Chapter Text
-1990, August - Harry-
Harry twisted the swing as tight around as it would go, slowly turning himself in a circle and being careful not to catch his fingers in the chains. When he couldn’t get them any tighter, he picked up his feet, releasing the tension and allowing the chains to unravel, he clung to the small plastic seat as it spun. He picked up speed rapidly and grinned wide, using one hand to hold his glasses in place so they wouldn’t fly off his face.
He repeated this game until he felt a little queasy and had to take a break. He scuffed his trainers in the dirt as he kicked back and forth, slowly rocking in the only swing on the playground that Dudley hadn’t managed to break yet. The park was empty. There were no other children playing or adults walking the small path that circled the little jungle gym and Harry felt isolated. He was on a little island by himself, lost at sea. He looked skyward and tried to find shapes in the clouds that rolled past. One looked a little like a butterfly if he squinted.
He looked back down and yelped in surprise.
There was a bird in front of him. A big bird with dark black and gray feathers and a sharp looking beak. It was an owl. He knew from seeing a picture of one in a book at the library. He had never seen a real one before and he watched it cautiously, eyeing the ferocious beak with trepidation. If it was anything like one of aunt Marge’s dogs then it would attack the moment he showed weakness. Or stood up too fast. Or looked at it funny.
But the owl didn’t attack. It didn’t seem to be doing anything except watching Harry with large shockingly yellow eyes.
“Hello,” Harry said. Because he didn’t know what else to do and he hadn’t spoken to anyone (or anything) all summer. Getting yelled at by his aunt and uncle and mercilessly bullied by his cousin categorically did not count.
The owl hopped towards him and Harry scooted back, still sitting in the swing, but moving to the limit of the chains while his feet were still planted on the ground. The bird hopped again, this time lifting its leg into the air and that’s when Harry noticed the letter. It was tied to the owl’s leg with a piece of green twine and had a wax seal on the outside.
“Is that bothering you?” Harry asked. The owl fluttered its wings. Harry took that as a yes and wondered how this animal had gotten itself tangled with some mail. It was awfully clever for finding a human and asking for help though.
Harry slid from the swing cautiously, but the owl didn’t move a muscle as he approached it. He held out his hand steadily and stopped just a few inches from the animal. The owl blinked slowly as if it was not impressed with Harry’s progress and watched with a steady gaze as Harry unlooped the letter and pulled the green twine off its taloned foot.
“There you go,” Harry said. It hopped back, fluttered its wings again and took off into the air, sending a little gust of wind into Harry’s face and ruffling his bangs where they fell into his eyes. He swept them back and shaded his eyes, watching the large bird fly off until it was just a little speck in the distance.
“Bye,” Harry said a little sadly. That had been the most exciting thing to happen to him since he accidentally jumped onto the school roof. Although that had been an accident and he’d been severely punished for it, so maybe this was better. He looked down at the letter still clutched in his hand and stopped cold.
The envelope was thick and off white, the seal was shiny silver and had a golden M embossed through the waxy material. The lettering on the front was meticulous and each letter looked like it had been etched with care, but it sloped slightly to the side at the end as if the writer had not planned properly and run out of room, squeezing the last few letters into a much smaller space than they had probably wanted. It was also addressed to him. Well, he thought it was addressed to him. It was very close. It said: To Hadrian J. Potter.
He felt his throat close up a little as he stared at the letter. Was this for him? What were the odds that the owl had accidentally asked the recipient of the letter for help? Pretty slim, he thought as he broke the seal and pulled out the letter. It was written in the same dark green ink as the envelope. Harry sat back down on the swing, looking around cautiously to make sure Dudley wasn’t anywhere nearby before he bent his head to read.
Hadrian,
Hello. I hope it’s okay if I call you Hadrian. Mother says it’s rude to call someone by their first name if you don’t know them, but I’m hoping this letter will be how we get to know each other and so it’ll be alright. My name is Draco Malfoy. You don’t know me (yet) and I don’t know you, but I want to. I’ve read about you and how you defeated the dark lord when you were a baby and I think that’s extraordinary. You must be really strong to be able to do that when you were so young. I’m sure all I did when I was a baby was cry a lot and throw up. At least that’s what my cousin’s new baby does all the time and it’s gross. Babies are weird.
Anyway, I hope that this letter finds you. I don’t know where you live, but Atlas is a really smart owl so I’m sure he’ll be able to figure it out. I’ve got so many things I want to ask you, but I also don’t want to get ahead of myself. I guess I should start by telling you about me first and then you can write back and we can be friends? That way when I ask you questions it’s a friend asking another friend and not just some stranger.
You can call me Draco. I’ve never had a friend who would call me that before, so I’d like it if you would. I am 10 years old (the same as you!) and I live with my mother and father. My house is big, but there’s nothing to do. There’s about 150 rooms and I’m allowed in 3 of them. There’s magical items everywhere and mother says it’s dangerous to touch them or even go near some of them. Father says they’re expensive and rare and he knows I’ll break them if I’m allowed to go wherever I want. I don’t have any siblings (we have that in common too!) and I’m not allowed to have friends.
Don’t worry, no one knows that I wrote this letter and I was really careful when I snuck into the owlery to send it. Father doesn’t use atlas very often and he never goes in there himself, he always sends a house elf to do it. We can be secret friends until we start at Hogwarts and then we can be real friends. You’ll be my first one and I can’t wait. Please write back soon.
