Author: Hermionewexa
Category: Romance (slash)
Rating: T for vision-ness and (very mild) language
Warning: Slash (Harry/ Draco). If you can't bear the idea of the two of them together, leave now, and take your basin with you (for being sick in).
Summary: Draco and Harry in the Room of Requirement. Draco throws a flakey, Harry comforts him, and it goes on from there…
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Draco Malfoy was sitting very quietly in the Room of Requirement, his head in his hands, grateful for the time on his own. No one other than Draco himself actually knew where the Slytherin disappeared every so often, and Draco was perfectly happy with that arrangement. Sometimes he needed to either get away from his housemates or scream, and screaming was not an option in the Slytherin dungeons, despite the soundproof walls.
Yes, Draco was grateful for the small mercies of the Room of Requirement, especially the solitude. Or he was, until Harry Potter arrived.
Harry was just as horrified to see Draco there, as Draco was to see Harry. After all, Harry had wanted privacy with his thoughts and his homework, not Malfoy. And Draco knew that he could not have peace while Potter was there. His suspicions were verified almost immediately, when Potter, with his usual blunt tactlessness, asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask the same of you," Draco retorted, rather archly, "and I would hardly expect a reply."
Potter, predictably, could not think of a suitable comeback. He looked at Draco more closely. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Draco growled.
Unfortunately, Potter did not pick up on the hint. Typical Gryffindor. "I won't tell anyone…"
"NOTHING, Potter!" And, to both Harry's utter amazement and Draco's complete disgust, the Slytherin started to sob.
Potter moved closer. "Malfoy? Are you all right?"
Even with uncontrollable tears pouring down his face, Draco could still muster up a little sarcasm. "Yes, Potter, I'm delightfully happy. I'm just dancing all over the place."
Potter looked a little confused. Classic Gryffindor, unable to recognise sarcasm when it slapped him in the face with a wet tea towel.
"You do know what sarcasm is?"
Potter laughed slightly. "Yes. Strangely enough, a Gryffindor can recognise sarcasm. Isn't that odd?"
Draco blinked. He was still blubbering like the stupidest of idiots.Was that sarcasm from Harry Potter?
"Come on, Malfoy, please don't do a Cho on me," Potter pleaded.
Draco raised an eyebrow, his curiosity aroused. "Cho?"
"Oh, Cho Chang. I went out with her last year. She cried a lot."
The expectant silence was clearly waiting for Draco to fill it. "I was going out with Pansy Parkinson, the little ---."
"Oh? Was she nice?"
"Certainly not!" Draco almost laughed, and the tears began to subside
"I'm sorry to hear that.
"She had no sympathy… unlike, though I am loathe to admit it, you."
The dark-haired boy looked awkward. "Well… I suppose I've been through it all, so I kind of understand…"
A blond eyebrow was raised. "All? Do you find it unusual not to have to dodge flying Unforgivables when you come to Hogwarts? Are you shocked to discover that very few children are attacked by their fathers, and even then only in the most extreme cases? Do you know that my father will physically punish me for the slightest of things, including the wrong etiquette? He hits me if I smile the wrong way. Does that happen to you? Is your mother too scared to intercede? I barely see my mother! I wouldn't be at all surprised if it turned out that she didn't exist! That she was just an illusion created by Lucius! Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever wondered whether you'll see the next sunrise, or whether you'll even be able to get out of bed the next morning? Have you ever felt as though you're on fire and you'll never live another day? Have you ever known that your quick reflexes and ability to duck could be the only things keeping you alive? That you can't ask your family for answers because they'll cast the Cruciatus curse on you? Have you ever been terrified of the colour red because it signifies blood, the Cruciatus curse and, consequently, pain? Have you ever had to hide your feelings to save yourself from another beating? Have you ever, ever tried to commit suicide? Have you ever even contemplated it? I doubt it. I've tried seven times! And you – you're so protected that you can go to anyone for anything and they will give you it. You don't wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking because you have to go home. Your mother doesn't scream when she sees your father! Your father doesn't pick up a cane when he sees you! You don't live in silent terror of your tyrannical family! You have sweetness, light, and innocence. I lost my innocence at the age of three!"
