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Draco spotted a perfect shell not too far from the water.
He felt the sand brush his stomach as he dove under the waves, water rippling against where scales met skin, soft and gentle. He came up just under the pier, quietly moving from piling to piling, checking for people, but the beach was empty. Always empty.
He pulled himself onto the sand, the cold breeze nipping at his exposed back, the sensitive underside of his tail. Grains of sand rolled beneath him as he clawed towards his prize: an oyster shell in cascading shades of blue, smooth and oval and unbroken. He clutched greedily, hungrily, and scrambled back into the murky grey water and back to the end of the pier, where he nestled it between the two he’d found yesterday and lovingly curated into this collection.
He didn’t like to take too many; everything he took needed to be replaced, he knew, to keep the sand and water and wind humming happily. But he allowed himself these few possessions, these few beautiful things that reminded him why he was here, and why he had left, and how far he had to go.
On the back of the pier, green moss covering the water-submerged wood, Draco marked one more line as the sun went down. One more, for a total of two hundred and ninety seven.
Night came and went.
A boy came down from the cliff. Draco watched him as he stood by the waves, all scraggly limbs and messy hair and bright green eyes behind wire frames. Draco recognised something in him; perhaps the glint in his eye, or the hunching of his shoulders. The way he seemed to fold in on himself, the way his clothes billowed around him. Draco recognised hunger, visceral and sharp. This was a boy who knew what it was like to want something so desperately it eclipsed all else. Something expanded in Draco’s chest.
Slowly, slowly, Draco clutched at the perfect oyster shell he had found the day before and swam underneath the pier, trying to move his tail as quietly as possible. He got as close as he dared, flinching when the boy suddenly turned in his direction, brow furrowed in confusion. Draco dipped behind the piling, not daring to move, but not wanting to take his eyes off the hungry boy.
He watched him for what felt like hours, as the hungry boy sat and drew something in a book. Then he checked his wrist, sighed, and headed back up the cliff. Draco swam to where he had sat as soon as he left, delighting when he found a piece of charcoal, dropped from the hungry boy’s pockets. Clutching it carefully, so carefully, Draco swam back with it to his stash, and drew one more line on the pier.
It was three more nights before the boy returned, but this time he was not alone. Two men accompanied him, one with long dark hair and a wide smile, and another with gentle eyes and a walking cane. And behind them, the delighted cries of a tiny, blue-haired boy filled the air. They were a family, Draco realised, with a jolt. The man with dark hair had one arm wrapped around the hungry boy’s neck, and Draco clutched his perfect oyster shell and his charcoal, and swam as far under the pier as he dared. He clapped a hand over his mouth when he heard voices, clear and bright.
‘I rather think tonight’s a night for a movie.’ That voice belonged to the man with the walking cane. It was tired, low, but fond. ‘Harry?’
‘Sounds good.’ The hungry boy spoke. Harry. Harry Harry Harry. Draco drew in a breath as he watched them, now standing still at the edge of the waves and laughing at the tiny blue-haired boy, who was shrieking at the waves and running back and forth between the water and his family. The hungry boy watched him with a wide grin. Harry, Harry Harry Harry, Harry.
‘As long as it’s not Frozen again. I don’t care if Ted likes it, I’m done with that shit.’
‘Language, Padfoot,’ laughed the tired man.
‘You fucking love it, Moony,’ the black haired man responded with a wink. Moony and Padfoot. Harry groaned, and Padfoot tucked him into a tight hug.
‘This is what you have to deal with now, kiddo,’ Padfoot said. Harry rolled his eyes.
‘Oh no, how will I cope,’ he murmured, blushing and sweet, and his eyes flicked to the pier. Draco inhaled sharply, and sank a little more beneath the water, keeping his eyes trained on Harry.
When they left, Draco scrambled towards the shore, looking desperately. Please, he thought, please, something, anything. And then he saw it: a piece of paper, clearly torn from something else, crumpled and damp. He moved his body up the sand and snatched it, then shuffled across to where the pier met the sand, and tucked it beneath a rock, safe from the water.
The next day, Harry returned, clutching a notebook and a small bag. He sat right next to the pier, and pulled out more charcoal from the bag. Draco watched his lovely, brown hands move across the notepad, furious and precise and still so hungry. Then Harry stretched out one denim-clad leg and his foot bumped a rock. The rock. Draco’s stomach lurched as Harry’s brow furrowed, and he moved forward to pick up the paper Draco had so carefully placed there. He drew in a sharp breath and looked frantically around the pier.
Draco moved from under the piling, not daring to look at Harry, not daring to breathe. He swam to the shore, just a few metres away from Harry, and held out the charcoal.
When Harry’s gaze rested on him, Draco was sure that this was it. He was done, finished. Harry’s gaze went from shock to disgust to curiosity in a few seconds, and Draco felt himself being taken in; his tail, his long pale hair, the grey eyes he knew could pierce someone’s soul. His father had the same eyes.