From,
Draco Malfoy
Harry stared at the letter, unsure what to make of it. He read it again. He didn’t understand a very large portion of what this kid was saying. He assumed he was a boy. At least Draco sounded like a boy’s name, but he could be wrong. He seemed to know Harry’s age and that he didn’t have any siblings. He also talked about magic and house elves and defeating dark lords? Harry folded the letter and put it back into its envelope. He tucked the envelope into the pocket of his overly large jeans and stood stiffly.
One of two things was going on.
One: he was hallucinating magical birds delivering handwritten letters with requests for friendship from unknown persons. He was sad and lonely and making up imaginary scenarios to make himself feel better.
Two: this was real and this Draco person was asking to be his friend. His first friend.
He really really hoped it was option two. He walked back up Privet Drive slowly, keeping to the edge of the sidewalk and watching for any signs that Dudley or his friends were nearby. His ribs were still tender from their last encounter and he wasn’t keen to be discovered so soon after his recent beating.
He slipped into the backyard of #4 through the side gate and entered the house from the sliding door in the dining room. He kicked off his shoes and walked in sock feet over the linoleum floor as quietly as he could. He could hear aunt Petunia humming along to some song on the radio and when he slipped past the kitchen he saw her bent over with her head in the oven, yellow rubber gloves up to hear elbows, scrubbing the appliance to within an inch of its life. He quietly ducked past without being noticed. He held his ear to the doorway of the living room, listening for any sounds. The tv wasn’t on and there were no voices coming from the other side so he pushed the door hesitantly and breathed a sigh of relief when the room was empty and quiet.
He padded over the soft blue carpeting to the little writing desk that sat pushed against the wall of the living room. He rummaged until he found a piece of paper and an envelope and then selected a blue pen from among the assorted ones in the cup. He absconded with his stolen items and slid into the little cupboard under the stairs like a ghost. An unwanted and very quiet ghost.
He turned on the flashlight and set it on its end to point towards the ceiling. It wasn’t the best lighting system, but the little room didn’t have a switch and he didn’t have many other options. He pulled a book from the pile of ones he’d borrowed from the library and used it like a desk, setting the paper on top and smoothing it flat. He wrote.
Draco,
Hi. You have very nice handwriting. I’m sorry mine is scratchy and hard to read, I’ll try to make it as neat as possible. I have a lot of questions. I don’t even know if you meant to write to me, but I got your letter and I thought it was very interesting. I guess I’ll just start with my questions and then we can go from there.
Are you a boy or a girl?
What is a ‘dark lord’ and how would I have ‘defeated’ them if I was only a baby?
Is Atlas the name of the bird that had the letter? He was very pretty.
Does your house really have 150 rooms or was that just for pretend?
What do you mean by ‘magical items’? Is it like card tricks or hats with secret compartments or something?
What is Hogwarts?
What is a house elf?
Is this a practical joke? Are you making fun of me because I don’t have any friends and it’s funny to tease me? I really hope not. You sounded nice and I have never had a friend before (something we have in common) and if this is real and you want to get to know me then that would be ok. I’d like to get to know you too.
Write back soon with your answers.
From
Harry Potter
P.s. you can call me Harry. I have never heard of Hadrian before and I hope the letter was meant for me, but you can call me Harry, if you want to.
Harry re-read his letter a few times and scratched out a few words that he had mispelled to write the correction in tiny letters over it. When he was satisfied he stuffed the letter into the envelope and wrote Draco’s name across the front as neatly as he could. He sealed the envelope and looked at it for a moment, happiness beginning to dwindle.
Draco had not given him an address. He hadn’t said where he lived or how to send him a reply. He also didn’t have any money for stamps or any way to send the letter at all. He deflated, the small kernel of hope and excitement in his chest withered and died before it had even had a chance to grow.
He slumped onto the thin mattress and pulled his arm up over his eyes, trying not to cry. It was stupid to feel emotional about something that didn’t happen. He shouldn’t be disappointed because there was a very real possibility that this was all still an elaborate hoax. He didn’t know who might have orchestrated it or why, but he shouldn’t get his hopes up so easily. He knew good things never happened to him. He knew he was stupid and annoying and unlovable, so why would someone write him a letter anyway?
He felt the hot sting in his eyes and pushed his glasses up and rubbed with his palms until the itching stopped. No crying. No.
What if it was real, though? What if Draco was out there waiting for his letter and it never came? Would he try again or give up when Harry never responded? He pulled out Draco’s letter and hid it under his pillow, making sure not to crease the sides as he did so. He put his own sealed and useless reply in the pocket of his jeans and hoped, wished, willed that he would find a way to send it.
—
-One week later-
Harry bent over and drank straight from the hose. The back of his neck felt hot and he knew he’d have a sunburn there as well as on his cheeks. The little back garden was swelteringly hot as he turned off the water and knelt back down into the soft dirt, digging out the weeds with his fingers and wishing for a pair of gloves. He wiped his brow with the back of a sweaty hand and felt the stinging there as well. Definitely sunburned, he thought.
There was a fluttering sound behind him and he froze. Several images flashed through his head, but the most terrifying was Dudley sneaking up behind him ready to kick him in the back. He whirled around fast and put his hands up to shield his face. Nothing happened. He lowered his hands and peeked around them. Atlas the owl perched imperiously on aunt Petunia’s bone dry bird bath, clicking his beak and giving Harry an unamused glare. If owls could look unamused. This one definitely did.
