Pansy will be alright, won't she?
Somewhere between the Great Hall and the eighth-year dormitories, Draco's mood took a turn for the worse. He didn't seem compelled to hide the change, slamming trunks and discarding his shoes against the tile with too much force. He muttered continuously to himself in a tone that made Harry wish, not for the first time, that McGonagall had not taken away their privacy curtains.
Harry sat stiffly on his bed, his own shoes tucked neatly away next to his trunk where the rest of his things were kept like he was a visitor and expected to be evicted any day now. He was too exhausted to put up much of a fight, so he stayed still, his arms tense in his lap. Draco would wear himself out eventually, and until then, Harry closed his eyes and waited, a dull pain building behind his eyes.
"What's wrong with you today?" Draco ripped his cloak through the air with a practiced flick of his wrist. His voice was so reminiscent of years spent quarreling on the quidditch field. Harry might have believed nothing had changed if he didn't know better.
"I'm fine. Everything alright with you?" He peaked just enough to see Draco's expression sour. He wished he was asleep. Nothing good seemed to happen when he was conscious.
Eventually, Draco disappeared into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him for good measure. Dust motes scattered, and Harry watched with tired eyes as specks moved in and out of the afternoon's orange haze, vanishing and reappearing in the light without a pattern or plan. Draco could still be heard clattering around on the other side of the door, bottles clinking and faucets being turned on, but the solid divide was enough for Harry to let out the breath he had been holding since he walked past the threshold.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. If he was lucky, Draco would give him a few minutes of peace before the rampage continued, as he already knew it would. Even though Draco's temper had been muted and rare since the start of their arrangement, the situation was too familiar in a deeply bitter sense. Harry spent too many years hiding from Dudley's fits not to recognize them, not to recognize his own instinct to run from the directionless rage of a spoiled child.
But Harry was no longer the small boy he had been with Dudley, and Draco's irritation didn't scare him, even if it was in reaction to his attempts at being friendly. He just needed to outlast the git, and Harry was nothing if not stubborn.
"Is something wrong?" Harry asked quietly from his place on the bed. He had shifted his back against the wall and propped a book onto his knees (living with Draco had at least made him quite a bit more literate, in any case.) Draco's mood was still dark, and he had exited the bathroom only to sit at his desk and begin scribbling angry lines onto a parchment.
"Fine," Draco said without looking up.
Harry chewed his lip, and Draco's quill made agitated paths over the paper. "Are you sure?" And when he didn't reply, Harry added, "Draco?"
This got his attention, and Draco's head snapped up, blonde hair falling carelessly into his face. "What is your problem, Potter?"
"I don't know what you mean." Harry closed his book.
"Don't give me that shit. You know exactly what you're doing." He scowled, white teeth peaking through his lips. "Stop it."
"Or what?"
Draco's face twisted into something ugly, his knuckles white where they gripped the quill. He had no leverage, and they both knew it. "Look, Draco." Harry ignored the flinch, pushing forward. "I just think with the situation we're in, it might do us both some good to try and get along."
"Oh, is that right? You want us to suddenly be friends?" Draco asked sarcastically.
Harry would be happy with some sort of non-aggression agreement, but he wasn't about to say that out loud. "Yeah. I guess."
Draco laughed, a short, clipped sound like it had escaped him unintentionally. "That's so like you, isn't it? Believing we can just pretend you haven't spent the last seven years humiliating me or like you never tried to kill me. Let's just skip straight to friendship bracelets then, shall we?"
If Harry's memory was anything to go by, Draco had done a fine job giving as well as he got in terms of harassment over the years, but it probably wasn't the best time to keep score. "We don't have to pretend nothing happened. It's just-" Harry ran fingers through his hair, leaving them tangled at the base of his neck for support. "That was all a long time ago. I don't see why we can't move past it if it would make our lives easier now."
Draco scoffed. "Your life, maybe." He stabbed his quill at Harry as if he wished to cast a hex, "And I have no desire to do you any favors, Potter." His mouth twisted into a vicious smile, eyes narrowing, "Or I suppose you would prefer Harry."
He took a deep breath, "I would, actually."
Draco scrunched his nose, obviously disappointed in the non-reaction, and returned to his parchment. "No," he said firmly. "We're not friends, and we're not going to be."
The air was heavy on Harry's skin, and he dropped his hands and let his head thunk into the wall. He couldn't quite tell if Draco was being difficult for difficulty's sake or if he really did find the idea so out of the question. It wouldn't make much of a difference, either way, but it mattered quite a lot at that moment, and Harry was too afraid to expose himself by asking.
He set his book aside and rolled onto his back. The sun had gone, and the room was a cool grey illuminated only by the flickering light of Draco's lamp. Draco's quill scratched quietly against parchment, any earlier anger apparently satisfied now that he had thoroughly shot down Harry's request. What was he writing now that it didn't sound like he was trying to carve the paper open? Would Draco tell him if he asked? Probably not.
