AN I don't own HP or any of the characters and this was supposed to be a one-shot but I decided I like it so...
Harry wasn't sure why he kept coming back. He did, though, almost religiously to the point that Ron was convinced he had a secret girlfriend. Something about the routine, about sneaking into the emerald common room and stealing the sound of that music, made his nightmares a little less horrible. He couldn't always find someone to follow inside, especially if he was running late. Sometimes he was exhausted and only paused for a minute or two outside the stone door, but he never missed a night. It was almost sacred to him now.
Draco was getting used to him now too, though Harry still wasn't sure how, and often waited to even start playing until Harry had taken a seat on the little wooden bench near the piano. It was nice, honestly. For the first time in Harry's life someone was waiting for him-not rushing to eat before he could, not hurrying to class because he was too slow, not waking and leaving before he'd even realized they were gone-waiting.
The more time Harry spent listening, the more he began to learn the complexities of how Draco played. Soft, gentle presses on the keys were not sweet, they were sleep deprived. Fast songs were not happy or cheerful, they were scared. But, more than anything, Harry learned to read Draco's posture and the quirks of his expression.
Often, the way Draco played was sad and tortured in a way Harry had never associated with the blond. It had set him on edge, at first, but he was used to it now. Used to the sad, hollow way the notes echoed through the room and the thrumming vortex of fear he could have drowned in. But, the second he slid into the Slytherin common room, he could tell something was wrong. The terrified second year he'd followed in heard the music and practically broke into a run just trying to get away, clearly under the impression that it was a threat. Harry was late compared to their usual schedule because it'd taken him a long time to find someone to follow in, but Draco was already playing. That was never a good sign.
If their sudden schedule shift hadn't alerted Harry that something had happened, the music would have. It was heavy and hopeless in a way he'd never heard Draco play before. Instantly, he hated it. He hated whatever put that sorrow in Draco's fingertips and he hated whatever made the blond quiver like that on the piano bench. Draco was crying, he realized. Harry didn't know what to do even though his muscles ached to reach out and ease the pain, so he just took his usual seat.
Almost immediately, Draco stilled and lifted his head. A slow smile cracked over those pale lips and, if tears hadn't still been falling, Harry would have sworn that the blond looked almost relieved.
"I was worried you weren't coming tonight." Shit. Draco was talking to him. The blond didn't know he was there-he couldn't-but Harry still checked the invisibility cloak to be sure. Thankfully, Draco didn't seem to be expecting a response. He lifted his hands and went back to playing, letting the tears flow freely down his cheeks as he bent his head and closed his eyes. The music was so sad…
Harry wasn't sure what made him do it, really, but he couldn't help himself. There was so much weight and so much pain in Draco's music that he could taste it and every fiber of his being just ached to help. Tentatively, he lifted a hand. When he touched the blond's shoulder, Draco nearly fell off the bench.
"You're real…?" Harry didn't say anything-afraid of giving away his identity-but, just as suddenly, Draco reached back and pressed the hand on his shoulder down a little tighter. He was… encouraging Harry? That didn't make any sense but the way Draco sighed and returned to the keys made it seem almost plausible. But that didn't make sense. It couldn't be. To test the theory, Harry lifted his other hand and placed it on Draco's left shoulder. He relished in the little involuntary shiver Draco gave. Slowly, gently, he smoothed his palms against the thin dress shirt and massaged the muscles that were twitching underneath.
"Someone I love got the dark mark today." Harry's stomach dropped. Quickly, he hummed, trying to reassure the blond that he was there without giving away his voice, but Draco didn't seem to need it. He was shaking now, as if the music had pulled every ounce of control from his body. The music just got sadder, though.
Harry knew he shouldn't do it, but he couldn't stop himself once the thought entered his mind. He slid his hands over the blond's shoulder, onto his chest, and leaned until he was hugging Draco from behind. Those pale fingers fumbled on the keys. Then, all at once, Draco just grabbed at his arms and pulled Harry almost on top of him in a sharp, desperate reach for comfort. Harry watched, hardly breathing, as Draco took his hand and intertwined their fingers. Pale skin clashed with dark. The invisibility cloak had slipped in the commotion and Harry almost panicked until he realized that Draco's eyes were closed. Draco squeezed his hand.
