Archive of Our Own

“Katie Bell’s back Myrtle.” Draco hit the back of his head against the wall, then slowly sank to the floor. “Back from Mungo’s without even a scratch on her. She’s probably going to go back to playing beater by the end of the week.”

“Well that’s nice, right Draco?” Myrtle said kindly, floating over to his side. “I mean, you’ve been crying about how it seems like everyone’s getting injured except the only person you’re trying to kill. Isn’t everyone else being fine kind of what you wanted?”

“No, well, yes I guess I’m glad but, Merlin, Myrtle, I don’t know. Her being here, in this building, is just another constant reminder of my failure. It’s…it’s inescapable. Everything is just inescapable. I don’t want to do this anymore, I never wanted any of this.”

“Draco, you’ve been coming to this bathroom for weeks, and I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy the company,” Myrtle said as she sat next to him, “But this isn’t going to get better if nothing changes. Just tell me, Draco, who’s making you do this? What are you even trying to do?”

Draco sobbed into his robes before standing up and walking to the sinks. “I have to go, I have to…I have to look…” He splashed water onto his face, then tried to compose himself in front of the mirror. “It’s pointless.” Draco said through deep breaths. “It’s me. I put myself here and I, I can’t…I can’t-” He cut himself off as he slammed his forehead into the glass. “Merlin, I just…”

Myrtle squealed and flew to one of the cubicles. “Don’t, please don’t, Draco, just tell me what’s wrong, I promise I can help you-”

“No one can help me.” His body was shaking now, his head bowed over the sink, giving into the full body sobs. “Myrtle I can’t do it, I can’t-” His fists clenched the sides of the sink hard enough for his already pale knuckles to turn white. “It won’t work and, and unless I do it soon, he says he’ll kill me Myrtle. He’ll…He’ll-”

There was a sound. A small creak of a door, or maybe a floorboard, either way Draco turned instantly and through his blurred vision saw the face of the one and only Harry Potter. “Langlock!”

The jinx missed Draco by inches and before he could counter he felt more than heard the Brachiabindo cast on him. “Merlin Malfoy, what are you doing?”

“Leave Draco alone, stop, Potter, stop it!”

“Myrtle, it’s okay, I’m sure goody two shoes, mister Potter over here will let me go with a little slap on the wrists.” Draco tried to punctuate the sentence with an eye roll but felt like the tears in his eyes prevented it from being fully seen and appreciated. “Besides, I’ve done nothing wrong, have I, Potter?”

“Don’t you dare try to act innocent to me, Malfoy.” Potter’s forehead wrinkled as he looked more closely at Draco, tilting his head slightly before shaking it and furrowing his brow. “I know you are up to something, and-and I heard you. I heard you talking about doing something and how he’s going to hurt you. Who’s ‘he’ Malfoy? What are you doing? Who-”

“All circumstantial Potter. Your word versus mine. And while I’m sure your beloved Dumbledore will believe you, I don’t think that will be quite enough to get me any kind of major punishment, do you?” Draco wished he hadn’t just been sobbing because right now his words were coming out in varying octaves and between rather embarrassing shaky exhales.

“Well, Malfoy, maybe I’ll just keep you suspended here until you tell me. How about that?”

“Well we’ll both be waiting here a long time, then, won’t we? And I believe that, unlike me, you have class right about now.”

“Oh, I will spend as long as I need here to get some answers.” He moved towards Draco without breaking eye contact. “As long as it takes.”

“Aww, are you willing to skip class to spend time with me? I feel truly honored.”

“Please, Malfoy, don’t flatter yourself. The only thing that is important to me is that you’re a Death Eater with information and some evil little plan,” his steps forward were now making Draco slightly nervous, “And now you are going to share it with me.”

Draco rolled his eyes and this time he felt like the point was more clearly made as this conversation with Potter was a lot less tear-inducing than sitting around in his own sorrows. “Oh, will I? To be honest, Potter, your little interrogation here doesn’t scare me much. It pales in comparison to my winter break, with all the Crucios flying around.”

Potter blanched at that. “Malfoy…you were Crucioed? That–that’s torture. Malfoy how can you support people who-”

“Oh come off it, like you haven’t had the Cruciatus Curse cast on yourself. It’s nothing special.” Truthfully, the memory of Aunt Bella’s Legilimency lessons and the constant punishments that came along with each failure made Draco’s skin crawl, but he felt like admitting that would just deepen the hole he was now realizing he was digging. “And it’s none of your business Potter, let me go, Crabbe and Goyle are expecting me to-”

“Draco, this is serious, you’re a bloody teenager, you can’t be getting tortured-”

“Oh please, tell me how that is somehow more important that the vague death eater tasks you are so sure I’m doing that you commit time to stalking me to figure out-”

“Obviously, this is more important, Malfoy! How can you not see that getting Crucioed is wrong? It is literally called an Unforgivable Curse-”

“Oh wow, the great Potter, Boy Who Lived, the expert on Unforgivables is telling me what we all learned fourth year-”

“Just shut up!” Potter jammed his wand into Draco’s neck so it was poking uncomfortably beneath his jaw. “Merlin, Malfoy, can’t you see I have the upper hand here? You have to tell me what is going on. What are they doing to you?”

