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Chapter Text

He looked like him, just like his Harry, and yet… he wasn't.

There were differences here and there, this man's hair was longer and there was a large scar marring his face. One that started at his jaw and ended just before that familiar lightning bolt, it was as eye-catching as it was horrifying to see Harry's face marked like that.

What he was wearing was something Draco had rarely seen Harry wear, all black without a speck of red. He almost wanted to ask where his glasses and wedding ring had gone, but he didn’t get a chance to when the man, who wore the face of his beloved, spoke.

“Hello Draco.”

Draco knew down to the marrow of his bones, in the same way he knew the moon rose every night, that this wasn't his husband and yet… it was.

This wasn't just a Polyjuice potion, a person using it wouldn’t be able to get into their home regardless of whether they looked like Harry or Draco. Was there something faulty with one of the charms on Grimmauld Place that would allow someone other than him or Harry to enter their home?

To appear in the foyer without triggering any alarms and how long would it have taken Draco to notice if he hadn’t needed to run out to grab ingredients? Beaming at the figure at the doorstep, heart overflowing with love that fizzled out the moment the man turned and his mind caught up with reality. This wasn’t his husband or his Harry, this was someone else.

“You…You’re—who are you? ” he asked, wanting to run back to hide away in the kitchen where he had been trying to cook a meal for Harry's return from his mission later that night. That was going better than expected, even with Kreacher no longer around to help him.

“Harry Potter, of course, the boy who lived… But not your Harry. I’m sure you’ve already realized that,” the man grinned, his eyes tracking over Draco’s face in disbelief that he knew matched the expression on his own face. That smile, it was familiar, the same one Harry had given him just before he had left for his mission. “You can call me Evans.”

“Evans? Did you think that I would just let you in because you said you were Harry? Did you think I was an idiot or—”

“Is it alright if we have this conversation elsewhere? I would hate for others to overhear,” Evans murmured softly, his lips tugging up and it must have pulled at the scar on his face even if the man didn’t show it. His eyes darted towards Walburga Black’s portrait, covered by a curtain before glancing at the other portraits watching on in curiosity. “I know that I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but… you know it’s me, Draco.”

Draco swallowed, he shouldn’t have been letting this man, Evans, stay a second longer. There was no reason for him to trust his words, but the evidence was right before him, wasn’t it? The wand that Evans slipped from his cloak, holding it out to Draco. This was Harry, or a Harry Potter’s wand. Harry would have been furious to know Draco had done this, he would have called him naive and foolish… but this was Harry.

Maybe not his, but still he was a Harry, one who looked so tired and broken. He would never hurt him, Draco mulled, hesitantly nodding before guiding Evans to the sitting room. He returned with a tray of tea and biscuits moments later that he set down on the coffee table before dropping down on the sofa opposite to the man.

Whose eyes seemed glued to Draco, as if he expected him to slip between his fingers like ash. It made him wonder, what had happened to this Harry to make him look so aggrieved despite the smile he plastered on his face whenever Draco so much as glanced at him?

“It’s been so long since I’ve been here,” Evans murmured, watching Draco pour the tea and he was doing it without realizing it, preparing the tea the way he knew his Harry enjoyed it. Maybe he should have asked to be sure, but Draco knew Harry like the back of his hand and this Harry would like this just the same, wouldn’t he? He even smelt like his Harry, the scent of sweet apples, chocolate and leather lingered in the air.

“You don’t live at Grimmauld Place in your… home?” he wasn’t sure what he was dealing with, was this a time traveller?

A Harry from far into the future or something else? A part of Draco hoped it wasn’t his Harry, the scars on the man’s face and the ones he caught on his hands painted a picture that Draco didn’t like. He would have hated to think of his Harry suffering, not after everything Harry had been through. Not after Draco had promised he would spend his life lavishing Harry in adoration and love. If this Harry, no, Evans, was from the future, then Draco had failed, hadn’t he?

“No, I don’t,” Evans rasped, so quietly that Draco had to strain his ears to hear him when he passed Evans his tea.

“Why not?”

Well, it wasn’t like Draco had expected to live here or planned to fall in love with Harry Potter of all people. But it had happened and Grimmauld Place had become his home, their home, that he adored all the same.

“Who knows…” Evans murmured after a moment, sipping his tea, his lips quirking in delight. It was a soft thing, the very same smile that made Harry’s eyes crinkle in joy whenever his gaze would fall upon Draco. He always adored it, seeing the happiness on his husband’s face. “You made it just like how I like it, funny that.”

“Of course, I know what you like—or well… Harry, my Harry, likes it like that, so… I just assumed. I’m rarely ever wrong you know,” he huffed with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at the way Evans’s face pinched in an emotion Draco couldn’t begin to read.

“Hm, no… no you’re right. Well, he’s a lucky man.”

“Over tea?”

“Mhm, no… To have someone that knows those little details—that remembers them enough to do those little acts of…” Evans’s voice trailed off, the man shaking his head and tapping a finger against his teacup. His smile drooping and half-lidded gaze dropping down to Draco’s hand.

“Of?”

To his ring, Draco realized, that glinted under the dim lighting of the sitting room. For whatever reason, it made him want to hide it, he felt as if Evan’s gaze would turn his ring to dust.

“It’s nothing.”