"Please don't let go." Harry didn't understand until Draco moved his hands back to the keys and started with another song. This one was slow and heartbroken. He stayed where he was, though, and let his head rest on the blond's shoulder as he held him. It felt strangely... right to stand there like that.
Draco's skin was hot against his touch, even through the invisibility cloak, and his hands were clammy and unsteady but Harry didn't mind. The longer he stayed there, the more steady Draco became. Harry felt the rise and fall of the blond's chest slow into an almost peaceful rhythm. The song became a little less heavy. Not happy, but not drowning in sadness the way it'd been before. He didn't leave that night until the sun began to shine through the lake and he could hear people beginning to stir.
The next night, Harry was pleased to see Draco waiting for him but, when he took his usual seat, Draco didn't start playing. His eyes were closed, his posture tense. If he hadn't let out a sigh Harry might have thought he'd fallen asleep while waiting for him. Slowly, he watched Draco inhale a deep breath and hold it, as if savoring something in the air, before the blond turned in his general direction.
"Please?" For a second, Harry didn't know what was happening. But then he saw the pinch in Draco's expression and the stiff way that he was moving and it hit him. Draco was asking for contact. He couldn't say it out loud-he was probably ashamed and scared, Harry would guess-but he was asking nevertheless. Harry stood and moved behind him.
It seemed like too much too fast but Draco had asked for the contact and those blonde strands looked so soft... He let his hand slip out from under the invisibility cloak and carded his fingers through Draco's hair. Immediately, it was like his touch was electric. Draco jolted and went rigid on the little wooden bench, but Harry couldn't stop his hand from doing it again and then again. Slowly, Draco relaxed into it. Harry let his other hand rest on the blond's shoulder but he didn't stop smoothing his hair. Draco began to play, finally, and Harry felt the muscles beneath his hand relax a bit.
This song was the happiest one Harry had ever heard Draco play. It wasn't cheerful or bright, but it had the least amount of darkness and weight latching onto every note so Harry kept touching. He scratched, lightly, at the blond's scalp and savored the little shudder he caused. His hand smoothed where it was resting on Draco's thin white button up, before digging his thumb into the stiff muscles there. Draco jumped, but quickly sank back into the touch.
It felt like seconds had passed, but Harry knew Draco had gone through at least six songs and the lake was starting to shimmer with dawn sunlight. He had to force himself to stop combing through the soft, blond strands. Draco didn't protest or stop playing, though so Harry let that hand fall back to his side and slowed the other. Maybe Draco hadn't wanted Harry to keep touching him? The thought that he overstepped and done this of his own free will made Harry recoil, but immediately Draco let out a whine low in his throat. It sounded dangerously close to a sob, and Harry grappled for some kind of contact to make it stop. In his haste, he managed to cement his grip around the back of Draco's neck.
For a second, Harry thought he might have killed Draco. The blond went rigid but then just completely melted into Harry's touch. He leaned back, almost dead weight against Harry's waist, but Draco was so obviously unconcerned with falling that Harry couldn't ignore the rush of pride through his chest. Draco had trusted him. The Slytherin prince who trusted no one, not even his closest friends, had leaned back with all the faith in the world that Harry would catch him. His breathing had turned slow and shallow, his head pressing into Harry's stomach. With a start, Harry realized he was still tightly gripping the back of the blond's neck and he let go, afraid of hurting him. But Draco merely took a small breath and reached back. His hand managed to find Harry's leg through the invisibility cloak, and he held onto it like an anchor.
"Please not yet." Harry couldn't help it. There was so much sheer vulnerability in the blond's voice that he had to do something. At the very least, he wanted to reassure the Slytherin that he would be back again the next night. That he wouldn't miss this for the world.
"Tonight." He tried to disguise his voice but he doubted that Draco was really listening. The blond looked so far gone that it almost scared him. But the whisper reached those pale ears and Draco straightened up with a sigh that sounded too broken to ever have come from someone his age.
"Yeah, tonight." Harry really didn't want to go. Every fiber of every muscle in his body urged him to stay, to hold onto the broken boy in front of him and never let him fall. He could hear footsteps on the stairs, though, and they were getting closer. His hand reached out, aching to restore the contact, but Harry only let himself smooth those blond strands perfectly back into place before darting for the door. It had barely started to close when he heard someone call out.
