It's the Dark Mark, Draco told himself. It's the Dark Mark's fault I can't do this.
It was certainly easier to blame his apparent incompetence on a permanent, enchanted tattoo rather than his own damaged soul. Every time he tried to create his own happiness, to let his smile linger, to forget that he was branded forever, the burning feeling in his forearm reminded him. The black snake twisting beneath his skin slithered to his heart and squeezed and squeezed.
Draco didn't understand how it got this bad. Didn't know why, ever since he heard the Dark Lord's voice in the Room of Requirement, the Dark Mark wouldn't leave him alone. The pain, and its magnitude, was easy enough to keep at bay. Especially with Harry around. Harry, whose gentle words and lips kept the shadows from overtaking the sunlight for long enough.
Trying to cast a Patronus pushed Draco to his limit. Forcing happy memories, delving deep within himself for just a modicum of joy made the serpent rear its terrible head, made it snarl, and push back against his efforts. Draco didn't like tunneling into his past, even if it was to hunt for the good parts.
"Take a break," Harry instructed, brow furrowing in concern. They were by the lake again, shoes sinking into the gravelly sand, the afternoon sky overcast.
Reluctantly, Draco lowered his wand, disappointed to know it had failed him yet again. Though it was more likelythat he was the one failing it.
"Anyone hungry?" Hermione offered. She and Ron half-watched them from a plaid picnic blanket. She had been reading a book while he spun pebbles with his wand. Hermione rummaged around in her bag for cloth-wrapped sandwiches and a thermos full of what Draco hoped was tea.
"Yes," He said gratefully, joining them. Harry hesitated for some reason, emerald eyes narrowing at the scene, but he decided to sit with them, as well.
"Thank you," said Draco when Hermione poured him a cup of tea. He took a sip, inhaled its fragrance, and tears suddenly pricked his eyes as he recognized the scent. Cinnamon; his mother used to brew him some almost every night, especially around Christmas. Draco gulped it down, blinking rapidly, his throat burning, and hoped no one had noticed.
"What memories have you been using?" Hermione inquired as she unwrapped a sandwich.
A glance at Harry, who blushed. "Recent ones," Draco replied, "I'm sure you can guess."
"I see." Hermione smirked knowingly. "Harry, have you told Draco about our Ministry infiltration?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry stopped chewing for a moment, then swallowed, looking sheepish. "Er…hasn't come up."
"Ministry infiltration?" Draco echoed, though he remembered when it happened, unfortunately. Yaxley's tortured screams after the fact had been loud enough to reach his room. "I heard something about that. Were you planning to tell me all about it, Potter?"
"At some point," Harry said. "To be honest, I don't really like talking about last year much."
Only the gentle lapping of waves broke the moment of silence.
"That's fair enough," Hermione soothed. "None of us want to relive it."
"You can say that again," Ron mumbled.
"I was thinking," Hermione began, turning to Harry, "Remember when we ran into those dementors? And I couldn't get my Patronus at first?" Harry nodded. "Usually, I, you know, think of a happy memory. Something that's already happened.
"But then, with so many enemies on our tail, with hardly any hope to be found…The recent past seemed too-" Hermione's voice broke, and she cleared her throat. "Too dark. Too sad."
Draco looked down at the autumn-colored, steaming tea in his hands. He related to Hermione, more than he wanted to admit. Draco's seventeenth year of life had been agonizingly long, colored black with needless suffering. It felt either unendingly bleak or so short he was face-to-face with his own death; he hadn't been able to tell which.
"So, instead, I didn't think of the past," Hermione continued. "I thought of the future. I asked myself, 'When Voldemort is gone, how bright will my life be?' I thought about how I still needed to choose a career, something that would allow me to make a difference. I thought about seeing my parents again. I imagined myself in a house in the countryside that held all the books I could ever want. I wondered how amazing it would feel to be successful, not just because I could do good work, but because I'd settle down with someone I loved. Start a family." She glanced at Ron, whose ears had turned bright red. "And, well…it worked. I know it's unorthodox," Hermione said, meeting Draco's gaze, "But when you cast the spell, try to build your own happy, future memory. So to speak."
Draco set down his cup, buzzing with senses. The piquant taste of cinnamon, the rolling breeze, Harry's eyes watching him. "Okay. I'll try it."
"Now?" Harry asked as Draco stood from the blanket. "Are you sure?"
He almost lied and said yes. "No. I have no idea if I can make it work. But it can't hurt to try."
On a whim, Draco reached down and slipped off his shoes. The rough sand was a little cold, but he hardly noticed. Draco rolled up his trouser cuffs and edged into the water, which was freezing, even at this time of year. It was invigorating, the chill clenching his muscles just enough to shock. Behind him, he heard Harry's bare footsteps, and soon he waded next to him.
