Work Text:
September 7th
Myrtle’s favourite bathroom of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry quickly became more of a magical place of Potter-Malfoy Mortifying Depression Dates. This time, there was significantly less cursing and blood, which they both appreciated.
The first week back in Hogwarts was a pain. The looks, the whispers, the pointing, the “accidental” hexes… Draco Malfoy was hiding, of course, and loathing his existence when someone kicked the door open and proceeded to toss his things at a wall in a very obvious fit of rage. Malfoy held his breath while his startled heart hammered against his chest. The intruder bent over, hands on his knees, and exhaled. Then he got back up and let out a frustrated grunt. His hair looked ridiculous, it always did, and now it was making Potter look completely out of his mind.
Since Malfoy sat facing Potter’s side, he conceded he’d better speak up before being discovered. He opened his mouth at the same time Potter moved, and they both started.
“Fucking hell!”
Draco flinched. “Hi,” he said wryly.
“Hi. Shit.” Potter sighed. “Sorry. I’ll go.” He started collecting his abused stuff.
“Okay.” Good.
“Okay.”
Draco watched his anxious, irritated face and the quick movements of his hands. Once the fear went away, he felt nothing again.
“Are you okay?” Potter asked.
It sounded like an after-thought, but its sincerity caught Draco completely off guard, and the first lifeline he found in his repertoire was a scowl. The look on his face must’ve been telling enough because Potter cringed, muttered something, and bolted for the door.
“Oi,” Draco heard himself call out – the small, better part of him anyway – and Potter froze with his fingers on the door. “Thanks for asking…?”
Potter snorted and shook his head before he gave Draco a genuine, if awkward smile. “It’s gonna be all right, mate.” He grimaced and laughed at himself, looking tired. Then he left.
Draco didn’t feel there enough to smile. Yet… even though he got a fright and a memory of a dreadful example of social interaction, frankly, he didn’t feel any worse.
October 31st
Harry was hiding, obviously. He’d been having some intense nightmares for the past two weeks and was fed up with it. He already exceeded his limit on doses of the Sleeping Draught in September. Madame Pomfrey warned him (sounded like threatening to Harry, but okay) not to drink any more for at least three months, to which he objected that Snape is getting his potion every day, and earned himself a disturbingly dark look as a result. He learnt about the small doses Severus used whilst combining it with Occlumency, and why isn’t Harry learning that, and he might stop wasting her time as there are so many patients at St. Mungo’s to be tended to unless and until something turns up at Hogwarts.
After the war ended, the Hogwarts infirmary got its own fireplace within the Floo network, only allowing people to travel to St. Mungo’s and back. Although the roughest times had passed, with some Death Eaters still avoiding capture, there were days, or less often, weeks of eliminating the damage they caused.
Harry decided not to bother Snape until absolutely necessary. The heavy-as-fuck conversation they were supposed to have once Snape wakes up from the coma has been actively put off by both sides ever since.
The Room of Requirement didn’t help at all.
At some point, the evenings started to go like this: Harry would bring out his Cloak and wander the castle, then find an almost comfortable nook and fall asleep there, hoping it wouldn’t be so bad. As the anniversary of his parents’ death approached, Snape’s gaze became more apathetic, and Harry’s more absent. The nightmares might have been getting worse, and he’d try anything at this point, but he just couldn’t bring himself to ask Snape of all people. Not now that he knew how much he hurt. In the last few days, Harry couldn’t even spot him at the staff table. McGonagall kindly informed him that Severus had been staying in his chambers and she doesn’t intend to leave him alone on Halloween, so he needn’t worry.
“What can I do for you, Potter?”
“I’ll be fine,” he smiled, and that was it. Somewhere in Glasgow his therapist probably got a headache.
There weren’t many options when it came to looking after Harry. Safe for Hermione, Ron, or Ginny, he hated company, and often became overwhelmed rather fast by their presence, too.
So, naturally, he was hiding.
“Merlin’s bloody nose, I thought you’re dead, looking like that. Do you ever sleep, Potter?”
