Draco watches him from across the corridor.
"Yeah," he says. "I'll just be back. Need a walk… To clear my head."
"Alright," Hermione and Ron reply. "Don't take too long."
As if they really care about him anyway. As if they're not too busy snogging each other to notice.
Draco follows Harry at a distance, always keeping three steps between them. Harry doesn't know that he's being followed, and Draco plans to keep it that way.
Harry reaches a corridor on the third floor and begins to pace back and forth before an empty stretch of wall. Draco hides around the corner, watching him.
Suddenly a door appears in the wall. Harry grabs the polished doorknob and quietly slips inside the room. Draco follows him.
When the door shuts behind the Slytherin, he turns to see Harry staring at him.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he says in a tired way. Not an angry way, Draco notices. A tired way – like he's resigned to his fate.
"I'm here – I'm here to help you," Draco says, leaning heavily against the door. The room is large but simply furnished with a large bed, a crackling fireplace and an armchair.
"To help," Harry repeats numbly, getting out of the armchair. "How did you know I needed…? Well… How?"
"I've been watching you, Harry," Draco says, surprising them both by using Harry's first name. "I know you're sad, I know you're lonely, and I want to help you."
"You can't," Harry says quietly, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with a hand. "You'd best be going. It's no use trying to help."
"I'm not going anywhere," Draco says, firmly crossing his arms. "If you're here to die, I'll die with you. I'm not letting you do anything."
Harry freezes completely.
"How – how did you…?" he whispers, pushing his glasses back on.
"I can tell when someone's past breaking point," Draco says shortly. "I can tell when they're beyond despair and have moved on to desperation. I know that you're going to do something drastic."
"How?" Harry asks, staring intensely at him.
"Well…" Draco says, looking away. "I saw the same signs in my mother. And she killed herself a few days after I noticed. I'd say I'm pretty adept."
"Oh…" Harry breathes. "I… I'm sorry, Mal – Draco."
"It's fine," Draco says, finally looking at Harry again. His green eyes are gazing sadly at him. "We weren't really all that… Close."
They look at each other for a long moment. Draco feels his vision beginning to swim with tears. His mother, his own mother…
He blinks and hot tears roll down his cheeks. He turns away from Harry, ashamed of crying. He was supposed to be the strong one tonight.
Without even realizing it, almost subconsciously, Harry steps forward and wraps his arms around Draco. They slump together on the floor, both of them suddenly sobbing.
For the first time in years, Harry lets himself cry. He lets out all the pain, all the pressure he's been feeling, and just lets himself go. His glasses fall to the floor, but he just buries his head further into Draco's shoulder and sobs.
Eventually the tears subside. They sit together for what seems like an age, breathing coming in soft hiccups and eyes aching. Draco turns to Harry and they look at each other carefully.
"I always liked you, you know," Draco whispers, gently tracing Harry's mouth with his own.
Harry's hands find Draco's and give a reassuring squeeze.
"We'll be alright," he says softly. "We'll be fine, as long as we have each other."
tententententen
Three days later, Hermione rubs her red-rimmed eyes and opens the Daily Prophet. Beside her, Ron gives a short sniffle and begins to pick at his food.
In front of Hermione, Harry and Draco glare at each other. She watches them gesticulate animatedly, sparks in their eyes and laughter on their lips.
"How could we not know?" she whispers.
"Don't worry," Ron replies. "It's not your fault."
Hermione shuts the newspaper and turns to her cereal. She pushes the bowl away, her appetite gone. Across the Hall, Pansy Parkinson bursts into hysterical tears.
On the table, the two boys in the separate photos stop glaring at each other. Hermione and Ron watch as the two figures in Wizarding photographs pause and then embrace each other.
Above them, the front-page headline stares up in fat black letters: THE BOY-WHO-LIVED AND MALFOY HEIR FOUND DEAD IN APPARENT SUICIDE PACT.