“Hello, Atlas,” Harry said, giddy joy bubbling in his gut and making him a little delirious. Or maybe that was the heatstroke? Either way he dug eagerly into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the letter he had written. He had taken to keeping it there every day. Just in case.
Atlas held a leg out silently and Harry noticed the letter tied there right away. A little less hesitant than the first time he untied the letter and re-tied his own reply onto the bird’s leg. Atlas fluttered and let out a small hooting noise, which was adorable, and took off, circling the garden once and then disappearing over the fence. Harry tore open his letter eagerly and wondered how long it would take Atlas to get back to wherever Draco was.
Hadrian,
It has been one week since I sent you the first letter and I have not yet received a reply. Are you sick? Did you break both of your hands in a duel? Was there some horrible disaster that is keeping you from writing? Mother says I am impatient and I have been told multiple times that I need to learn to wait for the things that I want.
I don’t like waiting. But I will try since I want to be your friend and it might make you change your mind if I’m too pushy. Here are some more things about me while I wait for your reply.
I don’t like tomatoes. They are slimy and too watery and taste like dirt.
I do like raspberries and strawberries, those are my favorite fruits.
I have blond hair
My first accidental magic was when I was 5 and I turned a pond to ice so I could walk across it and see the fish. I accidentally froze the fish and I cried about it. (the fish were fine, mother unfroze them and they survived their ordeal with me unscathed).
My questions for you now:
What foods don’t you like? What foods do you like? Is your hair dark brown like in the pictures? How tall are you? What was your first accidental magic and was it funny? I hope I hear from you soon.
From,
Draco Malfoy
Harry felt the smile split his face and he clutched the letter to his chest. It didn’t matter that he was hot or tired or dirty or hungry. Draco had written again. He had sent his reply and he was more sure than ever that this was real. It sounded real. He wanted it desperately enough that he was willing to risk the heartbreak for the slim possibility that it was.
Harry re-read his letter again sitting in the shade under a bush. He kept coming back to the part about the pond. Draco had…turned a pond to ice? With magic?
He thought back to all the weird things that he had done in his life. Crazy accidents that had always resulted in him being hit or pushed into his cupboard or starved. He could remember watching toys repair before his eyes or his hair regrowing overnight. Things he wasn’t supposed to talk about. ‘Freaky’ things his aunt and uncle hated almost as much as they hated Harry.
Maybe Draco knew about it too. Maybe Draco was just like him. Maybe he wasn’t alone.
—
Draco’s reply came a few days later. Harry was hiding behind the little shed in the backyard, trying to keep cool and stay out of sight. He leaned with his back against the wood boards with his legs stretched out in front of him, idly drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick. Atlas landed on his knee, talons gripping him through the fabric of his jeans tightly, and let out a little hoot that Harry took as a greeting.
“Hello,” Harry said, untying the letter and small package that was attached to the owl’s leg. Atlas rotated his head around to look at Harry and then promptly stuck his face under his wing to take a nap, still happily perched on Harry’s outstretched leg.
“Alright then,” Harry said, amused and secretly pleased with the new dynamic.
He tore the letter open hastily, greedy for more words from his almost, sort of, friend. He set the package aside to look at in a moment.
Harry,
Open your gift and follow the instructions.
-Draco
That was it? No new information, no questions or answers or anything else? Harry felt his disappointment sink to the bottom of his stomach and he folded his letter gently and tucked it in his pocket. He picked up the small package, fiddling with the twine that was delicately knotted around brown paper. He had never gotten a present before.
The wrapping came apart in his hands and he set it aside, staring at the silver disk resting in his palm. It was slightly oval in shape, almost like a large clam shell. There were intricately detailed etchings worked into the silver front in vine and leaf patterns. On one of the longer edges there was a hinge and on the opposite side a clasp. It felt heavy in his hand and he turned it over, admiring the art for a moment before popping the clasp and opening it.
It was a mirror. Like one of Aunt Petunia’s compact mirrors full of powder that she kept meticulously organized on the bathroom counter. Except this didn’t have powders or anything inside except a shiny reflective surface and a folded up piece of paper. His heart skipped and he snatched paper, eager for more words from Draco.
-To activate, say my name into the mirror and wait until I answer-
That was all it said. In Draco’s lovely neat handwriting he only got that one line. He felt frustrated and thunked his head back against the wooden shed despondently. Atlas pulled his head out from his nap and made a soft sound. Harry tentatively reached out and stroked the owl’s dark feathers.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked the bird, clutching the note in his hand and re-reading the words. “Activate the mirror?” He popped the mirror open again and stared at his reflection. Dark curls were messy and stuck out at odd angles, broken glasses too big for his face perched on his nose. The sunburn from the week before was faded and peeling and he had a few new freckles to join the others along his cheekbones. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek that he scrubbed with the back of his hand.
“Say my name,” Harry wondered as he turned the mirror over in his hand. Draco said there was magic. Draco said he had turned a pond to ice and Harry knew he himself had done unexplainable things as well. He stared into his own green eyed reflection and said, “Draco Malfoy.” He felt stupid knowing nothing would happen.
But something did happen. There was a pause and then his face swirled and rippled, like a stone dropped onto the surface of a lake, distorting the image. The metal compact heated slightly in his hand, feeling warm and almost alive. Atlas hooted and Harry patted him without thought as he watched the swirling surface and waited. And waited.
He sat for long minutes, counting his breaths and hoping for something, anything, to happen.
