Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is JK's.

For those of you who have read 'The Room of Requirement', this is the same story as told from Draco's perspective. You don't need to have read one to read the other.

Contains DH spoilers (and the other books as well!). EWE. Takes place a year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Students new and old have returned for a celebration to mark the one year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat and the news that the school will reopen as normal in September and welcome back all students, including those who have missed out on their final year.

Author's note: It's been a long time since I read DH and I've read far too much fanfiction in my time, so apologies if I've made any canon mistakes. This story is supposed to be canon compliant until the end of book 7 (not including the epilogue).

Please Note: Contains SLASH. Rated M for language and to be safe.

The Room of Hidden Things

Chapter 1:

Draco walked aimlessly along the corridor, hood up and head low. The last thing he wanted was to be recognised. He didn't want to be here. Would have given anything, in fact, never to return to Hogwarts at all, but his mother had insisted. He would return to do his NEWTs in September along with what remained of his class and so he had been forced to make an appearance at this evenings banquet.

It was supposed to be a celebration, of sorts. And sure enough there were many who felt it should be. Hogwarts had finally been restored to its former glory and was ready to open its doors once again. And of course, the wizarding world was still free, thanks to the events of the previous year.

Draco, however, did not feel like celebrating. There were few places he would have been even less keen to visit. Hogwarts held some of the worst memories of his life.

He had escaped the feast as soon as it was over, needing some time alone. He had intended to go outside but soon realised the folly of that plan. The warm night had drawn more than a handful of couples out into the grounds and Draco knew he would find no peace out there. Instead he headed up the stairs, letting his feet take him where they would.

Lost in his own thoughts Draco didn't realise where he was until it was far too late to turn back. His steps slowed as he walked down the all too familiar corridor.

He wanted to walk straight past, pretend that he was in some random corridor with no memories attached to it. But his body wouldn't obey. Unwillingly he found himself approaching the wall, until he was close enough to touch it.

Lifting a hand, he reached out to stroke his fingers over the cold stone. He wondered if the room was still there on the other side of the wall, but he knew he wouldn't check. This corridor, and the room beyond, had haunted his dreams for years. First when he had been forced to spend every spare minute in there with that damned cabinet and then the fire that had killed Vince...

The last of his self-control crumpled and he collapsed against the wall, burying his face in his sleeve to stifle a gut-wrenching sob. He knew he shouldn't have come back. And there was no way he could do this for a whole year. There were too many places in the castle that would bring him to his knees. He could avoid this corridor, but the astronomy tower? Snape's old classroom? Even the great hall held memories he would rather forget. He would go abroad or something, anything to avoid having to come back…

He froze at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, at the same time realising that his hood had slipped down, clearly revealing his identity to whoever was intruding on him now.

Draco hastily wiped his face on his sleeve before pulling back to look at the owner of the hand. There was no one there.

"Who's there?"

There was no response. His jaw clenched as he realised whom the hand must belong to. Who else would have stumbled across him at one of the only times he lost his self-control.

"I know it's you Potter. Hiding under that stupid cloak of yours, no doubt." He growled when the Gryffindor still said nothing.

He glared into empty space as he reached for his wand, before a hand gripped his wrist, stopping his movement

"Don't."

The voice was low and undemanding, and a second later Draco was looking into Potter's face.

"What do you want Potter?"

"To talk."

Draco stared at him, "You want to talk? To me?"

Potter nodded before moving to sit on the floor against the opposite wall. For a long moment Draco stood, desperate to leave, to get as far away from Potter as possible. But then, when had Potter ever wanted to talk to him before. With a scowl, Draco sunk to the ground, his gaze returning to the boy opposite. He waited, but Potter said nothing, apparently content to do little more than stare at him.

"Well? Talk." Draco growled impatiently.

He had better things to do than wait around for Potter to speak.

"I've been sitting here for a while, you know, thinking about everything. It feels like such a long time since I was here last. How can a year be such a long time?"

Potter paused for a second, but continued when Draco said nothing.

"It's good to be back though. Even with all the memories... Its good to be home."

"How can you call this home? After everything?"

Draco forced a note of derision into his voice as he spoke, already berating himself for giving in and responding. But he was curious. Surely Potter had just as many bad memories of the school as Draco did, probably even more. So how could he be pleased to be back? How could he still call the place home?

"It's the first real home I've ever known." Potter paused again before continuing, "McGonagall said that the room was gone. And I know she must be right. If the fiendfyre was strong enough to destroy a horcrux, how could the room have survived it? But I keep wanting to try, just in case."

"Why? Why would you ever want to go in there again after...?"

Draco tried to keep the fear out of his voice, but he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. What if Potter did try? What if it worked? What if he did it while Draco was still here to see…

"There are other things that happened in that room. Before the war. Like in fifth year with Dumbledore's Army and..."

Draco flinched at the sound of the old headmasters name. Even now he still couldn't bear to hear it. Though in the end he hadn't cast the curse, he knew he was still responsible. He had disarmed Dumbledore. It was because of him that Snape had succeeded.

It wasn't until much later he had learned that Snape had been acting under Dumbledore's orders, but somehow that didn't help. Draco had still had a part in murdering one of the greatest wizards of all time. Draco had done a lot under the Dark Lord's orders and he wasn't proud of a single thing. But above everything else, he knew he would never forgive himself for his actions that night.

"I was there, you know. That night on the tower."

Potter's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Figures." His voice was harsh.

Why was it that Potter was there for every one of the lowest moments of Draco's life? Why did it have to be Potter that witnessed all his failures and humiliations?

"You're not a bad person Malfoy."

And that was all it took for Draco to snap. What did Potter know? How could he have any idea of the things he'd done? His jaw clenched and before he knew what he was doing he had launched himself across the corridor, fist raised, ready to land a solid punch on Potter's self-righteous jaw.

Unfortunately, Potter caught his hand before it could do any damage. He shifted his weight intending to use his other fist when Potter's voice stopped him.

"Malfoy, please..."

The sound of Potter's plea broke through the red haze and Draco let his fist drop, though he continued to glare.

"What do you want from me Potter?"

"I want... I want…"

Draco resisted the temptation to tell Potter to just spit it out. The other boy would get there in his own time, as always.

And then Potter moaned, "Merlin, I want you."

Draco froze in surprise. Potter wanted what now? And as if Draco had spoken aloud and needed confirmation of Potter's desires, the Gryffindor hauled Draco closer and crashed their lips together.

Draco was still in shock, but Potter didn't seem to mind his lack of response. The Gryffindor wrapped an arm around Draco, as his other hand lifted to tangle in Draco's hair.

Suddenly other memories from the Room of Requirement were rushing back. The memory of Potter saving him from the feindfyre. The feel of strong muscles beneath his hands as he clung desperately to the Gryffindor. The feeling of being safe despite everything going on around him. The feeling that despite everything, Potter cared whether he lived or died.

He had a lot to thank Potter for, and he knew it, though he could never bring himself to say it. Potter had saved his life on more than one occasion and it was the Gryffindor's testimony that had kept both he and his mother out of Azkaban. He could never say it. But he could show it.

Draco moved then, tilting his head and parting his lips. His arms reached around Potter, tugging the other boy closer, his fingers sinking into that thick dark hair, softer than words could describe. He kissed Potter back with everything he had and if he noticed that Potter's kiss was better than any Draco had ever received before, he pretended not to.