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Well, to be honest, if it were Finnigan he wouldn’t be this surprised, but this is Potter, Harry Potter, the boy who fucking lived we were talking about. He was the one who could get rid of the Dark Lord and ended the war for merlin's sake. Draco always thought Potter was brighter than this but nope, things have gone wrong because Potter is an absolute wanker. (But what to expect from the bloke who keeps using expelliarmus as if he only knows one spell.)
The source of Draco’s unhappiness turns his head to him, scratching his head awkwardly, which makes his messy hair get messier. Draco sends a cold glare to the other who is lying on the bed next to his.
“I know you didn’t ask for this but please bear with it for a week.” Potter sighs. His hand is reaching for the jar and the glass next to the bedside table between their beds before pouring the water into his glass. He drinks the water like he’s going to die of dehydration. Draco licks his dry lips slowly.
“You said as if there was something else I could do but wait.” Draco sighs tiredly. He swipes the white blanket covering his body and gets up. The young Slytherin man reaches for the leather oxford hidden under the bed and begins to wear his shoes.
“Here,” Potter hands him a glass of water that he used earlier. He pours more water into the cup. Draco presses his lips together saying, “Do you really think I would drink from the same glass with you, Potter?”
“You know that I can feel that you’re thirsty, right?” Potter points his index finger to his temple then at Draco.
“Potter.” Draco sighs. “If you think you can use this power to—”
“Mr. Malfoy! Who said you can leave the bed!” Madame Pomfrey opens the door before he can even put his feet on the ground. She quickly takes long steps to them. Her hands are on her hips, face not pleased. “And you, Mr. Potter, please do something about your hair. Why does it look like that? I know both of you are not in serious condition but stay here for now. Professor McGonagall is coming, so don’t move.” She quickly says what’s in her mind like she doesn’t need to breathe, and it reminds Draco of one of his house elves who worked there before the war…he wonders how she’s doing now.
“Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy.” Professor McGonagall opens the door. She slowly walks with a blasé expression which reminds him of a cat. Draco assumes the professor already knows what happened to them. The new Hogwarts Headmistress squints her eyes at them when she arrives at the foot of their beds, judging.
Draco knows Potter is nervous and a bit guilty right now. Good. Serve him right.
- - -
“Soulbonding Spell?” Pansy asks, getting up from Draco’s bed and leaning on one of the bed pole, her legs stretching to touch Draco’s who sits on the other side of the bed.
“Yes.”
“I’m also at the scene,” Blaise interrupts from his bed, “But still, how the fuck did potter do that?” He raises his eyebrows and looks at Draco curiously.
“Potter was brewing a potion next to me in Potion class but then that git’s cauldron suddenly blew up. I waved my wand the same time as him and then…I passed out.” Draco stretches his legs on Pansy’s lap. She pinches his ankle playfully.
“Cauldron blew up? Are you sure this is not Finnigan’s doing?” Pansy tilts her head.
“I know, right?” Draco smiles. “To be honest, that explosion was impressive. If it weren’t me being the arse of the joke I would totally laugh.”
“And that Soulbonding spell thing,” Blaise says, looking weary “Does it mean he can read your mind?”
“Not really,” Draco stretches then adds, “I don’t really understand but McGonagall said that because of the potion, my magic, and Potter’s magic is binding together simultaneously and turns it into Soulbonding spell. We can’t read each other’s mind, but I can detect his feelings and feel a tad bit of his magic in my body—”
“Woah, that sounds romantic.” Pansy grins toothily, wriggling her eyebrows at Draco. “Then I guess Potter would definitely detect your feeling for h—”
“Pan, if you continue, I’d kick you out of my bed.” Draco flushes. Blaise laughs lightly so Draco turns his head to the other boy’s direction and sends him a cold glare as well.
“Alright, alright. But how long is the effect of this spell? Please don’t say forever.”
“One week.”
“A week! That’s seven days.” Pansy grimaces. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”
“I…I guess I have to be.”
Draco looks out of the window, frowning. A week. He doesn’t know if he is lucky or unlucky, to have a chance to talk with Potter again after his and his mother’s hearings before the Wizengamot.
* * *
Draco opens his eyes in the dark. He doesn’t know where he is. He blinks his grey eyes slowly to adjust his sight. He shifts his gaze to look at his feet…he’s currently running right now, panting. But this is not him. Although he can feel the cold air, the pressure rising up from his chest that makes it hard to breathe but this. Is. Not. Him.
While he’s beginning to panic, his arm reaches to touch some kind of trophy. His other arm is holding someone’s frigid body. He can feel everything, but he cannot control anything, not even his body.