Draco took a shuddering breath. “They’re doing nothing. It’s just me. I haven’t done anything but if I did it would be my choice and mine alone. It’s no one else-”

“Stop lying to me! I heard what you said, about someone threatening to kill you, about not being able to do something. Just tell me what it is and I can help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” Draco spit out. “I don’t need your help. If you want to help me then let me go.”

“No. I have the wand. I have you tied up. I call the shots. And what I am calling is that you tell me what is going on before I even consider letting you go.”

“Oh, really, how do you plan to do that, Potter? Because the way I see it there is nothing you can do. You have me stuck here, sure, but there’s nothing else you can threaten me with. What are you going to do, huh? Stinging jinx me? I’m already tied up, it would go against your pristine little morals.”

“I just want to understand, Malfoy. If you talk to me I can help because it’s kind of obvious that you need it, just let me help-”

“You can’t help me!” Draco punctuated the sentence by punching his fist into the sink. Or at least attempting to, as his arms were firmly bound to his sides. “There is nothing to help.”

“Merlin Malfoy, what do you want from me? What? What can I offer you to get you to talk? I’ll leave you alone, I’ll stop stalking you, I’ll stop insinuating that you’re evil and a death eater even though it is very evident that you are,” Harry gestured to the forearm that Draco was now realizing was exposed. “I’ll make a deal.”

Draco resisted another eyeroll. “What, we’ll meet up and I’ll talk about my feelings? And then you can go back to your dorm and think, wow, I, Saint Potter, saved another poor soul today?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I won’t tell anyone. It will just be me who knows. And I bet I’m a better confidant than Moaning Myrtle.”

“Don’t you dare insult Myrtle.”

“Malfoy, it’s a small price to pay to get me off your back, right? Just an hour or so a week, of you telling me what's going on, telling me about your abusive homelife, and I won’t even tell anyone, it will just be benefiting you.”

“My homelife is not abusive, my parents love me. My father is barely ever even the one to cast the Cruciatus on me.”

Draco realized the mistake as he saw the shocked horror cross Potter’s face. “Your parents Crutio you?”

Draco quickly shifted the topic back to deal making. “You’re really that bloody curious? You’re willing to give up stalking me just for some heart to hearts that you can’t tell anyone about?”

“I’d swear on my parents’ graves.” He stuck out his hand for Draco to shake. “Once a week, an hour long.” Draco shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to gesture to his invisibly bound body. “Oh, right.” Potter loosened one of his hands.

The thought to reach for his wand crossed Draco’s mind, but he decided against it. Just a confidential talking secession with his nemesis in trade for a significant amount of freedom. He could agree to that. He shook Potter’s hand. “Fine, deal.”

…

Against Draco’s wishes, they had agreed to meet in the room of requirement. Draco had preferred to meet in the bathroom again but Potter claimed it would ‘look suspicious,’ two guys leaving the bathroom together. Draco felt the same could be said about the room of requirement, maybe even more so, but he agreed anyway. As long as he just thought about a nice, calm, not vanishing cabinet inhabited room, he’d be able to keep his most important secrets concealed. If he played his cards right, Draco was sure he could get away with telling a few sob stories, a small price to pay for getting Potter to stop stalking him.

When Draco entered the room he was relieved to find a small, cozy lounge area, complete with two arm chairs, one red and one green, facing each other in front of an already lit fireplace. He was further delighted when he realized that the room had provided him with a mug of tea next to his chair, next to a dramatic and ornate hourglass.

He was surprised the room didn’t provide Harry with a watch when he came in as he was a little over ten minutes late. “More important matters to attend to than me, Potter? Truly I’m offended.”

“Sorry Malfoy, I-” Harry paused and shook his head as he sat in front of Draco. “Actually, I don’t apologize. If you had to wait, too bad for you.”

“I’m hurt,” Malfoy deadpanned.

A mildly uncomfortable silence filled the room as Potter reached for his own tea and took a sip.

“So…how do you, erm, want to go about doing this?”

“I don’t know, how about you tell me how I’m supposed to trust that you won’t tell anyone any of what I’m going to tell you?”

Potter rolled his eyes at that and took two wands out of his pocket. “The same way I’ll trust that you aren’t lying, the Weasleys.” Draco made a small horrified gasp that Potter ignored. “Fred and George sell these, they’re fake Wizard Pack wands. We cast a modified version of an Unbreakable Vow with these and, instead of instantly dying if either of us break any part of the pack, both wands start flashing colors and blaring noise, and the violator suffers a stinging jinx. Seemed more appropriate.”