He stayed like that for a long time, eyes closed, listening to the subdued sounds of Draco dipping his quill in ink, the crinkles of parchment as he adjusted it, a cough here or there. Harry was exhausted, but he didn't fall asleep, waiting for the lamp to be blown out and for the tell-tale creak of bedsprings before he allowed himself to relax.
He reached his hand into the crevice between the bed and the wall until he found the familiar wood of the wand box. He pulled it free and held it for a moment, its weight relieving the stress that had built up since he'd checked it this morning. He hid it most days, no longer content to leave it at the foot of his bed. Sometimes, he carried it with him to class, checking periodically to ensure it was still there. Those days were easier because while McGonagall assured him Draco couldn't break it open, the box was one of the few things Harry could actively control, and so he did.
He pressed his palm into the wood and willed a bit of his magic forward until the latch clicked open, revealing the vague silhouette of the Hawthorne wand and Draco's folded schedule. They were barely visible in the dim light, but he didn't need to see them. He'd memorized the schedule-therapy tomorrow morning, check-in with the Healers on Friday, Mystery three-day trip at the end of the month- and just touching the wand was enough to know Draco didn't have it. He let out a breath before placing his own wand beside them and resealing the case. He had already locked the door, and with a quick glance at Draco's bed, blond hair practically glowing in the dark room, Harry slipped the wand box under his pillow and closed his eyes.
It would be a long time before he fell asleep.
Harry groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. The pulsing headache that had been threatening in the back of his mind for the last few days had finally blossomed into something real, pressure building behind his eyes with each heartbeat thudding through him. It felt very similar to being beaten over the head with a bludger. Only if that were the case, he would be in the hospital wing, not curled in a bed without drapes to block the sun.
Only there was no sun.
Several things became evident at once: first, he was still wearing his uniform from yesterday, which made sense as he didn't remember changing. Second, the room was unnaturally dark, and third, the banging in his head was not actually in his head but very real and present, coming from the door.
He sat up, squinting as if he could set everything right if he focused hard enough. Draco was here. That was normal, he supposed. He was probably the one banging on the door, but no, he was sitting at his desk, smirking. Fucking Malfoy.
"Harry!" A disembodied voice called from the other side of the wood. It was vaguely familiar, as if it was not the first time it had called for him this morning.
He mustered the strength to stand, wandlessly unlocking the door and swinging it open, one eye shut to block out the hallway light, and found a disgruntled Hermione.
"McGonagall is asking for you in the common room," she said, folding her arms and looking past him to Draco. "She said you two missed an appointment or something."
Harry's stomach dropped. It was Saturday. Draco's therapy.
"Wait, what time is it?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Almost noon. Harry, you really should hurry. She's been here almost twenty minutes."
Shit.
Harry looked to Draco, who was watching the interaction from his chair with an amused smile, legs crossed at the knee. He was still in his gaudy silk pajamas, a two-piece set in a deep emerald color with silver buttons because, of course, they were silver.
"Tell her we'll be right down!" He shut the door and went for his wand, suddenly grateful that he had slept in yesterday's clothes. "Draco, c'mon. We need to leave."
Draco huffed and stood slowly. He pulled his arms languidly above his head and stretched, a long strip of pale skin exposing itself at his waist. "Very well. Let me just get ready."
"Be quick, please." The knot in Harry's stomach twisted at Draco's pleasant tone. He was being played with, or mocked, or both. The difference didn't matter.
By the time Draco came out of the bathroom in a fresh set of black robes and his hair perfectly styled, Harry had made both beds, cast several freshening charms on himself and his clothes, and spent far too long unsuccessfully attempting to tame his hair. He also had time to notice the shutters were closed from outside the window, keeping the room in darkness long after the sun had risen. Harry hadn't even known the shutters existed until now.
"You did this on purpose," It wasn't a question. He wasn't sure how, but he was sure.
Draco smiled sweetly, the citrus smell of his body wash clawing at Harry's nose. "I don't know what you mean. I merely thought you could use the extra sleep." He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, "After all, isn't that what friends do?"
Harry scowled, "I think I preferred your tantrums."
"I'd be a fool to try the same trick twice. You should have known that already." Draco grinned, a tiny dimple appearing on his left cheek. "Keep up, Potter."
Harry took a deep breath, "Let's just go." They were more than late already, and his head hurt too much to deal with Draco's condescension.
