June 31, 1995
Draco leans against the cool stone wall gazebo, his eyes fixed on the starry sky. Beside him, the other boy sits cross-legged, his wand idly twirling between his fingers. They had been meeting up for weeks. Draco had meant for it to be a one off thing, to never talk to the boy again, but as always he can never seem to turn away from what sparks his interests.
"So," Draco begins, breaking the comfortable silence, "I've been wondering. What's the story behind your name?"
The boy chuckles softly. "It's nothing fancy like 'Draco'. My parents just liked how it sounded. What about yours? I bet there's some grand pureblood tradition behind it."
Draco feels a slight twinge at the mention of pureblood traditions, he had made a point to never mention his last name, but it seems he had been found out in part.
"It's a constellation. The dragon. Father says it represents power and nobility." He pauses, then adds quietly, "Sometimes I think it's just another expectation to live up to."
The boy nods thoughtfully. "Names can be a lot to carry sometimes. But you know, I've always thought dragons were more than just power. They're also about freedom, flying wherever they want."
Draco turns to looks at him, surprised by the insight. "I... I've never thought of it that way."
"There's always another way to look at things, other ways to reinvent the same tired tale," the boy says with a gentle smile.
"So, besides living up to your name, what interests you, Draco no last name?"
Draco hesitates. No one had really asked him that before. "I... I enjoy potions. The precision, the creativity. And flying, of course. The freedom of it." He smiles, remembering the boy's words about dragons.
There is a silence that follows and Draco feels the strangest urge to return the favour.
"What about you, baker boy?"
The boy's eyes light up and Draco feels himself holding his breath.
"I love baking. It's like potions, but sweeter. The way you can blend magic and ingredients to create something that not only tastes amazing but can actually affect people's moods or even grant temporary abilities - it's incredible."
"Magical baking?" Draco found himself genuinely intrigued. "I've never really thought about that before. What kind of things do you make?"
"Oh, all sorts," the boy replies enthusiastically. "Confidence-boosting cupcakes, memory-enhancing macarons, levitating lemon bars. I'm currently trying to perfect a recipe for eclairs that can make you temporarily understand Mermish."
Draco can't help but be impressed. "That sounds... actually quite brilliant. You'll have to let me try some sometime."
As they continue talking, Draco feels something shift inside him. This isn't just physical anymore. He is genuinely enjoying learning about this boy and seeing the world through his eyes. For the first time in a long while, Draco feels like he can just be himself, not the Malfoy heir, not the Slytherin prince, just... Draco.
As the night wears on and their conversation deepens, Draco realizes with a mix of excitement and trepidation that he is falling for more than just the boy's looks. He is falling for his creativity, his passion, his very essence.
And that, Draco thinks is both thrilling and terrifying.
Draco blinks the scene of the living room coming into place before his eyes.
"Draco, are you alright?" Lily asks him hovering over his prone body.
Draco shakes his head to further clear it, noticing with embarrassment that the rest of his family is sitting around him looking at him as if he just fainted.
Luna's head swims into view.
"It looked like you had a vision for a second," she says, her voice curious.
"Great, now there's two of you," Blaise says in an exasperated voice.
Blaise yelps as Theo hits him in the shin.
"What did you see?" Pansy asks in a bored voice that he knows hides concern.
Draco can't exactly tell them that he saw memories from his real life that never happened. Even they will think he is crazy.
"Theo's going to divorce Luna and marry a dog," Draco says in a full voice, getting off the couch and pushing past them.
Theo scoffs in irritation, mumbling something about how he can't believe he was worried about him for a minute.
"Draco wait!" Luna says rushing after him, as he stomps out the back door and into the forest.
A run he figures will be good for his head.
"What?" He says in a tired voice.
"These visions, I think they are trying to tell you something, something important,"
Draco freezes and spins around, "Can you see them too?"
Luna gives a sad shake of her head, "No but I'm familiar with what it looks like when someone experiences one and the weight one carries to know more than one wants to about the world,"
Draco sighs and runs his fingers through his perfect hair.
"I can't tell you what they are about," he says.
Luna gives him a sad smile.
"I figured, but I just wanted you to know we are here,"
A strange warm feeling fills his heart and he smiles, "I appreciate that,"
Harry's eyes dart frantically from left to right as he peeks through the curtains of his bedroom window, spying the reporters down below. They push and shove each other as they stand in his front lawn each fighting their way to the front of the group to get the first picture of him coming out the door. He grits his teeth as he rams the curtains shut, blocking them from view. His entire body aches as he scrambles to throw on clothes, careful to not touch the large bruises on his wrists from his night spent in the jail. Not that that compared to the beating that his uncle gave him for getting arrested in the first place.
He watches them swarm around the Dursleys with sick amusement, as they leave for work and school, desperate for any scrap of information they can get about him. For once they seem reluctant to give a quote. Harry assumes it is due to Vernon arresting his nephew only to release him the next day. Harry leaves the safety of his room and grabs a granola bar that he knows Dudley will never miss because it's too healthy.
Ginny and Albus are nowhere to be seen when he steps onto the front porch, so he has no shield to protect him when the questions hit him.
"Was killing Collin a cry for help? Do you feel abandoned by your Godfather?"
"Do you have a quote in defense of yourself?"
"How much did your uncle pay to bride the judge to let you off the hook?"
There's a heavy weight of suspicion and accusation hanging in the air, suffocating him. He can almost taste it, bitter on his tongue. Suddenly, a blinding light flashes in his face and a hand grabs him roughly by the back of his jacket. They're getting closer and closer, invading his personal space, for the chance of a quote. He feels his breathing increase in speed as he raises his hands in alarm to keep the crowd back.
