Draco drummed his fingers nervously on the table top in a rhythmic, disjointed tune. Slouching further down his chair, he crossed his ankles in what he hoped came across as the ultimate picture of casual boredom. He wasn't the one holding the upper hand in this, but he'd sure do his damndest to appear as such.
Granger and her lap dog had been utterly unprepared for him to agree without putting up a fight. It had allowed Draco to regain a little sense of control over a situation that was, otherwise, not in his favour.
He pushed his long, dark fringe away from his eyes and asked "Do you have some coke, you know, to help wash that down?" He gestured towards the tiny, clear bottle in front of him, still securely corked. His voice came out more croaky than he would have liked, but it made Granger jump nonetheless, her attention immediately focused on him. She looked unbalanced, as if someone had pulled the rug from under her feet. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Draco had rendered her speechless.
Bingo.
He sneered at Weasley, who was sporting the same vacant expression Vince and Greg assumed whenever Draco used big words around them. Draco hummed, satisfied with their reaction. "I guess that's a no, then."
They stared back blankly. Then Harry, who Draco was resolutely not looking at, sighed. "No, Draco, I really don't think we have any coke."
The use of his first name in front of his friends was almost enough for Draco to turn in his direction, to meet those eyes he was telling himself were best to avoid when so vulnerable. Who knew what Harry could read in them, now that Draco had opened his soul to him.
He shrugged, keeping up the fake nonchalance he was going for. "Too bad."
The trio had resumed muttering to each other by the door, far enough for him to barely catch a few broken words here and there, but nothing more concrete. The kitchen only had one window, small, directly above the sink. Weasley's big frame was blocking most of the light that reached inside, already dimmed enough by the heavy curtain of rain clouds that had settled during the early afternoon.
Oh, he definitely had not missed the shitty weather.
Weasley must have stretched a fair bit around his already overgrown shoulders, Draco supposed. He didn't really trust people that were that tall, much too far for the blood going around before any could actually reach the brain. He was briefly tempted to snap at Weasley to move out of the way, so that the little light available could actually make it in.
Trapped as he was in the furthest and darkest corner of the room, he felt like a criminal waiting for trial. His breathing started getting shallower, more frantic. On instinct, he searched for Harry's familiar shape. He let his gaze trail upon the ridges of the other boy's spine, or where he thought they would be, sadly concealed by the dark cotton of a t-shirt that left too much to the imagination. One vertebrae at the time, all the way up to where skin met hair. The same journey his hands had been allowed to travel just days before, when there had been a different kind of restlessness in his movements. He remembered reaching Harry's shoulders, then, like a drowning man having been offered something to hold him afloat. Somehow, the memory of skin and bones against his fingertips helped.
His breathing slowed.
Harry was scratching the back of his neck. Knowing the other boy was at least partially nervous, calmed some of Draco's anxiety. He averted his eyes and looked down at the hem of his own, green t-shirt. It was frayed and he knew that it wasn't due to age but, most likely, caused by his relentless picking at the stitches.
"So, are we doing this or not?" He heard himself asking, monotone if not for a hint of hysterics that gave him away.
It had already been hours since he had agreed to take the damn potion, and he was getting annoyed. Draco had found it rather funny when their trip had landed them in Manchester at nearly the same time they had departed, but a day ahead. Early afternoon had not looked nearly as bright in the UK as it had in California, though, and his mood was starting to match that perfectly. Although he had managed spells of fitful sleep on the plane, the exhaustion of travelling for nearly 16 hours was catching up with him, and he wanted it done and over with.
However, Granger had insisted they ate something before the fun could start, because nothing makes you hungry as the prospect of being laid bare in front of your schoolyard enemies. So, Draco had picked halfheartedly at his overcooked pasta while she spent nearly an hour fretting over Harry like he was the second coming of Merlin. Seemingly unable to keep her hands to herself, Draco had to endure watching Granger running her fingers up and down Harry's bicep as if afraid he was going to vanish any minute, all the while repeating over and over how overjoyed she was to see him. Pathetic.
Harry had allowed it graciously, but had looked very awkward while trying to hide his chewing behind his hands. Even Weasley had seemed exasperated by the display, not that Draco could blame him.