Draco took out his wand and held Harry's hand almost on instinct. Think, He commanded himself. Someday in the far future, he and Harry would be standing on a beach like this one, holding hands like they were right now. Draco's indentured Aurorship would be over. Perhaps his forearm would be pale and unblemished again, someway, somehow. But most of all, he would be happy. I will be happy. I will be happy.
"Expecto Patronum."
Draco expected to feel a rush of magic, hear the whoosh of the spell, something. But nothing seemed to have happened, and Harry's disappointed silence revealed much.
Draco sighed, tamping down his frustration. Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly. "That was just one try. You can do this."
The conviction in his voice caused Draco to lift his wand once more. It didn't work. Why? Too vague, maybe? Not realistic enough, perhaps. Imagining a fantasy wouldn't do Draco much good. Him being an Auror against his will wasn't likely to change, so he would make the best of it. Study what interested him, work alongside Harry. The Dark Mark probably wouldn't go away, either; it would always be writhing, just below the surface. Well, fine. It doesn't control me, Draco thought fiercely. It's a part of me, but I won't be afraid of it.
At least Harry knew about the hidden brand. Draco couldn't bear to keep any more secrets from him. Mercifully, Harry still loved him with the Mark, and the Sectumsempra scars, too. Draco's cheeks grew warm when he remembered the night he confessed to Harry that the raised lines made him insecure, made him feel ugly sometimes. Horrified, and still guilty from what he'd inflicted, Harry had made amends in a most dramatic fashion, though Draco appreciated it nevertheless. He'd kissed every wounded inch, murmuring against his skin, "You're beautiful. I'm sorry. You're beautiful. I'm sorry."
With Harry, Draco didn't feel so terribly about his scars. He could imagine a future with them marking his skin. It wouldn't matter if he still had the Dark Mark in ten years, because every morning, he would wake up someplace near Cambridge with Harry next to him. Draco would train for three years, doubtless with a Potions class or two to keep his intellect satisfied. And he'd come home, exhausted, but happy because Harry would be there, with those adorable green eyes and the smile he wore when he told Draco, "You're incredible." And Draco knew most days would be like this, and even if they were harrowing and dreadful instead, they wouldn't be hopeless, because Harry, his Harry, would be there, and Draco knew he'd always be there because he would protect him. They would protect each other.
That future felt so real that Draco could almost touch it. He sensed it thrumming like a heartbeat, alive in his fingertips.
"Expecto Patronum!"
This time, Draco knew it had worked, because Harry, Ron, and Hermione all gasped simultaneously. He opened his eyes, just in time to spot the silvery substance spiraling from his wand, along with some sort of shape. It was small, but definitely an animal, with wings, or horns, something indiscernible, but something. Draco's chest rose and fell, his breath deep with surprise and effort.
"That was it." Harry's voice was soft with amazement. "That was it!" He repeated, louder. "That was it, Draco, you cast a Patronus!" He threw his arms around him without permission, not that he needed it, and Draco hugged him back, face finally breaking into a wide smile. Adrenaline surged through his veins; he felt full of it, full of delirious joy, and he laughed for no reason, burying his face in Harry's shoulder. He smelled of the wind.
As they pulled apart, Draco leaned down, pressing his mouth to Harry's. The kiss was filled with all the things he couldn't say, the emotions he held in his magic, and Harry took them in gladly, lips parting, hands warm and gentle on his neck.
They broke apart, lost in an altogether different spell, but Hermione made a sort of eep noise, and they remembered they weren't alone. Harry blushed furiously, and Draco bit his lip apologetically. "Forgot you were there," Harry said bashfully.
"Apparently," Ron replied, flustered. Hermione was fanning her face. "Mate, what you do is your business, but I don't want to hear you complain about mine and Hermione's public displays of affection."
Harry raised his hands defensively. "All right. I wasn't going to." He turned to his boyfriend, taking his hand. "So? You think you can do it again on Monday?"
Draco held up his wand, still marveling at the magic it had performed only moments before. "Yes," He replied, and he wasn't lying, not even to himself. "I know I can."
• • •
Most Slytherins relished taking revenge more than almost anything else, even more than victory on the Quidditch field or success in the classroom. And no one took revenge more seriously than Pansy Parkinson. Draco had known that about her since they met outside the Charms classroom in first year. Some boy had pulled her hair a day prior, so Pansy took it upon herself to learn a Hair Vanishing Jinx, which she performed on him in front of her classmates, her dark eyes glinting with malice. The boy had never laid a finger on Pansy again.
