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The first time it had happened, Harry had been more than caught off guard. In fact, it had been so unexpected that our saviour had even dropped both his book on advanced potions and his scarf when it did happen. He had been sitting in the eighth year common room, about to put his book away and wrap his scarf around his neck for Ron had challenged him to a friendly game of quidditch with a few other eighth years, when no one other than Draco Malfoy had walked in, his dark robes wet as his pale blonde fringe clung to his forehead, dripping on his rosy cheeks. The man ought to have looked absolutely ridiculous, but for one or other reason he appeared as elegant as ever.
Nothing was out of the ordinary though, Malfoy’s entrance had caused the same reaction as it somehow always did whenever he arrived, most students had stopped their chatting to spare him either a suspicious glance or a shy, often even dreamy, one. It never seemed to faze Malfoy though for he always kept the same small smile on his face, the same one he was carrying at that same moment. When his eyes landed on Harry though and travelled all the way up to the scarf in his hand, his smile grew larger and though it did not grow into a full on smile, it did appear different from his usual miniscule one.
“Are you heading outside, Mr Potter?” Malfoy asked, his voice soft, though it brought every pair of eyes once again to his presence and got fairly every student sitting on the edge of their stool so to speak in anticipation for his next words. Harry, however, being the blithering idiot that he is, could do no more than simply nod in reply though his lack of words did not seem to affect Malfoy.
“I would recommend waiting for another hour or so then, Mr Potter, for the weather is absolutely merciless. I told Mr Weasley the same and he agrees, he told me to tell you that he would be in the library and that your match is to be postponed till 11 ‘o clock,” Malfoy pleasantly said, that same smile still resting on his beautiful features. And thus Harry dropped both his book and his scarf of which the former clattered on the floor with a lot of noise, embarrassing Harry in the process.
“I’m sorry Malfoy, but is… what-… What’s the catch?” Harry stumbled over his words, but his eyes remained trained on the dripping Malfoy who was slowly but surely wetting the wooden floors.
“The catch? Why there is none, Mr Potter,” Malfoy exclaimed, his eyes wide in bewilderment as he slowly picked up the potions book and handed it back to Harry, who eyed him suspiciously before taking the book from him.
“I mean, is this a part of some evil plot?” Harry asked again, his eyes determined as he tried to gaze into Malfoy’s mind and unravel the inner-working of the other man’s mind. The latter only laughed though, a sound so foreign to Harry that he felt his eyes widen as he heard it fill the otherwise silent room.
“Oh Mr Potter, you do amuse me. Let me assure you though that it is not so that my every move is part of one or another nefarious plot. Now I must bid you adieu though for I am completely ruining the floor, cheers!” He concluded his little monologue with another smile and then he was off, the students standing around him, swiftly moving back in order to let him pass.
Harry stared after him, completely confounded by the oddity of the entire ordeal. Since when had Draco Malfoy been quite so civil? And what in Godric’s name, did nefarious mean?!
The next time it happened, Harry was in the middle of Transfigurations, scribbling down some notes on parchment when all of a sudden his quill broke right in the middle, separating the tip from its rear. Harry, having forgotten to bring a spare, quietly poked Ron in the ribs, pointed at his quill and then gave him a pointed look, hoping that his friend would understand, which he did, but unfortunately he too had not a quill to spare. At this point professor McGonagall had caught onto their little exchange and rolled their eyes, quickly attracting the attention of the rest of the class to the little ordeal in the front row.
“Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, is there a problem?” she asked, effectively catching their attention. They both stared at her, wide eyed at being caught whilst they had thought they were being so subtle.
“Uhm, it’s nothing important, just a broken quill professor,” Harry mumbled, his cheeks flushed as he felt the eyes of the other students trained on his embarrassed countenance. Professor McGonagall sighed, her voice masked by an odd sort of misplaced fondness that she simply could not seem to hide.
“Very well then, is there anyone here who could lend a quill to young Mr Potter?” McGonagall asked, her eyes scanning the room for a possible victim. She did not need to wait long for a reply though for soon none other than Draco Malfoy’s hand shot into the air, his fingers tightly clasped around a dark green quill.
