"Tempus"
Half past eight. Harry gets up, lifting his face up from where it was stuck on his forearm. He must have fallen asleep like that, spread out over layers of parchment full of battle plans. He rotates his arm a couple times in hopes of returning circulation. Putting his glasses on, he locates Ron snoring on the couch, and Hermoine propped up by the windowsill, still sleeping.
Harry is glad when the bathroom mirror fogs up. He makes sure to use extra hot water, so he doesn't have to see his reflection during the morning routine. He can perform the glamours with his eyes closed now.
Its always the same. He wakes up before the rest of them, and rushes to apply his glamours which have fallen during his slumber. He hopes Draco will find him during the day, before he comes back to the tower to go over battle plans yet again.
…
A rough hand suddenly pulls him unceremoniously into the broom cupboard. There's barely any room to maneuver around the space, but he knows what Draco wants without having to ask. Draco isn't there for what he can give Harry, quite the opposite.
…
"Where are your friends, Potter?" a sneering voice asks, stepping into the Quidditch shower.
Harry is trembling, but the harsh bathroom tiles that cut his knees are a welcoming kind of pain. The tears go unnoticed as they mingle with the water, leaving tracks running down his cheeks.
Draco doesn't even look at Harry as he fucks his throat.
…
A bite mark. A split lip. Harry wears his bruises well he thinks. And he's rather adept at glamours now.
…
Voldemort struck three villages this week, but all he can think about are the sounds Draco makes when he's on top of him. Harry wonders if he's still able to discern what is real and what isn't; what matters, and what doesn't.
…
He's in love, and it's selfish, he knows. He dared to declare it to Draco's face in the beginning. Draco spat the word back at him like a dart, grabbing him by his hair and pulling it hard.
"This isn't love, Potter. Your feelings mean less than nothing to me."
…
On one side, Harry has responsibilities as a leader. He gives brave speeches about victory and prejudice, all the while emulating the perfect warrior to those who cheer and clap for him.
He wonders what would happen if Draco came into the light. Once, he asked. The resulting slap reverberated around his skull for days. He doesn't feel much like a warrior anymore.
When the time comes, he knows he won't be able to do it. He will choose wrong, and the Wizarding world will perish for it.
…
A deafening crack wracks the castle in a tremor. The minute he hears the sound, Harry knows what it means. Hermoine grips his arms tightly, as they watch Death Eaters trying to break down the walls.
Harry runs past friends, teachers, and classmates. He runs to the only person he needs right now. Draco is standing and brandishing his wand, a cold expression on his face and bodies already at his feet.
"I love you," Harry whispers, as the wards to the castle crumble at last.
As he looks up, he already knows the sneer that will be there.