Finally the image stabilized, the rippling cleared and a face came into sharp focus that wasn’t his own. He stared at the boy on the other side of the mirror.
He had very pale skin and white blond hair that was short at the sides and longer on top. His nose was pointed and his cheekbones sharp, but he still had the rounded chin and jaw of youth so Harry knew they were about the same age. His eyes were a gray color, bright and swirled with silver, and they were watching Harry just as hungrily as Harry was watching them.
“It worked,” the boy breathed out with awe. “I am going to have to buy something extra nice for uncle Sev for his birthday.” Harry felt his eyes widen and his throat close. He didn’t know what to do or say. He barely knew what to think, there was a whole person inside this handheld mirror, talking and breathing and watching him closely.
“You’re Harry Potter,” the boy said, grinning widely and running a hand through his pale blond hair. “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.”
“Hello,” Harry said stupidly. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Hello,” the boy replied, not looking at him as if he was crazy at all. “My name is Draco Malfoy and it is excellent to make your acquaintance. Finally.” Harry smiled tentatively at that.
“Nice to meet you,” Harry said. “Er, how are we talking right now?” He turned the mirror over looking for a battery place or an antenna of some kind, but it was still just the smooth rounded silver disk that it had been before.
“I asked my godfather how I could talk to someone far away and he suggested this. He spelled the mirrors and then brewed a potion for the link. We had to soak them in the brew for 24 hours in order to prolong the charm that connects them, but he said they should last a year before they’ll need to be re-activated.” He was grinning and watching Harry intensely. It felt wonderful and overwhelming to be on the receiving end of so much attention.
“That’s…great,” he said, feeling lost. Draco’s smile faltered and he immediately felt bad. “I’m sorry, it really is so cool, but I have no idea what half of that meant. I’m sorry,” he finished, lamely. Draco was shaking his head though, concern apparent in his gray eyes.
“No it’s ok, I went too fast. I have a tendency to talk a lot when I’m excited. Sorry. The reason I sent the mirror instead of a letter was because you had made it clear that you don’t know…much…and I wanted to be able to answer your questions and ask you my own without needing to wait for an owl.”
“That makes sense,” Harry said, still a little in awe of what was happening. “Is it magic?” he asked, not able to keep the excitement from his tone and feeling his fingers flex over the warm metal of the mirror.
“Yes,” Draco said, eyes wide as he leaned closer to his mirror from his side. “I can’t believe you don’t know. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t know about magic before. Where do you live?”
“I live with my aunt and uncle in Surrey,” Harry said, feeling the knot of shame tighten in his gut. He hated where he lived, he hated his relatives and everything they stood for.
“I’m not familiar,” Draco said. “Are they muggles?” Harry didn’t know that word. He cocked his head to the side in confusion and Draco must have noticed. “They don’t use magic?” he explained.
Shaking his head, Harry said, “No, they hate it. Every time I do something ‘freaky’ they punish me and I’m not allowed to talk about it.” That seemed to make Draco upset. His brows creased and he pursed his lips in dislike.
“It’s not wrong to use your gift, especially now when we can’t control it. It’s part of who we are. That’s what uncle Sev says anyway, and he’s the smartest person I’ve ever known.”
“So you weren’t teasing me?” Harry felt like he was floating high above the neighborhood, his chest expanding and the feeling of hope spilling over inside of him. “You were serious. There is magic and I can do it?” He felt like he wanted to cry, but he very much did not want to embarrass himself in front of Draco who looked immaculately put together.
“I wasn’t lying to you. We are magic and when we turn 11 we will get our letters to attend Hogwarts,” he said, adding “That’s a magic school,” at Harry’s confused look.
“I’ll get to leave here?” Harry asked, barely containing his excitement. Draco nodded.
“I am also excited to leave. Hogwarts sounds amazing! I’ll tell you all about it,” Draco said, face flushing pink at his high cheeks and a strand of blond hair falling into his eyes. He swept it back in annoyance and Harry smiled at the gesture.
“Thank you,” he said, pouring as much sincerity into the phrase as he could. “I can’t wait.”
They talked for a long time. Until Harry’s butt was sore from sitting on the hard packed earth and his voice was strained and scratchy from overuse. He’d never spoken to someone for this long before, but he could have sat and talked to Draco forever.
His new friend was wonderful. Smart and confident and maybe a little overly eager, but in an endearing way. Draco wanted to know everything about him and asked a million and one questions about his favorite foods and hobbies and what it was like in the muggle world.
Harry fired right back, asking about magic and Hogwarts and where Draco grew up. They both seemed somewhat reluctant to talk about their families and Harry got the feeling that he and Draco had more in common than just their age and lack of siblings. He made sure to steer clear of any questions that were too prying and Draco seemed to do the same for him.
Draco told him about the dark lord and how his parents died. Harry felt numb listening to what had happened; he had no memories of their death or his defeat of the wizard who killed them. Draco said there were books written about him, essays and articles with theories as to how he was able to accomplish something so extraordinary at such a young age. Draco told him he was famous, that everyone knew who he was. That made Harry feel itchy and uncomfortable and Draco seemed to notice because he moved topics quickly and didn’t bring it up again to Harry’s relief.
At some point Atlas grew bored and took flight, pushing off against Harry’s leg and winging into the sky and out of sight. Harry waved goodbye to the bird and Draco seemed amused by his fondness for the animal. Harry asked Draco about any pets he had and the conversation continued again. They talked for so long that the sun was beginning to set behind the house next door when Draco made an irritated face, looking off at something out of sight.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, worried that the blond was upset with something he said.
