Chapter 1
Draco walked in the same hallways as the others. He went to the same classes. He went to his common room at night, just like them. It felt as though he was on a different planet, as though he were completely alone, no matter how many people surrounded him.
The talk of homework, Quidditch, friends, all that other rubbish… it made him sick. How could they worry about such things, when he was slated to die? Desperation was a constant undercurrent in his mind. He couldn't get it to work.
The Dark Lord wasn't going to wait much longer. When he finally realized that Draco couldn't do it, he and his parents would have to beg to die for hours, maybe days, before they were finally granted release from what he knew the Dark Lord would do to them.
Draco couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. The words of teachers buzzed through his ears. The only time he pulled his wreck of a mind together was when he was in the Room of Requirement. No matter what he tried, the Vanishing Cabinet would not allow him to fix it. It seemed to be broken beyond repair.
A wave of nausea hit him at the thought and he ran for the nearest bathroom. He threw up violently, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand. He started to get dizzy, and his gasps for air receded as his ears started to ring. He felt like the oxygen was being slowly sucked from the room and he was suffocating.
He groped blindly in his robes until his hand found the hilt of the small, sharp knife he now carried everywhere.
He had to lean on the wall for support as he yanked up his left sleeve. Blindly, he pressed the blade to the skin, making a deep cut. He was vaguely aware of the blood splattering to the floor as his breathing became easier and the room started to come into focus.
Draco's breathing calmed as he made another cut, and another. There was blood dripping onto the floor now, and he was fairly certain it was on his robes too. With a murmured word, he conjured bandages and wrapped his arm tightly until the bleeding stopped. He vanished the blood and picked up his bag, moving back into the corridors filled with people, where he was once more alone.
He stumbled into his last lesson and spent it staring blankly ahead, trying to work out what he could try with the cabinet that he hadn't already tried. He barely heard the chatter of the rest of the class as the bell rang. He skipped dinner; he felt too sick to eat anyway.
He spent a few hours before bed in the Room of Requirement, and by the time he was back in his dormitory, he could barely breathe. He'd had the Cruciatus Curse performed on him before. He remembered what it was like to feel like every nerve ending in his body was on fire. Even sleep was no relief; the Dark Lord haunted his dreams.
Draco didn't go down to breakfast, so his eagle owl found him as he was walking down to Herbology. He detached the letter, ignoring the curious eyes of his classmates. He slipped it into his robes, and it felt like it was burning a hole through his pocket.
As soon as Draco read the letter, he knew it had been a mistake – at least, doing it in public had. He ran, knowing he couldn't keep it together in front of everyone for long. Moaning Myrtle was in her bathroom, and came out at the sounds of his misery. He hung onto the sink for support as he cried, barely hearing her words of attempted comfort, trying desperately to breathe, but the oxygen was disappearing from the room again.
When he looked at his blotchy face in the mirror, he saw a shocked face behind his.
Potter.
Draco's fear morphed into rage so swiftly that it left him dizzy. He turned and shouted a hex, enraged that anyone should see him like this, enraged that it was Potter, of all people.
Potter calmly disarmed him. Damn him. Draco's wand went flying across the room and Potter caught it deftly.
The fight abruptly went out of him, and Draco sank to the floor. He didn't care anymore. He couldn't do it. It was over.
Harry stood, shocked, as Draco Malfoy broke down in front of him. Malfoy didn't even seem to realize Harry was still there. He gasped and choked on his sobs, his legs giving out as he slid to the floor.
Harry didn't know what to do. This was Malfoy – the same Malfoy he hated, the same Malfoy who had tormented him for years. He should walk away, leaving Malfoy to his crying.
His feet wouldn't move, though. How could Harry leave anyone, even his worst enemy, in such a state? What kind of person would he be, then? As much as he hated Malfoy, he didn't like seeing him like this.
Harry hesitantly went to sit down beside Malfoy, who didn't even seem to notice him. He put a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, expecting any second for it to be violently thrown off, but it wasn't. Harry's breath caught as Malfoy's hands grabbed his robes, and suddenly he was being cried on and clung to by a sobbing Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy started gasping. Harry had had enough panic attacks of his own to recognize one, and took him firmly by the shoulders.
"Malfoy – Draco – you need to slow your breathing down. Come on now, nice and slow."
Malfoy's eyes were wide with fear and couldn't focus on anything. Harry shook him gently.
