Draco held no preconceptions that his presence in the library would be a welcome change to the usual affairs of the Malfoy estate but the overt busy bodying that the elves had gotten up to was utterly astounding. He'd been interrupted no less than three times on his venture into the back shelves. Each by a different elf inquiring whether they could help him find something or if he needed assistance with his research. At first Malfoy had thought nothing of it, but now he was beginning to feel that he should be insulted. Surely the elves did not find him so incompetent that he couldn't navigate the library in his own home. He dismissed the fourth elf with significantly less politeness.
Truthfully, he was struggling though. He had never made a habit of spending time in the library before now. Draco found it too dark for his liking and the smell of old leather entirely unbearable after any significant amount of time. But he was searching for a book today so he supposed there was no helping it. And it was the book in question that kept him from asking for help. Even without his father around, Draco had enough shame to avoid voicing the muggle author he was looking for.
After a hard fought search, Draco was coming to realize that not only was the book not there but that there was not a single muggle book in the entirety of the Malfoy collection. He found it hard to be surprised but the idea hadn't even crossed his mind in the past. Surrounded by an absolutely insane number of books and yet not a single muggle author. And why would there be? He supposed, folding his arms defensively. Muggles were inferior in intelligence after all. How could the wizarding world be hidden so easily from them if they were anything but oblivious neanderthals.
It wasn't even the book itself that intrigued him, he rationalized. It was Harry's fascination with it. Draco found it quite perplexing that Harry so fervently insisted the muggle series was his absolute favorite. Surely after discovering the wide world of wizarding novels, he'd been exposed to much better literature than during his days spent in ignorance. But nonetheless, Draco was curious. Not really by the prospect of reading it but Harry had gushed about the characters and Draco wanted to talk to him about it. It was simply gathering data for later discussion. Nothing more.
Even as he summoned a house elf to him in the wide aisle of the B section, he refused to let his curiosity about muggles show. Draco was too well-bred and he might as well be visiting the zoo. Harry's stories of his adoptive family were enough proof for him that muggles were barbaric in their intolerance and misunderstanding of what magic had to offer. Harry had insisted they were an outlier but Draco found that incredibly hard to believe. He vaguely wondered if the Granger girl's parents were the same as the Dursleys. He made a mental note to ask Harry more about it.
A small gray-ish colored house elf appeared in front of him as he wrote the title and author on a small slip of paper. The little thing was dressed in what appeared to be a repurposed flour sack and its bulbous eyes looked at him expectantly. He gave it a small smile and handed the paper over, requesting a copy of the book be found and left in his bedroom as soon as it could be managed. Before the elf could disapparate away he was sure to add a request that they not disclose his reading material to his mother or anyone else for that matter. The shame of being discovered reading muggle fiction might be even greater than Narcissa finding the letters he had been exchanging with Potter. Draco was walking a thin line between becoming a blood traitor and embarrassing the family name and he wasn't sure which was worse..
Truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure why he was still talking to Harry. Part of him insisted that it was the boredom of the empty manor getting to him while another part was telling him that he was a ruthless mastermind and the sincere conversation and genuine glimpses into each other's life was entirely according to plan. An elaborate prank. But on who, Draco was starting to wonder.
It seemed more likely that morbid curiosity played a significant role in the whole ordeal, however. Before now, Draco had assumed Harry lived a prissy life as the wizarding world's darling and Dumbledore's prized pet. Draco could remember many times where he was nauseatingly jealous of the attention. Apparently, Dumbledore's favor got you exactly nothing and Harry was left in the 'care' of bumbling and unstable muggles for 5 months out of the year. Absurd. Surely that was part of it. The absurdity of it all was what kept him asking questions.
So when the last letter of the night finally arrived, taking the misshapen form of a would-be crane, Draco was once again unsettled with its contents. Harry had answered his questions as per usual, providing witty commentary on Draco's uptight parents and inquiring more into his childhood as a wizard. An entirely normal letter for the most part, it was the last few sentences that made the smile slip off of his face.
I was wondering if there's a reason you don't want me to know who you are? Do I know you already or something? It's okay if I do, I promise not to make it weird. I'd just love to have a name to put to the letters.
