CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

[Heather]

DRACO

Draco slid his fingers down the rows of pure ivory keys. The moonlight splashed down its watery white-silver glow onto the dark mahogany wood, bathing it, illuminating the elegant craftsmanship of the piano. In the distance and out the glass walls the trees were silhouetted against the heavy fog.

"Are you going to play?"

Draco looks over his shoulder. Harry was lying on his back in the center of the room, the soft light spilling over his chest and shoulders. He had been looking up at the stars but was now studying Draco with a look that sent a shiver down his back.

"Maybe."

Harry makes a soft humming sound. "You should. You're really good."

Draco's fingers stopped skimming the surface of the instrument as his Draco froze for a brief second. He wouldn't admit to himself but a faint pink dated his cheeks. He was lucky he was on the other side of the room otherwise Draco doesn't think he would have been able to help himself. Looking at Harry's messy hair and utter contentment, he just wanted to touch. But no, that wasn't his decision to make. He wasn't going to take what he didn't deserve, he was past that point in his life.

"Of course I am."

Harry let of a loose laugh. "I mean it. You should play again. For me? Pretty please?"

Draco stifles a grin. Not that it matters anyway, Harry has a talent of always being able to know that he was thinking the moment he opens his mouth. "Oh? And what would you do in return?"

Harry pretends to fall into deep thought. "I'll make you hot chocolate?"

"With cinnamon?"

"Tons."

Draco tilts his head in mock consideration. "A tough one. Maybe the sorting hat was right about putting you into Slytherin. You have a knack for bribery."

"No, you just have the willpower of a wet noodle."

"I do not!" Draco exclaims as he places a hand on his chest. Harry laughs but an abrupt wince cuts the music off. His hand comes up to cradle his left side. Draco's inside's tightened considerably.

Three days ago was the first Quidditch game of the season where Harry had taken a rough bludger to the side. They had still won of course, 190 to 40, but Harry's side was still tender from the accident. Draco felt partially guilty for it seeing as it was his eyes Harry had been trying to meet with the snitch in his hand that caused him to be distracted.

"You do."

"Ridiculous. I am a temple. I am a Slytherin. We are known for our ambition and self-driven attitudes. I do not have-"

"Do you want the rest of my chocolate wand?"

"Yes please."

Draco quickly walks back over to him and snatches the candy out of the brunet's hand. His candy stash from the Hogwarts train had fallen low. He'd only planned to make it last till the first Hogsmeade trip. He'd for living off the dozens of Valentine chocolates Pansy was experimenting with (it was months away but Pansy always pulled in hundreds of galleons from her little side business).

Normally Draco wouldn't be caught dead sitting on the floor in such an improper way, but Draco had gotten used to letting his guard down a little bit around Harry. He was leaning against the divan, one leg bent and the other laying lax, next to Harry. If he moved his foot over just a bit their feet would intertwine. It was the small thoughts of intimacy like that that caught him off guard the most.

Draco's chewing on the candy while Harry is looking up at the stars. A comfortable silence falls between them as they focus on their tasks. For Draco that was mostly ignoring the urge to run his hands through the brunet's unruly hair.

"What are you doing for Christmas break?"

The question surprises Draco. He hadn't thought much of it yet. For him, the holidays usually meant being poked at like some doll and bragged about by his parents at some Ministry event or some elegant home of whoever his father was trying to get into the best graces of at the moment until he was tossed aside for the rest of the night. There was no opening of gifts under the Christmas tree in his pajamas with his family for him. When he was younger he used to take every compliment on his new suit or 'being very mature for his age!' with pride. Now he just knew they were false pretenses to get to his family name.

The memories weren't exactly sunshine and rainbows, but they definitely weren't the worst either. His father would tone down slightly on the countless rules, once everyone was gone obviously (he suspected the whiskey), and his mother would kiss him on the cheek and tuck him into bed. Sometimes Bramble would be able to sneak a few homemade cookies to him the day before and once he'd been shown around to the party he could sneak off to play with the other kids his age. Vincent and Gregory used to share their chocolates and play Wizards chess with him until they all passed out. His heart ached for the simpler days.

"No idea," he finally says. "Staying at the castle I suppose. Not many other places to go with a family who is disgusted by you."

For a second he thinks it's the wrong thing to say by the expression on Harry's face. He's staring at Draco, seemingly saddened. A movement on the back of his Draco's hand lying on the floor catches his attention. Harry's finger was grazing the back of his palm. Delicately. Softly. And it feels so right.

