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Part One: The Truce
Draco Malfoy
My father was now in Azkaban and I honestly didn’t know how I felt about it. On one hand, he’s the reason I feel so alone in the world. On the other, he is still my father. But either way, he’s paying for his crimes. Part of me feels guilty at how much I’ve enjoyed his absence, I feel like I should be mourning or something. But I don’t feel upset at all, in fact, I feel more relaxed than I ever have.
Getting the letter was shocking. The idea of returning for another year sounded both horrifying and tantalizing. Hogwarts was more of a home to me than Malfoy Manor ever was. Especially now, after all that’s happened here. What made me hesitant to agree was the prospect of seeing all those people again. All the people I’ve wronged because I didn’t know any better, or I was too weak to defy my father. I’ve got a lot to repent for, but perhaps I can start new this year. Stick to studies and stay out of people’s business.
I board the gleaming red train feeling jittery. I’m on edge, as though somebody will attack me at any moment. I peer through compartment windows as I walk down the isles in search of an empty compartment. I spot Blaise and Pansy sitting down and Pansy waves when she sees me. She’s been dabbling with makeup recently. She’s currently got a black smoky eye with a crimson lip.
I enter the compartment and seat myself across from Pansy, beside Blaise.
“Good to be back isn’t it, Draco?” Pansy sighs. I smirk at the dark-haired Slytherin. I nod instead of replying. I’ve still got my mask on. My cold face of indifference. Pansy doesn’t need to know how much I’m dreading setting foot on Hogwarts ground, nor would she care. But even if she did, I don’t think I’d want to tell her anyway. My problems are nobody’s business but my own.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and prepare for an awkward train ride to Hogwarts.
It wasn’t that awkward. Pansy didn’t put up with me being so non-compliant and forced me to chat with her. It was nice to talk to someone so casually, it was almost as if the war hadn’t happened. I wish it felt that way all the time. But both my forearms haunt me, even if I can’t see them now.
On the left, a mistake I will live with for the rest of my life. On the right, my own self-punishment for my mistakes.
We arrive at Hogwarts and my breath hitches at the sight. Multiple areas are still being rebuilt, and the parts that have been rebuilt aren’t quite the same anymore. If I didn’t know the castle so well I wouldn’t have noticed, but I did. I bite my lower lip between my teeth, a nasty habit I’ve picked up. I really should stop or I’ll end up destroying my lip.
As soon as I enter the hall I notice a change. There’s a new table. Along the front of the room right at the end of the other tables is another long table, with no house colours. I eye the table warily as I walk with Pansy and Blaise over to the Slytherin table. I peer around the room, looking for familiar faces that have returned.
My eyes drift to the Gryffindor table subconsciously and sure enough, right where they usually are, Potter, Weasley, and Granger. The three people I least what to see right now.
Once the sorting is finished McGonagall steps up to address the hall. Blaise shushes an over-excited first year that has sat next to him. The first year cringes away from him.
“I’m sure you’re all confused as to the new addition to our great hall,” McGonagall starts, earning several mumbles of agreement from various houses. “The Hogwarts houses have been separated for so long, I think it is about time we start working on our house unity!” I groan, my head thumping onto the wooden table. Pansy chuckles and pats my back twice in sympathy. House unity? What kind of dumb, cliched thing is that? I force myself to keep listening as Headmistress continues,
“So, as the eldest, I have decided the eighth years will be sharing a table, no houses separating them. Hopefully, this will inspire some conversations and get us all going on the right track.” Several protests arise from the Gryffindor table.
“You want us to share an eating place with snakes? I might vomit!” The voice is unmistakably Weasley. I roll my eyes, trying to ignore my own displeasure at the new setup. I can’t cause trouble this year, one foot out of line and my ass is in Azkaban.
“Silence!” McGonagall’s voice thunders through the halls, “All eighth years will be eating here. No exceptions.” She makes it clear she will not accept ‘no’ for an answer. Reluctantly, Pansy, Blaise, and I make our way to the table as all the other eighth years stand. I sit at the very end of the table, not wanting to be anywhere near anybody else. Pansy and Blaise sit across from me. This whole sharing a table idea is absurd, next McGonagall will say we’ll be sharing dorms.
Fuck me. The new eighth-year common room is regrettably nice. Although the fact that I’ve been forced to share with three other houses is not. McGonagall seems to have thrown every wrench she has into my plans of staying away from the Gryffindors. This way, I’ll have to listen to Weasley and Potters continuous whining all day long.
