I'm alive, and I've kissed Harry Potter. I'm not sure which is stranger.
It was midafternoon when Pomfrey finally let them leave the infirmary, and with nothing but a strict look at Draco and a sympathetic pat on Harry's shoulder, they were free to go. Draco walked slowly, his hand on the stone wall to keep him upright, and Harry matched his pace without saying a word, an arm outstretched behind him in case he stumbled.
By the time they got to their room, the sun was lazily making its way behind the trees, and a soft hum of lakeside activity drifted up through their window.
The room looked too soft for what it was now, the warm pink hues of the evening too warm against the stone. There was no metal tange of dried blood in the air, no dark shadows creeping into the corners. It didn't even have the layer of dust it should have after ten days unoccupied. Harry's things lay discarded where he'd left them-A half-finished essay curled over the edge of the desk, a textbook open to a particularly difficult rune with a dry quill wedged between the pages. A discarded black robe hung over the back of his chair. It was like they had only stepped out for an afternoon.
Harry hated it.
And the bathroom was worse. Bottles and potions that had been knocked over were now lined in a neat row, the mirror cleaned of any specks or fingerprints. Each piece of brass had been polished to a shine, and the tile had been scrubbed so aggressively the dark stone reflected firelight at him. Or maybe it had always been like that and Harry was only imagining it-Looking forsomethingto be changed because how was he supposed to pretend Draco's blood had never pooled into the crevices where he was standing?
Draco wasn't nearly as bothered, peaking his head to look over Harry's shoulder, "What are you looking for?"
Harry shrugged and closed the bathroom door so he wouldn't have to see it, "Nothing."
Draco meandered over to the window, the sunlight casting his pale skin and dark clothes in sharp contrast. He trailed a hand absently over his empty desk, long nails scraping against wood. He hadn't left anything out, his books and quills perfectly neat in the desk drawers, his clothes packed back into the trunk under his bed. His side of the room looked almost unlived in.
Because he had planned this.
Harry cleared his throat, "Hermione brought the notes from the classes we missed, and McGonagall says we can have a few days to catch up-Take things slow."
Draco hummed, resting on the edge of the window seat, his long legs extended in front of him. He fidgeted with his ring.
"What do you want to do?" Harry asked.
He looked up with a muted frown, the deep eyebags from before the hospital stay somehow even worse. He had pulled his hair back into a short ponytail, with just a few strands framing his face, but it did nothing to hide how pale he had become, how placid. "We can do whatever you'd like," He said.
Harry clenched his jaw and watched Draco turn the ring on his finger, "What are you thinking about?" but before he could answer, Harry cut in again, "And be honest with me, would you?"
They stared at each other for a long moment, Draco's gaze softening under Harry's eyes. Draco was a good liar. Good enough, at least, that if he didn't want Harry to know something, he wouldn't. But they couldn't keep playing that game, and Harry hoped Draco knew that, too.
Eventually, he sighed, looking away. "I was just thinking about how I already made my peace leaving this room, and now I'm back. It's strange." A pause, "I wasn't supposed to still be here."
Ah. Well. The problem with the truth, as Harry was quickly finding out, was that he never knew what to do with it. Hermione was always better at this, and he was suddenly reminded of Cho when she started crying about Cedric on their first date. To this day, he didn't know what he was supposed to have done. He just knew he had done it wrong. "I'm glad you're still here," He said weakly.
Draco shot him a quick smile, "Oh, don't be so boring. You asked, I told you. Let's not make it into a wholethingright now." He stood and stretched his arms behind him, his thin turtleneck sweater pulling tight over his chest.
Harry looked away, "Right. Which brings me back to my original question-"
They ended up staying in that afternoon. Harry read over Hermione's notes and prodded Draco with occasional questions when he had them. Somehow, even after half a semester with his head down in class, Draco still understood more about Runes than Harry ever would. The bastard.
He wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but they ended up on opposite ends of Draco's bed, books splayed out between them. It wasn't how Draco was with Pansy, who hadn't made an appearance since the hospital, but the whole scene felt rather domestic to Harry. Neither of them mentioned it, and Draco never told him to leave, so Harry didn't. And they stayed like that, working quietly until the sun had gone down.
They decided to chance the Great Hall for dinner, but by the time they got to the main corridor, it seemed like an obvious mistake. Everyone was looking at them. Conversations quieted as they passed, and friends tapped shoulders to swivel around and stare, not to mention the whispering, which was a loud buzzing in the marble hall.
Harry bumped Draco's shoulder, "It'll be fine."
Draco didn't look like he believed him.
It had been bad before-People tended to watch Harry wherever he went, even when he was with a former Death Eater- but tonight it was worse, and it was targeted at Draco, the Death Eater who tried to kill himself. Hermione was whole school knew.
They never found who first spread the news, but it must have been someone in eighth year-someone in the dorm. A student with access to some but not all of the information because the rumors were all over the place, each whisper having a hint of the truth but ultimately missing the mark. A few people knew about the knife. Others said he used magic. Hermione heard one second-year speculating that Draco had somehow smuggled a muggle gun onto the grounds.
But they all knew the general idea, and apparently, they weren't ashamed to stare.
Harry and Draco sat at their usual table, with Ron and Hermione facing them, Neville, Seamus, and Dean flanking one side, Luna on the other. They all determinedly didn't mention anything to do with the rumors or the incident, and when Luna forced Draco into a conversation about the latest edition of the Quibbler instead of asking why he looked like he was trying to disappear into the table, Harry grinned. He loved his friends. He really did.
Blaise sat with Pansy at the Slytherin table tonight, where she had been sitting for the last week according to Ron. Draco didn't comment on their absence, but Harry caught his eyes traveling over to them when he thought no one was looking.
"Quidditch this weekend?" Ron asked through a mouthful of turkey.
"No, I think I'd better not."Because I need to be with Draco, he didn't say, but he might as well have by Ron's expression.
"Alright, mate-" and that's when it happened. A crash of glass over Draco's shoulder. A splatter of hot soup across the table.
Someone shouted, "Next time, finish the job, you rat!"
Harry shot to his feet along with the rest of the Gryffindors, but the chaos in the Great Hall had already swallowed up whoever had thrown it. Students stood, shouting at each other, at Draco, a few of them at Harry. Draco stayed frozen in his seat, eyes wide and breaths shallow.
Harry's wand was in the box, tucked under the bed in their dorm, but he waved his hand, and the glass shards vanished along with the soup and several unfortunate pieces of cutlery. "Are you alright?" He asked, touching Draco's arm lightly.
He startled and pulled back, "I'm fine." But Harry could see tears forming and the humiliated blush spreading over his cheekbones.
Harry took his hand, "Let's go." And he pulled him away from the table, through the forming crowd, and down the hallway into the boys' bathroom. He checked that the stalls were empty and locked the main doors.
Draco slid to the floor, his breaths uneven, "They all fucking know."
Harry sat next to him, not sure what to do with his hands, "It's alright."
"No, it'sfuckingnot!" Draco spat. He was crying now, hot, angry tears. "And here I thought we were beinghonest,"He said the word like an insult, cutting at Harry with every crack in his voice.
"Sorry-I'm sorry." Harry looked around the room, desperate for something to make this any better. All he found was a few rusted faucets and a distant drip coming from one of the stalls. He wilted, "You're right. This isn't great."
Draco buried his face in his knees. His shoulders heaved as he cried, "I'm not supposed to be here-"
Harry's hand hovered an inch over Draco's back. "Yes, you are," Harry tried, "I need you here," but Draco didn't seem to hear him over the jagged sobs.
Harry breathed and let his arm rest over Draco's shoulders. He was warm through the layers of fabric, but the contact felt odd and stiff. Maybe he should pat his back or something? But that felt like it would make things even more awkward, and if he shifted now, Draco would know he was running away, so he stayed put and forced his mind not to focus in on the single point of contact.