McGonagall's lips were pursed in a tight frown when they arrived in the common room, her monocles balanced at the edge of her nose. "Mr. Potter," she said, her Scottish accent thick and disapproving. "I dare say I will speak with you about this later. Mr. Malfoy, follow me." she turned on her heel and walked out, and Draco gave Harry a vicious grin before trotting behind her.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked. She was sitting on one of the red velvet couches, one of many mismatched sofas throughout the circular space. The common room was an even greater hodge podge of house decoration than the dorms, rugs, and drapery pulled from every house, in every color, and distributed seemingly at random.
"Oh, nothing," Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What are you up to?"
"I'm waiting for Ron. We're going down to Hogsmeade today. Would you like to join us?" It was nice of her to offer, but Harry couldn't see himself being very good company today.
"No, but thanks." Maybe he would go down to the hospital wing for a potion. The headache was persistent, and it would give him a good excuse to shift out of sight, where he wouldn't worry his friends.
Hermione tilted her head, and Harry knew what she would ask before she could open her mouth. "I'm fine, 'Mione."
"Well, if you change your mind," she smiled, and Harry returned it. They chatted for a while, discussing the book Harry had borrowed, and blatantly tiptoed around the topic of Draco until Ron showed up. His ginger hair was combed back, and he wore a tight-fitting jumper that showed off the muscle he had grown into since everything had gone back to normal. Three meals a day suited him rather well.
"We'll see you at dinner," Hermione looped her arm through Ron's, leaning into him as they started to leave.
Harry waved, "Don't have too much fun," then they were gone, and Harry was alone.
When he arrived, the hospital wing smelled of saline solution and sulfur, the unmistakable taste of healing magic bitter on his tongue. Harry hated visiting hospitals when he was a dog. There were too many smells, and too many of them resembled death. It was the same reason he avoided the elderly. He could smell the end of their lives approaching, even if he couldn't identify exactly what it was about them that was dying. The smell made him restless and twitchy, even long after returning to human form.
He shifted back into himself behind a curtain, squinting his newly human eyes against the bright torchlight. Pain potion, he was here for pain potion. He'd almost forgotten with the short relief being a dog had given him.
The wing was deserted for the most part,, the only sign of life coming from Pomfrey's office. Harry knocked quietly on her door. She usually had something brewing, and startling her was never a great way to start a conversation as he had learned the hard way during his many long stays.
The door creaked open, and the smiling face of his childhood nurse greeted him. "Oh, Harry, what a lovely surprise!" Her face had more wrinkles than he remembered, laugh lines deeper, and a bit more grey to her already pale hair. Harry adored her.
"Hello, Madame Pomfrey," He grinned, "I was wondering if you had any pain potions for headaches I could take?"
"Of course, dear. Why don't you come in, and we'll get you sorted out." She stepped to the side and let Harry into her office. The walls were lined with books, most titles worn off the aging spines, and empty glass bottles arranged neatly by size covered the counter. There was a desk in the center with a cauldron set over a magical blue flame, the contents of which were emanating a subtle grey vapor that smelled unmistakably of rotting flesh and cinnamon. Harry tried not to gag.
"Let me just finish up here," she said, ambling back to the cauldron. A viscous bubble rose to the surface and popped. "Wolfsbane is terribly tricky, you know."
"You're brewing wolfsbane?" Harry asked and covered his nose with his sleeve. There wasn't much he could do to keep his eyes from watering.
Pomfrey chuckled as she stirred the cauldron, adjusting the heat underneath. "Normally, the potions master would handle it, but I'm afraid Horace is quite useless these days, and you know, someone has to do it." Her smile fell, "Is Draco acclimatizing well enough?"
Harry's thoughts blanked, not expecting the sudden shift in topic. "Um, yeah. I think he is."
"That's good. That's good." She worried her bottom lip, eyes unfocused on the bubbling cauldron, "I do wish there was more we could do for that boy. He's too young to be dealing with all of this mess."
Harry nodded slowly, a hair away from understanding something important.
"Well, this is set for now." she adjusted the heat again and tapped the stirring stick on the edge of the cauldron. "Let's see what we can do about that headache."
Whatever Draco was trying to do, he was still trying to do it by the time his therapy ended. He greeted Harry with a smirk, his arms crossed over his chest, and he nodded him towards McGonagall's door. "She wants to see you," he said, his voice almost giddy at the thought of Harry being scolded.
"You're such a git."
His lips turned down in a mock pout, "That's not a very friendly thing to say."
Harry shouldered past him and shut the door. He had things he needed to discuss with her, and he wasn't in the mood to play this game.
McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, penning something down, while a painted headmaster Harry didn't recognize chattered about something over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled into her usual bun, but a few strands hung loose around her face like she hadn't had the time to check it recently. She didn't look happy, and Harry stood straight, waiting for her to acknowledge him before he approached.
She set down the quill and laced her fingers together, "I won't waste you're time, Mr. Potter. I assume you already know that what happened this morning was unacceptable?" her tone was harsh and condescending, like he was a child caught out past curfew.
