Summary: Harry reflects upon the moments in which he discovered another side to Draco Malfoy.
A/N: This is my first fanfic that I have posted online, so any feedback would be really appreciated :)
~Ash
Unspoken
Confusion. Shock. Despair. Horror.
Searching for a word to describe exactly how Harry had felt when the vision of Draco Malfoy materialised before him - the blond boy standing in front of Dumbledore, declaring his intention of murder - was ultimately futile. Neither wizard nor muggle had the ability to conceive a word that could adequately encompass such feelings of complete and utter betrayal.
He had, of course, known that something was amiss with Draco this last year. Mutterings of unbreakable vows had met prying ears but nonetheless Harry had trusted his assurances that Snape was simply being an interfering nusiance. Even when Draco returned after summer, a sixth year student brandishing the Dark Mark on his forearm, Harry had believed his protests that his father had forced him into it, about how dangerous it was for their family not to maintain firm displays of loyalty to Voldemort in such precarious times. Of course, although he must keep up appearances, he always promised that he did not endeavour to fight for dark forces, that such alliances were simply unfortunate consequences of being a Malfoy.
Harry felt physically sick as he realised what a mortal mistake he had made in accepting such stories – for he knew now, that was all they were. The sickness deepened with the sharp pang of bitterness that came with the new knowledge that Draco evidently viewed him as nothing more than a gullible fool.
So this is where seeing the good in people got you. For there was indeed good in Draco. Most Hogwarts' students would have been shocked by such a revelation, but none could have been more surprised than Harry.
After Harry's early refusal of friendship on their very first day at Hogwarts, the Slytherin had remained consistently cruel and spiteful towards the famous Harry Potter and anyone that dared to befriend him. Harry hated the taunts, the insults, the constant abuse from Draco, but never as much as he despised the boy himself. In fact, Harry and Ron (and occasionally Hermione, depending on her mood) took great pleasure in passing the hours indulging in a spot of Malfoy-bashing. Just when he sometimes felt they were being perhaps a tad too harsh, he needed only to remember Draco's attempts at his getting his kindly friend and occasional teacher Hagrid sacked or his thoughtless use of the word 'Mudblood' that he continued to hurl at Hermione or any other such despicable action by the wizard - of which there were many – and once again his hatred was justified. Any goodness in Draco was certainly well hidden. It had been during their fourth year at Hogwarts that Harry first caught a glimpse of it.
Eagerly anticipating a letter from his godfather, Harry had trudged through the growing puddles and endless sleet towards the owlrey one October evening. He always ensured that he checked for correspondence in the evening, nervous that if he received post in broad daylight somehow a student would realise who he was communicating with, report it, and hence endanger Sirius. Silly, he knew, for the fact that Sirius Black was his godfather was still not common knowledge at school… but still, Harry preferred to indulge his paranoia. The sleet had begun pelting down heavier than before which caused him to dash into the owlrey, seeking shelter from the bracing weather. Harry had barely shut the door behind him when he noticed Draco sat in front of him, clutching a letter and crying. Well, not crying exactly: Draco Malfoy didn't cry, as the boy himself so often asserted. Indeed, the image of him sobbing or wailing was not one that Harry could imagine very easily. The blond's eyes were moist and tears gathered at the corners, refusing to fall; Malfoy may not have been crying but it was immediately clear that Harry had intruded on an extremely personal moment.
Harry didn't quite know what to do. Draco's head had shot up on hearing the other wizard enter and his tense posture challenged Harry to mock him. Apprehension weaved through the room, surrounding the pair. Harry's hand reached back to the door handle but soon dropped again: to leave and pretend he hadn't noticed Draco's state was ridiculous. Both boys knew what had been seen. Another anxious moment passed, the silence filling the room and making the air heavy with tension. Then Harry did the unthinkable.
"Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly, amazed at the words leaving his own mouth. Draco, too, appeared stunned by the lack of viciousness from a boy who could well use this situation to get one over on the other. His gaze lowered, mouth opening and shutting mutely, as though he were struggling for phrases, before closing firmly. Silence reigned once more. Draco looked up, taking a quick, perplexed glance at Harry before promptly standing up and storming out the building. The sound of the howling wind pounded in Harry's ears until the door swung shut with a thud and plunged him into quiet confusion.
Harry did not speak of this encounter to Ron and Hermione despite the fact that it would have provided excellent ammunition for any future run-ins with the Slytherins. It remained private, the scene replayed in his mind from time to time as he mulled it over. It wasn't a hugely eventful scene but was significant for Harry – it proved to him that, contrary to popular belief, Malfoy was not pure evil. He had the ability to hurt, to be upset, to feel.
