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He should have brought warmer socks. The stone floor of his room was freezing cold in the November evening. Even down in the Slytherin dungeons it didn’t used to be so icy, but this year it was a harsh winter. Or maybe it was because he was less distracted or because he didn’t have a common room fire to warm him up or maybe the heating spells were damaged in the war. It wouldn’t be unlikely, so much of the castle had been destroyed and every day he came across different pieces that didn’t function as they used to. One of the greenhouses now turned the air outside warmer and was cool on the inside.A couple of staircases stopped moving entirely or kept fälling apart after being rebuilt time after time. Many paintings had been completely burned, the remaining ones were quiet and exhausted. So many students, too.
It was hard for Draco to think about that. All the things that changed and shifted and made him a stranger in Hogwarts. Though sometimes it seemed like all of them were nowadays. The way the students shuffled through the halls, subtly rounding a corner to avoid a sight of death. Knowing instinctively which part of the castle could only be endured in complete silence, hurrying across the grounds as quickly as possible. They’d tried to repair and renew, of course. They mixed things around and switched classrooms and removed decor splattered with blood. And they had given them new rooms, especially to the returning few eighth years and particularly vulnerable students. Single rooms, up on the second floor, overlooking the mountains on the side of the castle. Rooms that apparently got really cold floors. He shivered and quickly moved to his bed, pulling his feet up on the blanket. Pulling out his book, he tried to focus on his reading for tomorrow. He’d learned to go in small increments with potions texts, breathing deeply after each paragraph and diligently taking notes to retain the content. If he read too quickly his mind would wander, recalling memories of Severus and everything he taught him. Even now, he struggled to work at the cauldrons, fighting to stay concentrated when the past surrounded him at all sides.
Being back at Hogwarts felt like that a lot. Like slowly sinking in the quicksand of his own past, his own mistakes. And all the hurt. His own and that of everyone else, students, teachers, the very core of the building. Like a mist in the meadow, the collective pain crept through the halls, making the students shiver. It permeated every fibre of his being, every moment of his days. Some handled it better than him, some had less complicated stories and better support. He saw students laughing and joking and going about their day. Making new friends, being active and joyful. Even some of the eighth years were doing rather well. And then there was him, quietly fading into the walls. And Potter. Oh, Potter.
Draco knew something was very wrong from the second he saw him again on the train platform that first day. Maybe even before that. At the trials he’d seemed relatively normal, still in his element and with a clear purpose, Drace supposed. The summer that followed was hard on Draco and he hardly had energy to spare to think of Potter, but he did notice the lack of real information about his whereabouts in the press. All rumors and speculations, but it seemed like no one had really seen Potter for months until he turned up at King’s Cross on September 1st. It’s not that he looked bad or unkempt (not more than usual at least). But in the way he walked between Weasley and Granger, crossing his arms in front of his chest, looking all around but not really seeing… Draco recognized it instantly. The same kind of subtle protective gestures that he had adopted himself, that he was exhibiting at the same time, watching from the other side of the platform. He had moved on afterwards, it was enough to worry about his own well being. But seeing Potter regularly in school made it even clearer that something was going on.
They had all lost their innocence and carelessness long ago. But there had always remained a certain energy in Potter, a driving force. Even in the last years, when Draco was becoming more and more tense, Potter had a sort of ease around him. It had made Draco incredibly jealous at the time. Now its absence just made him concerned.
When Draco walked into class the next morning, Potter was the first thing he saw. Usually he tried to avoid looking at him, at anyone really. But especially at Potter. It was part of his strategy for safety: blend into the walls as much as his hair color allowed. Honestly it didn’t work particularly well, he still got insults and hexes flung at him every day, but he also wasn’t about to try any different. Draco sincerely doubted anyone in the school would be happy to hear any more than necessary from him.
Potter looked anxious. He sat alone at a table against the wall, staring down at the table and shuffling his parchment around. Draco quickly looked away and sat down in the back of the classroom. After pulling out his books and quill, his eyes strayed again to Potter. One of his hands had crept into his sleeve and seemed to scratch up his forearms. It wasn’t itching, the scratches were slow and deliberate, meant to hurt, meant to anchor. Draco couldn’t tear his gaze away. The movement was so intimate, so private. And yet it felt so very familiar to Draco. How many times had he slid a hand into his robe and traced the lines of the mark with a sharp nail. How many times had his fingers curled into his skin to keep from shaking. How…
He snapped out of it when Calarook, the new potions professor, started the class. He tried his best to keep up, good grades being another integral part of his strategy to fade into the background.
But today it was even harder to focus than usual. In the corner of his eye, Potter kept shifting around, trying his best to not be noticed but clearly being uncomfortable. After years of disdain and tormenting, Draco had begun to feel a kind of kinship with him in the last weeks. Sometimes he’d look up at Potter just to see a movement that exactly mirrored one of his own gestures. The similarity made him choke up a bit. It also made him feel a lot worse. He felt bad for Potter and would have liked to help him from his own experiences, but being compared to Draco Malfoy would offend any student in the school, much less the Saviour himself. And of course, he couldn’t ignore his own contributions to the terrors Potter had seen.
The thing was, school was hard. It had been hard before, but Draco was nothing if not ambitious and diligent. Or used to be. Lately, he just couldn’t find the same drive in him anymore, even though it was now more important than ever to do well. So, he tried to pay attention as best as he could as Calarook went on about what they would be making today and the medicinal properties of each ingredient. Draco took notes and wrote his own thoughts or questions in the margins. Never once did he raise his hand this year. Once in a while he would be called on by a professor, but after a couple of weeks it seemed like they all knew to avoid that particular discomfort. Most of them barely looked at him at all. Calarook made them read several pages on Cowbane and how to extract its magical properties without making a poisonous potion. A few students in the front of the class rolled their eyes and grumbled a bit, but eventually´opened their books. Draco began reading quickly. The text was rather complicated and he struggled to concentrate on the run-on sentences and the academic language. His eyes were flitting around the room, unable to stay focused on the reading. Only few noises broke the silence of the class; Calarook sat quietly behind her desk, somebody had a really scratchy quill and Weasley suppressed a soft giggle. He also seemed to had forgotten his potions book, leaning close into Granger's personal space to peer onto the pages. Draco could see them smile and hastily looked away.