I plop down onto a black couch, a detail clearly taken from the Slytherin common rooms. I glare into the gray fireplace ahead of me, watching the wood as it chars.
“What did the fireplace ever do to you?” A voice chuckles to my left. The stupid voice, the one that haunts my nightmares relentlessly.
“Well, it existed for one,” I reply. My eyes are trained on the fire still.
“I’m not here to fight you Malfoy,” Potter says. That catches my attention. I turn to the dark-haired Gryffindor with an eyebrow raised. “I actually came to propose a truce,” he explains. For once Potter is actually saying something intriguing.
“Go on,” I reply. Potter runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tick.
“After the war,” Potter winces, “I’m sure we can both agree we’d like a peaceful year. So just, stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” He is correct, all I want this year is do be left alone. I want to finish my studies and leave, maybe go somewhere far away. Like in America, America is nice. A tad insane, but nice.
“I think that’s the most intellectual thing I’ve ever heard you say, Potter,” I reply reluctantly. Potter frowns at me but offers out a hand. I stare down for a moment, not quite believing the sight. Oh lord, the cruel irony. I snarl at his hand but reluctantly take and give a firm handshake. Potter smiles widely and something strange flutters in my chest.
“See you around Malfoy,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he stumbles back to his friends. His tone is almost, friendly? It’s rather odd and I can’t figure out how I feel about it.
Part Two: The Detention
Harry Potter
It felt strange not fighting with Malfoy. Like, throughout all the years at Hogwarts however unpredictable it got he was always a constant. I could always count on him to be spitting snarky remarks and making me feel like shit. Now it felt strange. My instincts told me to provoke him, insult his hair or something. But we had a truce. Which was weird. I don’t think my younger self would believe it if I told him. Not that I could tell him, I destroyed all the time turners. Nobody will ever be going back and forth between time again. Thinking back I probably should have kept one, just in case y’know?
I enter potions late, scrambling into class with an embarrassed flush on my face. Professor Slughorn smiles at me,
“Mr. Potter, lovely to see you!” I smile and look around the class for a seat. Slughorn notices, “You can be partners with Mr. Malfoy.” I stare in disbelief for a couple of seconds. No, no way. I won’t. We may have a truce but he’s still a git. “McGonagall is pretty adamant on the whole house unity thing,” he adds as an afterthought. I bite down a retort and plop ungracefully down next to Malfoy. He’s avoiding my gaze and already brewing the potion written on the board.
“So uh, guess we’re partners.” I chuckle awkwardly. Malfoy ignores me. What a prat. I honestly don’t know what I hate more, being insulted by Malfoy or being ignored by Malfoy.
“Can I help at all?” I offer. Malfoy looks at me finally. His steel-gray eyes bore into mine sharply. I’m at a loss for words momentarily. Have his eyes always been this silver? They seem shinier.
“With your track record of potions,” Malfoy drawls, “Perhaps it’s best you leave this to me.” I bite down a growl. I chant in my head, there’s no point in fighting, there’s no point in fighting. I clench my fists at my sides and say through gritted teeth,
“Just let me help, you wanker.” Malfoy huffs and I can tell he’s also biting down a retort. Probably something witty and cruel.
“Fine,” Malfoy sighs, “Stir clockwise 15 times, then anti-clockwise 12. No more, no less.” I nod and begin stirring the potion while Malfoy preps for ingredients. I can’t help but admire the way his long fingers cut the ingredients with the utmost precision. He’s remarkably good at this, I reckon Malfoy is good at everything. Except being nice, he failed that class in pre-school.
Before I know it the cauldron starts bubbling. And not the good type of bubbling. Malfoy gasps and desperately throws something in an attempt to fix my mistake. The bubbling stops and I breathe a sigh of relief. But of course, I celebrated too early. Story of my life.
The cauldron explodes, sending indigo goop absolutely everywhere. From my left, I hear Malfoy mutter a barely audible,
“Bloody hell.”
Now I’m stuck in detention with Malfoy, writing lines. Slughorn left to take care of something, he never actually said what, leaving me and Malfoy alone in the room.
“I shouldn’t even be here,” Malfoy scoffs. I glare up at the snarky blonde,
“It was your potion too.”
“You screwed it up!”
“You threw in that thing, maybe that did it?” Malfoy huffs and turns back to his lines. I blink in surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Malfoy back down from a fight. Even a verbal one. Maybe he’s sick?
