Harry looked unfairly soft bathed in the gentle, mid-morning light filtering through the kitchen window.
All mellowed edges and dark, sleep rumpled curls, one sock pulled lopsidedly up the ankle, one foot bare.
He was hunched over the counter, both elbows resting on the surface while he read a recipe from an old book. His jumper was already dusted with flour, and his finger, his goddamn finger- like a child- was tracing the letters on the page, eyes following with a concentration that he never showed in Potion.
Draco ached to take a picture.
Sometimes, in the fucked up mundanity of their routine, between dueling practice and hours of pointless reading, he would forget he was in love.
It was easy, really, to let his heart give way to irritation, or fatigue. Easy to lose himself to the numbing feeling of dejection that, as of lately, plagued him more often than not.
Love would slip his mind, then. Bury deep in the pit of his stomach, nestled below his lungs.
Dormant.
So much so that, in moments of domestic simplicity like these, Draco would be reminded of his own feelings with such force that it often took his breath away.
Still, love didn't hit him like the obligatory bludger to the chest, the cliché storm of butterflies fluttering in his belly.
To Draco, love was more of a stomach ache. A rush from within, crawling up his throat, leaving his heart pounding. It was nausea mixed with hunger. It was contradictions, pulling from every side and, yet, unwavering. It was a calm, lulling boat in a stormy sea, impervious to the waves.
Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Harry kept whisking ingredients into a bowl, humming a disjointed tune under his breath.
And Draco loved him.
Oh, he loved him so.
"I love you." He blurted, aware that it was his first time willingly saying it aloud, but unable to stop it from coming out. The stomach ache metaphor still strangely fitted the way his confession came out, like a sudden pressure spilling out over his lips, painfully conspicuous in its exuberance.
Draco had never thought he would ever compare love to being sick, but here he was.
"M-mh?" Harry hummed, distracted.
And Draco could back out, pretend he never said anything at all. Instead, he stood up, circling the other boy's waist with his arms and hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder. He liked that they were roughly the same height, no need to ever look up.
Or down.
"I love you." He said, steadier, sure. Harry twisted and turned in his embrace until they were facing each other, still connected.
"You know this cake is for Mrs Weasley, right?" He joked, eyes big and shining. Somehow, flour had reached his nose and Draco brushed his own against it, closing his eyes and breathing in.
"I thought you ought to know." He said, still with his eyes shut. Lips ghosted over his own and, even blind, he could tell Harry was smiling.
"Did you?" Harry teased and Draco blinked his eyes open before he could be properly kissed.
Holding Harry's gaze he wondered. "How did this happen?"
"You tell me, you are the one who jumped me." Harry laughed, the sound rivertebrating against Draco's ribcage.
"I didn't mean this." He huffed, finally finding his footing. There was something so easy in their interaction that always balanced him. Even when he felt like falling, Harry always pulled him back up. "Stupid." He said, affectionately, stealing a brief kiss. "I meant us. You. And me."
Harry wetted his mouth, teeth gnawing at the dark freckle that made his lower lip all the more alluring. "We grew up, I guess. Anonymity allowed me to open up with you in ways that wouldn't have been possible otherwise, and you… You always offered a comfortable space. I never felt like holding back, always had the impression you were genuinely interested. That I could be honest with you and you with me. And, despite everything, I still feel like that. Once I was myself again and our… shared past came to the surface, the bridge had already been crossed. You are irritable, over critical and use sarcasm like it's going out of fashion but… You were willing to reevaluate a life long of beliefs, to change your mind. To be open. And that is huge. That is what is going to win us this war."
Draco's heart clenched. "When did you get so articulate?" He said, averting his eyes.
"What can I say, I am much more than just a pretty face." Harry replied, in such a tender way that it contradicted the cockiness of his statement.
Helpless, Draco laughed. "You are such an idiot."
"Among the other titles." Harry said, putting solid ground under Draco's feet again. It was startling how he always managed to do that. To sweep Draco off his feet one moment and make him feel steady and grounded the next.
"It fits you more than Saviour."
"Yep. But less than Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor. Harry Potter, a bit of an idiot, but what a smile."
"No one had ever called you that." Draco snorted, pinching him on the side. "Aside from the fact you can't be a bachelor at seventeen."
"I'm old beyond my years." Harry said, voice turned dramatically grave.
As corny as it sounded, Draco couldn't deny the rush of affection that overtook him, his stomach knotting in a happy, little twist of mixed emotions.
He was so stupidly in love it was almost funny.
A chuckle escaped his lips. "I think the saying is 'wise beyond my years'. And, normally, bachelors are not quite so… taken." He retorted, pulling back a little to better look at the other boy.
