Author's note 13-06-16: This story has now been planned out and will be eight parts in total, and will be updated as fast as I can possibly write it. Thanks for the enthusiasm so far! xJx
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Chapter Two
June 5th 1941
"Over here Harry!" Neville Longbottom, one of the local children, called as Harry thwacked the football with his right foot, sending it flying to his teammate. He laughed, feeling the sweat running down his neck and soaking into his shirt, crying out as Neville passed to Seamus Finnigan, narrowly getting by Dean Thomas to score against the other team's waiting goal keeper.
"WOOHOO!" Harry cheered, pumping his fist in the air. It was only an informal match they had thrown together after school had finished for the day, but just because it wasn't as serious as the matches he used to play with his team back home (the Central London Lions) didn't mean he wasn't still keen on winning. "Good work chaps!"
He looked around to see if Draco was watching, but he was still stubbornly sat on the grass at the edge of their makeshift pitch, focused firmly on the book on his lap and the notepad by his knee. Harry sighed. He would never have thought there would be a single soul who would volunteer for extra schoolwork, however Draco had refused to let his Latin studies slip simply because there was no teacher to be had in Little Whinging. So his mother posted him work to do from his old tutor, which Draco would complete and then send back in the already stamped envelope his mother also provided.
It was positively barmy, however Harry couldn't help but also think it was a little wonderful. Draco was different in so many ways, but Harry liked all the strange things about him, every new detail he learned important to him for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of.
He was soon distracted by the ball zipping about the grass again, but in the back of his mind he continued to muse on his time with Draco over the past several months.
In the beginning it had been odd, getting used to sharing not only a room but a bed with another person. But funnily enough, knowing Draco would always be to his right, a solid presence beside him, meant Harry slept better than he ever had in the last year or so in London. If he dreamed of the bombs, all he had to do was shift and feel the other weight on the mattress, and he would know before he was even fully awake that he was no longer in any danger.
It was more than that though – Draco was not just proof he was out of London and away from the Blitz, as such reasoning suggested anyone could take his place. Harry liked his new friend's quiet contemplation, his interesting ideas and the utterly brilliant games he concocted to play in Mrs Figg's small garden together, or out in the street with the other children. He fathomed worlds of dragons and worlds in the stars, and when the other boys would pat him on the back and tell him how bloody marvellous he was, Harry would feel pride like they were being kind directly to him.
In the dark, they would whisper little stories from their old lives, sometimes secrets Harry had never told anyone, not even Ron, like the time his horrid cousin had broken his glasses on purpose, so Harry had found some dog's mess to wrap in a box to leave for him on his door. Draco had laughed until he'd cried at that one, and even though Harry knew if his mum ever found out he'd be in the worse trouble of his life, but he couldn't help but feel it was worth it as Draco hugged him and howled with mirth into his neck.
Harry liked talking with Draco more than anyone, but today he'd barely strung two words together, not even in his favourite classes where he was normally the first to answer all the teacher's questions. Harry looked over again, and began to wonder if there was something actually wrong with his chum. Draco had begged off with belly-ache earlier, but perhaps that wasn't it?
Just as he decided to go and see if he had changed his mind and wanted to play football (Draco never played. Harry thought he wanted to, but for some reason always declined) Draco slapped his book shut, picked it and his papers up, and stood to march off. He would normally never leave without waiting for Harry, or at least telling him, but Harry stopped running after the ball as he watched Draco trudge off, shoulders tense and face down.
"I'll see you later chaps," he called, ignoring as they protested for him not to go, but he was already scooping up his satchel and gas mask from the side of the pitch, trotting determinedly after Draco. "Wait!" he shouted. "Draco, wait!"
Thankfully, Draco did indeed stop and turn, biting his lip as he allowed Harry to catch up with him.
"Where are you off to?" Harry cried breathlessly as he came to a halt. He wafted his shirt away from his damp body, hoping he wasn't too grim. Draco looked neat and tidy as always.
Draco shrugged, not really looking up from the ground. "You were having fun, I didn't want to disturb you."
"Don't be daft," Harry said with a laugh. "Why ever would you disturb me?" Draco shrugged again, and Harry got a worm of worry in his tummy. "Draco," he said gently. "Have I…I haven't upset you in some way have I?"
Draco's eyes widened. "Lord, no Harry!" he said, and finally a look of something other than misery graced his features. Surprise perhaps? He sighed. "The truth is I'm having a bad day, but it isn't anything you or anyone else has done, I promise."
"Then what?" Harry asked, relieved that he had not been the cause of Draco's melancholy, but distressed nonetheless that he was indeed upset.
Draco let out a frustrated huff. "It's this bloody war," he bemoaned, using a word they weren't supposed to say out loud, especially not in front of grown-ups. "I'm just missing home. I-" He fiddled with the books in his hands and shifted his weight. "It's my birthday today, and Mother was unable to come and visit like she hoped."
Harry's insides dropped into his boots. "Oh Draco," he admonished, clouting his arm for good measure. "Why on Earth wouldn't you tell me it's your birthday, now I feel beastly, I haven't got you a single thing!"
He was a little mollified to see a small smile creep onto the other boy's face. "I didn't want you to trouble with presents for anything, there's not much to go around after all."
