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Draco hissed, pain searing across his chest and stomach. He lay back down on the firm mattress, debating whether to call Madame Pomfrey to ask her to reapply the numbing salve to his wounds. He sighed, deciding to just tough it out for the night.
He closed his eyes when he felt the familiar sting of tears. He’d never wanted it to get this far.
When Draco was a child, he mostly stayed by Mother and the house-elves. Father was usually locked away in his study, the tall, mahogany door acting as the barrier between the secretive business dealings that apparently protected the Malfoy privileges that Father always reminded Draco to “guard with your life against the imposters.”
Draco would often sneak away to play with his toys in front of the study, hoping that his Father might happen to poke his head out, notice Draco, and invite him inside. But the door stayed shut, the only evidence of life behind it being the faint scratching sound of quill on parchment and the soft click of his Father’s shoes as he occasionally paced around the room.
Sometimes, Draco would hear his Father’s muffled voice from inside the room; he’d drop his toys momentarily, pressing his ear against the thick wooden door, straining to hear his Father as he conducted his Floo calls.
He hadn’t known what Father did for a living. Whenever he asked, Father would simply look at him with an amused, knowing smile, reach down to gently stroke his hair, and assure him, “Not to worry, Draco. You’ll come into the family business soon enough.”
Now, Draco cringed as he ran his fingers lightly across the wounded flesh of his stomach. If this was the hazard of the family business, he wanted nothing to do with it.
A sudden creak of the door to the hospital room had Draco’s head whipping over to identify the sound.
When nothing appeared in the doorway, his nerves were replaced with irritation.
Bloody Pomfrey didn’t close the door properly.
He reached for his wand to spell the door closed when the rustle of fabric and a quiet whooshing sound suddenly revealed Harry Potter standing at the foot of his hospital bed.
Draco sat up immediately, wincing in pain but still managing to point his wand at Potter, who raised his hands in surrender.
“What do you want, Potter?” Draco scowled. “Here to finish what you started?”
Potter’s face paled. “No, Malfoy. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I startled you, I was trying to sneak in without Pomfrey noticing.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “State your business, Potter,” he spat, not lowering his wand.
“I-I wanted to apologize.”
...
“Well, go on then!”
“I…” Potter trailed off, no longer making eye contact with Draco, green eyes sheepishly dropping to the floor.
“Potter, either use what few brain cells you possess to articulate an apology or do me a favor and leave me to my misery. I’ve enough discomfort without having to endure your blubbering attempts at speech.”
“Gods, Malfoy, can you stop being a git for once?”
“Funny, it didn’t sound like you said ‘I’m terribly sorry for slicing you open and nearly murdering you, Malfoy.’ Care to give it another go, Scarhead?”
Potter glared but didn’t respond. He closed his eyes and gave a heavy sigh before looking at Draco again.
“Malfoy, I really am sorry. I didn’t know what the spell did when I cast it—”
“What kind of idiot casts a spell without—”
“I know, I know, it was stupid and reckless. I really am sorry. If I could take it back, I would.”
Draco regarded Potter for a moment, noticing the other boy squirming slightly under his scrutiny.
Potter didn’t look away, though, even as Draco allowed the silence to linger, let them coexist in a space where, for once, Draco had the moral high ground.
You were going to Crucio him. You’re not faultless, either—
“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice broke Draco from his thoughts.
Draco cleared his throat. “Alright. I suppose that’s sufficient.”
Potter rolled his eyes. “Glad I could meet your standards.”
Draco snorted. “As if. My standards are the only thing higher than your ego.”
“Whatever, Malfoy. I know you’re still up to something, and I’m not going to stop until I figure it out.”
Draco paled, stomach twisting in panic at the reminder of his task. He said nothing, not trusting his voice to keep from breaking.
Potter looked at him, green eyes studying him until Draco looked away to hide the tears rising, threatening to spill onto his cheeks.
“Just go away, Potter, leave me alone.”
He would’ve been ashamed at his defeated tone, but despair overwhelmed his pride. Potter blinked in surprise.
“Malfoy,” Potter said, his voice softer than Draco’d ever heard it. “Please. I know we’re not exactly mates, and I don’t claim to know you like one, but…”
“But what, Potter,” Draco said wearily.
“But I know that whatever it is, whatever you’re being asked to do—it’s eating you up, isn’t it? I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen you wasting away and clearly tortured by something. Your forearm—you keep glamours on it, don’t you?”
Draco’s breath caught. He looked at Potter in shock. “How did you know?”
Potter ran a hand through his hair. “I guessed. I had a sneaking suspicion, anyway. But you don’t have to do this. You’re annoying and clearly prejudiced, but you’re not a murderer. And I think there’s more to you than—than this.”
Draco let his confusion show on his face as he regarded Potter, whose jaw was set in determination, eyes gleaming. That expression on Potter was always intense, but Draco’d never before been on the receiving end of it quite like this, being looked at as if he was someone worth saving.
A rolodex of proper responses spun in his head, from snarky to bitter to hateful, each of them designed to tell Potter to get stuffed, that he didn’t need his help, that he was loyal to his family’s side.
