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Chapter Text

War had changed all of them in a way that no one could foresee. Those sitting in the Eight-Year common room were adults with faces of teenagers. There was maturity in them that didn’t suit their young faces but at the same time was comforting and familiar. They were all in it together; want it or not. 

Harry definitely didn’t feel like a teenager anymore. No one could truly feel like a child after saving the Wizarding world from the dark, violent threat that Voldemort had posed. Maybe Harry had never truly been a child, with first the Dursley family and then the years of fighting against Voldemort and the death eaters. His youth had gone by in a blink. Maybe it had never even been there. Maybe he had always been too weary for his young bones. 

Hermione and Ron were just like Harry remembered. That wasn’t the problem. He remembered how they were on the run; grim and desperate. There was hardness in their faces that probably wasn’t there two years ago. Harry couldn’t remember. It was like Hermione had always been this tightly wound ball of anxiety, always concentrating on something, always fidgeting in her seat. Her eyes were wary of everything and anything. She wasn’t relaxed. 

Ron wasn’t much better. He never strayed far from Hermione, like he didn’t trust her to be there if he turned his gaze even for a moment. He had turned more protective from his usual laid-back self. He was harsher, too, joked less, and seemed almost perpetually angry. Some of the happiness had been sucked away from him. 

None of the others were any better. Harry could see the tense air wherever they walked. Always as a group, never alone. Some invisible boundaries had been broken during the war but in their place new, just as invisible ones had been built. They didn’t talk about the war, or the deaths, or the nightmares that most of them probably had. There were easy topics like chess, the news, schoolwork. All of them were tedious but safe. Harry didn’t mind, not really, but there was a lump in his throat that made it difficult to swallow. He didn’t know if talking would ease it. He had no way of testing it. The rest wanted to move on -go forward- and Harry had no choice but to comply with their wishes. He didn’t want to be the reason someone couldn’t sleep at night.  

*

Headmistress McGonagall had decided to give the Eight Years a private housing away from the rest of the Houses. It was for better, she had said, they were legally adults and the school was going to treat them as such. It was a sign of trust and they all knew to appreciate it. Their house had appeared near the kitchens with its own way out. It gave them well-needed privacy. Harry for one didn’t appreciate the many stares he got wherever he walked. Younger students didn’t let Harry be, their idolization too strong and fresh. Harry could hear whispers wherever he went. It was haunting. Harry didn’t want to say anything but the more he heard the squeals of self-proclaimed fans or hushed whispers that carried across the Great Hall, the more nauseous he began to feel. He didn’t like quiet but this definitely wasn’t the alternative.

It was easy to settle into the routine. It was soothing to know what was going to happen tomorrow and next week. The Eight Years were mostly doing their own thing. They went to lessons with Seventh Years but stayed apart from them like there was a divide between them, an invisible chasm that couldn’t be crossed. Just like between Harry and the rest of the students. 

The lessons were mostly easy. Some of them were repeating a year and some, like Harry, had learned by necessity. Potions was difficult as usual but DADA was a walk in the park. Most of the professors didn’t even mind that the Eight Years didn’t seem to take things as seriously as the rest of the students. They had earned that privilege. At least, everyone else but the Slytherins who were studying as hard as Hermione. The rest had time to enjoy.

Fridays were for drinking. Three Broomsticks became their go-to place, all together. Ginny and Luna joined them some of the time. Saturdays were for nursing hangovers and stupid ideas while on Sundays they fumbled to complete their homework while moaning the uselessness of it all. It was a good routine. Predictable and easy, Harry knew what was expected of him most of the time. It made the days easier. 

Most of those who had taken part in the battle of Hogwarts had jobs lined up to them after graduating, no matter their NEWTs. Only Hermione, and the Slytherins,  seemed to be serious about them, forcing Harry and Ron to the library to study. Her serious approach rubbed off on Neville, Dean, and Seamus and soon a couple of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joined them, too. Studying in the library soon became part of the Routine. 

It was obvious that none of them enjoyed spending time alone, rather spending time together as groups. Any animosity and competitiveness between houses were gone, too. The Eight Years weren’t allowed to stay in the Quidditch teams or even coach their team and opted to play amongst themselves, asking Ginny to join whenever possible. She was still one of the best players Harry had ever seen and was getting just better and better. It made Harry strangely jealous. Not because Ginny was good at Quidditch but because she seemed passionate about something. 

After one of those games, Ginny and Harry finally called it off. It was long overdue but familiar unhappiness had seemed safer than the unknown. It was mutual. They talked about it. Ginny wasn’t bitter. Harry tried not to be. Their friendship turned uncomfortable. Or maybe it had always been. Harry couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t sure of many things these days. There was a blanket of confusion, or at least something, wrapped around him that no one seemed to notice.  

The Slytherins still stayed away from the rest of them. 

*

“What would they do, ‘Mione? Expel us?” Ron laughed while cracking open a beer. He had stashed a small fortune of alcohol with the help of Seamus who never refused to partake in a bit of mischief. Hermione just rolled her eyes, settling better to the couch where they were sitting, nose buried in an old tome that was definitely too advanced to their level. Ron sat with an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, leaning into her slightly, knees brushing together. Hermione seemed more settled there than Harry felt alone in his armchair. Ron was in a middle of a chess game with Neville who was grandly losing but being a good sport about it. 

Ron didn’t seem as angry as he usually was. There was a slight flush on his face and he seemed content sitting there right next to Hermione. Harry was happy that their relationship hadn’t crashed and burned like his and Ginny’s after the war. It was a small miracle. He wanted to see his friends happy. They were happy together. 

Expanding the friend group and Harry’s two best friends being in a committed relationship caused something to happen. It was like at one moment it had been them against the world, and now it was Ron and Hermione. Harry had been left behind. It felt like that, at least. Couples wanted to spend more time together. They were going on out dates and disappearing after dinner to the privacy of Hermione’s room. Harry didn’t mind. He truly didn’t. 

It was natural to spend time together with just each other, to want to have that quiet time where no one interrupts you. Maybe the problem wasn’t that they were together, excluding Harry but that Harry had no one. Maybe the thing between Ginny and him hadn’t been ideal but it had been something. Sometimes Harry craved to have Ginny back, even if it had been a bit unhappy and a bit strained. Having something just okay was better than having nothing, and Harry couldn’t do that to Ginny. She was still family. 

If Harry was being honest, it wasn’t even Ginny he craved because he had craved even when they were still together. Maybe the craving was just part of the blanket of confusion all around him. It was new territory. Harry hadn’t really had any time to think about things like this in the past. A small piece of him thought it had been better this way, but of course it wasn’t better. Things were better now. They were safe and happy and heading towards a bright future and healing. 

Still Harry craved. 

Gods, had they tried. They had beaten a dead horse until there were no remains left. Ginny’s fingers had left bruises on Harry’s biceps, and he had frozen too many times fingers hovering inches above her warm skin, yearning for the touch but never making contact. Maybe that had been the problem. She had been sharp angles, a ruthless smile that had been taught by years of living in a house full of older brothers. She had been hurting. They all had. 

Harry didn’t want to be jealous of the easy comfort Hermione and Ron were giving each other. The casual touches and hugs that might last for short moments but left both of them more relaxed. Gods, how he wished for that. Harry turned his eyes from Ron and Hermione back to the essay he was writing about potions. He didn’t know anything about potions. He had a need to know more about potions. But there was something about it that Harry wasn’t seeing, it lingered there at the back of his mind. There were fuzzy pictures that stirred something in him. Harry brushed it aside and tried to concentrate on the essay. He didn’t feel like making Slughorn give him pity points this time. 

*

“Draco, hear this,” an unfamiliar yet familiar voice startled the lulling calm of the Common Room. Pansy Parkinson marched from her room hastily putting on her robes. She seemed to wear scarcely nothing under them. Not that Harry honestly cared as much as Neville who turned red as a tomato at the sight of Parkinson’s bra. For once, she didn’t seem to flinch at the sight of the other Eight Years  as she made her way to the other side where Malfoy was roomed. All of them were given private rooms, for reasons that Harry thought had something to do with some of them being sexually active adults and some having horrid nightmares. Unfortunately Harry belonged only to the latter. 

Parkinson didn’t even knock as she threw the door open to Malfoy’s room. Some lingering remnants of Harry’s old obsession raised their tendrils of interest as he tried to sneak a peek at how Malfoy had decorated his room but Parkinson was too quick and efficient in her movements. The Common room had frozen as Parkinson made her way through but as it didn’t look like she was coming back any time soon, the group settled back down. Harry heard muffled noises but couldn’t make up words. It didn’t sound like sex but Harry couldn’t be sure. Or why he even was interested to hear Malfoy having sex. He tried to get back to his homework.

Harry had tried not to think about Malfoy or the rest of the Slytherins to the best of his ability. They were like something foreign and strange in the common room whenever they walked through. Their presence seemed to shut everything down, like magic. The Slytherins  must have noticed it too, as they spent most of their time away from the Common area. Harry didn’t know where they spent their time. Where Malfoy spent his time.

After some time Malfoy walked out with Parkinson in his lieu. Almost simultaneously, Zabini, Nott, Goyle, and Greengrass emerged from their respective rooms and silently made their way to the door that opened to the hallway. The only one greeting them was a painting working as their door. The old lady in the painting didn’t seem to hold any animosity towards the Slytherins and brightly reminded them to wear scarves if they wandered out. It was still early Autumn but the wind was growing cold and she didn’t want them to catch cold. 

“We will be careful, Grammy Mattina,” Greengrass promised for the group in a quiet voice and smiled slightly at the old lady. They closed the door and had disappeared like they never were there. Harry could feel the interest rearing its head more. It was familiar and somehow comforting. Harry had never been able to resist himself when it came to Malfoy and honestly, now he didn’t even want to. 

Hermione saw the familiar look on Harry’s face and rolled her eyes groaning, “Not again, Harry. They can’t be up to anything bad. Voldemort is dead and most of the Death Eaters have been caught already”. She was right, of course. Shacklebolt had kept the trio updated on the Aurors’ hunt for the remaining Death Eaters. They were working overtime and getting good results. Harry and Ron had been allowed to come with to some of the hunts during the summer. 

Hermione’s words didn’t lessen Harry’s curiosity. If something, it just made it grow stronger. Malfoy had always been a bit of a mystery to him and he couldn’t help but be fascinated by him. Not to mention, that Harry didn’t trust the Slytherins a bit. 

“Let him investigate,” Ron muttered, more concentrated on the game where he had almost completely obliterated Neville, “At least, it will get his mind off of things for a while”. 

Harry would have been annoyed by his friends’ condescending attitude if it didn’t warm his heart how they were just looking out for him. It reminded him that he had people who loved him, even if he couldn’t always feel it.

“Still gotta come to the pub on Friday, mate. There are no excuses,” Ron continued with an amused expression, “Fred wrote that they’ll be there after closing the shop for the day. Haven’t seen us in a while.” 

Harry was sure that the twins would have a trick or two in their sleeves but didn’t mind one bit. It was his family they were talking about after all. The rest of the regular group didn’t seem as accepting of it, though. Dean groaned as Seamus smiled widely. He could already see gears working in his head. It would be an eventful Friday. In the meantime, Harry dug out the map. 

It wouldn’t hurt anybody to just peek a little. 

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy would have never come back to Hogwarts if it wasn’t for Pansy’s begging and the many owls he had gotten from Theo and Blaise. Even Greg had written to him, pressuring him into joining them. 

“We need all the Slytherin energy we can get,” Pansy had repeated time after time. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the anxiety they were all feeling about going back. It wasn’t like the Slytherins suddenly had a good reputation or anything. None of them said it, but they felt safer together. They had been through hell together and there was trust forged that wouldn’t crack under pressure. And, if Draco was being honest with himself which he seldom was, he was weak to Pansy’s begging. It was a novelty, and he couldn’t deny his friends anything, not that he would ever admit that to Pansy who was sure to exploit that little weakness of his. 

Draco knew that he wasn’t as he used to be. Somewhere along the line, he had grown up. Probably when the Dark Lord and his gang of death eaters had lived in his house tormenting him day and night. A situation like that makes a person grow fast. Not to mention the Mark. Pansy called it survival but Draco knew what it was: weakness. Unlike Potter who didn’t seem to be able to do anything bad and war always so bloody courageous, Draco had opted for the easy way out. Or the only way out, like it had seemed at that point. Now he could see clearly. It had been weakness. Not a surprise, taking into account how weak Draco truly was when left to his own devices. 

It meant more than Draco could ever form into words that the rest of the Slytherins still wanted to interact with him. Draco didn’t know how to thank enough.

 When he had said as much, Pansy had gotten so angry at Draco that he was certain she would next spit fire. She was vicious when she was angry and Pansy had never really learned how to direct that anger. Draco had to repair a couple of windows at the mansion after that outburst. Daphne had burst to cry and even usually calm and collected Theo had looked a bit off-put by the idea when Draco mentioned that they could take some distance for their own sake. 

In the end, Draco had come back to Hogwarts dragged around by Pansy who watched over him like a mother hen, refusing to let students say a bad word about the Mark still fresh on his skin. Draco appreciated everything Pansy and the rest did, but it didn’t really change things. He would always be a former death eater. The Mark would forever be in his skin. He wouldn’t be able to escape his choices. 

“It’s not like you had a choice,” Pansy argued, “You were a child, for gods’ sake! We were all children.” Draco knew that but didn’t expect others to see it like that. The other houses definitely didn’t see it like that. Draco didn’t get bullied, not that he even believed that a former bully could get bullied, but still. He knew the other students’ opinions well enough without them needing to tell it to him every day. And if he forgot, the Mark or a helpful student would remind him in no time. 

Draco was getting used to being pushed around. He deserved it.

The Sorting Ceremony had been chaos. Those sorted in the Slytherin had cried the second they had gotten to their common room. It just cemented the fact that they belonged to Slytherin. Eleven-year-olds that were able to put on a brave face until they were alone with their kin were Slytherins.

 Daphne’s younger sister Astoria had called for the Eight Year Slytherins to come to calm the situation. Slughorn wasn’t much of help. He seemed to share the opinion that Slytherins needed to show they weren’t evil before getting even an ounce of attention from him. It was hypocritical, the man was a Slytherin, too. 

They were children, Merlin’s sake! Draco was furious but there wasn’t much they could do about it. It was like the rest of Hogwarts was against them. It didn’t matter that most of Slytherins had thrown away the stupid ideas about the purity of blood the moment death eaters weren’t a problem. Some of the students had a more difficult time adapting but it was something they all needed work on. It was something they were being taught as one of the new mandatory classes together with muggle studies, that Draco honestly found fascinating. There were so many interesting inventions that Draco had never even heard about. Just because his parents had thought them better than the rest. 

Most of the days, the Eight Year Slytherins split up looking after the younger students, making sure they made it safely to their classes and got the support they needed. First, they hadn’t even realized the need for it but when Draco and Daphne had patched up one too many clumsy kids, the plan had been made. No first or second years were going to wander without supervision. They had resisted first, claiming they could handle themselves. Like Draco didn’t know what Slytherin pride looked like.

There were fewer Slytherins than ever before, which at the same time was sad to see but also made it easier for the older students to help the kids. What the rest of the houses hadn’t realized when they started to pick on younger students was that Slytherins knew the importance of family, of community. They might not be the warmest of people, but they were loyal to each other. They needed to be. 

The younger students didn’t deserve it. None of the students did. Perhaps there needed to be discussions about apologies and activities against bullying but treating children like criminals wasn’t the way. If anything, it just made the younger students bitter and angry. That anger wrongly directed could cause more harm to everyone. 

“Draco, will you help me with the potions homework,” Martha, one of the first years asked him as they were settled in the dungeons. There was laughter and quiet conversations all around them but it didn’t seem to bother Martha who was working hard on one of her first homework assignments. 

Even thinking about potions made Draco’s heart clench. He could see flashes of his godfather but didn’t let it stop him from turning to look at Martha’s parchment. Snape was dead and wouldn’t be proud to hear that Draco was neglecting his studies or younger students because of difficult feelings. 

“I won’t do it for you, you know,” Draco snorted at the younger student’s puppy eyes and the angelic expression that melted into a devilish grin as Martha didn’t get Draco wrapped around her finger. She was always trying to get away from homework. Cunning kid, Draco thought smirking as he settled to help her read the books again for the right answers. 

As Draco tried to focus on Martha and her many questions about potions he tried to wipe the memories surfacing. Now wasn’t the time or the place to collapse. These episodes of flashbacks had been more frequent of late. Draco didn’t want to think what it meant. He had them at the manor, too, but there he could always walk out and disappear somewhere else where memories didn’t haunt him. Here he had no reprieve.

Draco could let the memories wash over him when he got back to his room. It was a good thing they had private rooms and Draco wanted to applaud Headmistress McGonagall’s insight in making the Eight Years have their private rooms. He didn’t want to think what others would think of him pacing his room in the early morning hours, too worked up to sleep any longer. 

The anxiety of the Dark Lord living at the manor hadn’t been lifted from his body yet. He could feel it as physical vibrations in his bones. He still woke up in the middle of the night sure that Nagini was looming over him like so many times before. He still heard the horrifying laughter of Greyback and his aunt whenever they were torturing innocent. The memory of the noises always made him throw up. The sick feeling of helplessness to much for his stomach to stand. The way he needed to hide and run, to make himself small and disappear. He imagined the noise of his father’s cane hitting the floors. Cold sweat traveled down his back. 

Draco could only hope that it would get better in time. It had to. He had no other option. He needed to get on with his life and no one would hire a beaten-down former death eater. He needed to be sharp and smart and ace his exams. The crushing sense of doom made Draco almost buckle under it but the knowledge that Martha was still sitting next to him, chattering away, made him take a breath and concentrate on the present. He didn’t want to frighten the young Slytherin. 

Maybe it was that after the war Draco had become hyper-aware of everything around him, or maybe it was because his eyes never strayed far from the bloody Potter and his gang of golden children, or maybe it was that no matter what Draco was always aware of Potter. Because of any of the three options, even though Draco hoped it wouldn’t be the last one, he could feel Potter’s eyes lingering on his back wherever he went. 

At first, Draco chalked it up to coincidence. It had been just dumb luck that they had been able to evade each other for almost two months. They still took the same courses and lived in the same house. It was inevitable that they were going to pass each other by every once in a while. 

But Draco hadn’t lived in an unsafe environment for nothing. Not to mention his slight obsession -Pansy’s words- with Potter. Draco could see Potter’s eyes lingering on him the few moments the Slytherins decided to stay at the common room. It wasn’t often and they mostly stayed there on Fridays when most of the Eight Years disappeared to the pub. It was more comfortable when they had the whole area to themselves. There were no awkward stares and silences that they politely ignored even if it stung a little.

Something about Potter’s actions reminded Draco of the Sixth Year. Potter had been obsessed. Rightfully so, but it didn’t make Draco feel good that he was under suspicion again. Especially since he was doing nothing wrong. One could argue that Draco was being nicer than ever in his life. Which was a pathetic fact, when he thought about it too hard. He might be the first to admit that he wasn’t a nice person but he didn’t still like to be so viscerally reminded of it.

Draco didn’t deserve trust, faith, or anything of sorts, but he had thought they were beyond that after Potter had testified for him in court. Surely, he wouldn’t have done it if he thought Draco would still harbor ill feelings towards muggles and muggleborns. He had written apology letters all summer long, for Merlin’s sake! He was sure that Granger had gotten one. She had even answered curtly. 

Not that any of that forgave his actions as a bully, but he couldn’t change the past no matter how much he wanted to. And gods did he! Draco tried not to dwell on the past too long. It only left him cranky and feeling worthless, which Pansy didn’t appreciate. She was a strange sort of an optimist. 

One moment Draco was staying as far from Potter’s radar as possible and next they pumped on each other wherever he was. Potter was following him around. And quite badly, too, which ground Draco’s gears more than the fact that he was being followed. Did Potter think him an idiot and clueless? If he was going to stalk Draco, he might as well do it well. 

It took Draco two weeks to get fed up with the constant following. He blamed it on the stress and general tiredness.

 As Slughorn called for them to make pairs and begin to brew, Draco stood from his stool and made his way to Potter. Before any of his gang could fill the seat next to him, Draco sat down next to Potter with something that he hoped resembled grace. 

“Potter,” he drawled and nodded his head.

Potter’s eyes widened comically but Draco tried not to pay any attention to the green eyes, or how he accidentally brushed too close to the man feeling something course through him. It definitely didn’t mean anything. 

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t know what to expect from following Malfoy. It definitely wasn’t him escorting a bunch of young Slytherins from one class to another and helping them with homework. He was surprisingly good with children, too. In between all of that, Malfoy was busy with the Eight Year Slytherins who seemed closer than the rest. They seldom travelled alone and were comfortable in each other’s presence in a way that reminded Harry of how he used to be with Hermione and Ron, before the strange invisible walls hanging between them. There were casual touches, brushes against fingers and arms slung around shoulders. All in all Malfoy was being a model student. He didn’t even insult students or lift a finger when he was hurled insults and a stray hex. He took it all in stride, silently casting shield and barely slowing his pace. 

Malfoy was unstoppable and Harry didn’t know what to think about it. It was distracting how relaxed and comfortable in his skin he was. It made Harry uncomfortable in a way he had never been before. The casual self-confidence was doing thing to Harry.

While Harry was sitting in the library, he could sense Malfoy’s presence two tables down muttering in quiet voice with Pansy’s head on his lap. It was all very casual and comfortable. Harry quickly averted his eyes. Seeing the tactile way Malfoy was with his friends made a strange part of him angry. He was slowly starting to think that he wasn’t as good of a person as he liked. Even former death eaters deserved friendship. 

It was strange how easily it seemed to come to everyone in Malfoy’s circle of friends. All they needed to do was lean closer and there was Malfoy already reaching for them. He had such long, slender fingers. He seemed to be readily available for his friends. Harry couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if Malfoy threaded those fingers in his hair, letting his fingers wander on his face, his arms. 

There were sleepless nights, when Harry could think little else but how it would feel like to have Malfoy’s fingers on. Have his body on him. It made Harry flushed and red and uncomfortable in a way that Ginny never had. Harry chalked it all up to sleep deprivation. It had been a moment since he had slept well. Most nights he could fall asleep right before the morning alarm if he was lucky. 

And now, whenever he slept, there was Malfoy. It left Harry even more confused. 

Harry’s obsession with Malfoy didn’t seem to go away when he saw that the Slytherins really weren’t up to anything bad. It seemed to only fuel his obsession. There was something in the back of his mind that made him uncomfortable but he couldn’t pinpoint the feeling. Truthfully, he didn’t want to. It seemed like the safest option not to think about it and just let it run its course.  

Hermione and Ron didn’t say anything about Harry’s renewed passion about stalking Malfoy. Not about the fact that he was back on carrying the map wherever he went and that he was in the habit of checking it whenever possible. Hermione just rolled her eyes and dragged Ron away with her. In her opinion, they deserved a bit of peace and quiet and if Harry couldn’t enjoy it, this was a safe alternative. He could be doing something dangerous or fall down another sort of rabbit hole. Following around Malfoy hurt no one expect maybe the victim himself but they didn’t really care about that. It was Malfoy after all. 

Seeing Malfoy making way to sit next to Harry in potions made Hermione reconsider her stance but it was too late now.

*

“Potter,” Malfoy drawled. He slid down to sit next to Harry with smooth, elegant movements. He smirked at Harry’s confused expression and turned to look down at the ingredient list. “Perhaps it is the best I take care of these while you set up the station. I don’t want to mess up just because of your incompetence.” Harry was about to retort something back but before he could even open his mouth, Malfoy was already off to the ingredient cabinet. 

Malfoy was back with hands full of ingredients, turned to look at the recipe before ordering Harry to chop the first ingredients. He had naturally assumed the position of a leader, bossing Harry around like it was common practise. It all came to Malfoy with an ease. He manoeuvred himself like he knew what he was doing, which he probably did. He didn’t seem to find anything strange in that he had sat down with Harry Potter, his childhood nemesis, out of all the people in the room. Even Slughorn seemed a bit shaken by the seating. 

“I… what are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry couldn’t help stammering out as he obediently started to chop. He was smart enough to take advantage in the fact that he was paired up with the person who was probably the best in potions in the whole of Hogwarts. It would be easily full marks with Malfoy telling him what to do. It had nothing to do with the fact that he found it hot that the man was bossing him around. Definitely not.  

“I thought it was rather obvious, Potter,” Malfoy answered, concentrating more on the paper in front of him that Harry, “You have been following me around for the past few weeks. This should make it easier until you have come to the conclusion that I truly am not up to no good.” He quirked his brow at Harry’s embarrassed expression. “You truly can’t think you were very inconspicuous with that.” 

Harry didn’t really what say about that and opted to stay quiet instead. Somewhere during the summer, the anger and resentment towards Malfoy had simmered down to something. He wasn’t angry anymore. He couldn’t make himself feel much, if he was being honest with himself. 

Sometimes Harry thought he had deflated during the war. All air had been taken out from his lungs and now he didn’t know how to fill himself up again.  The place in his chest that had once been filled with foolish bravery and vivid colours had turned into an empty, gaping hole and some days it was difficult to remember there had once been something there. No matter how strange it was, obsessing over Malfoy had reminded him of how things used to be. Everything was so changed. 

“Even a toddler could chop better than you, Potter”. 

“Honestly Potter, are you certain you don’t have unchecked brain damage?” 

“You should just listen to me once”. 

Harry didn’t want to admit that hearing Malfoy’s insults made him feel familiar and like maybe things hadn’t changed that much after all. 

Malfoy disappeared after the lesson like sitting next to Harry had been the most natural thing in the world and required no explanation. He nodded to Harry and was off. He would go collect some of the younger  Slytherins from Charms. At this point, Harry knew Malfoy’s routine better than his own. He was ridiculously set on his habits and seldom strayed far from them.

*

It wasn’t unusual for Harry not to fall asleep. He found it difficult to calm down enough and didn’t want to take a sleeping potion. He opted to stare at Hedwig’s empty cage and sit on the floor of his bare room. There was almost nothing personal there apart from the few clothes and the invisibility cloak in his trunk. The shelves were stacked with school books and the desk littered with parchments and quills, but there was nothing particularly personal. The most personal item there was the jumper Molly had knitted him last, thrown over the back of his chair. The splash of colour in his otherwise dull bedroom. 

At least, the bed was comfortable and spacious. Sometimes Harry thought it was maybe too spacious. He had gotten so used to sleeping in the tent with Ron and Hermione, and after that in the cramped bed in Burrow listening to Ron snore, that the empty quiet was unsettling. 

Harry knew for a fact, that Ron’s room was even emptier than his own but that was only because he had immediately dragged his trunk with any clutter he carried around to Hermione’s room. It was much cosier with Hermione’s many books bursting from the shelves and an additional chair dragged there from somewhere. It looked lived in. Neville had his many plants for company, and Seamus had Dean. Harry didn’t know much about the Slytherins but he would have bet his wand on them having decorated their rooms with the garish colours of Slytherin. Just like Hermione’s room was filled with the colours of Gryffindor. 

Harry didn’t like his room one bit. He would have rather shared a bedroom again. Then again, he had a habit of screaming in his dreams when the nightmares got bad, so anyone sharing a room wouldn’t probably enjoy as much. But he did know good silencing spells for that. Anything would have been better than the silence in the small room. Harry couldn’t stand it. 

Some nights the silence grew too loud in Harry’s ears, making his ears ring and buzz like some phantom voice he was supposed to hear. Those nights he wandered with invisibility cloak around Hogwarts trying to wipe the memories of the battle away. He wished he hadn’t listened to Hermione when she said that it would be a good opportunity. Kingsley had already offered a place in the Auror training for Harry NEWTs or no NEWTs. He had defeated Voldemort, for gods’ sake, what other proof the ministry could possibly need from him? 

But as usually, Harry had bent to Hermione’s will knowing that she knew better. Hermione was the smartest person he knew and if she thought it was the best to finish school, then it probably was true even if Harry didn’t much fee like it. 

*

Harry’s legs carried him up to the owlery, like he was unconsciously waiting for Hedwig to be there. A comforting presence when he needed it. There was a dull ache in Harry’s heart and he reminded himself to write to Andromeda and Teddy. 

He knew that Hedwig wouldn’t be there but still Harry made his way up the last stairs when he realised just where he was going. The owlery had good views. Maybe he could catch sunrise if nothing else. It wouldn’t be too silent with all the owls on and about. 

What Harry didn’t expect to see there sitting next to a menagerie of owls begging for more treats, was Draco Malfoy totally engrossed with feeding the birds. There was parchment on his feet but it seemed to be empty. He was wearing what seemed to be just pyjamas and a cloak thrown hastily over them. He muttered empty nothings to the birds.

Harry was so taken back by the unexpected sight that he forgot to be quiet as he shuffled backwards. Even if Malfoy didn’t notice his presence, the owls definitely did. With an angry hoot the tiny owl peered towards where Harry was. It was uncanny how it could so precisely hear where he was. 

Startled Malfoy scrambled up, taking his wand from the folds of his cloak, peering around frantically. “Who’s there?” He said to the emptiness and Harry couldn’t really leave him so spooked. Malfoy looked paler than usual as he was turning to look where Harry invisibly stood. 

Harry put down the hood, emerging from under the invisibility cloak, “Sorry, I didn’t know there would be someone here,” 

“Gods Potter, I’m not sacrificing owls here. You could truly leave me alone,” Malfoy didn’t seem mad, just relieved. He turned his attention back to the tiny owl that had flown to Malfoy’s shoulder with ruffled feathers. He seemed more concerned now that there was a floating head in the owlery. “Worry not, Terry. He’s just the bloody saviour of the wizarding world who can’t seem to leave former death eaters alone,” Malfoy scratched the owl with a sardonic smile on his face. 

Harry didn’t miss how Malfoy’s smile twisted at the words of death eater. 

“That’s not… I mean,” Harry stammered but honestly, it did look like he had been following Malfoy because he was a former death eater. Wasn’t that precisely why Harry had been following Malfoy around? Now Harry wasn’t so sure. Malfoy just quirked his brow at that and turned his attention back to the owl on his shoulder. 

Malfoy settled back on the floor. “It’s not like I can force you to leave me alone. I know my place, Potter. I was writing a letter to Mother, mind you”. It twisted Harry’s guts that Malfoy thought he owed Harry an explanation on being there. It wasn’t like Malfoy was any more suspicious than Harry wandering the place in the middle of the night, or early morning. 

“How is Narcissa?” Harry dragged on the conversation, shuffling from one leg to another. He didn’t really want to go on but he didn’t want to impose on Malfoy either. Much, at least. The scraping of Malfoy’s quill on the parchment and the slow breaths lulled Harry into a sense of calmness. He felt tired. Like he could fall asleep here, on Malfoy’s legs and never wake up again. Harry’s sleep deprived mind didn’t mind the idea. Of course, he could never do that. Malfoy wouldn’t surely let him.    

Malfoy turned sharply to look at Harry at the mention of his mother. The pale eyes studied Harry for a moment while his pink lips were pursed together. He seemed to weigh something in his mind but soon came to a conclusion of some sorts. 

“Mother is fine. She’s staying with relatives in France and trying to salvage her relationship with Aunt Andromeda,” Malfoy said carefully studying Harry while speaking. He seemed to wait for some sort of reaction but Harry just nodded. 

“Right, I’m sure Andromeda is happy hear from her”. 

Neither of them said anything about Teddy. 

“Right, I.. I’ll leave you to it then. Good night,” Harry had no reason to feel embarrassed. There was nothing embarrassing about the situation whatsoever but hearing Malfoy wish him good night in a hushed tone made Harry’s face flush even more. Truly ridiculous. 

Chapter Text

Draco stared at Potter’s retreating back in a mix of dry amusement and confusion. He wasn’t sure what to think about any of this. Potter was definitely acting a bit weird. Draco didn’t understand what was going on with him, not that he ever really knew. The man had been a mystery to Draco ever since he had refused Draco’s hand and friendship. 

Now, years later, Draco understood just why Potter hadn’t wanted to be his friend. It wasn’t difficult to understand when Draco had such vivid memories of Hogwarts, of when he was still young and impressionable and thought that the world was his for taking. Such ideas were long since been wiped away from his mind. The world owed him nothing and he owed it everything. Draco tried not to linger on those things. They didn’t do him any good and Pansy would yell at him again for thinking about it. Even if he was right and Pansy was just fiercely loyal. 

As Draco was certain that Potter was gone for good, he turned back to his young owl, scratching him absentmindedly while writing his mother the letter. He knew what his mother would say if he wrote about Potter. Mother had always been adamant about being polite, especially to those in power. Not to mention, that she had vested interest in the well-being of the Saviour; he had saved her only child, after all. Draco knew that. He knew that mother would command him into being courteous to Potter, to pay back even a bit of the debt the whole Malfoy family was to him. Malfoys didn’t stay in debt. That was unheard of. The problem was that Draco didn’t know what Potter wanted.

And in the deepest caverns of Draco’s mind, he didn’t want to be a Malfoy. Not for this. Not for Potter.  

The sun rose painting the horizon in shades of red, sweeping over the lake and the Forbidden Forest. It was supposed to be calming. The nature and the cool morning air and the serenity of it all, but Draco couldn’t help but see so many things other than the sunrise that were colored in the many shades of red. Bellatrix’s hands, his father’s cane, Greyback’s grinning smile. It was ridiculous how colors could be spoiled for him. It made him grit his teeth in frustration. He didn’t want any of this. 

Draco made his way back to the common room quiet in the early morning hours. Draco was used to the muffled noises of sleep coming from the many bedrooms down his corridor. In Granger’s room, Weasley snored loudly and Draco couldn’t fathom how the woman could sleep with such noise right next to her. Not that he could see what Weasley could offer otherwise in a relationship. It would need to be a dire situation for Draco to stoop so low as to lust after the ginger menace. 

Potter on the other hand had always been a different deal. He Draco could see himself fantasizing about in the dark of the night. Draco might not care for Potter’s hero complex and the frankly annoying chivalry and the self-sacrificing habit that the man had going on,  but Draco knew to give credit where it was due. Not that Potter would ever hear him utter those words aloud. The man was fine. Years of playing Quidditch and fighting against the Dark Lord agreed with him. He had turned from a skinny boy into someone with actual muscle mass. Draco let himself think about the many ways he wanted Potter as he walked to his room to fetch a towel. He was in a need of a cold shower. 

Draco wasn’t ashamed of his thoughts. He was sure he wasn’t in the minority thinking about Potter like that. Even Dean and Seamus, very much together and in love, couldn’t always tear their eyes away from Potter’s sauntering ass. It didn’t make it any less embarrassing. His father would surely have a heart attack if he knew that his only son was lusting after the probably only man off-limits to him. Draco chuckled at the thought. He didn’t much care what his father had to say about it. The man was safely away in Azkaban and Draco rather liked it this way. 

It was his mother that Draco didn’t wish to disappoint. He was everything she had. The son she had sacrificed everything for. Draco knew how much she struggled, how much she had lost and gambled and done horrible deeds for. He needed to give her respect, at least. 

*

What Draco had thought to be a one-off meeting in the owlery, turned out to be a bunch of more of the same kind. It seemed that wherever Draco wandered in the early morning hours, Potter was either there already or soon popped from under his invisibility cloak with a muttered apology and a sheepish grin. Every time he looked just as confused and apologetic as the first time. It was confusing.  

Draco wanted to be annoyed at that but Potter looked too tired for him to say anything whenever Potter stumbled about. He was quite certain that the man wasn’t following him around in the middle of the night. Sometimes Potter looked too tired to be even fully awake. There was no way that he could follow Draco around so sleep deprivation. There was a sort of desperation in him like he was chasing sleep that was ever eluding all around Hogwarts. Draco could relate. It wasn’t like he was up at the ungodly hours voluntarily either. 

The places where they met were always quiet and calm; the haunts that Draco had favored even before this year. Never before had Potter stumbled upon him but now he seemed to look for the same peace. Mother’s unsaid words of courtesy were ringing in Draco’s mind. Perhaps this was the way he could pay back even a bit of the debt. He was ready to give up his peace if Potter wanted to have the place for himself. It didn’t matter if it was the owlery, or the Astronomy Tower, or the lake, Potter could have it. It was the least Draco could do for him. He looked like a man who deserved so much more but Draco wasn’t the person to give him any of that. All he could give Potter was some peace and dignity that came from staying silent about these nightly meetings.  

Draco stood up from his place looking at the morning stars when Potter, haggard, as usual, stumbled upon the tower. He was looking worse every day like he could keel over any moment now. Draco didn’t envy him. At least he could sleep a couple of hours every night before the fright made him wake up. Potter didn’t seem to be as fortunate. Perhaps the silence of the tower could give the man a couple of hours of sleep before breakfast. 

Nodding to Potter, Draco made his way towards the stairs. He didn’t get very far. 

Potter gripped his arm with more strength than Draco had anticipated. Before he could say anything snide to him, Potter’s desperate face stopped him in his tracks. 

“What are you doing?” There was exhaustion on Potter’s face when Draco looked at him closer. He looked like a gust of wind could take him out. It wasn’t a good look. Honestly, he looked like death. His usually clear, green eyes had lost most of their shine and his face was a bit hollow like he hadn’t eaten properly in days, maybe more.  

“Please,” Potter slurred. He was fighting to keep his eyes open and focused on Draco. He failed. Something wasn’t right. 

“Shall I call for Madam Pomfrey?” 

“No,” Potter shook his head, “Please stay, just for a moment, I need…”. Potter’s words were caught by a yawn and he fell over, almost hitting his head if not for Draco. 

Panic coursed through Draco. This definitely wasn’t a good look. Unconscious Harry Potter and a former death eater, Draco could already see the headlines where he was promptly being escorted back to Azkaban for doing…something to the Saviour of the bloody Wizarding world. Like Draco didn’t have enough problem without a fainting Potter. 

A soft snore stopped Draco’s wild thoughts from turning into a full-blown panic. The man was okay. At least he seemed to be only sleeping. Like an angel, Draco begrudgingly thought. Well, he had seemed to be tired. Draco just couldn’t fathom why he wanted to sleep in Draco’s presence. Draco didn’t want to feel pleased that even after everything Potter was comfortable enough to let himself vulnerable like that, even if it was unconscious. 

Maybe something was going on at the Eight-Year dormitory or Potter was being wary of something. Draco could easily understand the fear of sleeping alone in an unsafe place, even if he didn’t think of Hogwarts as a very unsafe place. No matter what it was, Draco was too tired of everything to deny it. The war had taken already enough from all of them. If Potter wanted to sleep while Draco looked at the stars, then fine. It was a wish easily enough fulfilled. Draco had nothing against Potter. He never really had. The rivalry between them, even if sometimes cruel, had always been more of a game than anything. Even Potter, who usually was oblivious and clueless about everything, had seen the rivalry as it was. Draco liked to think that they were both better for it, even if he hadn’t treated his friends with the same respect as he had Potter. He could grant this to Potter, at least. For old-times sake. Or just because he wanted to. 

Draco was tired of being self-serving and condescending. He was tired of the rigorous rules of propriety and the way he had been forced to show no emotion, give no mercy. Everything needed to be able to turn into promises and debts and into something that could be cashed in when the Malfoys needed it. Charity had been a foreign concept to his father and Draco felt weird satisfaction in going so deliberately against his father’s rules, the tenets of their family, and the customs of Purebloods as a whole. Draco would ask for nothing in return. Wouldn’t diminish the debt with this. It was freely given without anything to gain. Draco rather liked the thought. He wouldn’t even mention it.  

*

What began as a one-off, turned into a habit. At some point, in the early morning hours, Potter would find Draco in the Astronomy Tower and unceremoniously fall asleep to Draco reading coursework and doing homework. He was always just as exhausted and gave the same feeble excuses and promises of it being only a moment before he would leave Draco alone. 

Draco would wake him up a bit before breakfast and promptly leave Potter to sort himself out. Draco didn’t want to be there when Potter blinked the sleep out of his eyes, ran his fingers through the messy hair sticking in every direction, and cracked his back after sleeping in an uncomfortable position. It was too intimate, too familiar for Draco to take advantage of it even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t since they weren’t doing anything. They didn’t share words and Draco wasn’t certain what exactly they were doing. He didn’t share his nightly routine with anyone. He didn’t think that Pansy would understand Potter coming to the tower to just sleep when Draco was there. Honestly, Draco didn’t understand it either. If the man didn’t like sleeping alone, why didn’t he just try to talk with any of his many friends? 

Draco never asked. It wasn’t his place and he was just content to give this to Potter. It still felt oddly good to give something for once. 

A bit by bit, almost unconsciously, Potter crept closer to sleep. He would roll in his sleep like searching for a body to press against. Draco noticed himself brushing Potter’s hair and singing under his breath. Thankfully, Potter was asleep for all of that. It would have been humiliating otherwise. 