Harry wasn't going to be dissuaded though. "But we're friends, that's a special exception, I would have found something to get you-" he broke off, his face lighting up in a delighted smile. "Actually," he announced proudly. "It turns out I have something simply marvellous for you, and this present happens to be totally free." He shot out his hand, wiggling his fingers in invitation for Draco to take it. "Come on!"
Draco let out a breath, his body relaxing as he let go of his sadness, and grabbed Harry's hand firmly. "Lead the way," he urged cheerfully.
They ran and jogged and skipped and spun all the way to the woods on the edge of town. Harry was chatting the whole time, explaining how he had been exploring when Draco had insisted on doing his extra studies, and how he had made the most extraordinary discovery a few days ago. "I was waiting for the best time to show you," he gabbed, grinning ear to ear as he pushed his way through several low hanging branches. "And what better day than your birthday?"
Draco was smiling back at him, though stayed quiet as he had most of the short journey. He looked like he was waiting to see just what Harry had to show him, but luckily he didn't have to wait much longer. "Close your eyes!" Harry told him just as they were almost at the right spot. So Draco stopped walking and did as he was told. Harry took both his hands, and carefully guided him around the last bend.
"If I trip and twist my ankle, it shall be the most rotten of presents Potter," Draco threatened, but both boys were giggling.
"Okay," Harry announced, turning him and placing him in front of his surprise. "Open your eyes!"
Draco did, blinking as his eyes adjusted again to the bright summer sunlight, and then he gasped in delight. "Blackberries!" he cried, lurching forward to the bush heavy with fruit before them.
Harry had been vaguely worried that the birds might have gotten to his prize over the past few days, or someone else might have found the burgeoning supply of fruit, but it was just as he remembered it as he and Draco threw themselves to sit on the ground and began picking berries as fast as they could eat them.
"Good present?" Harry asked, licking his fingers.
"Urgh," Draco moaned, popping several more blackberries into his mouth, his lips purple with juice. "The best!" he mumbled around chews, then covered his mouth with his hand and giggled at his bad manners.
When Harry's belly began to hurt, he gave a satisfied grunt and flopped onto his back, looking up at the clouds floating by in the sky above the tree tops. "We should collect as many any we can," he said, feeling Draco slump down onto his back beside him. "Bring them to Mrs Figg so she can make jam."
"Do you think she could make blackberry tarts?" Draco asked dreamily, and Harry turned to face him.
"It doesn't hurt to ask," he said sincerely. "It is your birthday after all."
Draco turned so they were facing one another, with matching purple smiles. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he apologised, reaching over to brush a stray bit of berry skin from Harry's mouth. "I thought I could pretend it wasn't really my birthday, and then it might hurt less?"
Harry understood what he was saying, Draco was good at explaining things like that. "It's okay," he said. "I'm just sorry you were sad all day."
"I'm not sad now, though," Draco sighed happily, and they lay for a while looking at the clouds again, trying to make out shapes.
Harry spied at least half a dozen he swore adamantly were just like Spitfires, whilst Draco saw a variety of creatures and even one he suggested looked like a broomstick. "The kind you fly on," he added laughing, as if that were really a possibility.
After a while in comfortable silence, a question popped into Harry's head, and he didn't pause to consider whether he should speak it aloud before he did. "Draco," he began, wiping his mouth to make sure he'd gotten the last of the berry juice off it. "Do you think, if we weren't…living together, we would be friends now." He almost said 'sharing a room', but they never, ever talked about that. Harry figured that Draco, like him, knew that wasn't really something that was supposed to be shared with other people, it was their special secret. Even if he sometimes wanted to assure Draco he actually really liked it, that he found it of great comfort, he never said the words out loud, and neither did Draco. Harry hoped he felt the same though, just as he hoped the answer to his question would be, 'Yes, of course!'
But Draco contemplated his response. "Honestly," he said after a few moments. "I'm not sure if we would."
Harry felt like ice flooded his chest. He couldn't imagine Draco not being his friend. He was his special friend, different to his best friend Ron. Draco was like his brother or something. They shared everything, and when they were apart Harry felt like he was missing some part of himself.
"Oh," he said, then cleared his throat to try and dislodge the lump there.
"I mean," Draco said carefully. "You played on the football team, and ran around in the muck. I played piano and never ran anywhere. I'm not sure we would have talked much, if we hadn't been placed in the same house."
"Yeah," Harry said, chewing on his lip. "I guess you're right."
He was surprised by Draco taking his hand, their palms and fingers sticky from all the berries they had devoured as they interlocked, and Harry turned to look at Draco once more. "I am extremely glad we are friends now though," he said, his grey eyes wide and shining. "If anything good has come out of this ghastly war, it is that at least we got the chance to become friends."
"Great friends," Harry agreed enthusiastically, his chest swelling again with happiness.
"Best friends," Draco insisted solemnly. And Harry supposed that was true. It didn't mean Ron was any less important to him, but he got to see Draco every day, and where as Ron was fun and loud and great at football, Draco was like Harry's special secret. They were two halves, two sides of the same bed.
"Best friends," Harry repeated, squeezing their hands together, as if making a promise.