Eventually, Draco stopped crying, and Harry used pushing himself up as an excuse to put distance between them.
They waited for the halls to empty before walking back to the dorms. Harry had long since run out of actual words to say, but he took Draco's hand as they walked, not letting his shoulders stiffen at the touch. He couldn't remember the last time he had held someone's hand, and he could feel how sweaty his palm was, but Draco didn't pull away. He wordlessly let Harry tug him forward, up and down the stairs.
Hermione and Ron shot to their feet as they entered through the tapestry. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked Draco, just as Ron said, "I got the guy right in the nose if it makes you feel any better."
"Not now," Harry whispered, ushering Draco to their room.
He was shaking, and Harry closed the door and made him sit. He found his wand and cast a few transfiguration spells until Draco was wearing a set of clean, silk pajamas instead of his clothes. "Bold, aren't we?" Draco drolled, but there was a sad edge to it. His eyes were too red for any bite to land.
"C'mon. Budge over," Harry nudged him with his foot, sealing his wand in the box and tossing it on his own bed.
"Harry," he scrubbed his face, exhausted, "You don't have to keep doing this."
"Yeah, well," Harry shrugged. "I'm worried about you, so piss off." Draco snorted but let him shift down into a dog and hop onto the bed beside him.
"Stubborn bastard," Draco mumbled. Harry nudged him with his head until he lay down and let Harry curl into the space by his side. It was strange how much easier physical touch was when there was a layer of fur. "Is this just how this is going to be now?"
Harry let out a huff of air.
He couldn't imagine sleeping in his own bed after what happened last time. He wasn't exactly worried Draco would try again, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep so far away. He would lay awake all night, listening for movement, and any sleep he did get would come with terrible dreams. Sleeping here was just as much for Harry as it was for Draco, but he would never say that out loud.
And he was a dog right now, so not saying it didn't count as a lie.
Draco was like an octopus in his sleep, arms suctioned around anything within reach, clinging like he was scared to be dropped back in the water. But Harry couldn't be bothered to mind as he was pulled closer in the middle of the night, his head forced into Draco's neck. Soft skin and the scent of cedar wrapped around him, and Harry closed his eyes to the sound of a content sigh. Harry liked him like this-soft and pliable, the firm pressure of his face in Harry's fur.
He always woke up before Draco. But he kept his eyes closed to sit in the warmth a little longer, basking in Draco's easy exhales and the tickle of silky hair on his nose. When Draco's heartbeat eventually picked up, and his fingers moved in slow circles on Harry's side, neither of them acknowledged that they were both awake. They stayed wrapped together for a long time before one of them inevitably broke the spell and slipped out of bed.
Each morning, Harry shifted back into himself, and they didn't mention it until the end of the day when Harry would crawl under his arm again, and they would start over. He hadn't slept so consistently well since second year when he stayed the last few weeks of Summer at the Burrow. He couldn't ask if the same was true for Draco, but he had to wonder.
Harry startled. A wadded-up piece of paper bounced off his face and into his palm, and he looked around until Hermione caught his eye.
She raised her eyebrows
They were sat in the back of the classroom, Professor Binns droning on at the front. Half the students had their heads down or were staring off into space, eyes glazed over, while a few of the braver souls scribbled down notes on the Troll Occupancy of 1776.
He stared down at the paper, carefully unfolding and smoothing it out on the you okay?It read in Hermione's neatly aligned handwriting.
He leaned in to whisper, "I'm fine. Why are you throwing things at me?" He glanced over to Draco, who was watching the exchange with a neutral expression. He blinked, and a blush crept up Harry's neck. The memory of pale lashes fluttering just before Draco woke up played over in his mind. Harry looked back to Hermione.
She rolled her eyes, "I'm serious, Harry. How are you?"