But despair overwhelmed his pride.
“I don’t know what else to do.” His voice was quiet, yet steady in the empty room. Potter didn’t speak for a moment, both of them letting the gravity of his statement settle around them, letting the world shift, and history along with it.
Finally, Potter opened his mouth. “Then let me help you. Let me take you to Dumbledore. He can protect you.”
Draco shook his head. “Potter, I can’t abandon my family—my mother. They would certainly be tortured, or worse, if I defect.”
“Alright, then maybe you can be a spy. Help take it down from inside.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “And what do I get in return?”
Potter scoffed. “You mean other than an invitation to the winning side of the war? What do you want, a bloody trophy?”
“I’ll be risking my life and ultimately betraying my Father to do this, Potter. Besides, this way I’ll know I can trust you.”
Potter stared at him for a moment in consideration before tilting his head. “Fine. What do you want?”
What do I want? Merlin I didn’t think I’d get this far. Draco’s mind raced before memories of the previous year gave him an idea.
“I want you to teach me how to cast a Patronus.”
Potter’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“What? You did it for your little dueling club. Do you think I can’t handle it, Potter?”
Potter put up his hands. “No, I’m just surprised, is all. But fine. We can meet in the Room of Requirement after dinner every night. Deal?” Potter stuck out his hand, and Draco’s heart stuttered.
It’s strange, he realized, the feeling that what you’ve wanted for six years is suddenly right in front of you, ready for the taking. The shock, the joy, was like a cauldron bubbling up inside him. He stared at the hand offered before him, trying to memorize the scene, and he fought every instinct in his body that screamed at him to jump at the chance to take it immediately.
Instead, he said, “Can I think it over?”
Disappointment briefly flashed across Potter’s face as he pulled back his hand. “Fine. Pass me a note in Defense tomorrow with your answer.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
“Are you just going to repeat my every word, Potter?”
“Shove off, Malfoy.”
Draco sneered—some things would never change, potential alliance or not. “In case it escaped your notice, Potter, I am unable to ‘shove off’ since I am confined to this hospital bed for the evening because of you .”
Potter looked away, cheeks reddening. “Right, sorry. Er, feel better, Malfoy.”
Wait, don’t go.
“I plan on it, Potter.”
Potter rolled his eyes and draped his invisibility cloak around his shoulders. Draco wasn’t sure he’d left until the door to the Hospital Wing shut soundly behind him.
Malfoy threw his wand down. “It’s useless, Potter. I’ll never get it right.”
“Malfoy, this takes practice. No one manages a corporeal Patronus right away.”
“It’s been bloody weeks, and I can’t even produce a wisp!” Malfoy sat down on a Room-provided chair, head in his hands.
Harry sat down next to him. “I know what you’re going to say, but—”
Malfoy scowled. “I’m not telling you, Potter.”
“It might be that the memory isn’t strong enough. If you tell me, then maybe I could help you decide if you need a different one.”
Harry was ready for another refusal and already preparing to either keep pushing for an answer or change tactics when Malfoy finally sighed.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. I’m using the memory of when I was sorted into Slytherin.”
“Okay, that’s a good start. How did that make you feel?”
Malfoy snorted. “What are you, a bloody Mind Healer?”
“Deflecting by trying to argue with me won’t work, Malfoy.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I dunno. It was my first night at Hogwarts, which I’d looked forward to for years. I’d fulfilled a major step as a Malfoy heir and upheld hundreds of years of tradition. Anyone would be excited.”
“And you were happy? Truly, completely happy?”
“Of course, my parents were thrilled.”
“That wasn’t my question. Were you happy?”
“I suppose. It was a relief, more than anything.”
Harry shook his head. “That’s your problem—the memory isn’t strong enough. It’s got to be something that fills you with so much joy, so much pure happiness, that you’re bursting with it.”
Malfoy’s eyebrows were drawn together for a moment, and Harry couldn’t help but notice how adorable he looked when he was concentrating.
Bloody hell, Malfoy isn’t adorable! Said a voice in his head that sounded a bit disturbingly like Ron.
Malfoy spoke, breaking Harry from his musings. “Again. I want to try again.”
“Okay, go for it.”
Malfoy stood and Accio’ed his wand, the other, empty hand clenching and unclenching. He closed his eyes, a strange, almost-smile quirking his soft pink lips, making him look nearly angelic.
Merlin, get a grip, Harry!
“Expecto Patronum,” Malfoy said, his voice firm but not loud. They both gasped as a small white wisp burst from Malfoy’s wand before dissolving in the air.
Harry’s breath caught at the look of unbridled joy on Malfoy’s face, his smile bright and a surprised chuckle escaping him. Harry’s chest was full at the startling sight, but…not unpleasantly so.
“That was great, Malfoy! You’re nearly there!”
Malfoy nodded, his smile returning to a smoother state, just turned up at the corner. Still, a softness remained in his gray eyes, making their normally cold, steely effect a bit warmer, and Harry felt his cheeks heat slightly under the gaze.