Anyway, I'll talk to you tomorrow! Sleep well! -H
For the past week, Draco had felt that they'd had an unspoken understanding that they wouldn't reveal their identities. As much as they joked about meeting up at Hogwarts, neither signed their letters with more than their initial and Draco had assumed they both knew that once their unfortunate circumstances came to an end, that there would be no more reason to communicate. The relationship was symbiotic and mutually beneficial, Draco had never really considered whether it was real.
Would it really be so bad to tell him? They had been getting along better than Draco had ever anticipated and Harry seemed kind enough to be okay with it. Thoughts of Ron Weasley and the entirety of the Gryffindor house guffawing over his new identity as Potter's bloody penpal put to rest those thoughts however. He would never live it down and Draco already knew Harry was shit at keeping secrets. No, there was absolutely no way. His reputation wasn't strong enough to take that kind of hit. He'd probably get kicked out of Slytherin just on the principle of the matter.
With that firmly established, Draco began to consider how he would be able to deny the request without severing their connection completely. He wasn't sure how to process the immediate impossibility of cutting contact but he supposed he didn't want to dwell on that fact. He had until tomorrow to figure something out.
As the night grew darker, Draco layed in bed, one arm cushioning his head while the other gently pushed around a tiny pink firelight above him. It had been a week since Bellatrix's visit and there had been no news since. In the dim glow of magic, it was easy to peel back the lies he told himself and see the real reason Draco kept talking to Harry. Without some kind of distraction from the impending visit of the Dark Lord, Draco would likely crumble into himself. He could lie all he wanted, telling his mother that he was proud to be chosen and that he would be an example of why the Malfoy name should be revered, but he could see the same fear in his mother's eyes as strongly as he could feel it in his own.
Even the fear of Voldemort himself was not enough to keep his mind from wandering further to the strange dissonance that had begun to haunt him. In the space that Draco knew should be occupied by anticipation and excitement at the prospect of joining the death eaters, Draco only felt cold emptiness. Even the hatred that had fueled him since childhood was slowly abandoning him. Each night with abject terror, Draco realized that he no longer loathed muggleborns. Not even the thought of Granger was enough to stir the familiar spite in his soul. Something was breaking inside of him, and Draco was fully aware of it, helpless to do anything but watch as his worldview was crumpling before him.
It wasn't a thought he was willing to share with anyone, not even anonymously, but on nights like these, where he sat in the dark, hidden from the shame he felt, Draco wished for the days before Voldemort's return. Days when he was just a student and school was just school and his family was present and doting in his life. Had Voldemort really improved their lives as his father promised he would? Or was his father just as fallible as the next man?
And it was this thought, above the rest that would make his facade crack. Thinking of Lucius and the years Draco spent desperate for his praise and in awe of his accomplishment. The thought that maybe the man he'd adored for so long might have been wrong was devastating and Draco would finally begin to cry. Tears that wouldn't stop until the exhaustion took him, knowing full well that tomorrow he would wake up and pretend that everything was fine and that all of his anxiety was for a cause he believed in.
Draco had never heard Narcissa scream before. He wasn't sure why he was thinking about that now, as the lazy morning sun crept over his body, the rays warming the exposed skin of his shoulders. He was too comfortable to be considering such things. It wasn't until his door slammed open that he realized she had actually been yelling. Yelling at him. He blinked as she stared, wide-eyed in his doorway. She looked ruffled, panicked and Draco was awake.
"Draco, you need to wake up and prepare yourself." She was breathing hard, having obviously run here from wherever she had been before. "Today's the day." Draco swallowed, not needing any clarification from his frazzled guardian. They had spoken extensively about how today would go, when Voldemort chose to make his appearance. Draco was to shower and make himself presentable and then he would assist Narcissa in adjusting the manor to the specifications of the Dark Lord.
Draco shot out of bed, feeling instantly awake. A pressed black suit was set apart in his wardrobe for this exact moment and Draco wasted no time. Soon enough he found himself standing in front of the mirror, smoothing the suit jacket and adjusting his tie. His blonde hair had grown longer than he usually let it and the extra length allowed his mother's subtle waves to start showing. It was far too late for a haircut before the visit but Draco did his best to comb the locks into an agreeable state. He took one last look in the mirror, frowning at the bags around his eyes but knowing he could hardly do anything about them now.