“I’ve got to go attend dinner,” Draco replied, looking put out about this obligation. “Father is entertaining some members of the wizengamot who have children and I’m expected to play host to them. It’s awful and they’re all so boring. Not like you.” Harry felt himself flush deeply.
“I’m not that interesting,” he said, waving Draco’s compliment off. He also felt a small spike of some emotion he couldn’t place at the thought of Draco leaving him to spend time with other people.
“You are,” Draco said, unabashedly. “I really like talking to you, Harry. Can we do this every day?” Harry laughed at Draco’s hopeful expression and nodded, feeling that momentary emotion flit away, replaced by tentative happiness.
“Yes, every day.” He beamed into the mirror and Draco smiled right back. Harry suddenly wished they were in the same place and they weren’t separated by however many miles.
“Excellent. Same time tomorrow? I have lessons in the morning, but I’m free in the afternoons.”
“Sounds good, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Draco looked confused by that, but didn’t comment. He nodded once and then he must have closed his mirror because the image rippled and Harry was once again, staring at his own familiar face. He missed Draco’s immediately.
Aunt Petunia was setting the table for dinner when he came in the back sliding door. He kicked off his shoes and she immediately thrust a wooden spoon into his hands and pointed to a pot bubbling on the stove. He dutifully began to stir as she finished up in the dining room. Uncle Vernon came in and seated himself at the head of the table just as a timer dinged and Harry pulled a batch of dinner rolls from the oven. He was thumbing through a newspaper and making irritated grunting sounds at any article he found distasteful, which was, apparently, quite a few.
Dudley was dragged away from the television by his mother and forced into a seat where she patted his head and placed several hot rolls onto his plate. Harry ladled soup into the bowls set out onto the counter and managed to snag a roll and shove it into his pocket when Aunt Petunia turned her back to serve her husband and son. Seeing that the table was set for three, Harry snuck out of the kitchen quickly and shut himself into his little cupboard under the stairs before she could find something else for him to do.
He ate his roll and stared at the exposed beams of the sloped ceiling, reliving his conversation with Draco.
He had a friend. A real friend that Dudley couldn’t bully or scare off. That his aunt and uncle didn’t know about. That the kids at school couldn’t tease for being friends with the ‘freak’. He wouldn’t let anyone take this away from him. Draco was his.
-August - Draco-
Draco stared at the little compact mirror that he held in his hand. He ran his thumb over the polished silver surface with its intricately carved patterns and felt the metal slowly cool as the magic from the charm faded away. He had done it. He had talked to Harry and acted normal and friendly and not like the pureblood prat he was always expected to be. The emotion flooding through him was giddy relief followed by unbridled excitement in anticipation for the next time, because Harry had said ‘yes’ to talking every day. He had said ‘yes’ to being Draco’s friend, which was the highlight of Draco’s young life.
He tucked the mirror back into his pocket as he realized he was going to be late for dinner if he didn’t leave soon. He groaned as he stood from where he’d been seated on his bed and made his way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the full length mirror he assessed his appearance. His clothing was fine, he was dressed well for a semi formal dinner and he would ask a house elf to straighten out the wrinkles that creased his pants from where he’d been sitting. His hair was another matter. He liked to keep the top long and loose about his face when he was alone, but his father would scowl and his mother would tut with disapproval if he was anything other than perfectly neat and presentable. He swept it back with a palm of hair potion that kept it slicked to his head and made sure no wisps came loose. He schooled his features into that look of haughty superiority that he’d learned appeased his father’s ego, but he hated what he saw in the mirror.
He looked exactly like all of the other pureblood children that he’d been forced to mingle with since birth. Stiff, uptight, immaculately dressed, but with a fake smile and dead eyes. Like dolls that their parents could dress up and parade around town. Internally he wanted to scream and run from the room, externally he straightened his spine and prepared himself to be someone he wasn’t.
When the night was finally over and he’d bid a polite farewell to the last guests as they left, he tore from the dining room as fast as humanly possible without actually aparating. He left his clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor and scrubbed the potion from his hair in a too hot shower that also worked to loosen his tense shoulders.
When his skin was pink and he felt the remnants of his society mask slip down the drain he got out and dressed in his silky pajamas, drying his hair as best he could. He finally slipped into bed and wriggled down into the soft sheets, resting his head on the pillow that had been charmed to always be cool.
He felt the need to cry bubble in his chest and he squashed the feeling aggressively. He had no reason to feel emotional about his life. It was relatively easy and he was given anything he could want…for a price.
All he had to do was pretend to be someone else.
He laid awake for a long time, reliving his conversation with Harry over and over again. He may have added a few embellishments and by the time he finally slipped into unconsciousness the scene was no longer recognizable as the original.
Draco woke late the next morning and dragged himself from bed with the knowledge that he needed to make an appearance at breakfast before he was summoned. If his father had to request his presence he would be punished for his lateness. He changed quickly, washing his face and slicking his hair back with water and hoping it would last through a quick breakfast.
The dining room was quiet except for the clink of silverware as Draco’s parents ate quietly on opposite sides of the enormous table. Draco settled himself in the middle, in his customary spot across from the large picture windows that showed a view of the lawns. A peacock strutted across the garden path just as a house elf placed a plate in front of him. He knew better than to thank them, so he showed no indication that he’d even noticed except to pick up his fork.