Draco knew that after he'd rejected her, Pansy would exact some kind of vengeance, though, at eighteen, she had the patience to bide her time and plan. At the beginning of the year, she acted friendly towards him, more or less, but Draco could tell it was a front. And when she'd found out about him and Harry, he feared that she'd wield the information for as long as she could to make his life hell.
Except it hadn't really worked.
Hogwarts students could be ruthless in their bullying. But they got distracted much too easily, and despite the Witch Weekly article, the teens paid more attention to the newest gossip. Still, not a day went by without Draco or Harry being catcalled, or tripped, or insulted, or "accidentally" hit with a flying book. So was the nature of heteronormative teenagers. Draco found he didn't mind it nearly as much as he should have, as long as he was with Harry, and his newly minted Patronus buoyed his mood beyond caring about his peers' opinion.
Pansy noticed this. It infuriated her.
The eighth years milled about outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting for the bell to ring. Draco and his friends sat comfortably against the wall, having been there for a while. When she arrived, Pansy had taken to glaring at Draco and his blatant contentment, so he closed his eyes to avoid her gaze, twirling his wand and trying to think happy thoughts.
"Oi!" Someone shouted, and Draco opened his eyes in time to see a crumpled ball of parchment fly and hit him in the chest.
Ron glared after the culprits, a band of young Gryffindor boys that snickered amongst themselves as they scampered away. "Bastards," He muttered.
Though Draco shared his sentiment, his curiosity took over, and he smoothed out the parchment. It was a crude drawing of two stick figures engaging in genitalia-less, primitive intercourse. The top person had a forked, snake-like tongue, while the bottom had round glasses. The doodle looked so stupid that Draco snorted and tossed it to his boyfriend.
Harry laughed derisively when he saw it. "Inaccurate" was his only comment.
"This has got to be borderline sexual harassment or something," Hermione tutted. She crumpled up the paper, placed it on the stone floor, and set it alight. Blue flames licked the edges, crackling merrily.
"I'm not feeling particularly harassed," Harry said brazenly. "You all right, Draco?"
Draco glanced out of the corner of his eye, noticing that Pansy was clearly eavesdropping. "Just fine," He assured him, loud enough for her to hear.
Presently, Professor Dahlia poked her head out and waved in her students. "Last day to show me your Patronus if you haven't already," she told them. The desks were in their usual formation, but Dahlia had pushed her own back to make a bit of room at the front. "Non-corporeal is totally fine," She continued, eyes resting on Draco. "Do your best. Henrietta, why don't you start?"
Henrietta nodded, twisting her hair nervously. After almost a full minute of concentration, she cried out, "Expecto Patronum!" A silver jellyfish bobbed into the air, its long tentacles waving overhead. The class oohed and ahhed, some actually applauding, and Henrietta blushed. Pansy went next, casting an enormous serpent that bore an unfortunate resemblance to Nagini. Draco flinched when it came near, shrinking away, and Pansy noted this with a cruel smile.
Once Gavin had cast his bull, Dahlia gestured for Draco to take his turn. He took a deep breath, ignoring Anaya's and Pansy's whispers, looking instead to Harry, who nodded encouragingly. Draco turned his face up towards the shafts of golden morning light that streamed through the windows, broken by the rafters. He thought of the day by the lake, and of the days after, long after, mornings that didn't exist yet, when he would wake up so blissfully happy that he could hardly believe it. But Draco would believe it because it wouldn't be some lie he told himself to keep his sanity intact. The future he imagined would manifest into reality. He would make sure of it.
"Expecto Patronum!"
His voice echoed strangely in the enclosed space, but - yes, there it was! - something silver bloomed from the tip, bright and substantial. He thought he could make out wings this time, but before the Patronus took shape, the light faded.
The ensuing silence felt painfully awkward. Draco kept his expression stoic, happy that he'd succeeded, though the knowledge of inadequacy crept into his chest like suffocating vines.
"Nice job, Draco," Professor Dahlia said amiably. "That's a real improvement from last time."
"Thank you," Draco said stiffly, making his way back to his desk.
"That was amazing," Harry whispered as Draco sat down, and his smile sent warmth flowering in Draco's chest.
"All right, then!" Dahlia waved her wand, sliding her desk back into place. "Since we're finishing up our Patronus lesson today, I thought it might be interesting to-"
"You taking the piss?" Pansy interjected.
Dahlia, annoyed at being interrupted, and shocked at her student's attitude, asked sharply, "Excuse me?"
"You're just letting Draco off the hook?" Pansy protested. "He can't even do a proper Patronus!"
"As you may recall, Pansy," Professor Dahlia said patiently, "I said non-corporeal Patronuses are perfectly acceptable."
"Yeah, but it's not really fair," Pansy insisted. "We all put in the work. He should have done the same."