Dark, vicious wrath flared up in Harry’s every cell, then died just as fast of starvation.
He was so tired. It was the “I just want to die” feeling you get when you want everything to stop and leave you alone.
Malfoy must've noticed the flash of hatred because he stepped back.
“Sorry,” he finally said, his voice hollow. “You just look how I feel.” He scoffed and sat down next to the door.
Harry groaned internally. Why is he staying, for Christ's sake?
Very well, then.
“Pomfrey banned the Sleeping Draught,” Harry sighed.
“Figures,” Malfoy sneered. “I've seen your dosage.”
“Well thanks for the cheer. You can go now.”
An awkward moment stretched between them.
Just go, Harry begged.
“I thought you knew how to Occlude,” Malfoy said quietly.
“Wait, what?”
“Well… Occlumency would help you with the nightmares. Always worked for me and Severus, anyway. It helps me during the day, too.”
Harry let out a bitter cackle. “Snape tried to teach me in our fifth year. But, see, he hated me and I hated him, plus I’m shite at it, and Dumbledore’s dead, so...”
Malfoy stared at him with what appeared to be a mix of worry, uncertainty, disdain, and disbelief.
“Emotional is the one thing your mentor can’t be to teach you Occlumency successfully.”
“No shit, Malfoy.”
“Ah… I’m an Occlumens,” he said tentatively.
Harry stared at him wide-eyed for a full minute. What was Malfoy suggesting? He supposed it made sense, though. Voldemort's been living in the manor since his resurrection. Harry could imagine how it would end for Malfoy if Voldemort found in a minion’s mind something he didn't like.
“You sure you are?” Harry asked mockingly.
“I could teach you. Show you.” Malfoy controlled his voice in a way Harry wasn’t used to with him. His eyes avoided Harry’s but seemed… not spiteful.
Nevertheless, the idea of being invaded by Legilimency ever again made Harry sick to his stomach. Malfoy didn't ask his opinion, of course he fucking won’t, and sat down in front of him.
“Wait, no.”
It must've looked quite hilarious. They had their legs crossed, trying their best to appear relaxed, while there was nothing relaxed about either of them at all.
“Don't be stupid.”
“You're reading my mind?" Harry snapped, although Malfoy left his wand lying by his bag.
“No, you moron, you just can't act for shit. No Legilimency.”
Harry blushed and Malfoy rolled his eyes.
“First, cast Legilimency on me.”
“What?”
“I want to show you what a trained mind looks like.”
Harry stared at him in horror, Snape’s memories flooding his brain. Legilimens was basically intruding. It was intimate. There was nothing more intimate and intrusive.
“Potter, I’m trying to help. And since you’ve obviously never done it, you’d suck even if I wasn’t skilled. Just do it.”
Harry raised his wand tentatively. Malfoy watched him, the epitome of calm.
“Go on, nitwit.”
“Legilimens,” Harry whispered.
He expected unpleasant memories or blackness or an empty room. Malfoy’s mind was a spring meadow on a rainy day, unending and unmoving. When Harry looked around, everything felt deserted.
“Huh.”
“Okay, I think you’ve got it,” he heard Malfoy say and suddenly he was dry and in the bathroom again. He shook his tired head and focused.
“Now, close your eyes, obviously.”
Obviously, yeah. Harry did so, simply taken aback by the fact that they were following an entirely different method.
“Think of a single word. Something ordinary, insignificant, that doesn't trigger emotion. Or make one up, doesn't matter.”
Harry browsed through his inner dictionary, quickly discovering that finding an emotionless word is not easy. That, and his impatience made him frustrated and angry in under a minute.
“Relax, Potter. The word is what you cling to before you learn how to clear your mind absolutely. By all means, you can try and not think at all right now.”
Harry refrained from cursing his only available teacher and tried harder.
“Or at least make it a good emotion,” Malfoy added thoughtfully. There was something in his teaching voice that had a surprisingly soothing effect.
Relief washed over Harry as he settled on the word ‘flying’. “OK, now what?”
“Now don’t allow your mind think anything else. You're a wizard. In the end, you’ll be able to function like that all the time.”