"Is this really the time for this?" He straightened his back, ignoring her pointed looks until Binns noticed the time and exhaustedly released them to their next class.
The same conspiratorial whispers followed them to Ancient Runes. It had gotten a bit better since the week before, but nothing more interesting had happened to pull attention away from Draco, so their return to classes was accompanied by just as many stares. It was oddly nostalgic, in a horrible way. Like he had never stopped being the Heir of Slytherin or the insane fifth-year lying about the death of his friend. At least no one was groveling anymore.
Harry walked with Draco just behind him, blocking the eyeline of the crowd. He could feel Draco shrinking into himself the longer they stayed in public, and by the time they got to the classroom, it was a relief to sit in the corner, the rest of the class filing in behind them.
"They'll stop eventually," Harry nudged him with his elbow.
Draco had already buried his face in his arms, and he shifted so that he was facing Harry, "Do you really think so?"
He shrugged, "It's never lasted very long for me."
Draco snorted, "Oh, yes, but I'm much more interesting, aren't I?"
Harry couldn't quite tell if he was being sarcastic, so he elbowed him again and opened his textbook. He was having a difficult time looking at Draco today. His hair was down like usual, but the ends curled perfectly against his jawline to pull attention to the subtle, pink arch of his lips. It was distracting, and it made him think about the sound Draco made when he was asleep-not quite a sigh but not quite a groan-and that made his brain go a bit fuzzy, so it was better to not look at all.
Someone touched his shoulder, "Harry-"
He startled again.
Hermione took the empty seat next to him, her bag landing on the desk like a sack of bricks. "I'd really like to talk to you."
His head fell forward into the pages of his book, "What, Hermione?"
Draco snickered.
She folded her arms and shot Draco a look, pursing her lips, "If you were easier to pin down, I might not feel the need to corner you in class, you know."
"I'm plenty easy to pin down."
Draco snickered louder.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Can I talk to you later? In the common room?"
Students filed in, excited chatter and rustling pages marking the oncoming start of class. Harry cast around for a way out but eventually looked back at her. "Fine," He conceded.
Her shoulders relaxed, and he was hit by how young she was. He always thought of her as an older sister, but she was his age and trying her best to be a good friend, and herehewas, making that hard for her. Guilt carved away a piece of his chest, and he cleared his throat, turning away.
Classes continued, and the ever-present dread of being watched followed them from classroom to classroom. Each swiveled head made Harry flinch, and the slight eye contact of students he hardly recognized made him grip his wand harder, his knuckles white. He tried not to hear what they were saying, but it was difficult to ignore. 'Death Eater,' 'Attempt,' 'Serves him right.'Each snipe sent him back to that morning-to the chaos. He could feel the blood drying on his shirt, the static emptiness that consumed him for days.
They didn't know what they were talking about. They were mourning, just like him.
It didn't make him any less angry.
Finally, their last class ended, and Harry all but dragged Draco out of his seat, trying his best to avoid the crowd and any other opinions people might have. He couldn't listen to this anymore.
"Potter, you're going to rip my arm off," Draco said as they shot past the tapestry entrance.
Harry looked down and loosened his death grip around Draco's wrist. "Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks heating.
"It's alright." And now they were just staring at each other halfway into their dorm, Draco's hair doing thethingagain, a slight frown at the edge of his lips. "Harry-" But before he could finish, Hermione rushed through the tapestry, brown eyes locking on him.
Gods. He didn't want to do this.
"Well, I'll just be-" Draco pointed his thumb over his shoulder and closed the door, abandoning Harry to his doom.
"Harry," Hermione said, in that voice she used when she wanted to lecture him about his eating habits. She crossed the empty room, and even though Harry could see the hug coming, his muscles tensed as she tossed her arms over his shoulders. She didn't say anything, or maybe she didn't notice-or even worse, she was used to him being strange- but by the time she pulled away, his cheeks burned, and he took a measured step back. She smiled, "Sorry about class, Harry. I've just been worried about you."