He met Narcissa in the ballroom where she was dressed in an equal amount of black, the long white streaks in her hair stranding out against the fabric. Her face looked grim as she met his gaze, motioning him towards her. A long narrow table had appeared in the center of the room and she instructed him how to dress it, conjuring a long dark tablecloth and candles.
Narcissa busied herself with removing any and all portraits from the room, much to the disgruntled protests of the painting's occupants. Portraits were notorious gossips after all. Draco finished with the table and began casting privacy charms on each window and doorway. From the outside, the manor would look empty, the charms serving to block any sound and light from escaping. Draco understood the need for discretion but what he couldn't quite wrap his head around were the adjustments Voldemort requested to the physical aspects of the room. He had specifically asked that no orange flames be lit and that the house be freshly polished. Draco wondered exactly when Voldemort became this concerned with the aesthetic of his meetings as he watched his mother turn yet another sconce to blue flame. Perhaps it was just another method to show his power over them.
The hours passed without much delay as Draco and Narcissa worked tirelessly to meet every specification of the Dark Lord's messenger. The manor was transformed from a brightly lit, grand house of leisure to a dim, ominous spector against the forest. Draco could barely recognize it as the place he'd grown up but thought the new look suited the marble floors and pillars well. It was as if Voldemort had channeled the estate's untapped potential for intimidation.
At exactly the same moment the grandfather clock struck seven, a knock sounded at the door. Narcissa moved first, allowing at least a dozen masked figures to spill into the foyer. As they entered, the skull masks were removed and the men began meandering further into the house. Draco recognized a few, Crabbe and Goyle's fathers having been family friends since before he could remember, Mcnair and Greyback had visited often last year and the rest were vaguely familiar, possibly having attended Malfoy parties. Narcissa greeted each of them with the practiced smile of a seasoned host. Draco nodded politely as each member noticed him standing against the wall. As the last cloaked figure in the group approached the entrance, the conversations quieted to nothing.
The only thing Draco could compare the experience of meeting Voldemort to was a dementor coming too close. The air seemed to grow cold and everyone around him tensed and shrank away almost imperceptibly. Whoever his gaze landed on seemed to lose the color in their face and bowed their head just enough to avoid eye contact. Even Bella, who Draco had known to be chaotic and fearless to a fault, seemed to cower in front of him, losing her usual edge. Before the Dark Lord had spoken a word, Draco felt inherently foolish for his thoughts of dissent, surely there was no point disagreeing with such overwhelming power and force. Draco had been naive to think that there was any other fate for this world except the one Voldemort led to fruition.
The rest of the death eaters that Draco had previously been intimidated by paled in comparison to the raw strength that emanated from the man. A pale jaw caught the light and Draco felt his blood freeze. The white skin was pulled tight over the skull and his thin lips looked frost bitten and rotted. Nothing prepared him for the feeling of dread that washed over him as Voldemort's attention turned to the boy who suddenly felt incredibly small.
"Ah... Draco..." He crooned, reaching a gnarled, bony hand to motion Draco forward. "I'm so glad to see you join us..." Draco felt his knees buckle slightly as he stepped in the direction of the dark figure. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak so he opted to bow his head in respect and greeting. "I am so looking forward to... discussing your future tonight." the words slithered over Draco like a noose wrapping itself around his neck and he nodded. "Exciting things to come indeed."
Voldemort looked away, releasing Draco from his attention in favor of greeting Narcissa. Draco watched closely, noticing how casually Narcissa bowed and welcomed him, as if reuniting with an old acquaintance. He was suddenly struck with the reality of his parent's relationship with the most powerful wizard in the world. Lucius had been of the first to join the Death Eater ranks and before this year had held a higher place by his side than even Bellatrix. Narcissa Malfoy had known and served Voldemort for decades at this point. Draco couldn't help the second wave of naivety washing over him.
The group finished their introductions quickly and Narcissa led the way through the atrium and into the larger dining hall, waiting by the edge and presenting it for inspection. Voldemort followed directly behind and glanced around the room disapprovingly. If it was not to his satisfaction, he did not say, but there was no thank you or comments about the work. Voldemort was used to getting what he asked for and it was no surprise to him that his requests had been met. He glided across the room and took his place at the head of the long table, sitting and motioning for the others to do the same.