Just when he thinks he can't take it anymore, a jarring revving noise tears through the air. A glimmer of hope sparks in his chest as a shiny black motorcycle comes crashing into the front yard, sending debris flying everywhere. It skids to a dramatic stop in front of him, trampling over the neatly manicured grass of the Dursley's lawn. The driver removes their helmet with a swift motion, revealing a shock of vibrant red hair streaked with black. Loose strands fall around her face as she grins wildly at Harry.
With a sly wink and an effortless flourish, she swings her flute from her back like a warrior unsheathing their sword. Harry knows she pretends to hate those music lessons, but deep down he knows she secretly loves them - especially when they teach her how to give amazing blow jobs, something she always teases Albus about.
"Need a ride, damsel?" she asks with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Without hesitation, Harry swings his leg over the 'steed' and wraps his arms tightly around Ginny. He can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"My knight in black leather armor," he jokes.
"You better believe it," Ginny replies with a smirk before revving the engine once more, leaving the stunned reporters behind in their dust.
School isn't much better.
Trying to maintain his usual facade of confidence, Harry strides through the echoing corridors of Hogwarts High, the whispers following him like his shadow.
"Murderer. Murderer. Murderer."
The accusing glances from his classmates skate over him and his eyes hold a flicker of doubt as he navigates the judging stares focused on his aching cuff scars. As if they prove his guilt.
Hermione and Ron exchange concerned glances as they trail behind him, their footsteps matching the uneven rhythm of Harry's gait. The air around him is tense, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Despite their shared worry, they remain silent, not daring to address what threatens to consume their friend.
Harry's once vibrant spirit feels dulled, his laughter sounding distant and fake even to his own ears. His friends at lunch try to close ranks around him, not one admitting to believing the rumors, but every sideways glance and side step of his classmates wears him down more. It only gets worse in Chemistry when Harry leans over to try and talk to Cedric. Harry gives him a tentative smile but the dark haired boy glances away, his eyes guilty.
Cedric's reluctance to meet Harry's eyes causes Harry's heart to sink, he knew things at school would be different but somehow he forgot about Cedric. The tension in the air stifles any attempt at conversation between them. Harry swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push down the rising unease as he watches Cedric fidget with his pen, avoiding his gaze.
Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Harry leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Cedric, what's going on? Why won't you look at me?"
Cedric's shoulders tense at the question, a fleeting shadow of regret passing over his face before it disappears. He meets Harry's eyes briefly before dropping his gaze to the table, his voice barely audible over the hum of the classroom.
"My dad's lawyer instructed me not to talk to you."
The chemistry lab around them fades into the background, the bubbling beakers and humming Bunsen burners nothing but white noise. Draco shoots Harry a worried glance, which Harry finds surprising, he thought that his kindness last night was caused by alcohol. Cedric's words hang heavily in the air. Harry's brows furrow in confusion, a mix of hurt flickering across his features as he struggles to comprehend them.
Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, Harry leans in closer, his voice edged with desperation.
"But why, Cedric? What does your dad's lawyer have to do with us? We're friends."
Cedric's jaw tightens at the word "friends". Cedric's gaze remains fixed on the desk, his jaw clenched in conflict. With a heavy sigh, Cedric finally meets Harry's eyes, a mix of emotions in his gaze.
"Harry, I... I don't know how to say this," Cedric begins, his voice laced with regret. "It's about Collin's parents."
Harry's heart lurches at the mention of Collin. He braces himself for Cedric's next words.
"They... they're suing my dad," Cedric confesses, his voice barely above a whisper as their classmates around them lean forward to listen in.
Ron glares at them and they reluctantly lean back.
"They blame him for what happened at the party, for not keeping us safe."
His mind races as he tries to make sense of the implications. He looks at Cedric's face twisted in helplessness.
"I-I didn't mean for any of this to happen," Harry stammers, his voice cracking with emotion, "I never wanted anyone to get hurt."
Cedric's gaze softens slightly at Harry's words, a flicker of understanding passing between them before it's replaced by resignation.
"I know, Harry," Cedric replies softly, his eyes holding a mixture of compassion and sorrow, "But it doesn't change what's happening now. My father is pulling me out of any class I have with you."
Harry feels a sinking feeling in his chest. The thought of losing his friend, especially now when everything feels like it's falling apart.
"But... but we can still talk outside of class, right? When no one else is watching,"
Harry's voice is almost pleading, wanting to hold on to at least that.
"But people are always watching you, Harry,"
A bitter taste fills Harry's mouth as he struggles not to speak anymore. He had never hated his fame so much.
Seeing Potter's desperate attempt to salvage their friendship outside of class, should make him thrilled. Now he has Potter all to himself, but it doesn't. As Diggory talks to Potter, Draco finds he doesn't have to resist the urge to smirk and there is a peculiar feeling swelling in his gut, something new but somehow familiar as if he saw other people experiencing the same feeling. It's a side of Potter he's never seen before, stripped of his usual bravado and confidence. Potter looks almost…defeated. It's a look that Draco finds doesn't suit Potter much at all.
Without thinking, Draco leans over towards Potter, an almost protective feeling bubbling up in him.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
The words hang heavy in the air.
Potter's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and disbelief, his expression caught in a moment of vulnerability. A slight flinch crosses his face as he braids his fingers tightly together making the dark bruises on his wrists stand out more. Draco wonders what the point of trying to hide the gesture, until he remembers what it was like with the Death Eater's. How weakness equals death. Maybe Potter felt the same way.
The question seems to catch Potter off guard, and Draco can see the turmoil swirling in Harry's eyes as he processes the unexpected gesture. Potter's lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but the words seem to elude him.
Draco watches as different emotions play across Potter's face - gratitude and relief. It's as if a crack has formed in the impenetrable mask Harry wears, revealing the pain beneath. For a heartbeat, silence hangs between them. Then, slowly, Potter's features soften.
