Mother, it hurts. Please look at me. I need you.
Against all odds and Harry's worst imaginings, Draco was still alive in the morning. Or at least that's what Madame Pomfrey insisted.
"Go to class, Mr. Potter," She said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "My mind hasn't changed since yesterday."
"But he's alright?"
A long sigh, "Yes. Like I told you he would be, and now he needs to rest." A group of students passed the far end of the hall, their laughter echoing briefly. "The best thing you can do is go to class."
Harry chewed his lip and looked over her shoulder to the closed infirmary doors, "I'll be quick."
"No."
"But-"
"No."
And for the first time, maybe ever, he wished a dark wizard was still around to attack him. A grievous injury would be very convenient right now. "Can I come by later today, then?"
She folded her arms and shook her head, "While I appreciate your commitment to Mr. Malfoy-" Not what Harry would have called it, but whatever. "He needs to rest. And he won't appreciate visitors today." She had the audacity to give him a pitying look, and her voice softened, "You'll have him back tomorrow evening, safe and sound. I ask for some patience until then."
It sounded fairly reasonable when she said it like that, but Harry had no desire to be patient. He wanted to see Draco. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly, feeling much more like a child than he would have liked.
"Do pass on the message to the others. I'd rather not repeat myself with Miss Parkison and Mr. visitors."She widened her eyes for emphasis, waiting until Harry gave a slight nod. Did they even know about Draco's werewolf problem? How had he never thought to ask?
"Okay," Harry said again before turning to walk back the way he had come.
Classes didn't start for another two hours, but once Harry had woken up and disentangled himself from under his friends (God, he was so embarrassed), the only place he could think to go was the infirmary.
He'd spent the night imagining every worst-case scenario his trauma-addled mind could come up with: Draco bleeding out, Draco's body mangled and ripped apart. Each image managed to be worse than the last, with more blood, more pain, and an endless supply of gruesome details.
In the end, he'd only managed a few hours of sleep, crushed between his friends, the fresh smell of Draco still lingering in his sheets, and even then, his dreams had been horrid, trapped far away from where he needed to be and helpless to stop any of it. Though in his dreams, he couldn't remember what 'it' had been.
And now there was this new determination to see him. Whether from a desire to help or avoid another night like that, it didn't matter. He supposed the real reason fell somewhere in between.
But heneededto see him.
He waited at the turn in the hallway until he was sure he'd given Pomfrey enough time to make her rounds and return to her office. He hadn't thought he would actually need it, but the invisibility cloak slipped on easily enough, and he slunk quietly through the entrance.
He heard Draco before he saw him, small whimpers muffled through a single set of white partitions at the end of the room. His was the only bed occupied today, yet Harry found his feet sticking to the floor, each step heavier than the last. He continued anyway.
He just needed to see him. He needed to prove that he was still there.
Draco was facing him on the bed as he approached, his body mostly obscured by the curtains, but Harry wasn't bold enough to move them for a better view. This was already too much.
Draco's eyes squeezed shut in a picture of agony, clenched teeth on full display. Sweat pooled at the edge of his nose, following the creases in his skin that was somehow even paler than before. He was ashen and damp, clumps of white hair matted to his forehead. He let out a pathetic moan and turned his face into his pillow as if attempting to suffocate the pain, but it did nothing to dampen the sounds.
Harry took a step back, his eyes following the strained muscles in Draco's arms to where his fingernails left bloody, moon-shaped impressions on skin. A bandage ran along his clavicle, a sliver of dried blood visible just above where it disappeared under his wrinkled, blue hospital gown. His whole body shuddered as he began to cry, and Harry wished he could turn to dust.
He was the last person Draco would want to show this side of himself to, and yet here he was, an uninvited guest expressly told to stay away.
He took another step back, his shoes squeaking on the marble floor, but as a small mercy or a cruel irony, Draco was in too much pain to pay the sound any mind.
Harry took small, calculated steps until he was safely out of the infirmary, and then he ran.
"So." Ron said, scrubbing his hands over his face. Hermione sat next to him on Draco's bed. "What was all that about then?" Despite Harry's hopes, they were both awake when he got back to the dorm.
He had no answers for them, so he shrugged, "Stressed about N.E.W.T.'s."
Ron looked at Hermione as if to sayCan you believe this shit?And Hermione looked at Ron with an answeringI told you he'd be like this.
"If you're gonna lie, at least do me the service of putting some work into it, mate."
Hermione didn't say anything, which was somehow even worse.