Harry grinned idiotically, before suddenly turning serious. "I think I do too, you know. Lo-"
Before he could finish what he was about to say, Draco kissed him, hard and deep.
He wasn't ready to hear that particular confession just yet. Not now, not when he was about to go behind Harry's back.
As the other boy melted into the kiss, Draco could only be thankful deception was tasteless on his lips.
"See you tonight." Harry said at around 2 pm, voice muffled behind the knitted scarf that Mrs Weasley had gifted him the previous visit. It was a beautiful dark green and looked soft to the touch. His faithful sidekicks mumbled a couple of goodbyes from the entrance hall, which Draco promptly ignored.
"Yeah. Have fun, Henry. I'll be spending some time in Grimmauld, I think." Draco waved him off, pretending to be too occupied with feeding Hedwig to pay much attention to their departure.
In truth, he didn't have the courage to look the other boy in the eye. Not when he was about to meet Snape, the same man which Harry had described as vile, cowardly and greasy just mere hours before, during an impromptu breakfast rant.
Draco had almost gasped when, half way through a conversation about Halloween, Harry had abruptly mentioned their former Professor, seemingly out of the blue. Draco had found himself wondering if the other boy was secretly practising Legilimency and was now reading his mind, as he had not been able to stop thinking about his and Snape scheduled meeting all morning.
After a few nerve wracking moments, though, it had been clear that Harry's tirade could be credited to Rita Skeeter's slanderous writing yet again.
Somehow, the confirmation that Harry was clueless of his intentions only made him feel guiltier.
"I'm fucked." He told Hedwig, passing her a squirming mouse from the box on his lap.
The owl hooted in response, cocking her head as if assessing Draco. For a brief moment they stilled, silent in their perusal of the other, before Hedwig accepted the offering and flew on top of the fridge to consume her meal in one, big gulp.
She had been much calmer and happier since Weasley had decided to bring his own, little feathered menace to the care of his mother. Draco could not blame her, as Pig would regularly give him headaches with his shrill chirping and hyper, showy personality.
Still, being Harry Potter's very distinct owl meant that she was mostly relegated to the house, unable to fly freely in case she was recognised and followed. It was evident that the lack of hunting opportunities and daily exercise were starting to wear her patience down. Often at the receiving end of her frustration was Harry, whom she had yet to fully forgive despite his genuine claims of innocence. Draco had to mend his abused fingers - the preferred target of her temper - so frequently that he was becoming an expert at healing spells.
"You need to cut him some slack." He muttered, and she glared at him, upturning her beak imperiously.
Maybe it was all in his overstressed imagination, but he felt her message to be loud and clear. He, a soon to be filthy liar, wasn't in any position to judge her treatment of Harry.
Irritated by his own thoughts, Draco sighed. He ran his finger over the fur of one of the remaining mice, feeling sorry for the creature, and then closed the lid. If Hedwig was still hungry, she knew where to find them.
Placing the box on the table, he braced himself on the edge and took a few, long breaths that did nothing for his nerves.
He was stalling. He knew that.
With shaky fingers, he rummaged through his pockets until they closed around a tiny, smooth bottle. He had been saving the felix felicis for Harry's last battle, like luck could somehow defeat death. It was a nice, comforting thought, however stupid it sounded to his rational side.
About one third of the potion had gone and, if he was extra careful with his next sip, there would be another third left. Eight hours were plenty enough for what he needed to do. Vowing to himself that the last dose would be no one but Harry's, Draco closed his lips around the mouth of the bottle and drank.
The shift was sudden and welcomed. A calm sense of purpose overrode his anxiety, cementing the belief that he was doing the right thing. His confidence inflated, he retrieved the piece of parchment from his other pocket and scribbled a hurried message.
'I believe we should meet at the second location we discussed. I will be there in fifteen minutes. Please, don't be late. Draco Malfoy.'
Of the few options Snape had given him, the small, half abandoned lodge deep in the engulfing vegetation of Wye Valley felt like the safest one. Draco had learnt to trust his instinct under the influence of the felix.
Since Draco had never apparated to the area, he needed a clear landmark to visualise, lest he got lost in the miles of forest. Wye Valley felt close enough that he didn't need to use much energy for the jump, while still a safe distance away from their hiding location.
Snatching his coat from the hanger by the entrance, he was about to grab the door handle, when a strong pull to run upstairs overrode his haste to leave.