“What, not thinking?”
“Can't be that big of a difference for you.”
/
Draco doubted Potter noticed the tears on his own face when Draco found him. The sheer injustice of seeing the Saviour of the Wizarding World slumped pathetically against a bathroom wall, alone, crying, convinced Draco’s moral compass to stay and help. Also, for Merlin-knows-what reason, his heart clenched painfully at the sight of crying Potter.
For fuck's sake.
Teaching Occlumency was unexpectedly nice, just... weird.
Draco was dying to know Potter's word. It didn't matter, of course, but he barely resisted asking. Potter showed signs of severe exhaustion and Draco couldn't even joke about it, it looked that bad. He was sure Potter could take it, but it would be no fun.
“It can't be that big of a difference for you,” slipped through Draco's inner filter.
“Ha, ha,” Potter said.
Draco had to improvise a bit because he was a natural while Potter… well, he seemed to focus too hard.
“Think of your word and imagine… that when you go to sleep, there is nothing else in the whole universe but you and your word. Like you’re flying or floating in the nothingness.” A small smile appeared on Potter's lips. What word is it? “Think of it as an anchor and a shelter combined.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Draco whispered, watching Potter’s clenched fists and jaw relax gradually. Potter already knew he was supposed to take deep breaths, so no need to cover that part of the lecture.
And then the nutjob just fell asleep. Draco nearly failed to catch his head before it’d hit the floor.
“Fucking idiot,” Draco mumbled without putting his heart in it, and removed Potter’s glasses. He moved back to lean against the wall, then Summoned a book, unable to leave the sleeping Saviour alone and unwilling to call anyone else. He felt rather special to have witnessed this. Maybe he wasn’t entirely useless after all.
/
Something poked his shoulder. He tried to chase it away and missed.
“Hey. Hey, princess Potter. It's past midnight, you dimwit, and I want to sleep.”
Harry opened his eyes and saw a slightly blurry face of Draco Malfoy. He felt incredibly heavy, and he was aching all over. Bloody bathroom floors.
Malfoy had pretty eyes.
Wait…
“What?”
“Your glasses.” Malfoy huffed impatiently, waving his hand in front of him. Oh, so that was the poke.
“Huh. I fell asleep.”
“Your brilliance is clearly unaffected. I am so relieved.”
Harry realized his own expression turned into a pout; whatever, he didn’t have the energy to adult. Malfoy almost smiled. Well, his eyes seemed to.
All of a sudden, he heard a giggle too close to his right ear. He jumped up, drawing his wand and pointing it at…
the silvery body of Moaning Myrtle.
“Yep, he’s awake,” Malfoy drawled.
“Hi, Harry,” Myrtle purred.
“Hi, Myrtle.” Harry attempted to smile.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” she said accusingly.
“No, I –”
“Sorry, Myrtle, we have to go,” Malfoy interrupted. “I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” Myrtle scowled. She made a face at Harry and floated away through the wall Harry was sitting at.
“Our Saviour – a heartbreaker. If only the trusting public knew.” Malfoy clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
“Shut up.”
Malfoy’s eyes were definitely brighter now, Harry thought. Harry collected his things and followed him out of the bathroom.
“Thanks for teaching me,” Harry smiled.
“Don’t get too excited. You probably just fell asleep because of the deficit,” Malfoy said annoyedly, then sighed at Harry’s disappointed face. “Try to clear your mind any chance you have. It might take days to weeks for you to learn it properly. But I guarantee it works.”
“How can you talk or learn if you're Occluding all the time?”
“Practice.”
“The fuck...” Harry mumbled, not being able to imagine the combo of a clear mind AND conscious thought.
“And I'm better than you.”
“Obviously.”
“No, generally.”
Harry snorted.
“Bye, Potter.”
“Bye, Malfoy.”
Curled up in bed, Harry replayed the strange evening in his head over and over. Before he tried to clear his mind again, he came up with some very interesting facts: Malfoy removed his glasses when he fell asleep in order to make him feel more comfortable, and then stayed in the bathroom for three hours to kind of watch over Harry. Of course, much more selfish explanations crossed Harry's mind, too, but those two he liked most.