Draco couldn't help but notice the hierarchy with which the Death Eaters positioned themselves around the Dark Lord. Bellatrix was at Voldemort's right hand side and the others arranged themselves in an order that felt intentional, though he didn't know how the placement was decided. Draco made to sit at the very end, assuming since his allegiance had yet to be pledged he would rank the lowest among them. He was pulling the chair out when Voldemort's raspy voice cut through the silence.
"Draco... I would like you here." Draco's head snapped up, seeing Voldemort motion to the empty seat on his left. Gulping and moving quickly, he was unable to ignore the dirty looks the other Death Eaters shot at him as he passed. He caught his mother's eye and he saw the fear present once again. Apparently, the friendly facade she had shown only minutes earlier was one she could turn on and off at will. He gave her a reassuring nod and took his place at the head.
With Voldemort's hood now lowered, Draco could see the veins stretching across his skull, pulsing with each beat of his heart. His skin was paper white and translucent, as if to showcase the pure blooded veins coursing through him. Yet, even something as simple as that felt like a ruse. As if trying to convince you that he was mortal. His eyes were dark with a dull green flare that reminded Draco of the killing curse. He looked like what Draco imagined Death to be like.
The first half of the meeting went by as if Draco was not in the room. The death eaters discussed the current state of the war, referencing people and places that Draco had never heard of. His attention was caught when they mentioned Severus Snape but without the context of the conversation, Draco felt just as lost as before. He tried to remember what he could but the presence of Voldemort on his right was incredibly overpowering. He found himself holding his breath without meaning to and whenever he shifted in his seat, his muscles were tense and brittle like he had been still for hours.
"I'm sure many of you wonder why the Malfoy boy is here with us." Voldemort spoke after a long silence. "After the… unfortunate incident at the ministry last year, I've decided it's necessary to compromise Hogwarts." Several members of the group shifted uncomfortably where they were seated but said nothing, letting the Dark Lord continue. "Dumbledore has been a thorn in my side since my return and without him, our enemies would have nothing, and know nothing. I have chosen Draco to do the honors." Approving nods were aimed in his direction and Draco felt himself shrink further back in his seat. "It is important for us to raise up the next generation for our cause and I think it only fitting that such a capable young man be the one to lead us in." Voldemort motioned to him and Draco caught the eye of Greyback who was smiling a wicked grin. Draco tried to smile back but he couldn't tell if he had any control over his features. "He will find a way to infiltrate or disable the wards and he will kill Dumbledore himself." The room erupted in cheers, men standing to clap and Bellatrix breaking into her signature laugh. Voldemort sat back in his chair, pleased at the reaction as the fervor settled down. He could tell they were going to move on to other topics soon.
Draco cleared his throat. The table of adults swiveled their heads to stare. Without looking he could feel Voldemort's gaze resting on him as well. He clenched his fists in his lap, trying and failing to keep them from shaking. "What if I can't kill Dumbledore? He's so much stronger than I am... If he was that easy to kill, wouldn't he already be dead?" Draco could just make out the sounds of house elves scurrying around in the hallways outside as the room held its collective breath. It needed to be said but Draco felt like he had made a mistake. Voldemort's chair squeaked as he stood up slowly, holding his wand delicately in his raised hand. He trailed it absentmindedly across Bella's neck as he walked behind her.
"Who here believes Dumbledore is immortal?" He asked the group, looking slowly from face to face. No one said a word, hell, no one even looked up, their eyes firmly planted on the table. "Who here believes Dumbledore could possibly stand a chance against me?" Silence. "You see, Draco. Dumbledore is little more than a roadblock for our cause. His kindness makes him weak. Weak enough that I trust you to handle it." Their eyes locked and Draco furrowed his brows in concern. Voldemort caught the small movement and tilted his head to the side, considering the boy. "Ahh, I see you have doubts, my child. You believe he is stronger than even me..." Draco tried to shake his head, his heartbeat pounding in his throat, panic rising. Something had gone very wrong.
"Perhaps I should demonstrate what true fear feels like..."
"Please." a high pitched voice cut through the silence: his mother. "Please, my Lord." Her voice had reverted back to its calm, collected tone as she continued. "He's just a boy. He doesn't know any better."
"Hmmm and what better way to learn…" He raised his wand, "Crucio!"