“Nice of you to join us, Draco,” his father drawled, turning the page in his newspaper and eyeing him over the top.
“Please excuse my tardiness, father,” Draco said softly, stabbing a bite of potato on the end of his fork. “I didn’t sleep very well.” His mother made a soft sound of sympathy, but his father raised one eyebrow imperiously.
“Your obligations take precedence over your comfort, or have you forgotten?” Draco schooled his features with effort. He wanted to roll his eyes, but that would be an immediate punishment so instead he set his fork down and dipped his head, feigning penance.
“I apologize for the offense. My obligations are my primary focus and it will not happen again,” he said, staring at his plate, muscles tensed and waiting for his father’s reaction. There was a long suffering sigh and the rustle of his newspaper before his father finally answered.
“I shall be lenient today because your behavior was acceptable last night.” Draco let out a relieved breath and felt the tension drain from his shoulders.
“Thank you father,” he said, picking up his fork again and taking a bite of his breakfast. His father didn’t acknowledge him again.
“I’ll make sure one of the house elves brings you a sleeping potion this evening,” his mother said primly, smoothing the napkin in her lap as she spoke. Her blond hair was done half up and her makeup was perfectly in place, even so early.
“Thank you, mother,” he said. She smiled sweetly, but it didn’t catch her eyes. It never did. To be fair, Draco’s never did either.
When his father had left the table for his office and his mother had excused herself for the garden, Draco finally relaxed completely. He dug into his meal and ran a hand through his hair to mess up the rigid style and felt instantly better. He put too much sugar in his tea and asked a house elf for another scone with jam when he’d licked the remnants of the first from his fingers.
Small rebellion over, he headed towards the library where he would be sat for the next 4 hours reviewing his lessons and preparing for the future. The stupid, boring, awful future where the next 20 years of his life was meticulously planned and neatly arranged for him.
Except for Harry. In all their planning and plotting and hand shaking, his parents hadn’t accounted for his earliest obsession. The first thing he could remember wanting. The way he’d found every book in the library that mentioned the boy who’d defeated the dark lord. The articles he’d clipped from newspapers and the photos he’d tucked between pages of his journal. His parents had tried to quash the infatuation as soon as they’d found out, but it was too late. Draco merely feigned his acceptance of their ‘no potter’ rule and secretly kept doing what he pleased.
And what he pleased included long, drawn-out fantasies involving Hadrian Potter (Harry now) sweeping into his boring life and spiriting him away on adventures. They grew more and more complex the older he got, but he never did give up on the idea that being friends with Harry would make him feel something other than oppressive numbness. His imagination had grown so wild and out of control that he had finally worked up the courage to sneak his letter up to the owlery in the dead of night in order to make them become even close to a reality.
He was older now and knew that it wasn’t fair to compare the person that was Harry to the image he had in his head. The reality was almost better. He was real and solid and he smiled softly and laughed warmly and the emotion carried from his lips to his cheeks and into his eyes. It was genuine and Draco drank it up like he’d been dying of thirst and Harry was an oasis in the desert.
When he’d spent the obligatory amount of time in the library and had a stack of completed assignments for his tutor to review. He snuck down into the kitchen to grab lunch, thanking the house elves and quietly made his way to his room. The house was cool and silent, white curtains fluttered over open windows and the summer sun streamed through them in bright beams that gleamed against the parquet flooring. A painting on the wall admonished him for eating while he walked, but he ignored the Victorian witch with her feathered hat and signature Malfoy blonde curls. He was the only person in the house who spoke to the portraits and they wouldn’t rat him out to his father even if he was spilling crumbs on the floor.
He shut the door to his room and took a running leap onto his bed, ruffling the perfectly made duvet and laughing as he bounced higher than he had intended. It felt nice to do something stupid and silly for no other reason than he’d wanted to.
His mirror warmed in his pocket and he excitedly pulled it out and snapped it open. The image cleared and solidified into the gorgeous green eyes and upturned mouth of his new friend. His first friend and the one he’d been dreaming about since he’d first read his name in a history book.
“Hi,” Harry said quietly, smiling all the way to his eyes and looking delightfully disheveled with his dark curls stuck up in odd angles. Draco simultaneously adored it and wanted to smooth them out into a semblance of order.
“Hello,” he managed to say through his wide grin. “How was your day?” Was that too formal? Were they going to do small talk or should he have picked up where their conversation had left off the day before?
“It was fine,” Harry said and a flash of something like fear or apprehension flitted across his face. Draco read the emotion and wondered what had caused it. Harry’s face was easy to read and he did nothing to hide how he was feeling, in stark contrast to how Draco was raised and was expected to behave. He made it a point to try to keep his face open as well while they spoke.
“How was yours?” Harry asked with a sincerity that let Draco know he truly was interested.
“It was boring,” Draco drawled. “Last night was an exercise on my patience and this morning I had to complete my lessons for my tutors, and it was history of the middle ages which is one of my least favorite topics.” Harry’s eyes were wide and focused on Draco through their connected mirrors. He drank in every word.
“Is that how you’re so smart and sound like an adult? You have private lessons?” Draco warmed from the inside at the praise and tried to keep his smile humble, but he was sure he failed.
“I don’t know that I’m all that smart, but I have been given private instruction since I was 5 so I hope some of it has rubbed off, otherwise my parents have wasted a fortune on my education.”
“Do you learn magic as well?” Harry asked, leaning forward so that more of his face filled the mirror, green eyes bright and interested.