November 13th
“Hey, Malfoy, can I talk to you?”
Draco started and dropped his book. It landed on the table with a loud crash that made both young men flinch. Madame Pince raised her head from whatever she’s been doing since Draco entered the library and stared at him, possible murder in her eyes.
“Sorry!” he called in a low voice, then turned his head to glare at Potter. “Would you fucking not sneak up on people like that?” Draco hissed.
“Sorry,” Potter said hastily. Admittedly, he looked better. Except for his hair. Drove Draco nuts.
Potter smiled at him. “I think I've got the hang of it. I end up dreaming of flying more than I don't but that's hardly an issue. I owe you big time, Malfoy.”
Draco laughed inaudibly, panic rising in his chest. “Of course it would be fucking ‘flying’. You’re so easy it hurts.”
Potter rolled his eyes. “You're a git.” He turned to leave.
“A word of advice, Potter,” Draco said, making sure he sounded clear and serious. “Don’t ever say to a pure-blood you owe them, idiot. I don’t care, I owe you my life –”
Potter opened his mouth to say something stupid.
“Shut it,” Draco spat out. “They’ll take you at your word and you will not like it when they come to collect the debt. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Potter said far from amused, eyes darting across Draco’s face.
“Good.” Draco’s heartbeat slowed down a little. “Have you said anything like that to anyone before me? And think hard, Potter.”
“I haven’t. I barely speak to anyone, and anyone barely speaks to me. Happy?”
No, just relieved as fuck.
“Extremely. Now leave me alone.”
Potter walked away. A feeling nagged at Draco that he’s just refused something valuable and wouldn’t get another chance to accept.
/
Harry might’ve spent more energy than he should’ve on pondering the conversation, but he was quite satisfied with what he concluded. Malfoy couldn’t act nice even if his life depended on it. However, he still cared. Maybe he warned Harry because he didn’t want him to get in trouble. It was the fear in Malfoy’s eyes that reassured him. Sure, it seemed more probable that Malfoy hadn’t come to terms with being indebted to Harry or some pure-blood nonsense like that, and this was him trying to settle the debt piece by piece.
He would still hear the word ‘flying’ in Draco’s voice, though.
December 23rd [TW: panic attack]
Draco Malfoy was having a panic attack which he didn’t know was a panic attack. He could breathe but it was as if the air never entered his lungs, and his head was pulsing with pain, and his heart hurt so much, and he felt as if his hands and feet had fallen off, and the gravity changed all the time, making his run for the bathroom utterly difficult.
Death Eater, Death Eater, Death Eater, Death Eater, sang his mind in so many different voices.
On top of that, someone was chasing him. Draco couldn’t think straight. If a curse hits him, he’s done.
I can’t possibly imagine how anyone could like a traitorous piece of shit like you.
Then he broke Draco’s wand.
Draco almost slipped rounding a corner but managed to regain his balance.
Daphne’s marrying me. Just so you knew.
It was Blaise who said it. His alleged fucking friend. Draco wasn’t welcome in the Slytherin house anymore, and no one had fucking told him since fucking September. Did Pansy think the same?
It hurt like hell.
He felt like he’s going to be sick when he darted into the bathroom, slipped on the floor, and broke into a million pieces.
/
Harry saw Malfoy’s face as he ran past him, and his freak-out-meter skyrocketed. Something (more) fucked up (than usually) happened. He followed Malfoy, and it reminded him of the chase on The Day, the terrible, unbearable day he almost murdered him.
He hoped this time it wouldn’t include any blood.
When he entered the bathroom, Malfoy was curled up on the floor, sobbing one moment and struggling to breathe the other.
“Fuck,” Harry whispered. He cast a basic diagnostic charm; Malfoy wasn’t under a spell or curse. A panic attack, then. Harry used to have them, too, but… different.
Think, think, think.
