A/n: One shot HPDM slash. Rather angsty, and it may be the only HPDM piece I will ever write in which Draco is even moderately in character.
He was the only one who knew. When I crept from bed in the earliest hours of the morning he was the only one I ever sought. Barefoot (shoes were an unnecessary annoyance at 2:00 AM) I maneuvered between beds and shook him awake. Barefoot I held him close to me, under my cloak. Barefoot I guided him through the doors and on to the path to the Forbidden Forest.
Then I dropped the cloak.
I would hardly look at him. The smallest flash of silver could put me off my magic. Then I would transform. I would freeze the tree. I would lead the way into the newly haunted Shrieking Shack.
Our place. Filled with our touches, as if the Marauders had never lived to use the old decrepit hut. It was where we went to be alone together. Just the two of us and our own ghosts.
Then I looked at him.
Sometimes that was all it took. We would fall to with gusto, clinging to one another as if letting go meant certain death.
Usually not.
Mostly we sat together, smoking. It was the smoking that brought us together. Without it, we were just oil and water. With it, we were some really excellent salad dressing.
The first cigarette was a time for silence. As the nicotine soothed our throats and coated our lungs we relaxed.
As he took the first puff of his second cigarette, he began the conversation. Small things at first.
"Which one will you use this time?"
"I was hungry and got caught up in a conversation with Dobby, you?"
"I remembered I had to finish an essay and fell asleep in the library. What if they ask the elf?"
"They won't"
"What if?" He was always the practical one.
"He'll lie for me if he has to. He's loyal, if nothing else."
"He still cowers when he sees me."
"Most people cower when they see you."
Then we'd laugh. The conversation would continue. Finally, he would strike the match for the third cigarette. As I inhaled, I would see the corners of his mouth tense as he began to speak.
"Potter. We have to do something. We're graduating this year."
"Your point?"
"Potter. Harry. Do you want to go on like this forever? Hiding in huts? I mean, the very least we could do is move up to a proper room."
"Is there another option?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I. You're still Lucius Malfoy's son. I'm still the Boy Who Lived."
"I know."
"After the war Draco."
"I know."
Then we'd fall silent. I would put my cigarette out on the floor of the hut, by now covered with a thin film of ash. He would follow suit and cast a spell to banish our debris. Then I would transform. He would smile, knowing only he knew this side of me. I would smile, glad to make him happy. And then we would go. Me up. Him down.
Just like always.
Finis