"Hey, stay with me. Come on. Draco, look at me."
He finally did, and Harry spoke on a calm, soothing voice he'd learned from Hermione. "Just breathe slowly, ok? In and out? That's right. In and out."
The other boy's agonized gasps subsided into more choking sobs. Harry put his arms around Malfoy and held him tightly. He didn't know how long they sat there for, but eventually, Malfoy quietened.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling out of Harry's grip and wiping his eyes, turning his face away. The movement shifted his sleeve and Harry caught his wrist.
Malfoy made a halfhearted attempt to twist away, but he was in no condition to overpower Harry. Harry winced as he pushed up the sleeve to reveal a lattice of deep cuts, some looking weeks old, others fresh.
"What have you done to yourself?" he murmured.
Malfoy looked for a moment as though he was going to give a snarky response, but all the energy seemed to drain out of him and he answered quietly. "Sometimes I can't breathe and everything start spinning. This brings everything back into focus."
Harry was surprised at his own distress upon seeing those angry red marks on Malfoy's pale skin. He didn't know what prompted him to say what he did. He was just feeling so sorry for Malfoy, for anyone who had to resort to that kind of thing to function, that the words came spilling out of his mouth.
"Come on me, ok? The next time you can't breathe, come to me instead. You don't need to do this."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Harry ignored this. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two sickles. He murmured a quick spell and handed one over.
"Take this. If you need me, tap it with your wand, and this one will alert me."
Malfoy was staring up at him, his brow furrowed. "Why? You hate me."
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Not enough to wish this on you."
He left before Malfoy could say anything else, leaving him alone with his very confused thoughts.
Draco's head was fuzzy as he stumbled back to his dormitory. What had just happened? He felt his wand in his pocket and realized Potter must have put it back without him noticing.
The next morning, he went to breakfast. He couldn't force down anything more than half a slice of toast, but that wasn't why he'd come. He wanted to see how Potter would act, if he would acknowledge what had happened between them in the bathroom.
Potter didn't do anything overtly different – he ate and laughed with his friends as usual. Now that Draco was paying attention, though, he saw Potter watching him with worried eyes. He quickly turned away, not knowing what to make of it.
He fingered the enchanted sickle that he still had in his pocket. It would be a bad idea to use it. Having Potter anywhere near him was dangerous. The boy didn't know when to let go. It would be only a matter of time before he discovered what Draco was doing and informed Dumbledore.
He did his best to ignore Potter, pretending that he didn't see him watching. The sickle remained in his pocket, but he stubbornly refused to touch it.
Unfortunately, Potter could be even more stubborn than he could.
Draco got a letter from his mother. She didn't say it outright, but he could tell that she was scared. If he didn't do what the Dark Lord wanted, and soon, his parents would be paying the price along with him.
He felt like throwing up, even though there was nothing in his stomach. Disregarding Charms, he slipped into the nearest bathroom, tears already falling, his breath coming only with great difficulty. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out his knife, bringing it down to his slashed-up forearm.
Someone grabbed his wrist and gently pried the knife out of his grasp. "I told you to call me, you idiot," Potter murmured. Draco tried to struggle, but he'd become skeletal over months of working on the cabinet, and he had no strength in his body.
He reached desperately for the knife. He couldn't breathe, he was suffocating.
"Calm down," Potter said steadily. "You're ok. Everything's ok."
"It's not," Draco choked out. "It – he – I can't –"
He couldn't get another coherent word out, and then Potters arms were around him, holding him tightly, and Draco felt as though they were the only thing stopping him from falling apart.
Soothing words were whispered in his ear as he gasped and sobbed. After a while, the room stopped spinning, and he was finally able to draw breath.
"I should take you to the hospital wing."
"NO!" Draco immediately started to struggle, but Potter just held on. The world was spinning again and Draco's hands clenched in terror.
"Ok, ok, it's alright. No hospital wing. I get it."
As Draco slowly calmed down, Potter looked at him with what Draco could only interpret as concern. "When was the last time you slept? Or ate?"
Draco shrugged, and Potter's brows drew down in disapproval. "No wonder you're such a mess. Come on."
Draco was too weak to fight. His legs shook as Potter led him out of the bathroom. Everyone was in class, so the corridors were empty. Potter was moving too fast and Draco stumbled, only avoiding hitting the floor face first when Potter caught his arm.