The pain was hot and fast, burning its way through his veins and eating away at bone. What felt like nails pierced every part of his skin, ripping their way through sensitive muscles and picking him apart piece by piece. His scream was distant as he writhed, his body instinctively trying to tear itself apart to escape the torture. There wasn't a single part of him that didn't cry in agony, pleading with his mind to give up, to let the pain take him.
And then it was gone.
He had ended up on the floor, though he didn't remember falling. He shook violently, eyes darting around the room, looking for a way out. His heart felt like it was about to explode and he couldn't seem to calm the frantic breaths that escaped him. Unwilling tears streamed down his face and his voice was gone, his vocal cords frayed and refusing to cooperate. What he had mistaken for his own sobs drew closer as Narcissa crumbled to her knees next to him and pulled his trembling body into her arms.
"Dumbledore is not the wizard you should fear, boy." Voldemort came closer, standing tall over the crumpled figures. "I expect you will remember that in the future." Draco jerked his head in a nod and Voldemort pulled his thin dark lips into a vindictive smile. "You may take him, Narcissa. I know how you like to dote."
Draco leaned onto his mother's shoulder as she helped him through the familiar hall and towards his room. His entire body was shaking and he tried to take steps but his limbs were not responding. He opened his mouth to say something to Narcissa but the words wouldn't come out. He had screamed more than he'd thought he had. His brain felt foggy and he couldn't even tell if he was still crying.
"It's okay, Draco." Narcissa said sweetly, helping him to lay on his bed. She took one of his hands and pressed it to her lips, a tear sliding down her cheek. "You're okay." Draco clenched his teeth, hopelessly willing his hands to stop trembling. "It'll take a little while to wear off. Can you remember everything?" Draco nodded stiffly, running through the events of the night. He almost wished he couldn't. The shadow of the curse rippled again through his memory and he shut his eyes. He didn't want to cry in front of her. He didn't want to make her worry more than he already knew she was.
"Do you want me to leave you alone, Draco?" Her voice was soft, tentative, like she didn't want to ask it. Draco nodded again, refusing to look at her. "Okay. I'll come back in a little while to check on you, dear." She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before exiting the room. Draco let out a ragged breath, his chest heaving in pain. The trembling resumed in full force and he curled his legs to his chest, pressing his face against his knees. Everything had gone wrong so fast. How could he have questioned Voldemort to his face? Did he have a death wish? He flexed his hands, testing the muscles and hissed at the sharp stab of pain that jolted down his arms.
His mother returned as promised, bringing him a small glass of water, a plate of crackers and two glass vials. Draco recognized one as the sleeping draft he'd made during the week. He kept his face down as she helped him sit up, balancing his shoulders as she pulled the suit jacket off. She helped him undress until he was sitting bare chested in his boxers on the edge of the bed. He was too preoccupied with the random jolts of pain and shaking limbs to be embarrassed. She wrapped the comforter over his shoulders and helped ease him back on his side.
"I have a pain relief potion for you. It should help with the...residual effects." Narcissa informed him, staring intently at the little gifts she'd brought with her. "I also would like you to eat something. It's not good to take potions on an empty stomach." She was talking fast now, and a thought suddenly occurred to Draco. He summoned what little voice he had left to ask his question.
"D-did He ever do this to f-father?" Even knowing that it was coming, Draco was shocked with how weak his voice sounded. Scratching painfully as he spoke, it seemed more like a whisper. His mother flinched at the question and it took her a moment to respond.
"A few times." She swallowed, her eyes reddening. "The Dark Lord can be... unforgiving." She reached a hand out, brushing a strand of white hair aside and cupping Draco's jaw tenderly. "I'm sorry, Draco." Their eyes locked on each other and Draco wondered what exactly she was apologizing for. Voldemort's punishment? He didn't see how that was her fault. Bringing him into the meeting? Again, not her fault. As they stared at each other, he could see the deep sorrow pooling in her eyes and he realized she was apologizing for raising him in a circumstance that would ever allow this to happen to her family. Draco felt the urge to comfort her, to say something, but his throat ached and his head was swimming. He closed his eyes and turned his head, breaking the contact.
Narcissa gave him another weak smile and stood up, pushing his chair back to his desk. "I'll come check on you before I go to sleep. I'd really like you to eat and take these before then, if you could." She motioned again to the crackers and potions. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned to leave, gently shutting the door behind her. Draco was relieved as much as he hated that fact.
