Work Text:
Scene 1: Guilt
Draco closed the door behind him, leaving out the tray of food sitting right beside his feet. His dried tears felt uncomfortable on his face and he moved rather slowly to his study desk to grab a box of tissue. God, he acted so vulnerable in front of Potter just now. It’s embarrassing, really.
Draco turned his head around from his desk to find the tray full of food still under stasis charm just where he put it before. He was hit with sudden guilt while staring unblinking at the food.
He’s a bad person; during the war.
If it’s not because of his unmarked arm, he would jump off from his room window now. Call it survivor guilt; perhaps it was really what it is. Guilty because whilst he’s still alive — the bad person in his own story — there’s still tremendous amount of innocent people died because of his stupid decision, died because of that ugly creature without nose.
He didn’t feel like eating today but seeing how the tray was filled with so much food he loved, he wanted to at least take one bite and forget about it later. Just one bite and he will cry all night on his bed.
Draco cutted the lamb first, dipping it in the sauce and chewing it slowly. It tasted so good and he could feel tears slowly threatening to go out from his eyes and he didn’t want to cry when he was eating such a delicious delicacy prepared by none other than the great hero himself.
He then took one bite after another bite and just when he finished the coleslaw, he realised he had already cleaned his plate like some hungry monster. Draco shuddered, almost dropping the plate he had been holding for solid twenty minutes back to the tray.
No no no no
He felt he wanted to puke everything he just ate and deep down he knew it wasn’t healthy. Draco decided to take a deep breath, walking back to his desk and rummaging under his desk to find his water bottle and slowly took a sip.
From his desk, he waved his wand and the plate disappeared back to the kitchen alongside the tray.
When he was back on his bed after brushing his teeth and washing his face, he could still feel the guilt on the tip of his tongue.
Scene 2: Cold
Draco woke up the next day feeling like his brain wanted to run away from his skull. His head was pounding and he felt the dizziness strike him so bad as he got up from his back. Luckily he was quick to support himself using the bar beside his bed.
Draco walked out of his room, his robe tucked neatly on his arms. Ignoring the glances of the students, he continued to walk until he reached his class. The door was still closed and he waited until the professor came in. He took his seat on his usual chair, waiting for his seatmate.
When Potter tried to talk to him albeit awkwardly — probably because of last night's incident — Draco touched his arms softly and shook his head. It’s okay if it’s Potter, Draco found his heart told him; although possible. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat.
He turned away from Potter and decided to busy his hand, playing with the new quill Hermione gave him last week.
The class started when all the students had filled in. They still gave him a look when he answered the professor’s questions. And sometimes, when he walked around the castle alone — without Potter as his shield — he was hit by all kinds of curses. It started soft at first, just like child play but slowly it started getting serious and creative; that was before Potter knew the truth, at least.
After the class ended, Draco got up from his seat, collecting his stationeries and books and put it inside his satchel. He was ready to walk away when he felt Potter’s hand on his elbow, stopping him. He raised one of his eyebrows to the boy in front of him.
“Are you okay?” Potter asked, his voice filled with worry. And after all the shits he had been through, he didn’t want to make this person in front of him worry because of him.
“I’m fine.” His voice was still hoarse and it’s so uncomfortable to talk.
“I feel like you are not but I will not press further.” With that being said, Potter let go of his elbow and turned around for his satchel. Draco walked out first, leaving slightly confused.
It was the third class of the day after his free period ended that Ron wanted to talk to him. Potter was standing beside him, pulling Ron away from him and walking away, leaving Draco alone in the middle of the busy hallway.
Potter came back later like nothing happened and gave Draco his usual grin. He put his satchel beside his feet and pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket. He passed it from Draco without saying anything.
Draco pushed out his Charm textbook away and opened the neatly folded piece of parchment. He wasn’t so shocked reading a scratch recognisable enough to belong to none other than his new Gryffindor friend; Ron. It read:
Hey, I heard you are not too fond of talking right now so just tell me when you are ready for our next rematch. Come prepare, Malfoy cause I will win this round. Say, if you lose, one gift from Hogsmeade and vice versa for me.
~ Ron
“Did you tell him why?” Draco found himself asking without really thinking much. He just let his mouth do all the thinking for him.