Draco was so tired. He didn't want to move. The sensation of someone taking control, taking care of him, was overwhelming. He needed to be strong, to move forward, to save himself and his parents… but not right now. Right now, as inexplicable as it was, Potter had him.
Draco's knees gave out and he didn't fight to stop them. Potter sighed again and easily pulled Draco into his arms, carrying him swiftly along corridor after corridor.
"Fuck, Malfoy, how the hell did you lose so much weight?"
The question didn't seem to require an answer. Potter just tsked disapprovingly. They stopped for a moment, and then Potter was climbing through a hole behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Draco blinked. They were surrounded by house elves.
"What can we do for you, sirs?" one of them squeaked eagerly.
"Draco needs something to eat," Potter said firmly. He set Draco down, holding onto one of his arms to keep him from collapsing, then waved his wand. A large sofa appeared, and Potter helped Draco onto it. He lay down, finding his head resting on Potter's lap. He was shaking so hard that the sofa was trembling with him. Potter conjured a blanket and pulled it over the two of them.
Barely a minute later, the house elves were squeaking words Draco couldn't bring himself to follow, and Potter was pulling him into an upright position.
He shoved a sandwich into Draco's hand. "Eat. You look like you're about to collapse."
Draco stared at the sandwich, his stomach roiling. The smell of the bacon drifting up from it made him feel like he was about to throw up.
"Draco." Harry was exasperated now. "You have to eat something."
Draco shook his head frantically, trying to push the sandwich away. Being the stubborn git that he was, Potter only got the message when Draco leaned over the side of the couch and started retching. There was nothing in his stomach to bring up except bitter acid.
Potter frowned down at him. "Ok, you tell me what you want to eat."
Draco stared at him, trying to work out how to explain that the sight of food made him sick, made the constant pit of fear in his stomach come up in his throat and choke him.
"Draco, talk to me. I can't help you if you don't talk. Tell me what you need."
Draco fought back a hysterical laugh. What he needed was for Potter to do what he'd always said he would and vanquish the Dark Lord. What he needed was to turn back time, to run away, go anywhere, before he was forcibly brought into service as a Death Eater. What he needed was for everything to stop. He needed the gut-wrenching terror to end.
Thinking of the source of his terror again had him gasping for air and searching futilely for his knife.
"Hey, hey." Potter gathered Draco in his arms like a child, and Draco found himself once again sobbing into Potter's chest.
Surprisingly, Potter's arms around him were as good as his knife – better, maybe. Draco finally hiccoughed himself into silence and Potter asked the house elves for some plain crackers.
Draco flinched, but Potter had on his stern face. "Come on, Draco, you need to eat at least a cracker. Just take a small bite, go on."
Draco had never realized quite how beautiful Potter's intense green eyes were, and he found he couldn't refuse them. He took the cracker and bit of a corner. Potter was still holding him, stroking Draco's hair in calming manner.
Somehow, Draco managed the cracker, and washed it down with a glass of water.
Harry was fishing in his pocket – when had Potter become Harry? Draco must be losing his mind – and pulled out the sickle. He held it front of Draco's face.
"I told you to use this. What's wrong with you? Don't you know how to ask for help when you need it?"
Draco shook his head.
"You don't speak very much anymore, do you?"
Again, Draco shook his head, unable to meet that green-eyed gaze. The weight of fear caused a block in his throat that made talking difficult. It never let up.
"Well, you're going to have to learn. Seriously, don't you go trying to hurt yourself again. Call me. You got that? Call me?"
Harry tapped the sickle again with his wand, probably checking the charm was still working, then lifted Draco off the couch.
"I'm taking you back to your common room. You should try to get some sleep."
"No. I'll go to class."
Harry looked pleased to have gotten a response. "You're weak and exhausted. You need to rest."
"I can't sleep. I'll have nightmares."
Draco expected Harry to dismiss this, but he didn't. His face softened in sympathy. "I understand. You still need sleep, though."
Draco couldn't deny that, so he let Harry carry him all the way down to the dungeons, right to the Slytherin portrait hole. He was curious about how the Gryffindor knew where the Slytherin common room was, but he was too busy trying not to panic about being alone again to ask any questions.
"Will you be ok?" Harry asked, setting him on his feet.
Draco nodded. Lies, lies, lies. But Harry didn't need to know that. "Thank you."
The words were whispered, but Harry heard. He gave Draco's shoulder a squeeze and walked off.