However if Harry thought that Draco's behaviour towards him was to alter, he was sadly proven wrong. If anything Malfoy's attacks on him became worse, as though he were trying to tempt Harry into using their encounter against him. For reasons he did not fully comprehend Harry refused to, which seemed to infuriate the blond boy further.
Such bullying was, miserably, not restricted to Slytherins that year. As an accidental Triwizard champion, Harry endured constant abuse from the other houses too. Hufflepuffs were particularly obvious in their dislike, believing that Harry had stolen Cedric Diggory's – and by association, their house's – moment of glory. Unfortunately living with such slurs had been a major part of his time at Hogwarts. He remembered with unease the upsetting discovery in second year that his fellow students thought him capable of attacking their peers. Despite having a fairly high threshold for taunts and jeers, built up over the years, one cold January evening Harry left the Great Hall alone, brimming with anger and embarrassment over another barrage of insults flung in his direction.
"Just ignore them" Hermione had pleaded. He stood up to leave as the offending students openly sniggered. Harry bit his lip: she didn't understand what it was like for your place of sanctuary to have become a living nightmare. Without a word he walked away, leaving his two best friends to exchange worried looks across the dining table.
His footsteps, quick and determined, carried him towards the clock tower courtyard without much thought. In its centre stood a large fountain. Harry's temper got the better of him and he kicked the object in frustration. In a flurry of anger, his brain had quite clearly forgotten to warn his foot that it was much softer than stone. Harry swore loudly as his foot impacted, turning around swiftly as he heard a short, sharp laugh to the side of him. Sitting on a bench was Draco, who was not bothering to disguise the smirk that tugged at his lips. He revelled in Harry's discomfort. Harry waited for the inevitable comment regarding his stupidity but none came. Still smirking, Draco lowered his eyes. Testing to see if he could walk away, Harry gingerly placed his foot on the stone paving and…
"Ow!" he exclaimed, his foot returning to hover a few inches above the ground. His gazes flickered over to the other boy, who still wore an ever-deepening smirk as his eyes examined the floor. For a brief moment Harry considered asking Draco to assist him over to the bench, but instantly dismissed the thought as absurd. He didn't wish to be in any way indebted to the Slytherin. So, with as much dignity as he could muster, Harry hopped over to the bench, earning him another low laugh. After some careful manoeuvring on Harry's part his foot was resting comfortably as he sat on the bench. The time passed by, silent but for the happy gurgling of the fountain, both wizards staring at the stone ground below them. A slight bemusement seeped through him. He, Harry Potter, had been incapacitated for many minutes and – although clearly enjoying a laugh at his expense – Draco had not taken advantage of it. He had not insulted, fought with nor jinxed Harry. It was rather eerie, sitting in the chill of the darkened courtyard with Malfoy still and silent beside him. Harry considered brazenly insulting the other's father simply to get some animosity going and therefore a semblance of normality. But instead he remained as motionless and quiet as Draco.
He wasn't sure how long had passed before he sensed a faint movement beside him and realised that he was being stared at. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the ground and Draco kept his eyes fixed on him. A few moments later, a mixture of irritation, curiosity and unease caused Harry to lift his head and stare defiantly back. He found the face he met startlingly blank. Although, truthfully, it wasn't really blank at all: it was just that Harry was so used to seeing his sharp features defined by displeasure, that seeing Draco's face look normal was a strange experience for the dark haired boy. Draco's stormy grey eyes were focused on him, scrutinising, searching. It was by no means a pleasant gaze but, Harry felt, it lacked the element of venom that he was accustomed to receiving.
Harry didn't understand the look at all. It seemed so intense, so full of purpose, that he felt he should respond in some way. He tried to think of something to say but had no idea what. So he continued to stare whilst being stared at. His breathing suddenly seemed all too loud; he was sure it must have been echoing around the courtyard. It seemed like nothing would shatter the scene until Draco abruptly stood up and walked away. Harry had just sat there, staring at the now-empty space beside him, feeling inexplicably as though he had been knocked to the ground despite remaining rigidly on the bench the entire time.
Two months passed before the two found themselves alone again. Draco had been wandering back from the library late one night when he crashed straight into Harry. He had been pacing the deserted corridors all evening, worrying about his future and final task in the tournament. Draco's books had tumbled onto the floor upon their impact and Harry allowed himself a small smirk as he watched him pick them up angrily: clearly pureblood ancestry did not ensure one decent grades. They faced each other aggressively. Neither apologised. Both waited, fists clenched, ready to accuse the other when one chose to speak.