"I'm sorry," Harry says softly. "I didn't think about it."

Draco flattens his palms against the floor with a shrug he somehow seems to make poise. "It doesn't matter. I have no doubt had it worse."

Harry shifts. "My first real present was from Mrs. Weasley. She had made me a sweater. I had been shocked to even receive anything at all. The Dursley's had sent me a list of chores to complete when I got home."

Draco made a face. "That's horrible. You really are not helping my view of muggles here."

"Nah, they're the worst of it. They hate anything relativity 'abnormal', making me an easy scapegoat when anything went wrong."

It was the most Harry had talked about his so-called relatives since when he confessed he wouldn't have to go back anymore (something he couldn't elaborate on).

"They're rubbish. I should have done more to your whale of a cousin when I had the chance. If I had had my wand-"

Harry places his hand over Draco's, sending a burning jolt of his arm. Harry didn't seem to notice. "It's fine, really. It's over. There's no point in worrying about it any longer."

He wondered if Harry actually thought that was how it worked or just saying it for Draco's comfort. Instead, he just switched the conversation around. He didn't want the conversation to veer off the wrong way just yet.

"Not sure, Ron's mum would most likely invite me. I have no idea if I would even go though."

"And why not? I thought you and the Weasley clan were quite close."

Harry grimaced. "Just... memories."

Draco doesn't ask who. The topic of Harry's godfather had popped up on numerous occasions. He knew Harry was still grieving even if the boy didn't want to openly admit it to himself.

Harry moves to sit upright beside him against the furniture, removing his hand in the process. Draco's own feels cold without it. The heat from Harry's arm pushing up against his own quickly replaces it.

The topic of Weasley's mixed into his own hopeless pining brought up unwanted thoughts. His throat clenched uncomfortably thinking about the scene in the hallway days before. It made sense. Ginny Weasley was apart of the family that had practically adopted Harry. It would be a perfect fit. He knew it. So why was his heart so fucking relentless on burning him from the inside out? He couldn't control it - it was foreign to him growing up in an environment where emotions were a weakness. He's learned to shove them aside at an early age, but now they were bubbling over the edge, what was he supposed to be? He had no experience in this.

"The Weasleys," Draco repeats, trying to work up the courage to bring the topic up.

Harry turns and gives him one of his signature smiles with a crook of his eyebrow. They're close - too close - if Draco wanted to he could turn and their noses would nearly touch. Draco doesn't like temptation. "Yes. The Weasleys. That was the topic of the conversation. Generally, you add on your own thoughts when you respond, unless-"

Draco scowls without looking at him. "Yes, I know how a conversation works. I'm not Longbottom."

"Just checking," Harry smiled.

"Shut up," Draco playfully pushed his shoulder into the brunets, causing him to chuckle again and push Draco back. He diligently ignored how the light caught on the other's glasses and spread over the bridge of his nose.

"You seem awfully close to the Weaslette," he finally pushes the words out. There weren't not many subtle ways to bring the topic up. "And she's on the Quidditch team with you…"

Harry's mood shifts slightly. There's a look of apprehensive confusion on his face as he searches Draco up and down. "Yes. She's Ron's sister. Of course I am. Why?"

Draco nervously bites his lip but quietly stops in realization of his tell-tell habit. "Can't I just be curious?"

Harry stares at him unblinkingly. Suddenly his brain seems to come to a conclusion and his face distorts into a grimace. Draco swears Harry's it turns a little green. "You aren't… she isn't… You don't fancy her… do you? Because I really don't think I could handle that."

Draco sputters, "What? No! That's ridiculous."

Harry lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Oh thank Merlin. I just feared for my life." He smiles back at Draco but there's a spark of something else in it that wasn't there before. Like he's looking a Draco in a vaguely new light.

Draco only nods and looks back out the window. The trees were rustling as if some great beast had been awakened. "Do...you?"

Harry stops. "Why does everyone keep saying that? First Ron, then Hermione. No, I don't. I don't even understand where you're coming from with that. Sure she's pretty and all but even if she was my type, she's a friend."

The weight pressing down on his chest instantly loosens.

Hand on his shoulder

Laughing.

Smiling.

But he didn't like her. He felt as if he could laugh. But the confession did something to be asked. Draco's natural curiosity pushed on fuelled by the adrenaline of the win. "Then what is your type?"