Draco hid the frown pulling at his lips behind his tea cup, glancing towards the clock and maybe he should have contacted Harry and told Evans to wait outside? But his husband wasn’t due to return until tonight, the Auror away for far too long with his latest mission. But it would be needless to worry Harry, not when he would be home later tonight and Draco could deal with his scolding, right?

“So, on with it. Why are you here?”

He slanted a look back towards Evans, only to find that the man had begun exploring the room in curiosity, halting in front of the wall Draco had covered in little snapshots of his and Harry’s memories. Filled with photos with others or with just the two of them, but Evans’s hand reached up towards one particular photo.

It was the one that had been taken on their wedding day, with Harry twirling Draco before pressing a kiss to the giggling Slytherin’s lips and he wasn’t sure why it filled him with such dread, the way Evans brushed his thumb over Draco’s face. He couldn’t see Evans’s expression, not with his back to him and there was no explanation for why that made him so frightened.

This was Harry or a Harry, he reminded himself.

There was nothing to fear, Harry would never hurt him.

“Why are you here?” Draco tried again, speaking louder and watching Evans’s hand slowly pull away from the portrait before he turned to face him with a blank look on his face. “Evans, why—”

“Tell me, are you happy here?”

“What?” it was an odd question, unexpected and he couldn’t understand the reason for it or what Evans was getting at.

“Are you happy here? With the life that you’ve built with your Harry?”

Evans watched him like he was trying to memorize every curve and wrinkle on Draco’s face. It made something uncomfortable begin to unfurl in his chest.

It had him clearing his throat and forcing himself to keep his eyes from drifting away from that intense stare. “Yes, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know there’s an infinite number of universes, some good, some bad and some that just are. There’s no rhyme or reason to it—what fate decides to allow or… ruin,” Evans rasped, his words had Draco furrowing his brows in confusion, while eyeing the dark look that settled over Evans’s face while his half-lidded gaze never left him. “I’ve come a long, long way from home, Draco. Do you know that?”

If Draco was someone weaker and not a Malfoy, then perhaps he would have said it might be the beginnings of fear thrumming through his veins. But still, it unsettled him. The undecipherable look in those green eyes that had always watched him with such reverence, but this wasn’t his Harry gazing at him, was it?

Draco paused, thinking carefully over Evans’s words before speaking again. “What’s your point?”

“I used to think that sometimes there were no other options, that it was fate or destiny—a prophecy that couldn’t be denied and… and I accepted that for so… so long. Unquestioningly,” Evans whispered, a soft hum leaving him while his eyes drifted back to the portrait of Harry twirling Draco. It was a familiar tune that Draco recognized as the lullaby Molly would sing to her grandchildren. “I was naive then. A bumbling fool as you would have said… or what my Draco would have said.”

“Would have?”

It sounded like this Harry was implying he was from a different universe, Draco pondered, chewing his lip in thought while setting his teacup on the coffee table. This was something that was so out of the realm of possibilities, and yet, completely possible. Of course, it would be, the impossible tended to happen when Harry was involved.

“Fate is cruel. It took my Draco and… and I couldn’t accept that. You understand me, right?”

He didn’t, not really, but there was one thing Draco understood now and that was that he had made a terrible decision, hadn’t he? By allowing Evans into their home, assuming  the man had wanted help from Harry to return back home and… Ah, where was his wand?

On the kitchen counter where he had stupidly left it, as he often did when he would make himself and Harry tea, with the Gryffindor always being the one who returned it back to him. He had felt so at ease with Evans, his brain and body recognizing him as, maybe not his Harry, but a Harry.

So, Draco would be safe, right? He wouldn’t need to be on his guard and yet he was. Watching as Evans began to pace the room, the man becoming more and more agitated, his hands raking through his hair—in the back of his mind, Draco hadn’t thought that it was possible for Harry, no, Evans’s hair to become any unrulier.

“Ah… Of course. Why don’t I get us some more tea and we can discuss this some more?” he tried, readying to stand to his feet, flinching when Evans waved his hand and refilled the teapot again.

Evans gives him a thin smile, tilting his head in what Draco would almost say was amusement. “Well?”

“Thank you,” Draco muttered after a pause, making no move to reach for the teapot and there was an itch in the back of his mind. An alarm that had been telling him that he was in danger. He had almost wanted to scoff at it, because he could never be in danger with Harry around, right? But he was. “If you need help getting back to your home, then I can get in contact with Granger. Or when Harry gets home—”

“No,” Evans cut in, glancing back to the portraits.

“No? What do you mean, no? Harry won’t be back until tonight.”

All Draco had wanted was for this man to be gone and to be able to enjoy dinner with his husband. Why was this happening?

“I can get back home just fine. You wanted to know why I was here, didn’t you?” Evans had that smile again when he peered back at Draco, it looked wrong on Harry’s face. A look he had never seen on his husband’s face before, filled with a ravenous want and desire. It was terrifying. “It’s because I don’t agree with fate or prophecies. Not anymore. Not after they took him—not after they took my Draco.”

“Listen, Evans... I’m sorry to hear that, but—”

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“I really don’t have the time for this, but I’ll humour you just this once,” Draco needed to buy time, that was what he needed to do until he was able to find a way out of this or maybe escape when Evans was distracted. It had him swallowing past the lump in his throat and plastering on a sneer he hoped didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “What happened to him—to your Draco, I mean?”