"Not great," Potter says in a quiet voice.
"Oh,"
When Potter turns away all the life drains out of him and he slumps forward like a puppet with its strings cut. He lays his head on his folded arms and stares straight ahead. Draco feels the strangest urge reach over and stroke Potter's soft looking black hair. He pushes the feeling away.
Harry sits alone in his room, staring at the ceiling as he listens to the soft hum of the forest outside. His mind swirls with a mix of emotions - relief at Draco's unexpected questions, disappointment and guilt for a crime he didn't commit but still seemed to cause.
With a heavy sigh, he reaches for the phone on his bedside table. The numbers are familiar under his trembling fingers as he dials Sirius' number. The phone rings once, twice, before a tired voice answers on the other end.
"Harry? Is everything alright?" Sirius's voice is laced with concern, echoing through the receiver.
"Yeah," Harry replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed to talk to you."
Sirius pauses on the other end, sensing the weight in Harry's words. "What's wrong, lion cub?"
Harry takes a deep breath, steeling himself to tell Sirius about the past few days. He knows he will freak out, that he will jump to extremes for a solution and he will have to inevitably talk him back down to earth. It would be touching if Harry didn't find the whole thing exhausting.
He tells Sirius about the accusations even though the news covered it in more than enough, the whispers, and the night in jail. He leaves out the bruises on his wrists and body and the fact that Vernon was the arresting officer, though he imagines Sirius can guess the last one. He also leaves out that Madam Maxine turned him away when he showed up for practice due to all of the bad press.
"So when can I come back?" Harry asks, tracking every tick and twitch that her face makes.
She fights to keep a professional smile on her face as her eyes flicker to the crowd of flashing lights behind him.
"I'll let you know, dear," she says in a wavering voice, not meeting his eyes, "It's just they raised the rent and we were barely keeping this place open…"
"Harry?" Sirius asks in concern.
"Sorry, I forgot what I was saying for a moment," he says shaking his head.
"You were telling me about how they are treating you at school," Sirius says in a soft, protective voice, and for a moment it almost feels like he is in the room with him, holding him, supporting him.
He clears his throat, lest it crack as tears stream down his face,
"It was fine, everyone was very supportive and no one believed the rumors,"
Sirius listens intently, his silence a comforting presence on the other end of the line.
As Harry recounts everything, from Collin's death to Draco's unexpected words, he feels a sense of release wash over him. The burden he's been carrying seems lighter to have talked about it, especially with someone who's spent time in jail before.
"I was cleared of all charges, Sirius," Harry says, his voice stronger now. "They have no evidence against me."
Sirius lets out a breath Harry didn't realize he was holding. "I knew you couldn't have done it, Harry. I'm so relieved to hear you're safe."
It's Sirius's next words that undo it all.
"Harry, I know this has been a nightmare for you," Sirius begins, his voice filled with a tenderness that Harry rarely hears. "But I have an idea. You can come home to Remus and I!"
As Sirius speaks, Harry feels conflicting emotions swirling within him. The idea of Sirius and Remus coming home to support him fills him with longing. Things were so much simpler in Phoenix. But knows he will miss Forks, where he's made his first friends and reconnected with Ginny. Running also feels like a cowards way out and Harry's never been a coward. And though he hates to admit it, maybe even a certain blonde-haired boy has something to do with it too.
"But then you will have to cancel all of those stunt shows that you sold tickets for! Your fans will be so disappointed and Remus will miss the opportunity to play in the major leagues. You don't want to take that away from him, after he's worked so hard"
The thought of being the cause of Sirius's unhappiness tugs at Harry's heart. Despite everything that has happened, the bond between them is still strong and he doesn't want to be the reason it breaks.
Harry hears Sirius loudly exhale on the other end, "You're right, Harry, you are a good kid, you know that? Strong like your parents,"
"I know," he says with a heavy smile.
As Sirius continues to talk, recounting stories about Harry's parents that he has heard a hundred times before, Harry can't help but feel a flicker of nostalgia mingled with a dull ache in his chest. It's as if through these tales, his parents become tangible—real people who laughed, loved, and lived before they were reduced to mere images in faded photographs.
Sirius's voice carries a mixture of pride and sorrow as he talks about his brother and his best friend. Harry closes his eyes, letting the memories wash over him like a gentle wave, falling asleep to the familiar rhythm of Sirius's voice.
Draco crouches in the shadows outside of Potter's window, his breath heavy with adrenaline as he struggles to control the overwhelming urge to slip inside. It's been months of this. Watching from the outside for half the night scared to stay longer because his sibling might notice his absence and worry more about his supposed obsession. Scared to go further in because that's too close to them being right.
His mind whirls with conflicting thoughts. The story drives him to protect Potter, to ensure that there are no threats lurking in the shadows, but deep down Draco knows it's more than that. There's a magnetic pull towards Potter that goes beyond their rivalry and animosity.
With trembling hands, Draco slips into Potter's room, the moonlight casting an eerily ethereal glow over everything. He stands frozen for a moment, taking in the sight of Potter sleeping soundly in his bed. But before he can stop himself, he begins to snoop around the room, drawn to the personal possessions that he has pretended don't interest him for weeks.
His eyes fall upon an enormous poster of a graceful ballerina frozen mid-spin on one wall, his tutu a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues. Beside it is a sleek motorcycle magazine opened to a spread depicting death-defying stunts performed by skilled riders. The contrast between these two interests only serves to deepen Draco's curiosity about the enigma that is Harry Potter.
Potter's dresser is a hodgepodge of baseball memorabilia - signed bats, balls, and pennants from what Draco has learned from Pansy are different major league teams. A well-worn catcher's mitt sits atop it all signed by Randy Johnson. Framed photographs crowd the remaining surfaces. A smiling frozen image of the Weasel and Granger rests next to one of his convict cousin grinning mischievously, his arm thrown around a younger Potter. In the centre is a photo of Potter's parents dancing happily on their wedding day. Regulus's face looking much happier than it ever looked in any of the family photo albums.