“No? It’s just— Look, your face loudly screams “don’t talk to me” when Ron approached us earlier. I just want you to be comfortable even if that’s your friend and Ron’s my mate.” Potter simply said although he scrunched his face.
“Oh.” That was all Draco could mutter. He nodded his head, folded the parchment back and kept it inside his robe pocket.
It was the next day when he felt so awfully sick he wanted to roll into a ball and sleep all day. Still, he rose from his bed, took a long warm shower and put on his white uniform. When he decided to get out of his room, he was hit by a sudden rush of coldness seeping through his skin. Draco walked into his room again, fetched as many thick clothes he had and put it on top of his uniform.
This doesn’t feel good.
The headache became so much worse after his first class. Potter had asked him earlier if he’s okay and he somewhat replied rather curtly. Now that he replayed the situation, it did sound like he was angry at Potter.
Draco was sitting beside Harry and he felt so cold that he could feel himself shivering. All of a sudden, he felt warmth around his body and immediately recognised the warming spell belonged to Harry Potter.
“You’re sick.” It wasn’t Harry’s voice.
It was then he felt some cold hand touch his forehead. “You are definitely sick!” Girl-Weasley exclaimed, taking her hand away and pulled his hand to stand him up. Draco, stubborn as ever, stubbornly remained seated.
He knew Ginevra Weasley was strong even for a girl. If not, he wouldn’t be the best Quidditch player Hogwarts had. Draco sighed, pulling his hand away. “No, I’m fine. Settle yourself, Weasley.”
“Don’t let me force you, Malfoy.” Why was she caring for him so suddenly?
“What with you Weasley and loving for taking care of people!”
Ginevra sent him a look. “For your information, Malfoy, it’s my care for you. And also for your future.” Draco didn’t understand what she was saying and sent Harry a desperate look. Harry didn’t look his way instead he nodded for whatever the hell this red-haired girl was saying.
“Sod off,” Draco finally said.
“Don’t be so rude, Malfoy.” It wasn’t even an angry tone, just a plain teasing manner. And Draco would be so annoyed if it’s not because of the hand on his hand and the hard pounding on his head.
“I’m fine!” He insisted although he wasn’t very sure himself.
“Sure.” Both Potter and Girl-Weasley said in unison.
Draco found himself 10 minutes later on a bed in the infirmary with Potter on his right side and Ginevra talking to Madam Pomfrey about his high temperature.
That menace girl put on a weight charm on me and brought me here! He wanted to say to Madam Pomfrey when she asked him what happened.
The middle-aged woman did her thing on Draco. Check his temperature appropriately again while Ginevra sat beside him on the bed. She checked his pulse and his lung for whatever it was for. And Draco just wanted to rest and sleep, not to be an experimental specimen in front of Potter and Weasley!
Madam Pomfrey came back later with medication on a tray. “He had a mild fever,” she said to the menaces behind him — they were talking now, annoying Draco. “We will provide you with a potion for that. For now, you should rest, Mr. Malfoy. And Miss Weasley, it’s better for you to wait outside with Mr. Potter. And as for Mr. Malfoy, as you are now of age, it’s your choice whether I have to inform your mother or not.”
Draco stared at his feet. He got up to his feet from the bed, “No, don’t call her. I don’t want her to worry.”
Scene 3: Astronomy Tower (From His Point of View)
Three days later, Draco felt his cold had already gone away. He slung his bag on his shoulder and got out of his room and from the corner of his eyes, Potter was too. Potter caught up with him and walked beside him until they reached Draco’s class. This is the only class he had without Potter; Arithmancy. Thankfully, he had Hermione to talk with during class.
After sending him off, Harry waved at him and walked away to his class. Draco shrugged his shoulders and entered the classroom. Hermione was already sitting on her chair — no surprise. She excitedly called him over and opened her textbook, sharing new findings to Draco.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hermione said later — after she finished talking as fast as lightning about the usage of rose bud for potion. “Are you fine now, Draco? I forgot to ask you that.”
Draco shook his head, “I’m fine now. My voice sounds so much better and it’s comfortable to talk now.”
“That’s good to hear! Make sure you are always under a warming spell.”
Draco didn’t tell her that Potter always did that for him. Then, the professor walked in.