The next moment remains seemingly blurred in Harry's mind as he is still unable to make sense of it. He had opened his mouth to have a rant at Malfoy when without warning the books clattered on the floor once more and all too suddenly Draco's lips were pressed against his, hot and searing. A whimper of surprise left Harry's throat but became lost in the kiss. His mouth was relentless; biting, licking and crushing Harry's lips, lips that responded with fervour to such ministrations. Draco's tongue slipped into Harry's mouth, deepening the kiss; he accepted it, returned it. Beneath roaming hands, his body became pliant. It was not a tender kiss. It was bruising and forceful and entirely unremitting.
That first kiss led to a series of night-time meetings in darkened corridors and empty classrooms. It would be false to suggest that there was any affection between the two boys when they were together. Certainly, in the daytime their roles as arch enemies remained consistent. Their rendezvous' served simply as outlets for teenage desire and barely contained passion as kisses quickly led to more. Gradually the boys' bodies became familiar territories for one another as lips always recalled the perfect spot on Draco's neck that made him moan lowly and without fail Harry would shudder and gasp when the blond would move his hand just like that. Limbs were dirtied by hidden corners, bruises were formed from contact with the hard stone floors. These things were only evident afterwards: when they were together, both were filled by a white heat that shut out all else.
Every time they would end their sessions without a farewell until one night. Three months after their initial kiss, Harry ventured forth a soft "good night" so quiet it was as though it didn't want to be heard. It was heard, however. The shock of sound at this point in their encounter was enough to make the Slytherin turn around sharply to look at the perpetrator. A moment's pause then – "good night, Harry". Both hearts beat a little faster.
From that moment on, when Harry had dared to break the silence that covered their meetings, something changed. Neither wished to admit it but it was brutally obvious. Heat was still there, that fiery intensity remained, yet there was now an aspect of intimacy that had not existed before. Looks lingered that moment too long, clutching fingers desperately locked together, the other's name fell from their lips in the throes of passion. Instead of each others' bodies acting as outlets for lust, they became the reason for it. The change had happened so neatly, so subtly, that before either one could stop the process they became more than a series of encounters. They had become lovers entwined by a terrifying closeness that neither had thought possible.
"You have the final challenge tomorrow?" Draco asked in a rare attempt at conversation one night whilst heading for the door. Although both knew that they had become involved on a much deeper level than either had envisaged, talking was still kept to a minimum during their time together.
"Yeah" replied Harry. His casual response masked the fear in the pit of his stomach regarding the next day's events. Draco paused, his fingers clutching the door handle. He looked at Harry for a moment, studying the other boy, and then gave him a small nod of the head before leaving. The dark haired wizard allowed his gaze to linger on the empty doorway for a while before resuming the tying of his shoelaces.
The next few days were some of the worst in Harry's life. He watched Cedric Diggory's murder; he witnessed the return of Voldemort; astonished, he suffered from the realisation that not everyone believed his story. He retreated further into himself. His best friends were unable to help him although, thankfully, they believed his account of that fateful night. Hogwarts held a solemn air as students mourned the loss of the well-liked and respected Diggory.
On the last evening of term, Harry had unexpectedly come across Draco as he wandered the school grounds trying to wear himself out enough to induce sleep. Draco was sitting on the same courtyard bench the two had shared months ago. Mutely, Harry sat beside him. He, of course, did not admit that he had been hoping to see the other one last time before the holidays. He did not like to dwell upon such feelings too much.
In silence they sat as the minutes passed by. The stillness allowed all the emotions of the past few days to press upon Harry and, to the boy's embarrassment, forced a few tears to roll down his cheeks. Hurriedly he wiped them away with his sleeve, hoping that Draco hadn't seen but it was obvious he had. Bewilderingly he felt a pair of arms encircling him, pulling him towards the blond. They held him tight with a strong, almost painful, grip. Harry's head rested on Draco's shoulder, his hands clutching at the material covering the Slytherin's chest. Draco's cheek rested on Harry's head, his breath causing the dark hair to flutter gently. They stayed like that for as long as possible, knowing that it would be the last time they saw each other until September – and neither was sure what could happen in the intervening period.