Harry walked to his desk, unstacking and restacking his textbooks, "I was just having a bad day." The crack in his voice was less than convincing, and their skeptical stares remained in place, but all he could really see was Draco. He was still down there, suffering. What did any of this matter while Draco was in pain?
"Merlin's tits, Harry," Ron groaned, exasperated. "Do you not trust us? Because I can't figure out why else you'd suddenly keep secrets."
Harry flinched, his eyes tracing over the title of his transfiguration textbook without reading anything.
"Harry," Hermione's voice was soft, coaxing. Not this again.
"They're not my secrets to tell," he finally settled on. He had initially decided to stay silent almost out of decent obligation, but now it felt like the only thing keeping him together. He would fall apart if he broke the trust he'd been so reluctantly given. "McGonagall's asked me to help him this semester, and I'm sorry, but I can't say more."
"Did he hurt you?" Ron asked.
Harry released a clipped laugh and shook his head, "No, not at all."
Ron's stare didn't flinch, "Did he break up with you?"
"God, no!" His laugh was on the edge of turning hysteric, but he swallowed it down, "We're not-"
"Dating." Ron finished, tone bored, "Yeah, you've mentioned."
"We want to believe you, Harry. It's just that you're not telling usanything," Hermione said. "We're worried about you."
Harry took a deep breath, closing his eyes. They had saved his life in the literal sense so many times that the fact they still felt the need to coddle him, even after the war was over, made his skin crawl. They had better things to do, yet here they were, still worried about him. And here he was, still needing them to.
Pathetic.
"I'm fine. Really." Harry smiled and shrugged again, "It's complicated, but I'm handling it. Can you trust me on this?"
No one spoke for long enough that Harry knew whatever came next was a lie.
"Of course, Harry." Hermione said, nudging Ron until he grumbled a curt "fine," under his breath.
The rest of the day dragged on much against Harry's will. His classes were determined to give him a headache, each lesson like a rock to the skull and each forced conversation slowly dragging him into a thick sludge of exhaustion.
The empty seat next to him was a void, pulling his mind across the castle and back to Draco's hospital bed every time he so much as glanced its way. He wondered how Draco had gotten the injury on his shoulder during transfiguration, and then again in History of Magic, he hoped Pomfrey had given him something for the pain. He was so distracted that it took him until the end of dinner to realize the Slytherins had sat at the Gryffindor table without Draco to act as a bridge. Apparently, the unlikely group of eighth-years had molded to their situation and no longer needed Draco to hold together.
Harry didn't like that thought, but he couldn't understand why.
Ron and Hermione offered to stay with him again the second night, but Harry ushered them away, assuring he was fine before curling up as a dog under Draco's duvet and getting what little sleep he could. It wasn't much and the blanket now smelled more like his friends than Draco, but that was okay. He would be home soon.
The next day was the same: long classes, tedious conversation, and the gaping hole sitting next to him where Draco should be. He couldn't ignore it, and the added agitation of knowing he was only hours away from collecting him made the time move at a gelatinous crawl. He felt restless, his leg bouncing impatiently as he watched the clock, Draco's distorted face playing on a loop behind his eyes, each time growing more grotesque and vivid in detail.
By the end of the day, he could hardly separate the image from everything else he wished he could wake up from and forget, but he knew he wouldn't.
And he knew that once Draco was back, he would do everything he could to make him happy and say yes to anything within reason. He couldn't undo whatever happened yesterday, but he could at least try to make up for it.
Draco was alright, and Harry would do better for him.
The curtains were gone by the time Harry got to the infirmary, leaving Draco fully visible as he sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched. His hair was freshly washed, and any evidence of the person he had been yesterday was gone. Harry wanted to pull his sweater to the side and see if the bandage was still there just to prove to himself he hadn't made it up, but he shoved back the instinct, feeling unsteady on his feet.
Draco gave him a wary smile as he approached, "Potter." he said, and his voice sounded eerily normal. "I trust you've been well?"
Harry made a sound, pausing a few feet away. His hands felt too large, and he fumbled with where to put them before stuffing them unceremoniously into his back pockets. "How was it?"
Draco gave him a look but played along, even if they both knew how ridiculous the question was. "Nothing to write home about, but I prevail nonetheless."
"Are you, uh, feeling much better then?"
"Positively radiant, Potter."
He was being made fun of, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset about it. He grinned, "That's good. I'm glad."
Draco's smirk faltered for just a moment before he pushed on, "Poppy says I'm free to leave."
"Yeah, of course. Do you need-" Harry looked around the bed for any personal items to help carry, but there were none.
Draco slid to his feet, "Well, lead the way."