Evans eyed him vacantly; he looked as if he’d shatter if Draco so much as breathed in his direction. “I killed him.”

“Oh.”

Of course, it would be just Draco’s luck that he would have what he slowly had begun to realize was an unhinged version of his husband in his home.

Just his luck, wasn’t it?

Merlin, Harry was going to be furious when he found out how idiotically naive Draco had been. For allowing himself to be fooled by that face that matched his beloved’s and assuming no harm would come to him.

Why had he accepted Evans so easily into his home in the first place?

All but walked into his snare and allowed the man to capture him in his maw. Was it naivety or something else that made Draco not question Evans? Or was it his foolish heart that allowed himself be at ease around someone it recognized as Harry?

“I can still feel it, you know? His blood cooling on my hands as the light left his eyes and… and I didn’t realize until later, after it was all said and done that… I loved you—that I loved him,” Evans murmured, wide green eyes never leaving Draco, tracking his every breath and shift. His lips pulled down into a remorseful and bitter grimace. “To think that your death changed so much.”

“What do you mean?”

More time, he needed more time, just until he was able to get his hand on his wand or escape, Draco reminded himself. Feeling sweat form on his neck and forehead that he resisted the urge to wipe at. Not that he had any expectations he would win against Evans.

Not against Harry Potter.

“In my world after I killed you—after you died, the Death Eaters still found a way into Hogwarts. They always would have. Maybe it was written by fate itself, unavoidable and set in stone,” it made Draco’s scar itch when understanding washed over him of when Evans’s Draco had died. “I’ve been here for some time now, learning about your world, what’s different and what’s the same. Do you want to know what happened in mine?”

Draco hesitantly nodded, trying and failing to hide the way his hands trembled by sliding them under his thighs, but of course Evan’s caught his movement. He was Harry after all, and the man huffed in amusement, sending him a fond look, but he made no move to get closer to him. Seemingly content to idle by the portraits, looking between them and Draco with a look filled with so much want it made his heart twist itself into knots.

“At your home, when Hermione, Ron and I were captured by the snatchers—by Greyback, you weren’t… you weren’t there to deny my identity. To protect me—to save us—I can still hear Ron screaming after Bellatrix killed Hermione. I don’t think Ginny ever forgave me for not being able to protect Ron,” Evans laughed softly, blinking away tears while his eyes darted from the portraits and back to Draco again with a shuddering rasp. “I don’t blame her. I understand now, more than before, that this was all my fault. By killing the light of my life, I damned them. I damned my world and… and I killed you. Little dove, I killed you.”

“That isn’t—wasn’t your fault,” Draco could still remember it himself, of blood soaking his chest, the damp water beneath him and Hermione’s screams. The terror of living in fear of the Death Eaters that roamed the halls of Malfoy Manor and knowing that the Dark Lord was haunting his home like an unending nightmare. “Evans—”

“I regret it everyday with every breath I take and I still wake up to it—to the sounds of Hermonie’s screams and to the feel of your blood on my hands. It’s my fault.”

What had happened in Evan’s world? Draco could barely fathom what the deaths of Ron and Hermione meant for the wizarding world, what would have changed? It almost made him scared to ask, but he forced the words past his frozen lips, barely keeping himself from flinching when those eyes he always adored, flickered towards him.

There was no warmth to be found within them.

“What happened to your world—with your… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

Faintly he wondered if the coldness in those eyes bloomed after his death or after the demise of Evans’s friends. Draco’s not sure what scared him more.

“Still scared to say his name? How cute,” Evan’s lips curled in amusement, the man sending one last look at the wedding portrait before slowly making his way towards Draco. “He lost of course. But the war went on much longer than it should have, but I won in the end. I always would have.”

“Evans… Why are you here?”

This Harry was different than Draco’s in so many ways, down to his very core, Draco realized, trying to swallow past the dryness in his throat, setting his jaw and gazing up at Evans when the man stopped in front of him.

“I never thought that you would look at me like that, with such fear. It’s the same terror that everyone else looks at me with,” what had Evans done that made people look at him like that, Draco wanted to ask, but Evans answers his unasked question seconds later with a resigned sigh. “They’re afraid of me, and well… I can’t blame them. I made sure to purge the wizarding world of every spec of Death Eater scum. It didn’t matter whether they were convicted or not. What’s the point of laws or rules if the rich and powerful always bend them to their desires?”

“You—”

“People like your mother and father. Do you want to know what I did to them—to your parents?” a hand reached down to cradle his jaw gently, forcing him to gaze up at Evans who continued to watch him with cold eyes. “Your parents stayed at Hogwarts for the battle, to get revenge against Harry Potter for killing their beloved son. As if they hadn’t damned you already by joining Voldemort. And your mother, your dear and lovely mother… Do you know what she did?”

Draco couldn’t get his mouth to move, it seemed to delight Evans, his distress that took his voice away. But it didn’t matter to Evans, who hummed and rubbed his thumb against Draco’s trembling lips.

“She told Voldemort that I was alive in the Forbidden Forest, can you believe that? So, I had to kill her... you understand, don’t you little dove?”