When they returned to Hogwarts as fifth years, much had indeed changed. Dementor attacks, threats of expulsion and Harry's new-found reputation as a liar fogged the summer months. At least his stay at Grimmauld Place had the major advantage of allowing Harry to spend time with Sirius, an opportunity that was all too rare. He had not mentioned Draco Malfoy to his friends – he wasn't sure he could describe what they shared even if he wanted to. He did feel guilty keeping it from them, but Harry doubted that Ron in particular would ever speak to him again if he found out. Ron's accusations of "fraternising with enemy" that he threw at Hermione for the mere act of accompanying Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball made Harry sure that revelations of secret trysts with Malfoy would be less than warmly received. For Draco was the enemy. It had not escaped Harry's attention that Lucius Malfoy had been one of the Death Eaters standing in the graveyard awaiting the return of their master. When he tried to reconcile the feelings he had for Draco with the fact that the boy's father had wanted Harry dead, his head spun.
He couldn't suppress the fact that he did have feelings for Draco. Harry had come to realise this over the holidays. He had jumped up whenever an owl flew through the window, hoping for some word from the other wizard, whilst knowing deep down that it was about as likely as Hermione failing all her exams. His eyes scanned the Daily Prophet every morning, searching from some mention of him amid all the articles about what a liar Harry Potter was. When he lay in bed at night, he yearned to see the Slytherin hovering on his broomstick outside the bedroom window with that fiery intensity burning in his eyes. In fact, Draco Malfoy had never been far from his thoughts all summer, though he didn't like to ponder what that exactly that implied.
Before long Harry was once again stepping off the Hogwarts Express in September and heading towards the castle, his return all the sweeter after believing himself to be expelled earlier that year. He thought that there may have been a wait before he met Draco but in the Great Hall that evening he had caught his eye across the tables. Draco looked pointedly at Harry before leaving the welcome feast and soon after Harry followed, making excuses of illness to Ron and Hermione. He trailed the wizard, shutting the door behind him as both entered an empty classroom.
Draco looked anxious, chewing nervously on his lower lip and staring at Harry, his eyebrows furrowed as though trying desperately to figure something out. Attempting to impart an air of casualness, Harry wandered over to the teacher's desk and perched himself on it, his legs dangling due to the desk's height. Draco was pacing around leaving Harry feeling apprehensive.
"Did you have a nice summer?" Harry asked, immediately regretting it. He didn't think he could have said anything more stupid. "I mean, mine was a bit rubbish what with everything that's happening" he rambled on, wishing he could stop himself. A bit rubbish? It had been terrible. "But I did turn fifteen so..."
"What, did you expect a bloody birthday card or something?" Draco snapped.
Harry fell silent. He had spoken more to Draco just then than he probably had over the entire last six months and it had been a load of blathering nonsense. Did he really expect Malfoy to care about his summer dramas? Still the blond boy paced. Harry dropped his gaze to watch his own feet swinging beneath him.
Suddenly Draco stopped his pacing and charged up to Harry, standing in front of him, eyes blazing. His mouth hung open just a little, as though he were about to say something. As Harry looked back at him, his tense features started to soften. Harry remembered how strange it had first been to see him with anything but nastiness in his face, but in their times together he had seen many expressions he never thought he could elicit in the Slytherin. He watched him swallow thickly, saw his eyes smoulder but lose their fury. Slowly, Draco raised a trembling hand to cup his face, his thumb gently brushing across Harry's cheek. The tenderness of the action was completely new for the two boys and set their hearts racing. Draco leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Harry's. They stayed like that, lips barely grazing the others', until Harry tilted his head a little to lightly flick his tongue across Draco's. His hands lifted to lace through his blond hair, his legs wrapped around the standing boy. Their movements were slow and passionate. Despite only kissing it was the most intimate they had ever been.
When Draco slid Harry's shirt down his arms, a trail of kisses followed. When Harry was not near enough, Draco's hands gripped his hips, pulling their bodies together. And when Draco entered him, Harry's name fell from his lips in such a way that the dark haired boy didn't dare contemplate what it meant. He felt as though he were going to pass out, so strong were the emotions surging through him. Gone was the brutal tone to their early encounters, replaced by something much deeper. When Harry had gone to hurriedly get dressed afterwards as was the norm, a strong hand gripped his arm and stopped him from leaving, at least for an extra moment. Harry had gladly acquiesced.
Just as before, neither boy acknowledged this change in the character of their meetings. It hung there, obvious to and accepted by both. Harry was only slightly dismayed to find that Draco's displays of hostility continued in public; he hadn't honestly expected anything to change. That would be equal to admitting that there was something real between them. The differences between the nastiness of their public relationship and the tenderness shared between them in private drove Harry crazy, but it was worth it. He knew that.