As soon as his hand touch the trophy, his body and the other body beside him are sucked into the air. Draco feels nauseous from the abrupt change. This feeling, he’s fairly sure he’s using a portkey, but that is not the only feeling he can perceive; he feels sad, anxious, panic, and pain…
When Draco opens his eyes again, the portkey leads them to the brighter area. The sounds of drum and people shouting confuse him. People with familiar faces are standing up, clapping. He is not sure but he’s certain he even saw himself hidden in the crowd, but it was a younger version of him.
People are still crapping when Draco throws himself on the ground to the body beside him. That person in Hufflepuff training shirt is lying on the ground, face blank, no sign of life.
That person is Cedric Diggory.
“NO! Cedric!” Draco hears himself screaming painfully. Although this is not his voice but now Draco is beginning to gather whose voice it is, whose body it is that he currently intrudes into.
“Cedric!”
Draco—Potter howls for the last time before someone is pulling their body from Cedric’s. Their ears are ringing and cannot hear anything. Everything is blurry from the tears that continue pouring from their eyes.
Draco wakes up with a tear-stained face, heart pounding, and drenching in his own sweat.
He tries to act normal and smile at Pansy when she asks him again whether he’s going to get breakfast at the hall or not. Draco shakes his head, says goodbye to his friends then walks out of his dorm with fatigue. He languidly gets out of the castle, not sure if the numb feeling inside his body is his or Potter’s, but he genuinely wants it to be gone.
Draco stops when he sees the lake. He looks around and notices a young man who sits on the ground not far from him. His hair is still dishevelled as much as before (or maybe more dishevelled if that’s possible.) Potter is sitting there, wearing the same hoodies he always wears, his face half-hidden underneath his Gryffindor scarf. Draco walks over there and sits next to him.
“Not cold, Potter?”
Potter begins to answer but Draco holds his hand out, saying “You don’t need to answer. I know you are freezing to death. Here.” Draco takes off his gloves and hands them to Potter. He pushed his hands inside his warm coat instead.
“…How was last night?” Potter mumbles after they were looking at the lake in silence for a while.
“I had a nightmare.”
“I know.” Potter nods tenuously and it reminds Draco of the dream last night. If it were a dream, it would be fine. However, it was a memory, a reality. The thing that Potter has to live with for the rest of his life.
“Being you is not easy, I guess,” Potter says.
Draco quirks his eyebrow, being him is not easy? What did Potter say? Is he trying to mock Draco for having to see Potter’s memory? He doesn’t understand.
“Er, what do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, last night, you and those death eaters — uh, the nightmare we shared.” Potter scratches his cheek awkwardly. Draco glances at his gloves in Potter’s hands.
“I don’t think we’re sharing the same dream.” Draco tilts his head. “I dream about Cedric.”
“Oh.” Potter opens his mouth. He knows which part of his memories about Cedric that was seen. He kept seeing it for many countless nights.
And now Draco begins to understand. They were dreaming of each other’s memory.
“You had my nightmare — my past? Which one? I had a lot of death eaters nightmares that I lost count.” Draco jokes but both he and Potter know it wasn’t a lie.
“I dreamt of Bellatrix. When she…tortured you.”
“Oh, that time.” Draco nods. “You’re unlucky. That was one of the worst ones.” Draco recalls the pain and feelings he felt from last night until now. If those are realistic enough to make him sense this numb feeling, then Potter might feel like dying at the moment. Draco felt like he was going to die when Aunt Bellatrix tortured him in the name of practising love and dark magic.
“Do we have to experience this for six more days? Me dreaming of your past?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I hope we don’t. It was painful,” Potter says while looking up at the grey sky. “On the bright side, now I know why you’re like this, and why am I like this.” Potter points at Draco from head to toe then at himself.
“Like what?”
“Broken?”
Draco laughs. “You’re nothing but broken, Potter. You’re a bloody war hero.”
“Yeah, but at what cost?”
“Hm, I don’t know. I don’t like the terms broken though. It feels like we need fixing. I need no fixing. I’m a Malfoy.” Draco pretends to be fine, even though he knows full well that Potter can feel that it was just an act.
“How would your good mates act if they know we’re here, licking each other’s wounds.” Draco quirks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. It might be fun, not just pain and sadness.” Potter gets up, dusting off the dirt of his pants before lending his hand to Draco. “Come on Malfoy, I know you don’t want your fancy pants ending up with dirt-stains.”
“That soulbonding spell can tell you that much?”
“Malfoy, I’ve known you for many years? I don’t need that spell to know this kind of thing.”
- - -
They’re sharing the same dream the next night. Both of them were standing in the Hogwarts hallway, warm orange light flickered around the room. Young Draco was standing in front of him and Potter was there, looking up, eyes showing defiance.
“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks”
They didn’t shake each other’s hand in that dream. They couldn’t change the past.
However, the next morning, Harry holds out his hand at the same spot in their dream.
And Draco takes it.