It didn’t seem like nearly enough to deter Potter from spilling Death Eater secrets, or even personal secrets for that matter, to Dumbledore or his gaggle of Griffindorks, but he wasn’t really planning on sharing anything important enough to warrant snitching anyways. And at least he’d get a loud, blaring heads up. Draco tentatively took one from Potter’s hand and found that it was a lot jankier than it had seemed at first, and was very clearly a prank wand and not a real one. “You’ve really planned these heart to hearts out, haven’t you Potter? I must say, I am truly touched.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, I needed some way to guarantee that I wouldn’t be wasting an hour of my week listening to you lying. And I doubt Professor Snape would be kind enough to let me borrow some of his Veritaserum.”

“Is listening to me talk when you can’t feed the information to anyone else not a waste of both of our time?”

“Then why’d you agree to this, if you think it’s a waste of time Malfoy?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Because you agreed to stop stalking me, Potter. You don’t really seem to gain anything like that from this.”

Potter raked a hand through his horribly unmanaged mop of hair. “Color me curious.”

Draco rolled his eyes and stood up. “Merlin, fine let’s get this over with. So, how do these knockoff wands work anyways.”

Potter stood as well. “We hold the wands with our right hands and say I will after each statement, while we shake with our left hands. I think.”

“You think? You don’t know?” Draco thought back on his several unpleasant experiences with the Weasley twins’ prank goods. “I’d rather prefer for you to be certain.”

“No, no I know. And besides it’s not like anything bad can happen if we do it wrong, we’d just have to recast it.”

“They run a prank shop, Potter. I feel like I am going to get pranked. Do they have an instruction manual I can check?”

“Oh shove off it Malfoy.” Potter put his left palm out. “Do you want me to stop stalking you or not?”

Draco grasped the hand in front of him. It was calloused, undoubtedly a side effect of the years of quidditch, and just slightly larger than Draco’s own. And it was surprisingly warm. “Fine, let’s get on with it.” He pointed the Weasley’s wand at Potter's chest, mirroring the stance Potter had taken himself. “So we just pose like this, and you start talking?”

“I guess so, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Mafloy will-”

“I’d assume you need to use my full name?” Draco made a valiant attempt to resist another eye roll but unfortunately failed.

“Right, erm, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Potter cringed while saying his first name, “Will you tell me the truth and only the truth?”

“I will.” Draco waited a moment before realizing that it was his turn to say a vow. “Will you, savior of the wizarding world, the miraculous boy who lived, Harry James Potter, never stalk me again?”

“I will.”

“And will you, Harry James Potter, never share a single word of what I will tell you to anyone else?”

There was a moment of hesitation before this affirmation, but in a matter of seconds he responded. “I will.”

They stood there for an awkward moment, holding eachothers hands, and Draco wondered if the Weasleys’ prank had actually been ripping off one of the most powerful wizards in the world. But then little red sparks flew out of both the Weasley wands in a bunch of mini explosions.

“So,” Potter said, pocketing the Weasley wand and retaking his seat. Draco took this as the cue that the weird pack had worked. “You know my middle name? Doesn’t seem like I’m the only one stalking someone.”

Draco scoffed as he sat. “Please, everyone knows your middle name. You’re famous. Mine however…”

Potter rolled his eyes, but Draco noticed the light blush that dusted his cheeks. “It’s only logical, you being a pureblood and all that. I think it’s tradition for wizarding families to name their children after the same sex parent, that’s why mine is James.”

“I know.” Draco had done what would have been a borderline embarrassing amount of research on Potter had he not been his multi year rival, know your enemy and all that. But as Potter tilted his head and gave a little smirk Draco realized that this was not the right thing to confess to. “I mean, I am a Malfoy, I know about wizarding tradition.”

“Oh of course, how could I ever forget.” Potter then leaned forward conspiratorially, seeming to remember why they were there to begin with. “Well, let’s get into it. What's this task you have to do? And who’s making you do it? Well obviously it's the death eaters but more specifically why you, who chose-”

“I didn’t agree to answer all your vacuous questions, Potter.” Draco reached over to pick up the hourglass. “I agreed to talk, and I agreed to only say the truth. But I didn’t agree to anything else.” He turned over the hourglass and watched the little grains of sand trickle down.

“So what exactly are you going to talk about then?”

“Well, on the fifth of June in 1980, I, Draco Malfoy, was born to Narcissa Mafloy from the esteemed House of Black and Lucius Malfoy, as both the Malfoy and Black heir.” Potter groaned. Draco had strategically planned the outlines of what he would be saying, and it centered mainly around his family line and some of the more boring details of his childhood. No real secrets, no valuable information, just a wasted afternoon for poor Potter. “Obviously, I grew up in the Malfoy estate, and was properly educated on blood supremacy-”

“Properly educated.” Potter scoffed.