Pansy waited for them in the common room and didn't ask for an invitation to tackle Draco in a very Pansy-like hug, all elbows and sharp angles. "You can never leave me again," she declared, crushing him for emphasis.
He wheezed, "Pansy, please."
Harry choked on a laugh, and a wicked grin curled over her face as she spotted him. "Harry was in such a mood while you were gone. I thought he'd have my head if you didn't get back today."
"Is that right?" Draco asked, his tone deceptively light, chin still hooked over her shoulder.
Harry's face heated.
"There were moments I feared for my life, Draco darling." Her voice became a conspiratorial whisper, "I think he missed you."
A protest was on the tip of Harry's tongue until he caught sight of the healthy flush and smile on Draco's face. He had no choice but to swallow his words and shrug. It was true, after all.
"Well, isn't that nice," Draco said, just a bit too quietly. A stray piece of blond hair fell over his eye, and Harry kept still as Draco reached up and pushed it back. His nails were long and pointed. Had they been like that before or was he only now noticing because of the transformation?
Harry coughed, "She's exaggerating." When Draco's face didn't change from that pleased little smile, he added, "I am glad you're back, though."
"We're just in Blaise's room," Pansy said. "You'll join us, won't you?"
Draco seemed to shrink at that, his eyes darting to the door and back before answering, "I'm really tired, Pans."
She didn't miss a beat, "Oh well, then. I'll see you tomorrow, darling." She kissed him on each cheek and raised her eyebrows at Harry before they parted ways to spend the rest of their evening in a quiet contentment.
Draco was back, and he was alright.
Something Harry had not been aware he was carrying lifted after that, his bones felt lighter, his step a bit more eager. He chattered happily with Luna the next morning over breakfast and didn't say anything when she brought up the nargles infesting the space between his eyes. Weird but okay, and Draco was alright, so who cared?
He could feel Hermione and Ron watching him as they fell back into familiar patterns, but the weightlessness persisted. Draco's cease-fire had survived past the full moon, and Harry no longer felt like he was about to implode at any minute. All in all, there really was nothing for them to worry about.
The day after his return, Draco stopped outside the Great Hall before lunch, chewing his lip, "Harry," he said quietly, "Can we eat somewhere else today?"
"Is everything alright?"
His hands shook as he clenched them at his side, "I just- I don't-"
And anything Harry could say yes to, he did. So, after commandeering a platter of pork buns, they went to the lake. The next day, they ate lunch in the stands watching the Slytherin quidditch practice, and soon enough, even that fell into routine.
"You're much different than I used to think," Draco said on the fourth day, unprompted in the field by Hagrid's hut. They had stolen sandwiches and two pieces of treacle tart from the Great Hall, escaping before they could be roped into the group.
Harry swallowed his bite, "Oh?"
"You're very docile."
Harry choked, "What?"
Draco shrugged as if he hadn't said anything strange at all, "You used to be so eager to fight. I thought that's just how youwere."
"I was eager to fightyou,dumbass. Big difference."
Draco rolled his eyes, leaning back on his hands, "Sure, but you used to raise to the bait much faster."
"I did not," Harry smiled as he said it because he, in fact, did. "You made it very hard to ignore you, I don't know."
Draco waggled his eyebrows, "Couldn't take your eyes off me, huh, Potter?"
"I was thinking more in terms of obnoxious, actually," Harry shrugged and narrowly dodged Draco's hand as it took a swipe at him.
They ate their meal, watching a group of first-years fall over themselves on a borrowed school broom. It was a particularly sunny day for the season, and more students than usual came out to enjoy it.
Harry was half finished with his slice of tart when Draco spoke again, "Do you think we ever would have gotten along if McGonagall hadn't stuck me with you?"
Harry chewed slower, letting the buttery crust dissolve against his tongue. Draco was turned away, his eyes following the first years with a pleasant expression on his face, but it was too still, too forced, and his hands were trembling again. "Do we? Get along?" Harry asked, almost afraid to break the spell over them.
Draco's focus didn't change, his eyes far away, "Don't we?"
He asked the question like one might approach a timid animal, and it was hard not to think of how difficult their relationship had been only a few weeks ago. He'd been so drained, so exhausted, and now he could only look at Draco with the hint of something that must be hope.
"Yeah." Harry finally said with a soft smile, "And I do think we would have if you ever pulled your head out of your ass long enough to have a conversation."
This broke Draco's statuesque demeanor, and he let out a laugh, "Oh, please."
"Can you honestly sayIwould have been the problem out of the two of us?"