But what catches Draco's eyes the most is the cluttered desk in the corner. Piled high with sketchbooks and drafts of what looked like choreography notes. As looks at them closer it becomes clear that Potter has found an outlet to blend his multitude of interests through through these drawings. He flips through a few of them noting with confusion how similar the poses are to Defense stances in class. Did Potter remember more than he realized?
A pained grunt causes Draco's gaze to fall on the boy lying on the bed and he can't help but be drawn to the telltale cuff scars on Potter's wrists. Mottled patterns of sickly yellows, greens, and deep purples stain his delicate human skin. One wrist bears a bruise about the size of a plum, angry and swollen, while the other wrist shows signs of dried blood mixed with vivid blues and purples that wrap entirely around its slim circumference. Draco tries not to wince as he takes in the damage, knowing all too well the pain that must have haunt it.
His hand trembles as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a jar of medical grade scar cream that he stole from Severus's hospital supply cabinet after school, when he first noticed them in class today. The cool, bitter scent of medicine fills the room as Draco carefully applies the cream to the marks on Potter's wrists. It's not as potent as Thaumaturge's Bruise Tonic, but it will have to do. He tries not to think about the prisoners he was forced to feed in the cellar over the summer, their bodies resembling Potter's thin malnourished body.
As he hovers over his enemy, or rather, his prey, Draco is consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His dead heart stirs with unfamiliar sensations, twisting and contorting as he watches Potter sleep soundly beneath him. Without a second thought, Draco's fingers trace the outline of Potter's face, brushing away stray strands of hair that tickle his closed eyelids. The vulnerability in Potter's sleeping form is almost childlike, and Draco feels a strange sensation growing in his gut.
The irony of their current situation is not lost on Draco – to be so intimately close to his enemy, yet not feel the urge to harm him further. It's almost laughable in its absurdity. A sudden rustling interrupts Draco's thoughts and he freezes, his hand still gently resting on Potter's hair. He holds his breath as Potter stirs, fearing the worst, but relaxes when the Potter settles back into slumber with a content sigh.
In that moment of stillness, Draco can hear nothing but the sound of Potter's heartbeat and the soft murmurs emanating from Potter's lips. And then, like a bolt of lightning striking through his body, he hears it – his own name falling from Potter's lips in a whispered plea.
"Draco...," Potter murmurs, sending shivers down Draco's spine.
They are just two small syllables, but in that moment Draco fears they might one day have the power to rewrite everything.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sit in the cafeteria during their lunch period. Harry keeps glancing at his wrists, which are looking better thanks to the bruise healing cream Ron gave him.
"Thanks again, mate," Harry says. "Where'd you even get it from, anyway?"
Ron swallows a bite of his food. "Oh that? Crazy story actually..."
Ron launches into recounting the morning's events.
"So I wake up and brush my teeth every morning. But when I went into the bathroom this morning and opened up the sink cabinet where I keep my toothbrush, all of a sudden this little container comes tumbling out and bonks me on the head!"
Ron mimes it dramatically, making Harry snicker and Hermione frown with disapproval.
"I'm like 'Damn, that nearly gave me a bruise to use the bruise cream for!' But then I read the label and see it's this mega powerful medical-grade salve."
"Ronald, how did your mother get access to that? Those are restricted supplies." Hermione says in a suspicious voice.
"Maybe my overprotective mum ordered one 'just in case' from some medic friend of hers. You know how she is, prepped for the absolute worst case scenarios."
Ron shakes his head in amusement. "Anyway, with you dealing with those bruised wrists, I just nicked it figuring you'd put it to better use than my clumsy self."
"Well I'm certainly grateful you did," Harry said, flexing his wrists experimentally.
"I'd be careful putting that on Harry, there's no telling how old that stuff is or if it is a convincing fake disguised as the real thing," Hermione says in a worried voice leaning over Harry's shoulder as if to check his wrists.
Harry hides them away under his sleeves feeling self-conscious to have her stare at them.
"Come on, 'Mione. It's from my mum. When has she ever steered us wrong?" Ron says through a mouthful of food.
Hermione opens her mouth to answer, but Harry tunes her out. He couldn't bring himself to question the cream's origins too deeply - not when his wrists were finally looking and feeling better.
"I'm just glad it worked. Doesn't matter where it came from at this point," he says with a shrug.
Across the room Harry sees Draco smirk and Harry gets the strangest thought that Draco can hear him.
Draco can't resist the self-satisfied smirk that creeps across his lips as he watches Potter gingerly flex his wrists in the cafeteria. The utter fool has no idea the bruise salve that healed him had come from Draco's own hands. The fact that Potter believes that the Weasel Matron somehow managed to get her grubby little hands on such expensive cream is just too much.
"What's with that look, Draco?" Pansy says, her shrill voice cutting through his thoughts.
She clearly notices his lingering stare in Potter's direction.
Theo and Blaise turn towards him as well, matching skeptical looks on their faces. Of course his friends would be suspicious of any civil behaviour towards the dark haired boy after weeks of no contact.
"Seems very friendly, giving Harry healing supplies," Blaise states slowly, his eyebrow cocked.
"Unless you're pulling one over on him?" Theo says in a questioning voice, his brow furrowed as he reads Draco's emotions.
"Draco you were supposed to be staying away from him, not sneaking him treats like a child with a misbehaving dog," Pansy says with a frown.
Draco ignores her and the sting of annoyance her words bring him.
"Precisely," Draco drawls to Theo, regaining his composure.