Talking about the bloody devil, Weasley finally decided to acknowledge Draco's words, when none of the others seemed inclined to. "Why, got somewhere to be?" He asked, his distaste badly disguised behind a bored drawl. For a brief, horrifying instant, Draco was reminded of himself.
A quick glance at the clock told him it was nearly 6 o'clock. He huffed and, before any of them could delay this further, he uncorked the vial and tipped the necessary three drops on his tongue. It was tasteless, not that he expected otherwise, but it was still a bit odd not to feel any different. He was about to taunt Granger that her potion was clearly ineffective, when suddenly she asked, voice saccharine. "What's your full name?"
"Draco Narcissus Malfoy." The words were ripped from his throat before he even had the time to think of them.
Weasley snorted loud enough that it covered Harry's more contained snickers, but could do nothing to hide his shaking shoulders. Draco glared at them both.
"Perfect, thank you." Granger said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. He straightened, trying to compose himself.
"What are your intentions with Harry?" Weasley piped in, still grinning. It wasn't exactly friendly.
This time, Draco managed to pause the words threatening to spill from his lips before they could. He considered the question, briefly, rolling it around his mouth, tasting the multitude of open interpretations it offered. What were his intentions with Harry? He looked at the other boy with deliberate leasure, savoring all the little bits that drove him crazy, from the narrow dip of his waist to the plumpness of his lower lip.
With a slow, wicked smile, he turned to Harry's idiotic friends. "Well, when we are done with this lovely chat, I was hoping to persuade him to follow me upstairs and get that clever mouth on me one way or another."
Granger shrieked. Weasley looked about two words away from punching him. And Harry, well, Draco yet again wasn't looking at Harry.
"Let me rephrase that." Granger hissed, and Draco waited patiently. He knew the truth was in his favour. "Now that there is a war going on, what side are you on and why?"
There was no stopping to think, this time. "I'm with him." He replied, finally meeting Harry's gaze. The words ringed honest and raw, and he knew the others could feel it too. "I'm with him because I realised I have the choice. With- On the other side, that choice was daunting, bigger than me, maybe not even a choice at all, by the end. I'm with Harry because he would never ask me to choose at all and, still, I want to choose him." He snapped his mouth shut, afraid he was saying too much. The veritaserum allowed him, the question sufficiently satisfied.
"Are you in this for Harry alone?" Granger prodded, but her tone was gentler.
Knowing there was, again, more than one way to answer, Draco chose to be sincere. "My views have changed, not that I thought it possible myself." He raised one eyebrow at Granger's dubious expression. "But, I've spent over a month with Muggles and, well… It was an eye opener. They have technologies I can never hope, or attempt to, understand. That aside, they aren't that much different. They sleep like us, eat like us, some even share Harry's dumb sense of humor. So much so that I don't even know why I ever thought otherwise of them. As I said, though, and more importantly, I am now free. It's scary…" He bit down on his lip when more than he had intended came out, "but I would not be free on the other side. So, no, I am in this especially for myself."
Both Granger and Weasley nodded, thoughtful.
"What about your mother?"
"What about her?" He repeated, as it wasn't exactly a question.
"Would you betray us for your mother?"
Draco's heart clenched painfully. "My mother is safer without me, right now. With my… my new- f-feelings, it would be dangerous for her to associate with me. I miss her." He added, against his will.
"But would you betray us for her?" Weasely asked again, fidgeting like he knew they were pushing some boundaries he himself wasn't comfortable breaching.
Family could be one hell of a motivation. With one as big as Weasley's, he must have been well aware of it.
"No." Draco heard his voice saying, steady and truthful. He frowned, like he hadn't expected that answer, and realised the rest of the room looked just as shocked. Well, at least the part of the room he was letting himself glance at. "No." He said once more, the veritaserum urging him to reassure them. "I wouldn't betray him. Not now."
When the time comes, I hope mother will understand and choose me, as I am now, he thought to himself, grateful that, at least, that part hadn't made it pass his lips.
"Wow, uhm- okay." Granger stammered. Draco wondered when they'd be done with all the fucking questions.
Accepting that his mother's choices were independent from his own seemed to have severed the last connection he had felt with his childhood.
He wanted to cry, which was not how he had envisioned this going at all.