“Thank you, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly; Harry barely heard him.
Harry smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“Can I ask you something?”
They were taking a break one night. Potter sat next to him, munching on biscuits brought to them from the Room.
Draco shrugged. “Sure. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
Potter chuckled. “Prat.” His face turned serious, and he swallowed, making Draco’s concern rise.
“What’s your mission? What does he want you to do?”
Draco tensed. He’d been hoping to avoid that question, at least until he formed a plan to fool the Death Eaters into thinking he was working on it for as long as possible.
But as Draco looked at the kind, genuine green eyes, full of concern and sadness, pain and strength, he heard the words out of his mouth before he realized it.
He told Potter everything: the Vanishing Cabinet, the locket, the poison. It all came out as if he’d been dosed with both Veritaserum and Babbling Beverage. Potter just sat there and listened, his expression even.
When he was done, he was vaguely aware that his cheeks were wet. Potter was silent for a moment, they both were, letting the quiet fill the air.
“I’m sorry.”
Stunned, Draco could only open and close his mouth before managing to say, “What?”
“I’m sorry you were asked to do that. I’m sorry I didn’t handle this better, sooner. I’m sorry no one thought to teach you, instead of ignoring or punishing you.”
“Potter, you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. You’re not the one who bullied me and my friends for six years, Merlin.”
Potter shook his head. “I’m not sorry because I feel guilty, or personally responsible. I’m sorry because while you were absolutely an arsehole, you and a lot of other students could have been spared a lot of pain and suffering if Hogwarts put more effort into helping everyone understand each other.”
Draco scoffed. “How very Hufflepuff, Potter. What, were we meant to have a feelings circle and read each other’s diaries?”
“I’m just—Malfoy can you honestly say, after all these months of working together, that you still hate Muggleborns? Do you still believe the things Voldemort and your father taught you?”
Draco looked away, unable to meet Potter’s eyes. “I don’t understand Muggles,” he said finally. “I think parts of Wizarding history and tradition should be upheld. But, no, I don’t hate them. And Granger’s beaten me in classes too many times for me to still believe they’re inferior.”
Potter opened his mouth to speak, but Draco held up a hand to silence him.
“I’ve been trying to read books written by mu—ggleborns, actually. At first, it was to prove to myself that my beliefs were correct, that they were the imposters and leeches that my Father always said they were. And then I learned more—how magic can’t be stolen, and all of the reasons people fear them, and the more I thought about it the more I realized how much I’d taken my Father’s words at face value.”
Draco looked at Potter for a moment, wondering if he would interrupt, but the other boy sat still, listening intently, so Draco continued.
“And then I got angry. My Father had not only been lying to me, but he was signing me up to fight in a war that, regardless of my pureblood beliefs, I did not want to be part of. At the beginning, it sounded like an honor—like I’d finally broken into the family business, but soon I realized how utterly dangerous and horrible it all is.”
Potter didn’t speak. He just looked at Draco, awe plain on his face.
“Wow. I can’t believe you learned all that in a few months.”
Draco shrugged. “I think it started happening before I realized it, honestly. When Umbridge was in charge, it was fun to be on the Inquisitorial Squad, until I saw how ridiculous it all was, and how completely barmy she was. I was relieved when she left. I think that’s when I first started to question it, without knowing it."
Draco took a deep breath to steel himself. “Potter, for what it’s worth, I apologize. I’m sorry for what I did to you, and your friends. I hope when the war is over, when it’s safer, I can apologize to them too. But for now, I want you to know that I regret it all. I’m sorry.”
Something in Draco dissolved, a warmth unraveling in his chest and spreading throughout his body, tingling. He felt lighter, his body releasing tension he didn’t know he’d had.
Potter gave him a wide grin, and Draco’s heart stopped.
“I accept, Malfoy. Thank you.”
Draco looked away, blushing. “Yes, well, don’t get used to it, Potter. If this friendship is to work you’ll have to adjust to the fact that I’ll still be correct in all other things.” His nose was in the air, but he hoped Potter could see the mirth in his eyes and not hear the pounding in his chest.
Potter laughed. “Unlikely, Malfoy.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Potter?”
“Yes, it's a challenge. I challenge you to get up and practice again.”
Draco huffed. “Fine. But don’t be surprised when I end up picturing your inevitable wrongness when I finally produce my Dragon.”
Potter scoffed. “A dragon? That’s what you think it’ll be?”
“It’s fitting, don’t you think? My name is Draco, after all. But I suppose you wouldn’t remember that, seeing as my surname seems to be your favorite word.”
“I’ll call you whatever you want, Draco, just cast the bloody spell before I start doing homework out of sheer boredom.”
Draco hummed. “Might be good to crack open a book every once in a while, Potter. Granger won’t let you copy off her forever.”
“It’s Harry.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know it was that complicated—”
Potter laughed again. “The situation isn’t hairy, you dolt. Call me Harry.”
Draco felt his cheeks burn. “O-okay Harry.”
Harry smiled. “Good. Come on, Draco. Let’s try again.”