His eyes landed on Potter at the desk behind them. He was scratching his forearm again, slow and deliberate. Draco could hear the rhythmic noises of his nails on skin. Potter’s left hand was tucked into his right sleeve, both arms pressed close together under the table as he leant forward above his book. Looking up in his face, Draco didn’t believe Potter was retaining a single word of text. He was staring straight down, neither eyes nor face moving along the lines. Again, Draco felt a rush of guilt, worry and confusion surge through him. His gaze was caught on Potter’s face now, the way his lashes fluttered as he was blinking quickly. He swallowed thickly and suddenly turned his head the tiniest bit to look directly at Draco.
Snapping back to his book, Draco felt a wave of nausea rise in him. Absent-mindedly, he noticed that his own hands had begun clenching in his lap. He tried to loosen his jaw, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth and it made the nausea worse. Consciously relaxing his shoulder blades down, he took a deep breath. Cowbane. Cowbane, Cowbane, its poisonous effects, the interaction with other ingredients for Doxycide. Soaking cowbane in a solution infused with dragon liver severely reduces its toxic effects on humans, making it a safer material to work with, while retaining its effects on doxies. Draco took another deep breath and forced himself to read the text and take notes and resolutely not lift his head again until the end of the class. He could feel a heavy gaze resting on the side of his face until Calarook demanded they should have finished the reading by now.
His room was still cold when he returned to it after supper. As he opened the door, Draco realised that the corridor was significantly warmer than his room. So maybe not the magic of the whole castle. Maybe just his room was acting up. He tried his best to not think of it as a personal punishment. It was freezing cold inside. He put down his books on the desk and started to pull off his robe, but quickly decided against it. He’d have to got to the library to do his homework. Sighing, Draco packed up his books again and trekked across the castle. The library was moderately full, typical for a weeknight, about half of the table were occupied by students doing homework or messing around. It was way too much for his liking. He tried to be as quick and quiet as possible, slipping through the narrow paths between the shelves and taking several detours to avoid groups of students. None of the tables seemed secluded enough for him, there was always somebody there one or two places over. Resigned; he sank down in a seat in the back corner of the room and started unpacking. Draco had barely touched his quill to the paper, when he could hear whispering and shuffling from the group closest to him.
They were about six fourth years and his glance at them confirmed they were talking about him, looking over their shoulders and scoffing. Oh, well, not like he wasn’t used to it by now. He put his head back down and continued writing his essay draft for history of magic. The whispering continued and Draco felt himself tense up, his eyes still glued to the parchment. He pressed his legs together on the chair and his arms close to his sides, sinking into himself, even as he could feel his back complaining about the poor posture. Lifting his quill to the ink pot, he heard someone walking towards him and looked up at them. Two of the fourth years leant menacingly over the table and glared at him.
“Who let you in here, huh? You think we’re just gonna let you sit here? You absolute scum, you don’t deserve to be within a hundred miles of this school. You barely deserve to be alive still.” the taller one spat, his face a stony grimace of disdain. Draco stayed still, blinked slowly. The questions were clearly rhetorical and he felt they had more to say.
The other boy jumped in now. “Delusional idiot, still thinks he gets a free pass to be here because he’s a snobby little rich kid. If you honestly expect anyone to hire you asshole, you’re even dumber than I thought. Why even come, a graduate won’t hide the fact you’re a bloody traitor and a killer.”
They had hit a nerve, but Draco felt frozen in place. “I haven’t killed anyone.” He croaked out, trying to breathe a calming breath without being obvious.
“You haven’t killed anyone?” The boys huffed out a dark laugh and the taller one pulled out his wand. His voice rose, it sounded choked up. Draco realized they had clearly lost people close to them. “Oh yeah, of course, you were being an innocent little boy, while letting death eaters into the school, while welcoming You-Know-Who into your house! Having prisoners in your home! Sure, you didn’t do anything wrong! Of course, Draco Malfoy is innocent!” He laughed sarcastically, his chest heaving from the outburst. Draco pressed his lips together and gathered his materials off the table.
“Now he’s running, the fucking coward!” The boy fired a Stinging Hex at him, hitting him on the shoulder. Pain seared through his arm and upper back, a book almost slipped out of hsi grasp. Desperately, he grabbed the last of his things, quickly heading for the exit. For once in his life, he was eternally grateful for Madam Pince’s stern presence in the library, as he heard her scolding the fourth years, effectively stopping them from following him.
His shoulder felt like someone had dumped a bucket of boiling water on it and he shifted his bag to the other side, trying to relieve some of the pain. He sincerely hoped he had some healing balm in his room, otherwise this would take quite a while to heal. Cursing under his breath, Draco almost ran through the castle, grateful to slam the door shut behind him, even as his room was as cold as ever. So, maybe not the library again.
Rifling through his things he found a little canister of wound balm, but it was almost empty. He took of his robes, sweater and shirt and immediately had goosebumps from the cold air. His right shoulder was red and swollen almost all the way to the base of his neck. He winced in pain as he moved his arm to see the full damage. It was quite bad, the boy had hit him well and from such a close range. Draco was just grateful it hadn’t been his face. That would have been more humiliating than he could handle at this point. At least nobody really saw his shoulder naked. Still, it hurt a lot and since he’d only have so little balm left, it’d take quite a while to properly heal. Gingerly, he spread some of the cream on the wound, careful to use as little pressure as possible. Then, he pulled on his clothes again and put an additional jumper on top. Draco cast a warming charm around him, that seemed to dissipate immediately among the dysfunctional magic of the castle. Gritting his teeth, he sat down at his desk. He had an essay to finish.
The air was stinging in his face and his shoulder pressed painfully into the mattress. He’d been lying in bed for half an hour and had realized he wouldn’t be able to sleep about 29 minutes ago. It was hard enough to find sleep for him as it was, nightmares and flashbacks and emotional outbursts being almost daily parts of his nightly routine. But this was impossible. He had burrowed himself under several blankets and still wore all of his clothes. He even transfigured a couple of ties into additional blankets. Still, the chill seeped into his bones and sat there, unyielding. Then, he’d tried to imagine the heat, picturing himself on a warm summer's day, in a hot bath, in a sauna even. But he was too distracted and once he started shivering he realized his imagination would not suffice.