Draco glared at him, but it felt playful rather than accusatory, "You never would have paid me the time of day if I didn't make you."
"Is that why you were always such a git to me, then?"
He looked away, holding his hand over his smile. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Tormenting you was just something to fill the monotony of my days."
Harry grinned and finished his sandwich in silence. Draco's smile stayed perfectly in place throughout the rest of their meal.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?"
"Yup," Harry looked at him over his shoulder, "don't worry, we won't pass the Slytherin common room."
Draco's eyes shot up, "How exactly do you know where the common room is?"
"I'll tell you if you tell me why you've been avoiding Pansy."
He clicked his tongue, glancing nervously around the next corner before following.
In addition to skipping lunches, Draco had barely interacted with the others at dinner, asking to leave early and using Harry as a shield between himself and his friends. Harry didn't have the heart to do anything about it because he had otherwise been acting normally, and he always looked so tired.
It had been six days since the full moon.
"I'm actually not sure I want to know," he said, sniffing.
"Sure, Draco." They passed through the final dungeon corridor, waving to a group of awestruck first-years before stopping in front of the large tapestry. He grinned at Draco before tickling the pear and pushing open the door to the kitchens.
Harry tapped his fingers against the doorframe, several elves looking up excitedly to greet them, "Hello, again."
Draco shrank into the space beside him. The kitchens were unlike any other part of the castle, with magic interwoven through pots and pans and the steam and grime of a working kitchen. Cauldrons boiled on every burner, the smell of stews and soups mixing with the sweet tang of raw magic. Elves shouted over the clattering of metal in their high-pitched falsetto, mixing with the squeal of a boiling teapot. It was hot and loud, and his hair felt singed at the ends whenever he left.
"Mister Harry Potter, sir!" one of the smaller house elves chirruped, rubbing her hands excitedly over the burlap flour sack tied around her shoulder. "What can we be doing for you?"
Harry stepped to the side, placing a hand at the base of Draco's spine, and pushed him forward. "Draco would like to make a request."
Draco was going to murder him by the looks of it, but the house-elf beamed up at him, and Draco sighed, crouching forward to meet the elf at eye level. "I was wondering if it would be at all possible to prepare us a cassoulet." He fumbled in the pocket of his robe, withdrawing a sheet of paper he had hastily scribbled down what he remembered of the family recipe. He held it out, "I don't think I got the measurements right, but this should be enough to get you started."
The elf took the parchment, scanning it over with its huge, wide eyes. "Dipsy has been making this before. We can of course be makings it again!"
"I would be very grateful." Draco said, "Harry has never had it before."
The elf gasped as if this was some terrible crime, and Harry chuckled, watching the interaction with a strange sense of wonder. It was becoming surprisingly simple to say yes to Draco. Even when he didn't directly ask, Harry felt compelled to take initiative and make each of his whims a reality, including a home-made French meal.
"Just be giving us a little while!" The elf chirped, scuttling away to the far end of the busy kitchens. The other elves' stares didn't dissipate, but they resumed their own work as well. Harry settled onto an empty counter. They were low enough that they might as well have been benches.
Draco stayed standing, arms crossed. He tapped his finger against his arm. "But howdoyou know where the common room is?"
Harry grinned and shrugged, "You first."
Draco pursed his lips and looked away. "Slytherin tactics won't work on me."
"It's not really a tactic if you know what I'm doing."
He sighed dramatically, "You're insufferable, you know that?"
Harry nodded.
"Maybe I'm just a coward," the smile slipped off Harry's face like rain. Draco smirked, "Or maybe I just like yanking your chain, Potter."
Something crashed loudly on the other side of the room, and both their heads snapped up. An elf-not Dipsy- had dropped a large vat of green curry on the floor and was now in the process of magic-ing the mess away. Slowly, they turned back to each other, and Draco sighed.
"I'm not avoiding Pansy. I just don't have the energy to keep up with her this week."
"That's all?"
It took several moments for Draco to look up, smile softly, and say, "That's all."
Harry supposed that made enough sense, so he shrugged and told him about second year.
"Youwhat?!"Draco whisper-shouted so as to not startle the elves.
"You were very suspicious," Harry explained.
"I waswhat?!"
Harry shrugged again.
Dipsy coughed politely between them, "Excuse me, masters! Dipsy has a question!"
Draco's face smoothed over, and he leaned down, whispering a quick flurry of questions and answers back and forth with the elf before she pointed to the far end of the room and beckoned Draco to follow her.
