pygmy-puffy:

I’m imagining that after the war, being unable to escape the labels and expectations they faced within the wizarding community, Harry and Draco would each on their own decide to retreat to the Muggle world.  After a couple of years, both of them would still wake up screaming in the middle of the night, chasing away yet another nightmare about the war.  Incapable of getting back to sleep, they’d often wander aimlessly around the city at night.  Eventually on one of these nights, they’d bump into each other.  They both knew from reading The Prophet that the other had also moved to Muggle London, but they never thought they’d cross paths. London is big, after all.  At first, they’d have the reflex to pretend they didn’t notice one another, but that familiar bleary-eyed, still semi-terrified look on the other’s face, the one they would see on their own face in the mirror after another nightmare, would make them stop in their tracks. For a long moment, they would stare at each other, as if reading the last couple of years on the other’s face and recognizing a shared experience.  In that instant, something would shift.  ‘Hi,’ Draco would say simply.  ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Harry would say in return, ‘There’s a 24h Chinese place down the road, I’ve been three times this week… Do you..’ Harry would hesitate, suddenly very aware again of who was standing in front of him, but then he would catch Draco’s gaze and at that moment, he would realize that he didn’t have to be in this alone anymore, at least not right then. ‘Do you want to join me?’ Harry would finish, finally. A flash of relief would skim over Draco’s face. ‘Yes.’

And so side by side, they would stroll down the street and down into the restaurant. Maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, they would allow themselves to foster that tiny sliver of hope, already flickering gently within.