Taking the steps three at the time, he barged into his and Harry's shared room and immediately spotted the hem of the invisibility cloak poking out from under the bed. Not sparing more than a few seconds to debate the morality of his actions with his own guilty conscience, he pulled the cloak out and stuffed it into his rucksack, rushing back downstairs and out of the door.
In the quiet of the deep, autumnal forest his apparition resounded like a firecracker, scaring a few birds into flight. When the rustling leaves had settled, Draco looked around the secluded clearing in the direction of a dilapidated cottage.
It seemed Snape had yet to arrive.
Pulling the cloak tightly over his shoulders, he stepped towards the building, careful to keep his movements light and calculated as not to alert the surroundings of the presence of an invisible outsider.
It was only by chance that he happened to look up in the exact moment as a squirrel rushed past, catching the strange ripple in the air where the animal's long tail had hurriedly swished by.
Whispering a silencing charm at his feet as a precaution, he circled the area and whipped out his wand, making sure to keep the full lenght hidden beneath the cloak.
"Reveal yourself, but don't turn yet." He ordered, surprised to hear such steady authority in his own voice. The felix in his veins hummed approvingly; warm, soothing confidence like honey tea.
As if it were a blanket, Snape's disillusionment charm fell, revealing his back to Draco.
Draco didn't need to see his face to imagine the scornful expression the other man was likely wearing. After all, Snape had always seen his attempts at sounding self assured and independent as nothing more than childish tantrums. But things had changed a lot in the last months.
Draco himself had changed.
Squashing the familiar feeling of irritation that had accompanied most of their interactions during Sixth year, Draco hasted to stuff the invisibility cloak inside the pocket of his coat and cleared his throat. "Y- you may turn."
Slowly, Snape did so, his bored, monotone drawl not matching the words he spoke. "Impressive bit of magic there, Draco. If it weren't for the unfortunate and unmistakable sound of apparition, I wouldn't have seen you coming."
You didn't see me coming, Draco wanted to retort, but it died on his tongue when something akin to surprise shifted on Snape's strong features. Following the other man's gaze, Draco looked down at himself.
When had he become so comfortable in his new skin to no longer pay attention to what he was wearing?
Not one single head would have turned at him strolling down a Muggle road in his jeans and trainers. Not one glance to the cosy, knitted jumper he had borrowed from Harry's closet or to the long, grey coat he had purchased just a week before, when the temperature had started plummeting.
It hadn't even occurred to him to transfigure his outfit into something more wizarding appropriate.
Trying to ignore the disdainful gaze that had settled over his dyed hair, Draco stammered. "I- I need your help." To put a bit more conviction behind his trembling voice, he straightened the arm holding his wand, his mouth twisting into a scowl.
Snape's black eyes flickered down to the hawthorn stick and back up, an ugly smirk pulling at his lips as if he had assessed Draco's threatening pose and found it rather amusing.
"Oh, do you, now? By the look of it, you have been living amongst Muggles- perhaps as a Muggle- for the last four months. Why then, may I ask?" A hint of curiosity seeped through his tone, as if he couldn't quite suppress it. "Were you afraid of retribution for your failure? If so, you needn't worry, Draco. The Dark Lord was so pleased with my success that it hardly mattered who had completed the task. As for your mother, your disappearance has-"
"How is she?" Draco demanded, more harshly than he had intended.
"Inconsolable." Snape said in a drawl, as if he was just offering an insignificant piece of gossip. "My presence is the only thing that has been keeping her sane."
"Wha- what do you mean?" Draco asked, confusion taming his rising temper.
"I'm alive, am I not?" The other wizard replied, with the intonation of someone speaking to a dim child. Draco wanted to punch him.
"I made a promise to your mother. A vow, to protect you. If something bad had happened to you, that promise would have been broken… with the obvious consequences." Snape concluded, seemingly unconcerned by his narrowly-missed fate.
"It wasn't exactly my choice to leave, you know? I was taken." Draco argued, hotly.
"Yes, most of us believed that to be the case. The most likely conclusion was that you were taken prisoner by the Order of the Phoenix. Your parents expected some kind of demand made in exchange for your release… But, of course, it never came. It's clear to me, now, that you were never a prisoner. Or, if you were, it wasn't for long."
"No." Draco said, barely above a whisper. Thinking about his parents hurted more than he cared to admit. He knew they must have been worried, but having it confirmed made him want to scream and throw things.
"No." Snape agreed, his gaze contemplative once more. His dark eyes bore into Draco's, their intensity so unsettling it took great effort not to look away. "Naturally, the Dark Lord has considered your disappearance of inconsequential importance. He is far more interested in Potter's."