Harry watched them go, kicking his feet lightly in the air. The elves next to him chopped some kind of root vegetable, talking in a language he couldn't fully understand but sounded like a medley of squeaks and half-English.
"Master Harry Potter would like to try some?" a tiny gray elf held out a dish with a rusted orange vegetable coated in a sticky substance that pooled underneath it. It smelled of sugar and cinnamon, and Harry accepted.
Sweet potato, he decided, still warm from the Dutch oven. "It's delicious," he handed the plate back, thanking the tiny elf and turning down another helping.
What was taking Draco so long?
He could no longer find him in the busy kitchen, his height apparently not helpful when it came to such a chaotic space.
But before he could get up and start searching, Dipsy and Draco rounded a corner, chattering in the same manner as they had left.
"Dipsy will be done in just a few minutes, sirs!" For whatever reason, she saluted Draco, and in an even more baffling display, Draco saluted back.
"What did she need?" Harry asked once the elf had disappeared back into the chaos.
Draco flexed his hands, staring after her, "She just wanted me to test the spices."
"Oh, that sounds nice."
"It was, wasn't it," Draco said, his voice floaty and soft, lacking any of the signature bite of Malfoy's sarcasm.
"Would you like to sit down?"
Draco blinked, his eyes finally landing back on Harry, wide as if he were surprised to see him. He blinked again, "Move over, then."
While the counter was the perfect height to sit on, it was only barely long enough to fit both of them, shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed firmly together. Draco sat stiffly, and Harry resisted the urge to lean further into his space just to see if he would topple like a plank.
"So what makes that recipe special?" Harry asked after a few seconds of rigid silence.
A tiny quirk at the edge of his mouth, "My family used to visit France every Summer. The food there was always my favorite part, so my mother would try to recreate recipes at home. She loved to work with the house elves on how to make it, trying the same recipe until she found the right balance."
It had never occurred to Harry that Narcissa would cookwiththe house elves. For whatever reason, he had always imagined her far away from anything that might be mistaken for menial labor. Dobby had probably been well-versed in French cuisine. Harry might have known that if he ever bothered to ask. He wished he had.
Draco was still speaking, "I miss it sometimes. She hasn't cooked in-" his voice petered out, the final words hardly more than a ghost as he mouthed them, "-a long time." Draco cleared his throat, "So when you suggested this, it's what I thought of. It was her favorite dish."
When it became clear Draco was no longer interested in continuing the line of conversation, Harry filled the silence with his own experience in cooking, retelling all the odd meals he had learned to make from Petunia over the years. He didn't mention that he had never actually tried half of them. It wasn't important.
Eventually, Dipsy reappeared with two steaming packages and a small loaf of crusty bread. "Please be enjoying!"
They thanked her profusely and slipped back out into the dungeon corridor.
"Want to eat in the dorm?"
The floaty expression was back, Draco's stare darting between two blank spaces in front of him. Eventually, he looked up at the ceiling. "I think I'd like to eat outside if that's alright."
An odd sense of panic was creeping up Harry's spine, but before he could say anything, Draco turned to him and smiled, eyes bright and a dimple out, and Harry swallowed and said, "Of course."
They ate under the quidditch stands, the biting evening air easily solved with a wandless heating charm. The cassoulet was good, though not entirely different from other stews Harry had eaten over the years.
Even so, Draco ate it with a quiet reverence Harry had never seen in him-each bite slow and intentional, like he couldn't quite believe what he was tasting. They didn't talk until the bowls were empty and the bread was gone, and Draco laid back in the grass, his eyes closed.
"Was it what you remember?"
"Almost perfect," he whispered, expression slightly pinched.
And Harry couldn't bring himself to ask why his mother's recipe made him so sad, so they laid on their backs, staring up at the waning light until Harry's charm started to fade, and they meandered back to the room.
The silence was an uncomfortable volume tonight, the rush of blood in Harry's ears drowning out the static. Draco's breathing was so muffled under layers of duvet and the space separating them that Harry had no choice but to look over and check that he was, in fact, still alive. He always was.
But despite the constant reassurance that everything was fine, Harry's heart raced. A glaring feeling of having overlooked something refused to be goaded in submission. Something bad was about to happen, and it would be his fault. He had let something slip-forgotten something vital. He always did.
He forced out a deep breath, every muscle in his body tensing on the .
He squeezed his eyes shut, listening intently for proof of Draco's existence, but it was too loud. It was too quiet. He couldn't hear.
It was too bloody ripped off his duvet, sitting up. The cold stone bit back some of the sweltering heat, but it wasn't enough.