He couldn’t make a sound, not over the blood pounding in his ears, not when dread choked him and took his breath away. It had Evans cooing at him softly when he sniffled, the man brushing his thumb against Draco’s cheek while his other hand reached for him.

To do what, Draco’s not sure, but he slapped Evans’s hands away all the same.

Draco almost expected Evans to lash out, but he simply pulled away with a grin. “Now, now, there’s no need to cry for those undeserving of it. Hm… Your father cried too when I killed her. He didn’t even stop when Voldemort commanded him to. Sending the killing curse at me, imagine that? But he was always a cockroach, survived the whole damn battle and do you know what he said when he confronted me at Diagon Alley one day?”

“What did you do?!” he asked breathlessly, finding his voice again and no, they weren’t Draco’s parents. Not really. But they were still his, or a Draco’s parents, weren’t they? “Evans, what the hell did you do!?”

“Lucius Malfoy, of all people said that I was a monster just like Voldemort. He wasn’t wrong, I was—I am… I bathed the streets in the blood of those who opposed me, for the greater good of course. The Ministry and wizarding world needed to be burned to the ground and built back up again,” Evans ignored his words, settling down next to him, too close and it had Draco cringing away, trying to put distance between them, while his brain racked for a way out. “And still… it wasn’t enough. Not when I didn’t have you at my side. Funny, isn’t it? That it’s only after you lose something that you realize how much you love it.”

“Why the hell are you here?” Draco rasped, holding back a whine when he tried to apparate to anywhere else but here, yet nothing happened.

Other than Evan’s quirking a brow at him and of course… Draco was stuck here, wasn’t he? A little mouse trapped in the palm of Evans’s hand.

“What do you think I’m here to do, little dove?” Evan’s lips curled and he knew why the man was here, but Draco’s mind couldn’t seem to accept it—the reality of what was going to happen to him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Isn’t that what you are?”

“No,” Draco couldn’t win against Evans, but he would be damned if he didn’t try, he decided, grabbing the teapot and throwing it at Evans. “Not to you!”

Not wasting time, he stumbled over his feet towards the kitchen where he had left his wand, listening to Evans’s quiet hiss of pain and glass shattering. It brought him little comfort to have the familiar weight of his wand in his hand, but it was better than nothing, Draco mused, turning towards the kitchen entrance to find Evans already there.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“Sod off!”

Evan’s lips twitched when his eyes landed on the wand in Draco’s quaking hand, the man leaning against the door frame. “What are you going to do with that? Don’t hurt yourself now, pretty dove.”

It made him want to cry and rage, to see Evans in the place Harry would be, the man always shuffling his way downstairs to find Draco making breakfast, watching him from the door with tenderness before he would wrap his arms around the Slytherin to lavish him in attention.

How dare Evans act like he had any right to be in their home?

“Leave.”

“Or you’ll what? Apparate? Fight me? Come now,” Evans knew Draco could do nothing to stop him or force him to leave, it had Evans chuckling and staring at him with fondness. Draco hated it. He hated having those eyes gaze at him with love that was not wanted nor needed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You... you wouldn’t hurt me,” he wanted to believe his own words, that Harry wouldn’t hurt him, no matter what universe he was from.

He was his Harry, but he wasn’t, was he? He was Evans.

“I would never hurt you, you know that,” Evans crooned, but Draco couldn’t make himself believe those words, not with the way Evans stared at him with such hunger—he felt as if he was going to be eaten alive. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end when Evans began to step closer, lips tugging up when Draco flinched back. “I’ve come to take you back home, Draco.”

“This is my home you oaf! Stay back, I won’t ask again!”

Evans looked delighted at his words, eyes lighting up with joy and the man throwing his arms out at his sides. He was treating this like nothing more than a horrifying game that Draco was sure to lose, that he never had a chance at winning in the first place.

“Go on then, stop me.”

“Petrificus Totalus!” it went as expected, his spell being stopped with nothing more than a flick of the wrist from Evans, the gap between them shortening despite how Draco tried to shuffle further away from him.

“Stupefy!”

There was only one way out and it meant getting past Evans, an impossible task that had a breathless sob leaving him. It had Evans letting out a sigh of his own as he cut the space between them, continuing to wave Draco’s spells away as if they were nothing more than a fleck of dust in the air.

“Stop! Get back! I won’t—”

“You won’t what?” Evans murmured when Draco’s back met the wall and the man had him pressed against it before he knew it. Wrists pinned to the sides of his head, a pained whine tearing from his lips when Evans tightened his grasp until his wand fell to the ground.

“Now, are you done with your little fit?”

“Fuck off, Evans! Let go of me! You’re completely bonkers!” whatever he said did nothing more than amuse Evans, the man chuckling at the words and threats continuing to fall from Draco’s lips. “Get off!”

“You’re as charming as I remember you.”

“You absolute berk, let go of me!”

“Hah… I missed you—I missed this. I can’t believe that I have you back, here in the palm of my hand.”

“I’m not yours—you don’t belong here! You’re not my Harry—ah!” It took Draco a moment to understand what had happened, blinking past the white spots in his vision until it cleared and he was staring at the kitchen cabinets. Oh… Evans had struck him. Hard enough that Draco’s ears rang and jaw ached in a way that made tears spring to his eyes. “You… you hit me…”

Was it the pain or the ridiculous feeling of betrayal that made little sense that made him ache? It felt as if it was Harry, not Evans, who had struck him. His beloved husband, who Draco had never wanted at his side more than now. It was suffocating, his need and desire for Harry to be there in his arms.