"Ay, Malfoy! What are you doing up so early?" He heard the start of Draco's reply-heard the familiar menace and fire in those words-but it was a strange sort of relief to him. Draco had been quiet and apathetic recently. Maybe he was actually managing to help the blond with these nightly meetings?
Draco wasn't shocked to find out he was an eighth veela. The details were fuzzy but he didn't really care to learn because there were much bigger issues going on with his family at the moment. It didn't matter in the long run, either, because it wasn't like he had a mate or he could transform. As it was, sometimes his eyesight got a little better during Quidditch games and sometimes he could smell or sense things a few seconds before other people did. He learned to identify people by their different colognes and perfumes, and he practiced this skill around blind corners in the hallways of the castle. No matter what he did, though, he couldn't stop himself from searching for that familiar scent. Holly and oak, with a little something natural mixed in.
It wasn't until a particularly harsh lesson of defense against the dark arts that Draco began to put two and two together. Snape had been particularly harsh on the golden trio, which was as entertaining as ever, but in his anger he demanded to know what their wands were made of, if not pure stupidity. Hermione spouted off.
"Vine wood, holly, and willow, Professor." Snape had taken points for not raising her hand, but Draco had stopped completely. Holly. Was it possible that the holly piece of that familiar smell was the owner's wand? And, if so, who had a holly wand? Draco had certainly never met anyone with one because it was a rare wood. But then again Hermione had just said that one of the golden trio had a wand made from holly. He thought back to the feeling of hands on his shoulders, and of tears on his face. Please don't let it be the weasel, he thought.
But, just because one of the golden three had a holly wand, that didn't stop him from searching for others. He got a semi-legal list from Ollivander's and worked his way through it to find all the Hogwarts students, who he then worked his way through in turn. Sure enough, every student on that list had the faintest smell of holly pervading the air around them. None of them smelled of oak, though, or of rich earth and rain.
It was halfway through a Quidditch match that realization hit him a second time. The match was against Ravenclaw and had no real competition behind it because the blue team had already sealed their fates by losing to Gryffindor the week before. He caught a whiff of oak from a scratched broom as it whizzed past him.
A Quidditch player.
Draco had avoided both the P section and the W section of his list because he already knew that Granger's wand was vine wood. The Quidditch clue didn't give him any new hints, but he could examine the brooms of both Potter and Weasley during next week's match. Short of just straight up asking, that was all he could do.
He would have waited, too, just to catch a glimpse of either broom but he couldn't resist that night at the piano. Like usual, he waited for his mystery guest before starting to play. Part of him was terrified that it was Potter, but a bigger part of him just prayed that it wasn't the Weasel. The mystery guest had been getting more comfortable with him as they met more often, and he didn't even have to tilt his head before the familiar weight of those hands settled onto his shoulders. He had to hold back a small smile at the contact.
Draco had thought about this moment for a long time-and, for the most part, had convinced himself it was a bad idea. But he'd planned it anyways, just in case. His hands reached for the keys and he played a somber, mellow little tune because he knew that sadder songs made the hands on his shoulders squeeze just a little tighter. When he finished, though, he didn't launch into the next song. Instead, he paused.
"Any requests, Harry?" It was a leap of faith, but Draco took it and was pleased to feel the hands on his shoulders stiffen. He'd guessed correctly, thank Merlin. Behind him, Harry hesitated and Draco thought he might turn and bolt but then the soft rustle of cloth hit his ears. When he turned, Harry was standing there looking absolutely petrified.
"I said any requests, Harry?" The dark-haired boy jumped at the force in his voice but quickly recovered. He didn't take his hands away, Draco noticed.
"Twinkle twinkle little star." His fingers moved back to the keys of their own accord and began to play the little muggle song, even if it made his chest tight. Harry's hands were still on his shoulders, but they were stiff and motionless which was not like normal and Draco felt the pressure slowly lift, as if Harry was debating pulling away entirely.
"You don't have to stop just because I know it's you." Harry didn't move, even when Draco began to repeat the muggle song.
"How long have you known?" He shrugged, letting Harry feel the movement through his shoulders rather than use unnecessary words. It was weird-the thought of communicating through physical touch and movement-but he kind of liked it. The idea of it, at least.