“I’m sorry, is this hour supposed to be me listening to you talk?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“No, but I’m just saying you're wrong. It doesn’t make any sense, how does blood purity impact a wizard, is my blood any different from yours?”

“Yes!” Draco cried. “Obviously? I’m smarter, I’m overall better-”

“Oh shut up, I haven’t seen you beating Voldemort lately. Maybe you get better grades in potions, a class taught by your own godfather, but I am undoubtedly more powerful than you with my tainted blood.”

“See, this shows that I’m smarter because I don’t go around picking fights with the most powerful wizard in the Wizarding World.”

“Picking fights! Malfoy I was an infant when he killed my parents, I feel like I wasn’t the one who started it.”

Draco picked up his tea and took another sip. “Well, Potter, if I was foolish enough to go up against the Dark Lord, I wouldn’t lose.”

Potter laughed at that. “Oh, really? You’d beat Voldemort when you can’t even beat Hermione for best student?”

Draco felt a red flush threatening to overtake his face. “Do you want to hear about my extravagant childhood or not?”

“Oh, my deepest apologies, please proceed.”

Draco recrossed his legs dramatically. “Well, as I was saying, I grew up in Malfoy Manor as the heir to both of my parent’s family lines, and as the only child I am of great value and importance and was raised to know my worth. I was constantly given not only my parent’s love and affection, but any physical object I could ever ask for. And I was well respected by my peers even before Hogwarts, with all my fellow Slytherins already being acquainted with me from years of playdates.”

Potter sat there, consistently attentive throughout the entire one sided conversation, despite Draco making it purposefully rather boring. His hope was to make the hour as dull as possible and hopefully make Potter fall asleep, ending the session early, but Potter was unfortunately engaged with several well timed nods and titters.

“-so, after single handedly winning the game for our team by catching the snitch that had been flying right next to Theo’s ear, my parents celebrated with me by buying me my very own World Cup grade snitch to practice with.”

“When you were nine? Aren’t those impossibly expensive? And how would nine year old you even tell the difference between school and World Cup grade?”

“Well, to a skilled seeker it makes all the difference, though I suppose you wouldn’t know as you’ve never even touched one.”

Potter laughed. “Really, because I don’t know if I’ve ever even seen you touch a snitch. Maybe because someone else always beats you to it.”

“Just because you’re freakishly fast doesn’t mean I’m not skilled myself.” Draco rolled his eyes, before realizing that he had inadvertently complimented him.

“You think I’m fast?”

Draco didn’t know if it would be worse to backpedal and admit he had misspoke or stick to his compliment. “Well, not as fast as me, obviously, and it’s partially because you always have the fastest broomstick on the pitch which really has nothing to do with skill, but it's not a compliment, just a fact to say that you’re faster than other people on the pitch.”

“Yeah, sure. I suppose you’re rather fast too, everyone just seems so slow compared to me since, you know, I’m freakishly fast.” Potter smirked.

“Right, well, we’re here to talk about me, not you. And it looks like we shouldn’t even be talking about me anymore.” Draco gestured to the hourglass whose sand had completely transferred to the bottom half.

“Oh.” Draco saw a trace of disappointment of Potter’s face.

“What, won’t have anything to pat yourself on the back for helping me recover from? There is nothing to help me with Potter, as you can see I have amazing childhood memories and am having a great Hogwarts experience.” Draco had to admit he was a little surprised the Weasley wands didn’t start screaming.

“We didn’t even get to talk about your dark racist family secrets and missions.”

How painfully unfortunate that that’s how the treacle tart tore. “Hmm, well maybe you’ll get a hint of some depressing backstory next meeting, a dog I wasn’t allowed to get, a fight over me having to wear a coat.”

“Don’t try to gaslight me Malfoy. You’ve been crutioed by your family. I heard you talking about someone threatening to kill you if you didn’t do your secret little task I-”

Draco stiffly stood and made his way to the door. “Did you? I’m not entirely sure if I remember that.”

“Oh shut up,” Potter rolled his eyes as he stood.

He was probably going to say something else, maybe one of his rambling unnecessary apologies, but Draco left before he could.

…

Draco stuck to the blandest stories from his childhood for the next few sessions and a few interesting but equally meaningless memories, despite Potter’s continual insistence that he share something of importance, and they continued to spend an hour a week talking and drinking tea.

“-then, the peacocks circled me, and while I sat there in my best dress robes waiting for my parents to finish talking to their acquaintances, they attacked.”

“Your albino peacocks attacked you,” Potter parroted, with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Yes! And it is no laughing matter Potter. They eyed me as their prey and pecked at me till I was crying on the ground with my robes utterly ruined.”

Potter tried his best to not laugh but did not do a great job. “Oh, I can imagine, a dozen little beaks pecking at you incessantly. Oh the horror!”