Harry – no, Potter, Draco corrected himself – stared at the trembling teenager. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't realise your family life was so… chaotic." Draco snorted, an action that would have earned him ten lashes at home. "But I don't have a family… so I don't know what it's like anyway…"
Draco's grey eyes dropped. "I'm sorry. I – forgot."
"'S okay," Harry muttered. "Not many people do. It's a nice change."
Draco suddenly realised how close he was standing to Harry. To his surprise, his feet did not carry him twenty thousand leagues away, but brought him a little closer. He could feel Harry's breath on his neck. He looked up, and was confronted by the famous lightning-bolt scar.
"You've only got one mark for all the things you've been through," Draco murmured. Surely Harry would have moved away by now? "I've got several, and they're not as small as that one."
"I suppose my suffering's more mental," rumbled Harry. Draco's head was not quite on his chest. "Yours, though, is very physical."
"But I've got so many scars and bruises, and I've probably been through less," Draco protested, whispering for no particular reason.
"I can't see any," vibrated Harry.
Now, Draco's head was on the boy's chest. He breathed deeply, savouring Harry's scent, a mixture of the metallic smell of magic, the soft scent of sympathy and mint, the soothing aroma of chocolate, and a hint of-
"Blood?" Draco leapt back in horror. "What have you been doing?"
"Er… I was helping Hagrid, but I haven't changed my clothes yet. He was feeding Thestrals."
Draco nodded, heartbeat slowly and cautiously returning to normal. "Oh. Right."
"You know those scars you mentioned?"
Draco nodded, moving back towards Harry.
"I can't see any," repeated the boy with the magical green eyes.
"You don't want to," Draco affirmed. He hated showing people his scars; partly because they were a sign of his weakness and partly- partly because it was, well, private.
"Yes, I do."
For goodness sake, Potter, why can't you take a hint? Draco thought, irritably. "You don't. Trust me." His cheeks turned ever so slightly pink.
"No, I do," Harry insisted. He persisted very stubbornly, until Draco finally gave in.
"Well, on your own head be it," he shrugged. That was another gesture that should have earned him ten lashes. And Draco pulled off his shirt.
"God, that must have hurt," breathed Harry, finger following the straight outline of a scar with his fingertip.
Draco suppressed a shudder, whether of reminiscence or of anticipation he was unsure. "Not nearly as much as the Cruciatus. At least with this it's one part of the body. The Cruciatus is everywhere, a hundred red-hot needles in your skin, a thousand bones being pulled apart, a million nerves fired into painful existence. I would choose a beating over Cruciatus any day, every day."
"Yeah," Harry nodded, his chin brushing Draco's head, which was back on the Gryffindor's chest. "I know what you mean."
There was a long, necessary silence, as the two boys' actions took a more demonstrative and even urgent turn.
The next day was a Saturday, which was a good thing, thought Draco, or he might have missed his lessons. He was so tired, and couldn't work out why. Then he felt a foot that wasn't his and remembered the whole of last night.
Oh, damn. He cursed, rather colourfully.
Harry – no, Potter - looked up from his position on the floor, very nearby. "I didn't know your vocabulary was so wide," he commented quietly.
Draco just glared at him. "You do know that nothing that happened last night ever happened?"
"I was about to say the same to you," Potter agreed.
"As long as that's clear," Draco muttered darkly.
"Clear as glass."
Draco stood up, readjusting his no-longer-immaculate robes, and Potter scrambled up from the floor, groaning as his body protested about the uncomfortable night.
"I'll be going now," Draco said, with very nearly the normal amount of icicle dripping from his voice.
"Goodbye," Ha- Potter responded, his tone with its usual fiery quality again.
And the two boys went their separate ways, each feeling a little comforted that someone understood.
AN: Do I even need to say it?