Harry takes some time to respond. So long in fact he thinks for a moment that he didn't hear him. "Blondes."

"Oh." Draco doesn't know what to do with that information.

"And blokes."

Now Draco really doesn't know what to with that information. He almost chokes on his chocolate.

Harry glances at him nervously from the corner of his vision. "I don't know why I told you that."

Draco coughs in his elbow to clear his throat and to buy time. He thinks his brain had fried because he can't seem to grasp onto a single thought. It's like telling him the Dark Lord's favorite pastime was knitting. The two just didn't go together.

"Shit- sorry. I really didn't think that though." Harry panics and moves to help Draco. "I shouldn't have told you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Fuck."

Draco pushes him off and tries straightens himself up the best he could in his frazzled state. His eyes widen looking at Harry "No- no it's fine. You're fine. I'm fine."

"You don't have have a problem with it?" Harry's looking at him with wide, expectant eyes.

What was he supposed to say here? He was completely out of his habitat. Was he supposed to comfort Harry? How was he even supposed to do that when he couldn't get a grip on his own emotions?

"I…" Draco should have been jumping through the roof. At least now he knew he a least stood a chance. But that was not what happened at all. Harry Potter, nearly the human embodiment of everything good in Draco's word at the moment, couldn't be that. Sure, it was hypocritical seeing as he had a massive thing for the boy himself but that didn't mean he liked it or even wanted it. Draco hated himself for his feelings. It was a battle between his morals. But that would mean hating Harry for his as well if it was just about his that and he couldn't do that. He couldn't hate Harry no matter what he did. Draco couldn't hate himself for something he accepted in Harry fully. It made him even more of a hypocrite, did it not? But he didn't want to not hate himself either. It made him realize that there was something more to the equation of his self-loathing he was missing.

With two words Harry had somehow caused his entire flow of self-loathing he'd striving with to stop and question itself for once. It was more than just a gay thing. It seemed all his hatred, anxiety, and disgust all came from the one point he'd always been missing. And Harry had unknowingly just pushed it in his hands.

Harry's hand fell to his side along with Draco's silence. "Right."

Something about it makes Draco throb. While the distance between them was only about a foot, he felt as if he'd just drawn a rift bigger than an ocean. He wanted to wrap him in blankets and tell him it'll be okay. Instead, his hand reaches out for Harry's wrist without thinking.

"Draco-"

"What do you want me to say?" Draco asks truthfully. "It's not really my place, is it? I can't hate you."

Draco only realized later that his hands are trembling slightly.

"Okay. Good."

"Good?"

Harry does a shaky nod. "Yes. Good. I don't think I would be able to handle you if you were a homophobic prick on top of a regular one."

Despite the situation, Draco laughs. Actually laughs. Because it's so obnoxiously true that whatever sane part of him left breaks away in the tense air.

"Oh shove off, I'm not that horrendous." I am, Draco thinks. "If your bark is loud, you're energy won't be wasted on people who simply aren't worth your time."

"I'm worth it?"

"You're an expectation. You know too much. You're an accomplice in this."

Harry taps his fingers against his thigh. "Same here. You're not allowed to leave just yet."

Draco gives a warm nod. As he watches Harry relax and lean back up against the couch again, he realizes how ruined he really is. Where he once been so composed and decisive, Harry had come in and completely wrecked it without a thought. Harry could tell him to commit murder and he'd probably do it seeing as his opinion mattered more than anyone else.

He realizes it's gone silent save for the distant hooting of owls and howls of the various beast.

"What?" Draco asks seeing Harry's amused expression staring out the window.

"I just think it's ridiculous. If someone told me a couple months ago that I would be coming out to Draco Malfoy and actually worried about what he would think of me, I would have thought they'd gone loony."

"Quite a brash move thinking that you aren't yourself. I might have bewitched you and you would never know."

"Pointing out you're cursed me would be a very large flaw in your plan."

"I never suggested it was a clever one."

Harry's fiddling with something absentmindedly in the hand opposite of Draco. At first he thinks it's something he's picked up off the floor, but on closer inspection, he realizes it's the shard of the mirror he'd seen on multiple occasions. Every time he saw it he wanted to lecture on the carelessness of the holding sharp objects in such a way. Harry didn't care to elaborate on its significance (especially after he clammed up last time he mentioned it) but it was obvious it set him at ease so he left the subject alone altogether.