“Please, tell me what the glorious boy who lived faced as a child. Don’t act all high and mighty when you grew up with access to a fortune.”

“You mean, other than facing Voldemort before my first birthday? And my parents, you know, dying?”

“Yes, obviously other than that.”

Potter took a sip of his tea and broke eye contact with Draco. “Well, I lived in a cupboard under the stairs.”

Draco laughed, then realized Potter wasn’t smiling as well. “Were you…not joking?”

Potter let out an awkward laugh. “Well it wasn’t that bad, and I got my cousin’s spare bedroom in second year. The infinite chores were worse, I swear it felt like I was cleaning till midnight every night. The house wasn’t even that big, I don’t know how they were able to give me that many things to do.”

“Merlin Potter, you faced and beat the most powerful wizard in existence. Did your care takers not know that?” Draco leaned in conspiratorially. “Were you in the care of Dark Lord sympathizers?”

Potter genuinely laughed this time. “No, no. They are muggles.”

Drac threw his hands into the air. “And you support muggleborns and muggle rights? Potter no wonder, muggles and their customs are insane.”

Potter got angrier at that. “No, Malfoy, you’re wrong. There are some genuinely amazing muggles. I had some nice neighbors who would make me fudge as a thank you after mowing their lawn, and Hermione’s parents are brilliant. Just like your parents abusing you doesn’t make all wizards bad, my aunt and uncle being horrible guardians doesn’t make all muggles bad.”

“My parents don’t-“ Draco realized it would be rather embarrassing for the wand in his pocket to start flashing and screaming as he talked about his parents’ parenting style. “My parents love me. Unlike yours, they have raised me in the respectable way that all purebloods should be raised, which yes does include a fair amount of discipline,” rather painful discipline after the Dark Lord returned, “But that is simply the correct way to raise a child.”

“Look, I can admit my guardians were horrible and negligent and treated me like a child servant, but they never physically punished me. If I can admit how bad they were when they did less than yours have, why can’t you admit your parents aren’t good parents? They abuse you!”

“You know, I’d argue that your parents abusively neglect you, when was the last time you saw them? Hmm?” It was a low blow, and not even that particularly good of one for that matter, and Draco knew it, but it was too late to take it back.

“Oh shut up Malfoy, at least my parents have never laid a hand on me.”

“You don’t understand what parents have to do to raise a proper child, yours are-“

“You can’t just go, oh Potter your parents are dead, you don’t know anything about parents. I already know my parents are dead Mafloy! But I’ve seen amazing parents who don’t hurt their children! The Weasleys! Hermione’s parents! Merlin, even Neville’s bloody nan!”

“I’d hardly call what they’ve done raising a proper child.”

“Oh right, because raising a proper child means you have to teach them to be an entitled prick and use corporal punishment.”

“They raised me to be successful! You’ve been assigned the same exact task for your entire life and yet you still fail to complete it. My parents raised me to know what must be done and do it. When I’m told to do something they can rely on me and I don’t fail.” Draco was breathing heavily and realized he was so caught up in winning the argument that Potter had started that he was sipping too close to revealing something. They stared at each other for a few tense seconds before Draco broke eye contact. “Anyways, have I told you about my seventh birthday? I was turning seven, obviously, and-“

“You can’t keep skirting around this,” Potter said, cutting him off. “You have to tell me, that’s why I’m here.”

“I was foolish enough to think we were just here to talk about me and my amazingly wonderful life.”

Potter pushed his fingers through his hair and groaned. “I want to help you. And I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on. I was there when-“

Draco had been tempted to refute with I’m not doing anything, but he realized that would be a lie and Potter would instantly know. Instead he cut him off with “So my mother had invited Parkinson, Knott, Zambini, Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, and I think Greengrass might have been there as well, and it was held in the gardens, which had been cleared of peacocks on my request-“

“Shut up Malfoy! Shut up! I don’t care about your stupid seventh birthday or who was invited or if there were bloody peacocks. I care about you now. Let me help, please let me-”

“There is nothing you can help me with, Potter.” Draco’s words were cold. “If you don’t want to hear about my birthday, then leave.”

For a second Potter looked like he was about to throw the teacup he was holding at Draco’s head, but then exhaled and placed it back on its saucer. “Fine, Merlin Malfoy, fine. But you know you could talk to me, right? We can talk all you want about your childhood and friends and bloodlines and I’ll listen, but if you actually want to share something, ever, I’m here. You know that, right?”

It hurt more than Draco had expected to turn the offer down. He wanted to talk to someone. He wanted to talk to his mother, to tell her how scared he was of failing and what that would mean for him, for her. He wanted to tell his friends, who he had known for the entirety of his life, what he had to do and his doubts and worries. He wanted to tell them why he had been so withdrawn since the summer, wanted to warn them Dumbledore or himself would be dead by the end of the year, wanted them to prepare for the irreversible impact that would come for either outcome. He wanted to get them to pick the winning side, to save themselves however possible from the war that was on their doorstep. But neither were real options. It was dangerous for any of them to know, both for them and him. He had to do it alone. He had to do everything alone. The closest thing to a confidant he had was Myrtle, who, despite the stranger friendship they had formed this year, he could only trust so much and could do nothing to help him.