“I wouldn’t mind him using my spare one, professor,” he said, his voice as calm and eloquent as ever as he regarded Harry with that same miniscule smile that he seemed to grant every other student. Harry did not know why, but for one or other reason this vexed him. He wanted Malfoy’s real smile, wanted the titbit of laughter he had heard before. Therefore he refused to take the quill from Malfoy’s outstretched hand. He ignored McGonagall’s exasperated sigh and simply stared at Malfoy, the miniscule smile did not falter though nor did it change into the confused look one might expect any other student to have after being maltreated by his fellow pupil. This was not simply any other student though, no, this was Malfoy, meaning that the game had altered and that other rules applied.
“What’s the catch, Malfoy?” Harry asked, his voice stern as he stared further into Malfoy’s pewter like eyes. Malfoy did not laugh though, nor did his smile widen, instead he kept that same annoying smile plastered on his face, causing Harry’s blood to boil for reasons he himself wished not to discover.
“There is no catch Mr Potter. I simply thought you would appreciate the gesture considering your quill broke.” Harry fumed, his forehead growing slightly sweaty as all of his blood seemed to rush to it, giving his countenance a rather red aura.
“Oh for fuck’s sake Malfoy! Stop calling me Mr Potter, you insufferable prick!” Harry shouted, his eyes still trained on his former nemesis. He saw how that same dangerous glint returned to Malfoy’s eyes, the one that had shone through his gaze whenever the two of them would fight, but as soon as it appeared, it left again, leaving Harry with nothing but an opponent who would not be moved and a room full of curious bystanders.
“Mr Potter! Detention!”
Harry swore to himself that night as he walked back to the eighth year tower that he would not give up on Malfoy. He decided that if there was one way to counter Draco’s politeness, it would be to be polite himself and so he set on to his quest, roaming the corridor between the Great Hall and the eighth year tower in order to catch the other man before breakfast. Unfortunately he had not calculated in that Malfoy may not be going to breakfast nor had he counted on the older falling ill right that exact morning and so he roamed that same corridor from 6 o clock in the morning till 9h30, effectively missing breakfast and the first half of potions.
Needless to say that when our Saviour did indeed see our poor antagonist, he was not quite up to being polite anymore. Au contraire, the moment Harry laid eyes on Draco’s pale form, wrapped up in a thick blanket seated in front of the fire in the eighth year common room, later on that day he was quite put out.
“Where were you this morning Malfoy?! I was search- I mean, I- Why didn’t you come to breakfast?!” Harry shouted, stumbling over his words all the while for fear that he would betray his own desperation. Malfoy did not appear to be fazed though, he seemed quite collected in fact, well despite his shivering shoulders and trembling lips that is.
“I’m afraid that I have fallen ill, Mr Potter,” Malfoy replied, a small smile playing around his blue lips. He was obviously not well, but Harry was quite beyond himself and so quite incapable of showing any compassion towards Malfoy’s disposition.
“Ill? Go to Madame Pomfrey then? What in Merlin’s name are you still doing here then? Or were you too much of a bloody coward to leave your bloody tower and face me?” Harry shouted. He was met with confusion though as the other man had absolutely no idea what Harry was going on about.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me Mr Potter, I have not the slightest idea what you mean. I have informed all of our professors about my condition, I assure you. I cannot see how I could’ve inconvenienced you, though I sincerely apologize if I did.” Malfoy’s polite reply did nothing to assure Harry, in fact it angered him even more. He stepped up to Malfoy with quick strides and hauled him up by his elbow. Malfoy however, having eaten nothing all day, quickly turned even paler and sagged through his knees, causing him to fall forward towards Harry’s inviting chest.
“Malfoy! Malfoy!” There came no reply. Harry quickly pulled Malfoy up before putting one arm underneath his knees, the other around his shoulder, lifting the other up in the air. He swiftly turned around his heel before marching out of the room, through the cold corridors and up to the infirmary where Madam Pomfrey greeted him with a stern scowl.
In Harry’s haste he had not seen though how Malfoy had woken up, completely confused about his whereabouts, how he had looked up at Harry’s determined face as his legs ran through Hogwarts, nor had he seen how the other man had smiled, a real smile this time, before closing his eyes again and snuggling up to Harry’s broad chest.