He leans back nonchalantly and speaks the story he uses on his siblings to justify his odd obsession with Potter, who is nothing more than a dull human to them.
"He will learn to like me, then love me, then I will dump him for someone better and he will see how pathetic he is compared to me,"
The cruel smirk returns.
On the surface, his plan allows Swan's wrists to heal, lulling him and his idiot friends into a false sense of security and well-being. But in truth, Draco merely replenished Potter's strength enough to make his eventual downfall all the more satisfying. His brain was too brilliant for even himself to register sometimes.
"And then you leave him alone and go back to playing by the rules," Pansy asks almost a little too hopefully.
"Of course," he says with a smile.
Draco reasons that he will no longer be in the storyline so his other self will have the burden of filling that request.
Harry's heart races as he grips the handlebars of his motorcycle, feeling the rumble of the powerful engine beneath him, beating in time with the with the voices in his mind.
Murder, murder, murder
He takes a deep breath trying to block them out and steel his mind. Releasing it, he twists the throttle and blasts forward, the tires kicking up dirt in his wake as he accelerates down the track, trying to out run them.
Murder, murder, murder
Harry accelerates on his motorcycle, shifting his weight back until he's practically lying on the seat. He grips the handlebars with all his strength and pulls them towards his chest, causing the front wheel to lift off the ground.
Murder, murder, murder
Ginny's voice eggs him on but he blocks it out, focusing solely on pushing himself to the limit, as he continues to gain speed. He leans even further back, defying gravity as he balances precariously on one wheel.
Murder, murder, murder
With a roar of the engine, he suddenly shifts his weight forward and slams down on the front brake, sending the motorcycle into a violent stoppie. The back wheel shoots up behind him, and for a few moments he feels like he's flying before expertly bringing the bike back down to the ground.
Murder, murder, murder
His hands on the handbars, slips and he knows it would be dangerous to keep going. He stays still on the bike for a few more moments until he knows his devasted expression is gone. He removes his helmet and holds it under one arm. Panting and exhausted, Harry looks over at Ginny and pastes on a triumphant grin.
"I think I'm done for today," he says trying not to sound defeated.
"Are you sure, Harry?" Ginny says, sounding disappointed, and even scarier, worried.
Harry's heart jumps in his chest as he registers this and slams the helmet back down on his head. He revs the engine once more, the roar of the motorcycle drowning out any semblance of reason. He stands up on the foot pegs, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he releases his grip on the handlebars. The whispered voices getting quieter by the second.
"No hands!" he cackles to himself, feeling like a madman as he spreads his arms wide and balances precariously on the moving bike. The wind whips past him as he maintains his position, defying reason for a moment.
"The fearless lion cub!" she boasts, watching with awe.
But Harry is not done yet. With a reckless abandon, he speeds up even more, pushing the limits of the machine. And then, without warning, he leans back and yanks on the handlebars with all of his strength. The motorcycle catapults into the air, both wheels leaving the ground in a death-defying stunt. As he soars through the air, Harry's laughter mixes with the rush of adrenaline and for a brief moment, he believes he can fly away from all of his troubles and fears.
As the bike lands back on the ground, Harry rolls to a stop, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He smiles at the rush of excitement he feels.
"That was great, Harry, but it's my turn now, so budge up" Ginny says as Harry is removing his helmet.
"Don't you have your own bike?" Harry says with a raised eyebrow, but getting up all the same.
"I built this beauty with my own two hands, a connection like that needs to be nurtured with regular riding, your own talentless hands wouldn't understand," Ginny says, wrapping her gloved hands around the handlebars.
Harry just snorts and shakes his head letting her have her fun. A couple of hours later finds them both leaning against trees on the damp ground drinking Sprites.
"Thanks, Gin, I really needed this," he says after a large gulp, signing as the sugar pounds through his veins.
"Nothing like risking your life, to distract you from the assholes at your school," Ginny jokes, knocking her shoulder against his.
Harry lets out a weak chuckle, if only she knew how true that was. He of course gave her the same lie that he gave Sirius. That everything at school was the same.
"Yeah,"
"They are still not giving you too hard of a time, right? Because if they are me and the girls will beat them up," she says with a vengeful expression crossing her face.
As Harry opens his mouth to speak, the rehearsed words, but they fail him. Ginny is the one person he can talk to who isn't embroiled in the situation. Hermione and Ron may be great friends, but they attend Hogwarts High with the very people tormenting Harry. If Harry told them then they would defend him and make themselves targets. He can't risk being the reason for their classmates turning on them, especially after years of knowing each other. The weight of responsibility sits heavy on Harry's shoulders as he struggles to find the right words amidst a storm of emotions.
But then he thinks of all the burdens that Ginny is already carrying - helping her father, running a notorious motorcycle gang, and still managing to go to school. He grits his teeth and forces a smile onto his face, masking the fear and worry that threaten to consume him. He knows that Ginny can take the weight, but he doesn't want her to have to. Not for him
"Of course not, they have been very supportive. But if they weren't who cares what they think?"
"That's the spirit!" Ginny says, knocking her bottle against his in a rough toast.
Harry wishes desperately that it was true.
"So do you want to hear what monsters Dean and Sam killed this week?" Ginny asks in a eager voice.
Harry laughs at Ginny's enthusiasm for supernatural teen television shows and her uncanny ability to know that the Dursley's would never let him watch it. Or show for that matter, but Ginny doesn't need to know that.
"You know I do," Harry says with a lazy smile, adjusting his back against the tree to get comfortable.
He knows this is going to take a while.
As fall bleeds into winter, Draco notices a distinct wane ness to Potter that only seems to grow by the day. Almost like the whispers about him murdering Collin are eating him alive. His eyes look dull and sunken and his skin bone white and lifeless. Yet despite it all his face never dips from the beaming smile he wears around school.