"Yes, but-"
"I hope you'll do me the same courtesy and not waste my time with excuses," Harry pursed his mouth shut. "I only insist that it not happen again."
And maybe it was because he was being dismissed that he asked it so bluntly, unprompted, and without explanation. "Is Draco a werewolf?"
McGonagall's eyes widened just a fraction, and she cleared her throat before speaking, "Yes. Yes, I'm afraid he is."
And there it was. Harry had only half believed his theory when he'd thought of it in Pomfrey's office, but now he knew he was right. Pomfrey was brewing Draco Wolfsbane, and Harry would bet galleons that the gap in his calendar overlapped with the full moon. He should feel validated for figuring it out, but the confirmation stung.
"Is there a reason you didn't tell me?"
The silence between them was awkward, but Harry didn't try to fill it. After several moments, she spoke, just a bit too quietly, "I thought it would be prudent to give Draco some semblance of privacy on this issue. He was going to have a hard enough time returning to classes as it was."
"I'm not asking why you didn't tell everyone." Harry said, his voice hollow, "I'm asking why you didn't tell me."
She tilted her head to the side, her expression softening into something sympathetic that made him want to crawl away. "Harry, I know how you are with your friends, and I didn't want to risk it getting out with the other students. I hope you can understand that."
He blinked rapidly, "Okay." He didn't know what else to say, so he backed up towards the door. It wasn't a good idea to leave Draco alone for much longer. "We won't be late again. Thank you, headmaster."
She started to speak, but Harry was already outside, jogging down the stairs to where Draco waited against the wall, his head leaning back like he was sleeping. Blonde hair was tucked softly behind his ears, and a column of light caught on his pale throat just enough to make him appear translucent. He was so skinny-so impossibly fragile, and he was a werewolf. He hadn't been one before the war-Harry was sure of it- and now he was, and he wanted to die. What happened to him?
"So irresponsible," Draco said, pushing off the wall as Harry approached. "You'd think the savior would be able to keep a simple schedule, wouldn't you?"
"How did you close the shutters?" Harry asked because he'd been wondering about it all day.
Draco grinned, and they fell into step next to each other. "You'd be shocked how far you can get by threatening a house elf with clothes. Caught one cleaning our room last night."
Harry hummed. That made sense, but he'd have to chat with the staff. It wasn't safe for Draco to have access to elf magic. The shutters were harmless, but who knows what else he would ask for. God, what else had they overlooked?
"I wasn't sure it would even work, honestly." Draco continued, "But anything to show McGonagall that she needs to change this idiotic arrangement she's forced us into. I already know you're useless, but she needs convincing, I suppose." His tone was patronizing, the same vitriol he had used throughout the day to mock and belittle. He was trying to antagonize Harry into a fight again.
But he was wrong about this because McGonagall already knew. She didn't trust him as much as she had claimed. Harry hadn't told a single person what was happening with Draco. Not Hermione, not Ron, and certainly not anyone else. And yet, she had expected him to because she knew he was no good at this. He was simply the only available option, and what good would that be when things went wrong?
There were so many people dead because of Harry. An entire mountain of corpses that he was unable to save. McGonagall must have known this, and she'd chosen him anyway. Had she already given up on Draco? Were they just playing out the inevitable?
But Harry didn't want Draco to die. There were too many things Harry didn't understand yet, and he needed more time. He shouldn't have been trusted with this, and yet here he was with Draco's well-being slipping through his fingers, and Draco would rather fight him than be his friend.
How had everything become such a mess?
"Potter?" Harry had stopped walking, and Draco stared at him like he was a wet dog, his nose wrinkled in distaste. "Have your few remaining brain cells finally jumped ship?"
Harry considered him, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes and the smirk that didn't quite reach the rest of his face, "Aren't you tired?"
"What could you possibly be blathering about now?"
"Fighting. Aren't you exhausted?"
Draco didn't say anything, his eyebrows drawn tight over a frown.
"I'm tired," Harry admitted, "and I'm sorry for sixth year and for all the other shit. Hell, I'm sorry you have to deal with me now. If I could make it up to you, I would, but is it really so bad that I want us to be friends? Can't we just-I don't know- pretend to get along? Just until all this is over?" Draco seemed to spend most of his day pretending in some form anyway. How hard could it be to pretend being in the same room with Harry wasn't viscerally offensive? "
The hallway was silent, the stone walls seeming to absorb Harry's words as they left his mouth. Draco's frown had disappeared, his face impossible to read. He didn't say anything for what felt like a long time, his hands trembling slightly in the way that they often did.
"No." He finally said, "I don't think that's possible."
Harry nodded and looked away. "Okay," he felt like a broken record saying that, but the hollow feeling in his chest grew with each second they stood there, and he wanted to get out of the hallway, "Okay," he said again before his feet started moving him forward.