"It's okay. I get it." He shoved his hands into his pockets, acutely uncomfortable. "What did you want to talk about?"
"How are you holding up?" Her voice was soft-sympathetic- and Harry winced.
"We're doing fine. Everyone's acting just about how I expected them to towards Draco, but I think it'll stop in a few days."
"That's nice," more sympathy, "I was asking about you, though. How areyouholding up?"
Harry's skin itched, and he glanced towards his door. He didn't like leaving Draco by himself for very long. "I'm good."
She stared at him for a moment, her brown eyes searching for something. Harry could never tell if she found what she was looking for, "Ron and I thought we could take over for you tonight. Give you a break for a little while."
They were still talking about him then. Well, that wasn't anything he didn't already know, at least. "I really am fine, Hermione. I don't mind it."
Her expression did that thing it sometimes did when she wanted to correct him about something but knew better. She sighed, "Have you thought any more about seeing a mind healer?"
"I don't know, Hermione." Hehadthought about it, but every time he tried to imagine opening that box and letting some stranger poke around inside, it made him squirm. What could a professional tell him that he didn't already know? He's depressed? He had a shitty childhood, and now he's irreparably broken? What good would that do? "I don't know if it's for me."
She picked at a hangnail, "Well, just keep thinking about it, would you? I think it would help."
"I just- I need to make sure he's okay," He pointed over his shoulder to the room. "Thanks for worrying about me, though. I really do appreciate it."
Before she could say anything else, he was closed into his room, leaning against the door, his head thunking back into the wood. God, he was a terrible friend.
"Anything exciting?" Draco asked. He was laying on his back, angled so that his head hung off the edge of the mattress and his hair brushed the floor. His face was pink enough to know he'd been in that position for a few minutes.
"No, not really," Harry said, smiling. "What are you doing?"
He hitched his shoulders, "Clearing my head of all the nargles Luna says I'm infested with. Care to join?"
And so Harry did.
Harry's paws pushed into the soft ground as he trotted to keep up with Draco. It had rained that morning, the grass dewy and the air swept clean of any lingering smells Harry was so used to while being outside. He sniffed, rubbing his nose against the edge of Draco's sleeve.
Draco looked down and ran absent fingers over Harry's fur, "Are you staying down there all day?"
Harry sneezed, and they kept walking, with the occasional student giving them an odd expression. Harry pressed closer to Draco's legs.
It had been one of those mornings for Harry. The kind that sat on his shoulders like a physical weight, each pump of his heart spreading rot through the rest of his body, bones heavy with debris. It was a morning he would usually deal with by laying in bed to wait for his body to disintegrate into a pile of spores and be blown away by the wind. But that had always been at Grimmauld Place, and as Draco slipped past him and got ready for the day, Harry knew he needed to get up. He couldn't just close his eyes and wait for Ron to drag him back into the living world like he used to-Draco needed him, but he couldn't force himself to change back. Just the thought of wearing his own skin made the exhaustion ache, holding him down.
After Harry didn't get up for breakfast, Draco gave him an odd look and threatened to go out by himself if Harry didn't follow him. So Harry did, staying a dog and walking just behind as they made their way to the grounds. He wanted to ask where they were going, but it hardly made a difference-He would follow Draco just about anywhere.
Finally, they stopped by a large birch tree at the edge of the lake. Draco looked down at Harry as if asking for permission, but when Harry only wagged his tail back, he sighed and sat back against the trunk. "You'd think it would be easier to tell what you're thinking as a dog."
Harry dug at the grass before curling into a tight ball, his nose shoved under Draco's thigh. He smelled of freshly laundered robes and a floral kind of lotion he put on in the mornings. It was so different from his smell in the hospital, blood and medicine, and the hint of mildew from staying still for so long. It was also different from how he smelled asleep, but in a good way-an intentional way. Harry breathed in deeply, settling into the scent of Draco alive.