"Your pet human doesn't look good, brother mine," Theo sneers as they watch Potter in a unguarded moment staring listlessly at the food on his tray.
Though calling it food is a bit of a stretch considering it is no more than a single slice of greasy 'pizza'.
"I'm worried about him," Luna says visions flashing before her eyes, one with Harry looking healthy and one where he looks like a walking skeleton.
"You know I think even I am too, he doesn't look good even by human standards," Pansy says with a furrowed brow.
"Must be that motherly instinct of yours finally kicking in," Blaise jokes.
Pansy gives Blaise a stricken look and leaves the table as fast as a human pace allows her.
"Oh fuck," Blaise exclaims and races after her.
"How long has Pansy wanted children?" Draco asks confused, only getting scraps from their minds, with their erratic thoughts.
"Since she was born in her first life," Theo says, "I think it's all she's ever wanted really,"
"Theo! That's Pansy's story to tell," Luna says in a disapproving voice.
"Our family isn't really known for respecting privacy, Lu,"
"Which makes it all the more important to maintain what we have," Luna says.
A soft look comes over Theo's face and he nods at her.
"Of course, darling,"
Sap, Draco thinks in disgust. He would never be so weak.
Harry emerges from the shadows, clad in all black. The icy snow crunches under his boots as he navigates the deserted alleyway. His eyes dart nervously from side to side, ensuring no one is following him. He arrives at a hidden door, hidden within the faded brick wall adorned with graffiti. With precise movements, he taps in the code - nine, three, four - on the frigid keypad and hears the satisfying click of the lock releasing. Pushing his way inside, he quickly secures the door behind him.
The interior is dark and musty, but Harry knows his way around. He makes his way down a series of long hallways, each one seemingly darker and more foreboding than the last. Finally, he reaches his destination: the stage door.
With a flick of a switch, he illuminates the small backstage area. As he moves through the space, he can feel the energy building within him. This is one of the two places where he feels most alive - on the track and stage.
Not that it stops the voice. They still haunt him, in his waking hours and Collin's face haunts his dreams. Even here they slither over him, circling in out of his brain like hissing snakes. He pushes them back as he enters the dressing room, slipping the black feathered costume from the hanger and donning it. He laces up his flats with practiced ease and strides onto the stage, his black feathers glistening like obsidian under the piercing lights. The haunting melody begins and he spreads his arms wide, embodying Odile, son of the sorcerer. The murmurs fall away at last chased away by words from the past that rush into his head, filling him with his father's advice.
"Elongate your lines, create that swan-like silhouette,"
His body quivers with controlled energy, each bourrée sending him closer to closer to the feeling of perfect connection. With a graceful leap, his back leg extends behind him in an arabesque, but the strain in his face reveals his anguish and despair. His father's insatiable thirst for power beats him down as he dances with frenzied determination, embodying the turmoil of Odile.
"Breathe with the music, Harry. Inhale as you rise, exhale as you sink into the penché. Let your breath guide your movements."
Collapsing onto the stage, he throws himself forward in a desperate penché, his fingertips just grazing the floor before he's pulled upright again. Spinning wildly, his arms flail and writhe as if desperately trying to break free from the invisible shackles that hold him in this wretched half-existence, robbed of all control over his own fate.
"Yes, lovely! Now, as you move through the turns and arabesques, use your epaulement. Tilt your head, neck, and shoulders to convey Odile's longing and vulnerability."
The music builds to a devastating crescendo, forcing him into a frenzied dance as he spins and leaps with desperate urgency. His movements wild and fueled by a determination to break the spell without making a sacrifice. But it is all for naught. The hopelessness of his situation becomes clear as he realizes there will be no happy ending for Odile in this tragic tale.
"Fully commit to that pose. Let your body go limp, as if all hope has left you. Don't be afraid to linger there, to let the audience feel the weight of his sacrifice."
With a silent gut-wrenching cry, he throws himself into a final arabesque, his back arched in agony as tears stream down his face. The weight of guilt crushes him like a vice, and the only way to break free from his father's spell on the other swans is death. As he collapses to the floor, arms outstretched in a desperate plea for release, the stage lights flicker and dim until everything fades to black.
"Above all, believe in the story you're telling. Connect with Odile's pain, his desperation, and his tragic choice. Let that authenticity shine through in every step."
Tears stream down his face as he holds the final pose, his father's voice echoing like a haunting specter in his mind. The melancholic melody and tragic tale colliding with the weight of grief he already carries for Collins' untimely death. As the music comes to an abrupt halt, plunging him into eerie silence, a profound heaviness settles in his chest, as he hesitates to move and sever the connection between him and Odile.
The sound of a door shutting breaks the trance and he raises his head, only to find every seat in the audience unoccupied.
Draco stands before his AP literature class, his unbeating heart pounding a ghost rhythm like a relentless drumbeat in his chest. He clutches the casserole dish of roasted root vegetables and dandelion salad with a death grip, trying to channel the confidence he once possessed at Hogwarts. He didn't know anything about muggle books, least of all this one. What had he been thinking not faking sickness. With each step he takes towards the front, his inwardly trembles uncontrollably, but his vampire abilities keep him outwardly composed. He doesn't know why he cares they were just stupid muggles, of little importance, but for some reason he's desperate for them to like his project. As he scans the script Lily helped him prepare, he feels an overwhelming urge to flee, but he forces himself to stay rooted in place.
"Greetings everyone. Today I'll be discussing the symbolic meaning and role that dandelions and root vegetables play throughout the classic novel Watership Down by Richard Adams," Draco says to the dull eyes of his classmates, keeping back the buzz of their thoughts.
"Whoo! Go Draco!" Astoria shouts.
Draco gives her a strained smile and imagines he would have turned red if he possessed the ability to. He shuffles his note cards in his hand.