Sighing, Draco resolved himself to spend the night in the hallway. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep, but at least he wouldn’t freeze to death either. He braced himself for the onslaught of cold air and pulled away the covers. Grabbing two blankets from his pile and a book off the nightstand, Draco headed for the door. On a whim he snatched his violin case off the shelf as he passed by it. Might as well use his time.
The hallway was broad and dark, but big windows let in enough of the moon to light his way. He found a little alcove a few paces along, a small table and two benches tucked neatly into the small space. Paned glass windows rose up at the sides, illuminating the area and providing a view of the dark grounds and the lake shimmering in the night. Draco sat down his things and felt himself relax in the significantly warmer air. His exhaustion hadn’t caught up to him yet, so he pulled his violin out of the case and leisurely began tuning the instrument. The wood was smooth and satisfying under his hands and his fingers found their way across the strings with a practised ease.
Raised in a pureblood family as his, mastering an instrument had been a fundamental part of his early education. His parents valued the ability to entertain and impress guests with musical skills, even as they rarely did so themselves. He remembers the tinkling of piano keys throughout the Manor in his childhood, his mother’s voice accompanying her playing. How he’d tiptoe down the stairs so as to not disturb her and then quietly sit down next to her on the bench. How she’d smile softly and wish him a good morning and gently guide his hand to a simple melody she would harmonize with. As the years went on, these simple moments became rarer, as all familiar pleasures in the Manor did. Draco hadn’t heard Narcissa play the piano in years.
The violin lessons had been a less lovely experience. His father arranged for him one of the best teachers in the country and both of them expected nothing short of perfection from Draco. It had been grueling at times, the love he felt now had only developed once the lessons had ended. Once the war had come into their lives and haunted their home. In sixth year, Draco started to pick up the violin by himself, playing in empty classrooms or the room of requirement to escape his terrifying task. The next year, he’d been hidden in his room behind several layers of silencing charms, playing and playing until the house was completely silent and he had almost forgotten what the screams sounded like. It helped him relax, it was his escape. He#d been to busy for it, being back in school, but now he noticed how much he had missed it. Something in it yearned deeply to play, to feel his fingers on the strings, the weight of the bow gliding across, to sink into the music and forget where he was. Who he was.
Draco raised the violin to his shoulder and was suddenly glad his right side had been hit by the curse. He picked up the bow and began to play, starting with a simple tune to get him warmed up. The notes rose prettily in the empty corridor, filling the space with warmth and Draco quickly got lost in it. As he started again on one of his favorite pieces, he took the deepest breath he’d taken all day and something in him unraveled.
Draco felt like absolute shit the next morning. He had played until he could barely hold up the violin anymore and then he sank onto one of the benches and fell asleep sitting. His back was sore from the uncomfortable position and his jinxed shoulder pulsated with pain. Also, he was tired as fuck. He woke early from his fitful sleep and made his way back to his room. He took a shower and changed as quickly as possible, the cold still enveloping every inch of his space.
When he came down, the Great Hall was still empty as it was barely past six. He sat down at the end of the Slytherin table and threw a glance across the room at the few early birds. Professor Trelawney sat alone at the teacher’s table, drinking tea, seemingly lost in her own world as usual. Four people were scattered around at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, Draco was alone at his. At the Gryffindor table, there was Harry Potter.
Potter looked to have had about as much rest as Draco did. His head rested in his palm as he slowly stirred his tea, eyes unfocused, somewhere on the floor. Draco could hear him sigh across the empty space. It made his breath catch a bit. It took a bit of effort to focus his eyes away, aqt the assortment of breakfast foods in front of him. He didn’t feel like eating. Pouring himself a black tea with a teaspoon of honey, he argued with himself. Food was important and he was exhausted already, he really should eat. He grabbed a plain slice of toast, eating mechanically without tasting a thing. His eyes flitted back to Potter without his permission. Potter had noticed him too and was looking back at him, but Draco felt less startled than in Potions the day before. He kept his face blank and calmly returned the gaze. Potter seemed to assess him for a bit, before returning to his tea. Draco tried his very best not to wonder what the other might see when he looked at him. It didn’t quite work.
As he unenthusiastically made his way through his toast, the Hufflepuffs left and shortly after the girl from Ravenclaw did too. He glanced again at Potter. Slow, but deliberate steps sounded through the Great Hall. Professor Trelawney had left her seat and walked between the tables, coming through a stop between Potter and himself. Draco furrowed his brows, curious to what she was doing.
“Harry. Mr. Malfoy.” she breathed, her voice far away yet somehow loud enough to be heard. “I am so relieved to see you both have heard the call to join me at this time. When I received the premonition last night, it seemed almost like an error. To see you both at this meal has wiped away all of my doubts. I want to congratulate you on this extraordinary fate. To listen and be listened to, the greatest honor of all.”
With a flourish she turned to look sincerely at both of them, staring intently into Draco’s eyes, before leaving. Draco looked at Potter in question, but saw the same confusion and curiosity in his expression. Typical Trelawney, being incomprehensible and mildly concerning. She probably just had too much too drink and saw something in the remnants of her porridge. Draco shrugged and returned to eating. If he hurried, he could leave the hall before anyone else arrived. It was quite comfortable to be able to eat in silence, instead of the constant snickering and whispering around him and the feeling of insecurity in a crowd. Maybe he’d stick to this time, even if Potter’s presence was a bit unnerving.
The day dragged on and got worse by the minute. He struggled to keep his eyes open during the lecture on the development of the Ministry of Magic and then struggled to focus in Potions, which almost let to a critical mistake. The fourth years from the library the day before saw him in the corridor and shoved him against the wall, purposely pushing hard on his stinging shoulder. Draco was too exhausted to deal with all of that, he desperately needed a warm bed and about 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep. He briefly tried to do his homework, but could barely sit straight. When he had resolved himself to succumbing to exhaustion, another problem arose. It was still freezing cold in his room. Shivering underneath the blankets, he considered where to go. He couldn’t really go out in the hallway, as it was still early and he could hear people walking by. He yearned for the room of requirement, it would make a good temporary bedroom, but the fire had destroyed it thoroughly and it didn’t seem to be working at the moment. Maybe he could find an empty classroom to curl up in, Draco thought and shrunk a blanket to tuck into his robe pocket. At this point, anything would be better than his arctic chambers.