It took him several minutes to sit up, his arms screaming at him in protest as he put any amount of weight onto them. But with some grit and effort he found himself leaning against the wall, the cool surface making him shiver. He took a cracker and began to nibble slowly at it. His jaw was trembling just as much as the rest of him so he approached the cracker carefully to avoid biting his tongue. After he'd successfully conquered three, he took a shaky sip of water and grabbed the vial he didn't recognize: the pain relief. He figured drinking it slowly would result in it spilling everywhere so he quickly uncorked it and downed it in one go.
The relief was instant, the residual shots of pain dimming to dull aches and his throat felt instantly soothed, as if he had sipped a glass of honey-lemon tea. He blinked his eyes and lifted his hand to wipe the remaining tears. His fingers were still shaking but they no longer hurt to move. Small steps, supposed Draco, wiping his eyes with his forearm. He grabbed another cracker and continued nibbling. The situation felt eerily familiar to when he was ten and sick with the flu. His mother bringing him food and comforting him as he cried and coughed himself to sleep. Had it really been that long ago? Draco from a few hours ago would have argued that he was basically an adult, but now... He felt nothing but young and naive and small. He'd felt like a child in the room full of his father's peers and he'd been reduced to a sniveling mess in an instant.
More than ever before, the absolute impossibility of his task came crashing down around him. He had spoken his true feelings at the table and while Voldemort is not one to be doubted, the truth was still the truth. Draco wasn't strong enough to kill Dumbledore. He doubted he was strong enough to even breach the wards. He was going to die on a fool's errand, humiliated and disgraced. Voldemort had confirmed one thing for him though. Dumbledore was kind and Draco had no doubt in his mind that when the moment came, Dumbledore wouldn't make him suffer. If his death came at Voldemort's hands, the same could not be said.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and his eyes landed on a small, red book sitting at the center of his desk. He leaned over and took it, along with a sixth cracker. The cover was blank but flipping it open he realized it was the first book in the muggle series Harry had told him about. He stared at it for a second, trying to remember why he had wanted it. He wanted to talk to Harry about it. As it trembled slightly in his fingers, the whole thing seemed stupid. What was even the point?
Draco put the book down and shotgunned the second vial, following it up with the glass of water. There were three crackers left on the plate but if his mother wanted to complain, she could do so tomorrow. Draco was tired and he didn't want to think about Voldemort anymore. As he crawled back under the covers, he looked at the red book and grimaced, remembering the letter that he hadn't answered yet. He didn't want to think about Harry either.
The next day, Draco somehow felt even worse. The tremors in his hands had gotten more intense and his head felt split in half. His legs were functioning a bit better but the jolts of pain had returned overnight and Draco longed for another draft of whatever his mother had given him. As if taking stock, he tested his voice: a raspy whisper struggling to form. He cleared it and tried again to no avail. The damage he had done hadn't been from the curse, but his own tortured scream. There was no quick fix but to let it heal with time and tea. He closed his eyes and curled into himself, trying to ignore the new wave of pain that came with moving.
Narcissa came to check on him an hour after he'd woken up, bringing him a warm cup of tea and a plate of sliced apples. He tried to ask for a vial of the pain potion but she shook her head gently. "That potion is strong, Draco." Good, he thought bitterly, that's exactly why he fucking wanted the thing. "It's not good to rely on it and you'll heal faster without it, I promise." Draco nodded and brought his blanket up to his face, blocking out the light from his window. Narcissa sighed and left the food on his desk, leaving him to wallow in his new quality of life.
He didn't bother keeping track of the time, measuring it passing more in the intensity of the pain. He resented it, but his mother had been right. As the day wore on, the pain slowly dissipated and Draco eventually gathered the strength to nibble on an apple slice.
Had his father gone through this exact thing? Had he recovered more quickly? Searching through his memories of the past two years, he couldn't remember Lucius Malfoy ever being this bedridden and weak. Perhaps it had happened while he was at Hogwarts. The idea felt preposterous to him. Remembering the almost saintlike way his parents spoke of Voldemort, Draco had a hard time believing he had tortured them. Lucius had given everything to the cause, and this is how he was rewarded? Voldemort was supposed to make their lives better, Lucius firmly believed that, even Draco had believed that. But now, lying in a bed damp with his own sweat, Draco found himself once again questioning whether that had ever been true. A perilous thing to do it seemed.