It was scary how easily Draco got used to it. 

Chapter Text

Malfoy had become a part of the Routine. Harry didn’t know at what point Malfoy had leaked into his life so profoundly but if he didn’t soon put an end to it, something was bound to happen. Things would just escalate and Harry didn’t know how. Malfoy sat next to him in potions and even if he gave Harry minimal attention apart from giving orders and correcting mistakes, his presence was loud next to him. Even if Harry didn’t see Malfoy, he could feel his presence next to him, smell his expensive shampoo that for some reason smelled of cherries, and hear the quiet breathing. Some days Harry was so fixated on it that he was sure he could spot Malfoy’s breathing from anyone else’s. It was only slightly disturbing. 

It made no sense that Harry could feel so at peace in the Tower. He couldn’t sleep in the comfortable bed in his perfectly decent room, which he still hated, but the moment he found himself in the Tower with cold stone floors and the noise of Malfoy working next to him, he was out. Harry tried to rationalize it. Maybe all of it had just something to do with the fact that Malfoy… yeah, he couldn’t even make up excuses. Harry didn’t understand why Malfoy was keeping quiet about all of this, why he was there night after night. There were so many unsaid things between the two of them. Harry didn’t like unsaid things but he didn’t know how to speak up either and Malfoy seemed to be content in staying silent. It confused Harry.

The worst part about it was that Harry couldn’t make himself care enough about the whole arrangement. His head hurt from the lack of sleep and he was constantly feeling nauseous. Eating anything just made it worse. He knew he wasn’t as sharp as usual and it was evident to everybody that he was sleeping badly. No one commented, of course, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach that he was doing worse than everyone else. Before this whole thing with Malfoy, Harry had gotten maybe two hours of sleep when he could sleep at all, and now he slept at least four. His sleep was doubled and he could already feel the effects. 

Harry wasn’t as cranky and out of it as usual. The loud noises and bright lights didn’t irritate him as much as usual. He could concentrate enough to write notes during classes and paid attention in other classes than DADA. It was heavenly. Harry wanted it to never stop. Yet he knew it wouldn’t be possible. Any day now Malfoy wouldn’t be there at the Tower and Harry’s Routine would be shaken. He didn’t like the disturbances in his new Routine. Not when he, for once, had a resemblance of a normal life. With literally sleeping next to his childhood nemesis, whom Harry could sometimes faintly hear singing. Whom he had wet daydreams about. Totally normal. 

*

It was already late October when Harry’s Routine was disturbed for the first time. 

It began with a sneeze. Which had sounded pathetic and would have embarrassed Harry even if Malfoy didn’t snort at that. Harry rolled over and tried to glare at Malfoy sitting next to him, hand absent-mindedly in Harry’s hair. Malfoy didn’t grace him with a look, just lightly pushed his head towards the floor as in a wordless whisper. Sleep. 

The sneeze turned into a cough and that turned into a cold. It was all very predictable if Harry really thought about it. Sleeping on the cold floor, even with a couple of hastily thrown warming charms, wasn’t a smart idea. Especially when it had already snowed once outside. Harry had basically begged for a cold. Still, Harry didn’t want to stop coming to the Astronomy Tower, to the calming presence of someone rustling books next to him, to the feeling of safety strong enough to let him fall into a dreamless sleep. Over the weeks, a strong trust had been created. Malfoy had never once broken the silent promise of secrecy. He hadn’t told anyone, at least Harry hadn’t heard any whispers. He didn’t judge if Harry woke up jerkily, obviously in the throes of a nightmare. Malfoy would just lay his hand in Harry’s hair and pause his work for a moment. Giving space for something that Harry didn’t really understand. He appreciated all of that. He didn’t want to give it up.

Malfoy didn’t say anything when Harry had come with a blanket and had left it there in the tower hoping that no one would spot it and take it away. Malfoy never asked any questions. He didn’t speak much, actually. Harry had expected demands, insults, snide comments in the Common room but there were none. Malfoy acted like nothing was amiss like Harry didn’t basically spend four hours every day curled on his lap like a dog. Harry didn’t understand Malfoy’s motivations. There had to be a catch, some sort of price tag that hadn’t revealed itself yet. There was no way that Malfoy would do any of that freely. 

Harry was ready to pay that price when it came. Before that, he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to acknowledge that Malfoy’s hand in his hair, his voice softly singing lullabies while all of his concentration was in school work came with a price. He wanted to imagine, even for a second, that all of this was something natural. That it was like how Malfoy let Parkinson rest her head in his lap, how he corrected Goyle’s tie, or gave Zabini a hug. He wanted all of that. But thinking about it didn’t make it real. Didn’t make it hurt less that he had to pay an unknown price for something that so many got freely. It made it clear how much more precious contact was when given freely. But free or not, sleep-deprived Harry wanted to savor every moment before it was taken away from him.     

Harry thought, hoped, that the cold would go away with just a bit of time but it turned into a pesky little thing, clinging on Harry like a bad penny. 

*

“You have a fever, Potter,” Malfoy announced one morning. He didn’t leave the tower like usual but turned to look at Harry with a slight frown on his face. Harry just stared blearily back. The sleep was still gripping tight on him, and he could feel his heartbeat in his head. He sneezed again. “And your nose is running”. 

“Right,” Harry didn’t understand where this was going. He shivered. His nose was indeed running. He wiped it in the blanket. Malfoy’s frown deepened. “You woke me up already, it’s not seven thirty,” Harry said with accusation in his voice. He didn’t still get what him having a bit of a cold had to do with anything. Malfoy wasn’t going to catch it. Harry could sleep a little farther away if the other so wanted. 

Malfoy looked good in the morning light. His pale hair was like a halo glowing as the sun rose. Harry wanted to get back to sleep. Or keep staring at Malfoy. Harry’s eyes were glassy and maybe a tear or two rolled down his hot cheeks. He wasn’t sure. Everything was feeling distant. 

“You’re sick, Potter,” Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry’s sleepy attempt at a glare, “Sick people don’t sleep on cold floors. Even I know that. You should see Madam Pomfrey. She will give you something for the cold. And sleep,” Malfoy added. He had a strange look on his face but it quickly changed into determination. He had made a decision, again. Harry wasn’t sure he liked Malfoy making decisions right now. It couldn’t be anything good. It couldn’t be anything but. Realization dawned on Harry. 

Was Malfoy trying to say that he wouldn’t let Harry sleep here anymore? It was difficult to concentrate. All he had wanted was the peace he felt when he slept here. 

Slept with Malfoy, a part of him reminded but Harry brushed it aside. He didn’t want to think. Not now, preferably not ever. 

“It’s fine. I don’t need Pomfrey for that. I can handle myself,” 

“It doesn’t look like that, Potter. You look like death, to be precise,” Malfoy unhelpfully pointed out, “Have been looking like that for a while now but it is getting worse and worse. You are not okay, Potter”. 

“This is making my head hurt,” this discussion was over. Harry didn’t want to look like he was hurting. He didn’t want to hurt. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to be warm, and safe. Harry wanted so many things. His hazy mind yearned for so much but thankfully he had enough clarity to keep his mouth shut. Harry scrambled up. He didn’t want to be here for this. 

Harry turned to leave but walked slower when he heard Malfoy sigh behind him. It was resigned like he was giving up on something. Like he was making a decision again. It couldn’t be any worse than it already was if one asked Harry.

“You don’t like to sleep alone, don’t you?” Malfoy easily flicked his wrist and the many parchments and his Charms book floated to his arms. He caught up to Harry with ease. He had longer limbs than Harry and had always been faster, stride longer, and pace quicker. Harry had always noticed it.  

Maybe it would be better to lie, to make something up but the way Malfoy said it without a drop of judgment like he was talking about the weather or something made Harry nod. He could feel Malfoy studying him like he had when he had asked about Narcissa like there was something he was about to give but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. He didn’t trust Harry. Harry didn’t like how the observation hurt him. It wasn’t like Harry trusted Malfoy. Right? 

“Well, no matter what, you can’t sleep here anymore. It is way too cold,” Malfoy said with finality in his voice. This was the end then. Harry felt a heavy weight settle on his chest. He really couldn’t have anything nice for once. Not that Malfoy was nice. All Harry had wanted was peace, the opportunity to sleep, and if he was being honest the sensation of someone brushing his hair. It had been nice. Harry should have known better. It was always supposed to be just temporary. Nothing had been said. 

Harry expected Malfoy to leave him in the common room and make his way to his bedroom but Malfoy stopped and looked at Harry. For once, he looked uncertain. He chewed his lower lip, which was problematic. Harry didn’t feel like feeling like this while having a fever. He might say something, become delirious or something. Let something idiotic slip. He didn’t have a good filter on the best of days and now he was too easily distracted. He didn’t like his mouth around Malfoy.

“Did you listen to me?” Malfoy waved a hand in front of Harry, eyes crunching in concern, “I asked if you wanted me to sit in your room while you sleep?” Malfoy didn’t sound as timid usually. Didn’t ask questions with vulnerability in his voice. Harry had to be hallucinating this discussion. Or at least the uncertain way Malfoy was looking at him while still holding him up and helping him stand. There had to be some way Harry was misreading the situation. 

Harry didn’t want to sound desperate. In fact, he wanted to thank graciously but decline. Instead, he whispered a breathless please and succumbed to his fever. Maybe it would be just fine, at least for a moment. He was pleased that even for a little while longer their unsaid agreement was going to last. Harry didn’t want it to end. 

With the remnants of his strength, Harry pointed at Malfoy’s room. Now he would have a chance to actually see how it looked inside. Malfoy’s eyes followed Harry’s eyes and he might have nodded as Harry slumped even heavier on him, letting him hold almost all of his weight. Harry closed his eyes. Malfoy could rob him blind for this and Harry would still say thank you. 

Chapter Text

Potter was sleeping in his bed and Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man. It was something Draco hadn’t ever even fantasized about happening. Too soft to serve as late-night entertainment and too intimate to be thought without a wave of loneliness and bitterness. Draco wasn’t that much of a masochist, even if he had wondered over the years. Now that it was real, he didn’t know what to do with it.

The dark hair spilled all around the white pillow unruly even in sickness when it was supposed to cling damply on Potter’s forehead. His whole person was a stark contrast to Draco’s white room. He couldn’t be hidden amongst the many fluffy pillows and blankets, the afghans, and the few clutter that had made themselves home in Draco’s bed. Potter was too present, too imposing to not fill the room with his vibrance. Even in his sleep. He was everything that Draco’s meticulously organized, impersonal room wasn’t; colorful and full of life. He was a disturbance to the balance that was Draco’s life. The perfectly curated amount of non-chalance and impassiveness added to his natural coldness. Now here was Potter. Draco was sure to find strands of Potter’s hair weeks from today and the scent of his sweat would linger too long.  

Draco didn’t know what to do with the fact that Potter was sleeping in his bed. It wasn’t like he had ever been in a situation like this before. Whenever he had been sick as a child, a house elf had been fetched to care for him, and he hadn’t really had anyone in his bed before. The few partners he had had over the years hadn’t been the sleeping sort. It had always been clinical, very impersonal and performed rather in distant bathrooms or the Room, instead of something so intimate as bedroom. 

Soon others would wake up and someone was bound to realize that Potter was missing. He couldn’t just tell them that he was asleep in his room and not to disturb him. Especially Granger would have too many questions and would serve her judgment, she always did. Weasley would be no better. Not that Draco really expected them to. He had never been kind to either of them so it would be too much to ask for them to show courtesy and trust right now. They would think that something is wrong with Potter for spending time with him, even Draco thought that there had to be something seriously wrong with Potter. He just didn’t wish to pry. 

There was bile rising up Draco’s throat. He didn’t want to do anything. He wished to hide away and never emerge again. He couldn’t think clearly. Sometimes things just got overwhelming. He couldn’t control it. And the lack of control was the worst. The room was spinning, he was losing control of the situation. He was losing control of his life. He felt like he couldn’t breath. He needed to sit down. 

His life had never been calm. There had always been chaos in the horizon but now the chaos was different sort. Draco didn’t know how to situate to that. He didn’t know what to do about Potter. He needed to handle the situation somehow because for whatever reason Potter had entrusted him with it. He didn’t want to be a disappointment again. 

Draco’s eyes fell back on Potter. On the messy hair, the way his shallow breaths caused the blankets to fall and rise. He looked uncomfortable. He was shivering under the blankets and turned around in his sleep. A whimper escaped his lips. Potter was the cause of his anxieties but the moment Draco laid eyes on him, he felt grounded. At the moment, he had something more important to do. The relief to have something concrete to do was palpable. He didn’t want to feel like that. He didn’t want to feel like anything but right now none of it mattered, Draco had more important things to do. 

*

Even the house-elves of Hogwarts had something against Draco. They were obligated to help him, whenever he needed it but it was evident that none of them held any high regards towards him. Draco wasn’t surprised and usually tried his best to leave them alone. He could do his laundry by himself and clean his room. It wasn’t a big deal, especially after this summer. He was slowly getting used to having to do everything by himself, of having no one to rely on. 

But it was a different deal with Potter. The house-elves could be as cranky as they wanted with him but now their assistance was needed. Potter had said that he didn’t want to have anything to do with Madam Pomfrey, and while he couldn’t understand why since he had always seemed to have a good relationship with the healer, he couldn’t decide for Potter. He was nothing, he had no right. So, the house-elves would have to do. 

Draco tried to call for one but there was reluctance in the air. He could feel it, it was so thick he could almost cut it. So, after making sure that Potter was still asleep, Draco made his way to the kitchens to personally ask them to help Harry bloody Potter. It shouldn’t be a problem for them. And so help him, if it was. Draco would not tolerate that. 

The house-elves were busy as usual, creating a breakfast feast for the students, magicking everything to its place. Draco had always felt impressed by the elves’ ability to cast but right now he had no time to admire. 

“Harry Potter requires your assistance,” Draco announced to the room, and that finally caught their attention. An elf stopped working, turned to look at Draco and he could hear the question in their eyes. How would a death eater know anything about the Saviour? “He is sick. Please bring him something to wipe the sweat away and something easy to eat”. Draco didn’t feel like explaining himself even if he probably should have. The elves were right to judge him, to suspect him of foul play. He should feel grateful. Instead, he was just tired. 

Draco turned to leave. Already giving up on the prospect of getting an actual answer out of the elves when one of them piped up, “We shall get it to master Potter at once. Master Potter is always so good to us”. Draco didn’t need to analyze the words. He knew what it meant. He knew what he was. Instead, he just thanked wordlessly and returned to Potter, feeling anxious to leave him alone for such a long time. He hadn’t wanted to be alone in the first place and Draco didn’t want him to wake up alone. 

*

In the room, Draco encountered again another problem. It was like the day was filled with them. He just couldn’t get a break. Thankfully, he had been able to send a message to the Slytherins to not worry about his disappearance for the day. Potter hadn’t been able to do it. Granger and Weasley were frantically looking around the dorms asking everyone if they had seen Potter. Draco slipped past them almost unnoticed. He didn’t when that had happened. At some point this year, he had truly become invisible. 

Potter was sleeping, just as fitfully as when Draco had left him there but now there was a washbasin and a plate full of steaming soup under a warming charm. Draco was hungry but not hungry enough to eat Potter’s food. Shivering had turned into a cold sheen of sweat rolling down Potter. It drenched Draco’s sheets but he didn’t care about that right now. 

Draco didn’t want to think too deeply about what he was to do next. He briskly threw the blankets away from Potter and stripped him of excessive clothing. Shoes and socks, the shirt that was already too sweaty to be any comfort. When Draco got to the trousers, he hesitated. It reminded him too much of a dream he had recently. It made him feel guilty like he was doing something wrong now remembering that dream at this moment. Draco left the sweat pants on. They were comfortable enough. 

He tried not to look at Potter’s skin too closely as he carefully washed him of the sweat. His fever was rising again. Draco pulled the blankets back on and made sure Potter was warmly tucked in. He brushed the hair back. It was sweaty and usually, that would be pretty gross but with Potter, it didn’t feel like that. It was just Potter. He was never particularly gross. Draco was sure he couldn’t find even Potter puking his guts out gross anymore. It was just Potter. Draco didn’t like it. 

Unlike most of the bedrooms, Draco had brought appliances from home when it became evident that the house-elves were not on his side. He searched for his packets of tea from a jar on the shelf and with a slight movement of the wrist, put on a kettle. Soon he had a calming cuppa on his hand and settled down on the floor next to the bed. Sitting watch, making sure no one would disturb Potter’s feverish dreams. 

*

Potter had screamed in his sleep a couple of times at the Tower already. Nightmares were nothing new. He could sleep fitfully and Draco respected his privacy, letting him feel his emotions without his interference. Potter hadn’t needed him then.

But now Draco wasn’t certain. 

A whimper came from the bed followed by a ragged breath. Potter was trying to calm his breathing but Draco was too attuned to the way he was breathing in his sleep to fool him. A faint sob followed. The bed shook. He was still feverish, and probably delirious. 

Draco stood up and turned to look at the man in his bed. His hair was all over the place even though Draco had just tamed it with his fingers. Potter’s eyes were open. The green was rimmed with red and the eyes had an unhealthy glow to them. His short lashes were thick with water. Draco accio’d a tissue before tenderly wiping dry Potter’s eyes and nose. Potter just stared at him in silence. Draco wasn’t sure he even recognized him. Potter coughed. Draco gave him a glass of water. 

“Your friends are worried, Potter. They are going crazy. It is annoying to listen to,” Draco informed when the glass was empty and Potter looked a bit more present. 

Potter searched for something, patting down his sweat pants and looking frantically around. His eyes connected with the wand on the nightstand. Draco tried not to feel insulted. Quietly Potter summoned a Patronus, whispering something to it, and sending it on its way. 

Draco would never get tired of seeing a Patronus. He couldn’t summon one. Had never been able to. Once, it had frustrated him, made him feel weak and inferior, but now he knew it was just life. It was obvious he wouldn’t be able to summon one. Why should he?

Potter’s eyes landed on the soup next. He tried to prop himself up to sit and failed miserably. A chuckle escaped Draco’s lips. “Too weak, Potter?” Draco laughed but helped the man up to sit, putting pillows behind him to prop him up. Potter whispered something. “Always so clear. Do speak up,” 

“Harry, “ the man mumbled. Draco frowned. “My name is Harry”. 

Realization dawned on Draco. He wanted to not blush but that wasn’t an option right now. He wanted to be swallowed by the ground. Thankfully, Potter still seemed feverish. He couldn’t be held accountable for all the weird things he was spouting. 

“Call me Harry,” the man was pouting now. The soup was forgotten but his eyes were still feverish. He was acting childish. 

“Eat your soup,” Draco sighed resigning, “Harry”. He looked too happy about such a simple thing. 

Harry Potter was still sick. Draco better forget all of this ever happened. Still, he couldn’t resist sitting down on the bed. Close enough for Harry Potter to close the distance. He did. 

Sick people always crave touch. It couldn’t be held against them. Most probably Potter wouldn’t even remember it, come tomorrow. Draco wasn’t anxious. He just took the moment. Enjoyed it. It was his. And Harry’s, who had fallen back asleep, hand tightly gripping on Draco’s arm like afraid he would go away. 

Chapter Text

Draco stared at the sleeping man in his bed. He was still Harry, the quiet presence that had made space for himself in Draco’s meticulously organized room. Draco didn’t mind much looking after Harry. He was a good patient; quiet and easily pleased. Draco had no experience in nursing someone but it was intuitive and Harry hadn’t complained at all, even when Draco had shoved hot soup in his mouth. Draco remembered how their house-elf had been assigned to look after Draco when he had been young and sick in bed. He hadn’t been sick often. It hadn’t felt like an acceptable thing to do, even at school. Draco wondered if it would have been more comfortable to be sick if his mother had sat next to his bed when he was delirious. 

 Harry had woken up only a few times in the last twelve hours that he had spent shivering and sweating the cold in Draco’s bed. Every couple of hours, the house-elves would come to change the water in the washbasin and Draco would try to make Harry eat something. His eyes had gleamed with sickness and he had been too weak to hold the spoon properly in his hand. Thankfully, Harry’s fever hadn’t been high or otherwise, he would have to call for Madam Pomfrey, no matter what Harry wanted. He wasn’t about to let the Saviour of the Wizarding World die in his bed. 

An hour ago, the fever had gone down for good and now Harry had fallen into an exhausted sleep. He was sleeping deeply. It was strange how much Draco could tell from only the way Harry’s chest rose and fell under the blankets. Harry was in dreamless sleep. That was good. Usually, Harry would turn fitfully and mumble nonsensically. He had a penchant for seeing nightmares, just like Draco. He had witnessed it once too many times to ignore it whenever it happened. It reminded Draco of how he reached out for no one in the night after waking up from the horrors of the past. 

 Sometimes screaming out names that Draco had carved deep down in his chest. Out of those names, many weighed down his conscience. He was responsible. Or at least, his family was responsible. Whenever Draco heard the names fall from Harry’s lips, he wondered just what exactly Harry was doing there with him. He was the last person any sane wizard would want anything to do with him. He was ruined. He was a Malfoy. 

Draco didn’t want to pity himself but some days it was difficult to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. He wanted to forget and never think about the last few years again. He wanted to pretend that he was someone else. Sometimes he dreamed he wasn’t a wizard at all. Maybe things would have been easier if he had been born without magic. He would have been freed from the expectations, from the chains of a pure-blood family. Even with Harry sleeping next to him in the bed, Draco could feel the tremors coming. The almost comical shaking left him exhausted, trapped in a haunted space where his parents’ voices echoed. He wanted to escape but there was nowhere to go. 

Villains don’t get happy endings. 

Harry turned in his sleep. He sniffled quietly, wiping his nose in Draco’s white linens, and shuffled closer to him, rolling around until his face was pressed against Draco’s thigh. The book Draco had been reading was left forgotten on his lap. If he had been a better man, Draco would have gently moved away from the bed. Sat down on his white armchair in the corner, maybe. Stood up to look at the snowy landscape from the window Hogwarts had kindly provided him after the first few weeks. He would have done anything else but press his fingers on Harry’s head. 

Draco had brushed Harry’s hair at this point so many times that his hand moved mostly on autopilot. As usual, there were the lingering tendrils of shame and fear. He shouldn’t be allowed but for some reason, Harry Potter had never told him no. He had reached out to Draco, had wanted to sleep in his bed, had wanted him there when he was sick. Draco didn’t understand what was going on. But it needed to stop. His heart couldn’t break anymore. He wouldn’t survive it. 

Harry would go back to Potter the moment he opened those green eyes of his. Draco needed to draw that boundary there. He needed to make it clear to his wavering heart that there was nothing to achieve here, nothing to get, nothing claim as his own. He was a former death eater, a school-yard bully, and a Malfoy. He was everything Potter and his group stood up against. There was no space there even if Draco had wanted something. Which he didn’t. He wasn’t suicidal enough to imagine something like that.

*

In the quiet of the white room, Draco felt detached from the world surrounding them. The noises of the common room sounded far away before they slowly disappeared. There were no distractions in the small bedroom that Draco kept obsessively clean and organized. Maybe one day his insides would reflect the white purity of the room. The clean but clinical room had never felt as cozy as it did right now. 

The monotone work of taking care of Harry had lulled him into peace and now the bedroom seemed to be everything there was in the whole universe. Inside the room, there were no lingering wounds of a past war, there were no expectations of any sort, no accusations and pain of past mistakes, there was nothing else but the two of them in the silence of the room. The silence was all-consuming and suffocating but Draco rather took the noise outside. He wanted to be filled to the brim by the thick silence claiming every single corner of the room until everything was like cotton, wrapping them in warmth and calm. 

Draco never wanted it to stop but his wishes didn’t much matter in the real world. He had no right to wishes, after all.  

In the end, Draco had always been a selfish person. He was a Malfoy through and through. There was no running away from the knowledge that he would take everything there was in this moment. He would take and take until the peace and quiet had been eaten away. He would steal it all, lock it away, and hide it deep inside of him. He wouldn’t share this peace with anyone. If he was to never have anything else, he would still have this. No one could take it away from him. He was a thief in the middle of the heist; high and unafraid of tomorrow. If he got caught, he would go down with something precious in his hands. Draco’s cold existence was warmed by the pieces of peace that weren’t for him to have. He was too tired to care about that right now. 

At that moment, Draco was like his father. He was a person who used others for his gain. He was someone who took from others and didn’t even regret it. He was a Malfoy and deserved everything the world had to offer. He was ready to take anything and everything. How disgusting. 

Being so vividly reminded of Lucius Malfoy made Draco want to throw up. He wanted to be nothing like his father but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Whenever he looked in the mirror, he was reminded of his father’s cold eyes, the cruel twist in his mouth. He didn’t like to look at mirrors anymore. He didn’t want to remember the disappointment burning in his father’s eyes when he had looked at his only son. Draco had always been inferior, something that needed to be tolerated. It had seeped so deep in his bones that just his own eyes reminded him of it. Some days he wanted to carve it all away. Take a knife on his skin and take it all away. Maybe it would take the pain away.  

It was selfish of Draco to wish that Harry would stay sick, that he would never wake up again. He could stay pressed against Draco’s thigh and everything would be okay. Draco seldom got what he wanted. 

*

Harry Potter stirred next to Draco blinking the sleep away from his eyes. Draco handed him a tissue. He might not have a fever anymore but he was nowhere near healthy yet. Harry Potter’s eyes were unfocused and his dark hair was tussled. It refused to stay in place no matter how diligently Draco had brushed it to place. Potter didn’t seem to realize just how close to each other they were sitting in the bed. All Draco needed to do was to lean a bit closer to brush his lips against Potter’s forehead. It was a kissable forehead. Draco could admit that it was an objective truth. 

Potter smelled faintly of sleep and the after-effects of a long fever, but for once he looked well-rested. The dark circles under his eyes were lighter and he didn’t have that twist of his mouth that indicated that he had been forced up. At least, Draco was good for something. 

The moment was tender. Draco didn’t want to break the spell just yet. He wanted it to last as long as possible. He wanted to linger in it but Potter had other ideas. He straightened up in the bed and noticed just how close to Draco he had gotten. With a jolt, he scrambled away from Draco’s face. He felt nothing at that. It didn’t hurt. Maybe if Draco chanted it enough, one day it would come true. 

“Sorry!” Potter squeaked in high noise. If the situation had been different, Draco would have snorted at that but he wasn’t in a laughing mood right now. Harry Potter was acting idiotically as usual but still, Draco felt like a fool. The spell was broken. A light sneer formed on Draco’s face, his voice lost emotion. 

“Don’t mind me here, just drool all over my pillows, Potter,” 

Potter frowned at that scrunching his brows together as in trying to remember something, “I’m sure I told you to call me Harry”. His voice was still raspy and unconsciously Draco handed him the glass of water on the nightstand. Potter looked confused but took the glass of water. 

Draco tried to compose himself but could only steel himself so much before the silence had stretched too long. He was a weak man, “Well, Harry, then.” 

The man looked happy at that. Ridiculously smug, like he had won something when in reality he was now on a first-name basis with a former death eater. That wasn’t a good thing. 

“Draco,” 

“What?” 

“Just testing the name out,” 

“Who gave you the permission to use that name?” 

Harry looked like a kicked puppy at that. Draco sighed. Could he deny anything from the man? 

“It was a joke. You can call me whatever. I don’t care.” 

There was a discussion to be had here but Draco didn’t feel like talking. He rather just sat there next to Harry until the other decided that he was enough. He wouldn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in Draco’s bedroom anyways. 

*

Harry fidgeted next to Draco. He turned to look at Harry but didn’t say anything. The atmosphere was turning uncomfortable. Harry was looking like a deer caught in headlights. He bolted out of the room with a quick thanks. He forgot his clothes but didn’t forget to peer out of the door that there was no one there before leaving the bedroom. 

It didn’t hurt. Draco was used to people hiding him away. He hadn’t expected anything else from Harry. He didn’t expect anything from him. Draco was there to give. Maybe, if he gave enough the pain would go away. It would disappear as a side product, vanish in the air. He would take the exhaustion over the gnawing pain that sneaked slowly back as the door closed behind Harry. For some reason, he felt used. 

Ridiculous. 

Draco turned to clean away the remnants of Potter. He didn’t hold the linens against his chest when he changed them. 

Chapter Text

Draco didn’t expect to hear about Harry after he had run like something was chasing him. He hadn’t seen Harry during dinner and he wasn’t anywhere to be seen even when Draco was sitting with the other Slytherin Eight-years in the common room. 

Pansy was the first to notice Draco’s restless mind. She had always known Draco the best out of them all. Her mouth was a straight, hard-line as she stared at Draco. There was something fiercely protective in the way Pansy looked at Draco like he was something brittle. 

“What?” Draco sighed when he couldn’t stand Pansy’s staring any longer. Daphne and Blaise halted their conversation about homework to turn to look at Draco and Pansy. “Is there something on my face?” 

“Don’t evade me, Draco. You know me better than that,” 

“Stop digging, Pansy, I don’t need your help,” 

“Bollocks, Draco. You are useless without us,” Pansy shook her hand dismissively. Someone who didn’t know Pansy as well as he would have seen her as a condescending bitch. Draco knew better. Pansy was a bitch, sure, but her eyes were filled with concern. She just didn’t know how to show any of it. There was so much love stored in her slight body that sometimes it looked to be too much for her. She didn’t know where to release it, who would receive it without breaking. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Pansy. Let it rest.” 

Pansy scoffed, “You don’t keep secrets from me Draco. I am your almost-fiancée. You’re supposed to tell me all of your secrets. I could be your wife next year, you know”. Draco just rolled his eyes. No way was going to happen but he didn’t say anything. 

“That you know of, Pansy. They’re not secrets if you know of their existence,” 

Daphne perked at that and even Theo looked interested at that. Draco realized his mistake the second the words had slipped from his mouth. His friends were too intelligent to let that slip go.

“So you are keeping something,” Blaise drawled and turned to look at Draco curiously. A lazy smirk formed on his lips as he contemplated what to do with that information, “Draco, Draco, you should know better than to keep something from your family”. 

“Don’t try to butter me up. You know it doesn’t work,” Draco sighed but couldn’t help the pleased humming in his chest at the mention of family. They used it sparsely but it just made it more special whenever they did. 

“Would blackmail be better? I think I know something you don’t want to be spread around,” Daphne quipped. She had a cunning mind but she was as sweet as a Hufflepuff. Draco didn’t believe that she would do anything. 

“Should I remind you of our pact?” Pansy said, referring to the pact made years ago. There were supposed to be no lies between them. Draco had agreed too easily that time. He had regretted it ever since. 

But they were friends and Draco could see that behind the teasing masks they were just curious and concerned. 

“I’m fine, Pansy. I swear I’m not in any trouble.”

“Is it your father?” Pansy leaned closer to Draco, draping an arm over his shoulders. He could smell the sweet scent of Pansy, flowers, and a million candies she had stored in her person. It was Pansy, safe and familiar. 

The hushed mention of Draco’s father made everyone sober up. They didn’t talk about their parents, especially of his and Greg’s. It was a painful subject for all of them. 

“Has there been any news?” Daphne laid a concerned hand on Draco’s cheek put let go a fleeting second later when the door burst open with a laughing Seamus and Ron coming in with full Quidditch gear on. Even Pansy distanced herself. None of the Slytherins were keen on public displays of affection or vulnerability. It shouldn’t have ached but it did. The quiet voice in Draco’s mind made outrageous reasons that he logically knew were lies. It didn’t make it any easier. 

“There is no news,” Draco sighed after Ron and Seamus had passed, joking about a competition of some sort. It was Friday and they were in a hurry to get to wherever the Eight-Years went on Fridays. Draco didn’t know and didn’t care to know. “His trial has been postponed but that is all that I know about it”. 

Father’s trial had been postponed three times already. Every time Mother got anxious and sent owls more often than usual. Draco wanted to be there for her but it was exhausting. He didn’t know what he could do. His mother was in France and he was at Hogwarts. His mother had wanted him to go but Draco knew it couldn’t be easy for Narcissa to let her only son leave her sight, especially now. 

“Aunt Cissa is still in France, right?” Pansy changed swiftly the subject. Draco was thankful. He didn’t wish to talk about his father now. There were too many things going on without his father. 

“Yes, but she said that she is planning on going to spend Christmas with Aunt Andromeda. They’re trying to reconcile”. 

“That’s good. It’s good to stay in France. The continent is… better,” Blaise said. There was a strain in his voice. His mother had fled to France, finding a new mysterious husband there while Pansy’s parents had made their way to Canada. None of their parents stayed in England. People didn’t want to acknowledge it but it wasn’t a good time to be a Pure-Blood Slytherin with ties to former death eaters right now. No one wanted to let the accident with Pansy’s mother repeat itself. 

“They’re going to be safe,” Greg reassured the silent voice in their heads. It was ironic since Greg was the only one who didn’t need to worry about their parents. Daphne threw a pained look at him but he just shook his head and stood up. “I’ll be off now, good night.” 

“Greg..,” Daphne muttered starting to reach for him but Theo took Daphne’s hand away. 

“Good night, Greg,” there was a chorus of good night wishes and no one walked after him. Sadness hung heavy above their heads. 

“A glass of whisky, anyone?” Blaise was the one to break the silence. Everyone nodded mutely at that. 

“I’ll check on the kids before that,” Pansy turned to head towards the door with a glance in Draco’s direction. He followed.

“I’ll join you.” 

*

Pansy didn’t continue with her questioning when they made their way to the dungeons. She just shared one more light touch on his shoulder that told everything that needed to be said. They weren’t best friends for nothing and Draco didn’t require Pansy to declare her feelings for him to know how much she cared for him. 

“I’ll come to you and tell everything, when I can,” Draco promised and Pansy nodded. They didn’t lie to each other. There was trust so strong that sometimes it still took Draco’s breath away. 

“Let’s see how the little menaces are this fine evening,” Pansy answered briskly. Neither of them trusted Slughorn to do right by the young Slytherins. 

The dungeons were comfortable and cozy. The glass windows into the lake were giving off a slight glow into the otherwise dim common room. A couple of students were sitting on the floor in front of the windows staring into the murky water hoping to spot even a flash of the Kraken. Draco laughed and pointed at the kids. 

“Remember when we used to sit there. I think I spotted him more than you,” 

“You have a memory of a goldfish. I won, of course,” 

“Of course,” Draco nodded laughing. He conjured a couple of blankets with a flick of a wrist and dropped them on the floor next to the young Slytherins. They still had wonder in their eyes and clapped their hands in appreciation. Especially Stuart, a muggle-born First-Year, was staring at the effortless magic with wide eyes. 

The common room was quiet with most of the students either reading or conversing quietly. There was a game of chess going on and Martha with her little cackle of girls were hunched over a book in one of the corners. They looked to be doing something definitely forbidden. 

Draco walked behind Martha and cleared his throat. The book slammed shut and Martha tried to look like they weren’t just reading something. Draco quirked his brow at that. Martha studied her cuticles. 

“Do you want us to lose the House Cup this year, too, Martha?” Draco asked sternly. There was amusement in his eyes but Martha couldn’t see behind his stern voice. That was good. 

“Let the kids play, it’s not like there is supervision for them here,” Pansy interjected but stole the book from their small hands the moment the group seemed to relax. “Poisonous plants? You shouldn’t be brewing poisons at the sensitive age of eleven, Martha. Way too advanced for you,” Pansy sounded concerned. 

Martha lifted her chin in defiance. She didn’t say anything but one of her young friends, Anna, cracked under the pressure of Pansy’s hard look. 

“We just wanted to prank them a little! It’s not like we are going to poison anyone for reals,” Anna cried out when the pressure got too much, “They’re always saying Slytherin this and Slytherin that. McGonagall isn’t doing anything about it either!” 

“Them?” 

“Some of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors,” Martha muttered, “Nothing that we can’t handle ourselves,” 

Draco shared a look with Pansy at that. They had tried their best to shield the young students from the scorn of the other houses but apparently it hadn’t been enough. 

Exhaustion flooded Draco again. It was sad to look how the other houses treated the Slytherin students. They were innocent, hadn’t done a bad thing in their lives and still the other students thought it fair to bully them relentlessly. They were defenceless, for Merlin’s sake! 

“We are going to need names, Martha. You kids just concentrate on studies and let us handle those pesky cretins,” Pansy said handing back the book. “No poisoning anyone, okay? It’s not fair but you will be in much more trouble than any of the other students.” 

It was like the world wanted to watch the Slytherins crash and burn. Draco was so tired of it. 

*

There were drinks in Blaise’s room, decorated with a luxurious Liqueur cabinet and enough armchair and couches to accommodate all of them. An old record player in the corner was playing Mozart while Daphne and Theo were discussing law. It was safe, comfortable, and familiar. They were a family. 

The Slytherins didn’t talk about future. They didn’t talk about NEWTs or what would happen afterwards. In their talks, there wasn’t even Christmas. Blaise was mixing drinks while Pansy complained about the music, flicking through the vinyls looking for something worth listening to. She settled on Tchaikovsky’s Swan lake trying out the moves in the cramped place. In another world, Pansy would have been famous and good. But wizards didn’t dance. 

Blaise settled comfortably on his bed and offered Draco to sit next to him. He leaned on Blaise’s shoulder, trying to suck energy out of the other man who was so calm and collected in every situation. 

“I’ll tell you a secret, for free,” Blaise whispered with his arm wrapped around Draco’s waist. It was a familiar weigh on Draco but he couldn’t help but imagine another set of hands on him. How rude of him. 

Draco couldn’t hide his curiosity at Blaise’s words. The man seldom gave information for free. 

“Greg is definitely seeing someone,” 

That indeed was some news, secrets worth nothing for anyone else except them.

“Why should I believe you? That’s a wild claim,” 

“Sometimes he says night early but when we leave the common area, he slips away. I bet you that he isn’t in his room right now. He’s meeting someone,” 

“So he must be seeing someone?” 

“Only reasonable thought,” 

What Blaise meant, that it was the only acceptable thought. They didn’t want to imagine any other reasons why he would need to hide something from them. 

“You’re right. Wanna bet on it?” 

*

When Draco finally made his way back to his bedroom, it was past midnight. The rest of the Eight-years hadn’t come in yet and Draco didn’t know if he should feel thankful or not. He would inevitably wake up when they came in, all loud noises and drunken laughter. Draco always woke up to it. If they wouldn’t come in a couple of hours, that meant that Draco would sleep more peacefully because of the knowledge but his sleep would be cut short. Otherwise his Fridays were spent in fitful sleep, the knowledge of drunken wizards in every room giving him flashbacks and causing him to shudder in anxiety. 

Yes, this was better. He could sleep a couple of hours and then do the rest of his assignments before breakfast when the group finally got in. 

Draco’s plan had not accounted for a knock on his door. 

Thinking that it must be Pansy or possibly Theo needing something, Draco opened the door with only in his sleeping pants and a silvery silk robe carelessly flung on his shoulders. He had not expected Harry. Or Potter. Or whatever. Especially not with a flushed skin and a bit of sway in his stance. Definitely drunk. 

Draco didn’t want to feel the panic hitting him heavy. It was just Harry. The man he had helped eat soup mere hours ago. He was no danger to him. 

Harry pushed past Draco into the room throwing his shirt on the floor before crawling under the blankets like he owned the goddamn bed. 

“Potter, Harry, what are you doing?” Draco demanded, closing the door and turning to direct the drunk wizard away from his room. Harry, unsurprisingly, did not answer, “Potter, this is my bloody bed. Get off!” 

Harry did not move. A soft snore came from under the blankets and pillows. The bloody man had fallen asleep in his bed. Draco didn’t know if it was good or bad karma. Shaking Harry just made the man mumble annoyedly and swat Draco’s hand away. 

“Sleep,” a slurred demand came from the bed. 

“I was until you invaded my bed,” Draco groaned, “I thought Hermione to be smarter than to a sick man drink,” 

Harry answered something unintelligible. 

“Did you even brush your teeth? Your breath smells like beer. It’s disgusting.”

No matter how much Draco complained, Harry didn’t budge. He was so drunk Draco was certain the man wouldn’t even remember any of this tomorrow. Sighing, he fetched a bucket in case of something nasty, and debated in front of the bed for a while. 

How had his life become like this? 

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t remember when someone had last nursed him to health. Of course, it wasn’t something that the Dursleys had done for him. Whenever he had been sick, he had to suffer in silence in the cupboard, waiting for the fever to pass and hope that he wasn’t too delirious to do any of the housework he was given. Aunt Petunia didn’t like lazy people.

The irrational fear of someone coming and yelling at him for lazing around was never far. In his delirious state, Harry was ten again and under the stairs like a dog. He was alone and afraid. Fevers always made him sensitive and fragile. He wanted to cry out and reach out for someone but even in his hazy mind, he knew that there was no one for him there. 