He quickly walked along the halls, passing doors of other eighth year student rooms and a couple of classrooms he knew of. After turning a couple of corners he ended up in a different wing, where he could feel the way the air hadn’t been moved in a while. There was still a little rubble in some of the corners, broken chairs and collapsed railings forgotten in the rebuilding. He found the first open door and snuck in. It was a standard rectangular classroom, though the tables and chairs were all lined up along the sides, creating a square space in the center. He laid out his blanket on the floor in one of the corners of the square and sat down, his back leaning on the desk. In the quiet he allowed himself to relax and his eyes fell closed almost immediately. Before even thinking about it, Draco fell asleep curled up on the floor.
He awoke sometime later because someone opened the door. Draco startled and looked up art the intruder, still laying on the floor. It was Potter. He didn’t seem to expect anyone to be there, his face genuinely shocked when he saw Draco.
“Oh.. Um.. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.. uh.. What are you doing here?” He shuffled his feet uncomfortably and Draco could see his hands holding tightly to one another. Draco sat upright and tried to regain some composure. “I was sleeping.” he answered, to startled still to be dishonest. Potter seemed taken aback, furrowing his brows. “You’re sleeping? Here?” Draco felt himself flushing a bit. “I seem to have a problem in my room, which makes it impossible for me to sleep there.” “Oh, okay.” “I’d appreciate it, if you’d left me to it..” Draco said, trying for polite but firm. Potter nodded and retreated slowly, glancing back at him imploringly. Draco tried to shake it off. He was too exhausted to think about that particular interaction now. Or about what Potter was even doing here to begin with. He tried to get more comfortable on the floor and shook his head a bit to clear his mind. His thoughts were racing, but his exhaustion overwhelmed him soon enough.
The next time he woke it was dark all around him. He cast a small Lumos and a Tempus charm to orient himself. All his stuff was still there, nobody had disturbed him. It was 03.24 in the morning. He’d fallen asleep so early, he couldn’t sleep through the whole night. But at least he felt refreshed and awake now, even is it was an inopportune time. His back and shoulder ached, so he wandered back to his room to apply some more balm. It was almost the last he had and the swelling was still pretty significant. Sighing, he pulled a fresh shirt over his head and thought about what he could do now. He wouldn’t get breakfast before 6 at least and his room hadn’t gotten any warmer in the last hours. Over the days he’d tried several combinations of heating spells, but none of them lasted more than a minute. Maybe he’d have to report this problem at some point. But he wasn’t sure who would even be responsible for this. He also felt deeply, deeply ashamed asking for any sort of help, but that was neither here nor there.
Bored, he reached for his violin again. Today he felt more confident in his ability, getting a little more creative after his test run the night before. His fingers flew across the fingerboard, hitting their correct places effortlessly. He felt in his element as the melody poured out of him, filling the air. His mind felt somehow both entirely focused and blissfully empty. The music pushed out anything but the next jump, the starting crescendo and the steady rhythm. Draco hadn’t felt bliss in a long time. Way longer than any human should. And somehow, this simple thing had the power to do such rare things. He felt his heart soar in time with the music and his lips stretched in a genuine smile he hadn’t worn in years.
When he sat down at the Slytherin table, the Great Hall was even more deserted than the day before. Professor Trelawney was missing and there was only one sleepy Hufflepuff, probably trying to finish an essay before first period. And there was Harry Potter. Sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, directly across from where Draco sat the other day. Gathering some courage, Draco chose the same seat again and looked at Potter. Their eyes kept finding each other throughout their meal. Potter still had dark circles under his eyes, but he seemed calmer today. Almost serene, how he returned Dracos gaze. If Draco didn’t know any better, he’d think Potter was pleased to see him.
In the following week, Draco fell into a routine of sorts. He’d wake early in the morning on the floor of some random classroom or in the hallway, eat a silent breakfast in the empty Great Hall across from an equally silent Harry Potter, go through all the motions of classes and school work, suffer for a few hours in his freezing rooms while students were still up and then sneak out to play the violin before finding a semi-comfortable corner to get a few hours of fitful sleep in. It wasn’t great, by any means. His back was hurting constantly, even as tried to stretch regularly, and he was exhausted a lot of the time. But at least he was getting regular sleep and he’d found some warm hiding spaces he actually liked. At night, when no one was around, he mostly returned to the alcove in the corridor though. It was convenient, being so close to his room and the benches were broad enough to sit comfortably. what he was really enamoured with was the view; the dark landscape stretching in soft slopes all the way from the castle to the big lake and beyond. The forest looming just off to the side, the surrounding mountain side peaking out above the trees. As Christmas came closer, snow and ice grazed the surfaces, coating everything in white and making every little peak glimmer in the moonlight. Sometimes, Draco would just sit. Sometimes, he’d try to capture the view in a song, put the soft waves of the lake or the black mass of the forest into a melody.
Tonight was one of those nights. He’d had a bad day again, guilt plaguing him and he was far too restless to try for sleep. Draco wasn’t much of a composer, but he had hours to fill and the thick fog gathering atop the water brought something out in him. He experimented with slow notes gliding into one another, trying to capture the slow movement. But he couldn’t decide on a key and wasn't even sure which mood he wanted to convey. The sight was beautiful and it was so light and airy, yet not exactly inviting. He was in the middle of starting another slow meander up and down the A Minor scale, when he heard a door opening. Startled, Draco turned around. Harry Potter was standing in the middle of the hallway, one hand in his messy hair, loose t-shirt threadbare and feet bare on the cool stone floor. Draco gaped at him for a second, before collecting himself.
“You play beautifully.” Potter said, seemingly sincerely. It wasn’t what Draco had expected and he definitely wasn’t used to compliments from Potter, much less serious ones. He felt himself flush and lowered his violin bashfully from his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Then, another thought hit him. “Where did you hear me?”