Before he could give it much thought, he was settled on the window ledge. He pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned into the cold pane of glass. It shocked a small gasp out of him, his lungs seemingly remembering what they were for. He opened his eyes and watched Draco breathe until his eyelids sagged, and he fell into a shallow sleep.
Harry's face was cold, a persistent ache running along his spine like it had been folded in the wrong direction and stuffed in a sock drawer. Something shuffled, the sound very far away. Harry blinked, unsticking his cheek from the frigid glass. Merlin, how had he managed to fall asleep like that?
The shuffling came again, "Draco?"
A startled yelp. A thud. "What the devil are you doing, Potter?" Came Draco's words hissed through the darkness.
Harry closed one eye, then the other, willing them to adjust to the black room. There was a slight glow through the window, and it was barely enough to see Draco hunched by his desk, clutching his shin like he'd been shot with a stinging jinx. He looked… embarrassed? No, that wasn't right.
"Was too hot-window," Harry mumbled like it made sense. "W'time is it?"
"Just after one," Draco said.
"What're you doing?"
Draco's expression changed, his eyes darting from one side to the other, his jaw locking slightly. "I was just going to use the lavatory." He was lying. Why was he lying about that? "Of course, then you scared the living daylight out of me," his face settled into a grimace, and he rubbed his shin, "and now I've smashed my leg into the post."
"Sorry," Harry whispered. Draco's eyes were outlined in red, the deep bruises more prominent than he'd ever seen them. "Are you okay?"
"Obviously bloody not, I've just said-" He stopped mid-rant, catching Harry's expression and looking away. "I'm fine."
Harry waited for him to finish in the bathroom, his mind slow to come back from the sleep-induced haze. Hadn't Draco taken a sleeping potion? He rubbed his eyes, massaging where his glasses had pressed indents into his cheek. Could you wake up from a potion if you needed the bathroom? Harry had never used them often enough to find out.
"You should really get to bed, Potter," Draco said, shutting the door with a click behind him. His eyes were less red now. "Sleeping on the ledge is terrible for your posture."
Harry shrugged, "Yeah, I will."
Draco gave him a skeptical look and turned to his own bed. He stopped just by the edge of his mattress, the line of his spine rigid. "Harry," he started and then stopped abruptly as if thinking better of the whole concept of conversation.
"Draco," Harry offered when he made no attempts to continue. "Do you want to join me for a bit?"
Silently, Draco gathered his knit green blanket from the foot of his bed and padded to the window, settling himself across from Harry in an inverse of how they had sat during that first late-night rendezvous.
"Hagrid's still awake," Harry said to stop himself from asking why it looked like he'd been crying. The windows in his hut were the only light visible on the dark landscape—little dots of orange in an otherwise black void.
Draco pulled his blanket tighter, "Probably looking after whatever monster he's smuggled onto the property this year."
Harry snorted, "You know, you're probably right."
"Of course I am."
A beat of silence.
Draco cleared his throat, "I have something to say."
"Okay."
A deep breath, "and I won't have you teasing me after I've said it. Are we clear?"
"Of course."
He looked at his hands, fidgeting with the thin silver ring on his index finger. They were uncommonly steady, and when he spoke, it came out very subdued. "I wanted to thank you." Harry tried to catch his eye, but no luck. "For everything this year… and everything you did last year. I'm grateful."
Harry frowned, his eyes following the long line of Draco's face, looking for something. He wasn't sure what. "Is that all?"
Draco shot him a scathing look, before looking away again. "I know saving me might not have meant much to you but I'm not the self-entitled bastard I was. I recognize that I've received more than I could ever repay, so just let me say thank you and be done with it."
"That's not what I-" Harry sighed, wincing, "You're welcome, Draco. But you don't have to thank me."
"Well, too bad. I've already done it. And I shan't be doing it again, so I hope your memory is better than your eyesight."
Harry snorted. Draco sounded so much like his younger self in that moment. Harry hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. "No, I just-" Another sigh, "Saving you meant quite a lot to me, actually."
Harry had watched Draco decline at the same rate the war had gone. Sixth year, the bathroom, and then through Voldemort's own eyes. If Draco hadn't made it out of the war, Harry already knew it would haunt him. More than anyone else, deeper than anyone else. Draco alive and well meant the world was okay, and that was more than Harry could ever explain or properly express gratitude for. In his mind, they were even.
Draco stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, but before he could ask a question Harry couldn't answer, Harry continued, "And I have something to say as well." He smiled, "It's very serious so no teasing, right?"
Draco rolled his eyes, the movement barely visible in the dark.