“Mate, we need to talk.”
Harry looked up to see Ron and Hermione looking down at him as he sat on the couch in the otherwise empty common room. Ron’s face displayed mild concern, while Hermione looked determined, her brown eyes betraying a hint of nerves.
“Sure, what’s going on?”
“You’ve been acting a little bit strangely for a while now,” Hermione said delicately as she and Ron took the seats across from him. “We just wanted to see if there were any new developments in your…investigation of Malfoy.”
Harry had to suppress a bubble of laughter that rose in his chest. “It’s fine, really. I’m not worried about Malfoy anymore.”
Ron’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “What? At the beginning of the year, you were obsessing like mad. Now you’re suddenly over it?”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why? What happened?”
Harry tried not to squirm; it was always a bit weird when her eyes got all small and knowing and searching. “Nothing, really. I don’t think he’s up to something anymore. He’s just…Malfoy.”
Hermione sighed. “Harry, please. Tell us what’s really going on. We’re your friends, let us help. You know I’ve already been preparing for—-“
“’Mione, no,” Harry groaned. “I told you both I can handle the hunt on my own.”
“And we told you that we’d never let you do it alone. End of discussion. Now, what happened with Malfoy, because mate, he’s never just been Malfoy to you and we all know it.” Ron said, his voice defiant.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, just—don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Hermione scoffed. “Please. As if we would.”
“And,” Harry winced. “Promise not to freak out…”
Harry stood outside the Room of Requirement, the door standing there a sign that Draco was already inside, waiting for him. Jitters ran through his body and he took a steadying breath. Finally, he opened the door.
Draco looked up at him from where he’d been reading on the sofa. “Oh, good you’re here. I was starting to think you’d forgotten,” he said with a smirk.
Harry swallowed. “Look, I have to tell you something—”
Draco paled. “Oh gods, what happened?”
“Nothing! Everything’s fine, just, can we sit?”
Draco nodded and they sat on the couch. Harry noticed Draco’s hands trembling, and he resisted the urge to take them in his own.
“I’m…going on a trip.”
“Oh…” Draco looked confused. “For a holiday?”
Harry let out a short laugh. “Not quite. You see, I have to go…do something. And I can’t tell anyone about it. I also probably shouldn’t tell you anything else in case Voldemort tries to read your mind or something, but Ron and Hermione said that—”
“Wait, you told your friends? About u—I mean, about our deal?”
Harry shrugged sheepishly. “Er, yes, I did. We’re sort of a team, in that way. They’re in on the plans. They’re supportive, don’t worry. Ron about had an aneurysm once I told him how I feel about you but—“
“Hold on—how you feel?”
Panic shot through Harry’s body, making his skin tingle and his tongue feel prickly. “Er, I mean, well yes, you know how we’re, um, friends. And stuff. Friendship, friendly feelings. The friend kind.”
“Right. Of course.” Draco nodded, his features smooth and schooled into his blank mask.
“Um, anyway, so I just wanted to say that I won’t be around, really. So this’ll have to be our last lesson since it’s the end of the year.”
“Sod the lesson. Harry, will you at least tell me where you’re going?”
Harry shook his head. “I can’t. Partly because I don’t even know myself, at the moment, but we won’t be telling anyone where we are, just in case Death Eaters come looking for us. We can’t take any risks.”
Draco swallowed. “I wish…I wish I could go with you, just run away. I wish I could…” He trailed off, at a loss for words.
Harry reached over, nerves fluttering in his stomach as he gently took Draco’s cold, trembling hand in his own. “Me too. But it’s not safe.”
“I know. But—will you be? Safe?” Draco’s voice cracked at the end.
Harry pressed his lips together. “We’ll try. Of course, nothing’s guaranteed, but I think between Ron, Hermione, and me, we’ll be alright.”
“Okay,” Draco said, his lip trembling a little.
Harry’s breath caught at the sight, and suddenly he wanted to soothe it, to stop its anxious quiver, so he gently leaned over and brought the lips against his own, wrapping a hand around the back of Draco’s neck.
Draco hesitated for a moment before responding in kind. Something in Harry shattered and something else coalesced as the world fell into place and tiled on its axis all at once. It was nothing like kissing Cho or Ginny, back when they’d dated briefly. Harry let his tongue gently nudge against where Draco’s lips had parted until he was granted access, deepening the kiss. Draco’s hands roamed over Harry’s sides, making him shiver before one hand reached up to thread nimble fingers into his hair, pulling lightly. In return, Harry began trailing kisses down Draco’s neck and onto his collarbone, causing the hand in his hair to tighten.
After a few minutes, they pulled apart, panting, and stared at each other.
“Wow,” Draco breathed.
“Yeah, I, um. I hadn’t planned on doing that. But I’m glad I did.”
Draco smiled a bit shakily. “Me too.”
They sat for a few more moments, too dazed to care about the awkward silence.
“Do you, um…Do you want to..? It’s just—this is our last night, and um. That was so—“
“Harry.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Harry surged up, meeting Draco’s lips and eliciting the first whine in a night filled with soft moans and quiet gasps.