And here was Potter. The golden boy himself, right in front of him, offering the one thing he had spent every day since the triwizard tournament praying for. Someone to talk to. Someone with a way out. All a year too late. There was no way out for Draco. Draco who had been actively planning a murder for the better part of a year. Draco who was going to let insane bloodthirsty murders into the school to torture students as young as eleven. Draco whose parents housed the Dark Lord. He was feet deep into his own grave or prison sentence, both of which seemed equally as appealing, and now there was nowhere else to dig but down.

“There was this huge cake, at least four tiers tall, and-”

…

Somehow Potter had coerced Draco into meeting twice a week, which Draco had neither the time nor energy for but had begrudgingly agreed to. It was mainly to get Potter off his back, as he had threatened to pick up his old hobby of stalking Draco if they didn’t make the meetings a biweekly thing. And while Draco was more rapidly reaching the end of his list of happy or boring memories which was a lot shorter than he had previously assumed, he couldn’t say he was dreading the meetings nearly as much as he had less than a month ago. It was a surprisingly welcome break from the constant hypothesizing about the best way to kill one of the most accomplished wizards in the world, which was turning out to be an even more daunting task then he had assumed it would be in the summer. Even when he wasn’t thinking about Dumbledore, he was thinking about how to fix the vanishing cabinet, which was supposed to be the easy part of his year. Instead, it was shaping up to be an equally as impossible task and seemed to just refuse to work despite the hours Draco spent casting various repairing spells at it.

Because of this, Draco considered himself appropriately miffed when Potter showed up more than half an hour late to the room of requirement. Had the room not been magical, Draco’s tea would have been cold by the time he appeared. Draco had been getting ready to go back to his dorm and begin his night of hopelessly trying to come up with ideas on how to kill one of the only existing threats to the Dark Lord when Potter barged in, profusely apologizing as he rushed to take his seat.

“Sorry, Malfoy, I know I’m late. I won’t make you meet back up with me tomorrow or anything, can we still do the half hour we have left? I’m sorry I was helping Ron finish his homework because Hermione refused to provide any more help to us after we stole her last potions paper and he just wasn’t letting me leave, and we were supposed to do this earlier but Quidditch practice ran late and we kind of need the practice.” Potter looked genuinely apologetic and frazzled from the ten minute run he had undoubtedly sprinted.

“Truly a shame you came so late Potter, I was going to share all of my family secrets, malicious missions, etcetera etcetera, but I unfortunately don’t think we have enough time.”

“You weren’t waiting long, were you? Sorry, you’re always on time, I mean I didn’t mean to make you sit here for half an hour.” Potter’s knee was bouncing up and down enough to make Draco mildly concerned.

“Relax Potter, it’s fine.” Seeing Potter so nervous and apparently just as double booked as him made Draco realize he had two choices for how today’s session could go. He could continue to use up the limited amount of memories he had left, or he could check in on the apparently very stressed Potter in front of him. It was a rather difficult choice, as he did love the sound of his own voice almost as much as he dreaded running out of good memories and slipping up and revealing something that he should keep to himself. And he had…mixed feelings on making sure Potter was doing alright. “You know, we talk about me a lot, maybe we should talk a little about you.”

Potter laughed. “So you can go tell Voldemort all my weaknesses?” He said jokingly.

It disturbed Draco to realize that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “No, I’m just being cordial. You extended this invitation to me, I thought it would simply be polite to do the same for you, considering how,” Draco gestured at Potter’s still bouncing leg, “agitated you are.”

His leg stopped bouncing. Potter smiled thoughtfully and just barely tilted his head, then withdrew his Weasley wand. “Another pack?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, yes yes I’ll promise not to tell anyone,” Draco said while standing up.

Potter raised an eyebrow. “I meant I thought you’d want me to promise to tell the truth. You know, because you’re bound to that.”

Draco's face flushed slightly. “We can do both, double assurance and all that.”

Potter’s lip quirked up. “Sure, okay Malfoy. Have your wand?”

Draco nodded and extended his left hand to Potter, who didn’t let go even after he pulled himself up. It was, unfortunately, still just as callused and warm as Draco remembered, and was just slightly larger than his own despite Draco being taller. They took out the Weasley’s wands and pointed them at each other with their right hands.

Potter started. “Will you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, tell no one what I tell you in this room?”

“I will.” Draco nodded almost unconsciously. “And will you, Harry James Potter, tell only the truth during these conversations?”

“I will.”