“I learn theory,” Draco said. “I have private potions lessons with my godfather and I learn magical theory from my tutors, but I won’t get to practice until we start Hogwarts. We are the same in that way.” He loved any way in which he and Harry were similar and he made sure to keep a running list in his mind so he could review it later while he was falling asleep.
“I’m sure I’ll still be really far behind,” Harry said, nervously running a hand through his dark hair and pulling at a tangle as it caught his finger.
“You won’t,” Draco said with confidence. “I will help you. You’re my friend and I won’t let you feel inferior to anyone.” Harry grinned at that.
“Thank you, Draco,” he said softly and it made Draco’s heart beat hard in his chest.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Now I guess I should start with the very basics of magic theory to get you caught up? Do you have a piece of paper?”
After Harry had set the mirror down to run and get pen and paper Draco checked his reflection in the large standing mirror in his room to make sure his hair was falling the way he liked it and his cheeks weren’t too pink from his excitement. He picked up the charmed mirror just as Harry’s face came back into view.
Draco straightened his spine and tipped his chin, mustering his best Severus impression and said, “Let’s get started.”
-September - Harry-
Harry rose early on the first Saturday in September and started breakfast on auto pilot. He barely registered what he was doing as he cracked eggs into a bowl and flipped bacon in its pan. The toast popped up and startled him from his own imagination. He’d been day dreaming of meeting Draco in real life and not just through a mirror like they’d been doing for the last two weeks.
By the time the table was loaded with food and Harry had snuck a piece of buttered toast for himself the rest of the household was up and moving around. Uncle Vernon complained loudly about a lunch meeting with a client that was scheduled for Monday and Aunt Petunia twittered about a neighbor 3 houses down who had installed a new lawn ornament that she claimed was a ‘trashy eye sore’. It was a flamingo. Dudley was conspicuously absent and Harry decided he would disappear into the neighborhood to kill time before his call with Draco in order to avoid his cousin entirely.
He pushed open the door to the living room and was immediately grabbed by the collar and shoved roughly into the wall. The door swung shut behind him and he stared into the watery blue eyes of his massive relative. The blond boy grinned wickedly and pressed hard into Harry’s collarbone where his hand was fisted into the neck of his over-large tee shirt.
“Going somewhere?” Dudley asked with a nasty gleam in his eyes. Harry shook his head and tried to wriggle out of the hold, but his cousin’s grip was tight and he was using his weight to keep Harry pinned to the wall.
“Just going for a walk,” Harry said, hoping he was only going to get roughed up a bit and not beat all to hell.
“Where are you walking to? You don’t have any friends to visit.” Dudley often liked to rub in his face that Harry was alone and no one cared what happened to him. Dudley was large and stupid, but he was cruel first and he had learned at a young age what buttons to press in order to maximize his efforts.
“Just to the park,” Harry lied. Like he was going to tell Dudley where he was actually going. The boy would round up his gang and Harry hunting would be the name of the game for the rest of the afternoon.
“Really?” Dudley asked, pressing harder into Harry’s neck until he felt like he could hardly draw a breath. Harry nodded fast, trying to breath through the discomfort and knowing if he struggled or cried out it would only become ten times worse. “I don’t believe you,” Dudley said. “I think you’re lying. Do you know what we do to liars, freak?” Harry closed his eyes, knowing what was coming before Dudley even raised his fist.
The crack of his glasses breaking was loud as Dudley’s knuckles connected with the side of his face. His ears rang and he let out a strangled gasp as the pain caught up to the sound. His cheek pounded with his heartbeat and felt hot; a trickle of something wet slid down his face.
Dudley laughed and released his hold on Harry’s shirt, walking away and entering the kitchen where Harry heard Aunt Petunia greet him cheerfully. Harry moved quickly to the bathroom, closing the door and pressing the lock button behind him. His reflection was pale and shocked with a streak of blood coming from a gash on his temple where the broken frame of his glasses had dug into his skin. He pulled the frames off and they came apart in two pieces at the hinge. He sighed and washed his face, cleaning the cut and sucking in a sharp breath at the sting.
He put his broken glasses into his pocket and stuck his head back out of the bathroom door, but the hallway was empty. He raced to the writing desk in the living room and snatched a packet of scotch tape before sprinting through the front door and down the street as fast as he could. He found a place to hole up and fix his glasses, sitting under the shade of a massive pine tree and blocked by some low shrubs. He patched the glasses as best as he could with his limited resources and shoved them back on his face. They sat very crooked, but at least he could see.
He patted his jeans pocket, making sure his mirror was still there and was reassured when he felt its solid shape beneath his fingers and pressing into his thigh. His only happiness. The only thing he had to look forward to for a long time was seeing and talking to Draco. He wanted to cry, but he forced himself to draw a few deep and even breaths before standing. He cautiously made his way from his hiding place and towards the library which was in the opposite direction of the park.
The day was already too hot, especially for September, and he felt a bead of sweat drip down his spine just as he made it to the cool and air conditioned entrance of the public library. He bee lined for the bathroom and drank from the fawcett, waving his hand in front of the sensor to keep the stream going until his thirst was sated. He checked his cut face in the mirror and was pleased to see the bleeding had stopped and the wound was shallow, although it was an angry red and a bruise was already starting to form. He tried to pull his hair down and over it, but it was only somewhat successful.
Harry walked out of the bathroom and to the counter where the librarian was scanning books back into the system one at a time. She looked up and smiled as he approached.