The next morning, Harry had to leave early, while Draco didn’t have to go until later. He dressed quickly and Draco watched him, trying to keep the bittersweet feeling from showing in his eyes. Planting a short but toe-curling kiss on Draco’s lips, Harry was out the door.
Still reeling from the kiss, Draco’s head spun, his blood rushing and making him feel almost dizzy. Joy bubbled up inside him, warm and buzzing and bright. He grabbed his wand.
“Expecto Patronum!”
A burst of white light shot out of his wand, taking form. Draco gasped.
“Will you require anything else, My Lord?”
The Dark Lord’s mouth twisted into something that, Draco supposed, was supposed to be a smile but instead resembled the profile of a python ready to strike its prey.
“No, dear Draco. You are excused. In fact, why don’t you pay our guests a visit? I’m sure they would gain...comfort. Especially from a familiar face.”
Draco willed his face to twist into a smirk, a movement that used to come so easily, gladly. “Yes, My Lord. Truly inspired.”
With that, Draco bowed and left the room quickly. He kept his face stony and masked as he looked around quickly for any intruders and stuffed food and glassware into his pockets, using quick Shrinking charms. Then, confident air restored, he walked briskly yet casually through the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement.
“Draco?” A voice with a quiet, light timbre cut through the darkness, followed by a flash of bright blonde hair like his own.
Draco quickly cast a Silencing charm and restored the glasses to their proper size. “Yes, it’s me. You can all come out now, I brought you food and water.”
After a moment, Ollivander, Lovegood, Thomas, and Griphook emerged out of the shadows and toward Draco, each taking their fill of the nourishment.
“Are there any remains from this morning?” Draco asked.
“Over here,” Ollivander stepped away for a moment to hand Draco the cores from apples and other trash. Draco easily Vanished them with his wand.
“Any news?” Thomas piped up, focusing his big brown eyes on Draco.
Draco shook his head. “Not really. They’re still looking for Harry, and I haven’t heard from him in months,” he ignored the familiar sinking in his stomach at saying (or thinking or hearing) of Harry.
His face must have portrayed his grief because he felt a soft hand squeeze his arm lightly. He gave Lovegood a grateful look.
“I feel I should be comforting you, Lovegood.”
She gave him a small, sad smile. “You’re as much a prisoner here as I am, Draco,” she said. “In some ways, even more.”
Draco blinked in shock, unable to form a response. She simply nodded, patted his arm, and moved to return to her spot.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve got to go back, or they’ll start to get suspicious. I’ll return this evening with whatever I can bring you.”
The others nodded, none of them looking at him except for Lovegood, who said softly, “Thank you, Draco.”
He managed to nod in return, unable to speak. She seemed to understand, if her serene, yet knowing smile was any indication.
Draco turned and left the dungeon, his head swimming. When he reached the top of the stairs, he slowed his steps to hear two Death Eaters, whose names he didn’t know, whispering together.
“…raid tonight…Weasley…blood traitors…wedding…perfect…”
Draco’s breath caught. Harry’d told him of Bill Weasley’s impending nuptials. Filled with dread, he made his way to his bedroom.
He began pacing, trying to formulate a plan. He had to get a message to Harry, somehow, but Owls were out of the question. He also couldn’t very well firecall, given the obvious risk. How else could he—
That’s it! He pulled out his wand, trying to fill his mind with memories of Harry. Of languid, soft kisses and quiet jokes and warm touches. Finally, he felt himself fall into a peaceful feeling that tampered his anxiety enough to cast.
“Expecto Pat —”
“Dracooooo!” Came the shrill coo of his Aunt Bellatrix, shattering Draco’s moment of calm. “What was that you were saying?”
“Nothing, Aunt Bella!”
“Really, Drakey? It sounded like you were having a little fun with magic, weren’t you? Casting useless little spells.”
“No, Aunt Bella.”
She narrowed her eyes. Quickly, she drew her wand and cast, “Legilimens !”
Luckily, she’d taught him too well. Draco Occluded quickly, shoving forward memories of other Death Eaters torturing Muggleborns and of his younger self bullying Granger. When he felt the connection end, Bellatrix was glaring at him.
“Hm,” she said shrilly. “Well, as your Aunt, it’s my duty to make sure you’re equipped with more useful spells, wouldn’t you say?”
Before Draco could respond, she lifted her wand and shrieked, “Crucio! ” And the world went black.
Draco’d desperately wanted to see Harry again, but not like this.
Not with Harry's face maimed by a stinging hex, in front of his family and Death Eaters, and unable to touch him, to hold him, to feel him alive and real in his arms.
He kept his face stoic, blank and emotionless, knowing that any sign of a reaction would have his family suspicious in a heartbeat. He watched Aunt Bella take a large sword from Greyback, shrieking about theft while the man sputtered his defenses. His attention was brought back to Harry when his Father placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Draco, if we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, it will all end! Look closer, son, and tell us if it’s him.”