Flashes of a bright smile and red hair crossed his mind but all that left him with was a ghost of old pain. There were freckles and careful kisses, desperation, and begging. He wanted to be normal. He wanted to so much and so fiercely. 

A cold hand pushed Harry’s head back on the pillow. Someone brushed his hair back and wrapped a blanket tightly around him. There was a presence next to him. The warmth of a person next to him evened Harry’s breath. He was safe. He was home. 

Harry was too weak and burning up to reprimand himself of such idiotic thoughts. He wanted to crawl closer to that source of heat. There was something comfortingly familiar about the sensation but Harry’s hazy mind couldn’t make the connection between the many nights up in the Tower and the hand lightly caressing his hair. 

Harry was being taken care of and it was better than anything in the world. He was too tired and out of it to truly appreciate it and the thought of missing any of the rare comforts made him anxious. He wanted to savour every single moment, each touch and quiet whisper. He wanted to be there for the reassurances and imprint them in his mind where he could revisit them. He knew that every single moment was a gift, a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

“Sleep, Harry. You’ll feel better when you wake up,” a whisper echoed in the room. Harry rather disagreed with the voice but couldn’t force himself to stay awake. The mere act of eating had wore him down and he knew he wasn’t allowed to stay sick any longer than necessary. The presence had been kind enough as things were, he didn’t want to burden them any longer. 

The dizziness of fever lasted forever. Harry was first trapped inside his mind and then he was floating freely in hazy whiteness. Someone read next to him. The warmth didn’t go far. For moments, it was replaced by sweet coolness of water but the presence was always there next to him. 

*

A part of Harry had come to the realisation that he was dreaming. There was no way, that Draco Malfoy was sitting in the bed with him reading a book and checking on him every once in a while. Even Harry’s delirious mind knew that something was off in the scenario. 

There was absolutely no reason why Harry even would want Malfoy to nurse him. It was absolutely ridiculous and Ron would definitely laugh at him. 

Still, there was something that Harry couldn’t really explain. First, Harry had spent his early mornings with Malfoy out of the need to sleep. At that point, he would have slept in a bed with Snape if it just meant that he could sleep more than two hours. And Malfoy was a much better deal than Snape could ever be. Or had ever been. 

There was the inexplicable fact that Malfoy was a calm presence. He didn’t talk, didn’t demand, didn’t wonder. Malfoy had never given Harry any special treatment. If anything, he had been more merciless because of who Harry was and even if the young Harry hadn’t appreciated the mundanity of Malfoy’s clever insults, Harry could almost remember it with fondness. There was something about the way Malfoy had always gravitated right there in the edges of Harry’s existence. 

They had always felt inevitable. 

Harry didn’t want to think about that revelation. 

*

The lingering sickness clung still heavy around Harry when he finally woke up from his fever dreams. He could remember Malfoy looking uncertain, the brush of his fingers, the tenderness. None of it was real, of course, but Harry could savour the dream before it escaped. 

Unfamiliar scent hit Harry’s noise. It didn’t smell like his room but it wasn’t Madam Pomfrey’s sick room either. Everything around him smelt clean. The air was peaceful. Light flooded his eyes. Malfoy’s blond hair was just inches above him, the pale eyes staring emotionlessly down at him. The reality flooded his senses in a rush. Embarrassment was quick second. 

“Sorry!” Harry instantly regretted his high voice, still raspy from the cough. He could feel his ear tips heating up. For a second, he couldn’t remember exactly what had been a dream and what was this new, foreign reality he had stepped in. 

There he was, sitting in Malfoy’s bed. He had imagined it before but not like this. And even those pictures had been quickly brushed away, chalked up to sleep deprivation, the fear of death, and everything else that seemed to fit in the situation. 

“Don’t mind me here, just drool all over my pillows, Potter,” Draco Malfoy drawled next to him. It was all too much but still not enough. There wasn’t enough air in the room. It was like the mere presence of Draco Malfoy had sucked everything away. He became the centre of the universe, those pale eyes nailing Harry down to the mattress. 

Harry had kissed Ginny and enjoyed it. He had kissed Cho Chang and enjoyed that, too. That one desperate, strange moment he had imagined kissing Hermione. It had felt strange and wrong and disgusting but that’s just because Hermione is like a sister, and kisses Ron on regular. 

Harry’s mouth betrayed his running mind: “I’m sure I told you to call me Harry.” 

Harry didn’t want to be friends with Draco. 

Flashes of Draco Malfoy wrapping his arms around Parkinson and Greengrass and reaching out to Nott and Zabini infiltrated his mind but that didn’t mean anything. Harry was still sick. He needed to get out before he blurted something stupid. 

*

Harry had a hazy memory of sending a Patronus to Hermione. He had definitely explained to his friends that he was sick and staying in for the day. Still, Hermione didn’t look surprised to see Harry walk out of his room with a clean shirt and trousers, ready to head to the Three Broomsticks with the rest of the group. He wanted to stick to the Routine. It had enough distractions for the next million years. 

“That was a fast recovery,” Ron just laughed clapping him on the back when they met up at the bar. He had been helping Fred and George, or most probably trying to make any extra money that was possible for a special Christmas gift for Hermione. Harry had offered to give Ron the money but his best friends had looked beyond offended at that before schooling his face to an amused grin. You’ll understand why I declined your offer one of these days, Harry, Ron had said then. Harry couldn’t remember if it was a before or after they had broken up with Ginny. 

“Do you need some peppermint tea, Harry? I have just harvested some good leaves for an infusion,” Neville offered from behind his pint. Luna perked up at that and stared at Harry for a long moment. She seemed to have one of her moments. Harry just nodded pleasantly at her.

“No need, but thanks. It was just a bit of a cold,” 

“You should drink a cuppa, Harry. Give me the leaves to see,” Luna said with determination. She nudged at Neville sitting next to her. He complied easily. The two of them had an easy, relaxed friendship that Harry would have easily mistaken for a budding relationship if it wasn’t for the fact that Luna was like that with everyone. He had even seen her talking with Draco at one point. “There’s something I can’t really see around you. I’d rather see it clearly.” Luna answered Harry’s unsaid question and headed towards the bar with a small pouch of Neville’s leaves in one hand. 

A pint of beer floated in front of Harry. Madame Rosmerta winked at him with a wicked grin but didn’t say anything to him. Soon, Luna came back with the tea and forced Harry to down the whole cup with exactly three sips, no more. And definitely no less. 

“When did you become a seer?” Fred laughed walking to the table with an easy smile. He clapped Harry on the back but didn’t say much else. He had become quieter after the war but even a near death experience couldn’t wipe away the smile on his face. “George’ll join us after closing up the shop.” He ruffled Ginny’s hair and turned to talk with Lee Jordan who had turned up as well. 

“There’s funk around Harry,” Luna gave as an explanation and swatted at something invisible around Harry almost spilling the beer she was holding in other hand. She hit Neville in the face. 

Wanting to avoid any bodily harm, accidental or not, Harry gave the now empty cup to Luna for examination. She studied them seriously but Harry couldn’t really take divination seriously. Luna had her things but divination wasn’t one of them. He must have looked sceptical because Ginny turned to laughingly tell Harry that Luna’s divination was always on point. She was going to play for the Harpies, according to Luna, after all. 

“You are safe,” Luna finally said with a relief evident in her voice, “You are going to be fine and it will all fall to its rightful places,” Luna continued. There was a flash of conflicted emotion in her face but she didn’t continue. “It’s a happy divination,” 

“I want a happy divination, too!” Seamus yelled from the other side of the table, “Give me one too. And Dean’s.” Seamus pointed at his boyfriend who just rolled his eyes indulgently and threw an arm around him. Seamus was always the first one happily drunk. Harry envied the easy trust between him and Dean. Seamus knew that Dean would get him to bed, tuck him to sleep, make sure everything was okay. That what lovers are for. 

*

The evening stretched out. The empty pints were exchanged for fresh ones and the group moaned about coming NEWTs. There was confidence in their voices. There was no way that those who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts would go without a job. 

“Imagine, Harry, in less than a year we’re going to be studying to be Aurors!” Ron sloshed his drink. Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“You are like an over-excited puppy with that Auror talk, “ Hermione laughed but there was pride in her voice. 

The thought of next year made Harry feel lost. Everything was decided already. He would become an Auror. He was supposed to marry Ginny, have children, and live his life as the Saviour. 

At one point it had been everything that Harry had ever wanted. He had wanted future. Anything had been good enough. If he could tie the Weasleys down to him, make him a part of the family, get so entwined to the wizarding society that no one could tear him away, he would have died happy. He was ready to die for that future. 

Now he wasn’t so sure. Something had changed. 

Harry had enjoyed kissing Ginny. She was still beautiful. She had beautiful red hair and freckles on her face. There was wildness that reminded Harry of a wildfire. She could burn down everything around her. He had been like a moth to a flame. Now he couldn’t remember what the flame had been made of. 

*

Intoxication came with bitterness. The night was long and people around him were laughing. They were merry and clingy and Ron was kissing Hermione who kissed him passionately back. Seamus was leaning on Dean trying to drunkenly pet his hair. 

Harry was cold. Gone was the earlier warmth. Gone was the sense of safety. How ironic it is to feel safer in the arms, he had not been hugging Draco Malfoy, in the arms of his childhood nemesis and a former death eater than the people who had literally fought for him, with him. Harry felt a twinge of shame but it was brushed aside. He was just drunk and melancholic. Alcohol didn’t always agree with him. 

Still, Harry ordered one more pint. 

“Harry, can I talk with you for a moment?” Luna was getting ready to go. Her face was flushed but she wasn’t nearly as drunk as the rest of the group. George and Fred had found a karaoke machine, or possibly conjured it from somewhere, and most of the table had migrated towards the make-shift stage. Rosmerta was enthusiastically singing behind the bar. It was a hit. 

Harry didn’t feel like singing. 

“Sure, let me walk with you back to Hogwarts,” 

Luna nodded at that and wrapped Harry’s scarf better around his throat. She didn’t have the need to fill the silence with small talk. She  was content to just walk next to him, and Harry was thankful for that. He was too drunk to concentrate on anything she was saying, anyways. It took all of his willpower to even walk straight. He could feel the cold making a come-back. Or maybe it was just the alcohol speaking. Either way, it was uncomfortable and made Harry feel squeaky. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to be surrounded by warmth and the cool fingers brushing his hair. 

Harry wanted to feel loved. 

Harry did not like his brain. It came up with demands he couldn’t fill, needs he couldn’t fulfil. 

“So, just be careful. I didn’t want to say anything back at the bar. It seems like a sensitive issue,” Luna said something. Her eyes were filled with concern. Harry imagined her taller and with shorter hair, a bit blonder. 

“Right, right” 

Luna seemed satisfied with it. She nodded and pointed towards the painting. “That’s your stop, Harry. Take care and remember what I said.”

Harry had no idea what she had said. He threw up in a nearby potted plant. The house-elves would hate him tomorrow. Or later today. 

*

A blond head opened the door, when Harry knocked. He hadn’t even noticed walking towards Draco’s door. He looked confused, then a bit annoyed before settling down to wry amusement. Harry rather liked the way Draco smiled. It was private. Mostly in the pale eyes, and Harry thought it lit up the whole room. He was too tired to think. Maybe he wanted to be friends with Draco. Or at least, acquaintances. Something other than his nemesis. 

Maybe that could be enough too. He wanted to be something, with Draco maybe it would be enough. They were inevitable, after all. 

Harry rather hated his brain. 

Chapter Text

Harry had a horrible headache in the morning when he woke up. It was to be expected after such a night of heavy drinking, especially when combined with the cold he was still suffering from. Unfortunately, no amount of alcohol in his system took away his hazy memories of the night before. He saw vividly Malfoy’s -who had at some point become Draco- confused and sleepy face when he had opened the door last night. Harry was mortified. He didn’t know if this was something he could even apologize for. Draco had let him in and hadn’t said much apart from a quiet good night before settling down next to Harry. 

Draco was still asleep next to Harry. He was a quiet presence in the bed and Harry found that he didn’t much mind him. There was something grounding in someone being there. Harry could hear Draco’s breaths and he was sure that if he got closer, he would hear the slow heartbeats.  Harry stopped thinking about anything and just concentrated on the constant of someone there next to him. 

It was perhaps a bit fucked up to think that this was the closest Harry had ever come to another person. At that moment, when Harry wasn’t seen or experienced, he was the truest form of himself. There, in the bed he could be something else but what people saw when they looked at him. He could cease to be the Saviour, the Harry bloody Potter everyone saw when they looked at him. He didn’t need to be a future Auror or a model student that headmistress McGonagall tried to make him into. There were no molds to fit into, and for that Harry was grateful. 

“You are staring, Potter,” a sleepy voice commented next to him. a pair of palest grey eyes stared directly at Harry. “Confusion is unbecoming on you. Try to do better.” 

“Morning, Draco,” 

“Harry,” Draco amended pushing himself to sit up. The stretch of his arms made his t-shirt ride high and Harry could see faint lines of something on his skin. It looked like a white spiderweb but soon Draco let his arms fall back down pushing the shirt back in its place. 

Draco rose from the bed and walked to the trunk at the end of the bed. He took out a white, crisp button-up. Only Draco would try to dress so formally on a Saturday morning. With efficiency, Draco disappeared to the bathroom and Harry was left alone in his room. 

Curiosity had always been one of Harry’s worst vices. Draco must know that, yet he hadn’t forbidden Harry to snoop around. Maybe it was always implied to leave people’s belongings alone but Harry didn’t have the patience or self-control for that. He had saved the Wizarding world and that must come with some perks. 

*

Draco’s room was different from what Harry had imagined it to be. Just like Harry’s room, it was bare and had few personal items. Where Harry hadn’t changed anything in the room, leaving the ghastly tapestries and mustard-colored comforters, Draco had changed everything into white. Every wall, every pillow, and comforter, even his armchair was white. Harry wondered briefly how Draco kept tea stains from his furniture.

The desk was meticulously organized and Harry would bet his left arm that the trunk was also organized similarly. On the desk, there was an unopened letter from Narcissa and for a second Harry was tempted to reach out for it but that was illegal and no matter what the perks of saving the world were, postal theft was probably not one of them. He was still curious about what Narcissa was doing. 

Draco had mentioned France and Andromeda. Harry had been thinking of writing to Andromeda but every time he had a moment, he seemed to forget all about it. He wanted to be a good godfather to Teddy but Harry felt like he was already failing grandly at that. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had written to the kid. 

Not that Teddy could read, or would even understand the importance of godfathers yet. But still, Harry didn’t wish Teddy to grow up like him. He wanted for the child to have everything, to never feel like Harry had felt when he was younger. Of course, Teddy had Andromeda so it would never happen but Harry didn’t want to stay on the sidelines. He should write to Teddy. Or go to visit some of these days. 

Harry didn’t want to wake up and leave the room. Sure, it was white to the extent of being off-putting and didn’t look lived in at all, but there was peace there. The room smelled good. The faint scent of cherry shampoo and the acrid smell of fire and burnt coffee. Underneath that, there was the scent distinctly Malfoy. Severus Snape had smelt a bit like that, too. The hours behind the potions station did that to a person. Harry had almost forgotten that Snape had been Draco’s godfather. Maybe he had been to Draco what Sirius had been to Harry. Maybe they were more similar than Harry had initially thought. 

*

Harry was still there, sitting on Draco’s bed when the man came back with wet hair and clean clothes. He carried his dirty clothes under his arm and shuffled around with relaxed movements. He didn’t question Harry’s existence in his room, didn’t mention anything. He seemed to be satisfied with just letting Harry be. 

“Breakfast?” Harry blurted out as Draco opened the letter from Narcissa. He quirked an eyebrow at Harry but said still nothing. “Should we go to the kitchens to get something to eat? I am starving,”

“Yes, irresponsible drinking after just recovering from a high fever does that to a man,” Draco nodded with a wry smile. “But I will not be going even to the kitchens with you looking like that. You might be Harry Potter, but I have standards.” 

Something in Draco’s voice shifted. There was resolution in his eyes as he looked up and down on Harry’s bare chest. Suddenly, Harry was self-conscious. He had slept half-naked in the same bed with Draco. With rapid movements, Harry was out of the bed reaching out for the shirt laying discarded on the floor. 

“I’ll be ready in a five,” Harry yelled from behind his shoulder before exiting the bedroom, making sure that no one saw him leave. It wouldn’t do good for either of them to be seen too closely together. Not that they were close together, or that they were doing anything that anyone could mistake for anything. 

Harry was definitely not thinking about anything of the sort. 

*

Surprisingly, Draco was waiting for Harry in the common room when Harry had changed clothes and was ready to eat. They were the first ones up and Harry enjoyed the quiet of the morning. If it was a regular day, Harry would have just fallen asleep, or he would be staring at the ceiling feeling annoyed at everything and nothing in particular. Now he was leading Draco to the kitchens to eat breakfast. 

It was turning out to be a peculiar day.  

*

Harry spent a significant amount of time in the kitchens. He didn’t always enjoy eating with the rest of the school in the Great Hall and most of the mornings he was running late even without going to eat breakfast. The hall didn’t hold good memories for him, either, and the kitchens were neutral ground. He had seldom ventured there during earlier years. 

Most people Harry met there, were older Hufflepuffs with severe cases of munchies and Ravenclaws who were notorious for their odd hours during pouts of research and hyper-fixations. Harry could still remember when Luna discovered muggle science a couple of months ago and promptly fixated on physics. Hermione and Harry couldn’t understand how, neither of them had good memories about the muggle education system and frankly, the wizarding world was a thousand times more interesting. 

The elves were always nice to Harry and as they sat down, there was already a steaming cup of strong tea and a fresh roll n front of Harry. The elves hadn’t noticed Draco, though, and it took a moment for him to get his breakfast. 

“Morning, mates!” Justin Finch-Fletchley greeted them with a slightly manic smile. He was shoveling down a baking bowl filled to the brim with chocolate cereal. He didn’t seem to find anything strange in Harry walking in with Draco. 

“Had a good evening, Justin,” Draco laughed, “Blaise probably wants you to pay him a visit whenever you have the time. He has been cranky lately and I think he could benefit from a bit of relaxation.” Harry had no idea that Draco even talked with students from other houses, not to mention muggle-borns like Finch-Fletchley. 

“Sure thing, mate,” 

“I have you know, Harry, that I am not as disliked as you Gryffindors like to think,” Draco just scoffed at Harry’s face and turned to sip on his lukewarm tea adding an unhealthy amount of sugar on it. He had a bit of a sweet tooth. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry tried to defend himself but knew a lost battle when he saw one. He hadn’t needed to say anything, the implication was there. It wasn’t like the idea was so far-fetched, after all. Draco didn’t say anything more about the subject. He was content to eat his breakfast with sporadic commentary from Finch-Fletchley who had opinions about the year’s Quidditch games. Harry had seen every single one of them but couldn’t remember any of them. And he liked Quidditch. Or had liked it before the war. He wasn’t sure anymore. 

Draco seemed to notice Harry slipping away from the discussion and nudged him with his elbow. Directly afterward Draco inhaled sharply. That was a better way to get Harry’s attention but Draco offered no explanation. 

“Eat your roll,” Draco pointed, “You are not healthy yet. I still think you should see Pomfrey.” 

Harry did not want to see Madam Pomfrey. He had nothing against the skilled healer but he rather stayed far away from the infirmary. He had spent enough time there and had decided to stay as far from the place as humanely possible. With Harry’s luck, it wouldn’t be very far. 

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” Harry answered sharply. Draco looked down at his cereal. 

“A lover’s spat,” Finch-Fletchley winched, “I’m outta here!” He inhaled the rest of the cereal with a speed that should be physically impossible and disappeared through the doors to the kitchens before Harry clarify. 

“We’re not lovers!” Harry yelled behind Finch-Fletchley’s fast retreating back but it just made things worse. A Third-Year Ravenclaw girl turned her eyes from the piece of parchment she was holding in her inky fingers to stare at Harry and Draco with round eyes. Draco didn’t look impressed. 

Harry concentrated on his roll and drank another cuppa. There was an unasked question hanging in the air between them but Harry didn’t want anything to change. Was it truly too much to ask, to keep things as they were? There was no need to talk about things. Why fix a car that is not broken in the first place? 

Draco cleared his throat and Harry shoved the rest of the roll down his throat and reached for a new one. Draco finished his cup and turned to wait for Harry to finish. He didn’t look to be in a hurry, but at this point, Harry knew better. The Slytherin group had a standing reservation for a table in the library on weekends. Unlike the rest of the Eight-Years, they seemed serious about their studies. Even more serious than the years before. The war had truly changed them all. Right now Draco was supposed to be on his way to the library, but instead, he was down in the kitchens watching Harry eat. Like he had nothing better to do. Draco was never late. He never skipped anything. It was unusual. 

*

“We are not lovers. The last I checked, we are not friends, either,” Draco said as they were making their way back to the Eight-Year dormitory. The words were true and didn’t hurt Harry at all. “You came to me, to my bedroom. Are you going to make it into a habit? Sleeping at the top of the Tower is out of the question. It is way too cold up there.” There was no emotion in Draco’s voice. His face was neutral. Harry heard no invitation but he heard no rejection either. Maybe that was all they needed.  

Harry answered nothing. 

“Bring your own pillow. My neck will start hurting otherwise,”

“Are you a prince or something? Need a special pillow to sleep?” 

“Like you have the right to mock my sleeping habits, Potter.” 

He was right, of course, but Harry didn’t admit it. He didn’t admit that the familiar banter was making him feel warm inside, either. It had been a while since he had been feeling so relaxed. 

Chapter Text

There was a new Routine. It wasn’t that different from the last one but Harry could see the small changes Draco had brought with him. They weren’t friends, they even hardly spoke to one another. With as few words as possible, Harry and Draco had everything running smoothly, most of the time. 

When it was time to sleep, Harry put on the cloak of invisibility and walked to Draco’s room. Harry rather stayed in the blond’s more inviting bedroom than his own. Frankly speaking, he didn’t even want to show Draco his bare room. There was something so soulless in Harry’s room, and he feared it showed too much. It wasn’t like Harry had been able to discover what he liked in the past. Aunt Petunia hadn’t given Harry much choice in what his room looked like. He hadn’t been given choices in many things in life. Most of the time everything had been decided for him. It wasn’t just with the Dursleys, Dumbledore had been as quilts of making Harry’s decisions for him. It was like everyone thought they knew him well enough to decide correctly. 

Once upon a time, Harry would have thought it relieving for someone to make these easy decisions for him. It had freed his time to… survive. He had been so busy with Voldemort that everything else had slowly disappeared from his life. Sleeping in the same bed Draco Malfoy was the first real decision Harry had really made. He hadn’t listened to Hermione or asked Dumbledore’s opinion. He hadn’t even told anyone about it. 

Now, Harry felt strangely heavy and weary about the onslaught of decisions thrown on him. Everyone was supposed to make decisions and then there was Harry who froze at the sight of an unfamiliar situation. That was why he liked his Routine so much. There wasn’t much left for him to decide. 

Harry arrived in Draco’s room precisely at 11 pm. It was the optimal time for both of them. Draco was already done with the work of the day while Harry’s gang of friends had mostly retired to their rooms. Sometimes Neville was still sitting in the common room but he wasn’t the most attentive of people even in his best moments and evenings weren’t his forte. 

Draco was curled into a small ball in his armchair reading a heavy book in his lap. He barely acknowledged Harry’s presence in the room as he took off the cloak of invisibility and hung it neatly. There was a place for Harry’s stuff in Draco’s room. It was strange how it didn’t feel awkward at all to know his pillow was there in Draco’s bed alongside his blanket. Draco, being the meticulously organized neat-freak that he was, had color-coded their blankets with Harry’s always being a different color from his own. Harry thought it must have because Draco hated it when Harry stole his pillow. It was apparently some fancier brand of pillows that had been designed for him specifically to help with something that Harry hadn’t really paid any attention to. As usual, Draco had many opinions about many things and sleeping equipment was no exception. 

Harry took great satisfaction in stealing Draco’s pillow whenever possible. He was almost surprised that Draco hadn’t thrown him away yet. But then again, Draco rarely requested anything from Harry. He had just demanded he bring his pillow and take a shower beforehand. He didn’t want any germs in his linens. Harry had never felt as gross as when he had sneaked in and been immediately turned around to go take a shower. He had rolled around in blood and mud and guts and still when he had come to Draco’s room, maybe a bit sweaty but that’s all, he had been turned around like he had done the highest violation of all. 

Draco turned to look at Harry as he made himself comfortable on his side of the small bed. It was just big enough for the two of them to sleep without touching each other, as long as they didn’t move in their sleep. Draco seemed to notice how tired Harry was because he closed the book quietly and with a flick of a wrist turned on the kettle. It was all part of the Routine. It had originally been a part of Draco’s routine but at some point, it had morphed into Harry’s as well. Just like the evening showers and the morning Routine that had been all Draco’s before Harry had come along. 

While being meticulously organized, Draco didn’t seem to be keen on routine. He never drank the same tea two nights in a row, while Harry refused to change his original decision of peppermint infusion. Tonight Draco was drinking chamomile tea. He drank it more often than any other. 

Draco also refused to read the same book every day, even if he hadn’t completed it the previous night. Harry couldn’t see any logic in his reading habits. There were small, inconsequential things that Harry was learning Draco that he never would have guessed otherwise. One of them being, that Draco refused to sleep in darkness. 

There was a silent agreement between the two of them: they didn’t ask questions. Harry didn’t ask why Draco slept with a faintly glowing nightlight and Draco never asked why Harry had come to him in the first place. They never talked about their arraignment outside of the bed, either. It was like the bed had become a completely different dimension where names Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy didn’t mean anything. Under the white -and purple, apparently- blankets they weren’t wizards or men or students in Hogwarts. They were nothing at all and everything in the world at the same time. Harry couldn’t put the feeling into words. 

Holding a teacup in his hand, Draco came to the bed. He gave it to Harry before levitating his own to the nightstand where his book of the night was already waiting for him. At some point, Draco had become a master with wandless magic. Harry didn’t ask about that either. It seemed too intimate to divulge and ask for secrets whispered in the bed. Even with Ginny, Harry had been quiet. He didn’t like the sense of vulnerability, it made him feel weak and unsafe. 

*

Most nights, Harry was stiff under the covers. Now that he wasn’t ready to drop at any given moment, the old anxieties came back with full force. He tossed and turned and reached for the water. He sighed and felt first hot and then cold. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He couldn’t shake away the feeling of sickness in his stomach and the hollow ache in his chest. He felt like he was missing a piece and especially during the nights, the yearning for that piece was strong. 

With unsaid horror, Harry had begun to think that the missing piece he was missing was Voldemort. He was the Chosen, had been a Horcrux. Maybe he had been Chosen because he didn’t have emotions. Maybe he had been able to fight so efficiently, follow orders just as Dumbledore wanted because there was something wrong with him. Maybe the Dursleys had sensed this wickedness in him from the beginning. They had grown to fear him, that was for sure. Maybe his family The Weasleys just couldn’t see him for who he truly was. Maybe the whole of Wizarding world was blind to him, too grateful to see how much like Voldemort he was. He had to be. A piece of the wizard had lived inside of him for years. And now there was a hole in his chest that was cold and aching. 

Harry was desperate to feel better. He wanted to feel alive, not like a ghost. Sometimes he wondered if he had died back then and this was his afterlife. Maybe he lingered as a ghost but no one had the heart to tell him. Maybe this was how ghosts came to be. Harry thought that he would have rather been a painting. At least, that way he would know for a sure. A man must know when he is turned into a painting. 

The white ceiling started to turn. It circled until there were black spots that connected into a vortex. There was Hell, of that Harry was sure. It would take him. In Hell with the rest of the bad men. He was a bad man. He… he was disgusted just to think about it. No sane person wanted to go back to war. He didn’t. It had been awful. They had lost good people. Harry had lost people he loved. He would never see them again. Sirius would be in heaven, if it even existed. So would his parents. So would everyone. Except for Harry. He was dying and he was going to Hell. 

Harry couldn’t breathe. 

He felt the ceiling swallow him up. 

Something wet rolled down his cheeks. It was raining in Hell. 

*

Sense of warmth encompassed Harry. It began small, with just a light presence on his shoulder but soon it was all around him. It travelled from his shoulder down to his chest and up to his face. He was pressed against something. It was too warm, too comforting to be Hell. A quiet voice murmured something in his ear. It was grounding. Harry started to feel the softness of the bed, the firm presence tight around him. The room wasn’t spinning anymore. There was no vortex to Hell. 

“It was a bd dream, Harry. Wake up,” the voice repeated, “You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen, Harry. Get back.” It was comforting even if the voice was still distorted and Harry couldn’t understand all of the words. Slowly the world came back to him. 

Harry was securely between Draco’s arms, leaning against his chest while Draco petted his hair like so many times in the Tower. In the bed, he hadn’t done it. Harry hadn’t realised how much he had missed the feeling. Had missed the all encompassing feeling of security that came with the light touch, the soft voice that was at the same time familiar and unknown. Before this year, Harry had never been privy to this side of Draco. The soft and calm man who knew how to embrace, how to wipe away the tears, and how to whisper sweet nothings in that soothing tone. Gone was the sneer, the prickly comments, and the haughty attitude. For a moment, he was just so very utterly Draco, which was completely different from the Draco Malfoy the world perceived. 

Harry imagined they were to only people in the world, that this was private. Something that only the two of them could ever experience. That Harry was all Draco had ever touched. 

Harry hated himself for the thoughts, for the yearning deep in his soul. He brushed it aside and shifted in Draco’s arms. Draco’s fingers froze but soon he continued. They stayed like that for a while. Draco made him drink water and soon Harry was gone in the darkness, again. This time it wasn’t Hell, but Heaven. 

*

Harry hadn’t slept as good as he did that night. He woke up groggy, as always, but the bone-deep weariness he had already gotten accustomed to the point of not even noticing it, had subsided slightly. As usual, Draco was up before Harry sitting in the bed with a book in hand, reading it under a reading light that had appeared at some point after Harry’s pillow and blanket. At some point during the night, Harry had found Draco’s pillow and he had been left with Harry’s garishly purple one behind his back. 

Draco turned to give Harry a cup of water as he stirred. He didn’t say anything about Harry’s puffy eyes but for the first time during their arraignment, he said more than just good morning. 

“Do you want to talk about it? You were hysterical,” 

“I’m sorry. I must have disturbed your sleep,” Harry was suddenly filled with dread that this was it. Draco would finally kick him out of his bed. The thought felt like death. 

Draco shook his head chucking, “I slept as fitfully. It seems that Luna’s warnings about new moons and nightmares holds up.”

“Luna’s?” 

“She’s your friend, Harry, you know her. Long blonde hair, peculiar glasses, always talking about wrackspurts. A Ravenclaw.’ 

Harry had not known that they were in any sort of closer contact. Luna was nice to everyone but Harry had rather thought being close with a Malfoy would be beyond her. Harry wouldn’t have blamed her for it. 

Draco seemed to understand what the long silence meant and stiffened next to him. Like a reflex, Draco’s other hand shot up to press on the Death Mark on his left arm. He didn’t say anything but Harry could sense that the moment was over. Something had closed between them again. 

Maybe it was better that way.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up in Draco’s bed. The other man was sitting next to him, reading a book that looked under closer inspection to be a completely different one from the last night. It was a part of the Routine. Draco would always be reading a different book. Harry didn’t know how the man finished all the books he was reading. 

As Draco noticed that Harry had woken up, he gave Harry a cup of water. His mornings always began with a cup of water nowadays. Draco hadn’t at any point asked him if he wanted any water but he must have seemed dehydrated enough to receive such treatment from Draco who usually left him to his own devices. 

“I don’t wanna wake up yet,” Harry muttered and burrowed himself deeper under the pillow. It was Draco’s but the man hadn’t said anything about it this morning either, so it was probably alright. 

“We still have an hour before the first lessons begin. You never take much time to get ready,” Draco muttered deep in his book. He didn’t pay much attention to Harry but he knew that Draco wouldn’t let him oversleep. 

Soft noises of music filled the room as Draco put on a record and rose to push the curtains open letting the early morning sun filter in. They were getting deep in winter and the sun hasn’t risen yet but the light glow of snow was enough to bring the room to light shades of grey and blue. The lake was under a snow blanket and everything was peaceful. Draco opened the windows to let in the cold but fresh winter air. He grabbed a wool blanket from the top of the trunk and made his way back to bed. Draco seemed to be always cold, but still lingering around cold places. Harry didn’t understand why. 

The soft noises of Draco getting ready finally woke Harry up for good. It was already way past breakfast time when he finally clambered out of the bed, hastily making it on his hurry back to his room to change clothes. He timed his departure so late for two reasons. One of them was the everlasting sense of exhaustion that made it difficult to get out of bed at all, and the other reason was that he had a smaller chance of running into anybody while everyone was eating breakfast. 

Ron and Hermione were just pleased to hear that Harry was sleeping at all, to try to make him eat breakfast with them. Draco hadn’t said what his friends had said about his sudden disappearance at breakfast times, but he didn’t seem to spend any less time with them. It was most often Parkinson and Greengrass that Harry pumped on when he rushed to brush his teeth. Both women seemed to be just as morning cranky as Harry and didn’t talk even amongst themselves. Zabini strolled out of his room sometimes even later. Harry wasn’t sure he was taking any morning classes at all. Harry felt a pang of envy when he imagined the possibility of stretching his mornings even further. Even the thought of it made him smile. He had fallen in love with mornings now that they didn’t hurt that bad. 

The house-elves had gotten used to Harry and Draco eating their breakfast at the kitchens and the elves left best pieces for them, or Harry at least. Draco didn’t eat much in the mornings, sometimes just having an apple. Harry didn’t comment on it. It felt rude to talk about someone’s eating habits.

Most of the time, they didn’t have time to drink tea but Draco had a handy takeaway cup he had conjured from somewhere that he used to fill to the brim with lukewarm coffee and heat it with charms carved into the mug. Harry rather wanted one but he didn’t know where to get it. He hadn’t asked Draco about it, either, but he was gathering courage. 

Draco and Harry separated after a quick breakfast and didn’t meet up for most of the day.

*

Harry didn’t pay a lot of attention to the classes. He was great at DADA and the new professor called Perseus Gormack didn’t have a lot that he could teach to Harry or his friends. He probably had more experience in using the spells in real life than Gormack, anyways. Not that the professor was a tool. He was a nice if a little absent-minded and foolish man who probably should have lost his head years ago if not for the immense luck he possessed. The Eight-Years had a bet running on what would be the first lesson gone horribly wrong under the tutelage of Gormack. So far, no one was winning, and at least Neville and Finch-Fletchley had lost surprising amounts of money. No one had counted on the luck that was starting to look like a gift or a curse. Harry wasn’t which one it would be. Hermione had ideas but wasn’t ready to discuss them yet. 

McGonagall demanded all attention during her classes, as usual, and they all had immense respect, and a healthy dose of fear mixed in, for her. Harry tried his best but was just above average, just like Ron. They had nothing on Hermione who was on fire. The classes were here scene and they were just sidekicks for her, and occasional test subjects whenever she needed it.  

Most of the Eight-Years just flitted from class to class with no real ambition towards the NEWTs. They had no real need to complete the studies but found it great fun to be at school for one more year. 

*

After lunch and afternoon classes, Hermione dragged Harry and Ron, and most of the other Eight-Years to the library to complete their homework and research on the many subjects she was interested in. Luna usually joined them researching her subjects before disappearing to Hagrid’s Hut or the Forbidden Forest that wasn’t that forbidden anymore, especially those who knew how to walk there. 

Harry didn’t have anything he wanted to research. He had gotten enough of the forced research when he had to do it to survive. He had never been the greatest lover of books and the slight love and interest he had towards everything wizarding had slowly dwindled down. He was going to be a part of this even if he wasn’t the best wizard in existence. Harry was glad to leave that title for Hermione to claim, not that he could honestly win against her anyways. 

During the research hours between the last lessons of the day and dinner, Harry usually just goofed around with Ron and Seamus, looked for the most obscure books, and generally annoyed the population. Or tried to stay out of sight whenever students decided that it was time to idolize Harry Potter more closely than usual. 

Those hours were packed with things to do and people to talk with. Harry had no time for his mind, and for that he was glad. 

Sometimes Harry would see Draco sitting somewhere studying, but he never came two days in a row. Sometimes he was seen walking past with a bunch of young Slytherins. It was the most infuriating thing about Draco. Harry could never really know what he was doing day to day. There was a little rhythm to everything he did, but not enough. It seemed like Draco stole what little chaos he could get and rolled with it. It was such a drastic change to his room and life in general. Harry didn’t think that anyone else had even realized the utter chaos that was Draco Malfoy. 

*

After dinner was time for either chess or some Quidditch between the Eight-Years who weren’t allowed to stay in teams. After getting used to such an active lifestyle, Harry was glad to be able to let off steam. Nervous energy had been building up the whole day, the smallest of things triggering memories he rather didn’t relive. He could forget himself in exercise and run ragged until there were no thoughts in his head, not enough air to share with the useless, thinking parts of his brain. 

Ron often accompanied Harry in silence. There was still something unsaid between the two of them. They were great friends and Harry would have cut off both of his arms to the man but after the War, after Ginny, things had subtly changed. Harry didn’t know if it was because of him or because of Ron. Maybe they had both changed so much that it was difficult to recognize each other. 

There was anger in Ron. Harry had expected it to slowly dissipate over the months but it was still there, hardly contained under the fiery hair and freckles. He was more explosive than ever, ready to fight almost anyone not deemed part of his people. He had become more fierce, more vicious. Harry wasn’t sure if it would make a great or a cruel Auror. He didn’t delve much into it. Ron was better to be left alone during the moments when his jaw was set and lips pressed tightly together. 

Harry didn’t love Ron any less. He wasn’t sure he could even love the man more. The constants of his life: Ron and Hermione. They had slowly morphed into one, familiar essence. It warmed his heart to hear Ron grumble about the various jobs his brothers made him do for money. The man would do anything for Hermione. Even if that anger was a sharp blade pointed towards the world, Hermione would always be protected by it. 

They didn’t talk much about War. Ron wanted to move on. He wanted to become an Auror and help make the world a better place. There was no reason to think about the past. They weren’t able to change it. Hermione was busy in her books, excited about the many decisions she was about to make. In her mind, the future was now. She was ready to close this chapter in her life and begin a new one. Harry looked through the papers but still couldn’t find anything of interest. How does one live after they have stopped surviving? 

*

Ron walked to fetch Hermione after their exercise. They sat around the common room for a while before people filtered away, content to go about their nights. Ron and Hermione most probably had their own, private routine that Harry couldn’t and wouldn’t imagine. So was with Seamus and Dean. They were inseparable and disappeared the first. Neville was the last one up. Those were constants. 

Ron and Hermione were together. 

Neville was the last one to go to sleep. 

Draco was sitting in his armchair at 11 pm.

*

After the nightly run, Harry was weary enough to try to fall asleep. Every day he tried to exhaust himself enough to fall asleep. He tried to run enough to make himself feel. Only one of those things was achieved during the run. 

Draco was waiting for him, like always. Harry’s senses were wrapped around the distinctive feel of Draco. It hugged him tightly and Harry could feel the stress of the day melt away. Some days it was like cutting wires from a puppet. He fell on the bed, too tired to think what it must look like to Draco. 

The next thing he knew, was the stretched hand with a steaming cup. The sweet flavor of peppermint and the noises of Draco turning the pages on his book. He could smell Draco’s tea of the night. Tonight, it was licorice. There was only the glow of the night lamp and Draco’s reading light. The linens were fresh and cool. Draco took good care of his room, took care of Harry in a way that he didn’t dare to think about. 

Those nights in the bed before Harry’s heart was calm enough to sleep, were the worst. He didn’t want to move yet he could feel the distance between them like physical pain. It was almost as painful as the going hole in his heart. Some nights he wanted to reach out. Wanted to see if Draco would open up as he did to his friends, would let Harry rest his head on his lap while he read like Harry had seen Parkinson do effortlessly so many times. Some nights Harry wanted to bolt. He wanted to run so far that no one would be able to catch up to him. He never did either. He stayed frozen there on the side he had claimed as his and tried to stay as quiet as possible. This place wasn’t really his. It could be taken away at any moment. Harry tried not to take more space than necessary. He tried not to attract any more attention. 

“Can you read for me?” the words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could think what he was saying, what he was asking out loud to Draco bloody Malfoy. Not that he believed that Draco would hold anything against him. Not here, not in thei- Draco’s bed. 

Without saying a thing, Draco turned the book back to the first page and began to read. And so the Routine changed again. 