Then Harry’s eyes turned to the charcoal, smooth from salt water and Draco’s clutch. Harry looked back at the paper in his hand, then back to Draco. He put down his notebook and so gently, so carefully, as if he thought he might spook Draco if he was too fast, moved towards him.
Draco felt bare, exposed, laying in the shallow water with his tail behind him and his entire being turned towards this hungry, shy boy. But he waited. He waited. He had been waiting for such a long time.
‘Hi,’ Harry said, his voice low and soft. Draco wished he could respond; instead, he slightly shuffled forward, and held out his other hand, which held the oyster shell. Harry looked between them. He tentatively reached out one smooth, brown hand and touched the charcoal where it sat in Draco’s palm. His skin didn’t quite touch Draco’s. ‘You have something of mine.’
Draco smiled, and nodded. He pushed the oyster shell towards Harry, and then pushed it into the sand. He marked out twenty dots, arranged in a sloping formation, and then gazed back at Harry, eyes wide.
‘Oh,’ Harry said. ‘That’s - the stars?’ Draco nodded, and pointed at himself. Harry sighed.
‘I don’t know all of them...my godfather has tried to teach me. I’ll look it up tonight.’ He looked at Draco.
‘You understand me?’
Draco nodded.
‘But you can’t speak?’
Draco hesitated, then tilted his hand from side to side.
‘You can kind of speak?’ Harry said. Draco shrugged, and then motioned for Harry to keep talking. ‘You can kind of speak...or, maybe in your own way.’ Draco nodded. Harry’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.
They stared at each other, and time seemed to suspend a little as Draco raked his gaze over Harry; his messy hair, his bright green eyes, his slightly protruding lumps on his chest. Harry followed Draco’s gaze and hunched his shoulders almost instinctively, like he was trying to hide.
‘My name is Harry.’ Draco decided it wasn’t worth trying to tell him that he knew. ‘I just moved here.’
Draco bit his lip, and then used the oyster shell to carve out more figures in the sand.
‘Three hundred and six,’ Harry read. ‘You’re - three hundred and six?’ Draco laughed and shook his head and Harry flushed. Draco drew the outline of a sunset and drew a line under the number again.
‘Sunsets...you’ve been here for three hundred and six sunsets?’ Draco nodded. ‘Where were you before that?’
Draco shook his head. Harry looked towards the cliff.
‘Look, I have to go, but will you be here tomorrow?’
Draco nodded.
‘Promise?’
Draco nodded again. He let out a breath and inched his hand towards Harry’s, and Harry let him. Harry was so warm. A creature of earth and fire, so diametrically opposed to Draco, all water and air. He felt like sustenance. His fingers were calloused and smudged with black charcoal, and Draco pushed his oyster shell into them, then looked up at Harry.
Understand, please, understand.
Harry smiled, and curled his fingers around it gently, like it was something precious. He fished out something from his pocket - a small, silver coin - and pushed it into Draco’s outstretched hand.
Draco watched him leave, skinny legs climbing higher and higher up the cliffs, until he disappeared from sight.
Harry was back, as promised, and he lit up when he saw Draco.
‘Draco!’ Harry grinned, so boyish, so pleased with himself, and Draco flicked his tail out of the water and swam towards him, pulling himself slightly onto the pier where Harry crouched. ‘Your name is Draco!’
Draco gave him a nod, and then pointed towards the sky.
‘Yes,’ Harry said, almost breathless, ‘I looked it up. The dragon.’ Harry fumbled inside his bag of charcoal and pulled out a flower, white and delicate.
‘I brought this for you today. Lily. Like my mother.’ Draco was swept under a tide of emotion, and he gazed at the flower, slightly open-mouthed, and he shook his head a little. He ducked under the pier, tried to gather himself, and then swam towards the shore, where Harry met him.
‘Are you okay?’ His bright green eyes crinkled in concern. Draco nodded, and gingerly petted the flower. Harry exhaled.
‘Do you have a family?’
Nod.
‘Here?’
Shake.
‘Why not?’
Draco sighed, and then pushed his hands apart from each other, trying to convey as much force as could. Harry bit his lip.
‘I see.’
Draco pointed at him, then up the cliffs, and raised an eyebrow.
‘I have a family.’ Harry swallowed. ‘Remus and Sirius and Teddy. But…my mum and dad, they’re dead.’ He shook his head a little and exhaled. ‘I lived with my aunt and uncle until last year. They weren’t very nice.’
Draco pointed up the cliffs again. Harry nodded.
‘Remus and Sirius fought for custody.’ Draco furrowed his brow in question. ‘Custody is...I was allowed to leave to live with them. I wasn’t allowed to, before.’