Potter furrowed his brows a bit and looked at him in confusion. “From my room, obviously. You’re out here pretty much every night.” He gestured towards one of the doors, right next to the little alcove. Draco’s eyes widened a bit. He hadn’t seen Potter much outside of class and their early breakfasts, he never realized Potter’s room was so close to his! No, he hadn’t even thought about people being in the adjacent rooms. He distantly assumed there were other eighth year students living in the hall, but he had never even thought of people hearing his playing.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.. I should have thought of that.. I apologize, I will use a silencing charm from now on.” Draco looked down, he felt scolded and embarrassed. He thought of Potter’s dark circles at breakfast and felt hot guilt rise up like bile in him. Was Potter’s exhaustion his fault?
“Oh, please don’t.” Potter said softly and Draco’s head snapped up. Potter was looking at him almost pleadingly and took a few more steps towards the table. “I really enjoy it actually. It calms me down, sometimes I fall right asleep to it. Sleeping hasn't exactly come easy to me lately.” He glanced at Draco and gestured broadly at his little set up. “I’m sure you can relate.”
Draco nodded absentmindedly. He was still a little too stunned by Potter’s appearance and his compliments and his blatant honesty to answer.
“Um.. is it okay if I sit with you for a bit?” Potter asked, waving a hand at the bench opposite Draco. His other hand found his forearm and scratched at it lightly. Draco was reminded of the Potions lesson and followed the movement, but this was far less deliberate or forceful. It was unconscious, almost, a nervous habit perhaps. Why Potter would be nervous about asking Draco to sit with him, he couldn’t understand. Much less, why Potter would even want to ask that. But he had. Draco nodded, following Potter with his eyes as he sat down.
For a moment, neither of them knew what to do. This might have been the first time they’d been that close to each without fighting. Draco was very uncomfortable, yet it felt important somehow. He looked Potter in the eyes. His face truly seemed exhausted, he hadn’t really reached a healthy weight again after the war and his skin seemed paler than its usual dark brown tone. Draco felt his heart clench at the sight. He looked so battered, so bruised and so… young. Desperately, he fished around for the right thing to say.
“I was trying to play the fog.” he whispered instead.
Potter looked out of the window and nodded. “Let me hear.” he whispered, glancing at Draco. There was a moment there, where they locked eyes and Draco felt like he was looking at Potter for the first time and the hurt and fatigue in his eyes so closely resemble Draco’s own. They recognized each other, he realized.
Without another word, Draco picked up the violin again and began to play. He looked once again at Potter and tried to capture the moment between them. Low notes rolled into each other, until slowly a melody emerged, climbing and sinking in a steady ebb and flow. The piece slowly build up, echoing around the empty hall. Draco focused his eyes on the fingerboard and let himself get lost in the music, the repetition, the succession. After a last climb and a devastating closing note, he gently lowered the instrument and dared to look back at Potter. Potter looked straight back at him, facial expression open and relaxed. Draco knew he had understood. They didn’t need to say anything. Draco nodded and began to play again.
After a while, Draco was struggling to concentrate, his thoughts were drifting and his eyes were getting heavy. He finished the piece he was playing and then turned to Potter.
“I’m sorry, I have to stop. I’m really tired.” Potter seemed to shake himself out of a stupor and smiled. “Oh yeah, me too. We should probably go to sleep.” He got up to leave, but stopped as he looked back at Draco. “Are you not going?” he asked.
Draco busied himself with his violin case and mumbled. “I still have problems with my room. I usually stay out here.” Potter was looking at him with unabashed concern now, taking a serious look at Draco, assessing the situation. He knew better than to pry though, nodding once before saying his goodbye and thanking Draco for the music. Potter left and Draco was all alone in the dark corridor again. It felt different now. Draco didn’t want to think too much about what had changed or how he had felt when Potter was with him. He shook his head and tried to get comfortable on the bench. Merlin knew he needed a rest.
The next morning, Draco rose early as usual. For a second he imagined going down to the Great Hall together with Potter until he thought better of it. Their encounter didn’t have to mean anything. In fact, it likely didn’t to Potter. Just like the breakfasts didn’t. Draco was just a lonely idiot that desperately craved human connection. Pathetic, he scolded himself. Being delusional about Harry Potter of all people. He hastily went through his morning routine and arrived at the Slytherin table in a sour mood, angry with himself. As he looked around his mood plummeted further. Potter wasn’t there. Of course he wouldn’t be, Draco was being a stupid idiot without friends who craved attention from anyone. That’s why he made this such a big deal, It really wasn’t. It was fine, Draco was fine. He stubbornly chewed his bland breakfast, staring straight ahead at the wall and resolutely going over his upcoming assignments in his head.
He saw Potter again later that day in the back row of Potions. Draco had already been sitting when Potter came in, following after Granger and Weasley. Draco had tried his best not to notice, but the way the couple was always smiling and talking together and Potter just trailed behind silently made him curious. He quickly put his head back down as they approached his surrounding tables, but even bent deeply over his parchment he could see Potter walking past him and settling down at the desk next to Draco’s. He froze. What did that mean? Granger and Potter were now talking from their desks, practically having a conversation right above Draco’s head. They were talking about mundane things, mostly Granger reminding him of his homework and deciding on a time to meet in the library, while Potter nodded his agreement. His response surprised Draco. He was expecting Potter to grumble petulantly about the assignments or joke about Granger’s incessant worrying, but he barely responded at all. It made Draco sad, another part of Potter lost, even if Draco had always found it annoying. This just spoke so clearly of Potter’s mental state, barely engaging with the world, barely there. Slinking away in the corners just like Draco was, when he was the celebrated hero. Scratching at his skin and losing sleep and being distant. Draco felt the sudden urge to make Potter smile. He knew all too well what it meant to be numb, to be slipping from reality one day at a time. Everyday he was working hard to stay present. He wanted Potter to be present, wanted Potter to feel something again. Draco glanced at him for a long moment and sighed softly. He was being stupid. But looking at Potter like this hurt in a way he could have never expected it to.
Potter’s eyes met his as the class quieted down. Without thinking about it, Draco winked at him. It was a tiny gesture, something he used to do with Pansy and sometimes even with his mother when they were upset. A small sign that he was on their side. Was he on Potter’s side now? Draco was surprised by his own action and Potter too looked a bit confused. He sent Draco another long, intrigued look and then went back to his book. It was far from a smile, but at least there was some life in his eyes. Draco would take what he could get.