Father shoved him forward toward Harry, causing Draco to stumble. He forced himself to look at Harry’s swollen face and pretended as though there was any doubt in his mind, any confusion whatsoever, any chance that Harry could be in the same vicinity as him without him knowing it.
“I don’t know,” he said, walking away, unable to look at Harry any longer without tears pricking his eyes.
“But surely this is Weasley, and that's the Mudblood?”
Draco winced. “I…it could be, maybe.”
He watched his family and the other Death Eaters bicker and squabble over whether or not to call the Dark Lord and claim the potential reward, all the while sneaking glances at Harry.
Finally, his Father turned to face him. “Draco, take these prisoners down to the dungeon, all except for the Mudblood.”
“No, take me! You can have me!” Weasley shouted, and Draco winced as Aunt Bella slapped him.
“Don’t worry, dearie, you’ll be next! Draco, take them while I question the Mudblood.”
“And, Draco, bring the goblin when you return. He can determine the sword’s authenticity,” Father said, a gleeful glint in his eyes.
Draco quickly guided Harry and Weasley to the cellar, trying to ignore how badly Weasley was shaking.
When they entered, Draco let go of his grip on them and immediately cast a Lumos for some light. He then threw his arms around Harry, who returned the embrace. Weasley was distraught, calling, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” But Draco was focused only on Harry.
“Oh my gods, are you alright Harry?” Draco’s hands gripped Harry's forearms like a lifeline.
Harry nodded. “Just a stinging hex to disguise me. We were caught by the Snatchers. Are you alright?”
“As good as I can be. I’m so sorry about the raid, I tried to warn you, to get a message to you, but Aunt Bella, she—”
“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Thank you for trying,” Harry ran a calloused thumb over Draco’s cheek, and he leaned into the comforting touch.
“Harry, I’ve missed you so much,” Draco let his emotions rise to the surface, threatening to break and spill onto his cheeks.
Harry gave him a weak smile. “Me too, Draco. Thinking of you has kept me somewhat sane, but it—”
“Harry, I want to go with you, I want to run away, please, I—”
“I know, but you can’t. I need you here. I need you to stay safe, to do what you can here. Please, Draco, when this is all over we can go anywhere you want, but for now…Please do this for me.”
Draco let out a shuddering breath. “Okay, Harry.”
“DRACO! Stop dawdling and bring the goblin up here at once!” Father’s booming voice echoed. Draco winced.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. Mr. Griphook, you’ll need to come with me. Harry, I—”
Harry shook his head. “Go, we’ll be alright.”
Draco bit his lip for a moment before leaning in and kissing Harry firmly, taking just a moment of relief and joy—and ignoring Weasley’s indignant squawk—before pulling away, back to reality.
“Go,” Harry said softly.
“I’ll find you, I promise, I—” Draco felt his voice shaking.
“DRACO!” Bellatrix’s voice was shrill and cut through the air.
“Go, really, Draco. Before she gets suspicious and comes here herself.” Harry said more firmly.
Draco nodded, blinking back tears. “Mr. Griphook, please follow me.”
As Draco led Griphook out of the cell, holding his arm loosely, he couldn’t let himself turn to look at Harry, despite the feeling of Harry's stare at his reluctantly retreating back.
“Drop your wands! Drop them or we’ll see how filthy her blood really is!” Harry saw the knife dig into the skin of Hermione’s neck.
“Alright!” Harry shouted, dropping Bellatrix’s wand as Ron did the same with Wormtail’s.
They stood with their hands up. Harry’s scar seared in pain. He was grateful that Luna and the others had made it to Shell Cottage with Dobby’s help, that his reveal hadn’t caused more harm to the prisoners, but his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of Hermione struggling under Bellatrix’s hold.
“Good, now, Draco, pick them up quickly! The Dark Lord is on his way!” Bellatrix’s voice was laced with sadistic glee.
Harry saw Draco rush forward and gather the wands. Gray eyes held his gaze steadily for a moment, something glinting in them before he hurried back to his spot.
While Bellatrix was ranting, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye that Draco was mouthing something, waving the wands inconspicuously.
Above them, the ceiling groaned, and they looked up just as the chandelier fell, glass shattering everywhere. Bellatrix let go of her grip on Hermione, who rushed over to Harry and Ron. Draco gave Harry a hard look and Harry jolted into action, running over to jerk the wands out of the other boy’s hands that gripped them for a moment in a feigned struggle before easily letting them go. Harry resisted the urge to flash him a grateful smile before returning to his spot.
There was a crack and a shout as Narcissa trained her wand on the new presence in the room. Her wand was forced into the air and across the room.
“Dobby! How dare you defy your masters!” Bellatrix howled, voice dripping with menace.
“Dobby has no masters! Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby will save Harry Potter and his friends!”
Harry’s heart swelled. “Ron!” He threw him one of the wands. “Let’s go!”
As he faced the darkness meant to take them to Shell Cottage, he saw Draco’s face, a hit of a relieved smile curving the top of his lips ever so slightly, before Bellatrix’s thrown knife came into focus as they vanished.