"I mean, you're basically all eyebrows like this," his hand curled against Harry's skull, scratching gently behind his ears. Harry whined into the touch. "I can usually tell exactly what you're thinking just by the dumb expression on your face, but like this-" He waved a baffled hand as if to sayno clue.
Wind ghosted over the surface of the lake, ripples lapping against the rocks. Harry could hear the merpeople chattering, but it was a distant sound, peacefully mingled with the birds. Draco's touch was soft, his fingers nimbly moving over his head, and soon Harry was drifting off, not quite asleep but a bit of the rot seeping out of him as he rested in the shade.
Someone shouted. Harry blinked, the haze of the afternoon like moving through honey. He could feel Draco's fingers go still against his ear, the temperature slightly colder than before.
"Try again, Death Eater!" A distant shout came, "Go join your master in the grave where you belong!"
Harry lifted his head, a deep growl pulled out of his throat. There were a group of Ravenclaws walking along the path a few meters away, mud on their cloaks from the field. The group laughed as the largest boy cupped his hands over his mouth, "We don't want you here, you bastard."
"Harry, no-"
But Harry was already moving, teeth bared as he went for the group. They startled. One of them shrieked and took off running, the rest nervously drawing their wands and jogging backwards. Harry stopped at the edge of the grass, barks ripped out of his chest.
"Sicked his damn mutt on us-" He heard the large boy mutter before he followed suit with the rest of his friends and disappeared into the castle. Harry shook, his entire body buzzing with couldn't they just leave him alone?
"Harry-" Draco's voice.
He turned back. Draco was sitting up, his eyes wide, a light breeze pushing his hair into his face. Dappled sunlight landed on him like raindrops, glistening over his skin with the movement of the tree. He was almost glowing with it.
Harry didn't register moving back to him or pressing against his chest, his head hooking over his shoulder.
"Oh," Draco breathed, his arms wrapping gently around Harry's shoulders. "It's quite alright."
Harry leaned with the rest of his weight, melting into Draco's chest. His brain felt heavy, all thoughts gone except formine,and he couldn't quite make sense of that one.
Draco's voice was soft, "It's nothing I haven't heard, Harry."
He whined, and they sat like that for a long time, Harry laying almost completely on top of him in the grass.
"They're right to say it, you know," Draco said once the sun drifted past, the shade overtaking their space again. "I almost destroyed this place. I didn't deserve to come back."
Harry pressed his nose firmly into the base of his neck, whining quietly. It wasn't true.
"They know what I did, and they have every right to be angry." His voice was too soft, too resigned for the words he was saying. "I shouldn't be here."
"Stop it," Harry said, and he was fully human now, his hands pressing into the grass on either side of Draco's head. Their faces were only inches apart. "You were a child. We were all children. It's not right. You don't-" He cut off, chewing on his cheek as he thought about what to say, "You don't deserve to be treated like shit for things you regret."
Draco only stared at him, his mouth slightly open, hair pooled around his head on the grass.
"You do regret it, don't you?"
"More than anything," Draco whispered.
Harry huffed, "Then they're bastards who don't know what they're talking about. You deserve to be here just as much as anyone else. Iwantyou here, and I won't sit there and listen to you talk about yourself like you're not worth the robes you're wearing. You're agood person,Draco." Harry finished, breathing hard as he scanned Draco for any argument, but there was none.
A rosy blush worked its way across Draco's cheeks, his hands on Harry's waist, their bodies flush with Harry's knee propped between his thighs. Draco's gaze flickered down to his mouth, and Harry suddenly couldn't breathe. They were very close, weren't they?
Like a coward, Harry shifted back, but he couldn't move away without making it awkward. So he stayed on Draco's chest and reasserted the situation by shoving his nose back into the crook of Draco's neck. He let out a huff of air and settled into him. Draco didn't move, but his heart was beating loud enough for Harry to notice it eventually slow. Draco took a deep breath and stroked paths over Harry's side, his eyes far away in the canopy.
They stayed like that for a long time.