It was Harry's turn to take a deep breath, his eyes watching Draco's fingers in lou of reading his expression. The ring had a tiny snake engraved along the edge. "I, um, I'm sorry."
Draco scoffed.
"I don't think you're a coward," Harry continued, still not looking up. "What I said a few weeks ago. None of it was true, and I shouldn't have said it." Draco's fingers stilled, "You're not a coward, and I'm sorry."
Neither of them breathed, the room a stifling quiet as Harry waited, watching from somewhere far away as Draco's hands began to tremble. Harry wanted to reach for them, but he didn't.
Of all the reactions, a bitter chuckle was not what Harry had expected, "As appreciated as it may be, I'm afraid you were quite right. I'm as cowardly as they come."
"No, you aren't."
"Oh, well, that's solved that then," Draco mocked, "and here I was thinking I was self-aware."
Harry ignored him, "If you were a coward, you would have killed Dumbledore, and identified me at the manor, and you didn't. You never would have."
"That hardly makes me a hero, Potter."
"It does to me-"
"I'm gay."
"You-" The words died in Harry's throat.
Draco continued in an exhausted tone, "I've never so much as said that out loud before. And now I'm tellingyouof all people, because I know you're too self-righteous to use it against me. How's that cowardice for you?"
Oh.
"Not even Pansy knows?" Harry asked because what else was he supposed to ask?
Draco snorted a laugh, "I've never told her, but she could probably guess."
"Okay," Harry said, finally looking away from the violent tremor in Draco's hands to his face. A blade of moonlight cut across his profile, the delicate arch to his nose, the thin curve of his upper lip. His grey eyes glittered in the dark despite his casual smile. Harry tilted his head, "Telling me is an awfully brave thing to do if you think about it, though. I'm notactuallythat self-righteous."
Draco's face seemed to crack, a grimace turning into a pained laugh, turning into him looking at Harry with a strangely fond expression that made Harry want to never leave his sight again.
"How long have you known?" Harry asked after a moment.
"Forever." His face fell, "My parents… They wouldn't approve."
"So?"
Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling in either exasperation or an attempt to keep tears from spilling over. "I've been trying desperately to refrain from 'dead parents' comments, Potter. But in this case, I think it's fair to say that you really wouldn't understand."
"Why don't you explain it to me then?"
Draco considered him for what felt like hours before speaking, "My parents have planned my whole life for me to take over after them. I'm the heir; I'm meant to pick up where they left off and continue the Malfoy tradition. Anything less would devastate them." Draco swallowed thickly, his voice hard, "I've already disappointed them enough, and I can't do that to my mother.I won't."
Harry didn't ask what it would do to them if he had successfully died. Draco was probably already well aware of that. Instead he breathed out and asked, "Wouldn't they want you to be happy? They love you."
"Happiness is rather relative, don't you think?" Draco's voice turned affectless and dull, "They want me to be secure, not happy."
Harry chewed his lip, "That doesn't sound right."
"And again, you really wouldn't understand."
"And again, they love you. I guarantee there is nothing you could ever do to make them love you less."
Draco's face shuttered, "I'm sure that was true at some point."
A barbed panic shot through Harry. They did? Didn't they? "They love you," Harry said it almost to convince himself, "and you deserve to be happy."
"Stop it."
Harry flinched at the sharpness of the words but continued, "Coward or not, hero or not, you deserve to find happiness, Draco. They would want that for you."
"Don't." It was a warning this time, and Draco clearly meant whatever threat accompanied it.
Harry held up his hands in surrender, eyes measuring the heave of Draco's shoulders. He wasn't crying, but it seemed like a near thing.
"I'm too tired to fight for something I'll never have. Some things are just not meant to be."
A nervous panic expanded his lungs, crowding his ears with static. The empty surrender was so viscerallywrongin Draco's mouth that Harry was momentarily struck dumb.
How could he believe that? And how was Harry ever supposed to convince him he was wrong? He didn't know what he was doing. It wasn't fair.
"Draco," Harry whispered, and God, he was begging.
"It's alright." Draco smiled, a tiny, fragile thing, and he was so, so beautiful. "I'll hardly know what I'm missing."
"Please," Harry's voice was almost giving out completely, and maybe the exhaustion written into the grey of Draco's eyes made him say it. Or maybe it was the fact that Draco, glowing in the moonlight, was the most beautiful person he had ever seen that pushed Harry to shift closer and whisper, "Can I kiss you?"
A vulnerable confusion flickered over Draco's face and settled into narrowed eyes, "I won't be the punchline to your twisted sense of humor, Potter."