"Not long. It was the scratch in your broom handle that gave it away," Draco started the muggle song again-Merlin it was short-but he felt Harry's confusion. "The scent. You smell like holly and oak, even with whatever made you invisible. Your wand is holly, I figured that out, but the oak is from your Quidditch broom." Slowly, Harry nodded. Draco started the song yet again and fully expected the Gryffindor to remain silent, but those hands suddenly gripped tight. Harry forcibly turned him on the bench, forcing Draco to meet his eyes.
"It doesn't bother you? That it's me, I mean?" Draco merely shrugged. For once, Harry seemed like the unconfident one between them and the dynamic shift was strangely unsettling. He just wanted to play and have the Gryffindor hug him like normal.
"Bother me? No, it fucking terrifies me, Harry. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop doing it." Draco couldn't explain the sudden confidence that overtook his body. Maybe it was seeing Harry so uncertain, or maybe it was watching those darker hands fall back to the Gryffindor's side, but Draco had a sudden surge of strength. He reached out and grabbed one of those hands. In one fluid motion, he spun back around on the bench and placed that hand in its usual spot on his shoulder.
"If you want me to play that stupid muggle song, you'd better keep your hand there." Harry obeyed. Draco went back to the keys and let himself focus again on the feeling of ivory against the pads of his fingers. Slowly, after the third or fourth repetition, he felt Harry settle his other hand back into place as well.
"You can play something else, if you want." Draco nodded. It was small, but he heard the reassurance there-Harry wouldn't let go, even if Draco stopped playing what he'd requested. He appreciated that more than he could say. Instead, he settled for playing one of the songs he knew Harry liked.
"You're not perfect." The shock of Harry's voice was nothing compared to the sting of those words. What the hell was Harry talking about? Draco knew he wasn't perfect, of course, and often obsessed over the things that made him that way but he didn't need Harry pointing it out.
"Neither are you." Harry shook his head, leaning a little more of his weight into Draco in a way that made the blond's head spin. "And yet, here we are."
"Here we are," Harry repeated softly, as if agreeing. Draco felt those dark forearms tilt, and then slide down onto his chest in a weird sort of half hug. He liked it, though. The Gryffindor's weight had always been comforting to him, even if it was just the tiny pull of gravity from his hands. Greater contact was not an exception to the rule, either. As Harry leaned on him a little more, he felt the dark-haired boy let his chin rest on the top of Draco's head.
"You're falling asleep, Potter. Am I that boring?" But Harry quickly straightened and shook his head. Draco would have laughed if he hadn't suddenly missed the contact so much, but Harry didn't seem to notice. Instead, he just picked himself back up a bit.
"My feet hurt is all." Again, Draco felt that surge of confidence when he heard Harry's voice catch in his throat. It was like the Gryffindor was scared of him, now. As if Draco was suddenly going to lash out at him or call in his goonies to beat him to a pulp.
"Sit, then." But Harry didn't move and, if anything, leaned back into him a little more. "Potter you're going to make me mess up." At that, Harry stiffened. He didn't move much, though, he just put a little more distance between their faces.
"You said not to move my hands if i wanted you to keep playing." Draco had said that. He'd meant it, too, but only for the stupid muggle song. Suddenly, the thought of Harry moving any farther away became unbearable and he rushed to stop him.
"You want me to keep playing?" Harry nodded, but Draco was taken aback because he hadn't expected Harry to keep listening now that the mystery was over. "Then here." In a flash, Draco pulled them both up and turned the little piano bench lengthwise before plopping back down on the front half. Harry sat behind him, but kept distance between their bodies.
"Afraid I'll bite, Potter?" The dark-haired boy merely kept his hands on Draco's shoulders, though, and seemed content to stay there. Pity.
"I don't want to mess you up." There was so much sincerity in his voice that Draco wanted to both laugh and cry. He legitimately thought closeness would render him unable to play. Now, after everything they'd done.
"Harry, I've spent the last three weeks playing just fine with you practically hanging on me. I think I can manage." He didn't give the Gryffindor time to argue either, because he knew Harry would fight him on it. Instead, he reached back and grabbed Harry's hands to pull them around is middle.
"But you-"
"I'm cold. That will mess me up before you do, Potter." Harry obliged and slid semi-back into place, now level with Draco. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to make the ache in Draco's chest just a little less sharp. He settled and began to play again.