Chapter Text

“Stop it, Pansy. I’m serious. It’s none of your business,” Draco almost regretted his words when he saw hurt flash across Pansy’s face. The fact was, that she was sometimes too nosy for her good. It wasn’t that Draco didn’t want to share what had been happening lately but it just wasn’t his secret to share. Pansy needed to understand it. 

“Yea, Pans. Let the boy be,” Blaise shouted from where he was making snowballs with Greg, “Who knows, maybe he has a new boy toy to warm him up during the nights!” Unlike Pansy, Blaise didn’t seem hurt at all. Not that he would have shown it if he felt threatened. 

“Nothing like that Blaise,” Draco defended himself, “Just leave it be. I’ll tell you when I tell.” 

“Pestering him won’t get you anywhere,” Greg muttered. He turned back to the many snowballs he had been making. Lately, he had been more alert, more present. Draco wished it was a sign of things finally becoming better with Greg. He smiled a grateful smile at the man who just shook his head. The once tank of a boy had shrunk in size. No one knew what to do about it. 

Pansy shrugged her shoulders and showed Draco in one of the piles of snow that had started to gather around after December hit them with the god-awful blizzard almost snowing them in. Only magic had kept the place running and Draco didn’t know how he felt about it. Even just a couple of years ago, the reliance on magic had been natural. It was how it was supposed to be in the Wizarding World and now it felt idiotic somehow. Magic had been such a cornerstone in all of their lives but without magic, Vincent would still be alive. A lot of people would still be alive if it wasn’t for the magic, for the war, for the Death Eaters. The only reason things had ever gotten so twisted was because of the existence of magic and the purebloods and their ridiculous prejudices. Draco wanted to feel anger but all he could muster up was self-hatred. A feeling just as strong but it left a bad taste in his mouth. He had gotten used to it, though. 

If the others saw Draco taking longer than necessary to get up from the snow, no one said anything. All of them had their quirks. 

The Slytherins didn’t often spend time outside Hogwarts. It had become exceedingly clear how dangerous it was at the beginning of the year when a bunch of students had jumped Pansy and Daphne. They had gotten away before anything serious had happened but neither of the women knew how to actually fight against people who wanted to hurt them. Neither of them was a fighter. None of the Slytherins were fighters. They weren’t Gryffindors always rushing headfirst into danger. After a couple of unfortunate accidents, the Slytherins had learned that they weren’t wanted here. No one wanted to share a meal with Death Eaters, even if only one of them really carried the mark. 

Even today, Draco could feel the phantom pain in the mark. He gritted his teeth. There was nothing here. No one would come and whisk him away from today. They would throw snowballs like children and forget for a second about tomorrow, about the uncertainty that their lives had become. Even Greg was here today. It had to be enough. 

The Slytherins didn’t get far with their snowball fight before Zacharias Smith with a couple of his ilk made their way towards the corner of snowy fields the group of Slytherins had called theirs. Smith wore the colors of Hufflepuff proudly and Draco couldn’t understand how he had been sorted there. He was everything but a Hufflepuff. 

“You have a lot of nerve to show your faces,” Smith yelled from afar. He was overconfident. Didn’t fear a bunch of Slytherins like the three men -boys really. “Honest people are trying to relax and enjoy a beautiful day. No one needs to see your ugly mugs dimming the day,”

“Walk away, Smith,” Theo yelled back. His hand was already in his pocket where Draco knew he kept his wand. 

“Theo…,” Draco warned shaking his head. They all knew how it would end if a Slytherin hit a Hufflepuff. It didn’t matter who had started it. 

“At least one of you Death Eaters seem to have kept his wits about him,” Smith sneered. He walked too close but there was nothing Draco could do about it. 

“Stop it, Smith. We haven’t done anything to you,” Daphne tried but it just caused Smith’s sneer to twist into anger. 

“Oh, haven’t you! Let me remind you just what you have done to me, to us,” Smith’s voice broke at the end, “I won’t let you just continue your lives after killing my best friend,” 

“We didn’t kill anyone, Smith. Most of us weren’t even here during the battle,” Pansy reminded. No one reminded Smith that he hadn’t been there during the battle, either. The coward had run away at the first sight of trouble. Not that Draco could blame him. He would have run if possible, too. 

Draco remembered the heat in his face, the scorching flames. One glance at Greg and Draco knew exactly what scene was running in his head, as well. Smith wasn’t the only one who had lost a best friend, he wasn’t the only one torn up from last year. They were all just trying to survive. 

“Smith, stop it. We’ll go, just stop,” Draco hated the pleading notes in his voice. He hated feeling powerless but there was nothing he could do in this situation. 

“The death eater is begging!” There was joy in Smith’s voice, real unbridled madness. Draco tried to turn all of his attention to him, to buy time for the rest. 

One look was enough to convey his plans to the rest of the Slytherins. Pansy pressed her lips together, shin held high but in the end, did as Draco wordlessly asked them to. Smith wasn’t okay but still, they would take the fall if anything happened. Then there was the secret reason the others hadn’t noticed yet. Draco didn’t understand it himself very well, either. 

When the first hex hit, Draco didn’t even raise a shield. He just fell. Pain seared through him but not a whisper left Draco’s lips. He listened to the footsteps coming closer while his friends ran towards Hogwarts. There was nothing left of their peaceful outing. Draco wondered if there would ever be a moment when they could just live, when he was allowed. Smith was in pain. Everyone was in so much pain. It was Draco’s fault. He had been in the center of it all. 

In his memories, Draco traveled back to the Manor, back to Greyback and Bellatrix. He visited memories he wanted gone. He wanted to be oblivious to the pain, forget the memories but he wasn’t allowed. Death Eaters don’t deserve happy endings. It was a win that Draco wasn’t in Azkaban with his father. This freedom, no matter how painful, was his happy ending. 

Smith wasn’t satisfied with hexes. He was a physical guy. His fists talked for him and he had just enough time to do damage before voices neared them, screaming something incomprehensible. Draco couldn’t hear anything else but the ringing in his ears. The hard fists disappeared just as he faded to back. 

*

Draco woke up aching all over. The bright light of Madam Pomfrey’s office was too much for his eyes, and Draco shut them again. It hurt. Smith had hit his eye socket. 

“He’s waking up,” Luna Lovegood’s called for Madam Pomfrey. 

Sounds of the infirmary came to Draco slowly. He could feel the presence of Luna next to him. The scent of her that was distinctively Luna: tea and something mysterious all mixed together by the cold smell of winter. She smelled clean. Unlike back then. Draco was glad. No one deserved to be filthy like they had been back then. 

Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room, her heavy footfall alerting Draco of her nearing hand. It was cold on his forehead. Everything was cold. He was shivering. Typical after getting injured. Draco should know. Everyone at Hogwarts should know at this point. It was ridiculous that this place was still known as one of the safest places for young wizards. Draco would argue that home was safer for many of the young. Maybe not for him, but for many. 

“Do you remember what happened, Mr. Malfoy?” Pomfrey’s soothing voice dragged Draco out of his head. He remembered the hexes, the many fists and knees making themselves home in Draco’s person. There was the mad smile on Smith’s face, his cries for justice. A schoolyard bully, not unlike Draco. 

“Let’s say I slipped and fell. Winter is a hazardous season,” Draco rasped. A heavy silence fell. 

“I saw you, Draco,” Luna reminded. 

“Let’s say you didn’t.” 

“Mr. Malfoy, we should alert Headmistress Gonagall about all of this,” 

“I won’t say anything. I slipped and fell. Took a bit of a tumble,” Draco said in a hard voice. He sounded like his father, cold and impervious. He hated it. “It’s not like I won’t survive.” 

Draco flexed his muscles, testing the damage done to him. His eyes fluttered open and he stared at concerned Luna with her ridiculous glasses and style so extra that it suited her. From somewhere, she had fished a teacup and a saucer with scribbles. The sort one uses with divination. Draco stared pointedly at the divination tool as Luna sipped from it. 

“I want to know what happens,” 

“I assume none of us like surprises so much anymore,” Draco agreed.

Madam Pomfrey shook her grey head but didn’t say anything more on the subject. She unveiled a potion bottle from one of the many pockets of her robes, not unlike Severus’ but Draco didn’t want to think about it. Not today, not when he was already hurting enough. The green liquid was murky and even when slightly concussed, Draco could see that the potion of healing wasn’t as potent as it should be. Madam Pomfrey smiled apologetically and handed the potion to Draco who was already getting up caring little about the splitting pain in his head. 

“Professor Slughorn has been otherwise busy lately so this is the best I can offer,” madam Pomfrey explained but Draco was just thankful to get anything at all. It tasted musty, not like anything that Severus had ever made. Without a hint of ego, Draco knew that he could probably make better ones. He didn’t say anything, though. He didn’t believe that madam Pomfrey, or anyone at all, would let him make any potions. He was a death eater, no matter how former. He wasn’t to be trusted. 

Slowly the pain dulled into an ache easily forgotten about. Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep Draco there for the night in case of the concussion worsened. Luna leaned towards that, too, but Draco wouldn’t listen to any of that. He didn’t want to admit it to himself but he rather slept with Harry than spend the night in the infirmary. There, in the darkness of the bedroom that Draco had a hard time thinking about only as his, was peace, unlike anything Draco had ever felt before. He knew that Harry felt it, too. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t spend his nights with a former death eater. 

“I told your friends that you’re safe,” Luna said as Draco made his way out of the bed, wincing as his ribs caught a wrong movement, “So, will you come and eat dinner with me, Draco? We haven’t chatted in a while.” 

Draco didn’t know when the strange friendship between him and Luna had begun but he didn’t mind it one bit. As a person, Luna was soothing. She didn’t force people to talk and Draco sensed that Luna probably knew more than she let on. She didn’t blame him for the Manor. 

They had talked about it multiple times. Sometimes Luna wanted to talk and she sought Draco out. She always asked if Draco was up to it first. She never forced her troubled mind on others, Draco had noticed. She wanted to know details, asked questions about things that had happened Upstairs, as they called the rest of the Manor. She never asked anything personal but sometimes her questions were difficult. 

*

“Do you have a moment?” She had asked once while they were eating lunch together out in the Forbidden Forest. She had stared down at her sandwich, half-eaten and seemingly forgotten. She had wanted to know what Nagini ate. Draco didn’t know. She had always been just a looming threat, a shadow in the corners. Sometimes Draco thought that she could read minds. Would report whatever he thought about back to the Dark Lord. 

They had talked about the food, morsels of dinner, and whatever snacks Draco could get his hands to, that he had brought Downstairs. Luna always thanked him for that. Draco knew it was nothing thanking for. He apologized and Luna just smiled sadly. She patted him on the shoulder and let the topic drop. 

* 

Draco and Luna ate in silence in the kitchen. Official dinner hours had already gone by but Luna didn’t mind. She was a regular at the kitchens. She knew all of the house-elves by name and got the best pieces of desserts. She refused to let the house-elves treat Draco any differently from other students. She was always kind but turned strict when one of the elves conveniently forgot or misheard Draco. With her there, he wasn’t invisible. 

Draco nodded thankfully as Luna offered him a piece of her dessert. They drank tea and Luna slowly started to talk about her latest research. She had gotten interested in divination with tea and explained how different tea transformed the results. She never did anything by halves. Draco respected that about her. She was a resilient woman who hadn’t lost the spark so many of them had. She was still the curious, wonderful creature she had been when she had come to Hogwarts. 

“You still have some bruising,” Luna said off-handedly as they finished their meal. She pointed vaguely at his ribs and stomach. 

“None on my face, right?” 

“No.” 

Draco didn’t ask and Luna offered no explanation. 

*

When Harry rolled in his sleep to throw his hand around Draco, clinging to him like a drowning man, it woke Draco up. It was a pain but Draco could live with it. The pain now reminded him of how alive he was. The ugly truth didn’t penetrate the peace of the night. The weight of Harry was welcome in his arms and he knew that the man needed touch to thwart away the dreams that plagued him. Draco brushed Harry’s ridiculous hair and tried to go back to sleep. He could keep it like this. He could have it like this. Even for a little while. 

Chapter Text

Molly had written to Harry. He knew he was supposed to feel something at the invitation to spend the Yule there as he had so many years before. She had written how the dilemma between Ginny and him wouldn’t change anything. He was still her son. Harry wanted to feel glad, he wanted to feel relieved, but there was nothing. He didn’t know when things had changed so much that even Molly’s kind words caused just a vague sense of nausea. 

Harry had tried to deflect the whole Yule business with Ron and Hermione but it worked only for so long. Ron cornered him after Potions, dragging him to a quiet alcove. There was frustration in his face and he clenched his fists. Already reddening, and the discussion hadn’t even started yet. 

“Mum wrote to me,” Ron began whispering loudly, “She said that you didn’t know where you would be spending the Yule.” 

“I…, Ron,” Harry struggled, “You know how it is. I don’t want to make it awkward for Ginny. She deserves to celebrate Yule with the family without any awkwardness. Especially after…well, everything.” 

“And you don’t?” There was real anger in Ron’s voice. He was always so quick to anger, like a box of explosives near a fire. Harry wanted to feel warm that the anger was for him and not directed at him but instead he just felt tired of constant arguing. He was so bloody tired. 

“I don’t mean it like that and you know it,” Harry sighed. He didn’t. He didn’t have hatred for himself. Just exhaustion and the plead to be someone else, every once in a while. A healthy dose of insecurities. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. Maybe Ginny and I need a moment to breathe, to be apart. We see each other every day at least during meals.” 

“Is it so bad?” 

“No, of course not, Ron. She’s like a bloody sister for me,” at least she would be like a sister to him one day. Harry didn’t feel bad at stretching the truth a little, “I just thought. Maybe taking the time to start fixing up the Grimmauld Place. To make it liveable before summer, before graduation”. That Ron could understand. It was one of the few topics they still talked about: summer and next autumn, the Auror training. It was what they had in common. 

Ron deflated. He sighed and shook his head. Red strands flew from side to side. Harry couldn’t help comparing the coarse hair texture of every single Weasley against certain silver strands that he had gotten overly familiar with. Ginny had similar hair to Ron. Hers just a lot longer but just as thick and coarse. It was like rope. So unlike Draco’s. He could see pale eyes in his mind, the soft voice, lower than he remembered it being, reading out loud. Phantom fingers lingered in Harry’s hair, caressing him like he was fragile. 

“Just, mate, just…,” Ron tried to say, “You would come to us, right?” There was doubt in his voice but Harry didn’t even understand what the man was talking about. 

“Of course,” he answered instead. 

Ron seemed satisfied with this and clapped Harry on the shoulder. His hands were warm like Harry always remembered. There was something gleaming in his eyes but Ron let Harry be without saying anything further. 

It felt like they didn’t know how to speak anymore, Harry and Ron. It made Harry feel queasy but he didn’t know what to do about it. There was the new distance between them and Harry had no idea how to cross this gap. He felt cold and tired. He wanted to go to sleep. The nights were the easiest. 

*

Even if Harry slept in Draco’s room, and most nights wound up sleeping in his arms, they barely acknowledged each other during the day. Draco never walked alone and just nodded his head at Harry with a low Potter. He never called him Harry where there were other people around them. It left Harry feeling cold and strange. 

Fridays were the worst. He sat there at the table in the Three Broomsticks or wherever the group had decided to go for Friday pints. Sometimes when none of them wanted to be recognized and they went to muggle London instead. Hermione and Ron were ever so affectionate, growing more familiar with each other every passing day. Seamus and Dean were there, too, laughing heads leaned together. Harry felt worlds apart. A chill traveled through him. Time felt sluggish. That was the reason why he missed the war. Running for your life didn’t leave any space for slow movements. It didn’t leave any space for the dull ache still constant in his chest. There where his heart was supposed to be. Or maybe it was in his lungs, screaming at him every time he took a breath. 

It was strange how at the same time everything could be so muted yet still too much. Harry wanted to crawl under blankets, to hear the quiet voice lulling him to the darkness of dreamless sleep. 

Harry didn’t know why he felt like it would be easier with Draco there. He felt the ache on his left side, where he imagined Draco would sit, fingers neatly wrapped around a whisky glass or something just as ridiculous. He seemed like a person who wrinkled his nose at an honest pint of beer. He wanted to hear that voice in a discussion. Maybe about plants with Neville. Plants and potions were close together, right. 

Harry didn’t want to dwell on the ill-thought that in actuality he knew almost nothing about Draco. His room didn’t offer any clues and so much had changed after the war that he didn’t really believe Draco was the boy he had once been. He had grown up and Harry thought he could see the strange hardness in his eyes whenever Harry saw him walking the little Slytherins from a class to class. Harry had never thought of him as someone who helped children, either. He seemed oddly present in the little Slytherins life. All of the Eight-Year Slytherins did. Harry didn’t understand it. He had no desire to spend his days helping the younger students. It sounded exhausting. 

Luna wasn’t with them that night. She had sent a message through Neville that she was otherwise occupied. It wasn’t that strange taking into account that it was Luna they were talking about. Sometimes she was so lost in her little world that the rest of the group didn’t hear from her in days. 

“What was she up to?” Hermione inquired. She was always interested in Luna’s new projects. 

“Didn’t say much,” Neville answered draping his cloak from his chair. He sat down next to Ginny and offered an apologetic smile, “She seemed busy and a little concerned. She was coming from Madam Pomfrey’s so maybe she wasn’t feeling well.” 

“That could be it,” Hermione nodded, “I better check up on her tomorrow. There’s was this thing I wanted to discuss with her.” Hermione began a monologue about something to do with wands and wandless magic. 

“Draco knows wandless magic. You should ask him about it,” the words had slipped Harry’s mouth before he knew what he was talking about. The whole table quieted down. “I just saw him… doing wandless magic. Not that I was particularly looking but,” Harry shrugged stammering out nonsense. 

Hermione took pity on him and just nodded briskly, “That makes sense. I’ll talk with him if I have any questions.” 

Hermione’s intervention didn’t ease the awkward silence hanging around the table. Neville was looking at him like he had grown another head and Ron turned to look pointedly at Hermione. There was a discussion in their looks and for a second Harry thought that Hermione had started to talk telepathically with Ron but most likely it was just one of those couple-y things that Harry didn’t understand. 

“So, it’s Draco now,” Fred drawled from his place next to Jordan Lee who had joined them for the night. 

“Of course, of course,” George winked on Jordan’s other side, “Draco is Draco, indeed.” 

Hermione glared at the twins and Ron mouthed something at them. 

“I think we are too old to hold on to these old grudges,” Harry tried to explain. People around the table were nodding furiously, hoping that maybe enough nodding could expel the atmosphere that hung heavy around them. No one wanted to voice their thoughts. All of them had their wounds and less than a year wasn’t enough to heal those. 

“Right, right, indeed,” Neville agreed finally, “Malf- Draco has been a lot nicer this year. He helped me with a potion before it went sideways. According to him, I almost burned my brows.” 

Suddenly, a lot of the other Eight-Years had something to say about Draco, too. Harry hadn’t noticed how much he had changed, truly, had just wanted to believe it for selfish reasons. 

“And he is taking it all surprisingly well,” Ginny chimed in, “I thought he would have complained to someone at this point,” 

That caught Harry’s attention, “Taking what well,” he asked frowning. There was something nagging at the back of his head. 

“Well,” Ginny looked sheepish, “You know.” 

The rest of the table nodded but Harry wasn’t too sure why exactly. 

“Oh Harry,” Ginny laughed, “Always so oblivious.” There was tenderness in her smile but Harry could feel something ugly crawling at his back. Something was wrong. Everyone was looking at him like he should know what was going on but he didn’t know, didn’t understand. 

“Well, you’ve had a rough start with school, Harry,” Hermione said, “It’s no wonder that you have been preoccupied.” 

It would make sense if the thing he had been occupied with hadn’t been Draco. Obviously, Harry didn’t say it out loud but he definitely thought about it. 

“Some people don’t like that a Death Eater was let back to school. It was a fiasco during autumn. Headmistress McGonagall was swamped with letters from distraught parents fearing for their children. For a reason,” Hermione explained, “All he can really do is keep his head low and study. He needs the NEWTs more than any of us. All of the Slytherins do.” 

Harry hadn’t thought about that. Of course, Draco was studying a lot but that was because he was Draco Malfoy. He had always studied a lot or at least gotten good grades. But then again, all of the Slytherins were studying more than ever. Even Zabini who had always just lazed around seemed to have his head deep in books every once in a while. 

The realization was evident in Harry’s face and Ron shook his head laughing, “Mate, you really don’t pay attention,” Never before had it felt like an insult. 

Harry had no reason to feel concerned. No reason to feel such an ugly feeling crawling down his stomach but there it was. It was so different from the usual apathy. It was like swallowing nails and fire. He frowned. 

“And the Saviour is back,” Ron joked.

Saviour always left a sour taste in his mouth. He had been a savior already. He didn’t want to be one anymore. He wanted to go back and forget that this whole discussion had happened. His head was aching. 

*

Back at Hogwarts Harry found Draco in his room as always. He was sitting at his desk writing a letter.  He wasn’t as put together as usual. His hair was still damp from the shower but he didn’t look refreshed at all. He seemed smaller, somehow paler in the actual pajama he slept in. There were dark circles under his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Harry broke the silently agreed-upon silence as Draco continued writing his letter. The quill froze in the air where Draco had lifted it, ready to dip back in the ink when he had formed the next words of the letter. It was a familiar sight. Draco wrote a lot, probably to his mother. 

There was at least something Harry knew about Draco. 

“What do you mean, Harry?” Draco frowned. 

“You look. Well, you don’t look too good,” 

Draco studied Harry’s face like so many times before. Harry couldn’t help the feeling of nausea rising up his throat. Draco looked like there was a trap in the question like Harry would say something to hurt him. The eyes softened and Draco quirked his lips slightly. It was a private smile, almost there. 

“I’m fine, just tired. Shall we go to sleep?” Draco yawned and scratched his jaw. 

Harry didn’t completely believe him. He might be oblivious but he wasn’t an idiot. He let the topic drop, though. He was just as tired as Draco looked to be. 

In silence, they crawled under the blankets and Draco was already reaching for a book when Harry held his hand out. “Can I?” Draco gave the book to him without a struggle and pointed at the right page. Lately, they had been reading the same book each night. It felt strange but comfortable. Tonight, Harry would read it. 

Chapter Text

Draco wasn’t still sure he could believe in Harry. It was ridiculous. The man was flesh and bone, in front of him, -well, sleeping behind his back and snoring a little but still- and hadn’t done anything. Yet. In the life Draco, unfortunately, had to claim as his, it meant something. Draco didn’t want to dwell on it. It couldn’t mean something. It wasn’t allowed. It was too good to be true. It was too much. And at the same time, too little. Draco shut his eyes pressing his eyelids together with significantly more force than necessary. He saw colors but felt no pain. There was pressure there but he knew it wasn’t because of that. 

It was early morning. A bit to six, a perfectly good time to wake up and get moving even if Pansy denied it. And Blaise. Draco tried to not think about Blaise in the mornings. They had never had mornings when they had been, well, not a thing necessarily but something. Of course, the whole thing with the Dark Lord living in his house had doused that flame thoroughly. 

Blaise had never stayed over. It was kisses in the shadows and lurking around like they were doing something wrong. Maybe they were. Draco hadn’t come to a decision on that part yet. Maybe if he just never thought about Blaise and the summer it happened, he wouldn’t have to face it and he could continue living his life. It was impossible, of course, but in the mornings Draco liked to fool himself. It was the easiest when he was still sleepy and soft and halfway in the dream world where everything was happy and good. He had been having a lot of good dreams lately. It couldn’t be a good thing. 

Harry was still holding the book he had been reading last night. He had a soft, low voice. Draco didn’t hate it. It was impressive. On principle, he should hate or at least resent Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy who lived. But instead, he brushed Harry’s hair aside like he did almost every day at some point, picked the book, and put the blankets more securely around Harry essentially wrapping him in a cocoon. The man had a bad habit of throwing all blankets away in the night. Draco couldn’t understand how someone could run so hot all the time. It was like sleeping with a warm water bottle all night long. Draco didn’t hate it. 

Maybe it was because the man sleeping in the bed wasn’t all that Saviour nonsense. He was just Harry. Draco was okay with that, but it made him antsy. There couldn’t be just Harry because he wasn’t just Draco. They had names, existences, outside of this room. 

That was also something Draco pointedly didn’t think in the mornings. 

It was Saturday and Harry had reeked of beer when he had stumbled in. He had been acting strange but Draco wanted to chalk it up to the beer even if he had, at this point, seen Harry drunk on more than one occasion. There had been a strange look in his eyes; focused and searching. Harry never looked at him like that. Like there was a riddle to be solved. 

Draco was self-aware enough to know that in Harry’s eyes there probably was. He wasn’t an easy person. 

*

House-elves doubled their efforts in assisting Draco when he said that the breakfast was for Harry. he shoved a couple of rolls in his pockets before the tray disappeared to the great hall. The house-elves in attendance were piling a personal tray for Harry and Draco left them to it. It was a quiet morning as Saturdays tended to be. No one else was in the kitchens at this hour, just past six. Draco rather enjoyed it. The hallways were free of scornful eyes and accidental legs that seemed to always catch his robes or people not noticing him. At the same time, it was uncomfortable. It was like Before. 

Draco had mixed feelings about Before. 

The mark on his left forearm itched like it always did when he thought about it too much. It made its presence known as a beacon in the dark but opposite. It was the whispers he could hear when he closed his eyes and there was darkness all around him, during the night times when even other person’s presence wasn’t enough to banish them completely. It was a reminder. Draco deserved a reminder but he didn’t need it. Like he would ever forget the pain. 

Draco didn’t think about it now. He had a warming charm to cast and homework to do. He needed good marks. Perfect marks, really, but he tried not to think about that either. The pressure behind his eyes got stronger and he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Homework. 

*

“And the princess awakes,” Draco retorted when Harry finally started to show signs of waking up. Harry tended to mumble a lot right before he woke up and roll around the bed like an utter idiot, trying to burrow deeper like it would give him a few more minutes of sleep. It didn’t work like that. 

“Mmmmph,” Harry was clearly trying to say something wise and smart but could only manage to mumble into the pillow. Draco felt a ghost of a smile on his face as he looked at it. Of course, Harry was being attractive the moment he woke up. And adorable. But those thoughts were going to stay inside. He wasn’t sure it was right. Not now, not ever. He was a death eater. No matter how former. 

Harry blinked in confusion when Draco handed him a mug of strong, still steaming coffee from the bedside table. “I got some breakfast from the kitchen when I woke up. Thought you might want some too.” Draco nodded towards the plate with greasy breakfast foods. “You looked like you had a rough night.” 

They didn’t do that. They didn’t do small talk or random acts of kindness. In Draco’s defense, Harry had started it all yesterday when he had asked if Draco was okay. That had been a punch straight to the guts. Especially since he could still feel the dull ache from yesterday. It was there following him around whenever he moved. In its pain, it was so familiar that Draco couldn’t really hate it. Not really. It felt too familiar, too right. 

Sometimes Draco wondered if there was something wrong in his head. 

“Pub night,” Harry said after a moment when he had downed half of the coffee and dropped at least two pieces of bacon on Draco’s white linens. He would need to change the sheets again. 

Draco didn’t deign to answer Harry’s mumble. They both knew that he knew where Harry spent his days. Just like Draco knew that Harry knew where he spent most of his. It was a mutual understanding that they had for many years. Draco knew that for every bit that he had been obsessed with the Saviour of the Wizarding world, Harry had been obsessed with the little Death Eater. They had both known it then and now they just didn’t talk about it that much. Not to mention, that they both seemed to have an uncanny talent of finding each other no matter what and stumbling upon each other in the most inopportune situations, especially this year. 

“You should come,” Harry’s words surprised Draco. That wasn’t part of the understanding. That was definitely not part of any silently agreed things. His brows shot up and he looked at Harry. His mouth was slightly ajar. 

“Are you sick, Potter?” 

“Just hangover, Draco,” Harry said pointedly. He didn’t like it when Draco called him Potter anymore. Sometimes when the man did something ridiculous it just slipped. “I’m fully serious.”

“That’s what makes it weird. You have not thought this through. It is ridiculous. Me, there with all of your little Gryffindorks. Try to explain that to them with your poker face,” 

“I have a good poker face, excuse you,” 

“No, you don’t. I think all the times people have been fooled was because you were confused as well.” 

“Draco,” 

“Harry,” 

“I’m serious, you know. Could even consider it,” there was a frown on Harry’s face but there was something else, too. Draco squinted at him. Draco wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t that bad at reading people anymore. Harry was leaving out something. 

Draco sighed. He could think about it. Not that it would change his opinion on Harry’s utterly ridiculous idea, but he could humor the man, “Fine, I’ll think about it. But I don’t promise anything.” 

A smile stretched on Harry’s face and suddenly Draco couldn’t breathe. He turned quickly back to his essay on arithmetics and their use in muggle studies. Harry had a dangerous smile. Especially when it was served with tousled bed hair and a t-shirt that left his collar bones there and didn’t even cover his arms. Indecent, that was Harry was. 

*

Something had changed. Harry usually stuck diligently his Routine, as he liked to call it. He was always so very offended when someone forced him to do something against it. And now, on a regular weekend, he messed up completely the Routine. He didn’t leave after breakfast. 

Harry was still sitting on the bed doing absolutely nothing but driving Draco slowly crazy and it was almost noon already. Usually, he slipped out of the room before anyone was awake to notice him not sleeping in his own dorm room. Draco never asked him to leave but it was still strange. Draco pored over his essay until he was satisfied with it. 

The same continued the next day, and the next week too. It was like a gear had shifted in Harry’s mind and he was again keeping visible tabs on Draco at all times. Draco could feel his green eyes on him when he was sitting in the library. Everyone could notice Harry sitting and staring at the table Pansy had declared theirs at some point. No one else dared to use it and usually steered clear of the Slytherin table. It was like the vicinity of the table had cooties or some other particles that could turn honest wizards into dark, children eating lite Dark Lords. It was at the same time relaxing and exhausting, a strange combination. Hermione was sitting next to Harry with Ron on her other side. They tried to make Harry’s obsession slightly less visible by surrounding him with books and work and people but not everyone was fooled. Especially Pansy who was seldom fooled by anything other than men with silver tongues and wads of cash. And the occasional Silverfox. Draco couldn’t fault her for that. He would probably get a bit distracted too if the attention was directed at him. 

And now it bloody was and Draco didn’t know how to hold a quill anymore. He gritted his teeth. 

Pansy was fuming next to him. She was seething and Draco could almost see the smoke coming from her ears as she gripped the quill strong cracking it. She had terrifying grip strength. 

“He has no right,” she hissed and Blaise and Theo were quick to nod. 

“He has every right,” Draco reminded them. Last time Harry hadn’t been wrong. He had every right to be suspicious or whatever it was that Harry was doing. “Remember the last time?” 

“Oh, the time you almost bled out on the bathroom floor?” Pansy asked her mouth twisting into an ugly frown. “You still have the scars of that rightful action,” she spat out with as much hatred as her small body could carry. It was a lot. 

“I have many scars,” Draco sighed but it didn’t seem to ease anyone’s mind. Pansy punched him. Blaise rolled his eyes and Theo didn’t reach but there were hard lines around his mouth. 

“I should go and speak some sense to him,” Pansy decided. 

With a loud noise, Pansy jumped from the chair making it go flying backward before hitting the floor getting everyone’s undivided attention. She was red in face and her right hand was twitching, like itching to grab the wand she always had magicked to her tight. Blaise and Theo hurled themselves at her as she stormed towards Harry’s table. 

“Let me go!” She screeched, not making the situation any better, “I’ll show him some manners!” 

It took a bar of chocolate -the good, expensive kind and not that shit you could get everywhere-, a handful of Theo’s best gossip that he usually made people pay for, and all of them hauling Pansy physically away from the library. Draco threw an apologetic glance at Harry who looked perplexed. Had Harry thought again that he had been sly? Draco rolled his eyes. The man, seriously. 

Chapter Text

Even though all of the Eight-Years had potions together and it had somehow stuck that Harry and Draco were a team, definitely bettering Harry’s marks and possibly lowering Draco’s, they didn’t talk during the school days. Even during the potions, Draco just ordered Harry around like a pompous Potion Master orders his useless assistant. Harry didn’t really mind being bossed around by Draco when he had that stern tone that expected things to happen. Draco had that about him. The air of a noble clung heavy all around him but unlike when he had been younger, the air wasn’t oppressive. Harry didn’t hate that about Draco. Which was strange. It was something that younger Harry had despised; the easy sense of self and knowledge of self-worth. Something that Harry had to battle to gain was there in Draco like the easiest thing. 

“You might be alright with half-assign school, Potter,” Draco had snidely said at one point, “But not all of us can be the bloody Saviours.” Saviour, Draco never said it with the same reverence that half of the school used. Even Ron and Hermione had the tone sometimes. It was like Draco couldn’t care less. To him, they were on the same level. It didn’t matter that Harry had saved them all and could play hooky for the whole year and still get best marks. To Draco, Harry still needed to work for the points, if for no other reason but principle.  

Draco sounded like Snape during those times in the potions but when Harry had commented on it, Draco had ceased to speak for the rest of the day, just mutely staring at the potion, almost letting it boil over. A flash of feeling had run across Draco’s face before he had schooled it back to the unimpressed, empty shell that he used whenever he was feeling something not worthy of showing others. The sneer was back but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to hate that, either. He might not be the most insightful of guys but he wasn’t so blind to not see the way Draco hid away all his emotions. Snape was a touchy topic and Harry didn’t bring it up again. He didn’t want to see that flash of pain on his face again. Hadn’t they all been through enough? 

*

They had potions twice a week together. They were double lessons because the potions they were making were more advanced than necessary. Professor Slughorn was expecting way too much of them and the only presentable potions came from Hermione and Draco. It wasn’t surprising. Harry didn’t believe there was anything that Hermione Granger couldn’t do if she set her mind to it. Right now it was to get the best possible NEWTs and seek higher education. In the muggle world just graduating from high school wasn’t good enough and Hermione was determined to continue her academic research well into her twenties. 

“We’re too young to make any rational decisions about the rest of our lives now, Ronald,” she had explained to Ron when it had finally come up, “The brain doesn’t stop developing until we’re well over twenty.” Ron couldn’t understand it but was on board with whatever Hermione was saying. Right now, it was the screaming lack of higher education in the wizarding world that Hermione found almost criminal. 

Draco sat next to Harry opening his strange potion book that reminded Harry of the Half-Blood Prince’s. Whenever Slughorn began to tell them about a new potion, he seemed to already have the recipe neatly written there with pointers and improvements to the original recipe. It was frankly put amazing. It all came naturally to Draco who seemed to listen to Slughorn’s ramble but didn’t pay any attention. He made Harry collect the ingredients while he put up all of his fancy, expensive equipment. Most of the time, Draco complained about the ingredients Harry brought and forced him to go change them. 

Neville had gotten to the habit of sitting right behind them. He looked pleadingly at Harry. Help, he mouthed with hands clasped together. He had Hannah Abbott as a partner and even her good grades were not enough to negate whatever it was that caused Neville to botch all of his potions up. 

Draco turned to look at Neville. He frowned. “Stop complaining and breathe. It’s just measuring.” 

Neville looked scared. Harry tried to bite his lip as not to laugh. Hannah looked at Draco with venomous eyes that unsettled Harry. He didn’t like it one bit. He frowned. He didn’t understand what Hannah could have against Draco. They barely even acknowledged each other. 

“Cut these up with this,” Draco directed Harry like nothing had happened. He handed Harry one of the fancy silver knives he had and turned to look back at Neville. “Just do exactly as I tell you to and you should be fine. Abbott isn’t that poor in potions, she should be able to assist.” 

Hannah frowned at that but didn’t have any time to say anything before Draco continued, “This is a simple potion of healing. Made correctly, it can help students. Don’t be stubborn and do something useful as you Hufflepuffs are supposed to.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Madam Pomfrey is running low on her potions so we are probably making these to lessen the burden on Slughorn,” Draco answered like it was common knowledge. Harry remembered how Luna had been too busy to come on Friday. 

For the rest of the lesson, Draco was trying to make two potions at the same time. Once he got the flow, he seemed to completely forget that he was assisting one of the Gryffindorks he so refused to meet for a pint. 

*

Unlike all the other potion lessons, Draco stopped Harry from leaving with his friends after the lesson was over. Fingers wrapped lightly on Harry’s sleeve and Draco nudged him towards an empty corridor. For no reason, Harry’s heartbeat spiked. There was no one there and Draco was very, very close. And it wasn’t in Draco’s room. Draco was surprisingly strong for being so slender and willowy. He pushed Harry towards a darker corner and he couldn’t help but stumble there. He was completely being led by Draco. It was like in the potions class when Draco was ordering him around. Harry followed. 

Their faces were close and Harry was physically reminded just how tall and real Draco was. They were the same height but where Harry had gathered muscle mass during his year on the run and the daily training he nowadays did Draco looked fragile. He could snap Draco’s wrist in two if he wanted to, Harry thought with horror. Yet the man had pushed him into a corridor with ease. Harry’s eyes lingered on Draco’s pursed lips but he shook his head trying to dispel the thoughts. It was insanity. They were not in the room and it had shaken Harry more than he wanted to admit. 

“What’s it now, Harry?” Draco whisper-yelled at him taking Harry off-guard. He hadn’t really seen being yelled at being the reason he had been forcefully dragged away. He just opened his mouth but no words came out. “You’re not even trying to be sly! Do you want everyone to know you’re staring at me all day long?” 

That made Harry speechless. And by the hotness of his cheeks, he was pretty sure he was bloody red.

“Yes, Harry, I’ve noticed,” Draco’s voice dripped sarcasm. “So out with it. What’s it now? What are my nefarious plans? Eating children? Drowning cats?” 

“No, no,” Harry was still bright red and Draco was getting angry. Draco seldom got angry anymore, “Nothing like that, I swear.” He held his hands up. This was going to be an awkward discussion that Harry didn’t want to have, not with himself and especially not with Draco. 

Draco just arched his brow, waiting. 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re fine,” the words tumbled from his mouth. Draco looked like Harry had just announced that he was the queen of England.

“Right…,” Draco squinted his eyes and stared at Harry like he was digging truths from him, “Is that what last Friday was about?” 

“Umm, yes? Ginny said that you weren’t having, I guess, fun or a good time or, I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. This was awkward. He didn’t even know why he cared. This was ridiculous, “I just wanted to make sure.” 

Something in Draco’s eyes relented. He sighed and Harry could swear he looked visibly softer. For a second, there in the corridor, he wasn’t Draco Malfoy but just Draco who he was in the room. There

 was a gentle, private smile on his face and his right hand almost rose to touch Harry’s hair. It was intimate. 

At the same time, it felt like someone had thrown cold water on Harry and like the sun had begun to melt something. He shivered under Draco’s gaze but couldn’t look at it for long. It was like staring at the rising sun. It was still hazy, still bearable, but for Harry, it was like seeing it for the first time in forever. 

That was bad. Very bad. 

He was about to do something stupid. And very Gryffindor. 

Someone laughed. Footsteps got closer as a group of students emerged from around the corner. They were still so engrossed in their discussion that they hadn’t noticed the two men in the corner, way too close to each other. 

Harry jumped away like Draco was burning hot. 

The private smile disappeared and was replaced by the cold mask again. 

“Potter,” Draco nodded like nothing had happened at all and walked away, steering clear from the group of younger Ravenclaw girls who made way to him, eyeing him suspiciously.  They smiled at Harry and waves their greetings as they passed by, soon taken by their discussion again. Harry wasn’t sure if he was supposed to run after Draco. 

Nothing had happened. Harry had just cleared a misunderstanding. Nothing at all had happened. There was a strange feeling in his stomach and he turned to walk outside. Maybe it was a good thing that the Winter vacation was right around the corner. Things had become muddled in his mind.  

*

Harry was on his way back to the Eight-Year rooms when once again someone cornered him. This time it was furious Ginny. Harry didn’t want to feel tired, exhausted, at the sight of his ex-girlfriend but he didn’t know how else to react. He didn’t feel remorse at giving up on the relationship. They both knew it was better this way. It just didn’t make it any easier. 

“Harry,” Ginny hissed. She nodded her head towards yet another alcove in the corridor. Second time today. But where Draco had made Harry feel, period. Draco had made Harry feel. But Ginny didn’t. Maybe she never had and Harry just hadn’t noticed with all that running and saving and fighting. He so desperately wanted to feel something. “Don’t space out on me!” 

“Sorry,” 

Ginny just frowned at that. She had never been the best with feelings. Always feeling better after training, or just shutting up about it. 

“Whatever. That’s not why I wanted to talk to you,” Ginny started, “Ron told me that you won’t join us for winter hols. It better not be because of me.”