Draco gritted his teeth but didn't deign to respond. Dahlia crossed her arms, frowning. "I'm the teacher here. It's clear to me that Draco has put in plenty of effort to improve as much as he has."
"Fine," Pansy relented, wrinkling her nose petulantly. "I suppose I can't really blame him. Poor thing's so depressed, it's a miracle he managed anything at all."
"Shut your mouth," Harry said suddenly, and before either Dahlia or Draco could stop him, he stood up, glaring at Pansy. "Shut your mouth, or I will shut it for you."
Pansy flushed angrily. Their classmates looked back and forth between them, intrigued by the spectacle unfolding before them. "What do you care? You know it's true."
"Yeah, Draco's been through hell and back," Harry admitted, and Hermione inhaled sharply at his language, glancing at Professor Dahlia. The teacher's face remained unreadable as she let him continue. "But so have the rest of us. I dare you to tell me that thinking of happy memories was a walk in the park for all of you," He challenged, looking around at his peers. "I dare you all to tell me that last year wasn't hard. But you can't, can you? Not honestly. Because we've all been through hell and back, one way or another, and comparing how much we've suffered isn't going to help a damn bit. So, don't sit there and bleat that Draco's not strong enough to cast a Patronus," Harry said roughly, directing his words at Pansy, "Because that would be an insult to every bloody person who's lived through the war. And you'd be completely wrong."
"That's enough, Harry," Dahlia said softly. Harry sat down hard, chest heaving, and fists balled. Draco tensed when he did so; he'd completely forgotten how much of a temper Harry could have. Righteous anger rolled off him in waves, and Draco counted himself lucky not to be on the receiving end of it. Pansy wasn't crying - he'd seen her cry only once -, but she had her head bowed in embarrassment, her arms folded tightly.
"I understand that people have their fights and disagreements," Professor Dahlia said evenly, "But it would suit mature students such as yourself to deal with them outside of time designated for learning. Ten points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin. I'll see you both after class."
"Yes, Professor," came the overlapping voices.
"Mhm. As I was saying…"
At the end of class, Draco reluctantly left his boyfriend in the classroom, following Ron and Hermione to the hallway. The couple exchanged a look he could not read. "Draco…is it all right if we leave you alone? To wait for Harry?" Hermione asked.
Draco's heart sank. They didn't like him as much as he thought they did. "Yes. That's fine."
The disappointment in his voice must have been obvious, because Hermione briefly rested a hand on his shoulder. Draco tensed at the unfamiliar touch, but it wasn't malicious, rather a gesture of reassurance. "It's not because of you, I promise. I know myself; I'd definitely scold Harry when he got out, and he probably wouldn't appreciate that much."
"Or you could just," Ron suggested, "Not do that."
Hermione shrugged unapologetically. "It was sort of rude of him to talk over Professor Dahlia. Though I agreed with what he said, of course. Regardless, I think Harry wouldn't mind time alone with you after that little outburst," She told Draco meaningfully.
Hermione's explanation seemed too nuanced to be an excuse to leave him. "All right."
"See you in a bit." Ron waved goodbye, and Draco returned the action, still slightly thrown that, after all this time, he was properly friends with a Weasley.
The students in the corridor were too focused on getting to class or the library to notice Draco, thankfully. He prided himself on his ability to blend into the background or stand out, depending on the situation.
Pansy came out soon enough, shooting Draco a dirty look as she let the door fall back on Harry, who was close behind. Harry glared at her retreating figure but shout after her.
"What'd Professor Dahlia say?" Draco asked.
"The usual. 'Don't talk when the teacher's talking,' and all that. But she said I was right," Harry added, "That people shouldn't compare sufferings. You should've seen the look on Parkinson's face."
"I'd pay to see that," Draco admitted.
Harry's smile faded slightly. He threaded his fingers through Draco's as they walked along the corridor. "Sorry if I embarrassed you."
Draco chuckled. "It was a tad overdramatic. But you meant well. I think next time," He added, "I can stand up for myself."
Harry nodded firmly. "Got it."
Draco pressed a light kiss to his temple. A few students walking nearby stared at them obnoxiously, but one hit of the trademark Malfoy glare and they quickly looked away. Draco smirked at their reaction, and asked, "I think Ron and Hermione went to the library. Want to join them, darling?"
"Sure," Harry replied, then, "'Darling?'"
"I'm trying something out," Draco said with a shrug. "It's occurred to me that it's a bit strange to call my boyfriend by his last name all the time."
"Took you long enough to figure that out, Malfoy," Harry teased. "Does this mean I can call you…honey bunny, for example?"
"Not unless you want to watch me pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower," Draco replied dryly.
Harry laughed, pure and simple, and it made Draco smile.