Harry's words however did make him realize the absurdity of his situation. Harry Potter was gay. Homosexual. And he didn't care. That means Harry wouldn't care about Draco's own rugged passion. The only thing stopping him from revealing it now was Draco's own cowardness. The thought of revealing it now, despite it being a perfectly reasonable time to do so, scared him though. He would have to wait until another time. Until then, knowing Harry was okay with it was enough.

"So," Draco pushed on, his natural curiosity getting the best of him. "Any blokes then?"

"What?" Harry questioned. He obviously wasn't used to the type of question. That didn't surprise him much. Weasley didn't seem to be the type to be comfortable talking about boys with Harry. If Draco was being honest, the thought unsettled him a little bit too but for a totally different reason.

"You know, fancy any blokes?"

Harry studies him very carefully. There are too many complex emotions written on his face to know exactly what was going on inside his head. "I… don't know," he says softly. "I know I did. Once."

The words stir something inside him. "Who?"

"Someone," Harry sighs, "It doesn't matter much anymore."

His voice comes with a tinge of hurt that immediately set him on edge. He didn't have much (or any) experience in the 'romance' side of things but the idea that someone could hurt Harry sparked a flicker of protectiveness inside him.

"It doesn't sound that way."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because it sounds like it's hurting you."

Harry's finger rapping stops. "Yeah, it does."

Draco's unsure whether to press or continue the topic. Turns out he doesn't need to because Harry continues on.

"He died," he confesses. "Murdered actually…. Because of me."

Draco pauses. There was really only so much your brain can process in a short period without crashing, but despite it, he automatically knew Harry was wrong. He knew it for a fact without even hearing the full story. He was all too accustomed to the way Harry was thinking and he didn't like it one bit.

"Not many people knew, just Ron, Hermione, and a couple other people friends of his. We didn't want anyone to find out seeing as a scandal would probably break out. Having two Hogwarts champions was already a lot. Having them together would cause a riot."

Draco's face turns a comical 'o'. The day of the last tournament event rushes back to him. Draco had been in one of the front rows when Harry had appeared clutching the lifeless body of his fellow classmate to his chest. Even from an outsider's point of view, the event was enough to give nightmares. Harry had been hysterically sobbing, his clothes torn to shreds and soaked with blood as people tried and failed to pull him away. Any death of a friend was traumatizing. It being someone, well he didn't know exactly the word, that Harry felt the same way Draco did him was beyond words. It sent his blood cold.

"Cedric Diggory," he breathes.

Harry nodded grimly. "I had told him to take the cup with me. It was my fault he came with me. He wasn't supposed to be there. He was only killed because he came with me. I- I have nightmares about it still sometimes. The words 'kill the spare' was all I heard before he went crashing to the ground beside me…"

Draco's stomach convulsed. He didn't know much about what happened that night in the graveyard. When Dumbledore had first told them all Voldemort had killed him, he hadn't believed him just like the rest of the Slytherins. They all thought it was a ploy to gain more power from Dumbledore just like all their parents had been telling them for ages. He even remembers mocking Harry afterward, cause while he had begun to question his father's decisions, his 'own' politics hadn't changed just yet. Then he remembers coming home to see the Dark Lord in his home and his entire world feeling as if it had shifted.

The guilt came flooding in him in waves. Of course he was forced allegiance to the person who had killed Harry's parents and the first every bloke he fancied. Not to mention his aunt killing his godfather.

Draco grabbed Harry's wrist firmly causing Harry to finally look at him seeing as he'd been avoiding his eye. His guilt would have to wait for now. Harry needed attention more than he did.

"Listen here. I don't care what you think about that night, you did not kill him. When are you going to take your own advice? Don't take the blame for someone else's actions, remember that? You said it. You had no idea what would happen. You didn't raise your wand. You didn't yell the incantation. That was all you-know-who. Don't let anyone get more out of you than their worth."

Harry shifts. "I guess so."

"No, I mean it. You did not kill him, you hear me? You flatter his ego that way and I can tell you he certainly doesn't need it."

Harry gives a small, barely audible laugh despite the solemn topic of conversation that's music to his ears. "You think being defeated by a baby would tone him down a bit. Apparently not."

They fall into a comfortable silence after that. They're both looking up at the stars in peace. Harry looking up at the warm milky glow in the sky shrouded by the incoming clouds and Draco at the constellations who had defined part of his family for decades.

"So," Draco says, "about your thing for blondes."