Maybe there was something wrong with Harry. He sighed shaking his head, “As I said to Ron, I just need to start fixing Grimmauld Place. It’s nothing,” 

Ginny wanted to say something more Harry could see it in her eyes but she didn’t. She swallowed all the words that were threatening to come out of her mouth. Harry felt like he would break there and then. A door closed in front of him. It had always been like that. There were always closed doors in front of him. She looked so much like Ron. 

“Fine, I still don’t like it,” Ginny said, “You’re still a part of the family, no matter what. No matter what happened between us. I wanted to tell you before you find out elsewhere. I asked Neville out. We’re going to Hogsmeade this weekend.” 

Ginny didn’t wait for Harry’s approval, his reaction. Not that she needed it. She was her own person and could do whatever she wanted. And not that Harry actually had an opinion about it. Harry didn’t care. It didn’t make him feel anything. It was ridiculous. Had he ever loved Ginny at all? He wanted to. He wanted so desperately but all that was left there was that coldness in his chest, that tightness that refused to leave. He was worn out. Maybe some time at the Grimmauld Place really would do some good for him, Space to think about things, to fix his head. 

Chapter Text

Harry was becoming stranger every day. Draco could see that he wasn’t all there all the time. He was sure that other people could see it, too, but he didn’t know if others had actually talked about it. Tried to intervene or help him or anything. It was concerning but Draco didn’t know what to do about it. Was it even his place to say anything? Ultimately, all of Harry’s problems were there because people like Draco: cowardly and weak. 

They were having breakfast as usual, and one moment Harry was there drinking coffee like he did every morning and the next he just disappeared. Physically he was still there, of course, but Draco saw how his eyes glossed over and he just ceased to exist in the outer  world. Draco didn’t know if it had something to do with the horrible night he had or if it was something else altogether but it was becoming more frequent. Draco didn’t know if he was supposed to shake Harry out of it, try to bring him back to present, or just let him wander. He didn’t seem to be in pain, and that was something. 

Draco frowned. He didn’t want to feel concerned for Harry bloody Potter but the man made it so easy. It was like he couldn’t take care of himself. His breakfast sat there forgotten and they didn’t have that much time before the first lesson would begin.

“I don’t know about you but I rather not be late for potions,” Draco announced trying to sound calm and collected. He wasn’t feeling calm and collected, though, but he had become quite the actor. “And as you are my partner, I won’t let you play hooky. Drink you coffee and let’s go.” 

Harry blinked rapidly and smiled sheepishly at Draco. “Not the best company in the mornings,” he muttered. 

“Good to be self-aware, Potter,” 

Harry cringed at that, as usual, but at least he was there again. Draco exhaled and felt the pressure lessen slightly. Harry would be fine. It was just because of the war. Everything was because of the war but they would get over it. Harry definitely would. He deserved to be at peace after everything he had done for the world. The world could take care of the rest. Harry had done enough. 

*

Draco wasn’t blind. He liked to pretend otherwise. He liked to close his eyes to the truth and lie to himself, and to everyone really, but he was still perceptive. The wounds of the war were there to be seen for everyone who just tried to look. Headmistress Mcgonagall had done an impressive job at getting Hogwarts like it used to be but there were still ghosts of the past haunting the halls. Draco knew how Harry refused to take certain routes to classes just like Draco refused to be anywhere near the Room of Requirements. Or how he refused to go look at Snape’s portrait. It was too much. He was still in pain. Just like Smith who had unresolved feelings and instead of actually dealing with them, decided to torment Draco instead. 

It was perhaps a bit ridiculous to feel satisfaction over the matter that in hurting Draco, Zacharias Smith was actually hurting the most himself. Draco could recognize the look of utter self-loathing in his eyes whenever they saw each other in the classes or the great hall. Sometimes Draco just sensed how it became too much for Smith and he found Draco just to hurt him. He was an easy target, after all. There was nothing that a former Death Eater could do against Smith. He had no rights. In a blink of an eye, he had become a second-class citizen. As was right and correct, but Draco didn’t need to like it. He just needed to accept it. 

In reality, Smith couldn’t hurt Draco. There was nothing he could do that Draco hadn’t experienced already. His fists were hesitant and his hexes a child’s play. Draco was used to something more back at the manor. Smith wasn’t even particularly strong or cunning. Draco would win against him any day if he just could defend himself. He couldn’t. 

Draco was throwing a shield to get him enough time to get out of Smith’s wrath but every time, without a fail, something went wrong. Draco wasn’t trying as hard as he should have. Sometimes he just froze, waiting for the first fist to fall, for something to happen. Like he needed reminding. 

He didn’t cry out, he didn’t beg. He didn’t curse out Smith nor did he yell for help. He fell limp protecting only his face out of some stronger instict. Smith got tired of it quick. He always did. He always realised how there was no satisfaction in hurting Draco. Beating up others didn’t bring inner peace. It was a road to self-destruction. Draco would know. 

Draco leaned on the cold stone wall as Smith marched away, shaking his fist trying to expell the probable pain in it. The boy didn’t know how to throw a punch properly. Draco was nursing a headache. Smith had really gotten him by surprise this time. He had been too engrossed with the Harry conundrum to pay attention to his surroundings. He had hit his head in the wall when Smith had jumped him. Draco got sick satisfaction from the look on Smith’s face. With every punch he threw, Smith hated himself more. It was an ugly feeling, Draco knew. It was just like when Draco had been younger. The brittle power fraying on the edges that needed protecting. It had taken Draco some time to realise that the strength his father had always talked about, the power inherent to all Malfoy heirs was actually weakness. Real strength didn’t require defending, didn’t need to be flaunted. Draco didn’t delude himself into thinking that he had that strength but at least he didn’t have that weakness masquerading as power anymore, either. 

*

Draco dusted and tried to straighten his clothes to be more presentable. Tried to do something about his hair and continued his way. 

Hermione Granger stepped in front of him. There was slight sense of self-hate in her eyes, too. It seemed to haunt him wherever he went. It was like looking in the mirror. 

“Don’t even think about it. I am not your next great charity project, Granger,” Draco muttered. He might not like the witch but he knew her. Perhaps better than people assumed. 

“Draco..,” she seemed to regret something. Draco really didn’t care. He sighed. The day couldn’t really get much worse so what did it matter to talk with Granger for a bit. 

“What do you want, Granger? I haven’t got the whole day.” 

They walked towards the library which shouldn’t be surprising. Harry spent most of his time with Granger and Weasley and an assortment of other students there. Granger tried to apologize but Draco didn’t let her. It wasn’t any of her business and he really didn’t care about her feelings on the matter. In his opinion, she had done right by him by letting the scene play on. They could all pretend it was still private. 

*

The library was as peaceful as it ever was; meaning not that peaceful at all. Of course, the librarian tried to keep the noise level down but with end of the semester exams around the corner everyone was determined to learn full courses in just a couple of days. Harry was sitting on their regular table with Ron. Today their entourage was just Longbottom, Weaslette, and Luna with a big stack of books in front of her. She had been fascinated with unicorns lately. Draco nodded his head to Luna who smiled widely when she noticed Draco walking towards them with Granger in tow. 

“I’m not sitting with your golden trio and a bunch of other freaks,” Draco said with a sneer, out of habit than any sense of malice really,  when Granger tried to lead them to the table. Granger seemed like she wanted to say something and bit her teeth forcefully. She looked like she had sucked a lemon. She mumbled something under her breath that Draco didn’t quite catch. Or at least,  he couldn’t have heard correctly. 

“I didn’t catch that,” 

“I said,” Granger said it with even more sour look on her face, “That I head you were good with wandless magic. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about it.” 

Hermione Granger in the flesh hoping that Draco would help her. His brows shot up but he didn’t refuse. He remembered the letter he had written to her during the summer. He could help her. She deserved help. It couldn’t be easy to be a witch from muggle parents who couldn’t teach her all the necessities. That Weasley she was dating couldn’t be much help. Their whole family was too eccentric for that. 

“Sure,” Draco said easily continuing their way to the table. Granger threw an odd look at him but he didn’t much care. He didn’t mind that she had a twisted perception about him. It wasn’t his problem that she didn’t realize that Draco helped when asked. He had helped Longbottom, for Merlin’s sake. Assisting Granger in whatever she needed help with wasn’t that big of a stretch. Especially when Draco could practically hear his father having an aneurysm at the freely given help Draco was throwing around. He had always been a bit pathetic at the whole evil and powerful thing. 

The whole table fell silent when Draco approached. Harry looked like a deer caught in headlights but for once, Draco didn’t pay attention to him. He sat down and turned to look at Granger. 

“Now, how can I assist?” 

*

Draco wasn’t the only one aware of Harry spacing out. No one said anything when Harry didn’t answer to a question and instead seemed to be elsewhere. He stared at Draco, though, and it made everyone around the table uncomfortable, excluding Draco who had gotten used to Harry’s constant stalking and staring at the worst of times, and Luna who probably didn’t even notice. Weasley was getting angry. He had a short fuse nowadays and apparently Harry not noticing the time was enough of a reason to have a twitchy eye and balled fists. Draco thought that Ron could probably try out some of that yoga nonsense Greg was swearing by nowadays. Apparently it calmed you down, let you manage your anger better. Not that it was any of Draco’s business how often the red-haired annoyance blew up at others’ faces. 

Draco kicked Harry in the shin. Twice. First because apparently no one thought about shaking him a bit and Draco was sitting and didn’t feel like moving and the second time because Harry just continued to stare at him but now confused. Next the man was going to embarrass himself.

Nothing had happened in the corridor. Nothing was going to happen in the corridor. Still, it stung how Harry had leaped. For no reason and Draco really should have better control over his emotions. It would take him nowhere. He wasn’t allowed. 

Harry and Ron disappeared to train and as Draco turned to look at Granger there was a dangerous look in her eyes. She was challenging him to say something, to ask something. She was ready to jump on his throat like a tigress defending her cubs. Draco rolled his eyes. 

“I do not care, Granger.” 

“He needs space, is all,” Granger answered probably more to herself than to him. Personally Draco disagreed but he couldn’t really say that. He wasn’t supposed to know Harry. He did not actually know him, either. Sometimes Draco just thought that he knew him. In the room when Harry was having a nightmare, silently as if unconsciously trying to take as little space as possible, during breakfast when he was still half-sleep, before climbing to bed when Harry was folding the cloak of invisibility. During those moments Draco foolishly thought he knew Harry. Not Harry Potter but just Harry. The man himself and not the many public versions of Harry Potter that the man showcased to the whole world to see. Of course, he couldn’t be correct. A death eater kid could never get that close to Harry. 

*

When Draco and Harry’s arraignment had begun, they didn’t talk. They barely even mumbled hellos and goodbyes. Then had come empty pleasantries just to fill the silence in the Astronomy Tower, words that made Harry justify his actions like Draco needed excuses when in reality Harry could do anything and Draco had no right to say anything about it. A bit by bit they had started to talk about other things, though. About real things. It was like one morning Harry had woken up and decided that he wanted to know Draco. He was relentless. There were millions of questions that he was asking day after day.

They didn’t talk about painful things. Just the mundane ones that were boring and that everyone with eyes could guess. Of course, Harry was many things but having eyes was not one of his flaws. 

“You read Quibbler?” Harry asked jokingly scandalised, “I did not take you as a Quibbler reader.” Draco just threw him a withering look and turned back to the paper he was holding. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“What are you doing during winter holidays?” Harry continued trying to hold a conversation. He buzzed energy. Draco could feel it all the way across the room. 

“Mother is coming to England,” Draco said, “Andromeda invited us for dinner.”

“I’m going to stay here, for the last time’s sake,” Harry said. Draco frowned at his paper. According to Ginny’s loose lips in the library he was going to go to Grimmauld Place. 

It wasn’t any of Draco’s business. 

“I thought I was going to miss Hogwarts,” Harry said absently, “It was the first home I had.” 

Draco knew only bits and pieces of Harry’s home life with his muggle relatives. They didn’t talk about them just like they didn’t talk about Harry’s parents. Or the war, or Snape, or father. They did talk about mother, though, but seldom. 

“You haven’t even left Hogwarts yet to miss it,” Draco reminded. 

“I feel like I won’t miss it. Not anymore,” there was a familiar haunted look on Harry’s face. The one he had sometimes when he woke up in the mornings. The one Draco could recognise in the mirror. 

“Me neither,” Draco answered. He didn’t feel like reading anymore. 

There was a strange look on Harry’s face. He looked vulnerable. Like he was fragile. It was strange enough that Draco barely believed his eyes. The Saviour of the Wizarding World wasn’t fragile. And maybe that was the problem. 

Draco moved to sit on the bed, right across from Harry who had the forgotten cloak in his hands. He was beginning to slip away again. Draco wrapped his arms around his knees, staring at Harry. The atmosphere had changed. 

“I think I might hate this place,” Draco whispered not even certain anymore if Harry could hear him. With a blink, Harry returned. He looked like he was punched. 

“I think I might hate this place, too,” Harry said like it was a great crime. 

“It’s… too much,” 

“Yeah.” 

Harry was back properly. With tentative steps he reached the bed and Draco sensed more than saw how Harry sat next to him, the bed dipping and causing Draco to lean slightly to his left, to where Harry was sitting. Harry was spooked. Like a wild animal who was ready to run away at any moment. He was tense and refused to look at anything else but the wall. He was coiled so tight it was a surprise that he didn’t snap there and then. With balled fists Harry was trying to keep himself in check. It was a sad look. Granger was definitely wrong. A man needing space didn’t look like Harry did. Someone who needed space didn’t look so vulnerable and broken, like a touch could shatter them into a million pieces. 

Draco reached for him. Just to pat his shoulder. But the moment Draco touched him, it was like all air had gone from Harry. He sagged, leaning into the touch, and Draco wrapped his arms around him. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Draco whispered. 

Chapter Text

Harry felt small. For a moment the coldness in his chest had disappeared. There was only space for the faint scent of cherries and that ridiculous shampoo that Draco swore upon. Harry didn’t believe he could ever again think of Draco as weak. There was nothing weak in the way he had pressed Harry’s head against his shoulder, letting him stay there. Draco didn’t speak. There was no need for words. Harry didn’t think he would understand anything at the moment, either. A moment ago Harry had shook with panic, tried to stop the shaking by controlling himself. He had heard blood rushing in his brain, felt faintly sick at the prospect of anything. He had said something, Harry couldn’t even remember what they had been talking about. 

- It’s going to be alright, - Draco had said with such conviction that Harry couldn’t help but believe it. He was wrapped in the cocoon of such strong belief that there was no space for his self-doubt, for the voices that haunted him in the night. He was safe here.

It was ridiculous. How could Harry be safer with Draco than he was with his friends, with his actual family. But there was something about Draco that quieted down the noise of the outside world, that eased the burden on his shoulders. Right now it felt heavenly. It was like Draco could see everything that Harry was and not only the parts that were easy on eyes. There was so much ugliness in between them that a little more didn’t count. 

Harry concentrated on Draco’s heartbeat. It was steady and slow. Soon it was all that Harry could hear. The world got smaller and smaller until all that was left was arms around him and a heartbeat. He barely noticed how Draco helped him to the bed and handed him a glass of water. The lights had shut down at some point. The air was cool. 

The lingering hand on Harry’s shoulder disappeared. Harry blinked. The hand had kept the coldness at bay and now it was back. His shoulders tensed again and Harry couldn’t help the small, ragged breath escaping his lips. He hoped that Draco didn’t notice. 

Pale eyes turned to look at Harry. In the darkness of the room illuminated by only a small light, it looked slightly like they shone. All of Draco was so pale from the platinum hair to the skin that looked like not a single ray of sunlight had ever blemished it. He looked ethereal. Sometimes Harry allowed the thought to linger that Draco was beautiful. He had noticed it years ago but now it was more real. It was like learning all the ways Draco was real had made him more beautiful, more everything. 

“Haven’t you done enough, already?” Draco’s quiet voice pierced the night. Harry didn’t understand what he was saying. “You can let someone else be the saviour now.”

Draco sighed when Harry didn’t answer. He shook his head and muttered something about Granger. He lifted himself up to his elbow. Suddenly, he was too close. -Not close enough,- whispered a voice in his head as Draco was above him. His hand was on Harry’s cheek and Harry forgot how to breathe. Before Harry could gather his thoughts together, Draco had already moved his cool palm from his cheek to his eyes. 

“Sleep,” Draco commanded  in the same voice he used in the potions lab. His head was back on his pillow but the palm stayed there on Harry’s face. He didn’t know what to do with that. He woke up tightly clutching that hand like it was his life line. It felt like Harry was at a precipice of something. One step and he would fall. He didn’t know what it meant and at the same time it was scary and exhilarating. 

*

The exams were there. Draco never strayed far from Harry as if noticing how his sanity was fraying at the edges. He helped Harry with studies and Harry was surprised to realise just how good of a teacher Draco was. He was calm and collected and didn’t become frustrated the same way Hermione did when Harry didn’t immediately get something. 

The Slytherins had taken over almost one whole section of the library and the rest of the student body couldn’t help but be curious about it. Parkinson had walked in early in the morning with more books than one person could possibly require. Hermione had walked in a bit after her. Apparently, the surprise to see someone else more studious than her had made Hermione stumble for a step or two. 

“I never took Parkinson as the studious type,” Hermione whispered when Harry had emerged, “I know she has been studying during the weekends in library but honestly I thought she had a magazine or something inside those book covers.” 

More Slytherins filtered in. They weren’t all even eight-years like most of Hermione’s table. Younger students came and went asking help for difficult questions like it was the most natural thing. Harry couldn’t help but notice how the young students flocked around Draco as he was quietly explaining something or other. 

“Maybe we don’t know the Slytherins really at all,” Luna quipped behind her books. She had grown a fascination towards whales, for some reason and was making the librarians go absolutely crazy trying to get enough books to satisfy her. “I’m sure that if you just walked there and asked for help, they would give it. They’re kind like that,” 

“Kind?” Ron barked in disbelief, “Luna, you have no idea what you’re talking about. They’re anything but nice!” There was an edge to his voice that everyone dismissed. He had a lot of reasons to be angry. 

Luna lowered the book down with an unusually sharp look in her eyes. “I rather think I know very well what I am talking about. I happened to spend quite an amount of time with a Slytherin last year.” Luna didn’t often talk about her experiences. She always seemed to be so collected that everyone had just brushed it aside. 

“Draco!” Luna raised her voice and waved at Draco who was, for once, not surrounded by younger students and was trying to actually study, “Can you come and help with something?” 

Draco looked at Luna and frowned but walked to their table without a complaint. He barely looked at Harry but Harry couldn’t take his eyes away from the man. He was for once wearing something not so formal and looked comfortable and soft. Harry wanted to test the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t even have his cloak with him. He looked like he did in the evenings when it was only him and Harry. He didn’t know if he liked Draco showing this side of him to others. It was ridiculous. Harry didn’t own Draco. There was nothing exclusive about their arrangement. It was ridiculous to feel like this. 

“Your answer is wrong, Harry,” Draco’s voice shook Harry out of his thoughts. He blinked and looked up at Draco who was looming over him, eyes fixated on his half-written scroll. “Why even take arithmetic if you’re so hopelessly bad at it?” His words and tone were insulting but Harry knew better. For all that Draco was, his face was too expressive for his own good. Or Harry just had learned how to read him. 

“Stop that, Malfoy. You don’t come here to insult Harry!” Hermione spit out. She had always been protective when it came to her friends. 

Harry could see how Draco fought against answering something. Emotions flashed on his face too quick for people to notice but Harry chuckled quietly. It was endearing. Draco just rolled his eyes at Harry and quietly helped Harry with the calculations before disappearing back to the Slytherin table. 

The table was left speechless by Draco’s easy way of instruction. Luna looked smug and Harry didn’t know how to feel. There was something uncomfortable in his chest and at the same time he couldn’t help the smile tugging on his lips. 

“Malfoy knows arithmetics?” Ron was the first to exclaim. 

“And he’s very good in muggle studies,” Luna added, “As I said. You don’t know him at all.” 

Harry wanted to think that he knew Draco better than most. He wanted to be the person to see his private smiles and jokes that people missed completely. Right now, he didn’t feel like that at all. There was a barrier between them. His friends didn’t know that he knew Draco. That Harry knew that Draco was good in arithmetics. According to Draco, he had been expected to excel in every subject when he had been young. It was his saving grace right now. Harry knew all that but he couldn’t share it with the others because they didn’t know what Draco and Harry were. What were they? 

*

Draco went to sleep later and later, the closer the actual exams came. Lasts of deadlines were around the corner and next week would be filled with exams before the students were sent to their respective homes for Winter Holidays. More often than not, Harry woke up with Draco’s small reading light on and Draco’s sleeping form clutching a book or another. There were stress lines around his mouth and his face was in a constant state of frown. It wasn’t so different from his usual expression but Harry had learned to know the difference. 

Draco wasn’t fine and Harry didn’t want to feel worried, but he did. He didn’t know what to do about it, though. Draco never told if something was bothering him. Or he didn’t talk to Harry about it. It felt unfair in a sick way. More than once Harry had almost fallen to pieces in front of Draco and yet Harry was to see anything like that reflected on Draco’s face. He was like a stone wall, impenetrable and impossible to see through. Harry might have become better at reading Draco but there were so many things he knew nothing about. Things he could only guess about. Like, why Draco had been wandering the hallways in the early morning hours, or why did he sometimes seemed to hide away from everything in his room. More than once, Harry had walked in Draco’s room to find him sitting in front of the window without seeing anything and hearing nothing.  

What did Draco get out of their arrangement? 

It couldn’t be one sided. 

*

Still, time moved on. Harry woke up to Draco’s nightmares during the exam week. He slept less and less but gave nothing away. His control was slipping but Harry didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really anything he could say. He had begun to understand just how important it was for Draco to be at the top of the class this year. 

An ugly, cold thought slithered in Harry’s mind during those nights when he was woken up by Draco trashing around and muttering gibberish. Maybe this wasn’t new. Maybe this wasn’t the first time Draco had dreaded the exam results. Lucius wasn’t a good man but Draco hadn’t ever shown any signs of being anything but a spoiled brat. 

Would Harry have noticed that, though? He liked to think that yes, he would have noticed something so severely wrong with the boy he had called his biggest enemy and rival. Then again, he hadn’t liked Draco that much. It was possible that he would have been just gleeful to see Hermione ace and destroy Draco in the class. He had wanted to hate Draco so much when they were younger. Sometimes, he still wanted to hate Draco. It would make things so much easier to just mindlessly hate the man than feel anything else. 

Before Harry actually gained the courage to actually ask anything from Draco, he was slapped in the face with the winter holiday and the Weasleys asking again for him to join them but Harry was adamant. He really needed to go assess Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t a lie. And he needed space and time. Maybe staying alone for a moment would clear Harry’s head in more than one way. Draco was going to spend the holidays with his family, too, leaving Harry completely alone in the Eight-Year Dorms. It was good. It was exactly what Harry needed. He didn’t let himself waver and he definitely didn’t almost grab Draco’s arm when he was leaving the dormitory with a small nod of his head. Time and space. 

Chapter Text

Draco blinked back into existence in the train. Slowly, noises started to filter in and Draco recognized the Slytherins all around him, filling the compartment with their idle chat and easy laughter. Behind the window, green rolling hills flashed by and Draco tried to blink dryness away from his eyes as he adjusted back. The seats were worn-out and familiar. 

For a moment, when Draco turned to face the group, his family, he was confused. There was something wrong in the picture. It took him a second to realize it was Harry Draco’s eyes were searching for. Draco tried to remember what exactly had even happened. 

The chatter had died down in the compartment when Draco turned to look at them. Pansy stared at him warily while Daphne and Millicent were trying their best to look like nothing was wrong. Theo, Blaise, and Greg tried their best not to look at his way. Apparently, they had decided to leave this to Pansy. 

“You back to us?” Pansy said without humor. Her browns were knitted together and she was biting her lower lip, as she usually did when she was truly worried. A small tic of hers that Draco had gotten more than familiar with over the years. 

“It’s nothing,” Draco tried but one look at his friends had him backtracking, “I’ve just been tired lately. Exams, you know.”

“You would tell if.. if,” Daphne said with an unasked question in her voice.. Her blue eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she blinked furiously, refusing to let even a single one fall. Slytherins didn’t cry, not for this, not like this. Draco swallowed roughly. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize where their minds had flown to. Fragments of last summer flashed in front of Draco’s eyes. He could still remember the shrill desperation in Pansy’s voice when she had screamed at him to be better. She had refused to let him be. They all had. 

“It’s…, of course,” Draco sighed, “It’s not like last summer, I swear. It was just for a little bit.” 

That seemed to reassure the rest for a moment. Pansy wasn’t sold on the idea that everything was fine but she just needed to deal. The secrets he was keeping weren’t his to share. 

There was still so much anger in all of them. All that fear and desperation had morphed into something more easily contained. It was different from the anger Draco could see in Ron Weasley. His was righteous anger, theirs was made out of shame and guilt and relief, the utter relief. It was ugly, dark, and sticky. It coated their tongues and made it difficult to sleep. It was bile rising up their throats that just needed to be swallowed back down. It made seeing their families almost impossible. The word hard transformed into something shameful, something truly hideous, and awful. It made them wonder how they hadn’t really seen what it was like. It had been something they cherished and loved, and their parents were people they admired. Or had admired, at least. A husk of it all was left. 

The rest of the train ride was spent in quiet contemplation. They tried to draw strength as much as possible from each other. 

None of them had been forthcoming with their Yule plans. Pansy’s parents were still in Canada, while Blaise’s mother was traveling the continent together with her newest husband. No one had dared to ask Greg. Draco had extended an invitation to him, just like everyone else but he had declined. Last year had turned him into someone much quieter and seeking solitude. 

“We shall keep correspondence,” Pansy said curtly as her parting words before briskly walking away towards an elderly woman who shared her dark hair and hard features. She leaned heavily on her cane and seemed to say something to Pansy and beckoning her to follow. Others followed suit and Draco searched for someone familiar on the platform. He wasn’t actually sure if Mother would be there or if he was supposed to find his own way to aunt Andromeda’s place. 

~

It didn’t take long for Draco to spot a tall woman with frizzy hair and a stroller in front of her. The woman was his aunt but Draco felt nothing but numb when he was walking towards her. It felt like cheap charity. They hadn’t been in contact before Mother had needed her. Draco didn’t understand why Andromeda was ready to take them in. His skin felt itchy and hot, the discomfort on his arm turning into an inferno under his skin. He was the reason this woman stood here with a young child. A young child who would grow up without his parents. All that, because of their cowardice. Because of Draco’s cowardice. If he just had been stronger, braver maybe he could have done something, anything. 

The baby in the stroller looked at him with brown eyes and his head was full of baby hair colored like the mustard scarf Andromeda had tied to control her hair. It hadn’t worked. Slowly Teddy’s eyes shifted turning into pale gray, an icy color Draco was more than familiar with. 

“He does that with everyone he meets,” Andromeda said with a sad smile on her face, “Just like his mother used to.” 

Draco wanted to throw up. The noises around them were too much. The laughter and the rattle of suitcases being moved. An owl hooted somewhere. Draco wanted to fall through the cracks of the world, all the way down to Hell. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to mutter but Andromeda barely even acknowledged it, just nodding and turned to walk away briskly. 

“This way, Draco. We still have quite the trip before we’re home.” 

Andromeda had retired to the country with Teddy after everything. She had quite the cliché with a garden and forest starting from her backyard. It was a small thing, and hidden well from the muggles of the nearby village. Snow had fallen there covering everything in a blanket of white. It scrunched under Draco’s feet as they walked the rest of the way from their apparition point. 

“I have made the wards so no one can apparate too close to the hut,” Andromeda explained. 

Mother was waiting for them there on the porch even if the air was bitingly cold and dark clouds covered the sky. She looked nothing like the woman Draco remembered her to be. In just a couple of months, she had turned so small. He was taller than her nowadays. Had probably been for a while already but had just never noticed it before. 

Thankfully, Mother had gained a little weight and didn’t seem as fragile anymore as she had last summer. They hadn’t been the hugging type before but Mother had changed in that. She took Draco in a crushing hug like she hadn’t been certain that Draco really was there. War had changed Mother, and he was hoping it was for the better. Perhaps that was the only thing they could truly do to atone for their sins. 

“Let’s get in before you catch a cold,” Mother said and ushered Draco in. Her voice was soft and quiet. It made Draco feel like drowning. His smile was more of a grimace when they got in but no one commented on it. Andromeda just directed them all into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She had refused a house elf and rather did everything herself. Had been doing everything like that for decades, she said, but wasn’t above setting the table with a flick of her wrist. 

“It’s good to see you again, Mother. You look like you’re in good health,” 

“France agrees with me,” Mother said with a cup of steaming tea in her hand. There was more color in her face and she didn’t look sickly. Losing everything had hit her hard, maybe harder than him. “You should come with me after you graduate. The continent is a good place right now.” There was pain in her voice. Malfoys were supposed to live in their manor, in England. They were supposed to be in politics and have fancy ministry titles. They weren’t supposed to disappear into obscurity and retreat to the continent like those in exile. 

Pressure in Draco’s chest got heavier. He didn’t want to think about After. He didn’t want to think about his N.E.W.T.s and which doors would be even open to him after that. Perhaps Mother saw it in his face or maybe she hadn’t been thinking at all when she had suggested it but she quickly changed the topic to plans they had come up with Andromeda. Draco was only listening with half an ear, he was still trying to piece together the last week that was like a black hole in his memory. 

~

It wasn’t the first time Draco had lost time like this. There were months he couldn’t recollect except for a few, small details. It happened more often last summer but the healers hadn’t found a reason for it. He just had a wandering mind. 

Mother had demanded for better diagnosis but there was nothing St. Mungo’s could offer. Everybody has something like this now, the healers had said with less sympathy than expected from a nurse. Traumatizing events can cause it. Rest and recuperation is all that we can do. Maybe take up a soothing hobby, the healer had instructed and Pansy had destroyed a vase on the door as it had closed after them. 

Mother blamed herself for it. Draco didn’t know how to react to it. Maybe it was partly Mother’s fault. She had been there. She had heard him. She had done nothing. Her hands had been tied but Draco wasn’t sure it was a good reason. They should have gotten out before. She should have been there before. But now, there was nothing left to do, and Draco had to look at the pity in her eyes. Sometimes he wasn’t sure to whom it was directed, her or him. 

Draco had spaced out enough times to know how to go about getting even some of the memories back. He sat on the floor of the guest room that was certainly way too big for the hut and couldn’t physically be there. It was comforting to be in a pocket dimension, stretched by familiar magic all around him, humming silently. He could feel the vibrations on his skin. 

Concentrating on the last day Draco remembered, he slowly walked through the exam week. Not everything was there but glimpses here and there were enough for Draco to make sure he had actually attended all of his exams and taken them. There were glimpses of him and Harry in the bedroom. Harry hadn’t been worried about the exams. He didn’t need to be. Draco felt the bitter taste of envy in his mouth but refused to entertain it. Harry deserved everything he was getting. He had been the savior long enough, let him have something for once. 

They had talked about their plans for winter holidays only vaguely. Apparently, Harry had decided to stay in Hogwarts or go to the Grimmauld Place, Draco wasn’t quite sure but he had been adamant about not going to the Weasleys. Ron had pestered him more and more about it the closer they had gotten to the holidays. Draco didn’t support Harry’s decision to stay alone when he didn’t seem to stand it right now but he didn’t have a right to intervene. Harry had never asked for his opinion. He was there just so Harry would sleep better. 

Which he probably wasn’t. Draco frowned at the realization that Harry was probably going to sleep as badly as he was. Or hopefully he would take Pomfrey’s sleep potions. Draco doubted it. 

Him worrying about Harry was totally unnecessary. No one needed that. But still, Draco looked for a quill and a piece of parchment. He called for Terry who had flown here somewhere during the week when Draco had sent his last letter to Mother. 

Terry had gotten attached to Harry. Mostly because he carried seeds in his pockets, and Terry was a great glutton. He was easily bribed and Draco would have been slightly affronted about it if it hadn’t made Harry smile like that little turncoat was a small miracle. Draco could give him that. 

“You’re on thin fucking ice, buddy,” Draco squinted at Terry who hooted. Draco was sure that Terry was smarter than he looked. He just liked to act stupid to stay in. “I need you to take this to Harry,” He tied the parchment on Terry’s leg. “You know the man. Dark, tousled hair and seeds in his pockets. He will give you treats when you get to him,” Draco promised and sent the bird off his window. Now Harry would at least know there were some potions in the trunk if he happened to need them. 

~

Harry didn’t answer the letter. Not that Draco had been expecting it. It would have been nice to have his worries alleviated by even a quick one sentence: I’m all right . Terry didn’t return either. Draco liked to think it was because he was a turncoat and liked Harry’s treats better. That was a better option than Terry getting caught up in a blizzard or something. But that was unlikely. He was a smart bird. Draco wanted to send another letter to Harry. If for nothing else then just to scream at him for keeping his bird. 

~

Days started to feel oppressive. Draco didn’t want to feel like he was caged in, like there was something under his skin crawling about. Andromeda had been nice, Mother had been nice. Everyone was being nice. Only a few times had he noticed either of them flinch from Draco when his mark had been accidentally showing. He made sure to wear only long sleeves. He didn’t know how to handle a child, either. Teddy was innocent of everything. Unknowledgeable of life’s rough truths and Draco didn’t know how to handle the amount of trust that was thrust upon him the first time Andromeda and Mother had decided to leave Teddy with Draco to go out for a little shopping. 

Teddy was a happy baby. He seldom cried and smiled for everyone. He just liked to be held and moved from a place to another to see things. He tried to eat everything, too, and Draco had sacrificed his hair for his fingers to pull.

“He knows you are his cousin,” Andromeda said one morning when Draco was feeding Teddy breakfast. “He trusts you.” There was something heavy in Andromeda’s words. It was a gift and a responsibility. It weighed on him. It was true. Teddy was Draco’s cousin. They were family. Draco would do anything for the baby, if not for any other reason but that they were kin. Not to mention that the little baby had wormed his way into Draco’s heart. Not that it was a difficult thing to do. Father had always reprimanded Draco for having a fool’s heart. Now he wasn’t so sure if it was an insult or the greatest compliment his father had ever given him. 

Andromeda and Mother were happy together. It was a bit strained and old wounds didn’t heal easily but Draco could see that they could get over their disagreements and Andromeda would gradually forgive Mother. They were sisters, after all. While it was good to see his Mother finally start to gain back the liveliness, Draco couldn’t stop the restlessness. He had imagined that a completely new place would have been soothing without all the ghosts lingering in the corners but it was just unsettling. It was like stepping into someone else’s life knowing just how transient it is. He couldn’t breathe clearly and had gotten back into the tendency of waking up in the middle of the night. He felt unmoored. Nothing was keeping him afloat. He couldn’t do anything and needed to just wait for spring. It made everything so much more unbearable until the walls started to collapse on him. 

Late in the evening, a bit after Yule, Draco announced that he needed to get back to Hogwarts. At least there he could do something productive. The library was open during the holidays and he could have peace to study. 

“Are you sure, Draco? You look like you’re already working too much,” Andromeda said. Mother didn’t say anything and just pursed her lips tightly together. 

“Thank you, aunt Andromeda, but I’m sure. There’s still much to do before the N.E.W.T.s. You know how important those are,” they were all looking at each other with strained smiles. No one put the cat on the table and Andromeda just nodded in understanding. A lot was hanging on those exams. 

“Let me just pack you a little something.” 

Quickly, Andromeda gathered a basket full of pastries and other small things for him to eat. Draco said goodbye to Teddy and hugged his Mother again. It was still as weird as it was the first time around. 

“Tell Harry to visit his godson when he has the time,” Andromeda said as they waved him off. Draco stumbled on the steps, his heart beating in his throat. There was no way that Andromeda knew anything. 

“I’ll be sure to mention it when I see him,” Draco still promised. It must have been just because they shared the dormitory and how few eight-year students there were. It wasn’t pointed at him for any particular reason. Still it made Draco uneasy and more than ready to depart.

Chapter Text

Ron tried to persuade Harry to join the Weasleys for Yule one last time before they walked into different directions at King’s Cross station. Ginny had gone ahead —thank god!— but Ron stood his ground.

“I don’t think its good for you, Harry,” Ron tried to say. His mouth did that downward twitch he usually had when he was getting frustrated. Harry felt bad for Ron’s clenched teeth.

“It’s alright, Ron. I’ll be fine. I have to face Grimmauld Place and see how Kreacher is doing. See how to fix that leak he told me about and secure the paintings. There’s so much to do.” Ron squinted his eyes. Harry’s explanations became strained and longwinded. They sounded like excuses but he couldn’t stop midway. “I’ll apparate over if something happens. I’ll write and send your Christmas gifts. Tell everybody I said hi!”

Ron didn’t stop Harry from taking a couple of running steps away before disappearing. Ron’s frustration and disappointment stuck like a gum to the sole of Harry’s shoe. He tried to shake the lingering presence, his own shame away, but there was no hiding place from it. Not in the Grimmauld Place. It started to rain.

Harry didn’t even notice the cold drops hitting his face. Didn’t notice how his bag got soaked in the muddy puddle he was standing in. The house looked like it had always been: uninviting and looming threateningly. Filled with sorrow and bad memories. Harry thought about the paintings in the cold house. Kreacher there with the ghosts. He probably enjoyed his time there. Talking to masters and mistresses past like a horrifying version of The Christmas Carol.

Quietly, as not to disturb Walburga Black, Harry spoke a few words in parseltongue to the door handle and snuck in. It made him feel like a thief in his own house. The bag dragged mud in, all over the carpets Molly had put so much effort to make at least a bit more presentable. Wordlessly Harry made his way to the master bedroom he had turned into a room for himself after, after everything.

Everything stood still. Harry felt like he was moving in time as he passed the hallways, dining rooms, and closets. Shadows moved around eerily in the dark townhouse. He glanced at the windows showing a beautiful, artificial scenery of a park that probably existed somewhere. Nothing disturbed the trees standing tall there. Even the clouds were just hanging there. It was freezing. It smelled like death. Not even the green glass trees could wipe away the rot.

Sirius had hated this place. Harry couldn’t let it go.

Kreacher kept Harry’s room aired and there was a mug of tea sitting under a heating spell on the bedside table. The curtains were closed and it didn’t smell musty in here. Folded on the bed was Harry’s favourite, frayed t-shirt. Draco would hate that shirt.

Harry didn’t think about Draco.

Draco would hate a lot of things in here but he wouldn’t despise the place. He would see what the place is worth. He would—

Harry didn’t think about Draco.

But in the night, Harry couldn’t stop himself of fitfully dreaming about Draco and the cool peacefulness that wrapped itself around Harry in the room, in their room, in Draco’s room. He could hear Draco turning the pages in silence, cool fingers brushing Harry’s hair. He took strands of Harry’s hair between his fingers and rolled them, saw how long they had gotten. Nagged about it in half-whispers like he talked to himself and Harry was eavesdropping the commentary about his own hair. Draco would disapprove of that. How uncouth. There was a crisp contrast between Draco’s pale skin and Harry’s dark hair. Harry didn’t know anything about poetry but that moment was a poem written by the mysterious beings that dictated everything. In that moment those delicate quill strokes were apparent. It was filled with meaning Harry couldn’t understand, it evaded him like letters swimming on a page after a long day. Between the blinks of awareness and sleep, Harry tried to expel the thought away, to sleep a dreamless sleep but the image was vivid in his mind and something in him kept clinging to it. The dream left Harry with a hollow ache. The bed stayed cold.

Dream Harry said something quietly to dream Draco who answered. Harry could only see how the pale pink lips moved with the iron tight control Draco always seemed to possess. Dream Harry relaxed and Harry wanted to strangle himself.

In the morning, Harry wasn’t refreshed a bit but exhaustion was easier to handle with enough well-slept nights behind him. It was only the first night, Harry reasoned. There was no reason he wouldn’t be able to sleep at least some here. Sure, his nights would probably be fitful and plagued with nightmares but he would cope, just like he had coped last summer. It hadn’t been unbearable then. He would handle himself just like he always did.

Kreacher had made Harry breakfast. It waited there under similar a heating spell as the tea last night but now in the dining room. Kreacher was nowhere to be seen but Harry could hear pots and pans in the kitchen. Kreacher didn’t like Harry in the kitchen and he didn’t wish to anger the small house-elf. Over the summer, they had come to a strained agreement of mutual avoidance. It was surprisingly pleasant. Harry didn’t need to be reminded by everything whenever he saw Kreacher and he assumed that the feeling was mutual. Kreacher had ways of making his displeasure known and there had been no near-death accidents in the house for quite a long time. Walburga didn’t scream, either. She usually threw a fit whenever someone dared to mistreat a Black household elf. She probably didn’t even know Kreacher’s name but that didn’t stop him from being proud of being dear mistress Walburga’s household elf. The little creature took pride in the strangest things.