"What is Watership Down, you ask? It's a book with twists and turns, where a brave group of rabbits leave their warren after one of them has a prophetic vision of its destruction by humans. They face down many challenges and dangers in their journey to establish a new home on the hill of Watership Down,"
Draco's hand shakes as he grips the water bottle, his mind racing with fear and desperation. He takes a fake sip, a suggestion he read about on the web, trying to calm himself and gather his thoughts without drawing suspicion. He forces himself to continue speaking through gritted teeth.
"In Watership Down, dandelions play an important role - the rabbits rely on them as a food source in the beginning when they leave the oppression of their old warren. The dandelion greens represent the simple, natural sustenance they need to survive as they start their quest for freedom."
Astoria gives him a beaming smile from the back row and even Granger stops frowning at him in disappointment. Draco feels his hesitation grow weaker as he continues, finding the old rhythm his mother taught him to speak at when he was young.
"The roasted root vegetables like carrots, beets, parsnips evoke the earthiness of the rabbits' new home and their return to a more natural way of living in harmony with their environment after escaping Efrafa."
He holds up the casserole dish in his hands.
"This dish symbolises the hope, resilience and nourishing new beginnings that are central to the protagonists' journeys. I don't know how to cook, unfortunately and had my mother helped me, so I hope you like it,"
He watches the class line up to try some and thinks to himself how he would have pulled this off without the help of his adopted family. Lily helped him make the dish, Luna and Theo helped him write his flashcards, Blaise and Severus gave him speaking points and Pansy helped him pick his outfit. Could he have managed at all in this world without there help? He suddenly thinks not.
As these thoughts flood his mind, his mood begins to plummet. Is he truly that weak and dependent? What would his father say if he could see him now?
"Not bad, Draco," Granger says behind him and he stops himself from using vampire speed to turn around and stare at her.
He slips inside her head and is surprised to find that she actually means what she says.
"Thank you," Draco says in what he hopes is a civil voice.
This class had taken the same route as the real world, pitting them against each other, each fighting for the best grade in the class or the quickest answer. Draco had to work hard not to 'phone it in' as the American phrase goes and steal the answers from her head.
"You sit by Harry in Chemistry, don't you?" Granger asks.
"Yes," Draco says in a light, trying to pretend he is clueless as to where Granger is going with this."
"Does he talk to you?" she asks, knowing very well that Harry did, but it was another matter altogether on whether Draco bothered to respond.
"Sometimes," he says evasively.
Granger leans forward like a dog catching a scent, her thoughts displayed across her face even without his power.
"What do you talk about?" she asks.
"If you are expecting a squealing gossip session better fitting to middle schoolers, then you are much mistaken." he growls his bland face turning into a sneer.
Granger isn't perturbed by his hostility, if anything it makes her more determined.
"Do you talk about your lives outside of school?" she asks and she might sound subtle if she was talking to anyone else.
Does he talk about the reason for his odd bruises, why his clothes are improper for the weather and ill fitting, why he is nothing but skin and bones. Does he smile and pretend to be happy around you when it's obvious he's not?
"I don't know any more than you do, Granger," he says in a tired voice.
Which isn't technically true, but his theories can't be trusted without proof and despite staying there every night Draco has yet to find any.
Granger's face falls, "Well if anything changes, please let me know," she says in a defeated voice.
"You're a good friend, you know that, right?" he finds himself saying.
Not good enough if I can't stop this.
"Some situations aren't always in our power to change," Draco says and Granger looks surprised that Draco seemed to know what she was hinting at the entire time.
"Thanks, Draco, that's nice of you to say,"
"Draco, that was amazing! I don't know why you were worried," Astoria says, bounding up behind him and giving him a hug.
Her flowery scent envelops him and he feels a slight flare of fire in his throat. Nothing compared to what Potter makes him feel, but enough to tempt him, especially since he didn't have the same incentive to refrain from draining Astoria right now as he did Potter.
"Astoria, what did I say about hugs?" Draco says in an arch voice.
Astoria wears a mischievous smile, "To not,"
Draco sighs in exasperation.
Was Harry right, are those two dating?
A slow smirk spreads across Draco's face, so Potter thought that he and Astoria were a item. Draco leans forward and brushes a chaste kiss on the top Astoria's head.
"So of course you didn't listen,"
She forgave him surprisingly quickly when he admitted that Potter had been his real target all along. She since decide redirected her feeling towards Neville and they came to a mutual agreement to help each other out when they could.
Astoria, the little devil, winks and leans into him, easily catching onto his plan without prompting. Yes, mother would have adored her. He puts his arm around her shoulders and walks out with her, leaving Granger gapping at them.
murder
Ping
murder
Ping
MURDER
PING
Harry's bat slices through the air with a deafening whoosh, sending the baseball hurtling towards the net with an explosive force. His heart pounds against his ribcage like a caged animal begging for release as he gasps for air, sweat dripping down his forehead in rivulets. As he takes aim at the arm action machine, he can't help but imagine Skeeter's head in place of the next ball, wanting to smash it to pieces. The whispered words that haunt him echo relentlessly in his mind, each one feeling like a physical blow to his bruised and battered psyche.
The weight of expectations crushes Harry's chest, suffocating him with the burden of being liked, the pressure to maintain a perfect image. He falls to his knees, consumed by hopelessness as he sees no way out. The loaded machine clicks and whirs, aimed directly at his head. But in his dazed state, Harry barely registers the danger as the machine clicks and shoots out another ball. A cold force shoves him to the ground and holds him down as the ball slams into the net behind him and hits the floor and a loud crack.
"Swan, what in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?" a familiar voice hisses over him.
"I-I," Harry stutters but the more he tries to force the words out the more they get trip on his tongue.