After a second the familiar red sparks flew out of the wand and Potter withdrew his hand as they both sat. “So, Potter, what has you so out of sorts.”

Potter paused, probably wondering how much he should share. “I don’t know, nothing in particular I suppose. There’s just so much to do, you know? On top of the insane amount of classwork Hermione insisted I could handle when I signed up for the courses last year, Dumbledore’s having me do this…task, and it just takes so much of my time.” Despite being hypocritically a little miffed by Potter not sharing what secret task Dumbledore had assigned him, Draco could relate to there never seeming to be enough hours in the day. “And I have to keep up with quidditch captain duties, which there seems to be an endless amount of.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Draco responded, sipping his tea.

“At least I don’t have to carve out time in my schedule to stalk you,” Potter chuckled. “But there’s more than that, too. I don’t know how up to date you are with Gryffindor gossip, but Ron’s dating Lavender Brown,” Draco snorted and Potter gave a disapproving stare. “Which I don’t have that many strong opinions on, but Hermione is pissed over and now I feel like every time I’m around both of them a fight is seconds away from breaking out.”

“And what about your love life, Potter? Difficult to find time to spend with girl Weasley?” They hadn’t really talked about eachother’s personal relationships, not that there was much to talk about on Draco’s end. But the idea of Potter and the Weasley together, their arms linked or gazing into each other’s eyes, made Draco feel physically repulsed, and after he said the words he mildly regretted bringing it up.

“Ginny?” Potter let out a sigh. “I dunno, I guess we make out sometimes, but I wouldn’t call it a love life. We’re not exclusive, I don’t think she likes me in that way, you know, for a long term relationship or anything like that.”

“I doubt anyone wouldn’t like you.” The words were out of his mouth before he had really processed them. “I mean, you are the famed boy who lived.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that, and besides I bet the girls are all over you, the pureblood prince of Slytherin.”

Draco scoffed. “What a nickname Potter. But no, no girls for me.”

“We all see you and Parkinson. There’s nothing going on there?”

Draco couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “No, no there’s nothing happening between me and Pansy other than an annoyingly clingy friendship. And you can’t distract me from your very real personal love life.”

“There isn’t one.”

“Hmm, well that’s not what sneaking around and making out with someone sounds like to me.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, like I said, Ginny wouldn’t want that.”

“Well, what do you want?”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Hmm, I dunno,” He paused, sipping his tea thoughtfully, before giving an answer. “I guess I want everyone else to be happy? I want Voldemort to die, no offense, well actually full offense if you want him to live and rule over the world or whatever his endgame is.”

Draco decided that now was not the time to share his genuine dislike of the Dark Lord or his conflicted loyalties. “But that’s not really about you, what’s your dream job? Dream relationship? What are your wants?”

“I don’t really think about it, I guess.” Potter squirmed in his seat. “I haven’t really thought about my life after school, maybe I’ll become an Auror? I want to do something for others. And I think I’ll marry someone, have kids. I’m not picky.”

“It truly isn’t fair that you, someone who could choose to be anything or have anyone, aren’t picky.”

“Oh, well if you have such a picky perfect future planned out, what do you want, Malfoy?”

Draco wanted to live. Or, more importantly, he wanted his mother to live. And not go to jail, or prison, or live under the ruling of Voldemort, but it seemed a little too late to get all four. He supposed that it would be rather hypocritical to share that as what he wanted. He could think back to a time when he wanted to graduate with all Os, get the latest Nimbus or Firebolt, live as lord of Malfoy Manor, maybe be an Unspeakable. Just a year ago he might have thought getting himself a boyfriend and having his father miraculously accept it would be near the top of his list. It all seemed rather trivial now. “I thought we established that today was your share day, but fine, if you insist, I will share one of my wants if you share one want for you.”

“I already have-”

“No, no. I mean one that’s actually yours. Give me something you want for yourself, not for anyone else.”

“I don’t know-“ Potter said, shaking his head.

“You have you have something-“

“I told you what I want.”

“-for yourself, something that you want for you-“

“Stop asking, I told you-“

“And I’m telling you my whole childhood the least you could do-“

“I don’t have anything-“

“You must have at least one-“

“I want you to call me Harry,” Potter blurted out. They sat there in a tense silence for a few seconds. “I mean, if your okay with it, it's just so awkward meeting up regularly and being called by my last name, I mean, Merlin I shouldn’t have asked I’m making you do this already it-“

“Harry.” Draco interrupted him. It was weird, calling Potter something else after years of saying Potter in the most snobbish, malicious way possible.

“Yeah?” There was a strange mix of surprise and something else in his voice. Joy? Comfort? Hope? Draco thought it was something positive, but was more likely just wistful thinking.

“It’s fine. It’s your name after all.” Draco was a little too caught off guard to come up with a witty retort or backhanded insult. He felt a little…nauseous knowing that the first thing Potter thought to want was him to call him by his first name. An uneasy, happy sort of nausea that Draco did not really want to be experiencing in this context and tried to ignore.