Draco flinched at the mention of Harry's name, and hoped against hope that the other man hadn't caught the fleeting expression that had just passed through his face.
Who knew what the emotions behind his own eyes could reveal? Even without legilimency, Snape had always been far too good at reading him, far too knowing in his assessments.
Not trusting his own voice, Draco gripped his wand tighter and tried to let his mind relax, surrendering all control to the influence of the potion in his blood. But, for once, the felix felicis seemed to fail him, for it didn't offer anything to say.
"There are rumours he has returned." Snape offered, interrupting the silence. He was back to his casual, bored monotone, but Draco could feel he was interested.
"I haven't heard." Draco lied, and suddenly he knew how to tilt the balance in his favour. "I know you have been working for Dumbledore all along." He said, without preamble, and Snape's shock could no longer be contained behind his emotionless mask. "I know you killed him on his orders".
"Legimens!" The other man shouted, but Draco was prepared. Assured by the liquid luck that it was the right path, he opened his mind to the attack, letting one, lone memory float to the surface.
Dumbledore, that fateful night on the tower. The vial and the Headmaster last, parting words.
Find Harry.
"That's what you were doing all these months? Looking for Potter?" Snape asked, distractedly.
He looked lost in his own mind, preoccupied with solving a puzzle that was still missing a few pieces.
"I've found him." Draco said, simply. "A long time ago." Something inside him was confident he could trust the other wizard with this information, perhaps even sure he needed to know.
"You…But- How?" Snape demanded, disbelief that Draco could have succeeded where he had failed evident in his tone. Then, his expression cleared. "The werewolf! Of course- What was he thinking? He has always been so… passive. I- never…" His thin lips twisted in a frown once more, this time angry and disbelieving. "Dumbledore, that old fool. Giving you that memory! We- he… He was the only one that knew. This could compromise so much, you don't understand how dangerous what you know is… Obliviate!"
"Protego!" Draco shouted, instinctively, and Snape's curse bounced against his shield. The older man looked wild, his dark, long hair frizzing with static energy.
"I haven't told anyone!" Draco cried, deflecting another silent spell. "Stop. God damn it, will you fucking listen."
Snape paused, perhaps thrown by Draco's rude language. Despite their past disagreements, Draco had never been outwardly disrespectful towards the other man, still conscious of their teacher-student relationship. But that, too, had changed.
For a moment, they stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
"Like that would help if you fell into the wrong hands." Snape sneered, eventually. "Stronger minds have folded under the Dark Lord's wand."
"Try me." Draco challenged. He was aware that there was some indisputable truth in what Snape was saying, yet part of him didn't want to be seen as weak. He had been trained by Bellatrix and his own mother, after all.
Still, he was only seventeen…
This time, the invasive feeling of legilimency didn't come as an attack but more as a gentle prod, curious fingers trying to flip through the pages of his memory. Diligent, Draco built walls and mazes around the intruder, stopping him at every corner.
Snape mumbled under his breath, frustration oozing off him as a dark cloud. The more evident his irritation, the more Draco felt himself relaxing.
Until Snape whispered. "Harry Potter."
An image floated to the surface of Draco's mind. Teeth gnawing at a dark freckle on a soft, familiar mouth. And, then, green eyes. Big and happy. Fond.
Unmistakable eyes.
Panicking, Draco shouted "Protego" a second time.
Suddenly, he was staring into another pair of green eyes, so similar in shape and colour but narrowed in anger.
The nose was smaller and freckle-less, the eyebrows thinner and a dark auburn. But, looking at the Lily Potter conjured by Snape's mind, Draco had to ask himself how people could still believe Harry was the exact copy of his father.
The girl, because she was barely older than 15, was standing so close to Snape's face, who looked chastised and scared.
"For the last time, Severus, you made your choice. Now, I get to make mine. Leave. Me. Alone." She spoke with such finality that Draco wondered what had prompted such harsh words. Together, they watched her leave in silence.
Before Draco could dwell on it, he was ripped from the memory and brought back to solid ground. Back to the forest.
Birds chirped somewhere in the distance.
Snape looked livid, a dark, ugly flush spreading over his cheeks. And, then, it dawned on Draco, what that brief glimpse into his past meant.
At some point in time, for however long, Snape and Harry's mother had meant something to each other. Maybe more than something, at least for Snape, whose pain was badly concealed behind his anger, despite the long years that had passed since.
"You loved her." Draco said, and it wasn't a question. "You loved her, Lily Potter, and he… he killed her."
And, just like that, Draco understood what Lord Voldemort would never be able to.
The secret that made Severus Snape the perfect spy.
Love.