Harry lived for the next time they would secretly meet. He often recalled during the dullest classes past times together, focusing on a particular way Draco had stroked his hair or something distinctive he had said. For conversations were not rarities any more, quite the opposite in fact. Conversations had been awkward at first – what exactly does one talk about with a wizard you have loathed for years? Harry came to understand soon enough that they were not so entirely different after all. They were both strong-minded and passionate with a streak of recklessness and disobedience. Harry truly enjoyed talking to Draco as it gave him a chance to stop being questioned about Voldemort's return. There had been a sort of unspoken agreement not to mention the subject: both were too heavily involved on opposing sides, although Draco had strongly hinted on several occasions that his father's will was not his own.
Over the following months their relationship grew steadily. Their encounters were no longer solely for sexual gratification. Often they would just talk, sitting on the floor, backs resting against the stone walls. Draco would watch intently as Harry spoke, his fingers tracing the curve of Harry's arm, interrupting the flow of speech every so often for a lingering kiss. Sometimes they would simply lie next to one another, revelling in the feeling of closeness, in hearing the steady breathing of the other.
Harry was deeply in love. He knew it and he was sure Draco knew it, but those three words were never spoken. That wasn't how their relationship worked. Such personal sentiments were never uttered; instead, the other somehow knew from a certain look or a particular way their name was murmured. Terms of endearment and pet names were amusing to Harry; to imagine Draco ever referring to him as "baby" or some other such name bestowed upon his peers by their partners was bizarre. That wasn't love: it was your souls being entirely entwined.
Beauty. Loyalty. Adoration. Trust. That was love.
But as he stared in disbelief at Draco confronting Dumbledore over two years since they shared that first kiss, Harry couldn't stop that horrible jolt of anguish course through him. He had been wrong, entirely and dangerously wrong. He felt utterly hopeless. He should have realised. Draco had been looking increasingly pale and tired this last year; his flares of temper had become more common but had always been apologised for with such apparent sincerity that Harry had never questioned why these things were.
"I'm standing here with a wand – I'm about to kill you –" Malfoy threatened. Harry's mind spun. He had always known the Slytherin to have a capacity for viciousness but to murder someone… It all seemed like a terrible nightmare from which Harry pleaded with himself to wake up.
"I've haven't got any options! I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"
Draco's words struck Harry hard. He, of course, had guessed that there was some higher reason for Draco to be doing this. Yet it didn't erase the fact that he was threatening to kill. He thought he knew Draco – that he was capable of strength, of courage, of defiance. To follow orders so mindlessly… It just wasn't right.
And then he saw it. It was only slight but to Harry, it made the world of difference. Draco's hand, already trembling furiously, lowered his wand. He couldn't do it. To perform a killing curse, one needed to really mean it – and Draco didn't. In other circumstances Harry could have laughed in sheer relief. He hadn't been wrong.
More figures appeared on the scene, taunting and sneering whilst Dumbledore stood there as though it were a pleasant chat with old friends. Harry's heart had soared when Snape emerged, his relief turning to cold horror as he watched his Headteacher be murdered by the one he trusted. All of a sudden the Death Eaters were running and Harry was able to move again. All his energy went into following them down through the corridors, casting and ducking spells as he ran, unable to let what had just happened infiltrate his thoughts too deeply. The cool night air whipped his face as he saw Draco with Snape, heading for the school gates. Harry sent a stunning spell at Snape which missed him but caused the teacher to turn and face him.
"Run, Draco!" Snape yelled to the young wizard.
For a moment, Harry's eyes locked with Draco's. He knew this was it. As soon as Draco apparated, things would never return to how they were. He would never again feel the softness of his lips, the strength of arms encircling him. He would never again hear Draco's voice whisper his name against his ear, holding so many unspoken truths in those two syllables. He would never again have someone so utterly a part of him and know that he was an equally important part of them. It was over. They were now openly at war with each other. It was no longer just them; they were part of something much bigger.
It felt like an eternity yet at the same time all too brief, that last moment before Draco would inevitably leave. Harry watched the tears fall from his eyes, saw him inhale deeply before finally turning away. It had been only a second or two then he was gone and Harry returned to the insanity of that evening.
Harry sometimes wished that he had gotten the chance to tell Draco what he really meant to him. How he made Harry feel, how amazing everything seemed when they were together. How Harry respected him for lowering his wand. How completely Harry loved him and how sure he was that he would never find anything like it again.
How he wished he had said goodbye.
But with them, the truest sentiments had always remained unspoken.