After breakfast Harry started to note the more extensive damage in the house. He had no clue how much anything would cost him but that wasn’t important. He hadn’t lied when he had told Ron that he wanted to fix Grimmauld Place up. If nothing else, Teddy was a Black and deserved to know what his ancestral house looked like.

The quill froze in the air as shame washed over Harry. Water dropped to the bucket in the hall. He didn’t try to push the young child from his thoughts but sometimes Harry forgot the boy existed. It wasn’t fair to Teddy that Harry was a bad godfather. He didn’t want to be a bad godfather. Teddy deserved so much. He deserved everything and Harry had nothing to offer. His movements turned sluggish. Harry wanted to go back to bed. He turned his attention back to the leaky roof.

In the evenings, Harry stayed in his room reading and writing letters. It wasn’t apparently enough to send letters to Ron and Molly, who would have cried if Harry didn’t write to her according to Ron. Everyone was writing letters to Harry. Everyone seemed to be worried about Harry. No one trusted him alone.

Luna had sent a lovely update about her holidays. She was spending time with her father and they sent some sort of incense for Harry to thwart nightmares. Her letters were haphazardly written, starting from the middle of the sentence and ending with obscure notes as her attention shifted elsewhere. The penmanship was intelligible, she was dictating them.

Ron and Ginny wrote angry ones. Once Harry had thought that anger defeated the coldness of one’s heart but it wasn’t so. There was so much love there but the hot anger made it painful. They were yelling in a quiet room. There was nothing to soothe Harry and he grew irritated. Not even Hermione’s slightly motherly and often calming presence in the letters as enough to quieten Harry’s slowly growing amalgamation of everything. He could feel it reaching upward blocking his throat and making him suffocate. It was there when Harry tried to sleep and when he tried to eat. It was there, waiting, as days went past snail pace. It made it difficult to swallow, turned everything into ash. Sometimes it made Harry so angry he almost broke the handle from his mug. He was feeling pity for his own teeth now.

Yule was creeping closer. Harry had already sent his greetings and the presents to Burrow, now he wanted to just forget the day existed and wake up when the semester begins. Everything felt hollow and Harry had a strange ache deep in his bones. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before and he didn’t like the feeling.

When a familiar tiny bird knocked on Grimmauld Place’s window, Harry didn’t believe the sight at first. It wasn’t that he had expected the bird to be here but somewhere deep, deep down he had been hoping for it. It was ridiculous. Terry was just a bird, even if he was a friendly little creature. He wasn’t Hedwig, didn’t come even close. But he was Terry.

Terry dropped the letter from his talons and Harry coaxed the little bird to step inside and eat a little seeds. He gave the bird some water and carried him to the bed where he placed Terry gingerly on a pillow. Harry climbed in the letter still in hand. It had the faint scent of Draco’s ridiculous cherry shampoo and the expensive brand of ink with earthy lingering smell. It reminded Harry of the late evenings when Draco told Harry to go to sleep while he continued to study. His fingertips were spotted with the ink, some of it on the corners of his mouth. On one memorable occasion Harry had seen Draco with ink on the top of his nose. It had taken Harry all his self control to not burst out laughing. Draco would not have been pleased with that.

Harry was curious of what Draco could have written him but a part of him didn’t want to open the letter. It felt final, opening the letter. Lingering in the limbo wasn’t so bad with the letter there with him.

That night Harry slept marginally better. Hand tightly clutching the letter.

To Harry,

Season’s greetings.

Teddy is growing fast. He is a friendly kid and almost never cries. He laughs often. I do not know anything about children but he seems like an intelligent one, as expected.

Mother is well and sends you her greetings, as well. As does aunt Andromeda.

Rest well,

D.M

Harry could hear Draco’s voice echoing in the room, bouncing from one bare wall to another. There was warmth in it. Harry wasn’t certain if it was fictional, only existing in his head. It had been a week since he had heard Draco speak and during the exam week he had been so busy studying that he had barely answered Harry when he tried to speak. They had lived mostly in silence. More often than not, Draco had seemed somewhere far away. Harry didn’t like that. Didn’t like the look in Draco’s eyes when he had almost like looked through Harry. It was like he hadn’t been there at all. It unsettled Harry more than he wanted to acknowledge.

The letter wasn’t anything much really but Harry didn’t let it out of his reach. He stuffed it in his back pocket and Terry flew to perch on his shoulder. The nonexistent weight of the bird was comforting and the occasional hoots a pleasant voice in the almost empty house. Many times Harry sat down to write a reply to Draco but could put nothing to paper. It all felt wrong. It wasn’t how they were supposed to talk. Harry didn’t want to wish Draco good Yule and a happy new year. He didn’t want to write to him the same words he had written to everyone else already. Those words weren’t for Draco. Harry frowned. There was an itch somewhere behind his ribs, an uncomfortable sensation that refused to leave.

Eventually Harry gave up on the letter completely. He didn’t hate that the reply was hanging between him and Draco. Now there was something real, almost physical there. A letter wasn’t nothing. Harry had that something in the back pocket of his dirty jeans. It was there reminding him of something important, something vital.

Maybe Harry was getting sick or maybe the Yule spirit and sentimentality had creeped in from outside as Harry found himself putting on nicer robes and formal wizard attire. He begrudgingly left his jeans upstairs and breathed in trying to fix the collar the umpteenth time as he walked to Walburga’s painting, still hidden behind a curtain. His hands on the curtain, Harry hesitated for a moment more.

“I can hear you, boy! Take the curtain or let me sleep,” screeched Walburga’s piercing voice. She had only one voice and it was the angry yelling. From behind the curtain, a piercing pair of dark eyes stared Harry with disapproval that was more out of habit than anything. Harry felt frozen under the hateful eyes that evaluated him from head to toe. “That outfit is awful! In what dumpster you have found it in? Not ironed and those colours should never be put on a cloth together,” her grating voice went over everything wrong in Harry’s outfit. She judged his overgrown hair and the lack of refine. “BURN IT!” She screeched with finality in her voice.

“Merry Yule to you, too, Walburga,” Harry sighed. He didn’t know why he had even tried.

“It is aunt Walburga to you,” the painting sniffed indignantly and Walburga turned her back to Harry. His head whipped back up in disbelief. She didn’t say anything more.

”Alright then, aunt Walburga. Merry Yule.” That was a Yule miracle if anything. Harry couldn’t believe his ears. The bar was on the floor if a neutral sentence from the painting was enough to lift his spirits. Harry didn’t put the curtain back up. Perhaps Walburga wouldn’t scream all the time now.

Walburga did something worse than screaming: he kept commenting on Harry’s outfit. “Hideous, Harry! Take it off, take it off, take it off!” The painting screamed whenever Harry walked past it. “Vaults cannot be empty enough for you to be walking around in filthy, torn clothes!

“They’re fine, aunt Walburga!” Harry hissed between his teeth but the painting continued with the complaints. Finally Harry could take it no longer and yelled in frustration: “Alright, alright! I’ll wash them, for Merlin’s sake! That’s all you’re getting!” Walburga didn’t sound pleased but at least she stopped yelling for Harry to burn the jeans.

Only when the jeans were soaked in water and soap, Harry remembered the ever-present letter in the back pocket. The ink was unintelligible when Harry was able to carefully extract the letter from the pocket. For once he had wanted to do something the old fashioned way and this was the result! A quick spell would restore the ink but it wouldn’t be the same. Terry hooted on his shoulder. Water messed up the letter more as Harry pulled it closer to his face. Draco’s controlled cursive with its fancy loops and the faint scent was dissipating from the scroll. Teardrops smeared it more. Harry blinked back but the tears kept falling down. Soon he was laying on the floor crying harder than he had after summer.

Harry stayed crumbled on the floor. The tiles were cold and stained from the leaking ink. A part of him realised how ridiculous he was being right now. It was a holiday greeting card, for Merlin’s sake! But a much larger part of him just couldn’t stop. It felt good to scream when no one was there to listen. Other than a painting that really couldn’t judge after all the screaming she had done over the years even as a painting.

It felt like hours but must have only been some minutes when Harry finally calmed down enough to feel the coldness seeping from the tiles under his cheek. His glasses were somewhere on the floor but as he tried to shift his hand reaching for them, wrinkly fingers handed them to him. Kreacher didn’t say anything. Just gave him a sandwich. Harry wasn’t sure if he even thanked the elf for it. Harry put on the muddy, and now soapy and wet, jeans and wiped snot on the sleeve of his hoodie. It was soapy, too. He didn’t bother finding proper shoes as he walked past Walburga and summoned his broom. For once, Walburga didn’t say anything as he walked past. Dark eyes watched his movements but didn’t say anything. Harry was sure there was disapproval in her gaze as Harry shut the door behind him and Terry, who had flown right behind him. The bird settled on Harry’s hood like it was the most natural place for bird to stay during a flight. Harry couldn’t care less about someone seeing him as he flew overhead London and flew north, toward Hogwarts.

Half-way there he remembered the constant camouflage spells on the broom and relaxed a fraction. Not enough to start weeping again. That he was holding at bay with tightly squeezed hands and teeth that were sunk on his lower lips. He would have tasted blood if he could have concentrated on anything right now. He didn’t. He just flew to the empty castle. Harry refused to think about that right now. There was the flight right now. The castle could come next. It was alright.

Chapter Text

The halls of Hogwarts were deserted. There were barely any candles lit anywhere and Draco had to venture forward with a small lumos levitating in front of him. Headmistress McGonagall strolled past him as a small, black cat. Draco nodded but neither broke the silence. Her tail whisked languidly and pointed at the unlit halls in front of Draco. Slowly candles started to blink into existence and Draco was able to let his lumos fizzle out. With the lights, a couple of decorations decorated the halls. It was a strange experience to see Hogwarts magic in creation. Usually, the castle worked in the blink of an eye, giving an illusion that everything had always been there. Now, it was in no rush and only the path towards Eight-Year Dorm was lit and decorated. The decorations weren’t gaudy like before the holidays when bells and mistletoes hung everywhere with musical spells attached to them. There were no bright red baubles on the trees. Instead, the lights were dim and snow was slowly falling and dissipating right before it hit the floor or Draco’s travel cloak. 

Hogwarts was picturesque and the snow covered everything in soft haze. Draco relaxed under the cover of magic that seemed so massive and moving, like a living being. There were no other kids and for a moment Draco was taken back to his first moment in the school, the second he had felt the weight of magic. It had all been so fantastical, so innocuously exciting. There had been a sense of wonder in Draco, in all of them. They had been so proud, felt so much like they all belonged there. Dumbledore—

Draco reached the Eight-Year Dorm room and greeted Grammy Mattina. The old painting had been dozing off but smiled warmly to Draco, sleep still evident in her eyes. She had changed from her regular puffy, blue dress into a more festive red one with tall sleeves that covered half of her face when she lifted her hand to cover a yawn. There was a wine glass in the background. 

“Have you been enjoying Yule?” Draco asked politely as the painting opened the passage for him. 

“Oh, you won’t even believe it, dear boy!” Grammy Mattina began a longwinded tale about the Yule festivities the paintings got up to together with a few of the ghosts. There had been charades and wine tasting. Someone had played the grand piano and Mattina had been able to waltz for the first time in a while. “We have all been very happy that you youngsters have been going home for the holidays. It isn’t good for you to study with no breaks. Children need to go on the holidays and have fun!” There was a note of disapproval in Grammy Mattina’s tone. 

“I have relaxed enough, Grammy Mattina. Now I need to get a head start to the second semester.” 

“When you get to my age, young Draco, you realise what truly matters in this life.” 

Privately Draco disagreed. He knew what mattered just fine already. The last couple of years had made it clear to him. It had changed his perspective. Draco scratched his forearm. 

Well, right now what mattered the most was great scores, perfect scores. He couldn’t be anything less than perfect. He hadn’t been able to win against Hermione Granger but now he had to. He needed to graduate with the best scores out of all in Hogwarts. There wouldn’t be much of a life to worry about if he didn’t succeed. Of course, he could join mother in France. Things were different on the continent. 

Malfoys stand their ground. 

Father’s voice rang in Draco’s mind. He didn’t think about Father often but couldn’t get rid of the memory of Lucius looking over the spanning estate. The rolling hills and gardens, everything his bloodline had strived towards. A lot of it evil, Draco knew, but still he couldn’t hate the place. Couldn’t stop yearning for the garden labyrinths and the absolute freedom there had been before anything, before Father’s bad choices had tainted it. Now all of it was covered with Voldemort’s miasma, the corruption he had brought with him, the filth, and all those vile people. Draco shivered just remembering some of them. He refused to shy his mind’s eyes away from it. He kept staring at himself and let the memories swallow him whole. Just for a moment, just for long enough to never forget. The shame and dirt on him could never be washed clean. Draco felt filthy. 

In the morning, Draco washed the sheets and aired out the room. It felt more spacious than he remembered. There were dark strands of hair on the right side pillow. Draco patted the pillow. It felt strange here without Harry. He had made himself part of this room, part of Draco’s life at Hogwarts. Well, he had always been a part of that but now it felt more substantial, like there was a connection of a deeper level. Draco didn’t know what to think about that. Perhaps it was a good idea that he didn’t have the time or energy to worry about the Savior right now. For the moment, Draco could fully concentrate on studying and getting that head start. 

~

Draco sat cross-legged on the bed with papers and books thrown all around him. Logically Draco knew that no other students were staying for the holidays. He had even confirmed it with Grammy Mattina and Headmistress McGonagall but he didn’t want to linger in any common areas. No one ever knew. It wouldn’t be wise to be caught unaware and without other Slytherins around. He wanted to be in the Slytherin common rooms but he had no access there with no other Slytherins around. The Eight-Year Common area didn’t really belong to Draco and his group. They had never been welcome and now he didn’t want to linger. 

Harry’s side of the bed stayed empty and clear of clutter. The papers Draco needed were levitating around. He felt like he had so much more power now when he didn’t need to concentrate on everything else. It was freedom. He didn’t like to show off, not anymore, but in the room, he was by himself and there was no danger so Draco let his wand stay on the bedside table. One of his quills was taking notes while most of his concentration went on the hefty book on his lap. He was gripping it tight; it had flown away once already and Draco didn’t want to stand up from the bed just to chase around the room for a mischievous book written by a long-dead prankster. It was a shame that the woman had been an alchemical virtuoso. 

Advanced applied alchemy wasn’t even in the curriculum, especially after Slughorn had taken over potions, but it was one of the few subjects Draco enjoyed. It didn’t feel so much like work unlike herbalism he had been forced to take for the second semester. He knew how to work the ingredients but hadn’t ever felt the need to grow the ingredients himself. Snape had been home growing ingredients and Draco had seen just how difficult it was to keep more fickle plants happy. He had no patience or talent for it. That didn’t matter. He needed to excel in it nonetheless. 

The mere thought of the work in front of him, made Draco feel like a huge wave was washing over him. It pulled him under, threw him around, and battered him against the walls of his room. It flipped him around, made him bang his head on the headboard, and took his breath away. He was drowning. 

When Draco finally had his breathing under control, his hands were shaking and the papers had been thrown all around the room. The book was giddily flying away, throwing its weight against the window time and time again hoping to escape. A part of Draco wanted to open the window just to see it fly away. He wished he were the book. Or any book. A children’s tale with a happy ending and all. Except, happy endings didn’t apply to the villains. 

Outside the moon was bright and snow had fallen at some point during the day. Draco hadn’t been out since he had walked in Hogwarts. He couldn’t even remember what day it was. His mouth was dry and tasted like bitter, too-strong coffee. There was a cup of it on the bedside table, the spell had gone haywire at some point and now it was boiling away. 

Draco stood up with unsteady feet and caught the runaway book before closing the curtains. He made the papers levitate once more and settled to study again. It would be useless to even try to sleep now. He was exhausted but his mind was running. There would be nothing but night terrors with that. Not that his nights had been restful either way. At best, Draco slept for a couple of hours before waking up in cold sweat a sense of dreadful urgency running through his veins. He felt feverish. 

It was almost morning and Draco had snapped back awake when he started to hear running steps and Grammy Mattina’s soft mumbles in the common room. Draco barely acknowledged it before turning to shift through the papers to find his calculus papers. He was sure he had been working on them before blacking out. Papers fluttered past him as he glanced at them quickly before disregarding most of them. 

The door burst open and Draco fell off the bed while reaching for his wand. Expelliarmus threw it on the other side of the room before Draco could even figure out who was the intruder. A curse was on the tip of his tongue as he bent his fingers, just like father had taught him to do in an emergency. His magic had exploded in alarm all around him, throwing the papers in the air. They were obscuring most of the room. Heart loudly bounding Draco aimed and almost sent the curse. A familiar hooting stopped him in his tracks. 

Papers floated to the floor, there amongst them were the calculus papers Draco had been looking for. He blinked in confusion when Terry flew forward perching on his favourite spot on the top of the bookcase. 

“Harry?” Draco asked in disbelief and took in the dark-haired boy in front of him. Harry was shivering, wide-eyed, and looked like he had been flying through a blizzard. On his hand he had his broom and on the other a grumbled piece of what looked like a letter. His eyes were red-rimmed and he looked more pale than usual. 

“Your letter’s ruined,” Harry mumbled through his chattering teeth. 

Draco didn’t understand what was going on but Harry didn’t look alright. He looked like he was barely holding on and the shivering was growing worse every second. Harry was just staring at Draco like he couldn’t even properly see him. Which he probably couldn’t since his glasses were filled with water droplets. He was making a puddle on the floor with all the water dripping off of him and Draco started to usher Harry towards the baths. 

“We need to get you warm, Harry. Leave the broom there. Yeah, like that.” At least, Harry listened to Draco’s guidance and started to walk as Draco guided him to the proper baths they had a small walk away. As they walked past the kitchens, Draco asked for a change of dry clothes and something to eat for Harry. The whole situation was strange and Draco was debating whether he should call for headmistress McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey or not. He decided to wait until they had gotten Harry warmed up. 

~

Draco couldn’t remember how he had gotten the password for the Prefect Bathroom but he was thankful as he guided Harry towards an innocuous-looking statue of a mermaid. The air was humid and filled with the scent of eucalyptus. The grey pajamas Draco was wearing stuck to his skin as they started to grow damp. Water was falling from a huge statue of a Roman holding a huge jug. The new design had taken a lot of inspiration from Roman bathhouses. There were towels and robes and beautifully carved and decorated bottles filled with soaps and bath scents. Warm water was filled with soothing leaves. 

“Take off the wet clothes, Harry,” Draco turned around to give him privacy but Harry just stood still. He had a lost look on his face and there were dark bags under his eyes. He seemed completely exhausted. It worried Draco. Weren’t his friends, his chosen family taking care of him? Where was Molly Weasley who took pride in her mothering skills? Sighing Draco gestured for Harry to raise his hands and helped him pull off his shirt. Gritting his teeth, Draco emptied his mind until there was only crisp professionalism left. He had never helped someone bathe but it couldn’t be that odd. Everyone needed help sometimes. 

Gratefully Harry seemed to grasp what was going on and took off the rest of his clothes. Draco didn’t think there was enough professionalism in the world to get him through completely undressing the Harry Potter, no matter how inappropriate the moment might be. Draco refused to let that train of thought go anywhere. In his sinful mind, he knew he would probably relive this moment in the privacy of his mind at some point. He was no saint. He was barely getting towards decency as a human being right now. 

Draco rolled up his pajama pants and grouched on the tiles at the edge of the bath Harry was sitting in. The shivering was slowly dissipating and Harry’s face was getting more colour. He had looked half-dead a moment ago but now his breathing had evened and he wasn’t so tense. 

“I got your letter, you know,” Harry said finally as Draco poured shampoo on his hair. He sounded calmer but there was still a strain on his voice. 

“I see,” Draco hummed. Harry leaned his head towards Draco’s slowly moving hands. 

“It got wet.” 

“I see,” Draco, in fact, did not see but he wasn’t about to question anything right now. 

“Sirius hated that place. His mother is there, stuck on the wall. She hates my jeans.”

“They’re hideous jeans.” 

“I know I should hate the place, too. The roof is leaky and the house is still probably infested with boggarts and ghosts. I know I should hate it. It is so gloomy. Kreacher despises me. I’m not a Black.” 

Draco hummed noncommittally. He was aware that Harry was talking about the 12 Grimmauld Place. His mother had talked about it a couple of times. How she had spent time there at her aunt’s place when she had been younger. Draco couldn’t imagine what the place was looking at right now but the vision of Malfoy Manor flitted in his mind, all empty and dark. 

“But I don’t. I can still feel Sirius there. He hated that place and now I can feel him there. Is that place really the only place I can remember him by? It’s like remembering me in the 4 Privet Drive.” Harry sounded agonised. 

“The place holds no such memories to you. Why shouldn’t you be allowed to make new, better ones there if you wish?” 

Harry chewed his lower lip and dunked his head underwater to rinse off the shampoo.

“I want to honour his memory properly, all of their memory.” 

The silence hung heavy between them. The walls of the castle became oppressive once again. It was like just yesterday the whole place had been filled with chaos and pain. There had been fire and death everywhere, curses flying around hitting non-discriminately all of them. So much screaming. It was like the walls of Hogwarts had sucked all of that in and now there was a festering wound somewhere deep within the bowels of the castle. In these moments, Draco felt the pulsation of infection all around him. The walls were turning back time, shifting back into that dreadful, awful day when everything bad had ended only for even more bad to start all over again. There was no ending to it. Echoes of the battle bounced on the walls. 

Harry broke the silence again: “Can you feel it, too? Like it never ended.” There was an edge of desperation in his voice. Draco wanted to lie and say he didn’t have the faintest clue what Harry was talking about.  He didn’t want to acknowledge whatever it was that was in these walls, still apparent to them. 

“I don’t know if Hogwarts is ever going to forget.” 

“Us too.”

“Yes, us too. Maybe someday it will heal and scar over.” 

“Do you believe in that?” 

“Maybe someday.” 

Chapter Text

Minerva McGonagall did not like being a headmistress. She did not understand what Albus had seen in the position, apart from power and the highly respected status of being a headmaster of Hogwarts. It certainly came with perks but the downsides far outdid all the good. Administrative paperwork was piling up on the desktop and on the additional filing cabinet she had been forced to conjure. There was a lot that did not even have anything to do with the school. People asking Minerva for guidance in various magical problems. The most recent was from the young Charlie Weasley, currently researching Bulgaria. Minerva expected Charlie Weasley to know more about dragon handling at this point than her. What was the boy expecting her to do about anything? Sighing Minerva wrote down a list of possible books that could help her research. She could at least borrow some of the Hogwarts books to Charlie. Borrowing out books to any Weasley other than Percival sent shivers down her spine. At least, Percival had been a sensible, smart boy since the first year. She was quite sure that she could reason on the case with Irma Pince. Hopefully. 

It was the first year since the war and Minerva had been expecting a relaxing vacation. Perhaps a little time to herself and a nice walk out to Hogsmeade. There was an unread detective novel sitting on her bedside table that she had been looking forward to reading. Now even a lunch seemed so distant. There was just too much work for her. Minerva noted that she needed to find a proper secretary as soon as possible. The amount of correspondence the headmistress of Hogwarts was expected to carry was outlandish and she was not going to stand for it. Bitterly she thought about all the small things she had been carrying out for Albus. Now there was no Minerva McGonagall to do all those things for her. Smartly, the painting of Albus Dumbledore stayed empty. That man was staying lazy even after death. Minerva shook her head in disapproval and wished for a second that she were a painting able to skip work.

Unprecedentedly, all the children had left for the holidays. There had always been a couple who had lingered either to study or for less than pristine home conditions. Minerva could understand why parents did not want their children staying in the castle that still carried the too-fresh memories of a battle. During her lifetime, Minerva had seen the Wizarding World go through so much that this had not deterred her from Hogwarts. It was still the same place it had been a decade ago. Even then, there had been horrendous things happening within these walls. Even some of the teachers had left for holidays. Professor Pomona Sprout and Madame Poppy Pomfrey had been exceptions, as both had too many ongoing projects to take any time off. She was faintly aware that Professor Filius Flintwick was somewhere close, too, but he had been working on upgraded alarms for the premises. Minerva had tasked him with those immediately after she had gotten officially hired as the headmistress. It had been alright to have lesser protection when Albus had still been around but she was nowhere near Albus’ level and could not protect everyone like he had. 

Minerva was quietly glad of the familiar company. They had all known each other for decades. The time had forged a true, trusting friendship. Pomona had given her an herbal concoction of some sort to drink when the nights grew too long and she was forced to sleep less. Poppy highly disapproved but Minerva could not afford to listen to her advice right now. Poppy wanted her to rest more and work less. With the current workload, that was just not possible. Minerva noted down to take some time to have tea with both of them at some point during the holidays. 

One of the newer shields pinged. Someone was flying through the aerial protective shields. A glance at the miniature Hogwarts on its stand showed a small figure flying down and landing in front of the front door. Minerva recognized the blond hair and neatly styled flying cloak embroidered with green and silver snakes. She had thought that young Draco Malfoy was spending his holiday with Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks. The miniature was too small for Minerva to see him so she put the quill down and organised the papers into their perspective piles on the table. She tucked her wand away and transformed into a small, black cat. It was good to stretch her legs like this every once in a while. 

Minerva walked the halls leisurely before intercepting Draco Malfoy. He was carrying all of his luggage and had a lumos floating in front of him. The light was pale and white. He did not look inclined for a chat so Minerva left him alone. Sometimes she worried for the boy but felt her hands tied if he did not ask for anything. Minerva recognised how difficult the situation was. She had seen how the Slytherins were acting this year but did not know how to help them. Not when even Professor Horace Slughorn told everything was under control. She trusted Horace to tell her if something so big happened that her help was required. 

Young Draco Malfoy had become more skittish and there was that unmistakeable weariness of someone who had seen too much. Most of the young students had it but Draco carried it like a badge. He didn’t shy away from it and it was evident in his eyes like joy had been sucked out of them. Minerva still remembered how the boy had been not even a decade ago when he had been sorted into Slytherin. She did not know when things had gone so wrong. She did not know who to blame for how things turned out for the Slytherins. Was there something she could have done better? She admitted that there were too many things for her to take care of and time and time again, Slytherins slipped her mind. Even now, when she thought about the house she could not muster a lot of empathy. Some so many wizards had turned out horrible and had been proud Slytherins. It was like there was something in their values, something inherently evil. Minerva could not even properly remember what the true Slytherin values were. It was like they had been switched with the Death Eater values. She could not be at ease with them around. Not like with the Gryffindor youth. 

~

For the next couple of days, Minerva barely saw Draco Malfoy even if she patrolled the hallways more than necessary and mentioned his presence to the other professors. Grammy Mattina popped in to complain about dear boy’s bad eating habits but otherwise, it was like Draco Malfoy had not even arrived yet. He was truly studying. Not that Minerva expected anything else. But it was better to be certain than wrong in these kinds of things. She still had not forgotten what happened a couple of years ago. She never would. 

Draco Malfoy had always studied hard. Minerva had noted that already in the first year. It had surprised her then, it continued to surprise her. He did not seem the type. He had always had the air of a noble son. He still did but it was more subdued now. Even as a child he had been prepared. He had read the books, did his homework, and listened intently during the lectures. He was intelligent, scarily so sometimes, but he had never looked so desperate as he did this year. There was a fire lit underneath him. Minerva wished that he did not burn out. 

Minerva wrote a short note to Horace. She wanted him to make sure everything was truly alright with Draco Malfoy. He would hopefully benefit from guidance from someone. Slughorn seemed the right fit for it. They were both Slytherins and talked the same language.

~

Only a few days after Draco Malfoy, a bigger surprise woke Minerva from exhausted sleep. She had barely been able to fall asleep while perusing some papers she needed to get through tomorrow when the shields pinged. Someone was flying in again. She threw a warm quilt over her shoulders and padded out of the neat bedroom over the headmaster’s office. The spiral staircase, littered with candles and dripping with wax, lit up on every step and she made sure not to accidentally make the quilt catch fire. 

Minerva was not nervous. It was probably just another student who was done with their vacation or needed a vacation from their parents. It was always difficult to acclimate back to a home environment after the personal freedom of Hogwarts. She remembered how it had been with her and how she had spent many a holiday roaming the halls of Hogwarts just to avoid going home. Summer vacations had always been enough for her. 

Out of all possible students, Harry Potter was not one of them. She had thought that he was spending a proper holiday, for once, with the Weasleys. She had heard about the break-up between Ginerva and Harry but that was common with teenagers. They would get together at one point again. It was how it usually went with these teenage couples. On and off, and then off and on again. 

This was one more point Minerva did not like about being the headmistress. Suddenly, she knew everything there was to know about the students and their private lives. The students probably did not even know that Minerva knew everything that was going on inside their castle walls and a lot of things that went about even outside. The parents sent her letters and she knew who was who. She knew everyone and their mother. It was a strange thought, especially to someone as private as Minerva. 

Harry rushed toward the Eight-Year Dorm. He seemed to be in a hurry. Minerva let him go in peace and turned back upstairs but stopped midway. She was up anyway, might as well work for a second. For a fleeting second Minerva thought about warning Harry about Draco Malfoy staying in the dorm for the holidays but decided against it. They had not been fighting this year and Minerva did not want to do anything that could upset this strained truce. She chuckled remembering all the trouble those two had gotten over the years. 

Harry and Draco Malfoy had been clashing since day one. Minerva did not know where it had even begun but those two just could not be in the same room without squibbling. It had been ridiculous when they had been younger. Minerva had gotten a migraine more than once or twice over it. It had affected lectures when Slytherins and Gryffindors had been put together. Quidditch had been more interesting because of it. It was like those two had an unhealthy obsession with besting each other. Minerva could not understand those boys. It seemed they were destined to be rivals. For a while, it had been healthy growth for them. Draco Malfoy’s spiral into destruction had destroyed it. Minerva had seen the shift in him. Had seen it but been unable to intervene. Albus had told her he was going to handle it. Bloody well he had handled it back then! 

~

“I saw them sitting together in the library,” astonished Irma updated as she walked to the professors’ common area. “Malfoy was teaching Harry wandless magic. I didn’t know he could do that.” 

“He has been more interested in herbs lately,” Pomona added from her place between the fireplace and the carnivorous vine she had brought there herself. “He even came to ask for additional reading material recommendations. Last year he didn’t even decide to step into the green room!” 

“They look relaxed together,” Poppy said. She was smiling pleasantly. She was the only one not surprised by how well those two were getting on. “I heard them laughing in the kitchen yesterday evening. It’s healthy. I am happy for them.” There was a pointed edge to her voice. She was willing something into existence. 

“Yes, yes, of course, Poppy. I just meant that I am surprised that this is happening. I didn’t expect this at all!” 

“I thought Hell would freeze before those two would sit together in class, not even talking about it during their free time!” Irma said. It had been the hottest topic during these last couple of days. 

“I saw them flying in the morning. They were playing catch. They were competitive but not violently so,” Minerva joined the discussion. She would never admit to this level of gossip but it was relaxing to talk about something else than work for a second. The odd behaviour from both boys was a respite in her busy schedule. 

“Harry has always been nice like that. I’m sure he saw how they were all treated and decided to  show true Gryffindor spirit.” Hagrid had taken to taking tea with them every once in a while, too, and talked proudly about the boy. “That Malfoy boy even came to tea with Harry. He was being polite and all. Enjoyed the cake!” 

“Really?” Irma’s eyes shone with barely concealed glee as she listened to Hagrid recount the quick afternoon tea a couple of days ago. 

Harry and Draco Malfoy’s odd friendship had livened the sleepy professors’ common area. Now everyone had something to talk about. They were excitedly talking about the quickest sighting although no one dared to disturb the two of them. It was still vacation time, after all. They were all sure that the boys wanted to be left alone. They didn’t even eat at the great hall. 

Minerva had been beyond surprised the first day when she had seen Malfoy and Harry walking side by side with arms piled high with bread and jams and nothing sustainable to eat. At least their appetite was like that of a teenage boy. It was a relief. They had been walking close together, shoulders almost brushing each other. There had been a comfortable silence between them. Like after a long day when you just sit quietly on a sofa with someone. She had thought that it was a one-off, then, but had been completely wrong. 

The next morning, Minerva had seen them flying together for the first time. It had become a habit of them since then. Sometimes Minerva could feel the slipping to the other side of the wards. Later, while walking with Poppy in Hogsmeade she noticed Harry and Malfoy walking together. Heads leaning together they were whispering to each other, laughing slightly and Harry pointed at somewhere. Malfoy slapped him but there was an almost fond smile on his face. Harry grinned red-faced. 

“They look happy,” Poppy noted and tugged Minerva’s arm. They turned away from the boys. “Let’s give them some privacy. I’m sure they wouldn’t like to bump into their teachers right now.” 

~

As the end of the holidays crept closer, the two students seemed more subdued. Minerva had already gotten used to seeing them flying in the mornings out of her office window. They looked so free. Now they came flying earlier and earlier, sometimes even before the sun had properly risen. 

After an especially close game, Harry rolled on the soft snow. From the window, Minerva could see his face stretched on a wide grin as he yelled something to Malfoy still up in the air. His cheeks were flushed red from the exercise and cold, Malfoy was looking anything but neat and polished. Malfoy yelled something in the back, and to Minerva’s astonishment stuck out his tongue. Harry threw a snowball. 

Running after laughing Harry, Malfoy tried to throw a snowball. Minerva noticed that he was laughing, too. Harry stumbled on the high snow and Malfoy pushed him on the ground. They looked so boyish then. Minerva blinked back tears. She could almost hear them laugh. She had not even dreamed about hearing such laughter here now. The war had sucked joy, not only from the eyes of the students but from the castle itself. Sometimes Minerva could swear she could hear it cry. Now, these two boys were giving back a sliver of the youthful joy it had been filled with only a couple of years back. As the laughter died from their lips, Minerva turned back to work on her papers. She wanted to be done with this pile before lunch. She had promised to eat with Poppy today. 

~

Irma commented that Malfoy and Harry had not spent much time together in the library today. It was two days before the rest of the students were scheduled to arrive. “Usually they sit hours in the quiet corner next to the forbidden books. I didn’t even tell them to hush when they started to talk loudly!” she added. “There was no reason to. They’re the only ones frequenting the library right now so a little noise isn’t going to disturb anyone.”

“Harry came to eat dinner in the great hall with me,” Hagrid said. “He was really quiet. Deep in thought. Maybe Malfoy did or said something. He has always had a sharp tongue.” 

“They both have explosive personalities,” Poppy said. She did not like to hear others badmouth Malfoy too much. “People have disagreements. I’m sure they know how to sort it out.”

“They’re Harry and Malfoy. When are they not fighting?” Minerva laughed. It sounded forced even to her. Somehow they had all gotten used to seeing the two of them getting along these couple of days. It was unsettling to see them have something going on between them. 

Later that day, Malfoy was alone studying in the library when Minerva walked past to ask Irma about the books for Charlie Weasley. It was certainly not because she wanted to see this change in the two of them personally. Malfoy stared at him slightly warily as she walked past him. 

“Malfoy,” Minerva nodded and he just nodded quietly back. 

In the forbidden books section, Irma whispered to Minerva: “You see what I meant! They seemed to enjoy each other’s company so much just yesterday.” 

“Irma, you need another hobby,” 

“Nonsense, I have these to keep me company,” Irma waved the paperback book in her hand. It had a picture of a long-haired half-dressed man on the cover. Minerva shuddered. “It’s not like you’re inviting me to your strolls.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Pince,” Minerva said coldly. Irma just cackled before turning to her book. She had never been one to keep much company. This novelty hobby was slowly exhausting her, Minerva could see. She just hoped it would not affect her work. The older students would riot if the books they desperately needed for NEWTS were not sorted out properly promptly. 

Malfoy had disappeared from the library by the time Minerva finally left. Harry was eating alone in the great hall. He looked lonely with a single toast with jam in front of him. 

“Evening, Harry.” Minerva approached Harry sitting on the Gryffindor table. “How are you doing?” 

“All good, Professor McGonagall.” It seemed to be Harry’s default answer. He had always been someone who tried to deal with things by himself, or with his friends. Minerva could understand his distrust of adults 

“You do know that you’re allowed to be not fine, right Harry?” 

Harry looked startled at that. Jam spilled on his fingers as his toast was left midway from the table to mouth. “Yeah, of course, professor. But I really am alright. Or at least, I’m just having a bad day or something.” 

“If you say so, Harry. I just want you to know that we professors are here to help you with anything. My office door is always open to you.” Minerva turned to walk away and let Harry eat his toast in peace. It seemed like he did not want to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him. 

“Actually, professor,” Harry jumped up just as Minerva was about to leave. “I have something I need advice about… I mean my friend has something he, I mean she, needs help with. You know. I have been pondering about it.” 

“I see,” Minerva said slowly, “Do you mean Hermione Granger?”

“No, no,” Harry was beginning to look flushed, “This is another friend. You don’t know her. She, uh, doesn’t attend Hogwarts.”

“Right..” Minerva sat down on the other side of the table and conjured a cup of tea with a splash of milk and a cube of sugar. Just like she liked it. 

“Well, you see, h-she is sleeping with someone,” 

Minerva almost choked on her tea. 

“Not like that professor,” Harry's eyes went wide. He was even more flushed. “I mean, they’re literally sleeping together. Not.. uh, having sex.” They both looked very uncomfortable by this trajectory and Harry cleared his throat before continuing again. 

“Anyways, they’ve been doing that for a while now. It’s just, at some point they gotta stop doing that but I-she doesn’t want to. Or want to think about it like that? You know. The future is uncertain and all that. Why do we need to talk about things when they’re good right now? It would just shake the boat unnecessarily.” 

Minerva did not know how to respond. She had not signed up for this when she had accepted the headmistress position. 

“And now he’s saying that he will go away!” Harry sounded desperate. “I don’t want him to go away! It’s all so confusing! Or I mean, that’s what she said.” 

“Right,” Minerva tried to gather her thoughts. “Well, it does not sound like he is immediately going.” She did not know how to word things so Harry did not realise she knew just exactly what he was talking about. “You need to talk about things. If you do not talk about it and tell how you are feeling or how him leaving will make you feel, you cannot expect him to know.”

“We never talk like that,” 

“Perhaps it is time to start. You cannot build a relationship on silence.”

“Right, professor. I guess you’re right.” 

“And Harry, this world is much wider than these halls. There are so many opportunities and paths you have not been able to see because of these tall walls. You are so young. I know it must not feel like it sometimes but there are so many things for you to experience in life, so much for you to learn. Do not make hasty decisions, Harry, and take your time. But do communicate.” Minerva was sweating internally. She had no idea how to give romantic advice. She did not know how Albus had been able to impart his wisdom. She felt like she had no wisdom to give. But Harry looked satisfied. He smiled gratefully at her. 

“I’ll go and talk to him, I mean, tell her to go talk to him. Thanks, professor.” 

Minerva waved Harry off as he stuffed the rest of his toast in his mouth and rushed off. It was a shame that she respected her students’ privacy and did not rush to the other professors to tell them about this unlikely twist in their new favorite drama. She chuckled and wondered how long it would take for Irma to find out something was going on. 

Chapter Text

"Mother said France is good for us nowadays," Draco suddenly said one day. "She wants me to join her there." He was sitting on his side of the bed, staring at a heavy, dusty book. Just moments ago, puffs of dust had floated all around the room like the fine, powdery snow that coated the lands around Hogwarts. Harry had been lazily following the scattering dust as it settled on corners and top of their clothes and the blankets neatly folded on top of the bed. Harry could see it floating even on Draco's blond hair and causing him to sneeze absentmindedly. Harry imagined how Draco would scrunch his nose up in displeasure if he realised just how dusty his tomes were. Harry had thought Draco to be so immersed in reading his books that he wasn't paying attention to anything else.

"France, " Harry parroted and turned to stare at Draco, who was still looking at the book. Feeling Harry's eyes on him, Draco turned his attention away from the book and raised his eyebrow.

"France," Draco continued, "Known for its pastries and Centuries of animosity with the English. Great wines and chateaus. Do you need me to point it on the map?"

Harry brushed nonexistent dust from his sleeve. The blanket was fascinating. Harry had never before realised how it was just off-white, kind of a creamish colour. It contrasted slightly with the colour of the pillows. He had always thought they were the same colour, how fascinating indeed!

There was humming in Harry's head, like bees buzzing and wind blowing, throwing everything around and rearranging things without his consent. Words rattled all around like hayballs in an old Western movie he had seen when Dudley was going through a cowboy phase. He could almost remember a whistling tune.

France

Harry hated France. The people there were snobs and awful and probably very good-looking with their berettes and baquettes. They had mustaches and talked about art while drinking awful drinks and eating awful frogs.