To keep him safe and happy, rather than trembling in pain and tears in Evans’s grasp. Who continued to watch him with those wide eyes filled with hunger. It made Draco want to run and hide beneath his blanket as he once did as a child. As if that would keep a monster like Evans away, he mused desperately, struggling in the Evans’s grip.

“I’m sorry, pretty dove. But I do hate when you talk about other men when you’re with me,” Draco wanted finally to let those tears spill from his eyes; Evans was absolutely delusional, he realized in despair. Trying to pull out of Evans’s hold when he dragged him towards the kitchen door. “I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t. I just want to bring you home and—”

“You’re absolutely mad!” he snarled, bringing his knee up to the Evans’s groin when he got the chance, satisfaction burning through Draco at the pained groan that left Evans before he ran out the door.

He wouldn’t be able to grab his wand, not without Evans seizing him again and it wasn’t worth it, Draco decided. The front door was too far. He wouldn’t make it in time, but there was no place safe from Evans other than with Harry, was there?

Draco stumbled into the sitting room, eyes landing on the bowl of floo powder he grabbed in desperation. He wouldn’t dare to bring the unhinged man to Malfoy manor, not after Evans had admitted to killing the parents of the Draco from his world. But there was still the Granger-Weasley household or the Ministry. If he could get there and then he could try to get in contact with Harry.

It was just as he felt himself lighten with the beginnings of relief when he stepped into the fireplace that a muscular arm wrapped around his waist, an ironclad hold Draco couldn’t break even while it dragged him from his freedom and escape. He could feel it, his hope slipping through his fingers that clawed at the arms wrapped around his narrow waist.

“No!” Draco cried when the floo powder was vanished by Evans before his eyes. Evans’s grip was unbreakable, and just how weak was he that Evans could hold him to his chest with one arm? Or was it that Draco wasn’t weak? It was just the reality of the world that no one would succeed against Harry, no, Evans. “Let go! Evans—”

Draco understood where this was going when every attempt of his failed while Evans dragged him towards the staircase, the steps creaking beneath them and this was a living nightmare, wasn’t it? It had to be, because there was no way a stranger wearing Harry’s face would do this to him.

“Unhand me! Let me go you arse!”

That he would be held in this painful grip, that he knew would paint bruises on his skin, and he was terrified. It had the beginnings of tears stinging his eyes that made him writhe against Evans in an attempt to free himself again.

But Draco had lost the minute he had let the man stay at Grimmauld Place, hadn’t he?

“You’re hurting me!”

His loss of the wand and allowing Evans into his home didn’t seal Draco’s fate; it had been sealed the moment Evans had entered this world. Draco didn’t want to be here, in this home that was filled with the memories of the life he had built with Harry. He wanted to be with Harry, protected, not here in Evans’s arms. Never there. This had to be a bad dream that Draco would wake up from soon enough to find his Harry sleeping beside him, right?

“Harry!” he sobbed when the door to their bedroom was kicked open. “Harry, save me—ah!”

He bounced on the bed when Evans all but threw him on it; who grabbed at his ankle and pulled him back when Draco tried to scramble away to the headboard. Dread and terror washed over him as Draco struggled harder, but it was fruitless. Harry and Evans were strong, too strong. He wouldn’t have won against Evans with magic or brute strength.

“Don’t—ugh!”

“What did I say, little dove?” Evans crooned, large hand a collar around Draco’s throat, who let out a shuddering gasp, hands clawing at the man’s in desperation.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t. But I will… So please, do try not to speak of other men around me.”

“Y-you’re mental,” he wheezed, gasping for air when Evans eased his hold on his throat, eyeing the flush on Draco’s face with hunger. “I’m not your Draco! He’s—your Draco isn’t… he’s dead and I’m not him!”

Evans hummed softly, eyebrow quirking while the hand around his throat slid down to grab at Draco’s belt. “Oh, I know that. I’m not a lunatic, of course I know that he’s dead. I killed him.”

This was really going to happen, Draco realized distantly, hands scrambling down to grab at Evans’s, to stop him from tearing at his clothes. But all that got Draco was his wrists being grabbed by the Evans’s free hand to be pinned above his head.

“Stop! You—this is madness! You can’t!”

“I can and I will. I can do anything and everything… I’m the boy who lived after all,” Evans laughed on the edge of hysterics, pulling Draco’s belt off and he wouldn’t escape this. Draco understood this when his belt was used to chain his wrists to the headboard. “I wanted our first time to be special—for it to be good—for the both of us.”

“Don’t do this! This isn’t right!”

“But you’re making it so difficult. I was going to wait until we got back home, but you test my patience, love. You always do. That’s probably one of the reasons I fell for you,” Evans didn’t even seem to hear him, Draco thought, crying out when hands tore his button-down open. The sounds of buttons clattering to the floor filled the room alongside Draco’s shuddering breaths and whimpers.

“Please, don’t do this to me! Y-you’re a good person—please… Please, Harry?” Draco sobbed, peering up at Evans through tear-soaked lashes, hoping to draw some pity or remorse.