Hermione Granger had given Harry the space he deserved after the war, but even she could not deny that Harry’s ever growing obsession with the young Malfoy was troubling at best for she knew that Harry himself would deny what it meant. She did not wish to interfere though for she knew how much of a handful Harry could be when he thought someone was being a nosy parker.
Nevertheless she promised herself that if things would run out of hand, as they usually did when Harry and Draco were involved, she would start sticking her nose in Harry’s business again no matter how put out it would make the other.
Harry did not see Malfoy again after bringing him to Madam Pomfrey, not when he visited the infirmary nor when he searched every corner of the eighth year tower for the other. He felt himself grow desperate, something in his chest aching painfully with every passing hour. That night he barely slept, his mind troubled by the weight of the elder’s absence.
The day after he saw Malfoy in the great hall at breakfast, completely perplexed by how the man had gotten passed him for he had roamed the corridor to the hall again in the hope of running into Malfoy before breakfast. By the time Harry finally made it to the hall though breakfast was nearly finished and Malfoy dismissed his presence by an absent nod in his general direction. Harry, feeling as neglected as he felt hurt, slacked through the rest of his classes of the day, his spirits down and his shoulders slummed.
All of the anger that had possessed him before had left him, trading places with sheer gloominess. He ignored Hermione, Ron, hell he even ignored his professors which had gotten him a detention, but he could simply not find the energy to care for all that seemed to matter was the blonde head sitting a few rows in front of him that refused to turn around and grant him some recognisance, even if it were just that small smile that he seemed to grant every other student.
Harry had tried to give himself an answer to the question as to why he seemed to need Malfoy’s attention so much, but he could not come to a conclusion for every reason felt wrong, felt lacking. He thought that perhaps it was because he needed someone to tell him no, needed someone to not be an arse-licking twat like all of the rest, but even though this explanation seemed rather good, it did not feel sufficient. Then he thought on that it was perhaps because he wanted to go back to the days before the war, wanted the normalcy of his youth, but that too seemed rather odd for he had never had a normal life.
Though he could not find reason within his madness he did know that he needed Malfoy’s attention, needed it like he needed air for without it the world seemed to have ceased her spinning. But he did not need Malfoy’s miniscule smile though, did not need his politeness, no, what Harry needed, what he craved so desperately was Malfoy’s realness, he longed for the man’s wit, for his criticism, for his drawl and his sneer, for his sarcasm, he longed for an opponent in a world where everyone seemed to want to be his friend.
That night Harry chose the only option he believed himself to have left. If his anger would not move Malfoy, if his politeness would not reach him, then only his hurt would be left to break through his façade.
Which is why Harry found himself in a situation he had never imagined himself in. His wand was pointed at his own reflection, his gaze caught by his own green eyes. He knew he had to hurt himself in order for the plan to work, not too badly of course, but not too little either, he had to be able to stay the night in the infirmary though he was not supposed to die.
He yelled out a curse, instinctively shutting his eyes as he did. He heard the glass of the mirror break, followed by the sharp pain of hundreds of sharp shards, piercing through his skin. He knew that in a way it was sickening of himself that he did it, he knew that this desperation for someone else’s attention was unfavourable, even unnatural, but he couldn’t help himself, he needed Draco’s attention, Draco’s real attention. He shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping that the house elves would hear him for he did not think he would be able to make it to the infirmary all by himself.
Harry felt his own blood run down his temples, run down his cheeks, his eyes, his lips. He felt the hot substance on his cold skin, felt how it wore him out, how it weakened him and eventually even brought him to his knees. His vision darkened, the whole world turning red as he tried to stand up again.
The first one to reach him was not a house elf, instead it was a boy, his face slightly blurry, though his hair was undeniably white. Harry felt his heart speed up as the man cradled his face in his hands, brushing away the blood that had started to completely cover his pale complexion. Harry did not remember the rest for it was coated in black and red, but he did remember the feeling of it, the feeling of those cold hands holding his own heated face, of the soft whispers caressing his ears, of the sheer love that seemed to ooze from the man’s movements, from his words, from his lips.
Harry woke up in the infirmary, his arms restricted by some sort of band that held both his two arms and his two legs strapped to the cold bed he was laying in. He frantically turned his head around, searching his surroundings with his eyes in order to find some sort of weapon, some sort of means to protect himself. He felt himself failing though for he was not wearing his glasses and thus could only see blurry shapes and forms.