“Would you stop staring Potter, you’re going to burn a hole through my head,” Malfoy sneers. I flush and return to writing my own lines. My hand is starting to cramp. I do feel kind of bad for screwing up the project. Malfoy is good at potions, it was obviously my fault.
“Sorry for blowing up the potion,” I sigh. Malfoy doesn’t reply. I choose to take his silence as forgiveness and continue writing. The sooner I’m out of here the better.
“Next time,” Malfoy drawls, “Pay more attention.” I roll my eyes, stupid of me to think he’d be nice to me. He despises me, that’s just a fact. And I despise him, or perhaps I should. I’m not sure I do. Mostly, I pity him. It was clear he didn’t want to fight in the war, at least not on the side he was on.
“I don’t blame you,” I whisper. Malfoy gives me a confused look, his eyebrow arching up in a sophisticated way that I know if I ever attempted I’d look like a constipated puppy. What does a constipated puppy even look like? “For what happened last year,” I add, “Or the year before that. The past years really.” Realization flashes through Malfoy’s eyes. I think I see something there for a moment, some sort of emotion. But it’s gone before I can pinpoint it.
“You should,” Malfoy shrugs, “I did bad things.” He’s so nonchalant about it. He casually says that I shouldn’t forgive him as if I were talking about him borrowing money or something minuscule like that and not a bloody war.
“But I do forgive you,” I say a bit more forcefully, “It wasn’t your fault.” I think I’ve struck a nerve. Malfoy’s at the end of his scroll now. He drops his quill on the desk and stands up, glaring harshly at me with his intense eyes
“Listen, it’s the past alright. It doesn’t matter.” Except I get the feeling that it does.
Part Three: The Apology
Draco Malfoy
I avoided Potter like the plague. He has attempted to talk to me a few times since the detention we had, but I won’t let him. I stay near Blaise and Pansy as much as I can, I’m practically glued to their sides. I think it’s starting to annoy them. I just don’t want to talk to Potter, talking to him reminds me of how good he is and how not good I am. He’s always putting others first and I’m as selfish as they come.
It seems my luck has run out. I realize as Potter corners me after class one day.
“Malfoy,” Harry greets me with a smile. No, he’s not allowed to do that. He’s not allowed to greet me like we’re fucking friends. Does he not understand what I’ve done?
“What do you want?” I spit. Potter’s smile doesn’t waver. It irritates me to pieces. He’s practically glowing. I’m not blind, even I know his smile is attractive. But I’ve never had it directed at me. Once again, I choose to ignore the flutter in my chest. If I say it’s not there, then it’s not there.
“To talk,” Potter answers.
“Well, I don’t,” I reply. I try to swerve around him but he blocks me. I want to get away from him, he’s too much to be around. Too happy, too good. I can’t handle it.
“Please Malfoy,” Potter pleads, “We’ve made a truce and we’re potions partners, we might as well have a chat.” I can feel my resolve crumbling and I hate it. I give in and nod. I tell Potter to follow me and book it to the astronomy tower. If I’m going to talk with Potter I’m doing it somewhere nobody will see me with him.
Potter is huffing by the time we make it up the stairs, to be fair I did take them two at a time. I sit down on the floor, and gesture to Potter to sit down as well. He plops down across from me rather loudly. I have no idea how he managed to sneak around and find Horcruxes, he’s got about as much stealth as an old badger.
“You wanted to talk,” I urge. Harry rubs the back of his neck, another nervous tick.
“More like, apologize.”
“I beg your pardon?” I’m not quite sure I understand what’s happening. Has he gone and hit his head?
“I want to apologize for the sectumsempra incident,” Potter looks down at his fidgeting hands. He’s serious, he’s apologizing. The world is ending. The world is actually ending. What’s next? Flying pigs? Actually, I’d prefer the flying pigs right now, they sound well nice.
I don’t get what goes on in his head. I was about to crucio him, I’d say his response was suitable. Although a little dumb considering he didn’t know what it did.
“You don’t need to apologize. It was justified,” I shrug.
“It was dumb,” Potter counters. Well, at least we agree on something. Potter’s a knob head.
“No, I do,” Potter’s voice goes softer. Part of me feels guilty now, I caused him so much pain. “If you had died, I mean I know we don’t like each other but-” Potter shrugs helplessly, “I never wanted you dead.” My brain is moving one hundred miles an hour. My teeth are biting at my lip.