Harry held his gaze, "I'm not joking." Draco seemed to search him as he leaned closer still, Harry's hand coming up to brush against his jaw. He paused, breath tight, their noses touching, "Can I?"
"Why?" Draco eyes flickering down to Harry's mouth.
And wasn't that a fantastic question. The answer of which came out of him instinctively, "I want to."
Draco's breath caught, but he didn't move. "This won't change my mind, Harry."
"I don't care." Harry's hand snaked its way past the shell of Draco's ear, tangling in the silky smooth hair Harry had spent so much time imagining. He hesitated, "But if you don't want me to-"
Draco leaned in the remaining inch and pressed their lips together.
It was softer than Harry would have expected- more gentle, a salty shyness as their mouths slotted together, moving slowly against each other.
wanted to say, but it came out as a tiny gasp as Draco opened his mouth and deepened the kiss just enough for Harry to know that he tasted of honeydew and citrus.
Harry leaned in and tilted Draco's head back, pouring every sleepless night and desperate hope into echoed again in his mind, along withstay,andI need he hoped Draco could hear it, because how was he ever supposed to say those things out loud?
It was only as he pulled away that he realized Draco was trembling, his eyes wide and breaths shallow. But Harry didn't have the strength to go far so he rested their foreheads together, breathing in the now-familiar taste of him. It was all he could do not to cling, not to hold him tight and beg him to understand. The feather-soft pulse beat on the palm of his hand, and Harry shuddered. It was so fragile; Everything about Draco was.
How was Harry supposed to protect something like that?
Draco took a long, shaky breath, "I never would have assumed you were bent."
His attempt at sarcasm was cut short by the brokenness of his voice; each syllable cracked and strained, but even just the idea of it sent Harry into a fit of laughter. His head fell heavily on Draco's shoulder, the dizzy feeling pulling him down to bracket Draco against the wall.
"I don't see how this is funny, Potter." Draco said, a bit more confident in his teasing, though it was still a whisper, "Think of all the years I could have exploited this information: 'Harry Potter: gay.'"
"I don't really have a label," Harry said into the soft fabric of his top, slightly amazed that Draco hadn't pushed him away yet.
"That's quite the privilege."
"I just know what I like."
"Oh."
Harry wished he could have seen Draco's face as he said it, the sound like it had been released out of him against his will. He smiled into his neck and stepped back, the absence immediately tangible, but he wanted to see him, "Are you okay? Really?"
Draco's face was red, a pinched line between his eyebrows as he regarded Harry, and this time Harry let himself reach up and smooth over the worry with his thumb.
Draco melted into the touch, his eyes blinking rapidly. He tried to look away, but Harry's hand lingered along his jaw, bringing him gently back. "Talk to me."
"I just-" he ran his tongue over his teeth, eyes looking anywhere but at Harry, "would you-" He worked his jaw and swallowed.
"Hey," Harry whispered, "what do you need?"
Draco closed his eyes, and Harry brushed away the single tear that escaped. "Once more?" he asked, just barely audible.
Harry tilted his head, "You want me to kiss you again?"
Draco jerked his head in a nod, face like the question physically burned him. But it was an easy thing to say yes to, so Harry did.
"We should go to bed," Harry said as he pulled away the second time. The moon had shifted over the castle, the light from the window barely enough to find Draco in the darkness.
"Okay."
They maneuvered back to their individual beds, managing not to tumble over the furniture as they groped blindly around the room. The elegance of the moment apparently did not extend past it.
"Do you need another dose of sleeping draft?" Harry asked, checking the locked box for the final time that night.
A pause. "No, I'll be alright."
A few minutes later, and they were each tucked away in their beds, the empty, cold air seeming like a chasm now that Harry knew what his lips tasted like. He closed his eyes, the day's exhaustion finally catching up to him.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Draco spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant, as if hoping not to wake him. "Harry?" He grunted a noncommittal reply, his brain too foggy with oncoming sleep. "I like you too," Draco whispered.
And it was with a lingering smile on his face that Harry fell asleep, soft words and gentle touches wafting through his mind like something he would never be able to catch. He slept soundly, like how he had always imagined people would sleep without the memories of wars or cupboards or death to haunt them. He slept like someone who couldn't wait to wake up because there was a boy he liked who maybe liked him back. And maybe that was why he didn't notice when Draco snuck out of bed in the early hours of the morning and why he didn't hear the soft clink of something hitting the floor in the bathroom or the faint metallic smell of blood. Maybe if he had slept a little worse he would have noticed that Draco never returned to his bed.