“He’s awake!” Someone shouted. There was someone next to his bed, Harry could see him now, his form blurred, but his hair the same undeniably white shade as the man that had held him the night before had. Harry instinctively knew him to be Malfoy and he let out a relieved sigh. He did not know why the sight of the other male brought him some sort of peace of mind for it had always angered him before, but he could not help but feel relieved as he saw him standing next to his bed.
“Harry, I’m going to put your glasses on, alright?” Malfoy said, his voice soft as his hands slowly came up to Harry’s face. Harry simply nodded and smiled as his glasses were once again perched upon his nose.
“Thank you,” he whispered for his voice felt all too weak to come out any louder. His vision sharpened and he could see the other man better now, could see how his pale skin had become even paler, how the circles underneath his pewter like eyes had darkened, how his hair was completely askew.
“How are you feeling Harry?” he softly asked, his face contorted in worry as he stared right into Harry’s eyes.
“I’m alright, just a bit sore. What happened?” Malfoy took some time to reply, his brows furrowing as he seemed to weigh his words, as if he were afraid of what they might do to Harry.
“You…uhm…you tried to hurt yourself Harry… If I hadn’t been near…If I hadn’t been there you might’ve…you might’ve been off a whole lot worse…” Malfoy finally said, his voice stark against the cold air in the room. Harry nodded as the memories of the night before flooded his mind. He knew why he had done it, knew how as well, though he did not know what he ought to tell Malfoy about it. He had gotten what he wanted though that was for sure, but as he thought back about his rash decision, he knew that the other man would not be all too pleased if he discovered that Harry had done it all in order to obtain his attention.
“Why did you do it Harry? I mean, I understand if it was because of the war, but I honestly don’t think that that is why you did it…”
Harry remained silent and turned his head away. He could not look Draco in the eyes, he felt ashamed of himself, felt dirty even for having even entertained the thought to gain Draco’s attention by hurting himself, but he too knew that he could not dance around the facts for too long. He owed Draco an explanation, the other man had saved his life after all.
“It’s not a good explanation.”
“I don’t care, Harry, I just want to know because I want you to be okay,” Draco replied as he sat himself down on Harry’s bed. Harry still refused to look at him though.
“Do you care then?” Harry muttered, his voice soft as he tried not to let his own vulnerability shine through. Suddenly he felt something warm graze his hand. He looked up and saw how Draco enveloped Harry’s hand with his own before his gaze travelled up to Draco’s face, up to his burning eyes.
“I care so much Harry, how could you ever think that I didn’t?”
“Because you were so distant all year, because you simply ignored me yesterday,” Harry mumbled, his eyes trailing off to the ceiling so he did not have to look Draco in the eye as his cheeks flushed.
“I thought that my attentions would be unwelcome, but,” Draco whispered as he raised Harry’s hand to his lips, grazing the other’s knuckles ever so slightly with his soft and warm lips, “I have been a fool, Harry, I should have asked you instead of simply assuming that my feelings would be uncalled for.” And Harry finally understood that what he had been feeling had been love, an unhealthy, completely consuming variant of it, but nonetheless love.
So when Draco lowered his hand Harry did not hesitate to replace his knuckles with his lips, propelling his body forward and effectively crashing into Draco’s as the bonds that had held him down before ripped apart by sheer will power.
“I love you, I love you, I love you so much Draco,” Harry muttered with every kiss, with every touch, as Draco met him with similar endearments. Draco quickly wrapped his arms around Harry’s chest, effectively pulling the other boy into his lap without breaking their kiss. Harry’s hands flew up to Draco’s hair, pulling it harshly as the other man grazed his lips with his teeth.
Eventually Harry had to break their kiss for he had not been fully recovered yet and loving Draco had proven to be as exhausting as hating him had been. He rested his forehead against Draco’s, his chest heaving rapidly as he panted against Draco’s lips. He had closed his eyes but upon feeling Draco’s gaze on him, he opened them again.
“You don’t need to tell me why you did it Harry, but you have to promise me that you’ll never do it again, alright?”
Harry just nodded before closing his eyes again and letting himself be held by Draco who had wrapped his arms even tighter around his chest, effectively calming Harry’s running heart down.
FIN