Author's Note: Big thanks to everyone following this story, it means the world to me. This chapters a little late, but also a little long, so I say we call it even. If you have any ideas on what should happen next, feel free to leave a comment. 3

Draco

But what would he say that wouldn't ruin this moment? He knew Harry wasn't really feeling anything positive towards him, he knew this was nothing. Just Potter being Potter. This... mood, it wasn't anything besides the afterglow of another display of foolish Gryffindor courage, nothing but the satisfaction of saving yet another peasant.

Once he realized that the peasant was still Draco, this pleasant moment would end. Abruptly. And that would only happen faster if Draco opened his mouth. So, even though he had so much to say, he settled to be content with the silence; with simply looking at him, feeling his arms, warm around Draco.

He could let this be enough.

So, quietly, and without making eye contact, Draco lays back down across Harry's lap. Harry stiffens, and Draco holds his breath, afraid that he'd already broken the spell. A moment later, however, he smiled with a sigh, as rough fingers wound through his hair again.

He could let this be enough.

Harry

He wasn't ready to think about whatever was happening right now. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop thinking about this boy, this infuriating, stubborn boy laying across his lap. This boy who'd called him Harry.

He knew it was just a name, of course he did. But for some reason, he'd never quite heard his name like that. It felt like it belonged to someone else when Draco said it. He made it sound like poetry. Harry had never felt like poetry before. People had written poems about him, too many to count, but they were always about Potter, about the scar and the legacy and the chosen one bullshit. When Draco said his name, Harry felt like a poem was made for him, not the person people wanted him to be. It was magic. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to hear it again.

"Draco..."

There was a pause, a sharp intake of breath.

"Potter."

Harry's heart sank.

"You called me Harry before."

"Well, that was before."

Harry sighed and started to get up, since obviously this conversation wasn't going anywhere.

Suddenly, Draco spoke again.

"Why does it matter what I call you?"

Harry blushed, and Draco's eyes widened.

"It doesn't. Just drop it."

But it did, and Harry hated himself for it. It mattered so much.

"Okay. Harry."

The voice was surprisingly tentative. Harry looked down at the pale boy. His breath caught in his throat. Draco's hair was a mess, the only time he'd ever seen it look anything but perfect. His cheeks are flushed, the way they were when he played quidditch or debated in class. It made him look alive. Harry smiled, he couldn't help it.

"Oh quit it scarhead, if I knew it would make you so dopey I wouldn't have done it."

Harry shoved him, laughing at the smile in the other boy's voice.

"Shove it," He advised.

Draco

They sat like that for a while, making smart ass remarks and using every excuse to use the other's name. Then Harry finally came to and asked the obvious question.

"Draco?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How are we going to get out of here?"

Draco sighed. He supposed it was necessary to figure that out, as much as the idea displeased a small voice inside him.

"No clue. Any ideas?"

A pause.

"Potter."

"Malfoy you have to tell me what you were doing in here. It's the only way we'll ever find out why I got locked in here."

Draco felt his heart clench.

He couldn't tell Potter. God, he couldn't even admit it to himself. How weak, how childish, to escape for the purpose of crying into a pillow. He knew what that sounded like. He knew how he'd react if someone told him that. And he knew how Potter would react. He would put his stupid savior hat back on, and Draco didn't think he could handle that.

"No."

"Draco, we have to-"

"Potter I can't."

There was silence while Harry worked out what to say.

"The old quidditch locker room." He finally blurted out.

That was certainly not what Draco had been expecting.

"What?"

"That's my place. I go there when I need to... Be by myself. If someone walked in on me there, I'd feel awful. I wouldn't want to talk about it. I understand. You don't have to say anything. We will figure out some other way."

Damn it. Stupid Potter, with his stupid voice and his stupid caring that made Draco want to tell him everything, Damn him to hell. Well, he certainly wasn't going to give in. No sir. He opened his mouth to say something snarky.

"I was crying."

Okay, so not the witty comeback Draco had been shooting for. He opened his mouth, shocked at his own betrayal. Damn Potter. He waited. Harry didn't speak. Draco took a breath.

"Pansy found out something, and she won't leave it alone and it's really frustrating because-"

"Draco you really don't have to-"

"Just listen, Potter. Do you want to get out of here or not?"

He took another, labored breath. If he wasn't careful, Potter would have to use his fancy inhaler charm again.

"She found out, and the most frustrating part about it is that she keeps trying to give me hope, like I deserve hope, like I deserve fucking anything. She believes I'm a good person, and it's so fucking draining, because she knows better. She knows where I come from. What my father has done. What I've done, and she still thinks I deserve this and I don't know how to kindly tell her I'm a worthless piece of -"

"Stop." Potter looked at him, angry,

"Potter we have to get out of here, and this is the best way to -"

"No, Malfoy. You stop right now and listen to me while we make something really clear. You are not a worthless piece of shit. You are not a bad person."

Draco snorted.

"Put the savior back in its box, Potter. You've hated me since we were eleven. Anyway, I think you're missing the whole point of-"

"No."

"As I was saying, she just has this unbelievable idea that I- Wait, what?"

"I said no, Draco. I have not hated you since we were eleven."

"Yes and Weasley is a blonde. Can I get on with my story now?"

Harry groaned in frustration, and stood up, leaving Draco on the floor.

"You know what?" Harry began to raise his voice. "No. You can't. Not until you stop believing you are a bad person."

Draco laughed a mirthless, bitter laugh. "I don't think so, Potter. I have proof."

And with that, Draco pulled up his left sleeve.