“Hello, dear,” she said, setting her scanner aside and giving him her full attention. He smiled and turned his face away to try to hide his newest in a long, long line of injuries.
“Hello,” he said politely. “Could I borrow the art supplies?” She nodded knowingly and pulled a box from below the counter, sliding it over to him with a wink.
“Draw me something for the breakroom, won’t you?” He nodded and thanked her, swiping the box and hurrying towards the back of the room where there were some long tables set up. He picked the furthest seat beneath the window with the best lighting, placing his box carefully and pulling out the items reverently.
A sketchpad with tons of pages missing and doodles in the corners of the ones that weren’t, an assortment of mismatched pens, pencils, crayons and markers. Harry chose a fine graphite pencil and flipped to a blank page in the sketchbook. He got lost in the activity, just as he always did. The librarians let him borrow the supplies, since his family wouldn’t buy him any, and he would spend hours sitting in this corner, drawing things he found in books or simply remembering things he’d seen and trying to recreate them.
He felt himself slowly relax, muscles unclenching and tension draining as he focused on the lines and shapes. The pain in his face even felt less intense while he was working and he passed the time in the cool place, lost in his own head.
He didn’t spend as long as he normally would have, since he didn’t want to miss his time with Draco later, but he knew Dudley wouldn’t be caught dead in the library so he felt safe sitting there and letting the morning pass him by. When he left, returning the art supplies and giving the librarian a sketch he had done of one of Aunt Petunia’s flowers, he felt much better.
He walked back through the neighborhood, taking back streets and roundabout paths in order to avoid the regular haunts of his cousin’s cronies. When he arrived at Privet Drive he snuck into the backyard and wedged himself behind the shed again. He couldn’t wait any more and he pulled the mirror out of his pocket, flipping it open and saying Draco’s name aloud. Over the last couple of weeks he had felt less apprehension about talking to Draco and more and more excitement.
Draco answered after only a few moments with a wide grin that sharply fell as he looked at Harry through their connection.
“What happened?!” he said, horror written all over his features. “Are you ok?” Harry felt his eyes widen and panic grip him. He’d forgotten about his face.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” he said hastily, turning his face and trying to hide the damage. Draco made an irritated noise and leaned in closer to the mirror.
“That’s obviously a lie,” he said without hesitation. “Please, tell me.” Harry watched his eyes grow somber and his mouth turn down in a frown.
“It’s not a big deal,” Harry tried, hating how thick his voice sounded. For some reason Draco’s concern was making him feel emotional about it.
“It’s a big deal to me,” Draco said with an edge of anger that Harry didn’t like to hear. “We’re friends now, and friends are supposed to tell each other things, right? I’ve never had a friend before, but I know that much.” Harry turned back to face the mirror straight on and lowered his head in embarrassment.
“We are friends,” he said, nervously, hoping Draco wasn’t reconsidering that fact. “My cousin hit me in the face.” He felt the flush on his cheeks at the admission and braced himself for Draco’s reaction.
“Why?” he asked, looking confused. The little crease between his silver eyes was prominent now and the stare he leveled at Harry was baffled.
“Because I existed in the same space as him,” Harry bit out, possibly a little more acidly then he had intended. “Because he’s cruel and a bully and he hates me. Because I’m a freak and I deserve bad things to happen to me.” Harry felt the tears that he’d been holding at bay all day finally overflow and track down his cheeks. He dipped his head down and wiped them hastily with a sniff, but he knew Draco had seen. How could he not?
“I’ll kill him,” Draco said and Harry lifted his head up to stare at the blond boy in astonishment. “He hurt you and made you feel like you deserved it…I’m going to kill him.” Draco’s face was red with anger and his eyes were a riot of emotion, hard edged and stormy. Harry blinked a few times, unsure of how to respond to Draco’s rage on his behalf.
“Draco,” Harry started, moving his hand and pressing his finger against the glass separating them. “I’m ok.” Draco shook his head, clearly not ready to let go of his anger, but he raised his own hand and pressed a finger to the glass as if it were touching Harry’s. As if they were connected through their fingertips and the distance between them didn’t exist.
After a minute of silence Draco asked, “Does it hurt?” His face was starting to relax, but his shoulders were stiff and he scowled as he asked.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Harry said. Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the motion.
Smiling he said, “I promise I’m not lying. It was just a little cut and I’ll have a bruise, but it will heal…” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, catching a snag with his fingers and untangling it. “Thank you.” Draco’s eyes lost their suspicious glint and widened in surprise.
“Why are you thanking me? I haven’t even killed your cousin yet.” Harry wanted to laugh, but Draco was looking oddly serious and Harry got the feeling he was only half joking.
“Thank you for, you know, caring?” Harry said, feeling a flush creep up his neck and heat his cheeks. “You’re the only person who does.” Draco’s face softened completely and a small smile tipped the corner of his lips.
“I care,” he said quietly. “You’re my friend and I care.” Harry nodded, feeling that thick ball of emotion threatening to crawl back up his throat and force the tears from his eyes again. He pushed it back down with effort.
“I care about you too,” Harry said. “I’m happy that we’re friends and I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He felt embarrassed saying it, but Draco didn’t look like he minded the embarrassing words. In fact he looked elated. Eyes bright and smile going wider, he still hadn’t moved his fingers from where they were raised and pressed against Harry’s. If he used his imagination he could pretend he felt the heat from Draco’s hand against his own and he liked it.