Convinced that Draco Malfoy would not fucking appreciate anyone else seeing him like this, Harry discarded the idea of fetching a Calming Draught from madame Pomfrey and since he didn’t know any useful charms, he decided to do it the hard way. He put wards on the door – Malfoy didn’t seem to notice him – and stepped closer.
“Malfoy…”
“Fuck off!” he yelled, then gasped for air and whimpered.
“It’s just me. Please, let me help.”
“No – fuck – I can’t – it fucking hurts, it hurts so much –” He let out a desperate cry.
Panic attacks suck.
“Come on, you can do this.”
“I think I’m dying–”
Harry conjured a glass with a single ice cube. “Trust me on this, okay?”
At that moment, Malfoy seemed to be so overwhelmed he couldn’t hear him. Harry kneeled right next to him and watched his face, colour bordering on crimson, smeared with tears and teary snot.
“First, I need you to keep the ice in your mouth.”
“The– leave me–”
“It will pass.”
“No –”
“Just do as I say and then I’ll leave you alone, all right?”
Malfoy stayed curled up for a few more seconds, then sat up and grabbed the offered glass, still sobbing. His hands were white and trembling violently, but he managed to put the cube in his mouth. The glass vanished.
“The goal is to give you a strong physical sensation to keep your mind off the mental pain.”
Draco - at some point during the ordeal he became just Draco - shook his head.
“Now…” Harry hesitated, unsure if this was going to work on something so severe. It was worth a try at least. “I don’t care if you keep the cube or not, just tell me five things you can see.”
If everything else wasn’t any indication of Draco’s state, then the fact that he didn’t even glare at him was.
“My h-hands,” he cried, moving the cube in his mouth. “Your hands…”
“You’re doing great, keep going.” Harry tried his best to imitate his Mind Healer’s calming voice. “Three more things you can see.”
“The glass… our robes… the sinks.”
“Now four things you can feel physically, four things you can touch.”
“The… the fabric of my robes, the floor, my skin… the ice…”
“Brilliant. Three things you can hear?”
“My heartbeat, my pathetic voice –”
“Your heartbeat, your voice, what else?”
“Your voice.”
“Great job. Two colours you like?”
“Black. And green.”
“One thing you can feel in your mouth?”
“Blood.”
Fucking hell. He hoped Malfoy didn’t hurt himself badly.
“One thing you can smell?”
“Your shampoo.”
“You’re doing great. Now breathe on my count.”
They breathed in on 6, held their breath on 3, and breathed out on 8. Harry made them repeat it several times, then enveloped Draco's stone-cold hands firmly in his.
Draco was sniffling, tears kept falling down his cheeks, and he shivered.
“Is it slightly better?” Harry asked in a low voice.
Draco nodded.
“Try biting on the ice.”
Now Draco looked at him as if Harry’s gone mad. Harry felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards. Then Draco bit down on the ice cube and a loud crunch echoed through the bathroom. Draco froze.
/
Harry Potter, somehow part Mind Healer, watched him speculatively, holding his hands.
No way was this real. Should Draco call him Harry now? Having a meltdown in front of the other one, that was friendship for sure.
Draco bent over and started giggling helplessly. It was an uncontrollable laughter from the depths of his stomach that, after all that crying and aching, made absolutely no sense. He bit the cube again and Harry chuckled with him.
The crunching noises were actually hilarious.
He didn’t dare look up in fear of being mocked, and focused on their hands instead. Harry hasn’t loosened his grip and Draco used it to ground himself.
His hands were also very warm.
Once he crunched and swallowed the rest of the ice, the urge to giggle subsided. He breathed on count – counting was nice. While he still couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers and toes, he wasn’t freezing anymore.
For fuck’s sake, he said he smelled Harry’s shampoo. It couldn’t get much more awkward than that.
He felt a tiny, gentle movement of Harry’s thumb over his thumb.
“Want to talk about it?”
He hated him for asking.
“No.”
His mind spiralled back to it anyway. The pain in his chest flared up and his breathing hitched.
“Okay. It’s okay, it’ll pass, it’s okay, you’re doing fine.”
Harry squeezed his hands. Maybe he didn’t hate him that much.