Draco reached out and touched Harry’s hand again, tried to say something that conveyed his understanding, his empathy, his own loneliness, and perhaps Harry understood, because he sighed and didn’t move his hand.
‘They were never very nice,’ he said, ‘but they didn’t accept that I was a boy, and things got bad.’
Draco tutted, and Harry broke into a grin.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘pretty much.’
Draco rolled onto his back, so that his tail remained in the gently rippling shallows, and held up the lily. Harry lay down beside him, and they stayed like that until Harry checked his wristwatch and sighed.
‘Tomorrow?’
The next day, Harry brought a green glass bead, and Draco had found a small conch shell that he gifted him in return. Balance, he knew, it’s all about balance. Harry tucked the conch shell into his pouch, beside the oyster shell, and pulled out a bit of charcoal.
‘Can I draw you?’ Harry gestured to his pad. Draco nodded, and turned his focus to the glass bead. It reflected the light, a wonder in shades of emerald, and Harry smiled at him softly before turning to his notepad.
He worked for a long time, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, but Draco was okay with that. He had time. He turned onto his back again, tail in the water, back against the warm grains of sand, Harry’s breathing a grounding force beside him. The pier stretched out beside them, barely holding itself up on the wooden pilings, littered with seaweed and driftwood. The cliffs were ragged and climbing, containing a world of promises that Draco knew, just knew, he would discover. He just had to wait. He had to. There was no choice, anymore.
The charcoal scratched soothingly on the paper until Draco heard Harry clear his throat, and he rolled over to look.
Draco felt his vision blur.
It was Draco, but it was the whole of Draco. It was curious hands on the bead, knobbly spine melting into scales, body twisted into the water and sand. And his gaze, fixated on Harry, piercing and hungry. So, so hungry.
‘Is it ok?’ Harry whispered. Draco huffed out a breath and smiled, then looked right at Harry, thinking only hunger hunger hunger. He raised two slender, pale fingers, and lifted his shaking hands to Harry’s chest, searching for that vital, beating heart under the layers of fabric and skin and bone. He felt it pound beneath him and Harry’s gaze went slack, his eyes slightly closed as Draco pushed into that space, pressed into him, trying to memorise the rhythm. Harry gulped and his head fell forward slightly, and then a soft tear landed on Draco’s knuckle.
‘I hate it,’ he whispered, so soft, so vulnerable. ‘I hate my chest.’ It felt like a confession.
Draco stroked gently over the collarbone, above the heart space.
‘No one sees me with my chest. They just see her. No one ever sees me.’
Draco paused in his stroking, and then tilted Harry’s chin so their gazes met. He pointed at himself, then at his eyes, then at Harry. Harry smiled, and caught Draco’s fingers.
‘Yes,’ Harry whispered, ‘I know.’
When Harry came next, he had the adults with him and the tiny blue-haired boy. Ted, Draco remembered. Draco stayed underneath the pier as he watched the family stretch out on the sand, legs intertwined, Moony and Padfoot’s hands clasped, Ted yawning on Harry’s stomach. Draco watched from his spot, lingering behind the pier, behind the lines. He’d just drawn the three-hundred-and-eleventh line the night before. He was running out of space on the pier. He was running out of so many things.
He watched Harry, watched how he furtively glanced around, searching for Draco. He watched how Harry was jostled and hugged and touched by his family, and how he looked almost afraid to touch back. Like he wanted it too much.
Draco knew what it was like to want too much. To want so much that you destroyed everything you touched.
Draco thought of his mother, suddenly, and vividly.
Narcissa pulling him towards the music, spinning him around in circles. Narcissa whispering, ‘I will keep you safe’, when the soldiers came to recruit him. Narcissa sobbing, her beautiful face contorted in agony, when Draco told her he couldn’t do it anymore. Draco, thinking of Narcissa, as he begged the stars for redemption. Draco, knowing he would never see her again, as he escaped in the dead of night.
Draco closed his eyes and let the waves pull him under.
When Harry visited him the next day, Draco felt hazy and weak. He had dreamt fitfully, vividly, of his mother, and his father, and armies of people who just wanted to hurt everything around them. He had stared at the night sky, mapping the constellations, trying to see a way forward, but only feeling despair. Harry’s green eyes were concerned and soft as he knelt by the side of the pier, holding out a tiny, ceramic duck.
Draco worked back a sob as he took it, patted it, and then gestured to the sand. He swum in, pulling his body up the shore, keeping his tail dipped in the waves. He let his entire attention focus on the duck, tiny and precious, and felt Harry lay beside him, jeans rolled up to avoid the saltwater.
Draco settled the duck between them, nestled in the sand, and tentatively searched for Harry’s fingers. There, he found them, warm and vital and present. He let his own cold skin touch Harry, searched Harry’s eyes - green as the glass bead he still had tucked in his collection - and then Harry brought a finger up to trace Draco’s face, light as a feather. He traced the square jawline, pointy nose, sharp ears, rounded hairline.