“Come on, Crabbe!” Draco hissed, waving the other boy over. They wandered through the enormous room, stacked high with various objects lost over generations of Hogwarts students.
Draco worried that Harry was rubbing off on him; he’d brought Crabbe and Goyle here on an impulse under the guise of looking for Harry, hoping to let them get lost among the rows so he could escape. They’d be safe and out of his way, and he’d be free to go battle other Death Eaters. It wasn’t fool-proof, sure, but it was his plan, and he was committed.
He turned a corner while the two boys got distracted by some old trinket or another. He was just about to quietly make his way to the door.
“Hold it, Potter.”
Draco froze, shutting his eyes. He schooled his face into its former sneer and returned to Crabbe and Goyle to see them pointing their wands at Harry. Draco raised his wand as well, affecting his voice as much as possible.
“Good work, Goyle. Now, Potter, that’s my wand you’re holding.” It was the first thing he thought of; better to divert the conversation to something other than an interrogation, buy Harry some time to form a plan.
“Not anymore. Where’d you get that one, Malfoy?” Harry played the role well.
Draco flushed a little. “My mother, if you must know.”
Harry laughed, and Draco tried not to feel a little offended, instead focusing on glaring at Harry.
“Why aren’t you three with Voldemort?” Harry asked, and Draco opened his mouth to respond.
“We’re going to be rewarded. We aim to turn you into him ourselves,” Goyle said with a sneer.
Harry chuckled again. “Good plan,” he said, sarcasm clear in his voice.
“Harry?” Came Weasley’s voice from somewhere else in the Room. Draco tried not to groan in frustration. “Are you talking to someone?”
Suddenly, Crabbe cast a Descendo on a tower of books, which fell over in the direction from which Weasley had spoken. Harry ran over to help him, and Crabbe raised his wand again.
“No!” Draco said, grabbing his thick arm. “Y-you’ll destroy the diadem thing.”
“So?”
“So, Potter wants it, so we can--”
“We can--Potter, no! Crucio !”
Draco’s heart lurched but he was flooded with relief when the spell missed Harry.
“Crabbe!” He shouted. “You can’t hurt him! The Dark Lord wants him alive!”
“But he wants him dead eventually. Why can’t I do it?”
Then Goyle shouted. “It's the Mudblood! Avada Kedavra !”
“No, don’t! DON’T KILL HIM!!” Draco yelled, looking at Harry urgently to do something.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry called, retrieving Goyle’s wand. Granger Stunned Goyle before she and Weasley scrambled away, ostensibly looking for the diadem. Draco turned his attention to Goyle when he heard a loud roar erupt behind him.
He saw Weasley and Crabbe running up an opposite aisle. Crabbe was grinning sadistically, laughing.
“Like it hot?” He taunted, looking at Draco for approval. Draco just looked at him in shock as panic ran through his body.
He saw Harry casting Aguamenti at the flames, so he grabbed his two friends and ran toward the exit, which was now engulfed in fire. Draco looked around as billows of thick smoke filled the air, preceding scorching flames that were fueled by the wooden floors and many cluttered items in the room.
Crabbe and Goyle followed him as he dashed around, looking for some clear path out, but it was no use.
He couldn’t find Harry, couldn’t see him, but he knew it was for the best for Harry to leave him. Harry had to stop the Dark Lord; wherever he was, he didn’t have time to save Draco. Draco knew have to find his own way out, or die trying.
Finally, he saw a few towers of items not yet covered in flames. “Come on, boys!” He shouted. He saw Goyle out of the corner of his eye start to follow his lead and climb.
When he managed to reach the top, he nearly fell off in shock at the sight of Harry, on a broom, coming toward him with his arm extended.
Draco didn’t think. He just grabbed tightly onto the proffered arm and hoisted himself on the back of the broom, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and screaming.
When they reached the outside of the castle, Draco fell off the broom and gathered himself, panting and coughing. He looked around, noting that Goyle, too, had been saved by Weasley. But his heart sank into his stomach.
“W-where’s Crabbe?” He asked, looking at Harry, who had stood up.
“He’s dead,” Weasley spat. Goyle collapsed into tears next to him.
Harry moved toward Draco, helping him up. “Are you alright, er, Malfoy?”
Draco looked around wearily before clearing his throat. “I’m fine, thank you, Potter.”
Harry nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Draco couldn’t help it. He grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him into a searing kiss, eliciting squawks of shock and protest from Goyle and Weasley, respectively. When they pulled apart, Draco noticed Granger’s thoughtful expression.
“You saved me,” Draco whispered.
Harry gave him a small smile. “‘Bout time I returned the favor, don’t you think?”
Draco shook his head fondly. “You idiot Gryffindor.”
“Oi! Lovebirds! Break it up. Harry, we’ve got to go.” Weasley said before noticing Harry’s hands. ‘Blimey, is that--?”
“Oh, yeah,” Harry said. He paused, turning to Draco. “Will you be alright?”
Draco nodded. “Yes, now go before someone catches you.”
Harry grinned and nodded, gesturing to Weasley and Granger to follow him. Draco watched them leave and turned to face Goyle, who had run off.