That night Draco suddenly felt insecure stepping out of his room. Maybe he didn’t know if Potter would come again or if he should cast a silencing spell or just move to another place entirely. His racing thoughts came to a sudden stop as he rounded the corner. Potter was already sitting at the table, his head in his palm, staring out the window. He seemed relaxed. Draco breathed and stayed still for a moment, taking in the sight of Potter slouched against the window, softly illuminated by the moon. Without speaking, he walked across the hall and sat down. Potter turned to Draco and he nodded in greeting. Draco took out his violin and began checking the tune. A heavy gaze followed his hand movements and the tilt of the head. Draco tried his best not to get distracted by the green eyes attentively watching him.
He played for a bit, until Potter interrupted the silence between pieces. “Where did you learn to play?”
Draco shrugged. “My parents got a teacher. Musical entertainment is a fundamental part of being a good host.” he recited.
Potter nodded and tilted his head to the side, appraising him. “Did you like it?”
That was not the question he had expected. Shrugging again, he looked off to the windows. “Not really, they were very demanding. But once that pressure let off, I found solace in it, in a way. It was just for me, you know.” Draco swallowed. Wasn’t a lot left for me with Voldemort in my house, he didn’t add. Potter didn’t press. Instead, he picked up on something Draco hadn’t even thought about. “Does it bother you when I’m listening to you?”
He thought about it for a bit. In the last years, music had always been something so private and intimate for him. Still, he barely thought twice before playing for Potter. Draco shook his head. “You get it, I think.”
He didn’t really mean to say that, but Potter didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he blinked at Draco in something like wonder and his face softened. Again, Potter was suprisingly sensitive to Draco’s discomfort and didn’t push the topic.
“So, what’s going on with your room?”
Draco groaned a bit. “I think the magic of the castle is messing up. My room is freezing cold all the time, way colder than the corridor. Warming charms are not working in there and even under all my blankets I’m shivering too bad to sleep.”
Furrowing his brows, Potter leant over the table. “What? How long has this been going on?”
“About ten days, I think.” Potter nodded and lifted his thumb to his lips, chewing on the skin around the nail. He was deep in thought about something. Draco didn’t quite follow.
“Do you know anything about that?”
He folded his hands on the table and looked seriously at Draco. “My room has been exceedingly hot for about ten days. It wasn’t that bad at first, but lately I can barely sit in there without sweating. I’ve been keeping my door open, but I don’t like that when I’m inside. Spells don’t work either.” Their eyes locked.
Draco didn’t quite know what to do with that information. So the magic was malfunctioning for both of them in opposite ways, but neither of them had found a way to fix it. They continued exchanging information and some theories. Potter was thinking of asking Granger about it, but was hesitant for some reason. Draco didn’t question it further, sensing their friendship was a sensitive topic. They decided to keep each other updated if anything happened and to individually do more research. When Draco tried his best to fall asleep on the bench later, he had to count each visible star and recite their name, to get Potter’s soft and open expression out of his head.
The next week followed a similar pattern, they basically spent each night together in the hallway, Draco playing the violin or both of them pouring over books on house spells and heating. In the morning they’d go to breakfast alone, sitting quietly across from each other. Draco’s days were spent hiding in corners and taking detours to avoid other students, on the rare occasion they shared a class he couldn’t help but glance at Potter constantly. Though they never spoke during the day, their chats at night grew more and more comfortable.
The following night was particularly quiet. Thick snowflakes were tumbling outside the window, the frozen lake too covered in a stark white. The tall paned windows were fogging up from the temperature difference, allowing Draco to trace curves and stars into the condensation with his fingertip. Usually, he’d arrive after Potter, but today he needed the peace of his little alcove. His day had started with a violent nightmare which left him shaking and crying through his shower. He’d calmed down a bit during the familiar quiet breakfast, but it didn’t last long. The dream still fresh in his mind, he could barely stand walking across floors he’d seen soaked in blood. Every loud voice and sudden movement made him flinch, the content of conversation or the professor's lectures slipped by him, never fully reaching his mind. His brain was cycling through a mix of particularly horrible memories and equally terrifying imagined scenarios. After several hours of intense flashbacks and a constant whirl of emotions, it was hard to determine what was real. What was actually happening to him. He pushed his hand against the window pane, the cold wetness grounding him a bit. There he was. There he was. He tried to focus on breathing deeply, but it made him a little nauseous. Resisting the urge to scratch or hurt himself, he grabbed his left forearm in his right hand and put pressure on it. Not enough to hurt, just a firm grip moving up and down his arm. Mapping out the borders of his body. There he was. There he was.
There was someone else there, too. Potter joined him at the table, watching him attentively. Draco greeted him and began a bit of smalltalk, trying desperately to appear engaged. His hands were hidden under the table now, a steady reminder of reality. Potter told a story about his day, Draco’s eyes wandered out the window, Potter looked at him with worry, Draco’s hand squeezed. There he was.
“Do you want me to leave?” Potter asked gently. Draco shook his head mutely.
Potter pressed his lips together, hesitating. “Would you maybe want to go to my room instead? I’m a little cold here.” Draco breathed. And thought it over. Maybe the new environment would provide a good distraction. Maybe being in a room would be comforting. Maybe being with Potter was. He jerked his head at the thought, then nodded.
Potter led them to his room, now and then glancing worriedly at Draco.
Entering the room, Draco was instantly hot.The air inside was very warm, but in a humid, almost tropical way. He could feel the sweat forming on his skin as they sat down on a plush carpet together. He looked around. The room was very simple. An unmade bed with white linens, a messy desk full of parchment and ink stains, a dark closet and a shelf filled with books and a couple of picture frames.
Potter started talking again and Draco focused on it. Being here did provide a pretty good distraction from his raging mind. Unfortunately, it also provided enough warmth to last a whole English summer. It began to get uncomfortable under his sweater and he quickly pulled it over his head, wearing a simple sleeveless top underneath. Potter’s story abruptly came to a halt. Draco saw a flash of black from his forearm and winced. He’d been so overwhelmed, he’d forgotten the cardinal rule of surviving this school year. Do not, under any circumstances, show your Dark Mark. They know it’s there, do not remind them. Least of all Harry Potter. Draco looked up at him, bracing himself.