"I thought you needed to concentrate on your studies," Harry remarked, looking pointedly at the book on Draco's lap. He didn't want to see how Draco's hold on it tightened and how his fingertips turned paler. Draco pursed his lips together and turned away from Harry. "Well, good for you, " Harry continued with a dry, humourless laugh "Can't have a Malfoy study too hard, right?"

Harry knew he had crossed some unseen line as the atmosphere in the room turned frosty, but he just couldn't stop. The more he thought about Draco there, in France, laughing in a café with some frustratingly handsome bloke named Pierre who joked in a refined, pureblooded way, the angrier Harry got. Draco would share that secret smile of his that even Harry only got to see on very special occasions.

"Good for you then!" Harry almost yelled at Draco as he got up from bed. Draco almost lost his balance as the bed shifted as Harry moved. He still didn't say anything, only held on to his book. "Can't handle it when things get tough, so you run to *mother* in France! Good for wizards like you? I'm sure it is! There must be plenty of wizards like you there, how pleasant!"

Harry was shouting. He didn't know why he was shouting, why his heart was beating like it tried to fly away from his chest. He couldn't see clearly where he was going but needed to get out of the room immediately before he would say something horrible to Draco.

What had Draco even said to him? How had they ended up in this situation? Harry couldn't remember as he rushed from the dorm. He didn't know where he was going. All he could see was the retreating back of Draco as he carried his luggage and waved goodbye. Terry was sitting there on his shoulder and hooted one final time to Harry before Draco completely disappeared from Harry's sight.

That would be it. Draco would leave for France and have a great life there. He would see other proper wizards who knew about the etiquette and had parents and houses and plans for the future. There would be that bastard Pierre who was a great inheritor and collected antiquities and took part in politics. He wore only proper clothing and didn't make Draco frown.

Fucking France. Fucking Pierre such a smug bastard! Harry could see how Pierre smirked at him with eyes that said everything. *This is my rightful place now, you pathetic coward.* Pierre would sleep next to Draco. Harry almost stopped breathing.

~

Hagrid could hear Harry marching to the great hall before he saw the young man pushing the doors aggressively open. He looked seething, and while Hagrid hated to see his friend angry, he was glad to see that Harry was acting his age again. The war had taken much from him, but only truly adults were supposed to shove their emotions aside for the greater good. Hagrid waved to Harry but wasn't surprised when he barely even noticed Hagrid. 

Perhaps it was his years working with animals, but Hagrid wasn't one to pry into others' business. Harry would open up when he felt like it and not a moment earlier. Everyone deserved a little melancholia every once in a while. Sometimes, a session of good self-pity did wonders to one's mood, and Hagrid was sure that Harry would be more energetic again tomorrow. Now, he just needed to mope and stir his barely touched bowl of stew in peace. 

~

Harry barely even registered Hagrid's presence during dinner. He couldn't remember what he had eaten and how he had made his way to the owlery, where the cold wind was blowing and turning his fingertips and nose numb. Harry didn't care. He needed this to wake up. To sort things out. Perhaps enough wind would finally blow all his scattered thoughts back to their rightful places, and he wouldn't need to chase them all around his head.

The cold wind was enough to calm Harry down. Slowly, he started to think more clearly and woke up to the horror and embarrassment that was his behaviour just a couple of hours ago. Harry couldn't be that childish and throw a tantrum before Draco even properly said anything. Perhaps Harry had just misunderstood everything. There was no way that the Draco Malfoy would just quit school in the middle of the last year and move to the continent just because his mother said so. He would want to win against Hermione and get perfect scores to flaunt everyone's faces. He would be filled with Slytherin pride and smile in that smug way, just like he had when they had all been younger. Harry hadn't seen that smile in a while. In some twisted way, Harry missed that infuriating smile that had always made Harry want to throw a punch.

There was no reasonable explanation for the embarrassing behaviour. Harry didn't understand why he had been so distraught by such trivial matters. The mere thought of Draco going somewhere was causing a hollow pit in Harry's stomach, and he started to feel coldness spread all around. It was like fear but worse. It was like looking at an incoming train but being unable to jump out of the way before the collision.

There was no train, though. Only Draco and the room. The quiet that encompassed them had turned oppressive, holding his breath hostage. Perhaps Harry would rather get crushed by the train than face Draco, truly face him.

Harry wanted to close that space for them. He wanted to turn the room into a universe where nothing but them existed. There, hanging in the middle of the endless space, they could stay and never worry about anything ever again. There, Harry would be at peace. He would be happy. He would have everything that matters there.

The thought made Harry intensely guilty. Draco should never be able to compare to Ron and Hermione. Draco could never understand him like Ron and Hermione did. They had been through thick and thin together. They were his brothers in arms, his family. Yet, here he was, hoping to spend an eternity together with Draco where no one would disturb them.

Harry blinked. There was something wrong with that. A thought evaded him. He could feel it there at the back of his head, but whenever he approached, it slipped away, leaving Harry feeling uncomfortable and out of breath. His heart was racing. It was like trying to remember a dream after you have already properly woken up.

Harry was standing on the edge of something. He couldn't see down into the darkness. It made his heart race. He could jump down. Something was waiting for him down there.

But the world is filled with ugly, horrible things. Harry didn't want to think about them. Didn't want to remember their existence at all. Down there, in the fringes of his consciousness, there would be something lurking. It would take him and tie him there. He would face it and stare at it eye to eye. Would whatever else there is be worth it?

Harry turned around and walked away.

~

Late in the evening, Harry was staring at the door to the room. His fingers were still sticky with jam, but he just wiped them on his trousers. He stood there trying to hear what Draco was doing inside but could hear nothing. Harry could barely even remember why he had gotten angry and tried to recall what he had said, but nothing came to mind. His mind had been blank, only seeing that horrifying image of Draco leaving him. He had wanted to hurt Draco. Had wanted to make him feel as miserable and afraid as he had been in the moment.

Harry didn't know how to make up with Draco. They were practically nothing, and everything they had existed somewhere far from this place and time. Sometimes, Harry felt like there were two sets of them. The pair of them that lived in reality and the pair that lived in the room. Now, Harry didn't know if he could be in the room again. Could he be the Harry that only existed there? Would Draco allow him that? It felt suffocating to know how much power Draco wielded over him. Mere words or a closed door could completely crush him. Harry hated the thought of that.

Perhaps they could ignore that just like they ignored everything else. There were so many unsaid things hanging in the air around them that a couple more couldn't hurt. Harry opened the door and peeked his head in. Draco would be there just like usual, and they wouldn't need to think about it again. McGonagall was wrong. They could go on like this without the discomfort, without the looming threat of words that Harry didn't want to hear.

The room was empty.

Draco's papers were neatly stacked on the desk next to the pile of books he had been reading the whole break. All Harry's things were where he had left them. His pillow was still on the bed, and his side of it was in disarray. Harry felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Draco wouldn't throw him away. Of course, he wouldn't.

Harry walked to the desk to take a look at what Draco had been reading. His notes were still all about herbology. Harry still didn't understand why Draco was trying to do something he so clearly had no interest in. His notes were meticulous, and he had even annotated them with different colours. At the bottom of the page, Harry felt the page wrinkle before he looked at the smudges that littered the last lines of text.

Draco's beautiful handwriting was all messed up by apparent water droplets on the page. The ink had smeared, turning the writing illegible. Harry gritted his teeth together and put the paper back down. He felt ugly. This wasn't what he had wanted.

Trying to avoid the papers on the desk, Harry's eyes roamed around the room. They were stinging, and he tried blinking hard. His eyes returned to the desk, and he looked over the neatly put writing supplies. All the quills and the ink bottle were of the best quality, clearly bespoke and made for Draco, probably as a present from his parents or some relatives or such. There was a neat stack of letter envelopes and drops of wax and the seal he often used. Not the Malfoy one, but the one for Draco. Next to them, there was the paper knife holder; it looked like an antique from China or somewhere else in the East.

There was the holder.

Harry's heart stopped.

His hands started shaking. His legs almost gave out. There was a terrible feeling in his gut. He had to be wrong. He had to be. It made no sense.

Harry rushed out of the dorm. There were hallways everywhere. The Hogwarts was truly a place where you could wander forever. The empty halls had nothing except for the picturesque snow slowly falling and disappearing into nothingness.

nonononononononononono

It would be impossible to find Draco if he didn't wish to be found. Harry couldn't think clearly. He couldn't think at all. Draco could be anywhere. The night had fallen, and he could be out there in the forest. Maybe he knew of some secret passages to the Slytherin rooms, or maybe he had gone away.

nononono

Draco was somewhere, and Harry could find him. He must.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry remembered the map. He turned back, running down the stairs he had been mindlessly running up, and almost scared Grammy Mattina off the painting as he forced the painting open and stepped back into the Eight-Year Dorm and his room. Everything was blurry, and it was difficult to concentrate on the dots on the map. He didn't see Draco anywhere.

But that was silly. The war was over already. Harry stopped thinking.

Draco's name was there inside the Prefect Bathroom. The map slipped from Harry's fingers immediately, but he didn't even register it as he turned to run. His mind was blank, his body numb. Harry could see himself running, but none of it felt like it was happening.

This was just a bad dream. A horrible mistake. Someone was doing a trick on him. Harry didn't understand the joke, but it had to be something funny.

Harry couldn't remember the secret password to the bathroom. He couldn't remember any spells either, but his wand knew what to do. Magic surged all around him as Harry pointed towards the sculpture or the painting or maybe just a part of the wall, whatever it was that was between him and Draco.

Pieces of the Hogwarts flew all around him, but now there was a hole where hot eucalyptus-scented steam escaped. The air made Harry gag. He imagined it was tinted with the foul smell of iron.

Harry stepped over the pieces and rubble into the bathroom. The sound of water cascading down echoed all around him, and the bathroom was dim and steamy, making it difficult to see anything.

"Draco," Harry's voice broke the silence. "Draco, answer me." There was a pleading, breaking edge to Harry's tone, but no one responded.

Finally, at the edge of the pool, Harry saw a figure sitting with their legs hanging in the pool. The smell of iron was thick in the air, drowning out the scented steam. Harry stopped running only after he could see Draco clearly. The paper knife was lying on the floor tiles next to him.

Hearing Harry approach, Draco slowly turned his face, but his eyes seemed unseeing, unfocused, and red. He was holding his forearm with his other hand. The stark contrast between Draco's pale skin and the dark blood was deeply upsetting.

"It just doesn't come off," Draco finally said when Harry kneeled next to him and tried to reach for Draco's arm. "It's bad. Don't. "

"We need to bandage it," Harry could barely speak. There was a lump in his throat.

"There's nothing you can do about it, " Draco continued like Harry hadn't said anything. He pulled his arm closer to his body and twisted away from Harry's hands. "We deserve it."

"We?"

"Wizards like me."

Harry felt like someone just punched him. There, under all that blood, was a tattoo staring at him. Harry blinked rapidly but reached for Draco's arm again.

"That's not what I meant," Harry said as he finally got close enough to pull Draco's arm, slick with blood, and start treating it with the rudimentary healing spells he had learned on the run from Hermione. This wasn't how they were supposed to be used. "You know that's not what I meant."

Draco's unseeing eyes were staring right back at him. Harry felt horrible. He pulled Draco closer until all he could smell was the cherry shampoo. Maybe this was all just a horrible mistake.

The war was over.

no

Chapter Text

Wizards like you

Everything slowed down. Or sped up. Draco wasn't sure. Things tended to live their own time, stretching all around, not letting him keep up. Blinking, Draco tried to clear the fog from his mind, but it had started to wander already. Voices ceased to exist.

No. There were voices. Of course, there were voices. There were always voices around. Harry's mouth wasn't his own. It was a table, not a mouth. His teeth were glass, shattering and flying everywhere as the plates were flung and the table crashed on the ground. Someone behind Harry was screaming. It was a woman. Or something that used to be a woman years ago before she had turned into a thing screaming at him.

Harry was still speaking. He looked angry, but Draco heard no words, just cruel laughter and the voice he would never forget. The tension in the dining room made it impossible to breathe. Snake slithered in, dragging something behind it. These noises didn't belong here. This time didn't belong here. Draco didn't belong here. He was carrying all this unbelonginess with him. He wanted to throw up.

The world around Draco moved faster, leaving him standing there in the quicksand. Harry was moving, but before Draco could even lift his hand, the door had already slammed shut.

Draco turned to the window, trying to open the latch with trembling fingers. The breeze against his face wasn't the fresh and crisp winter wind he had wished it to be. He slid on the floor.

Spells have a distinct scent to them. Pain has a smell to it. The salty tears mixed with the iron of blood. The smell of vomit and urine. The dungeons. Draco could not forget the acidic, corrosive smell lingering all around him, inside of him. Like filth, it spread from his fingertips to everything he touched. All the spells he had cast while his father was watching were still under his fingernails like dried blood and caked mud.

Somewhere in another time, something died. Draco didn't look it in the eyes as the light went off. He never looked. He didn't see the limbs twitching, and he didn't hear that awful sound when the breath leaves a body one final time. The smell of death wasn't there in the room. It was somewhere in another time where Draco no longer existed.

Yet there he was like a bad penny. With his blond hair and haughty attitude, the boy gripped the wand. Draco didn't recognize the boy. He didn't want to. The boy turned to look at him with his cold, pale eyes and smirked. Only Draco could see that he was gritting his teeth behind the mask. The wand was raised. The scent of death lingered in the room.

~~

Draco looked at the book on the bed. How far away it felt in this moment, like an entirely different life altogether. Draco didn't even like herbology, yet there he was, making notes. It was all worthless. The mark on his forearm burned like it often did. He wanted to claw it out of him, turn it into a hide, and burn it. He wanted to chop off the arm that had done so much bad, too much bad. Still, Draco primly sat back on the bed, trying not to make a noise at all. He didn't want to hear anything at all, and he didn't want to see anything at all, either, but he needed to read the book. He needed to know everything there was. Be the best, be better, be good enough to exist.

Words on the page blurred under Draco's eyes. He could barely make out the words he was writing. Draco gripped the quill with his knuckles white. Pain radiated from his palm where the tips of his fingers pressed against the tender skin. He could still feel the tendrils of something taking him away, the humming sounds that sometimes came over him and washed everything away like the waves of an ocean crashing into the shoreline before pulling back into the depths, leaving only foam behind.

Muggles had this strange story about a mermaid who turned into sea foam from all the heartbreak she was feeling. Draco quite liked the story. He would never be the seafoam. He would be the head of a swimmer trying to get home but always pressed under the water as the waves crash on his back. He would have a mouthful of foam and water after another until there was nothing left. Perhaps that wasn't so bad, either. The end result would still be the same.

~~

All Draco had wanted was to wash the ever-present smell of filth away. He had wanted to wash himself clean of it all. He had wanted to cut it off and turn over a new leaf. It had never worked before. No matter how much he scrubbed, the smell of pain was still there, following him wherever he went, whatever he did. It changed its shape and twisted into forms Draco didn't wish to see, like it was enjoying the torment. The warm scent of something familiar and comforting mixed into it, making Draco feel more filthy. He was spreading it, letting everyone else get infected, too. Draco threw up.

This wasn't what Draco had wanted, not what he had ever wanted. Not when the looming eyes had made him obedient, not when the cane had hit him, not when he had been happy and smiling. That didn't matter, though. Things like that never mattered. Cane hit him. Or it hit somebody that had once been him. Or hadn't. Draco couldn't be sure anymore.

Maybe things would be different here. Here, where it all had started, where things had started to go wrong. At the root of it. These walls remember. Inside of each brick was a scream locked never to be let out. They had been wet with tears and the blood of the spirits who haunted these walls. Uncorrupted and weathering the test of time and everything humanity could throw at its way. These walls judged Draco, yet they still directed him into the right direction. The steam hitting his face was an invitation. The water would finally wash him clean, wipe away the blood still staining his hands.

Draco's hands were wet with blood, but there was no pain. Only the crashing noises of water, like the waves on a distant shoreline in a dream Draco dare not to remember. This was penance. If Draco could only succeed in this one little task, he would be forgiven. He would be clean again. The blood flowing down felt good. It distanced Draco from everything. All the guilt seeped out with the blood. The scent of iron had never been so inviting.

But no matter how much the blood flowed, the dark mark didn't fade. Hogwarts would not forgive Draco. Was everything useless? Was he truly unforgivable?

Draco noticed Harry was there only when he was already reaching his untainted hand towards him. Draco was trying to push him away, mumbling something and trying to shake the haze away. Everything was distant, but the comfort it had given just a moment ago was gone. Where nothing had just been, now was starting to fill with panic, and shame.

Panic, much like adrenaline, woke Draco up. The awareness he hadn't even noticed came as a tidal wave. With it, rushed pain and Draco couldn't help gasping for air. Harry was casting something on his arm, but his glasses were fogged, and he couldn't even point the wand toward the wound properly. He was doing a hack job at it, too, Draco noted with a strange sense of calmness. He was there, but it was like watching something happen to someone else entirely. The panic subsided. It burrowed somewhere deep within to raise again when Draco the least expected it.

"Don't do that," Harry whispered as the blood started to dissipate as water currents stole it away. All that was left of the incident was the letter knife Harry had kicked far from Draco and the ugly scar it had left on Draco. "I didn't mean it like that", he repeated and wiped his glasses. The steam rose, making Harry damp and glued his hair on his forehead, hiding the scar on him completely. Most of the days, Draco didn't even notice it anymore. It was something so completely Potter that it required no mention, just like no one has awareness of another's ten fingers.

Draco tried to pull his arm back from Harry's lap, but Harry took hold of his wrist, and Draco could feel the slight tremor as Harry's hands shook. "I didn't mean it like that. It's the mark. You know how it is," Draco tried to explain lightly. He waved his other hand. "It just won't come off. How infuriating!"

Tension didn't leave Harry, and he just frowned even deeper. Even if Draco was the one who had been playing with a knife just a moment ago, Harry was the one looking like he would break apart in a second. He played quietly with Draco's fingers, moving them about in a delicate manner. It was like he was afraid Draco's fingers would disappear or shatter. Draco smiled slightly. The man looked like he would burst into tears any moment now, yet he was still so careful with Draco.

"I'm sorry," Draco finally sighed, wiping the light look from his face. "You just caught me at a bad moment. It looks worse than it is. I'm alright."

Harry stayed quiet, looking deep in thought. He fiddled with Draco's fingers until he gently put them back on his lap and turned to look up to Draco, who was still trying to smile slightly. He pulled his hand back and moved to raise slowly. The world was still blurry around the edges, and Draco wasn't confident about staying upright, but he needed to try. They couldn't spend the whole night on the Prefect Bathroom floor, even if it was dim and warm.

Every moment brought Draco more and more back to the present. The whole situation was mortifying, but it wasn't anything he didn't know how to handle. He was a Malfoy, through and through. These skills were ingrained into him, they were somewhere so deep that it was instinctual and as easy as breathing. He would brush it off, and life would go on like nothing had ever happened. Harry certainly didn't care enough to keep at it if Draco gave nothing away.

Draco was indeed a bit wobbly as he pushed himself up, but he would have stayed upright if Harry's hand hadn't shot up and dragged him back down again. "No!" he heard Harry shout before there was water all around them and something firm pressed against him. Harry pushed him down into the pool with frantic arms and pushed him with all his strength. For a split-second, Draco was sure that Harry had come to his senses and had decided to off him there and then. Draco's mind tried to keep up with everything that was happening, but even before his weak survival instincts had time to kick in, Harry pressed his hot lips against his, and it didn't matter if he had air or not anymore.

Harry Potter was kissing him like there was no tomorrow. It wasn't gentle, or how the rumours around the Hogwarts halls whispered him to be. He was more. The arms that had grabbed Draco and still trashed him about were almost painful. He was slammed against the pool side hard enough to gasp for breath. But there was only Harry's hot mouth and his tongue that pushed inside him like trying to choke him. The kiss was almost violent in its forcefulness, in its intensity, and Draco saw black spots all around his vision filled Harry.

Draco didn't hate it. In a second, the world had turned into just their bodies. Gone was the pain, the anxiety, the ever-present fear and panic. There was no space to feel any of that when Harry aggressively pushed everything away. Eagerly, Draco responded to the kiss. His fingers dug into Harry's shoulders, and he gave as good as he got.

By no means was Draco completely inexperienced when it came to intimacy, but there had always been a level of courtesy involved. All his former hopeless flings had begun lukewarm and ended much the same. It was just how things were done amongst purebloods. Excessive emotionality was frowned upon, and had anyone seen what Harry and Draco were up to, the shreds of Draco's dignity would have burned into ashes. It had nothing to do with who he was kissing but just how unrestrained they seemed splashing in the water. Harry didn't care, so Draco decided not to, either.

They were greedy and impatient and truly teenagers. Draco didn't much care for Harry's manhandling and pushed against the other. He leaned forward until Harry fell sitting in the pool. What a sight he was! His clothes were disheveled and glued to his skin, leaving very little to the imagination. The heat of the pools had made him flushed, and his lips were dark and swollen. He looked good. Of course he looked good, he was Harry Bloody Potter. There was hunger in his eyes, but as Draco climbed on top of him with every intention of making a mess out of him, uncertainty flashed and turned Harry into a deer looking at the oncoming lights, frozen and understanding the destruction of such a collision.

Indeed, it was Harry Potter. The hero of Hogwarts, the boy who lived, and the many more monikers he would get in the future. The boy was destined for greatness. He couldn't be here kissing death eaters, no matter how much said death eater wished for it. Not to mention, he had no right. No right at all to be having such desires. Draco pushed back his dripping hair and patted Harry on the shoulder. They should get going. This time, Harry let him stand up and wade to the end of the pool, and get up. Harry still had that lost look in his eyes, and Draco couldn't help but yell to him to get out of the water and hand him a clean, warm towel.

Somehow, during all of this, Draco had been wearing trousers. They were soaked and creating water pools of their own, but Draco was immensely grateful for whatever it had been that had directed him to the Prefect Bath this evening. Harry didn't need to be any more aware of Draco wanting him. He was ready to put this whole evening behind him, lock it into his memories, and never speak about it again. It was just a momentary fantasy. A curiosity quenched. They were teenagers, and there had been a lot of adrenaline involved. Draco had kissed for much worse reasons, much worse people.

~~

Draco had already committed to forgetting the whole incident, but suddenly, in their room, Harry opened that big mouth of his and shattered the comfortable, slightly suffocating silence. Draco was rummaging through his closet, trying to find another pair of trousers for his pajamas and half-heartedly drying his hair while Harry had already put on his awful sleepwear and was sitting on the bed, letting water droplets fall on the blankets.

"Did you like it?" Harry asked in a quiet voice. There was again that uncertain tone, and Draco didn't know how to answer. Surely, Harry couldn't be that dense. But of course, he was Potter, the reigning king of land obvious. Harry didn't seem like the kind who would want people waxing poetics about his skills in the bedroom, and Draco certainly wasn't the type to fawn over anyone. It went without saying that Draco had enjoyed it. Only a fool would not want to be kissed by Harry Potter.

Back to Harry, Draco rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. "Of course I did. Don't think I'm unable to push you off if I so desire." Draco reminded Harry of the moment in the Bath when he had pushed the other down, quite skillfully at that, too. Harry seemed to blush faintly at that, but Draco paid little attention. He kneeled behind Harry and took the towel to dry his hair properly. "You know that I hate wet hair in bed, Harry."

Harry just hummed in response, and Draco could almost hear the gears turning in his head. The moment turned soft. Harry was malleable under Draco's hands, and with every minute, he could feel control returning to him. The pieces that had been shattered all around were moving back to their original places like nothing had ever happened. Things were just like they always were, yet everything had changed. The air between them was charged with underlying tension, and Draco was aware of Harry in a way only possible when you have tasted something delicious and haven't had your fill. It was one thing to know something is delicious than to have tasted it before. It was unbearable yet better than anything Draco had ever experienced. The bittersweet taste of something so close, yet so far away.

"What if I want to do it again?" Harry continued cutting Draco's inner musings. "Can I?"

"Can you?" Draco echoed back. Time was starting to stretch again, but it was sweet, unfathomably sweet. It was bending around them like wrapping the two of them in soft cotton. Draco dared not dream anything; he didn't expect anything from this.

"Can I kiss you again?" Harry turned to look at Draco. His green eyes were piercing and ripped through all the layers of Draco until there was nothing left of him but the raw lump of a beating heart that was beating faster than healthy. Draco couldn't lie, not to Harry and not to himself now.

"You can do whatever you want," Draco whispered breathlessly. It was true. There was nothing Draco wouldn't give Harry if it was in his power. There was nothing he could deny the man. Harry had always been his weak spot, something he had been sore about, but underneath it all there had always been desire. It was not because he was Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, or because they had been building up this tension for as long as they had known each other. No, it was simply because he was Harry. Perhaps that was what Harry saw in him as he leaned forward and kissed him again. This time, it was tender enough to hurt more than their rough first kiss. Draco blinked back the tears as he succumbed to being kissed.

Chapter Text

Harry didn't want the holidays ever to end. But as they say, nothing lasts forever. Slowly, students started to appear with their luggage and Yule gifts given by guardians and friends. They were filled with new-found energy and buzzed around excitedly talking about their vacations. The quiet halls were filled with the noises of children. Harry wasn't grumpy enough to miss just how precious it was for these halls to be filled with joyous noises again. Slowly, the world was repairing itself. Harry couldn't help feeling stuck in time. Everyone was moving forward, but here he was, haunting the halls he once called home. He knew it was ridiculous to think like that. They had all gotten the talk last summer.

"There is no shame feeling the after-effects for everything. These things take time to heal. Much like your bodies, your minds need time to rest and relax. Give it enough time, and let yourself process everything in peace. If any of you ever feel the need, or just want to, talk to someone, you are always welcome to contact me or anyone else at the St. Mungos," one of the healers there had said after the physical examinations. It was in a similar vein to the one Madam Pomfrey had given them at the beginning of the school year. They had all the time in the world to gradually get better, but it didn't feel like that when everyone else was happily buzzling ahead. Even Draco had his ambitions and was working hard.

There wasn't a moment when Draco wasn't working on something. He didn't seem to have a free moment in the day. If he wasn't working the books and scribbling notes in that neat handwriting of his, he was making potions or visiting the greenhouse. He didn't even like it there, yet still he diligently went there every so often! When Harry had asked about it, Draco just scoffed that as a Malfoy, anything less than perfection was unacceptable.

"It's easy for you, Harry," Draco said when once again Harry was pestering him about taking a break and doing something fun for once. "Your road is paved for you. I can already see the headlines: 'Youngest head auror in history: Harry Potter'. As long as you don't miserably fail all of your exams - which isn't an impossibility, mind you, Harry, you should finish your homework - you will wear the Auror's cloak as soon as you walk out of these doors."

Draco was, of course, right, but Harry couldn't help the dread weighing down on him. Ten years ago, he hadn't even known that wizards existed, and now he was joining the magical police. It felt unreal.

As more and more students came back, Harry and Draco spent more time in their room. Draco seemed completely content on staying in, even if none of the Eight Year students were yet to come. Harry didn't truly mind it, either, but that didn't stop him from complaining. Disapproval and exasperation looked good on Draco, and Harry could have watched Draco roll his eyes as he gave in to whatever Harry wanted. The thought shot shivers down his spine as he turned around to look at Draco working on something. It was dreadfully early in the morning, but Draco was already up with a cup of tea and the usual setup of books all around him, steadily floating in the air.

"You should wake up, Harry. Weren't you supposed to meet your friends at the Ministry today?" Harry regretted telling Draco about the whole deal. It would have been better to spend the last day of the holiday here.

Sighing, Harry got up and turned to look for his clothes. At some point, his clothes and other possessions just had started to wander there. He was pretty sure he hadn't brought anything with him that he had left behind, but still there were his jeans neatly folded on the armchair. The Marauders' Map was lying on the shelf next to Draco's better quill, which he only used during the exams.

Harry had taken Draco as someone whose room was filled with stuff worth boasting about, but surprisingly, the room had always stayed bare apart from a few alchemy tools and a jewellery box engraved with silver and platinum. Harry had never seen Draco take anything from it. Most of the shelf was filled with Harry's half-written papers that had been haphazardly stuffed between books whose contents Harry probably should have been more familiar with by now. He wasn't embarrassed about the way his things had taken over the space when Draco didn't seem to mind. At worst, he had just nagged enough times for Harry to stop throwing his things all around. It was beginning to feel more and more like their shared space. Harry didn't hate that. Didn't hate it at all.

"Are you sure you're not coming with?" Harry tried to convince Draco. The Ministry of Magic had invited the Eigtht Year students - well, some of them - to have a tour of the place in preparation for their graduation. Ron had excitedly written about in his most recent letter. They were finally going to visit the Auror department properly and see how things worked 'behind the scenes. ' Even Hermione was excited to meet the people she wanted to work with in the future. It would be a good thing for Draco, who had trouble finding someone to apprentice under. "No one will say a word if you come with me. I promise."

"I'm sure, Harry, that I, the former death eater Slytherin child under surveillance, am not going to be joining you on a tour at the Ministry. I don't think even your heroic halo would make them let me in."

Harry winced at the reminder, and his eyes wandered to the letter opener that sat back in its rightful place over the desk. Draco saw just where Harry was looking and rolled his eyes.

"I am not suicidal, Harry. I just lost my composure for a moment there. I have been to the Ministry enough times to make me sick at the sight of it."

"What if something happens again? I mean, while I'm not here. Or something."

"It won't," Draco said firmly. "Take the knife if you don't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you." Harry didn't know what he was trying with this. Draco looked just fine, albeit a little tired. He didn't have the same look on his face as on that day. He looked peaceful, wearing his loose, blueish pajamas and hair pulled back with a couple of pins. The scar had already faded with a generous application of some ointment Draco had in his medicine kit.

Draco lowered the many books on the desk, put the quill down, and turned to look at Harry. His pale eyes were calm and the look on his face something nearing fondness. It made Harry itch. He couldn't help the foolish smile widening on his face. Like compelled, he took a couple of steps to Draco and bent down enough to reach his lips.

When Harry kissed Draco, everything else faded away. Everything that mattered was in that singular moment and the person in front of him. Draco's cold fingers on his neck sent shivers up and down, turning him hot and cold at the same time. Harry wanted to bury himself in that kiss. He wanted to swallow Draco whole and keep him close enough to always have the silence, to keep the peace. Something swelled inside of him. It was more than the all-consuming hunger he felt at the sight of Draco, especially now with his lips pink and gaze hazy from pleasure. Pleasure that Harry was giving him. He felt that something wash washing over him, but it was too large to stay contained inside of him. It was ravenous and reaching toward something. Harry closed his eyes from it. There was danger in it. A lurking revelation that Harry wanted nothing to do with. Life was good. Life would be good just like this. The feeling subsided, but Harry didn't want to let Draco go just yet.

Harry had never felt the urge to mess someone up. He had always cherished those close to him. He had always been as proper as a teenager can be with Ginny, remembering that she was not only someone dear to his heart but the sister to Ron. Ginny had always seemed to remember who Harry was, too. To be chained by your existence is draining. Perhaps that was something Ginny, too, felt when she was kissing him. The ever-present weight of Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world. Heroic halo, Draco had said, something that made people regard Harry differently.

At this moment, Harry couldn't feel the halo. He could barely remember his own name. He didn't know where he ended and Draco began. At some point, they had morphed into one. Draco's fingers pulled Harry closer, always closer. Harry went willingly. All distance between them were too far. Draco was pinned between the desk and Harry. The position couldn't be any more uncomfortable, yet he didn't seem to even notice the discomfort he must have been feeling. Suddenly, Harry felt a foot on his stomach as Draco nudged him away. Instinctively, Harry stepped back but couldn't stop the hurt noise from the back of his throat. His mind was sticky and confused, but as soon as he had registered what was happening, Draco was kissing him again.

Harry was pushed back to the bed, where Draco climbed on top of him. The weight settled something deep inside of him. There were no demands. Harry was satisfied to stay here being kissed by Draco until the other decided it was enough. Everything was soft and hazy.

"You need to get going," Draco finally peeled himself from on top of Harry. He stood up and watched as Harry blinked back the haze and fought to push down the inexplicable feeling of loss. The world was cold again, and for a second, Harry felt completely unmoored. "Your friends are waiting for you, Harry." Slowly, Draco's words sank in, and Harry glanced at the clock. He was going to run late.

~~

Just as Draco had predicted, there were no Slytherins amongst the Eight Year students waiting in the Atrium. The hall was just as grandiose as Harry remembered it being, but now the wizards and witches rushing to their departments didn't feel as intimidating as they had once been. The others were waiting for Harry near the Fountain, and Ron excitedly waved to Harry as soon as he was noticed stepping from the Floo.

"Harry!" Ron's shout echoed in the Atrium, causing multiple heads to turn and stare at him. Whispers carried over, but Harry paid no attention to them as he walked over to his friends. A sharp jab in the ribs from Hermione kept Ron quiet until Harry was close enough to hear them properly.

"Thought you had overslept and almost decided to send you a Howler to properly wake you up," Ron laughed and clapped Harry on the back. "You wouldn't want to miss this, right!"

"Yeah, definitely," Harry said half-heartedly, which earned a frown from Ron. Hermione shushed him quiet, and Harry changed the subject more or less smoothly as he turned to look at Neville, who was also there. "I thought you wouldn't have showed up. Didn't you say that you were planning on continuing with herbology?"

"Well, yes, but it's never a bad idea to show my face at a place like this. Might see someone, you know, who would take my resume."

"You're the best in Hogwarts. Sprout vouches for you! I'm sure you will have no shortage of places who want you there," said Hermione with confidence. "Or are you planning on joining the Department of Education?" In her hand, Hermione had a pamphlet. It was a tourist's guide to the British Ministry of Magic, and Harry could see Hermione's notes scribbled on the corners.

"No!" Neville waved his hands furiously, "I'm not nearly educated enough to say anything about that! Mostly, I'm here because everyone else is."

"It's not every day you get a tour like this. Might just use the chance!" Seamus chimed in. He was wearing an identical jackets with Dean and looked anything but prepared to meet any future advisors. The two of them would have looked goofy with their matching outfits if it wasn't for the proud smile on Seamus's face when he noticed Harry looking. "Got it as a Yule present."

"Was half off, so why not buy two. Looks good, doesn't it?" Dean said, brushing nonexistent lint from the sleeve. Harry couldn't deny it. They looked good. Comfortably leaning on each other, Dean's hand sneaking into Seamus's pocket as he fished a candy from there. Seamus didn't even seem to notice; he was so accustomed to the other's hands on him that he probably would have paid more attention if the hands had disappeared. Harry wondered if he and Draco would ever be like that. But of course, they weren't like that. They were just... them, nothing more. Harry wanted to lean on somebody.

Well, that was a lie. Harry turned to look at Kingsley Shacklebolt in relief. Now, he could concentrate on something else.

"We're getting mighty royal treatment today!" Seamus said good-naturedly when Shacklebolt announced that he would be their guide for the day.

"You have earned it. My morning meeting was cancelled, so I thought, why not show the youth just what the Ministry is all about. There is more to it than how it looks at a glance. So many opportunities that you haven't yet even dreamed about!" Shacklebolt looked truly passionate about the Ministry. He listened to the requests the students shouted at him and laughed good-naturedly with them.

They toured most of the Ministry. Only the 9th and 10th Levels were off-limits to them. Many grumbled at that. There probably was no one who wasn't curious about the Department of Mysteries. Shacklebolt just laughed and told them to work hard enough to be able to work there one day. Harry had had enough of Wizengamot for a lifetime, so he was more than happy that they skipped it completely. Others seemed to feel the same. Only Hermione was disappointed. There had been someone there she had wanted an audience with. Shacklebolt nodded and scribbled something on a memo. He folded it into a paper plane, and it lifted off his hand and joined the stream of papers flying above them. It reminded Harry of Draco and his floating books. If anyone else was doing that, Harry would have brushed it off as trying to show off, but Draco did it so effortlessly and didn't pay much attention to it, either, that Harry barely even remembered that it was a pretty skillful feat to be able to do that. Even Shacklebolt had used already-bespelled paper to send the message.

The tour ended up taking the whole morning. Everyone had someone they wanted to talk with, something they wanted to ask. It was like everyone already had plans and a picture of how things were going to go after Hogwarts. People were networking, and Harry felt the sharp needle of guilt. Sure, the Slytherin Eight Year students were well-off purebloods who had been networking for generations and probably had ties to everywhere, but the Ministry wasn't exactly Slytherin-friendly right now, so giving a positive impression at the Ministry could have been useful. When Harry mentioned this to Hermione, walking next to him, she just shrugged. It was understandable, even if it wasn't fair, that the Ministry wouldn't be hiring any Slytherins for a while. The memories were too fresh, and no one wanted a repeat of what had happened.

"I don't know how good that is going forward, though," said Hermione after pondering a moment. "That could just build more resentment, which never ends well. Sometimes I think that the wizarding world could learn a lot from the muggle history." But Hermione wasn't going to do much about it, either. It wasn't fair, but she couldn't force herself to trust the Slytherins that much after everything that had happened.

The last place to visit was the canteen. Shacklebolt warned the food was barely edible but still filled his plate with a stew of some sort. The canteen was the room that reminded Harry of Hogwarts the most. It was probably designed after the Great Hall but was all around brighter and didn't feel as formal. People were working while eating and rushing around with their plates. There was less magic involved than Harry expected.

"Keeping magic like that running is expensive and requires a lot of maintenance. This is one of the ways we are trying to cut costs to fund the extensive repairs." Shacklebolt seemed to be in the middle of a longer lecture, but Harry didn't much care about what he was saying about the actual logistics of everything. Only Hermione and Padme Patil listened.

Shacklebolt had been right about the food, though. It was barely edible and had a strange, almost mushy texture. Harry and Ron glanced at each other and shook their heads in unison. They would not be eating food like this. Even the Dursleys had better slop than this, and that was something.

After the brief lunch, the group was dispersed, with Hermione getting a different pass to visit the 10th floor while Harry and Ron were led to the second floor by Shacklebolt on his way back to his office. The Head Auror, Gawain Robards, was waiting there for them with a wide grin on his face. He waved the boys over and thanked the Minister of Magic for bringing his novices there. As Shacklebolt passed by, Robards sheepishly handed him a stack of papers. Harry could hear Shacklebolt heavily sigh as he stepped back into the elevator and left.

The Auror Office was pure chaos. A lot of the cubicles were empty and clean, but the remaining Aurors had their desks overflowing with documents, weird gadgets, and food wrappers. The smell of old, bitter coffee floated all around them. Someone was smoking. Harry saw someone sleeping under his chair, shoes on and a document shielding his eyes from the fluorescent light.

"Things have been understandably hectic after the war," Robards explained as he led the boys through the office to an empty training room. "We're in dire need of fresh blood, and the boys are anticipating your arrival. So don't you worry about anything. I'm not looking at your grades. All of you youngsters have already passed your trial by fire, so now all you need are the proper credentials to start working!" Robards didn't seem to have a shadow of doubt that neither of them wouldn't be joining as soon as the school ended in spring. Ron was enthusiastically nodding along and listened intently as Robards showed them around the training area.

A couple of Aurors came in to watch as Harry and Ron trained under Robards instructions. Harry enjoyed it. He could throw himself into the action, and it felt exhilarating. He was doing something worthwhile. He would be doing something good. That's all that he had wanted. At that moment, Harry couldn't remember that he had ever been doubtful about it. Other Aurors joined in to yell instructions as the conjured scenery around them changed again and pitted them against Death Eaters. It was more life-like than just regular practice, and Harry could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins. Everything was crystal clear and-

One of the Death Eaters had a Dark Mark proudly displayed as he raised a wand against Harry. In a flash, he was on the ground, and the illusion dissipated as smoke into the air. Robards was next to him in a second, administering first aid and making sure he hadn't gotten a concussion as he hit the ground.

"Bloody, Harry, what got into you?!" Ron yelled as he rushed to Harry. One of the Aurors stopped him and told him to wait a moment, to let Harry get his balance back.

"These zaps hurt like a bitch. Everyone gets zapped every once in a while."

"Better here than in a real situation."

Harry didn't know what happened. One second he had been preparing for a quick Expelliarmus, but the next he had seen Draco. Or, well, nothing about that illusion had been like Draco except for the Dark Mark. It had been enough to dull Harry's reflexes for one critical second. He gritted his teeth together and let Robards help him up. No one but Ron seemed to think it out of place that Harry had been hit, and Harry could feel his glare on his back. He would get an earful from Ron the second they were out of here.

Shortly after, Robards ended their meeting, giving both of them sheets with detailed training instructions on them.

"It's never a bad idea to get a head start. Share them with any others who are interested in joining come spring." Robards was desperate to recruit more people to help with the workload. With one final wave, he left the boys with Hermione, who had been waiting for them to finish in the Atrium.