When he thought that thing couldn't get any worse, he heard Weasley whispering to his girlfriend "Hermione, should we ask a-about Dumbledore, you… you know- the memory?"
Draco felt his heartbeat speed up and then, suddenly, stop.
No. Fuck no.
There were things he definitely wasn't ready to disclose yet, or possibly ever. Dumbledore's memory was, without a doubt, at the top of the list.
The prospect of revealing the truth to Harry in such a manner, before Draco could even think of the right words, if there was a right way to tell someone they were meant to die, made him want to vomit.
Why hadn't he thought of this possibility, when he had so eagerly agreed to be dissected like a flobberworm? Fucking, brainless, stupid idiot!
"Merlin, please, no. Fuck, please anything but that!" He pleaded in his head, focusing his thoughts outwards in the silly hope he could somehow manifest his will.
At some point during Draco's internal breakdown, Granger had led Weasley to a corner, where they stood bickering under their breath. Left alone, Harry looked lost. He was fidgeting with the leather bracelets around his left wrist, one foot tapping on the floor. Draco watched him from the corner of his eye, hoping that this wasn't going to be the moment everything would change. He didn't want Harry's time left to be spent with a death sentence hanging over his head and every move. That couldn't be life, surely.
After what felt like hours, Granger finally turned and looked directly at him.
Draco braced himself for the inevitable.
Please, no. Not this way.
"What- what are your feelings for Harry?" She asked instead, looking rightfully guilty.
What?
"What?" Draco wanted to ask. To yell, hysterically. But the question had no other path than straight. He felt the words climbing up his throat, slow and burning. His body slumped and then jerked last minute, changing direction until he was sitting at the edge of the chair, spine rigid and chin up. His eyes found Harry's wide ones and Draco finally let himself speak. If he had no choice but say it, then he would pretend that no one beside him and Harry was there to hear it.
"I'm in love with you."
There.
When no one made a sound for far too long, Draco cleared his throat, chuckling bitterly. "Not the way I wanted you to find out, exactly." Now that the dam had been broken, there was no stopping the words that rushed out. Draco was mortified but, in some way, it felt liberating. "Funny, uh, that the first person I would ever fall in love with turned out to be you, Potter. But, for a while now, you are the first thing I think of when I wake up. And later, during breakfast. I think of all the little things that make you you, and I find myself smiling like an idiot. And I can't help it, even the silly things… like how you always wipe your fingers on your trousers after eating, and it's gross but I don't mind. Or how you check that your wand is still safely in your pocket every five seconds, and it makes me want to reach for mine, even if I was trained not to let my anxiety show the way you do. It's quite exhausting, really, the amount of time I spend thinking about you." He muttered the last part to his shoes, because they didn't stare back at him with unblinkingly long lashes and questions he had already answered enough.
"Uhm- that's… uh. Sorry." Granger said, shaken, and Draco had actually forgotten she was there.
Great, Merlin Jesus fucking Salazar.
"Malfoy…" Weasley started, and Draco grimaced in defeat.
"Enough." Harry interrupted, and he sounded distant, as if speaking through a bubble. "I think that's enough questions, don't you?"
"Yeah… Yeah, that's fine. That's all."
"Brilliant." Draco exclaimed, faux-cheerfulness dripping from each syllable. A painfully wide smile stretched across his cheeks, strained in that glaringly fake way that shows no teeth. "If we are done here I am dy-" -ing for a shower, it's what he was hoping to say. Instead, the potion acted on his behalf and he blurted, rushed and high-pitched like the nervous-wreak he was. "I'm gonna go hide somewhere until this shit wears off."
Before anyone could stop him, he pushed himself off the chair and fled.
He ended up having that shower, after all. Long, scalding and, if he spent the majority of it curled up in a corner, just barely letting the steady flow touch his shivering skin, no one really had to know but himself.
He was just about finished getting dressed, pathetically enough in Harry's old set of pyjamas Lupin had given him, when there was a knock at the door. Soft. Hesitant.
Harry.
Draco wasn't ready.
He had taken, without much deliberation, the room he had previously occupied for himself. Granger and Weasley had already told them, both blushing like virgins, that they were sharing Lupin's one as the older wizard barely ever slept at the house. Draco hadn't cared to prod, just hoping that he and Harry could do the same in the other room.