But there was no regret that met his gaze, not with how Evans stared at Draco’s bare chest with hunger. A ravenous desire that made Draco want to curl up and hide from the world, to beg for mercy. He wanted Harry here. Or his mother or father—anyone.

Draco just wanted to be saved. A whine left him when an icy hand pressed against his chest, and it took a second for him to realize Evans was touching his scar. The one Harry had left from the very incident that had killed Evans’s Draco and had led to this hell he found himself in now.

“Even scarred, you’re still so beautiful,” Evans murmured, glancing up at Draco’s teary eyes, sighing quietly before reaching up to brush his tears away.

“You’re… you’re hurting me. How can you say that when you’re trying to rape me!?”

“I’d prefer to say love making.”

“You delusion fuck!” Draco raged, howling and squirming beneath Evans, uncaring of any punishment he might receive. What could be worse than what Evans already had planned? “I’ll kill you! I swear to Merlin that Harry will save me and you’re going to regret this!”

“Mhm, then where is your Harry? Why isn’t he saving you then, little dove?” Evans was cruel, Draco decided, weeping in despair and fury. “Ah, I’m sorry love. Please don’t cry.”

This was an unending nightmare. What would go through Harry’s mind when he returned home? His beloved Harry, who was unaware his husband was being hurt and assuming Draco was probably off shopping with Pansy or the like.

Not this.

Never this.

“Please don’t do this to me…”

“…I’m sorry that I have to. You’ll understand in time and I’ve waited so… so long for this—for you to be here in my arms. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Evans’s words are at odds with his gentle touch, with how he brushed Draco’s tears away with his thumb and a quiet coo. All while he had vanished the rest of Draco’s clothing with a flick of his wrist. “Just… just be good, can you do that for me?”

“Sod off!” he had snapped, spitting in Evans’s face, whose shoulders had drooped when he pulled away and brushed the saliva off his cheek. “You’re not going to get away with this! I’m not—I don’t want this or you! You’re a—”

He couldn’t speak and Draco grasped in the back of his mind that Evans had used a silencing charm on him. It had had him gritting his teeth and blinking through tears at the man above him. Draco’s last weapon had been taken away, leaving him unable to stop Evans physically or through pleads. Would it have been better if Draco just gave up then? If he just let Evans take what he wanted and hoped that the man would get bored?

No, Draco couldn’t give up, he thought in misery, glassy eyes watching Evans pull his cock from his trousers and wave over a bottle of lube from the nightstand. Not when Harry was supposed to return later today. Draco had to buy time, as much of it as he could, and if that meant even slowing Evans down by seconds, then he would do what it took.

Draco refused to make it easy for Evans, kicking at him when he could and biting at his hand when he had reached to brush his tears away again. Barring his teeth stained in blood, Draco hoped it hurt. He had survived in Malfoy Manor, filled with the scent of the dead and the Dark Lord’s quiet laughter, for a reason. The tenacity Harry had adored, the same will that had allowed Draco to push through and live.

“Ha… I love that about you, you know that,” Evans uttered, beaming down at Draco, grabbing his jaw before he could react. Thumb rubbing against his lips and smearing blood over them, the hardness he had felt twitching against his thigh in response made him weep. Evans was getting off on this, wasn’t he? “You never give up, ever. Even when we were kids you always gave it back just as much… You were such a prat. Who would have thought that you would become so lovely with time—oh, well… You were always so pretty, so this isn’t a surprise, is it?”

The bastard was monologuing, Draco mused in fury, chest trembling and glassy eyes glaring at Evans with all the hate he could muster, while watching him pour lube onto his cock. Rage that quickly burned away for dread when Draco felt hands wrap around his slim waist and Evans press the head of his cock against his unprepared entrance.

No. No, no, no—

Draco shrieked, knowing that his words would reach no one, twisting in Evans’s grasp. Who eyed him writhing beneath him, soundless words spilling from his bitten red lips alongside his tears. Draco wondered what kind of picture he painted right then, brought down so low and body ravaged by the man wearing his husband’s face. He hoped Harry would never have to see him like that; it would kill him to see Draco hurt and broken.

“I told you I don’t want to hurt you. You need to learn to just listen. Hah… But that’s probably partially my fault,” Evans hummed, tightening his grasp around Draco’s slender waist. A quiet groan escaped him when his fingers met in the middle. “But I know now, after everything, that sometimes people can only learn if you punish them. I didn’t want to do this, Draco. You can only blame yourself.”

He couldn’t hear whatever else Evans had to say, not over the ringing in his ears or the pain that made his back arch and a soundless wail spill from his lips. Draco was dying, he had to be. It was agony, pure and unadulterated anguish that made fire lick at his spine—that made him scream and sob, knowing his hurt would go unheard.

Knowing that Evans wouldn’t stop, not when he pressed his hips flush against Draco’s and leaned down to press a kiss to his quivering lips. Draco couldn’t even think to bite at him. Not when the pain froze his body, forcing it to endure the agony. Anguish that worsened when Evans pulled back and rutted into him, setting a brutal pace that punched out cries. He had torn, Draco knew he had at the feel of wetness easing Evans’s thrusts.

It made him sick.

This was death, no worse than that.

Maybe it was better that Evans’s Draco had died? The man was clearly unwell, and the next thought Draco had was unbidden.