A whimper escapes from his throat, tearing through his chest as he crumbles under the weight of everything. Tears flood his eyes and his whole body shakes with silent sobs, feeling like he's being ripped apart from the inside. The figure above him lets out a panicked sound and rushes to turn off the pitching machine, before scooping Harry up in their arms and pulling him against their chest. Their cool skin soothes his trembling body, while the scent of apples and mint fills his senses. A hand rubs his back in a steady rhythm as he sobs out all the emotions he's been holding in for weeks, unable to contain them any longer.
"Shh, pet," the figure hums in his ear.
Harry feels something in himself rebel against this thought and shakes his head trapped against their neck.
"Oh…do you not like being called that," they ask in a questioning voice, "what should I call you then?"
The hand moves slower down his back as they appear to think about it for a moment.
"Darling?" they say, as if testing the way it sounds.
Harry doesn't move, the word not clicking with him.
They try again with a bit of amusement in their voice, "Sugarplum,"
Harry grimaces shakes his head in revolt as something twists in him in disgust.
"No, I didn't like that one either, sweetheart," they says with a laugh.
A warm feeling fills Harry's chest and he cuddles deeper into their neck, his hands coming up to wrap around their torso.
"Shh, sweetheart I've got you," they whisper into his hair until Harry's sobs subside, rocking him back and forth in their lap.
Harry hiccups as he pulls back to sit up and look into their eyes. Shock spikes through him when he meets golden ones.
"Draco?" Harry chokes in a confused voice.
Draco gives him a gentle smile and says in a soft voice, "Yes, Harry?"
"What are you doing here?" he mumbles dumbfounded.
Draco is quiet for a moment, his body going completely still. He regards Harry with a thoughtful look.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay." He says at last.
"But you don't like me, you would have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you had just let Col- the van hit me, I deserve it even since it's my fault he's dead," Harry says in a defeated voice.
Draco stiffens, his arms coming around Harry like a cage, pulling him tight against his chest.
"Never say that again," he hisses in a furious voice.
"But it's true," Harry mumbles from his crushed position against Draco's body,
"I couldn't stop him from running off into the forest and now he's dead," Harry whines.
Draco growls and mutters, "You're impossible," under his breath.
Draco loosens his hold and carefully tilts Harry's head to meet his eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. Draco's expression takes on a look of concentration as he assembles his words.
"Whoever killed Collin was a monster, and that's the furthest thing for what you are," Draco says in a serious voice that brokers no room for argument, "And I'm so glad I saved you, you are the most important person in my life right now, Harry,"
Harry feels shock go through him, at Draco's words and the use of his first name.
"But what about your family?" Harry gasps, the dead sinking feeling in his chest lightening.
"They are very important to me as well," Draco says, his fingers coming up and combing through Harry's hair.
Harry leans back into the cool soothing touch.
"But you've always been at the pinnacle of everything I do. Every time I think I am making an independent decision you come and show me how my fate was twisted up in yours all along,"
"I don't know what you mean," Harry mumbles with closed eyes, feeling half asleep due to Draco's touch.
Harry lays his head back on Draco's shoulder feeling exhausted all of a sudden.
"I know," Draco says and Harry hears the smile in his voice.
The growling of his stomach breaks the strange intimate mood.
"Are you hungry?" Draco asks in a questioning voice.
"Yeah," Harry says and finds that it is true by the sudden pangs of hunger in his stomach, "I think I skipped lunch."
Draco groans as he drags a glass dish Harry hadn't noticed before closer to him and rooms the cover.
"Here," Draco says, shoving the container in his hands.
The container is filled with roasted root vegetables and some strange leafy green things. Harry picks one up with hesitant hands and brings it to his mouth, biting down.
"Mmm, this is pretty good, did you make this yourself?" Harry asks.
Draco, despite no red coming to his cheeks, looks like he is blushing.
"My mother helped me," he says in an almost shy voice.
"That's sweet," Harry says, eating more of the vegetables, they weren't bad, "What are the green things?"
"Dandelion salad with garlic lemon dressing," Draco says as he watches Harry take a bite.
"Mmm that's good, you should pursue this, it's impressive to make something so good out of simple ingredients," Harry says, eating the last carrot in the now empty bowl.
Draco looks at his dirty fingers with distaste.
"My mother says it's all about the balance of flavours," Draco says, his eyes soft as he takes the empty container from Harry and hands him an embroidered handkerchief he pulls out of his pocket.
"What does the M stand for?" Harry asks, for some curious reason the initials seem familiar to him.
"Malfoy," Draco says in a careful voice, eyeing Harry as if waiting for a bad reaction.
Harry resists the urge to snort, the name is as unique as Draco's first one.
"But your last name is Cullen?" Harry asks confused.
"It wasn't always," Draco says in a empty voice.
Draco is adopted. Harry tends to forget because he seems to be close to his family.
"Oh, right, sorry"
"But I think it might be time to get another made with a C," Draco says, his face conflicted despite the confidence of his words.
As if he only said it to keep up appearances. A feeling Harry recognizes.
"You know it's okay, to have two families. To hold multiple people close to your heart. I used to feel like it was a betrayal to the memory of my parents to think of Sirius as filling the role of my dads but it's never a crime to love and cherish more people, to have them fill a space in your life," Harry says in a quiet voice, he knows his words are simple, that they won't fix Draco complex feelings, but he feels desperate to offer the comfort he can.
If Draco seemed conflicted before he looks cracked in half now. Harry leans forward against Draco's shaking chest, wrapping his arms around his neck in a makeshift hug.
"You have time to figure it out, an entire lifetime, in fact, it doesn't all have to be all right now,"
Draco hesitates for a moment, then threads his arms tight around Harry, his head resting on top of his. If for only a moment they stay like that, two bodies, one warm and one cool, holding the other together.