Then he shook his head, cleared it of Potter – as much as he could, at any rate – and focused on his son. Who was leaving. He wouldn't think of Potter at all while he was saying goodbye to his son. He got down on one knee to talk to Scorpius before he got on the train and out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter do the same with a boy who looked as much like his father as Scorpius looked like him. Mentally cursing Potter, he wrenched his attention back to his son.

"Scorpius," he began, "Be good. Obey your Head of House, your professors, and the Headmistress." Scorpius nodded, a look of fright passing over his face. "But dad," he hissed. "What if I'm… what if I'm a Hufflepuff?"

Draco bit back the urge to laugh out loud. He recalled every sneaky exploit, every cunning ploy his young son had used in the past eleven years, and snorted. "You are no Hufflepuff," he reassured him. "You're a Malfoy. Remember that!"

Scorpius beamed. "Yes, Dad!"

Draco did not believe in public displays of affection, but he couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and wrapped his son in a cautious embrace. "Be safe," he whispered. He released Scorpius and smiled at him, then rose to his feet. Scorpius stared in astonishment, then belatedly threw his arms around Draco's waist. "I love you, Dad!"

He flushed, feeling the eyes on him in the wake of Scorpius' loud announcement, but murmured, "I love you, too, Scorpius."

Scorpius grinned wildly. Draco wondered if he had failed somehow, in not teaching Scorpius to be distant and cold enough. He could put on a mask when reminded, but it failed him when he was over-excited.

Narcissa had finished using the enlarging charm on Scorpius' trunks, which had been shrunk down and stowed in her purse on their way to the platform, and she bent down now to embrace him. She spoke softly to him, and he calmed down while listening to her. Then they were walking towards the train, waiting while Scorpius clambered aboard, and watching his blonde head move out of sight. A lump formed in Draco's throat and he looked away.

The train started then, gushing steam and tooting like mad as it moved away, taking his boy with it. The boy he gave up his life to raise and spent the last eleven years devoting himself to and without whom he didn't know what to do with himself. He tried not to panic as he watched the train pull away, and he comforted himself that his trembling was barely noticeable. His mind was flooded with thoughts of "What now?" and he was afraid; afraid to be living life without his son as a daily constant.

Then, "Malfoy," the voice behind him said, and his mind was flooded with thoughts of a different kind, memories assaulted his faculties and he stiffened as he was overwhelmed by thoughts of Potter.

Potter, fingers outstretched, flying past him in a Seeker's game; heading for the snitch.

Potter, testifying at his trail; his voice clear and confident, his words filling Draco with a peculiar blend of hope and shame.

Potter, holding his hand out to Draco and helping him up off the ground where he lay after a group of students ganged up on him.

Potter, leaning against the dungeon wall, his face twisted in a devastating half-smile as he listened to Draco talk.

Potter, head thrown back, laughing into the night.

Potter, gasping and quivering as he came against Draco's hand.

He thrust the memories away, and summoned his sneer.

"Potter."

He turned and glared disdainfully, watching the smile die on Potter's lips. Those lips were every bit as full and pink as Draco remembered, and pain flared in his gut at the sight. The Weasel and Granger were giving him baleful looks, and the Girl Weasel slid her arms around Potter and chided him. "Don't be rude, Malfoy."

He wondered what she'd say if she knew what had happened between him and Potter. Wondered if she knew that he'd touched Potter before she did; made love to him before she did. He doubted it.

He opened his mouth to retort, but his mother put her hand on his arm. "Draco, please." She shot him a look of reproach. Then she smiled. "It's good to see you looking well, Harry."

He smiled again and dipped his head. "Same to you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Please, call me Narcissa," she smiled at him and he flushed, as uncertain of how to proceed as he had been when she'd said the same to him eighteen years before. Draco's heart ached.

"Thanks, Narcissa," he murmured. "Seeing your grandson off?"

"Yes." Narcissa smiled again, sadly this time. "I don't know what we'll do without him. It'll be so quiet."

Potter nodded sympathetically. "I understand. I just saw off my two boys, one of them for the first time. It's hard to get used to."

"Ah," said Narcissa, "But you've still got one at home." She gestured to the little girl who was peering around Potter's leg, smiling shyly.

"Yes," Potter grinned. "She's our little angel – aren't you, Lily?"

Lily ducked her head, bashful while the adults around her chuckled.

Narcissa smiled. Draco glared. Potter cleared his throat.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were here with your wife," he said. Silence stretched awkwardly.

"Yes," said the Girl Weasel, apparently wanting to make a go of being friendly, since Potter was attempting it. "I'd love to meet her; where is she?"

"Dead," snapped Draco, annoyed by all the fake friendliness in the air. Not the least of which was his mother's friendliness with Potter. She only saw him as the reason she and Draco had avoided Azkaban, and therefore felt the need to be friendly towards him. Draco saw him and thought of Hogwarts, and everything that had passed between them before Potter had unceremoniously dropped him and never looked back.

Potter and his wife looked suitably chastised. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," he said softly. And he meant it. Draco could see it in his eyes. Those damn, beautiful deep green eyes that threatened to sweep him away.

"You didn't kill her." He shrugged.

There was an awkward silence, and the Girl Weasel, Granger, and the Weasel all started to talk at once, along the lines of, "Oh, would you look at the time!" Potter just stared at Draco sadly. The emotion in his eyes made Draco want to scream.

It wasn't fair. Potter wasn't supposed to affect him like this anymore. Goodness knew he had moved on, and he had three children. A happy wife. He loved her, and she loved him, and there was no room for Draco in that equation. There never had been; he had just been deluded enough to think there was for a brief time many years ago before reality so rudely awakened him. And Draco had married, had a son, and lived a comfortable life in those years. Potter was not supposed to make his heart pound and his gut wrench. Not anymore.

Narcissa agreed with the Girl Weasel and they bid each other goodbye. Draco tipped his head, and sneered at them. Potter most of all. He had the audacity to look hurt.

"What was that about?" whispered Narcissa, frowning at him as they walked away.

Draco's mouth twitched as he considered what to say. Gee, mother, I'm gay and it seems I'm still in love with Harry Potter. Years ago he had great fun stringing me along and apparently I'm not over it.

"We've never gotten along," he lied. If you cut out that summer following the war when Potter was working with him and his mother to keep them out of Azkaban, and the remainder of that year at Hogwarts, then it was true.

"You got along when he was keeping us out of prison," she said stiffly. "I should think I taught you to honour your debts better than that, Draco."

"Yes, Mother," he murmured. Silence lapsed as they headed for home; Draco began contemplating the best use of his time now that Scorpius' absence would leave him with an excess of it. Perhaps he would go to a Quidditch match.

He would not think of Potter. He would not.

It was just too damn painful.