“If anyone should be sorry it’s me,” I manage to struggle out. I don’t like the way Potter looks at me after I say that. With his stupid smile. I want to say more, apologize for everything properly. But the words get stuck in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” is all I manage. Potter’s smile is blinding, his green eyes twinkling with happiness. It’s that moment that I realize how utterly fucked I am.
Part Four: The Common Ground
Harry Potter
I lay in bed, still shivering from the nightmares. It’s been half an hour and I still can’t get the pictures out of my mind. I’ve been so tired recently, more often than not I’m awake all night due to the nightmares. Sometimes I’m just too scared to sleep.
I sigh and climb out of my bed, I can’t think straight there. I walk out from my shared dorm with Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus out into the common room. It takes my overly tired brain a moment to realize I’m not alone. Sitting on one of the black couches, curled into the corner with a blanket around his shoulders, is Draco Malfoy. I sit down on the couch across from Malfoy.
“What brings the chosen one down here so late at night,” Malfoy inquires. It might have been a taunt were it not for the fact that his voice was just a little too soft. Softer than I’d really ever heard it. Might be the lack of sleep.
I shrug, “Bad dreams.” I’m not shy about admitting it. I was at first but then Hermione pointed out that I went through a war, I shouldn’t be embarrassed to have lasting trauma. It the stuff earlier in my life that I don’t like to talk about.
“You?” I ask. Malfoy stares into the fire and toys with the blanket around his shoulders,
“Memories,” he replies. I’m not exactly sure what that means. I want to pry, all of my draco-malfoy-death-eater-hunting instincts tell me too. But then I realize that if I was going to ask him, he’d probably ask me. And if whatever is keeping him down here is anything like mine, neither of us will want to share. But maybe I can try anyway.
“What kind of memories?” Malfoy glares at me, his lips drawing up in a snarl. It doesn’t really bother me anymore, I don’t feel the sudden need to fight back.
“Does it matter?”
“Are you okay?” I blurt. Malfoy freezes, completely caught off guard. His jaw slacks open a touch and his face is now devoid of anger. The light of the fire casts an angelic glow on him. The flames gleam against his ivory skin and his eyes shimmer like stars. In those eyes, I can see fear. He’s scared.
“Malfoy? Is everything alright?” Malfoy opens his mouth but nothing comes out. I think I’ve broken him. He swallows and starts biting at his lip. He’s clearly uncomfortable. I decide to chip at his barrier slowly, maybe if I’m vulnerable he won’t be so scared.
“It’s different all the time,” I start. Malfoy is looking at me curiously. “Sometimes it’s about my life before all this. Sometimes it’s about the war. Tonight is was about Sirius,” I take a couple of deep breaths. I can’t do this with the way Malfoy is looking at me. So I look away, staring into the fire just as he had been. “It started out as a wonderful dream. But it so quickly became a nightmare,” I try to keep my breathing calm as the memory of my dream comes flooding back to me. “I watched him die several times, in several different gruesome ways. And nothing I did could stop it.” My voice breaks at the end and I feel heavy. The wight of my dream pulling me down once more.
“I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispers. The corners of my mouth twitch slightly, a small smile. I’m aware of how strange this situation is, me and Malfoy getting along. But it’s really nice.
“I guess living with a madman has lasting effects,” Malfoy says. I turn to him. When our eyes meet he looks down at his hands.
“I’m sorry. Living with Voldemort must have been awful.” Malfoy looks me dead in the eyes, a grim expression on my face.
“I wasn’t talking about him.” I furrow my brows in confusion. Malfoy turns back to watching the fire and it’s clear he’s not going to give an explanation. Was he talking about his father? I thought Draco liked his father. I’m confused until suddenly I’m not.
“Did he hurt you?” The way Draco winces is all the answer I need. A flood of sympathy washes over me. I wish I had known this sooner, maybe I could have helped. I wish I had known that he wasn’t a prat, he was a victim.
From day one I was expected to be this amazing, good person. I had the expectation of greatness thrust upon me. So, I did my best to live up to those expectations. And I did. But Draco, nobody expected any good to come from him. He was expected to be a slimy, evil Slytherin, a bully, a prat. Everyone expected him to become a death eater. So he did. Because if everyone around says that’s all you are. Well, it’s hard to fight that.
“I’m sorry Draco, you didn’t deserve any of it.” He turns back to me. I feel my heart skip a beat. His eyes twinkle gratefully, welling with tears. His mouth tilts upward in a delicate smile. Not a smirk, or a teasing grin. A genuine smile. My breath leaves my lungs at the sight. I feel like my brain has stopped functioning, I can’t think. So I do something that doesn’t require thinking. I smile back.