“Oh.. oh.” Potter breathed, eyes fixed on the mark. His right hand lifted slowly, the tip of his forefinger gently dragging across the blackened skin. Draco flinched and felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked quickly. Potter withdrew his hand.
“I’m sorry. That was out of line, I don’t know what came over me. I guess it’s just.. of course I know that it’s there, but I’ve seen it so rarely, it doesn’t feel like a real thing. And then to see it so suddenly and be reminded.. And that it’s you that carries it…” Potter rambled a bit, visibly uncomfortable. Draco shook his head and cut him off.
“It’s okay. I will cover it up again. Or I can leave, if you want me to.” He grabbed his sweater back, but Potter’s hand stopped him. There was something fierce in his eyes.
“No. Leave it open. Let’s talk about it.” His tone was serious and calm all of a sudden. He knew what they needed to do and he wanted to do it now. Draco nodded his consent.
“Where do you want to start?” he asked.
“Tell me what it was like for you.” Potter demanded.
So Draco did. He explained all the things his father had taught him about what it meant to be a pureblood. He talked about the first time he saw death eaters gather at their dining table. About the first death he saw from his bedroom window. About seeing the thestrals the following September and none of his friends believing him. About the vanishing cabinet and Dumbledore and the mark. About the prisoners and the screams and Voldemort in his home. About the nightmares and the memories.
He blinked and when he had finished his story, he saw Potter. Potter sitting close, across from him, eyes wide and shining wetly, one hand on Draco’s arm, close to the mark. And then Potter began to speak. He told a wondrous story Draco almost couldn’t believe, except he knew it to be real. Of goblins and swords and a dragon. Of the forest and the loneliness. Of all the dark nights and the hiding. Of the battle, of course. Of the stone and of his mother, Draco’s mother.
“She saved my life.” Potter repeated at Draco’s shock.
“And you saved mine, ” he responded. The feeling of the fire all around was clear in his mind. The image of Vince falling to his death was, too.
Potter chuckled darkly. “Well, I did also try to kill you in sixth year, so I think we’re even.”
Draco’s hand rubbed softly against the scars on his chest in memory, but his voice was serious and firm as he disagreed.
“No, Potter, we’re not even, not even close and we never will be. I’ve made your life hell from the moment we met and nothing will ever fix that! I hurt you and your friends again and again and then I brought war into this school! The idea that we would ever be even is completely ridiculous. Yes, you did try to kill me and it would probably have been for the better!” His chest was heaving from his outburst and the heat in the air. His mouth was set in a straight line and he looked defiantly at Potter.
Potter’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open a bit. Different emotions flashed across his features and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, about to speak but thinking better of it. Then he nodded resolutely.
“Okay. Then we’ll start over. You’re right that things can’t be undone. But I also enjoy your company as you are now and I don’t want us to be on uneven footing while we get to know each other. So, we’ll start new. I’m Harry. Not Potter, not The Harry Potter, not the Chosen One. Just Harry. And I like to hang out with Draco.”
Draco was a little bit in shock still, so he grabbed Harry’s outstretched hand almost automatically. Blinking quickly, he tried to catch up.
“I’m Draco. And I like hanging out with you.”
And then, it happened. As they let go of each other, Harry smiled. It started out small, almost timid, but Draco felt himself mirroring it and Harry’s entire face lit up. The skin around his eyes was crinkling and his teeth were on display. Draco grinned back and scrunched his nose a little. Something like a warm current was running upwards from his stomach to his chest, lifting a weight of his shoulders and making it easier to breathe. He felt lighter somehow, only Harry’s gaze on him keeping Draco tethered to the ground.
For the first time in a long time, Draco started his day in a hopeful mood. His talk with Harry the night before had relieved him of some of his perpetual guilt he carried around with him. And the way Harry had smiled while they had continued to talk made his insides feel mushy. It meant a lot to him to get that from Harry. Whatever it was, they were doing.
When Draco had finally got up to leave and get some rest, Harry suggested they’d go to breakfast together for once. Even though they'd been silently eating together for a while, the prospect excited Draco. Seeing Harry in the hallway early in the morning, voice a little rough as they took the stairs down felt like a revelation somehow. Maybe some part of Draco hadn’t quite believed their nightly meetings, waiting for it all to be a particular cruel delusion or a nasty joke. But now they were sitting next to each other in the Great Hall, talking softly and drinking tea and Draco had never felt a clearer reality.
They had decided to sit at the Ravenclaw table as a neutral spot for them. It was quite nice to sit at a different table, Draco found. The Hall seemed different from here, even as no one else was around. He wondered what people would think if they saw them now. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, chatting calmly over Yorkshire tea at six in the morning. He chuckled a bit at the absurdity of it all. At the same time, being here with Harry didn’t seem absurd at all. It felt quite natural, instead. They found it easy to keep up a steady flow of conversation, switching from topic to topic, both of them social and outgoing people, even if used to very different company. And they respected each other in a way, were careful to drop sensitive topics and not cross any boundaries. It was very different from what their interactions used to look like. Draco smiled at the thought and remembered their new beginning from last night. He absolutely could not tell where their little talks were going to lead them, but it felt important to follow that path. If he got a shot at redemption with Harry, he was going to take it. Merlin knew, he wasn’t getting a lot of those.
That night found them back in Harry’s room, backs leaning against his bed, legs sprawled out on the carpet. Draco had finally found a useful book concerning the malfunctioning heating and he was sharing his findings with Harry.
“If we’re lucky, we can fix it with this spell, but it will need about three days in the empty room to fully settle into the magic of the building.” He explained, pointing the information out on the page. “I was planning to cast it tonight in my room, since I barely spent time there anyway. Then I need to keep it closed for three days so the spell can develop its full effect and afterwards, hopefully I won’t be sleeping in arctic conditions anymore. Or on those benches, my back hurts terribly.”
