Chapter Text
Harry woke up in the dark, sweat all over. He had had yet another nightmare of his past abuse from Vernon Dursley. It was always the same scene where he was helpless and couldn’t stop the belt from lashing against his back.
The abuse over the years hadn’t always been physical. Harry was very small and skinny for his age having been malnourished from a young age. The first evening at Hogwarts, he remembered the sight of so much food that he almost cried when eating the first bite. He had always had the left over scraps.
Every summer he had to go back to the Dursley’s, but now that he was older, it was slightly better. Even though it had been at least three years since the last beating, it still came back to haunt him every week or so.
Harry checked around the dorm to see if he had woken anyone. It seemed quiet enough. ‘It wouldn’t be any use going back to sleep now,’ he thought, climbing out of the covers and slipping off his four poster bed. Not wanting to wake his dorm mates up, he walked to another bathroom away from the Gryffindor tower. It was silent as he walked through the empty corridors. Technically he would get into trouble if he was caught, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t tired anymore, and the thought of having a nightmare again gave him a shiver down the spine.
Finally reaching the bathroom, harry was unsurprised to find it empty. It was here that he finally broke down. He needed to let out his suppressed emotions, and having a bedroom shared by dorm mates made it hard to cry in peace.
Life was unfair. What made other kids worthy of having parents who were alive, and relatives who loved them. Why must he be “the boy who lived.” He got jealous when Ron would talk about his family, jealous of Hermione’s Muggle parents, and even jealous of Malfoy. Knowing that Malfoy could dob on anyone saying “my father will hear about this,” made him die a little bit in the inside. He wanted so badly to be able to tell his own father that Draco was being a bully.
This bathroom became a usual place for harry to go to at 3:00 am every morning, and when he fell asleep in class, the teachers would only look at him in concern, never really asking him what was wrong. Nobody ever did ask harry whether he was doing OK or not. Why would they? He was “The boy who lived.” “Perfect Potter.”
—
When Draco Malfoy found himself walking to the bathroom in the early hours of the morning, his first thought was not “why am I walking here,” but rather “I’m meant to be here for some unknown reason.”
He wasn’t quite sure about why he was walking to the bathroom closest to the Gryffindor common room, but he did know that it was better than lying awake for ages from a nightmare-induced sleep.
Draco found himself waking from nightmares every now and then, it was not a new thing in his life. But this was the first time he found himself doing something other than lying with his eyes open for the whole night. His dreams changed over time, but they always managed to include some sort of abuse from his father.
Draco liked to pretend he could count on his dad to bully his enemies, but when it came down to it, the fact was that he didn’t care at all about anything Draco did. Draco constantly wanted to impress his father, but even when he studied for hours at a time, that stupid brat Hermione would beat him at top marks. Every. Single. Time.
He finally reached the bathroom. Hopefully he wouldn’t get caught out of bed by a teacher. Sighing, irritated for no reason, he pushed open the doors and walked into the boy’s bathroom.
The scene that hit him was horrific. Harry fucking Potter was lying on the tiled floor surrounded by a pool of blood.
After a few moments of utter silence, he ran over in shock and checked to see if he was breathing. Why the hell was Potter dying in a pool of blood? After a few blood replacement spells, he saw that Harry was still alive, just unconscious.
The reason behind it all became clear when he saw a razor clutched in his hand and slices on both arms. He looked away for a few moments, processing the new information.
It looked like Potter’s life wasn’t so saintly after all. Draco heard a whimper and whipped his head around with a start. Harry wasn’t awake yet, but he was muttering incoherently. Draco gently shook his shoulders to try and get him to wake. He didn’t really feel like waking him up after everything that had just happened, but he didn’t want to just leave him here on his own.
Harry’s eyes fluttered open and Draco nearly jumped. If it wasn’t such a stressful situation, he might have cooed at such an adorable face.
“What? Where am I,” harry whispered, taking in his surroundings.
“Oh harry, you bloody idiot,” Draco heard himself say, shaking his head but still leaning over to comfort Harry. Harry couldn’t help but flinch away when he saw Draco's hands stretch out towards him.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said with a frown, letting his arm fall. He saw harry’s eyes widen when glancing at the sight of the room and at his arms where the faint lines of cuts were.
“I found you dying in a pool of blood,” Draco said, glancing away. “Do you want to talk about it?” Harry’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.
“I never thought it would get this bad,” he whispered, looking at the floor in shame. I’m usually good about not losing to much blood.”
Draco closed his eyes, not wanting to shout at Harry.
“You need to stop cutting your self. This is serious, and you need to go to the infirmary right now.”
“No, No!” Harry exclaimed, suddenly sitting up in alarm. “Please don’t tell anyone, I’ll do anything! I don’t need to go to the infirmary.” Draco knew that he shouldn’t listen to him, but harry looked so scared.
After a few moments of silence, Draco finally replied.
“I’m going to make sure you stop cutting yourself. If I see new scars, I will not hesitate to tell Dumbledore. Promise me that you’ll stop with the self-harm.”
“I will stop, I promise,” Harry whimpered, trying not to cry.
“Good, and I know there’s a reason behind this,” Draco continued. “I want to help, please let me help you. If you need to talk about something, please owl me.” Draco took Harry’s hands in his, and they sat there for a long time, processing everything that had happened.