Was his Harry like this too?

Did Draco’s husband have the same potential for violence and how could he look upon his Harry again without seeing Evans? He cringed when Evans nipped a searing path from his lips and down to his throat, covering it with more of his marks. Tears seeped into his hairline while the Evans treated him as nothing more than a doll, grabbing his ankles and pressing them to the sides of Draco’s head.

“Ha, of course you would be this flexible,” Evans laughed, eyes twinkling in adoration and with a hunger that made Draco gag. Nausea curdled in his gut that had him turning his head away with a sob when Evans leaned down to steal another kiss again, lips pressing against his jaw instead. “Stingy.”

Evans was raping him and treating it as if there had been a mutual want or desire, Draco reflected in disgust, keening when teeth bit at his neck, breaking skin and making blood flow that Evans lapped up. Disgusting. This was the opposite to his Harry’s gentle touches. Who had only known tenderness and adoration, his beloved husband who doted on Draco every minute of every day. Harry, who had never raised a hand to him and whose touch had been as gentle as the man’s very soul.

Nothing like Evans.

Who had hurt, broke and made Draco weep, the opposite of his Harry. Evans was a monster wearing the face of the love of his life, Draco wanted to scream. To free his hands and to claw at that damn face that had stared down at him with such reverence. Evans had had no right to wear Harry’s face, not when he was the opposite of a man who only lived and breathed love.

“Hm, what are you thinking about?” Evans asked, breathless and sweat coating his forehead, peering up from where he had been biting at Draco’s nipple. That ached terribly, as if Evans was going out of his way to make this as painful as possible. A punishment like he had said, Draco had considered glaring at Evans with nothing but revulsion. “Are you thinking of me—of him?”

“He’s not going to save you, he’s already too late. What do you think he’ll feel when he comes home to find you gone and your blood soaking these sheets?” he had wanted to spit at Evans again or curse him out if he could with how Evans’s lips curled into a smirk at Draco’s silence—as if he wasn’t the one who had taken Draco’s voice away. “Do you think he’ll cry? I hope he does. I hope your Harry feels the same pain I felt when I lost my Draco. When I lost my world—when I died.”

It had been like a switch had flipped with Evans after that, the man becoming silent other than moans and groans escaping him. His sole focus had been on finding his own release and dragging out Draco’s pain. It had made him want to ask Evans; how much was this about getting Draco back versus lashing out at Harry? For living the life Evans wanted, with Draco and his friends alive—with Harry happy, and that was Evans’s punishment for himself, wasn’t it?

For killing his Draco and failing his friends, it wasn’t fair. For Draco to be in pain or suffer, not when he had paid his dues to the universe already. Why did he have to suffer now that he had found happiness with Harry and his husband with him?

His next thoughts scattered when those hands released his ankles to wrap around his waist, drawing a pained whine from him that went unheard.

Was he going into shock?

Probably, Draco mused, it was as if the pain had become background noise. His eyes sluggishly drifted from Evans, rutting into him and around the bedroom. In the very place he would start and end the day with the love of his life at his side. Who wasn’t here. Who hadn’t saved him and Draco didn’t blame Harry, it wasn’t his fault. Never. Yet... why?

Why had no one ever saved him?

Again and again, he had to always suffer, Draco mulled, blinking at the picture of him and Harry on the nightstand, it had been taken just after Harry had proposed. Those were happier times, he had been ecstatic and it was that memory Draco wanted to drift away to, but he couldn’t. Not when a hand struck his cheek, whipping his head to the side and pulling him back to the present.

“Stay here with me pretty dove,” Evans had grunted, continuing to pound into him, his thrusts becoming erratic and face pinching in the same way Harry’s did when he was close. It sickened him how similar the two were when Evans couldn’t have been more different from his Harry. “This is—ha—a punishment. It doesn’t work if you’re gone, does it?”

How cruel, Evans wouldn’t even let him find escape within his own mind. Truly the opposite of his Harry and was it terrible for Draco to want everything to just end? The pain, terror and suffering, it was too much to be harmed this way by Evans. A ghoul with Harry’s face and would his husband have hated him if Draco decided to bite his tongue and end it here?

No, he couldn’t do that to Harry, not after everything the other had been through. Not when Draco could still be saved, right? Harry would be home soon, he reminded himself, gritting his teeth at every shift from Evans. This would be over soon.

And it is.

Evans’s thrusts stuttered, a quiet groan leaving him before heat filled Draco and weight dropped down on him. Making him gasp while he turned his head to heave, trying to swallow past the nausea that had crawled up his throat when Evans had begun to press kisses to the scar on his chest and collarbone.

The spell must have been lifted, Draco realized, when his pained whine sounded through the bedroom as Evans pulled out what felt like hours later, raking a hand through sweat-soaked locks while his eyes drifted over Draco’s ravaged body. That insufferable smirk was gone from his face. Evans studied Draco with an empty look in his half-lidded eyes.

It made him feel nothing but dread.

What else did Evans have in store for him? What could he do to Draco at this point that could be any worse than what he had already done?

“Figures you’d be pretty, even brought down like this… He looked beautiful too, drenched in his blood,” Evans murmured, waving his hand at the belt shackling Draco’s wrists to the bed, vanishing it and watching Draco curl up on the bed. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, little dove.”