Harry didn't really know what to do with his current situation. On one hand, the blond clearly wanted to keep some form of contact but, on the other, it was Draco. He could guess, by now, that if anyone in the entire wizarding world was going to pull a no homo on him, it would be the Slytherin. Pureblood homophobia and all that.
But the memory of Draco's reaction when he grabbed the back of his neck was still fresh in Harry's mind. More than any anxiety, he wanted to see the reaction again. Slowly, as Draco played, Harry let himself edge a little closer. He let his inner thighs press against the blond's hips, and he lowered his arms until they were more around Draco's waist than his ribs. When he didn't get an adverse reaction, he let himself relax.
"i'm still cold, you know." Harry laughed but took the cue to wiggle closer. He hesitated, but eventually gave up and just pushed himself flush against Draco's body on the little bench. The blond shivered. But, he didn't say anything or stop playing, so Harry slowly let his head drop against Draco's shoulder blade. It was oddly comforting. Draco's heartbeat resonated against his cheek but Harry found it soothing rather than nerve wracking.
It was Malfoy, though, so he couldn't help pushing his limits. The song spiraling up from the piano was light and delicate and uncharacteristic for the Slytherin but Harry took it as an indication that he was relaxing. When he was sure that Draco was lost in the music, he let one of his hands snake up to his neck.
All at once, everything stopped. Draco's entire body seized and then collapsed against him but Harry was ready this time and didn't let go. Harry was so glad he'd kept an arm around the Slytherins waist. If he hadn't, Draco surely would have slid right down onto the floor. As it was, Harry managed to balance him between the grip on the back of his neck and the grip on his waist. He held, even when the blond let his head fall back against Harry's chest.
Looking down, Harry was shocked to see those calculating steel eyes now closed, vulnerable, and calm. The blond's lips were slightly parted, and his jaw had gone lax. That beautiful, thin, pale chest was rising and falling in rapid, shallow little pants-though Draco looked anything but scared.
"You've stopped playing." Draco frowned at him, but it did nothing to hide the distinct lack of tension in his body.
"You're being distracting." Harry chuckled, but the sudden calm on Draco's face looked dangerously like submission and he couldn't stop himself.
"I'm gay." Those silver eyes opened, but they didn't look horrified or disgusted.
"You can be both, Potter." Draco was practically lying down, now, with his head in Harry's lap but Harry did not know how to process that. He gaped, even as those eyes settled on him again.
"You're not…?" Draco laughed, though, rather than yell or hit him.
"What? Homophobic? It'd be a little hypocritical if I was, don't you think?" Harry has having trouble processing. This was just… so not what he'd been expecting. Something on his face must have resembled panic, though, because those silver eyes softened and Draco reached up to touch his cheek.
"Hey, breathe." Pale fingers smoothed along his jaw and, unfortunately, caught the tremor of his lower lip. "Is it really that bad in the muggle world?" Harry wanted to correct Malfoy, who still sneered a bit over the word muggle, but he couldn't make his voice work. He faltered, but Draco quickly took the hand around his waist and squeezed. Those silver eyes had darkened with concern.
"It's not that bad in general. Big cities and stuff where people are more liberal, you know. My relatives just… With them, it's bad." Draco nodded. Honestly, Harry was having a hard time taking in any oxygen with those rings of pure, liquid silver focused on him. The blond, still in his lap, had curled a bit and was resting his cheek against Harry's inner thigh. He sighed, but didn't take his hand off of Harry's cheek.
"My father doesn't know either." That, it seemed was enough of a confession because Draco straightened back up. He did a short scale, but he seemed on edge. Harry could not for the life of him understand why, though, because if anyone was anxious right now it was him.
"Tonight?" With a jolt, Harry realized that the sun was almost fully up and shining through the lake. Had it really been that long? But, more than anything, he quickly understood the look of concern on Draco's face as the blond glanced between the door and the sunlight. He was afraid that this was over, now, because he'd figured out Harry's identity.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Drake." The Slytherin said nothing about the new nickname, but blew him a dramatic kiss as he pulled the invisibility cloak back over his body.
"Dream of me, sweet midnight lover." Harry rolled his eyes, though Draco couldn't see it, but ran a hand through the blond strands out of habit. Draco pouted, but gave him another smile as he slid out the door. He had to wonder, though, how much Draco really was joking. They'd been meeting like that, in secret, for over two months every night like goddamn Romeo and Juliet. But there wasn't anything there… right?
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