Now, he wasn't sure Harry would.
"Come in." He said, just as hesitantly.
It wasn't Harry though.
He peered at Granger quizzically from under his fringe. She was wringing her hands and seemed almost afraid to take a step further.
As he did not offer any reassurance, she shut the door gently behind her and hovered there, her cheeks flushed.
"You need a haircut." She tried joking, half heartedly, when neither had spoken for a while.
Draco flicked his fringe to the side with a jerk of his neck and stared.
"Well, uhm, it suits you. The colour, I mean. May- may I ask why?"
"I thought it was obvious." Draco replied, flatly.
"Oh, well, yeah. Not why you did it, of course. But why… Harry said you used a Muggle product..." She trailed off.
"M-mhm." Draco agreed, not elaborating.
"Did you need anything, Granger?" He snapped, when she seemed, yet again, speechless.
The hostile edge in his voice brought her back to reality. She took a deep breath and blurted out. "I- ehm, wanted to say I am sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that. It was such a personal question. I didn't have any rights, but I just thought…"
"You thought someone like me could hardly feel anything of the sort, uh? Or maybe you thought I just wanted to fuck with precious, innocent Harry and leave him heartbroken once I was done?"
She winced at that and he laughed, a broken, wet sound. "There goes my answer. I bet you are happy that he found out this way, what a fucking idiot I am. How pathetic, for even thinking about him that way, with our history. I guess in some way you get it, though, don't you? After all, you got drawn in by his charm first, haven't you, Granger? You might not want him the way I do, but I saw how broken you two were without Harry. What a lovely thing to bond over, isn't it? Our shared love for him?"
"I…"
"What the fuck do you want, Granger?" He repeated, tiredly. "Do you expect I'll pour my bleeding heart out to you? Would you like that, now that you know how disgustingly gone I am for him? Willing to befriend me for his sake, are you? Shall we talk about him over a cup of tea, like besties would? Discuss how fucking great he is? Because he is… fucking great I mean. And, honestly, I don't know what the fuck to do about it!" He hadn't realised he was standing, or shouting, until she took a step backwards, hitting the door with her back.
"I think he probably heard that." He muttered to himself, much quieter. As if the situation wasn't awkward enough.
"You know what?" Granger said, watching him levelly with the same determination she had before punching him in third year. "I really am sorry, and I can't take what I've asked you back. But… I think we should try. Not being friends, I mean, but at least act civilly with each other. For his sake, as you so helpfully pointed out."
"I don't really like you." He said, resolutely ignoring the fact that he had thought the same about Harry not even months before.
"Oh, trust me, Malfoy, the feeling is mutual. But you happen to be fucking in love with my best friend, so there is that." And, without letting him process the fact that he had heard her swear for the first time in his life, she marched out of the room, her massive nest of hair bouncing behind her.
Draco must have dozed off when, a few hours later, the door creaked open again. The room was dark, and he could barely make out a figure tip-toeing towards the bed.
He rubbed the sleep off his eyes with the back of his hand and propped himself up on his elbow. "Haw-ry?" He yawned, trying to regain a feeling of what was going on.
The figure froze, swearing quietly as if it did not expect to be caught out.
Draco patted around blindly for his wand, finding it wedged under the pillow. As it lit, the soft glowing coming from the spell illuminated the unfamiliar surrounding and he was suddenly reminded of where exactly he was.
Fuck.
Harry was standing in the middle of the room, an extremely baggy t-shirt almost slipping off his shoulder and long enough to cover the top of his bare legs and a hint of boxer briefs. He wasn't wearing his glasses and he looked sleep rumpled, despite not being the one in the bed.
Draco swallowed, feeling something tighten in the pit of his stomach. "What the fuck are you wearing?" He asked, clearing his throat.
"Uhm, shit. I thought you were sleeping." Harry replied, a full octave higher than his normal tone.
"Clearly." Draco said, then he nudged his chin towards the pillow Harry was clutching tightly in his right hand. "Trying to sneak up on me and smother me to death, Potter?"
"Uh, what? No. I considered sleeping downstairs, actually, but then I thought why should I? The sofa is too short, anyway."