“…He’s going to stop you,” Draco rasped, trying to swallow past the ache in throat from his screaming.

It felt like he had glass and ash in his lungs that made it hard to speak, let alone breath. His body ached from what felt like the tip of his toes to the top of his head—his eyes too, he pondered duly, trying to blink past the tears that seemed to have no intention of stopping no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay. He had done nothing when Evans reached down to brush his tears away, what did it matter if he fought back or not? Draco was too weak, nothing but an ant in the face of Evans’s strength.

Maybe if he stopped reacting then Evans would get bored and leave? Or lose interest or do anything but what he was doing now. Tucking himself back into his trousers and leaving the bed, disappearing into Draco and Harry’s closet, to find what, he wasn’t sure. Nor could Draco bring himself to care. But Evans returned before he even had thought of escaping, not that he could have. Not with how Draco’s legs buckled the moment he stepped off the bed.

“Ah!” it hurt so much, Draco thought, gasping and clenching his jaw to keep his howl of pain inside.

“Please be careful not to hurt yourself further,” Evans said, whatever acidic words Draco had to spit at him about who had hurt him in the first place vanished at the sight of the trunk in his hands.

“W-what are you doing?”

Evans had no right to look at him like Draco was stupid for even asking such a question. Evans stepped over his body to place the trunk on the bed, opening it before sighing and reaching down to pick Draco up in a bridal carry.

It made him shriek at the pain that laced through his body, Draco couldn’t think to try and thrash against Evans. Who gently placed him back on the bed, saying nothing when he scuttled back up against the headboard, grabbing a pillow to hide his naked body from prying eyes.

“I said I was here to take you back home, didn’t I?” Evans had said that and Draco had almost forgotten in all the agony—he was serious about this, he comprehended in dawning horror, eyes skittering towards the bedroom door. Draco had little chance of escaping before and now it would be impossible with the state of his body. “I’m not cruel. I’ll let you bring whatever you want back with you.”

Draco shook his head and barred his teeth. “Sod off! You’re an absolute madman if you think that I’m going to go with you anywhere!”

His words made Evans release an exasperated sigh, as if Draco was acting like a child or being disagreeable. “Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, pretty dove.”

“I’m not going and don’t call me that!” he sneered, hoping he sounded strong despite the terror in his heart or the sobs that wanted to pull from his lips. Draco couldn’t do this. If Evans took him from here, away from Harry, then what had just happened would be the rest of his life, wouldn’t it? “Please… You don’t need to do this. You—”

“I do.”

“No, you—”

“I know what you’re doing, Draco. Do you think that buying time will do anything?” Evans interrupted him, voice flat and Draco wasn’t sure if the emptiness in his eyes was more frightening than the anger Evans had shown him before. “It doesn’t matter to me either way, you’ll be coming with me back home. I’m strong… and much stronger than your Harry. Whether that means I’ll kill him or not makes little difference to me.”

How could this man be Harry Potter?

Even if he was from another world, this was unimaginable. Did the same ruthlessness and rage exist within his Harry? Or was that always just a possibility? It didn’t matter though, did it? Draco knew his Harry wasn’t like Evans. He couldn’t be, not with how he lavished him in nothing but love and affection.

“He’ll stop you.”

“So that’s your answer then,” what right did Evans have to look so pained at Draco’s words when he had done nothing but brutalize him? “Hah… I can’t say that I hate it. I’ve missed it, your stubbornness. You’ll understand one day that I did all this for us—for you. Because I love you.”

“I hate you,” Draco rasped, not bothering to resist Evans when he reached over to cradle his cheek to brush his tears away.

“I know,” Evans whispered, face twisted in pain and glassy eyes searching his before he leaned in.

He tried and failed to capture Draco’s lips, only meeting his jaw when he turned away once again. It pulled a resigned huff from Evans, who released his face to reach down and grab at Draco’s hand before he could react. It drew a cry from him when Evans slid his ring off. Draco scrambled to grab at it, unable to when Evans stepped out of his reach. He watched while Draco wept and reached towards him, a plea that would go unanswered.

“Give it back!”

Somehow that had been one of the worst things Evans had done to him, Draco decided, his eyes never leaving the ring Evans peered down vacantly at.

Evans ignored him after that, not even reacting when Draco stumbled off the bed and to his knees on the floor again. It had been another failed attempt to get the ring back, even though he couldn’t escape. If he had the ring, then Draco had had a part of Harry with him, right?

“Please don’t do this. Your Draco wouldn’t have wanted this!” distantly, while he watched Evans throw what he thought Draco would want into the trunk, he had wondered if Evans truly saw him, or was it his Draco that he had been gazing upon when he had looked at him with those eyes full of pain? “Evans—Harry… This isn’t you. You’re better than this.”

“I’m afraid this is me, Draco. The real me, don’t you like it—what I’ve become?” Evans murmured, a bittersweet smile on his lips, tired eyes peering around the room before he waved a hand at the trunk, shrinking and pocketing it. “Come now, it’s time we head home.”

There had been no hero who came to save him that day. No one who answered Draco’s cries when Evans had reached for him and the world had gone dark. Nor when he had awoken to find himself no longer in the safety of the home he had built with Harry, but in another place.

Familiar, but not.

Somewhere far, far away from home.