Part Five: The Leap
Draco Malfoy
Ever since our chat in the common room Harry and I have developed a friendship of sorts. We still bicker, but it’s more playful now. Blaise and Pansy have noticed and questioned me, I’m sure Granger has noticed too. When Blaise and Pansy asked me why Harry and I were friendly now I just shrugged and fed them some excuse about maturity and burying the past. Sometime during this friendship, he’d slowly transitioned from Potter to Harry. A fact I didn’t particularly know how to deal with. That wasn’t the only thing I was struggling to comprehend. The flutters I get when we’re together are no longer easy to ignore. The way my heart skips a beat when he smiles and my brain turns to mush when he laughs. There’s no escaping the reality that I am completely and utterly gone for Harry Potter. It’s embarrassing how my feelings have grown. I don’t see how he could feel the same way. Even if he did, I don’t know if it would be a good idea. He’s the chosen one and I’m- Well I’m me. A death eater, a Malfoy, and a soiled brat.
I’m sitting by the black lake, the autumn breeze sends a shiver down my spine. But I find it doesn’t bother me.
“Oi, Malfoy!” My peace is interrupted by the chosen one himself. I turn around to smirk at Harry as he sprints towards me, dropping down onto the grass beside me. He looks like he’s just been shagged. His hair is askew, his robes are crumbled and his tie is barely even tied.
“You look like a tragedy,” I drawl. Harry flushes and shrugs,
“Slept in, didn’t have time to bother about how I looked.” I roll my eyes and lean towards him. I untangle the tie around his neck and retie it neatly. I smile at my handiwork and hastily back away from Harry. Close proximation for too long could result in a gay panic.
“That’s better,” I breathe, “Now to fix your hair.” I gesture to the mop on his head. Harry shakes his head, his hair moves around him like he’s a dog.
“It doesn’t get much better honestly, best not to try.” I shrug, It doesn’t matter to me either way. Although I would have loved to do his hair, mainly because I wanted to know how soft it is.
Harry looks delightful in this lighting. The sun glows on his tan skin and his emerald eyes seem two shades more vibrant than usual. His smile is blinding and I feel like swooning right about now.
I’ve been waiting for signs that Harry liked me back, anything, but so far he hasn’t given a single clue. But he also hasn’t given me a reason to think he doesn’t like me back. It’s infuriating. I’ve accepted at this point that the only way I’m going to find out is if I say something. It’s time to take a leap of faith.
“Harry,” I start. Okay maybe not a leap, I’ll wade into it. Like walking into cold water, some people jump in and get it over with and some people wade in slowly. I am the latter.
Harry hums. I fidget with my hands nervously in my lap. I’m not sure I can do this. Fuck it, I am a Malfoy! Not that I really know what that means anymore.
“Would you uh-” I bit my lip. “Well um-”
“What is it Draco?” Fuck him, he cannot call me Draco right now. I might combust. This is already difficult enough as it is.
“It’s just that-” Of course I’m witty and eloquent but the minute feelings are involved I’m a stuttering toddler.
“Take your time Draco,” Harry says. I really hate him, I really really do. And I hate the soft feeling in my chest at his patient tone.
“Fuck!” I shout. Harry flinches at my sudden burst. He’s not looking at me a little concerned. I don’t blame him, usually I can talk.
“Are you alright?” Harry puts a hand on my shoulder. I grit my teeth. No, I’m frustrated with myself. I hate that I can’t just ask him out. It shouldn’t be this difficult.
“I’m trying to ask you on a date, alright!” It comes out a whine. Not ideal but at least I got it out. Harry recoils, his hand drawing away from my shoulder. I deflate, a lump forming in my throat. Of course, he’s not interested. I don’t know why I thought he would be. I dig my teeth harder into my bottom lip and push down the swelling pain in my chest. Just as I’m about to apologize Harry speaks.
“Okay,” He breaths. My breath hitches and my head snap up to look at him.
“Seriously?” Harry nods, smiling at me. I can’t stop the delighted giggle I let out. I feel like I’m floating. Harry laughs as well, his smile getting bigger and brighter. If that’s even possible.
Part of me knew that this wouldn’t be easy. The chosen one and a former death eater. But for once I ignored the voice in my head telling me this was stupid and wrong, that I don’t deserve him. Because fuck that, I deserve at least one good thing in my life.