The war was over, but the scars it left ran deeper than anyone had ever imagined. Hogwarts had been rebuilt, and life was supposed to be moving on. But for some, the weight of the past remained heavy, lingering in the quiet corners of the castle and within the hearts of those who had suffered the most.
Draco Malfoy sat alone in the astronomy tower, staring out into the vast night sky, his mind a storm of thoughts he couldn't quite control. He was supposed to be grateful; he knew that. Grateful to be here, alive, and given a chance to start over. But guilt and shame had grown into a barrier around him, one that not even time seemed to break.
Footsteps sounded softly on the stone behind him, but he didn't turn. Only one person ever came to find him these days, and he already knew who it was.
"Mind if I sit?" Harry's voice was soft, a question but not a command.
Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He'd never admit it, but he had come to rely on Harry's quiet presence in these moments. Harry, of all people, understood the silence better than anyone else.
They sat together for a while, both looking up at the stars, their shoulders brushing just enough to feel the other's warmth.
"People would understand, you know," Harry said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was gentle but insistent, like he'd practiced this in his head before saying it out loud. "If you told them…everything. If you told them what you went through, what you saw, they'd understand. They might even forgive you."
Draco laughed bitterly. "Forgive me? What good would that do? They think they know who I am—a spoiled, entitled Death Eater's son. I'm not worth their forgiveness."
Harry shook his head, his gaze fixed on Draco. "You're worth more than you think. They only know what you let them see, Draco. But you have a voice—you could tell them, show them. People will listen if you let them."
Draco's fists clenched. "Why are you doing this, Potter? Why do you care?" His voice was almost a whisper, rough with emotions he could barely hold back. He had spent so long holding everything in that the thought of letting go felt almost impossible.
Harry's eyes softened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Because I know what it's like. To be so afraid of who you are that you try to disappear into the silence, hoping no one will see how much you're hurting. I did that, too, Draco. But someone reached out to me when I needed it the most. And I want to do that for you."
Draco swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. His voice trembled as he whispered, "I don't know if I can."
Harry took his hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "You don't have to do it all at once. Just…start small. One word, one step. You don't have to be afraid to speak, Draco. I'm here, and I'll listen."
Draco looked down at their joined hands, his walls slowly beginning to crumble. With Harry beside him, he felt for the first time that maybe, just maybe, he could let his story be heard.
As he looked into Harry's steady gaze, he knew that perhaps he didn't have to be silent anymore.