“That’s great, Draco. I hope it works. Start with your room and if you’re successful, we can try mine. I just need to figure out where to sleep during that time…” Harry nodded encouragingly. Then he looked down bashfully, pulling at a loose thread in his shorts. “You know, if your back is hurting so much, you could just sleep in here with me. The bed is big enough, I wouldn’t mind.” he shrugged and turned his head to look at Draco. His eyes underneath long black lashes conveyed an emotion Draco couldn’t quite read. Sleeping in Harry’s bed seemed outrageous, Draco didn’t know what to think. He didn’t feel they were familiar enough with each other for that, but he certainly wasn’t averse to it. As he thought about it, the idea gave him a thrill. Draco had rarely shared a bed with anyone, maybe Blaise and Pansy sometimes when they were drunk. Something in him yearned for that innocent intimacy of falling asleep together and something in him wanted that with Harry specifically. He didn’t have time to unpack that now, so he just nodded.
“That would actually be great, thank you.”
As it got later, Draco almost regretted his decision. He felt awkward being in Harry’s room suddenly, felt like he was intruding. He had grabbed some clothes and his bag from his room and then he’d cast the fixing spell. Harry had come with him, reading the titles of his books as he was packing and carefully observing his wand movements to the spell. It made Draco a bit jittery to have him there. Seeing Harry in his loose shirt and shorts in his room, seemingly entirely at ease, was touching in a peculiar way. It felt intimate to allow him there, scary yet instantly comfortable, too.
Now he was standing in the corner of Harry’s room, waiting for him to leave the bathroom so he could brush his teeth. It felt overwhelming to share this mundanity with Harry. They’d always been so loud and public in their encounters over the years. It was jarring to be quiet, private, at peace with Harry. The bathroom was a welcome reprieve from his growing anxiety about sharing a bed. Draco went through the motions of his usual night routine and tried not to think about the boy waiting for him in bed. Gingerly, he crawled under the covers on the right side, Harry already laying on his back, glasses on the nightstand.
“Good night, Draco.” he said as he flicked off the light.
“Good night, Harry.” He tried to say, but it came out more as a whisper, nerves closing his throat. He took a breath and didn’t move a single muscle for a minute. It was hot in the room still and he could feel the sweat gathering where his back met the mattress. They only used a thin linen as blankets, but it felt too much still. Draco could hear Harry next to him turning around and huffing, probably in the same predicament.
“Is it alright for you if I take my shirt off? I’m about to sweat my balls off like this.” Harry whispered and Draco couldn’t suppress a breathy laugh.
“Go for it. I think I will too.” Harry turned on the light again and they both sat up, pulling their sticky shirts off their backs. Harry watched as Draco chucked his roughly in the direction of his other belongings and laughed.
“I always thought you were the kind to fold and press everything.”
Draco shrugged. “Used to. Then I had much bigger things to worry about than a few wrinkled shirts.”
They locked eyes and Harry smiled sadly in understanding. For a moment they just sat across from each other half-naked in the soft orange glow of the bedside lamp. Draco couldn’t help but admire the way the light bounced off Harry’s darker skin, coloring him almost golden. He let his eyes trail along the muscular chest, until he reached Harry’s face again and saw a sly smirk on it. He’d been caught. Embarrassed, he let himself fall back on the bed and turned on his side. Harry turned off the light again and laid down next to him. Draco closed his eyes and revelled in the softness of the mattress underneath. As he slipped away he just barely registered the touch of two fingertips tracing softly along his shoulder blade.
Morning came with an obnoxious ringing sound and a mouth full of thick black hair. Draco panicked for a second, confused where he was, until he recognized Harry’s messy mop directly in front of his face.
“Why the fuck do you have an alarm set this early?” he mumbled grumpily. It was still dark outside the window.
Harry moved a bit next to him and rubbed his eyes. “‘m sorry, I forgot about it. I set it so I could have breakfast with you.” he mumbled.
Draco froze. Leaning closer to Harry he asked incredulously: “You have an alarm set specifically so you can wake up and eat a silent breakfast with me at arse o’clock in the morning?”
Harry shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Stunned, Draco pulled back a bit and looked at him. Harry’s hair was even messier than usual, falling in his face, and his eyes were still bleary. Other than that he seemed perfectly content though. He smiled up at him and reached out a hand to softly card through the ends of Draco’s hair. “Good morning, Draco. I like your hair like that.”
This was all a bit too much for the early hour. Draco instinctively leaned closer so Harry could scratch his scalp and tried to think of what to say to that.
“Are you always this tactile?” he asked. Harry shrugged.. “Does it bother you?”
“No, not at all.” Draco was quick to reassure. In fact, he was pretty touch starved, especially without Pansy at Hogwarts. Just the small touches in his hair felt like heaven on earth.
“I’ve just never seen you like that with your Gryffindor friends.”
Harry looked him over. His relaxed smile seemed silently amused, like he knew something Draco didn’t. His hand made its way further into his hair, giving him a proper scalp massage now. Draco sighed softly in pleasure and Harry grinned at the sound.
“Well, you’re not like them, are you?”
Draco furrowed his eyebrows. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
Harry smiled, genuine and wide. “it is, Draco, it is.”
He furrowed his brows even more, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Is it? How?”
Harry scrunched up his nose as he smiled. His hand slid down from Draco’s head to his neck and pulled him closer. “It just is.” Harry whispered. And then they were kissing.
Draco had a second of complete panic at that. Then he realized that it actually felt rather good. He relaxed his body and held Harry’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs softly across his cheeks. Actually, kissing Harry was the best thing he’d ever done and he really didn’t want to stop doing it.
Unfortunately, Harry did slowly pull back after a while. They stared at each other, flushed and out of breath. Draco was smiling now, too. Harry had that soft expression on his face again that made something in Draco melt. With a gentle hand Harry tucked a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear.
“Come on, let’s go have breakfast, I’m starving.” He sat up, guiding Draco so he would softly roll off him onto the mattress. Draco turned his face into the pillow and grumbled unintelligibly. Harry rounded the bed to stand next to him, chuckling. “Come on, I’ll get you a cup of tea.” he said, slapping Draco’s arm lightly.
“I hate you.” Draco mumbled into his pillow. Then he realized what he had said and turned to face Harry, wincing. Harry seemed unperturbed. “No, you don’t.”
Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and held him in place, seeking eye contact. “No.” he said seriously. “I really don’t.”
The smile he got in response was worth leaving the bed for.