Draco sighed. Well, no use in pretending anymore. He ran off to find the other students.
Harry walked toward the Forest, taking in the sight of Hagrid’s hut, the lush greenery and the odd peace around him that was dichotomous with the terror swirling inside.
As he approached the edge, he noticed the Dementors swirling around, their chill prickling his skin, despite the cloak around him. He had no energy for a Patronus, all sense of hope and happiness gone from him.
Suddenly, a white light glimmered in the air. He blinked his eyes into focus as he took in the sight of a glowing Stag. He wondered briefly if he’d cast it subconsciously, somehow, when—
“Harry, it’s me.”
Harry closed his eyes at the sound of Draco’s voice.
“As you can see, I did it. I cast a Patronus, thanks to you. The first time was actually right after you left that morning when we spent the night in the Room. I’d felt so overwhelmed with happiness, so giddy that I knew that if I didn’t try then I’d never manage it. And when I saw it was your Stag, well…I assume you know what that means.
I do, Harry. I love you. I’m not sure where you are right now, but it doesn’t matter if anyone else hears me now. I’ve blown my own cover, fighting against the Death Eaters. I don’t have long, now, but I wanted to get a message to you, to tell you that I’m alright, I’ve never felt freer in my life, and that wherever you are, I love you. I believe in you. And I’ll see you soon.”
Harry’s eyes were wet with tears. He looked up, noting that the Dementors had dissipated at the sight of the Patronus.
He let himself close his eyes for a moment, let his mind fill with images of Draco. Late nights spent in the Room helping master the spell, the heat and electricity of their first kiss, staring at him from across the Great Hall, surreptitiously admiring Draco’s hair glinting in the sunlight during Quidditch matches as they flew around looking for the—
The Snitch. Harry reached into his pocket until his fingers clasped the small golden ball and pulled it out.
I open at the close.
A sense of dread mixed with determination settled within Harry. “I am about to die,” he whispered, and the Snitch opened. He raised Draco’s wand and whispered, “Lumos.”
Draco’s legs almost gave out beneath him at the sight of Harry Potter lying lifeless in Hagrid’s arms.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but barely hold himself upright. The Dark Lord was pontificating on something, his grin vindictive and sadistic, and he sneered at the sight of Draco on the Light side but otherwise ignored him.
Longbottom was in the middle of the battlefield. He broke free from the Body-Bind Curse to quickly grab the sword and cut off Nagini’s head, a stampede of centaurs broke through, and Hagrid was calling for Harry as the crowd swarmed and scattered around. Draco stayed on his side, firing shield charms at his fellow students and defensive spells at Death Eaters. Adrenaline and anger coursed through his body, replacing the grief with determination.
Draco noticed Mrs. Weasley battling Bellatrix, feeling a strange sense of joy at seeing his Aunt finally defeated. He saw the Dark Lord fighting with McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley all at once, and he ignored his parents searching for him. He had to fight, he had to move, he had to go, for—
“HARRY!”
Draco whipped his head up toward the voice to see Harry standing, his cloak fallen, his face determined and his wand pointed at The Dark Lord.
Alive alive alive alive alive!!
“Everyone get back! It has to be me!” Harry called, and everyone stepped away, giving the two of them space.
Draco watched the two of them trading jeers and taunts. He listened to Potter explain it all: Dumbledore’s death, Snape’s Patronus, until finally—
“The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”
Gasps scattered throughout the crowd. A few eyes flitted over to him, while others stayed focused on Harry and the Dark Lord in the middle. Harry glanced at him very briefly, giving him a small, reassuring smile. Draco swallowed, his own smile trembling.
“But I won it from him—or, rather, he let me win it from him. That’s another bit, isn’t it? The power of love. My love for him, and his for me—it defeated all the hate you and his parents taught him, didn’t it?”
Draco’s eyes were wide. Merlin, he hoped Harry knew what he was doing, revealing their relationship so publicly. Still, he felt a sense of pride swell in his chest at the gesture, at the sign that Harry wasn’t ashamed of him, that Harry loved him.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Expelliarmus!”
Draco watched the two spells meet, one from his own wand in Harry’s hand, the other from the Elder Wand in the Dark Lord’s. He watched the latter soar through the air and into Harry’s waiting hand, before the Dark Lord fell to the ground with a thud, his eyes and body lifeless, once and for all.
Draco watched the celebrating crowd descend on Harry. He looked for a way to get through, a way to reach him, but he decided to hold back. Then, a pair of green eyes met his from within the mob, lighting up. Draco smiled, holding up a hand to let Harry celebrate with the others. He should find his parents, he should—
“Draco wait!”
Harry pushed through the crowd toward him, and Draco stood, frozen in surprise.
“H-Harry? What are you doing?”
Harry gave him a lopsided smile. “I promised you that we’d run away. It’s over.” He took Draco’s hand.
Draco grinned back, his eyes watery. “It’s over.”
“So, where do you want to go?”
Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, letting the tears spill. “Anywhere, Harry. As long as it’s with you.”