His mother visited him several more times throughout the day, popping her head in to comment on how little he'd touched the tea, tsking and stepping out. He wasn't trying to spite her, it's just that to drink it, he would have to sit up and that seemed like an impossible task at the moment. The look on her face told him that she would consider bringing it to him in a child's sippy cup if he didn't comply with her demands soon. But he was tired so he didn't try to explain himself or argue. When she berated him later about his behavior, he would blame his frayed vocal cords.
He was just slipping into another turbulent fit of sleep when there was a familiar sound above his head. He lowered the duvet and peered up at the crane floating down to him. He reached out a trembling hand and took it. Replying to Harry's letter had been vaguely on his mind but everything was becoming too overwhelming for him. It was impossible to worry about his father's loyalty, his own life, and hurting the feelings of a school rival while his head felt like it was filled with cement. It was too much and if Harry was unhappy with him, so be it. He slowly unfolded the crane, trying his best not to rip it with his unsteady fingers. The note was short.
Hey, is everything alright?
Draco was surprisingly relieved to see the familiar messy handwriting. He held the note tightly, tracing a fingertip over a letter that had been smudged by Harry's hand. It was a strange feeling now growing in his chest. He remembered in first year, how excited he was to hear Harry Potter was going to be attending Hogwarts with him. He looked forward to school everyday that Summer, imagining how he would introduce himself and how it would be so cool to be in the same house as a wizarding celebrity. Draco's friend group was small and consisted of the boys of his father's friends. They'd never decided to be friends, they just were by proximity, and Draco was thrilled at the prospects of making his own friends. One's that would choose him rather than be assigned.
It hadn't gone well though. Draco had lashed out after seeing that he'd been beaten to the introduction by Weasley and from then on, Draco felt a wide gap that he couldn't quite clear. He'd never had to put effort into his friendships and at the young age of 11, he didn't really know how to. So the resentment built, watching the golden trio from afar, feeling acutely ostracized by a group of people that didn't care if he lived or died. He was jealous that they'd found each other and that he wasn't worthy. It was dumb kid stuff. He'd been a twat and they'd been right to hate him. He'd given them enough reasons to after all.
Seeing Harry's words of concern directed at him felt surreal and wrong. Surely, if Harry knew who he was talking to, this would be different. Shame overtook him, crowding out everything else that he'd been thinking about. Draco had once again lied to get what he wanted and the answer to whether he was worthy to be Harry's friend was as obvious to himself as it had always been obvious to them.
He clutched the letter to his bare chest and began to cry. No sound left his mouth as the tears spilled over and he shook from the sobs or the pain, he wasn't sure. He had desperately wanted to be the kind of person that they would include. It felt as if he'd stolen that inclusion, proving once more that he was not that kind of person.
He thought about how to respond for a long time. He considered not responding at all and he considered just telling the truth. Both seemed like the same option to him, effectively ending whatever this was. Draco hated himself for not wanting that. Eventually, he decided on a middle ground, giving just enough away for Harry to make a choice. Draco thought selfishly that it was the best option to relieve some of the guilt building inside of him. His hands were still shaking as he clutched the quill and began, aiming to just write something legible instead of anything elegant. Draco had spent enough time deciphering Harry's words that he didn't feel bad for the sloppy writing. Harry could cope.
Everything's fine now. I'm sorry I disappeared. I don't think I can tell you and I can't really give you a good reason beyond that I don't think we would be friends if you knew who I am. Do you still want to talk to me, knowing that?
He folded the letter into quarters and sent it before he could second guess himself. He felt the tears building behind his eyes again and he clenched them shut before he could start crying. He was so damn tired of crying.
Harry's response came quickly. He hadn't folded his note into anything, opting like Draco did for a simple square. Draco didn't breathe as he opened it.
Yes. I won't ask again but I want you to know that I am fully capable of choosing my friends and I already consider you one of them. Do you consider me a friend?
The tears finally overpowered him and he sobbed, rereading the letter over and over until the words were stamped into his brain. The relief felt more powerful than any potion draft and Draco wanted to sink into the bed. While he knew it couldn't last forever and the deception was still there, Harry had chosen him. And for a brief second, Draco deluded himself into thinking he might actually be worthy. He turned the paper over and wrote a single word in response.
Yes.