It was late at night and Draco wanted to get some fresh air outside so he put on his night slipper and sneakily went outside the dormitories. It’s not as if the Eight Years had a night curfew or anything, it’s just that years of living inside Hogwarts, he came to develop the instinct to always be careful.
Draco walked through the many corridors, clicking his tongue when the moving stairs didn’t want to listen to his instructions and finally, he got to the Astronomy Tower. After the War, this is the only place he felt the most comfortable to be.
It’s the place where he raised his wand against Dumbledore, the very same Hawthorn inside his robe pocket. It’s also the place where Snape raised his wand instead, pushing Draco away and killing Dumbledore in front of his eyes. It’s also the place where he could be himself while listening to soft music to calm him.
He heard an opening and closing of the door. He didn’t need to turn around to check who it was. The sharp lemony smell belonged to the other person already enough for him to know who it was.
Then, the soft footsteps stopped just a few feet away from him, Draco continued to hum the same lullaby his mother always sang to him before he went to sleep. Draco raised his chin up, looking at the bright moon up in the night sky.
A soft shuffle and he knew at that time Potter was going to go and he said something without thinking again, “Potter,” he called, still still not turning around. Potter stopped his track and turned his head to him. “Thank you,” Draco paused for a little while, biting his lips, “For everything, really.”
And then he walked out, the door shut behind him with a soft thud.
That morning, Draco realised that he actually didn’t know what he was thanking Potter for. It was then when he went to the last class of the day after busying himself with Arithmancy on his free period without Potter, he found himself asking Potter to just sit on his stool inside Potion classroom while he did all the cuttings and preparation.
Potter surprisingly was a good listener and didn’t fight back because of that — probably because he was too, tired to fight over stupid things. When it came to the time when he needed a hand to stir the potion for an hour, Potter gladly took the job and stirred for a solid one hour without complaining about his arms being tired.
Draco stared at the last ingredient of the potion and he mindlessly rolled his shirt, accidentally revealing his unmarked arms. Draco could feel Potter’s eyes on his arm and he stared at him. “What?”
“You are not one of them,” Potter whispered and Draco rolled his eyes, continuing the chopping.
“Potter, I would gladly take my one life before serving that bastard, thank you.” While it wasn’t a complete truth because Draco did serve that noseless bastard, he didn’t want to bear that mark because he was — at that time — though wasn’t so sane, still sane enough to not be like his Aunt Bella.
Things changed that night. That night, Draco felt confused. He was just enjoying the night scenery; the moon was high in the sky, it was almost the end of the month so what was left was a little bit of it. Still, it’s the most beautiful thing in the night sky, as always.
The door behind him opened and closed again, it happened so fast. Potter was standing beside him at first. Then, he turned around to face him and was hit by the moonlight reflected on his face, making his face so bright he looked like some majestic creature.
Their eyes were on each other’s and now that he realised, Harry had slowly become taller than him and he found it to be sad at first then he was annoyed.
He looked at Potter’s hand that was slowly reaching his face then it moved to the back of his head and he felt a sudden soft caress on his scalp and that was the best thing he had ever felt after winning against his Father on Wizarding Chess.
Draco also wanted to touch something, therefore, he let his hands roam around and one of them tucked on Potter’s chest and Potter’s hand on his head slowly came down to his nape and pulled them closer and their noses almost met halfway.
Potter looked inside his eyes, looking for permission and Draco; for now, he couldn’t care less about permission, he wanted to catch that lips and crashed it with his.
The soft light from the half moon was the only audience of their first kiss. It was soft from the start to the end and the spark Draco felt when Potter’s soft lips crushed against his was enough to keep him up all night for weeks.
Deep far away, a star blinked for them.
Draco came back to his room after, cheeks still red, lips swollen and tingling and Potter kissed him again on his door before clicking it opened and pushed Draco inside. With a peck, he got out of his room and said, “Goodnight, Draco,” and he walked away, shutting the door with soft thud.
Draco wanted to scream to the night away but he chose the most delicate approach, and touched his still twitching lips. Yes, kissing Potter had been heavenly.
He slept that night smiling from ear to ear. He pulled his blanket closer to his chin and was wrapped by a warmt; not only by the blanket but also the still fresh memory of Potter kissing him so softly under the moon up in the Astronomy Tower.
Yes, it’s still his favourite place to be in the castle, Draco decided before he passed out to the dreamland.