‘Beautiful,’ Harry said.
Time went on much like that, hours and days and weeks with Harry, who drew him and brought him pebbles and leaves and wood chips, and who let Draco lay beside him, not forcing him to speak, not forcing anything from him that he wasn’t willing to give. Summer tumbled toward autumn, and just when Draco had started to believe in this - that by some miracle, he was going to escape his fate - Harry shattered his heart.
‘We have to go back.’ His eyes were red-rimmed and he didn’t look as if he had slept. ‘School’s starting soon, and my dads haven’t been able to find consistent work here.’ He choked back a sob. Draco knew he should comfort Harry, should accept his fate, but hope is a traitorous thing and instead he dug his hands into the sand, and screamed.
It was a scream that humans should not hear. Harry gasped and stumbled backwards, and Draco looked at him, and bared his teeth, all pointed and monstrous.
I hate you, he thought, you could have saved me.
And deeper than that, you are the only thing that has ever understood me.
And perhaps even more frightening than that, I will not survive losing you.
But Harry was just a boy, a teenage boy, and Draco was a monster. He shrieked again, because he was not allowed to speak, could not speak, and dove beneath the water, leaving Harry sobbing on the shore.
That year passed slowly. No one came anymore, and every day Draco thought of Harry, thought of green eyes and hunger. He kept Harry’s treasures hidden, the ones that had survived - the ceramic duck and the pebbles and the wood chips. Autumn passed into winter, and Draco watched the cliff. Winter melted into spring, and Draco watched the cliff. Spring became summer, and Draco watched the cliff.
He didn’t come.
The year after that passed even more slowly, and Draco felt his will draining. He felt loneliness settle into his bones. He knew that he didn’t have much longer, because for his kind, loneliness was a fate worse than death, and few survived it. He lay beneath the pier and waited for despair to completely and utterly take him as summer passed again.
Draco stopped watching the cliff when the third year came and went.
He started counting everything he had collected, every shell, every errant piece of driftwood, and started putting them back. He would return this place to how it had been when he entered it, and then he would leave it, leave everything.
Draco remembered where he had found each thing, each item that he had hoped would tie him closer to hope, closer to who he was meant to be.
When he placed the last shell, he swam back to his spot behind the pier and collected each precious thing Harry had gifted him. The green glass bead still reflected light, still the exact shade of Harry’s eyes.
Draco pulled his tired, defeated body onto the sand for the last time, and burrowed a hole where sand met dirt. In it he placed the bead, the duck, the wood chips, the pebbles, the charcoal that was now half its original size.
He covered his love in earth and willed new life to grow from it, and then he turned around, and pulled himself back towards the water, ready to surrender to despair.
Only, a figure was running down the cliffs. Draco felt his heart stop.
Harry’s hair was still black as night, his eyes still shimmering green, but he was taller. His chest was flat now, and he had hair on his cheeks and chin and neck. And he was running to Draco, sprinting, and all Draco could do was lay there and try to believe that this was real, that this was happening.
Harry came closer and closer until he was close enough to sink into the sand, straddle Draco’s tail and place his warm, calloused hands on either side of Draco’s face.
And then he kissed him.
Draco gasped as warmth spread throughout him, like sunshine, like music, like hope. Harry pulled back and stroked Draco’s hair, whispering, shh it’s okay, it’s okay, and held him close as Draco’s scales dissolved, one by one, and his teeth became flat, and his ears rounded, and the webbing disappeared between his fingers, until he was just a boy, held and soothed and cradled by the boy who had returned. The boy who had come back for him.
Draco inhaled and pushed sound up from his throat.
‘Harry.’ He tried it out in his mouth, beautiful and soft and foreign and perfect. ‘Harry, Harry, Harry.’
Harry kissed his eyes, his nose, his mouth.
‘You came back.’
‘I didn’t want to leave.’
‘But you came back.’ And then Draco was sobbing, pulling their bodies together, feeling Harry’s heart beat beneath him, alive and real and beautiful.
‘Of course,’ Harry whispered. ‘Of course, Draco.’
They lay on the sand, Draco’s strange new legs intertwining with Harry’s as they kissed and held each other and made promises of forever, and then Harry was tugging him to his feet, and Draco was standing, like he had always wanted to, like he had always meant to.
‘Are you ready?’ Harry whispered.
‘For what?’ Draco responded.
‘Everything.’
And as they climbed the cliffs Draco gave the coast one last lingering glance, the pier a bittersweet goodbye, and it disappeared from sight. He turned to Harry - this beautiful, brave, hungry boy - and felt love spread throughout him, sure and final.
‘Okay.’ Draco smiled and pressed their foreheads together. ‘It’s time for everything.’