"Well, aren't you a wizard or have you forgotten again? Nothing is too short if you know the right spell." He said, smirking slightly when Harry's cheeks dusted pink.
"I can go back downstairs, if you want."
Draco actually considered the offer. Did he want Harry to? The air around them felt heavy and awkward. The middle of the night wasn't exactly the time he had imagined for the kind of confrontation that needed to happen between them. But, if he were to be honest with himself, given the chance Draco would have chosen avoidance for as long as possible. So, maybe it was a good thing that they were forced to address the elephant in the room sooner rather than later.
Harry looked one word away from bolting, so Draco scooted over before either of them could think too hard about it. "No, it's okay, stay." He said, patting the freed space beside him on the bed.
Harry released a long, shaky breath and sat down purposefully at the lower edge of the bed, giving Draco his back. His shoulders remained tense but his head hung low in such a helpless, defeated stance. Draco could not stand it.
"What time is it?" He asked, sitting up so that his feet were almost touching Harry's thigh.
"Uhm, 3, I think. Ron and Hermione went to bed a while back, but I couldn't really sleep."
"I was really tired…" Draco said, whacking his brain for something of more substance to break the awkwardness. He had never felt less in control of his thoughts.
"So…" He started, at the same time as Harry said "I'm sorry."
"About what?" Draco asked, perplexed. He had forgotten what he wanted to say.
"Your mum, I guess." Harry's delicate hands clenched into fists, pushing down into the mattress. "I've never really stopped to consider how the choices you have made lately could mean you'll lose your family. I guess I've always clung to the naive conviction that every hard decision we make in life was justified by some moral high ground. That we should act a certain way because it's the right thing to do. But how can I, when it's people we are talking about? How can we choose something over people? Sirius went against his family, but there was no love there. You love your mother."
"I do." Draco said, simply. He hugged his knees and whispered, letting his voice flow over Harry's shoulder. It was strangely intimate, sitting together in semi darkness. Despite not quite touching, his breath brushed the back of Harry's neck, making his shiver. "You weren't naive though, sometimes doing the right thing is more important than the people we love. We can't let love justify our actions, when we are aware they are wrong."
"Spoken like a true Gryffindor." Harry chuckled. Then, he let himself fall onto the bed, staring up at Draco, who had to twist his head to look back. Somehow it felt important he did so.
"I've never had someone being in love with me." Harry said, boldly, after some time had passed. Draco didn't dare to break eye contact but he really, really wanted to.
"Granger did give a good impression she was, today." The joke fell flat, but Harry still smiled a little.
"Sure, I've fooled around." He said, smile stretching wider when Draco scowled. "Fuck, this is hard, but I've- I don't think I truly considered the possibility between us because… Well, because it's us. I am- not there, yet. Sorry." His grin was gone, replaced by an apologetic frown.
Draco turned and spoke into his knees. "'S fine…" He felt fingers wrap around his naked ankle and let Harry's touch speak for the other boy. There was such tenderness there that he had no trouble believing the words that came next.
"But I'm not that far off, you know. I do, too, think about you an inappropriate amount."
Draco couldn't help his lips upturning at that. Not yet.
Yet.
He let himself relax backwards, lying down next to Harry, whose fingers immediately found his own. They stayed like that, holding hands in silence, for a very long time. Their legs dangled over the edge, and it was somewhat uncomfortable, but neither cared enough to move. When Draco was convinced Harry had almost fallen asleep, he nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.
"Hey, Harry…"
"M-mh?" Harry hummed, drowsily.
"I've heard you like bad boys?" He said, pausing purposefully for the punchline. The messy head of black hair beside him lifted just enough for him to find Harry's confused eyes. As soon as he was sure they were looking back he smirked, slow and teasing. "Because, you know, I am bad at everything."
It took a beat longer than he would have liked, but soon he had Harry wheezing into his shoulder. Draco stretched languidly, hooking one arm under Harry's body to guide the other boy on top of him. With lips sucking at the pulse point between his collarbones, Draco smiled into the night.
Not. Yet.
They were awoken several hours later by a crash coming from somewhere below. They rushed out of the room, still blinking sleep from their eyes, meeting Granger and Weasley's worried faces on the stairs.
By the entrance stood Lupin, looking disheveled and bruised, a golden medallion dangling from his fingers.