“You’re okay, I’m here. Come on, Draco, look at me.”
He did. Harry bloody Potter called him Draco and was smiling at him. “You did brilliantly. Whatever it is, it won’t last forever. You’ll get through, all right? I know you’re strong and brave, and you should know it, too.”
Draco felt unreal.
“What– You’re,” he croaked, “only saying it to –”
“I’m saying it because it’s true and honestly, you looked like you needed a reminder.”
Draco blinked. He was more than sure that he’s worthless, having a lot of evidence to support the statement. His mind then said "whatever, I could use some support", and he tried to compose himself.
Harry seemed to be goading himself into something.
“One last thing.” He let go of Draco’s hands and Draco absolutely loathed himself for letting out a whimper.
/
One, Harry felt like it was the right thing to do, and two, this was probably the closest he could ever get to the brilliant, untouchable Draco Malfoy who wasn’t sending sneers and hexes his way anytime they’d met. And if he gets hexed, he’ll recover during Christmas.
He leaned in and hugged the slouched, mentally battered Malfoy heir as closely as he could.
Draco took a while before he wrapped his arms tightly around Harry.
“You'll be fine,” Harry said. “And I warded the place so you can relax.”
“Couldn’t you have said it, like, half an hour ago?”
“Was busy.”
“Idiot.”
“See, that’s the spirit.”
/
Draco suddenly wanted to kiss him.
That’s emotional decay for you.
He took a deep breath and pulled away. They stood up to pick up their things. Draco gave Harry a tired smile.
“Happy Christmas, Harry,” he said upon leaving, grimacing slightly.
“Happy Christmas, Draco,” Harry said smirking, his eyes warm.
January 2nd
Ex-Death Eater Gets Rejected by Fiancée and Drops Out of School
A reliable source confirms that Draco Malfoy (18), the son of the sentenced Death Eater Lucius Malfoy and his wife Narcissa Malfoy (neé Black), sealed the Malfoy Manor after having dropped out of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and moved to Paris. This happened following the Greengrass family's announcement stating they have called off his engagement to their daughter Daphne (18). See more on page 5.
Harry, thoroughly disgusted and just a tiny bit hurt, tossed the Daily Prophet across the table, and rubbed his face.
“Oi!” Ron exclaimed when it landed in his plate. Dean and Seamus snickered.
“Oh. Sorry,” Harry said meekly and Summoned it back with some jam on it, too. He watched the black-and-white version of Draco Malfoy glance over his shoulder to stare scorchingly at the photographer, somehow still looking proud.
“It's not like we’re not used to it being all rubbish,” Hermione remarked.
“I know,” he sighed.
“I didn’t even know he had a fiancée.”
Neville simply said “pure-bloods” and continued devouring his Ron-sized breakfast.
“Oh, right.”
“But he hasn’t dropped out,” Harry grumbled. “He’s never had, like, less than an E.” After which he heard the most improbable person at the table ask:
“D’you miff ‘im?”
Harry didn't bother to hide his surprise when he turned to Ron. The ginger in question swallowed his bite, and rolled his eyes.
“You know, we’re not actually blind like you, mate. You do look pretty betrayed.”
“He means to say he’s almost past the grudge after we’d talked about it for hours and he’s ready to be on your side,” Hermione specified drily.
“That was just mean,” Ron mumbled. Neville snorted.
“I wanted to say I was sorry,” Ron said.
Harry smiled. “Thanks, mate.”
“Whoah, wait. You became friends with Malfoy?” Seamus asked incredulously.
“Well, not exactly,” Harry mused, careful to phrase it the right way. “It kinda looked like we might be…? We spent some time together the day before the Christmas break, talking about the shit we’d been through… But here we are, after the Christmas break, and Malfoy’s in France, so… guess not.” He shrugged.
“No wonder he ran away,” Dean added and Seamus hummed in agreement. “The way most people treated him here.”
Harry’s mind sullenly circled the word “most”.
“True,” he said. It’s not like he was Draco’s Saviour anyway.
It just sounded nice.