"Three Broomsticks!" The three of them exclaimed in unison as they walked toward the Floo.

~~

It wasn't Friday, but their usual table was already packed as they came in after carrying all of their things to Hogwarts and freshening up. Harry would have wanted to spend a moment with Draco, but he had been busy helping Pansy with her things. Harry passed by them without a word but nodded in greeting.

"How polite," Pansy muttered to Draco with venom in her voice. Harry was sure she was loud enough for him on purpose. Everything Pansy did was on purpose. Draco muttered something back, but he didn't talk loud enough. Harry could see with side eyes how Draco gave Pansy a quick squeeze as they disappeared to her room. He didn't look back to Harry, who didn't feel bitter about it at all.

Harry was still thinking about that when he sat down at his usual seat and ordered the usual pint of beer. Everyone was pleasantly chattering and complaining about the holidays ending. The exams were one step closer, and only Hermione seemed excited about them.

"Soon they're over, and you can properly begin your lives," Fred laughed. "Only after tasting the sweet nectar of freedom that is life after school can you say you have lived!"

"Don't wax poetics when you don't know how, moron!" George smacked his brother but nodded in agreement. "Wouldn't have said it like that, though."

After everyone had properly settled down with their drinks and greeted each other after not seeing each other for some time, Seamus stood up, dragging along Dean, who looked rather reluctant and embarrassed. "No need to make it into a scene. Just settle down, alright!" Dean whispered, trying to get Seamus down.

"But babes, this is my moment!" Seamus exclaimed, affronted. "Once in a lifetime chance, too." At that, Dean couldn't help but smile and stand next to his boyfriend, who wrapped one arm around his waist. Without further ado, he showed off his other hand and the simple gold band. "Guess who proposed during Yule?!"

As everyone congratulated Seamus and Dean on their engagement, they were glowing with happiness. Seamus was recounting the moment when Dean had gotten on one knee with such passion and overflowing love that Dean blushed, trying to deny things being as mushy and corny as his fiancé made them sound.

"There was no angelic choir!"

"I swear I could have heard angels singing!"

"Oh my god, you're making me nauseous," Ron yelled at that.

"You're just angry my babes beat you to it!" Seamus just laughed, and Ron blushed. Even Hermione looked a little reddened, but that could have been just the lighting.

"Next round is on me. Congratulations, mates!" Harry joined in on the chaos. Seeing the two of them smiling so brightly, one couldn't help but feel that happiness radiate their way. It was contagious, and soon, Harry was laughing at another bad joke Seamus was making while looking like the world's happiest man, which he very well could have been at that moment. Madam Rosmerta was happy enough hearing the good news to offer a bottle of bubbles for the occasion.

Seamus and Dean shared their plans to settle down after graduation. They didn't have grand plans, but as they both had families in the muggle world, it was better to stay at least somewhat integrated into that society. They had actual, concrete plans, and it would have been a lie to say that Harry wasn't surprised. The two of them had always been the most easy-going people Harry knew. Somehow, he had expected that they wouldn't think about the future much, but now it looked like they had everything planned already. The talk turned into everyone sharing their plans.

Hermione had talked with one of the secretaries working under Wizengamot and had secured a proper summer job there. She was going to help with filings and such. While it might not be flashy or glamorous, it was still important work. She was determined to work hard and learn enough to secure an internship. She was adamant about going through the proper channels instead of asking someone to pull strings for her.

Ron was trying to recruit Seamus and Dean to take the training instructions. "Head Auror Robards said that they need a lot of people there. We could have an impact, you know. Do something valuable!" Neither of them looked convinced, but eventually, Dean took the paper and folded it into his pocket.

"Which reminds me," Ron said and turned to stare at Harry, "Bloody shite, what was it back there?! You should have been able to dodge that in your dreams." At everyone's curious gaze, Ron quickly gave the details on what had happened.

"Are you getting rusty already?" Ginny frowned. She was appraising Harry with that hawk-like look on her face that she got whenever she was playing Quiddich. Harry wasn't sure what she thought she could get from intently staring at him but didn't say anything. "You don't look like you have been slacking off, though. We need to play Quiddich to fix this!"

"You just want to play Quiddich!" Ron accused his sister with a pointer finger. She just shrugged.

"Is that so wrong? And I mean, nothing trains your reflexes like avoiding bludgers."

"I just failed to notice it," Harry said, shrugging it off. "You heard even the Aurors saying that it happens sometimes."

"Not to you, it doesn't!"

"I'm just a wizard, Ron. Sometimes I just don't notice things."

Everyone agreed with that, but Ron continued his grumblings for a while. He muttered something to Hermione, who just smacked him on the shoulder in response. They looked comfortable sitting there next to each other and in their bubble. Harry wondered how it felt to be so in tune with somebody. Draco flashed in his mind, but he pushed such thoughts away for now.

Fred leaned to talk with Harry from across the table. He had a mischievous grin on his face as he whispered, "Getting cold feet already?" Harry knew he was only teasing but felt flustered as he tried to give a coherent answer. Fred raised his eyebrows at that but didn't tease further. "Alright then. If all else fails, we will be generous enough to take you in as an errant boy. It's a pain to get danishes from all the way down the street when Ems refuses to deliver them."

"Don't worry about it. You can do whatever you want. Or not do anything, I guess. You are Harry Potter, after all." George reminded him and made Harry roll his eyes. It was like Harry Potter was just a joke to them. It was refreshing.

No one batted an eye when Harry announced that he would be returning early to get proper sleep before lessons began tomorrow. They had all gotten used to Harry disappearing at some point in the evening.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you have a bird back there," Ron joked as they waved goodbye and promised to meet up before class. Harry's back was already turned to everyone, so no one saw his face got bright red. His heart was beating faster. He was keeping secrets. He had never kept secrets from them.

~~

Back in the room, Draco was already in bed, reading something other than school books for once. He put the book down as Harry draped the Invisibility Cloak on the chair and took off his shoes. Everything was minty fresh and dim. Harry climbed into bed.

"Seamus and Dean got engaged during the holidays."

"Good for them. They always seemed the type."

"Type?"

"To settle down right after graduation. Like high school sweethearts." Draco turned back to his book, and Harry rolled over to see what he was reading. Draco glanced down at Harry with unreadable eyes before he started to read out loud from where he had left off. Harry had no idea what was happening, but Draco's voice was mellow and soothing. He hadn't even noticed how tired he had been before climbing in. Now, it was almost impossible to keep his eyes open, and he fought against sleep. The moment was good. He didn't want to sleep just yet. Then the morning would come, and school would begin again. Things wouldn't be like they had been during the holidays.

Draco's cool hand pressed against Harry's face, trying to close his eyes. Harry just took it into his and lifted it to his lips. Draco hummed in response but continued to read as Harry held onto that hand as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Draco had many redeeming qualities, but courage was not one of them. He was self-aware enough to recognize this about himself and knew better than to rashly fix something that had kept him alive until now. Courage killed people, and only by luck had Draco avoided fate like that. Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, could rise from the gallows, but not the mortal creatures like Draco, no matter his thickly pure blood and immaculate upbringing. Perhaps his survival had a lot to do with his blood, too, and not only cowardice, but pure blood didn't make one any more willing to make absurd assumptions and have conversations that would only leave one utterly ashamed and mortified.

What Draco lacked in courage, he made up for with self-preservation. All in him was screaming for him not to forget the reality. The realities of the matter. He was sensible, and would keep his wits about him. Still, one could not refuse Harry. His pride wanted to say that it was all because Harry happened to be the Saviour, and it would be good to be on his side, but even while drowning, Draco could not save himself with such lies. None of this had anything to do with Harry being Harry Potter, or the need to make amends, or to satisfy his curiosity. It had nothing to do with how Harry seemed to want Draco, for now. Well, it had a little to do with it, but mostly it was for Draco. It was shameful how he clung to someone he perfectly well knew would be his end. It could be fatal. Every sense in Draco screamed for him to act smartly, but for once in his life, Draco didn't listen to that quiet voice that had kept him in his room and taught him how to walk quietly. Harry was so good. He was better than anything had ever been, and would be until Draco's dying breath. He hated being melodramatic, but thoughts of Harry deserved a bit of dramatics. And Draco knew himself well enough to know it to be true.

For such a reason, Draco basked in the light of Harry's eyes, and kissed him in the morning when everything was hazy and painless and still. He let Harry drape the Invisibility cloak over his shoulders and walk out, stealthily as always. Harry was so good. Draco wanted all that for just a moment. The merest of moments, and he would be satisfied, drinking from these memories for the rest of his life.

Harry was so good. Only for a moment. A voice in Draco's head whispered, but was ruthlessly silenced by him. A secret look in the hallway, a small wave when no one was looking. And perhaps Harry's hands lingered on Draco when they were crafting the newest concoction for the potions class, but that could have just been in Draco's head. Perhaps Harry kissed him out of pity, or because he had a saviour complex severe enough to not let him comfortably sleep, or maybe he was merely curious. Draco's thoughts didn't go there. He would take it, even if it was for pity and kindness.

Harry kept quiet about their arrangement, and so did Draco, following his lead. He would not take more than was given. He had enough shame for that, at least, even if he wasn't strong enough to fully resist Harry. Their days were just as they had been before The Incident, if not for the thoughtful looks Harry gave Draco when he thought the other was too immersed in his studies. Sometimes Harry looked at him like he was a puzzle he couldn't solve, and sometimes it seemed like Harry saw no complexities in him. But Harry didn't ask, and Draco didn't offer. It was a strange sort of a standstill where they kissed like there was no tomorrow, ravenously and with little concern over how roughly they tumbled, and enjoyed the quiet comfort of their room and the tranquility it brought to them, while distancing themselves more and more from each other whenever they left the comfort of their room.

Pansy was the first to notice the subtle change in the two of them. She frowned but didn't say anything for as long as her patience lasted. It didn't last for long. Pansy wasn't known to be a patient woman, and there was nothing she detested as much as not knowing what was going on around her, especially with the people she held dear. She held Draco very dear, even if he caused her sleepless nights every so often.

"Off with it," Pansy whisper-shouted when they were walking back from the Slytherin common room where they had delivered the young Slytherins, still unable to walk safely around the castle. "I refuse to watch you moping around and only concerning yourself with the Potions extracurriculars, that I know for a fact you have hoisted upon your shoulders, as if you didn't have anything better to do with your spare time!"

"I don't," Draco said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I need a glowing recommendation from Slughorn, you know I do. If all I have to do for it is a couple of potions and transcribing recipes, I call that a win."

"Don't try to change the topic on me, Draco!"

Draco had not wanted to say anything to Pansy. He had tried to keep everything under wraps so as not to alarm her, but she had sharp eyes and too much cunning not to notice when someone was trying to pretend in her presence. Draco loved Pansy dearly, would have perhaps married her in another timeline, but she had her flaws that would make the situation so much worse. He didn't want her meddling around, not when her attention could shatter the fragile, little room that Draco and Harry had for themselves. It was theirs, and Draco wasn't ready to let go. Not just yet.

"Pansy, please. It's nothing. I swear to you, upon my honour. All is well. I cannot talk about it. It is not my place."

"Tell me at least that you haven't gotten back in your summer state, I have enough on my plate without it!" to an untrained ear, Pansy sounded rough and uncaring, but Draco knew her better than he knew anything and could hear the sincere concern in her voice. There was a slight quiver to it. Not knowing anything better to do, Draco pulled her in his arms and let her stay there until hoarse muttering was heard from somewhere within his cloak, and Pansy sniffled indignantly.

"I haven't been that bad since then, I swear. You know I wouldn't fool you on that." Draco promised as they continued their walk to their common room, and quickly from there to Pansy's room, where they had all promised to meet. Draco put little importance on his incident. It had been just a moment of weakness, and nothing had come out of it. It was below anyone's interest, especially at a time as precarious as this. Pansy gave him a long look but said nothing, only pursed her lips like she did whenever she wasn't satisfied but had decided to drop it. For now.

"Draco, take care, you have Wrackspurts all around!" Luna informed and sat down in front of him in the library. It was still early, and Draco was up and about only because of the nightmare that had woken him up. It had been startling enough to even wake Harry, who had looked blearily at him. For a second, he had been disgruntled, but soon tried to offer words of comfort. Only when Harry had tentatively asked about it, had Draco taken his leave, informing that he might as well begin his day, as it would be a waste to go back to sleep at that point. Harry had mumbled something but had fallen back to bed after a kiss goodbye. It would have been quite domestic, if not for Draco's mood. But the picture it painted was still beautiful.

"That's better already," Luna nodded in approval, and spread all of her things wide around.

"It's Saturday, Luna, what on earth are you doing here at this hour?"

"Had a feeling."

There was something in Luna's tone that made Draco look up. "Me, too," he just said, and the two of them turned to their books, content in the presence of someone who understood.

Seeing Draco and Luna together had been a shocking sight at first, but now it was commonplace and didn't warrant even a quick glance to make sure Luna was alright and not being tormented by the evil Slytherin. They could work in peace, and eventually, Granger emerged from between the bookcases and made space for herself next to Luna. Granger and Draco nodded civilly but exchanged no words. The library was slowly filling with students, mainly sixth and seventh-year students who could feel the exams breathing down their necks. The never-changing rhythm gave Draco comfort and let him breathe easier. The knot twisting inside him unwound a little. Luna smiled at him.

Granger was asking Draco a question about the importance of hand gestures in wandless magic, trying to make Draco give her a proper example, when Harry came looking for her. There was a quill in one hand and a scroll in the other, and he looked like he had been sleeping more than writing the essay, if the ink stains on his cheeks were to be trusted. Draco couldn't resist the small smile on his face as he handed Harry a handkerchief. It happened so fluently, almost instinctually, that Draco noticed anything amiss only when Harry was handing the handkerchief back, smile crooked and relaxed. He looked at the smudges and smiled wider, "Better that piece of cloth than —." Harry looked like he had seen a ghost. Granger was understandably confused by the exchange, and Luna was reading about whales.

"Right," Harry stammered, "Thank you for the napkin, Malfoy. Sorry about it, too." His eyes were everywhere but in him. Draco didn't find the situation comical anymore.

"Don't mind it, Potter," he said, folding the handkerchief back in his pocket. "Always a pleasure to assist the Saviour." There was a small sneer on his face. He could feel everybody's gaze on him. Judging him. Letting him know their disapproval of his attitude towards Harry. Harry didn't look at him again as he rushed off.

The air was tense for a moment, but it all dissipated as Luna announced a tea break and started pulling out cups for the three of them. The onlookers, startled back to reality, quickly filtered from their quiet corner.

"That was... strange," Granger said slowly, looking suspiciously at Draco. "I thought you were getting along well, you and Harry."

"But we are," Draco countered with a smirk, "He even thanked me for that napkin, which, mind you, is pure silk and embroidered with the Malfoy insignia. Passed down the family for generations."

Granger rolled her eyes as Draco continued to talk about the handkerchief like it was the greatest heirloom ever bestowed upon him. Harry's behaviour had been odd, even by the standard, that most of the time Harry was being odd one way or the other. Granger, unlike Pansy, didn't let the matter drop, though, and fixed her eyes on Draco with that familiar look of suspicion that he was used to following him around wherever he went.

"You haven't done anything to make Harry so scared of you?"

"Scared!" At that, Draco's voice rose to almost a holler, "He's not scared of me! That's impossible!"

"You never know, Mal— Draco. The war is still fresh in his mind, in all our minds. I wouldn't blame him for, well, you know."

"Don't even try, Hermione. That, if anything, is insulting. I couldn't care less about any of you, but one thing is for sure: I would never make Potter afraid of me. Not even if I could, and you know damn well I have no such power!"

"That's not what I was saying," Granger sounded frustrated as she tried to explain more precisely why Harry very well could be triggered by many innocuous things, even when no one meant for it.

"You have read books, Hermione, but don't apply them to me when you know nothing." Draco was indignant. He was fuming. His hands pressed in fists, and a fierce look on his face. He looked mad, truly furious. Hermione blinked in surprise and flushed when Draco yelled at her.

"You don't get to yell at her," Ron roared, rushing to the scene, late enough to not know what it was all about, but early enough to see Draco still yelling at Granger. It was bad luck, really, and most deserved, probably, when Ron swung his arm and his fist connected on Draco's cheek high enough to bruise under his eye. Anyone could see that Ron was itching for a fight, had been waiting for anything to happen, and was upset his calm, and Draco was just the first to face the full face of his wrath.

Draco wasn't foolish enough to swing back. He wanted to, of course, he did, but there was no reason to. It would have been disastrous to fight with Harry's friends, and Draco wasn't good when it came to his fists, and he had no reason to showcase how a Malfoy fights.

Pansy had no such reservations as she screeched like a harpyija and descended upon Ron, who was caught off-guard as badly as everyone else who had come to look at what was going on, again.

Pansy seldom let herself loose, too hung up on her image and having the proper etiquette instilled in her so well, it was almost impossible to shake out of it. An annoying red-haired hot head was enough of a reason for Pansy. She didn't fight fair. Didn't care that her cloak tore a little and just kicked Ron harder. They were loud and pushed down one of the bookshelves, much to the dismay of the librarian who was making her way to the source of the noise. Only because of Blaise, Theo, and Hermione, the whole situation was resolved with nothing more than a slap on the wrist for both parties. It was clear that the short fight had been equal. Ron had a cut on his lip, and Pansy's nose was bleeding. They were both sporting their fair share of bruises and smaller cuts from Pansy's nails and Ron's shoes.

With as much dignity as Pansy was able to muster in the mortifying situation, as the full number of the onlookers dawned on her, she exited the scene, dragging Draco with her entourage. Neither Hermione nor Draco said anything, but the fight had diffused the tension between them. As Draco disappeared behind the corner, he could hear Hermione nagging fondly and Ron trying to put on a cold face but sounding rather pleased with the way Hermione was talking. Odd couple.

Chapter Text

It was only in the evening that Harry learned about the fight. For the better part of the day, he had been avoiding everything and everyone to the full extent of his abilities, and had even dined in the kitchens instead of in the Great Hall with everyone else. It was ridiculous, and Harry knew that, but he didn't feel enough like himself to do anything about it. He didn't want to answer any of the probing questions Hermione definitely had for him, for no one was more confused about the whole ordeal than Harry himself. The day hadn't begun well, that was for sure, but that was still a regular occurrence, even if the days were getting better as a whole. Madam Pomfrey would call it an improvement and say the well-repeated phrase: Healing isn't linear.

The day had started with Draco startling him awake in the aftermath of his nightmare with a haunting look in his eyes. It was too similar to the way he had looked in the Prefect Bathroom. It sent shivers down Harry's spine, and not in the good way, but in the cold, hopeless dread way that he was feeling about the whole situation. He didn't wish to alarm Draco, to make him pull back from their easy… , well, easy something, but Harry was worried. He didn't like that far-away look in Draco's eyes, how dimmed they got, and how Draco never talked about it.

It wasn't completely out of character for Draco to have nightmares, even if Harry was the one usually waking up from them, to Draco's soothing voice. Actually, Harry would bet good money that in most beds in Hogwarts, apart from maybe the youngest students, people had nightmares about what had happened. But it seemed like Draco wasn't able to shake it off as he usually did and became more skittish about it. Harry didn't want to let him go when Draco decided to begin his day before six on a Saturday morning, but there was nothing he could say to stop him. He knew better than to try to reason with Draco when he was feeling like that. Harry might not have known much, but he knew how it looked when the Malfoy mask slipped on Draco's face.

Maybe that had been what startled Harry when he was looking for Hermione for nothing important in particular. He had known that Draco would be somewhere there. He was a stickler for the routine. Harry had been feeling sleepy yet unable to nap, the scroll unwritten in front of him. Then, seeing Draco there, being with him like that, was the most natural thing. Harry hadn't thought about it at all, and that was his problem. It was always his problem! Up until now, he had been so careful, trying too hard not to let anything slip or leak out of him. With a couple of seconds, Harry feared he had ruined just about everything.

Soon, he couldn't hear anything but the ringing in his ears, and see all the eyes on them. The curious gazes turned hostile. Harry could see them making their assumptions and having awful, incorrect ideas about everything. Even Hermione looked menacing in that moment. Her hand was still reaching towards Draco, like she would any moment turn her attention back to him and grab his wrist. Harry knew Hermione had a vicious tongue. Draco was saying something. Harry saw the Malfoy mask on him, like a protective sheet over his real features, and didn't know where to look, what to do so as not to draw attention. He was vaguely aware of words slipping from his mouth, but didn't pay much attention to them. There was a target on his back. Harry turned around.

Only when Harry was far outside, near the Forbidden Forest, was he able to calm down and stand in the cool air, catching his breath. He had never been very aware of the looks he got wherever he went, but now it was everything Harry could pay attention to. He was like a time bomb, waiting for the ticking to stop, ready to blow up on everyone's, Draco's, face. All the pieces of the Saviour that clung to him were waiting for a day to transform into sharp edges directed at others. He was supposed to shield them, him, from everything. That was his fate. It had always been in his destiny to protect others. He didn't want to fail now, not when it felt more important than ever to succeed. Harry doubled down, gasping for air. He would do a better job next time.

~~

Draco didn't quiz Harry about his odd behaviour when he opened the door and walked into their room. It felt more and more like it. Their bubble, their room. Draco didn't even raise his head from the letter he was writing until he was done and had sealed and sent it away. There was a dark bruise under his eye when he looked up at Harry, saying that he had been writing to his mother.

The ringing in Harry's ears was back full force, and he had only taken a couple of stumbling steps forward when Draco waved his hand dismissively and arched his brow at Harry's fumbling.

"What happened? Who –," Harry didn't get far in his speech when Draco cut him off.

"A fair fight. Nothing of consequence. You should see the other person, although Pansy did most of the heavy lifting, and I just stood there. But still."

Harry wasn't satisfied until he had heard the rest of it, and even then, he wasn't sure if he didn't need to do something, anything. "Like what?" Draco laughed. "Fight your best friend for my honour like I am a damsel in distress? Rest assured that Pansy took good care of my honour. And it's no secret that Ron's been itching for a fight. It was bound to happen at some point. Perhaps not to me, but to someone, so it might as well be me."

Harry inspected the bruise and couldn't help but relent when Draco rolled his eyes with his mouth turned ever so slightly upwards, even when he didn't feel like giving up now. Instead, Harry gently pressed his lips to the bruise.

"Well, I'm sorry my friend hit you. How can I ever make it up to you?" Harry's hands wandered to Draco's hips and pulled him snugly against him. Draco's arms circled his neck. His eyes had a light to them, a warm glow that Harry was hopeful to call fondness. He didn't dare think further, and couldn't have, in any case, as Draco whispered in his ears and everything started to turn warm and out of focus.

Draco's hands guided him to bed and stripped him of his shirt. His hands roamed around until they settled on Harry’s hair, tugging just enough to make him lift his head and look up. Harry's hands were still firmly pressed on Draco's hips, and he had no mind to take them anywhere as he chased after Draco's lips. He wanted to firmly keep Draco there on his lap, slightly towering over him, and so close that Harry could almost hear his heartbeat over the thunderous beat of his own. Yet he wanted to be closer. Like a greedy bastard, he wanted more. His hands moved to the buttons of Draco's shirt, but the electric feel of magic brushed past his fingers and opened the buttons, letting Harry just throw it off of Draco.

Harry's mouth traveled lower from Draco's neck to his nipples as Draco hummed in satisfaction. He grinded against Harry, trying to catch his rapid breath but failing miserably. It was satisfying seeing Draco unravel just as much as he did.

As Harry gazed up at him, Draco looked perfect. His eyes were shiny with lust, and his lips red and swollen, begging to be kissed, and Harry couldn't resist the temptation.

"Let me suck you?" Asked Harry breathlessly against Draco's lips, their hot bodies so close that Harry could feel the shudder running through Draco at his words. Draco ground harder against Harry, could feel him just as hard against him, and lightly bit Harry's ear before whispering in a voice that shook Harry to his core.

"Yes, I told you, didn't I: I'll let you do whatever you want, Harry."

~~

Sex with Draco was everything. Harry cursed that it had taken them so long, but didn't linger long in regret, and just turned to look at Draco next to him, sleeping with a peaceful look on his face. It was rare to see Draco sleep so deeply. Usually, the lightest movement woke him up, and he wasn't the kind to stay between dreams and morning. Yet now, there he lay next to Harry like no troubles could ever reach him. He had none of the frown he usually wore or the tension on his face. He looked younger, more boyish. Harry didn't hate seeing the resemblance to the schoolyard bully he used to be. He was just glad to see the traces of Draco unburdened by everything. He wondered if he, too, looked anything like this while he slept.

Harry didn't want to disturb Draco's sleep and quietly left the room, making sure that the curtains were shut tight enough as not to let the late morning rays wake him up. Draco wouldn't be thankful for it, Harry knew, but he thought that sometimes Draco didn't really know what was best for him. Running himself to the ground wasn't good, but Draco didn't listen to him, not in this. Harry couldn't really blame him. If their circumstances switched, Harry wasn't sure he would listen to Draco either.

It had been a while since Harry had properly stayed in his room. Usually, he just went to change clothes or pick something up, and nowadays, he didn't even have a need for that. Most of his belongings had slowly migrated to their room, leaving Harry's room looking bare and uninviting. He even felt cold there, which was impossible because the temperature was the same in each room in the Eighth-Year Dormitory. The House Elves still diligently changed his unused sheets and dusted the empty shelf. Or at least someone did. There was always that scent of fresh laundry and clean air floating around that couldn't be because of Harry. He didn't even remember when was the last time he had opened the window. Draco aired their room every day, saying that the smell of ink wasn't good for them. Still, these two rooms weren't the same. The fresh air smelled different here: it was lacking something.

It had been a week since Harry's odd outburst, and everyone had mostly forgotten about it for better and more interesting gossip that circulated. Even Harry, who usually didn't pay any attention to gossip, had heard how the Auror task force, formed to catch the last remaining Death Eaters on the run, had started to move. Skeeter had written a scoop about it, causing, once again, trouble for Harry. He was questioned about it day in and day out, and Ron was ready to blow up again after students started to stop him in the hallways, too, asking on and on about any insider information they might have. It was tiresome, but refreshing that, for once, it wasn't because Harry was Harry Potter but because he seemed to be on good terms with the Auror Office. Of course, that was because he was Harry Potter, but still, there was a difference. Draco had rolled his eyes at Harry grumbling. He was strongly of the opinion that everyone was asking the wrong person.

"You're the most oblivious person I know, Harry," Draco had said. "Even if you had been told everything there is to the whole matter, I rather think you wouldn't have paid attention and forgotten anything had ever been said in the first place."

Harry didn't think he was that oblivious, but later Hermione said the same thing about him and Ron, when someone was again asking about the whole deal. Only after Hermione said it loud enough in the Great Hall for everyone to hear did the inquiries from nosy students lessen to some extent. That evening, Draco had looked rather smug but didn't say anything. His silent I told you so lingered in the air, though, but it wasn't bad. It was like Draco didn't care about the flaws in Harry; they were just parts of him and allowed to exist there without reproach. It felt safe.

Harry was completely relaxed when he emerged from his room and walked down to the empty Common Room. Breakfast had been served already, but there was always food in the kitchens. He was thinking of what to bring up to Draco for a lazy breakfast in bed when Ron opened Hermione's door, looking more relaxed and content than he usually did. He looked back, saying something quietly, before he closed the door and looked at Harry in surprise.

"Going for breakfast?" Ron asked and strode to him with an easy smile on his face. He had haphazardly thrown clothes on, and his usually messy hair was even messier. He looked happy. "I've been commanded to go on a quest for food while 'Mione catches up on her papers or something. In my opinion, she should take a day off. It's not like there is competition for her. She's the best when it comes to studying, and it would be a bloody mistake to not hire her come summer."

"Right," Harry agreed, but thoughts turned to Draco. The two of them, Hermione and Draco, had always been neck to neck when it came to grades, yet now it seemed like there was no competition between them. Had Hermione become that much better in a couple of years?

"You rested well?" Ron asked as they walked to the kitchens. "You look relaxed and not tired at all. Have been looking like that for a while, too." Ron could be observant when it came to the oddest things.

Harry shrugged. There was a nagging feeling somewhere in his chest, but he brushed it aside. Whatever it was that was going on felt so private that Harry couldn't open his mouth about it. He feared that it all would escape like an exhale if he even mentioned it. "I guess yeah." He eventually just said. Ron glanced at him with an unreadable look in his eyes but didn't say much.

"Either way, I'm happy for you, mate. You deserve rest and relaxation! We need all the sleep we can get before the Auror training starts. Even I can already sense it being grueling, and I know nothing about tea leaves!"

As Ron asked for breakfast, Harry stood awkwardly there. He couldn't ask for breakfast for two when Ron was standing there pouring orange juice into a jug and plating toast. Ron looked at him in confusion.

"You've already, mate?"

"No.., no. Yeah, I'll just have some eggs and toast, please."

"Coming right up, Mr. Potter", one of the Kitchen Elves answered, and his breakfast was gathered for him in lightning speed. Harry slid down to eat as Ron whined about preferential treatment. Harry got a friendly slap on his back as Ron's breakfast was done, and he turned to head back to Hermione.

Someone came in with quiet steps, and Ron tensed up. Harry looked up from his steaming eggs to see Draco, meticulously dressed as always in a dress shirt and pressed trousers, standing there at the door. Ron and Draco stared at each other for a moment. The awkward silence stretched on until it broke with Draco's cool voice.

"Ron," Draco nodded with what would have looked like a haughty face if one didn't know him. To Harry, the look was one of mild surprise and lack of interest. In general, Draco was indifferent to pretty much everybody.

"Mal– Draco", Ron nodded back before turning back to look at Harry, like asking his opinion on what he should do now. Harry frowned in confusion at Ron's odd attitude. With one last, questioning look, Ron disappeared, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the kitchens. Well, excluding the Kitchen Elves, of course.

Looking at his breakfast, Harry suddenly felt embarrassed. Draco didn't say anything, just sat down in front of Harry and asked for his breakfast of multiple sweet things. Draco seemed to like mostly sweet things in the mornings. Harry scrambled to pour Draco a cup of tea, trying to force the blush on his face down.

"Uhh, I was planning..., you know", Harry tried to explain, whatever it was that he was trying to explain, but seemed to be failing miserably at it. "Ron, you know, so I...."

"Thank you, Harry", Draco simply said and took the cup from Harry. His brows arched in good humour, but there was something else in his eyes that Harry didn't catch. It was there, and then it was gone, like it had never been there in the first place. Harry still felt the need to explain something, but Draco didn't look like he needed anything, so Harry gave up before he made a bigger fool of himself. Especially when he wasn't sure what he was even trying to explain.

~~

Days whittled away peacefully. More and more often, Harry could be seen talking to Draco in the library, asking about something trivial. No one paid any attention. Harry had been making sure of that, at first. He had janked Draco between the library shelves, deep enough in the library where only rarely anyone came to take books, and only talked to him during Potions in between Draco's detailed instructions directed not only to him but to Neville, too, who had gotten in the habit of listening to Draco's advice. There seemed to be an odd sort of truce between the two of them. Harry didn't like it at all, even when there was no reason not to. They were perfectly civil to each other, but Harry couldn't help being suspicious about Neville. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, directed at Neville.

Even the rest of the Slytherins seemed to relax. All of them were seen in other places than their regular haunts, even sitting in the Common Room for a round or two of Wizard Chess. Apparently, Pansy and Ron's fight had broken the ice somewhat, and now Pansy and Ron would sometimes exchange a word or two. Ron had begrudgingly admitted to Pansy being 'bloody good with her fists'. That was a lot coming from Ron.

Perhaps because of that, or perhaps because Ginny was first and foremost an opportunist with a shrewd attitude, Draco was invited to play Quidditch one afternoon after a DADA lesson that had left everyone breathless at Professor Gormack's insane luck. It was a miracle the man hadn't blown anything up. Harry had already been midway through casting a protective spell when the professor had shut the magical equivalent of a bomb down, fumbling all the way through with an instruction manual in one hand and a smile on his face.

Ginny had been lying in wait for the lesson to end and hadn't given Draco an opportunity to decline. He had been dragged off before the classroom had even been emptied. Everyone was too shaken to notice anything amiss until a young student belonging to the Hufflepuff Quidditch team came running with an anxious look in their eyes.

"Ginny said to come fetch you," they said breathlessly, leaning on their legs. "Please, she's going ins–, I mean." The student flushed but continued soon with a more even voice. "She heard that the Quiddich matches would have scouts later in spring and refuses to stop training now. After the Gryffindor team quit in protest, she's been targeting us. And now she's looking for you." The begging look in their eyes was unmistakable.

Ron just laughed but promised to get everyone together so the Hufflepuff team could rest. No one had anything against a round or two of Quidditch, in any case, so it wasn't a big ask.

No one was surprised to see Ginny yelling at everyone on the field, but no one had expected to see the slightly reluctant-looking Draco standing next to the benches, putting on his protective gear.

"Malfoy or not, he is a bloody good Seeker." Ginny's voice was loud and tone final. There was a fiery look in her eyes, like she was looking for someone to challenge her. In that aspect, she truly was Ron's sister. Unfortunately for her, no one was ready to fight with a Wesley when they looked like that. Especially when Ginny was known to be all competitive and ambitious about Quidditch. It was a fool who poked the hornet's nest. Not to mention that Ginny was right: Draco was a good Seeker and could handle his broom. Harry enjoyed playing against him, and anticipation rose in his chest.

While the Eighth-Year Slytherins had all come searching for Draco, only Pansy marched straight to Ginny, demanding to join the game. What had started as a game mostly between friends became a much bigger spectacle when Ginny made the teams according to her wishes and gleefully pitted Ron against Pansy. That earned her a nod of approval from Pansy, who was already sporting a sly smirk on her face.

The game itself was nothing out of the ordinary. Ginny yelled directions whenever she wasn't flying on her broom, chasing after the Quaffle and fighting for it with Pansy. Harry almost forgot the game even existed as he flew looking for the Golden Snitch, racing against Draco. In the air, all noise quieted, and his vision zeroed in on the Snitch and Draco, who flew just as erratically all around the field looking for it. Nothing could beat the exhilaration Harry felt when he saw the Snitch glimmering against the pure white snow, flitting away. Without looking at Draco, Harry knew he had noticed the Snitch, too. Or maybe he had noticed the Snitch because Draco had noticed it. Sometimes it felt like there was no difference.

As the Snitch disappeared again, leaving Harry and Draco to avoid the coming Bludgers, Harry laughed, throwing his hands back and letting the cold winter air whip against his face. He turned to look at Draco, who gave him a small private smile back. Time stood still. Everything was good.

It was pure luck that Harry happened to catch the Snitch before Draco, whose hand brushed against his as they swooped down. Harry tumbled down from his broom, taking Draco with him. Snow was a cold yet soft landing place. It melted against their sweaty clothes, making them drenched and cooling them off. Harry held up his hand, showing the Snitch to the rest of the players, signaling for the end of the game.

Ginny flew down, already giving pointers before she was close enough for anyone to hear what she was saying.

"With a little practice, we can get you back in shape." Ginny had that dangerous gleam in her eyes. She only looked like that when she was thinking of Quidditch.

"Be careful, or she will make you play until your hands bleed", Ron warned as he gave a hand to Harry and helped him up. Draco, as graceful as always, was already dusting the snow off himself. Harry didn't understand how his hair could still be like that after all that flying. He knew for a fact that Draco didn't do anything to it, yet it always seemed to be in a perfect condition. Harry tried to brush his hair with his fingers, but every strand was still sticking all around. He didn't even want to know what he looked like right now. No matter what, he always looked clumsy and awkward next to Draco, who wasn't even out of breath and talked gracefully with Ginny, his broom under one arm. He looked good. Well, Draco always looked good.

Only afterwards, Harry became aware of the students who had stopped to watch the surprising match. Some of the younger Quiddich players had awed looks on their faces, and Harry noticed the Ravenclaw players furiously scribbling down on their notepads. It's not like they were such great players, Harry thought. He didn't see why they should take notes. Surely those who practised almost daily had better skills and tactics than they do. Although, in Ginny's opinion, all of them should practise just a bit more and become proper players. She bemoaned how wasteful it was to let them join the Ministry where their true skills weren't appreciated.

"Just think about it!" she said after the game. "You don't get to fly there, not properly! Always just apparating there and apparating here. No broom, no open sky. Nightmare!"

Pansy laughed at Ginny and refused."I would rather suffer the rest of my life in seclusion than let the whole of the wizarding world see me chasing a ball around. No matter how famous it would make me!" Pansy had strange standards. Ginny had strange standards, too, chasing after Pansy, who just brushed her off, still shouting about just a little practice. Not much, I swear.

Draco shook his head, seeing the two of them head towards the castle. "I don't know who is going to win that fight", he said, pointing at them. Harry agreed. He heard the whispers around but didn't, for once, pay attention. They were talking about the match, not about Harry and Draco talking. He didn't step back but turned around following the girls to the castle, shoulder to shoulder with Draco, Ron, and the rest following close behind, already talking about the dinner.

~~

The Eighth-Year students had been showing unity, making it clear that they were ready to move on from the War. Neville and Draco were often seen together in the greenhouse and the Potions classroom, to Harry's chagrin, while Ron and Pansy tried to look civil together. Not to mention, Ginny was still hounding Pansy about Quidditch. Hermione tried to sit together with the studious Slytherins in the library. In Harry's opinion, everything was going splendid. He was thinking how good it would be if he were able to get the Slytherins to join them on Friday at the pub. It would be safe with everyone there. No one would think it strange even if Harry and Draco were seen together. Harry was planning on talking about it with Hermione, who, against all expectations, had become the most civil with Draco, bordering on friendliness. She, out of all of them, had the right to stay cold to the Slytherins, especially Draco, but instead she had been the one to notice the mistreatment.

Harry and Ron were coming back from the training session. Ron had been adamant that they should complete most of the days. Robards hadn't given them the instructions for no reason, and Ron didn't want them slacking off even if summer was still a while away. Harry wasn't against the training. He enjoyed the movement, the strain on his body, and the mindless exhaustion that followed. For a short while, there was nothing in his head but the present.

Draco didn't like Harry lazing around in his sweaty clothes, so it was a while before Harry finally put on his Invisibility Cloak and left his room. His hair was still damp from the steamy shower. He wanted to pretend it was just carelessness and not for the exasperated sigh Draco let out after he came from the shower before he beckoned Harry to sit in front of him as he properly dried his hair. Harry was sure that he saw the private smile under Draco's disgruntled facade.

What greeted Harry instead of Draco pretending to be disgruntled was an empty room. Harry's heart sped up. The flashes of the Incident passed before his eyes before his gaze zeroed in on the letter knife right where it was supposed to be. None of Draco's books were there on the desk, though. Harry frowned. It was true that Draco had some extra lessons, but they didn't usually run this late. Harry's palms were sweaty. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. It was like that nightmare all over again.

Draco must have just decided to stay in the library late, knowing that Harry wasn't coming back early either. Or he had gone to the Slytherin Common Room. Or anything else just as plausible. He had a life of his own, after all.

Harry's hands shook when he unrolled the Marauder's Map. Finding Draco there was getting easier and easier. His name was there in the hallway a few floors away. When it registered that there were names surrounding Draco's there, Harry threw off the Invisibility Cloak and rushed off from the Eighth Year Dormitory.

There was a group of younger Gryffindors surrounding Draco. Harry couldn't hear what they were saying, but one of them pushed Draco's shoulder. Chill went down Harry's spine, and fire burned down his throat, but before he could take a step closer, he froze. What if his intervening made everything worse?

"Stay clear of him! Don't you get that you'll sully his name?" Harry could hear one of them saying.

"Don't you have any shame?" someone else yelled. Harry's fingers pressed against his palms, but it was like looking at a picture somewhere far away. He couldn't reach it. Those looming figures shrouding Draco, swallowing him whole. They gave his eyes the look that made Harry shake. Something would happen, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn't there. He would be too late.

"Oi, what the hell do you think you're doing, you bloody brats?" Ron's shout pierced through Harry, shaking him back to the moment. He felt Hermione's arm around his shoulders as she directed Harry away from the scene. He could still hear Ron reprimanding the group, but saw only the stone wall.

"It's alright now, Harry", Hermione said soothingly. "All's good."

Hermione wasn't right this time. Nothing was alright. He had promised to do better. He had sworn on it, yet here they were now. Harry was still shivering when Hermione took him to the Infirmary. Pomfrey wasn't right, either. Harry wasn't shocked. He wasn't unwell or tired. He had become complacent; that was what it was. The threats looming were still there, and nothing but him had changed. It wasn't supposed to go like this. He had to be Harry Potter, needed to be him. Maybe that had always been the only choice for him to keep on protecting everything. He would never make such a mistake again. He couldn't afford to. His head was finally clear.