“Well, it’s your turn. What do you want?”

Draco had to be careful about this. He couldn’t be hypocritical, say something sappy about his mom. He also didn’t want to be too serious, just like always Voldemort was not on the table. And he couldn’t lie, which severely limited his options. He didn’t want much nowadays. “I want to snog Theodore Knott.”

Whatever warm feelings had been building in the air froze instantly. Funnily enough, it was a stretch of the truth. Theo and him had made out on occasion last year, and a few rather low points of this year when Draco was drunk and needed a good distraction, and he supposed he did want to do it again, in the same way he wanted to down a bottle of firewhiskey or reread one of the many books under his bed, and he was now realizing either of those would have been better choices to vocalize though he didn’t quite know why. Snogging Theo wouldn’t be his first choice way to spend a night, probably not even second, but something he wanted vaguely if he wasn’t feeling up for something else. Maybe after all their talk about the She Weasel Draco had wanted Potter to know that he had snogged people too. Regardless, the wand seemed to think it was true enough and they sat in terse silence for a moment.

“Oh.”

Draco didn’t really know what reaction to expect, but it was not the thinly veiled anger and possibly sadness Draco was looking at. At least the nausea was gone. “What, opposed to boys liking boys, Potter?”

“It’s Harry, and no, not at all. Just…Knott? What’s great about him?”

“No gasp of surprise over me being bent?” What a strange part of this to be caught up on, Draco thought. He was pretty sure it was common knowledge among all the houses that Theo was attractive, with that dirty blonde hair that he had just figured out how to style last year. And while Draco had made out with the occasional Ravenclaw or experimenting Hufflepuff, having a physical relationship with someone in one’s own house just made more sense with the shared common room and similar schedules. Draco didn’t really know what Potter didn’t think made sense, it wasn’t like he was going to choose Blaise who would swiftly and loudly tell Pansy and the rest of their year, making it only a matter of hours before the whole school knew he was gay, or, Merlin forbid, snog Vincent or Greg. And he was certain at least some of them were off the table, there was no way they could all be gay unless the sorting hat had a secret fourth criteria. “And I suppose Theo’s just attractive. And a Slytherin, which is always a major plus.”

“Yeah, but other than being in the evil house what’s attractive about him? What qualities?”

Draco could list quite a few reasons he liked Theo as a friend, he had a sarcastic sense of humor and generally abstained from gossiping making him one of the most trustworthy Slytherins in their year, but unfortunately the list of reasons Draco wanted to make out with him ended at he’s hot and he’s great with his tongue. “Does he have to have great qualities other than being hot and skilled at snogging?”

Potter blanched at that. “You guys have already made out? I thought this was just a hypothetical crush.” He then shook his head, his face turning more red than white. “And what a superficial reason to like someone. Do you guys even talk after make out sessions?”

“Oh like you have room to talk to, P-” Draco made a big deal of stopping to correct himself, “Harry. She Weasley has the personality of a wooden board.”

“I’ll have you know that she’s an amazing Quidditch player, she’s brave, she’s selfless, she’s witty, and she’s significantly better than Theodore Knott.”

Draco felt unreasonably angry at this response. “Why don’t you just go and marry her then?”

“That’s not what I want!” The sudden outburst genuinely surprised Draco, and it seemed to surprise Potter too as his face was very red and he was rapidly trying to cover it with a sip of his tea.

Draco sat awkwardly, unsure what to say. It seemed like a little too charged of a moment to deliver an insult and for the first time in a while he didn’t feel like starting an unnecessary fight with Potter. Perhaps now would be a good time to de-escalate if he wanted to keep his life stalker free. “Well, what do you want? To talk about that is. You know, because it’s your hour.”

Potter shook his head. “No, these are all your hours. It’s what we agreed on.”

“Well, if you insist, I still haven’t told you the largely memorized pureblooded family tree I am from. You’re going to want to settle in for this, its going to be at least half an hour of me naming names and relationships, with no real interesting connections, maybe a few vague physical descriptions…”

“You know, sometimes I forget what an asshole you are,” Potter commented, but he was smiling as said it. “Yeah, I’ll complain.”

“No, I really do insist. I have the family tree memorized for a reason.”

“Then you can talk all about it next time.”
…

After the slight rollercoaster that was their last conversation, Draco made sure to steer clear of any mentions of relationships or love lives. He still wasn’t sure why Harry seemed so opposed to Draco snogging Theo, who Draco felt like Harry should admit was one of the most attractive boys of their year, but he wasn’t particularly keen on starting the conversation that would make him find out as it would inevitably result in another argument. Besides, Draco was even less thrilled to hear more about the girl Weasley and the romance he knew was taking place between them.

He did, however, try to continue to keep the conversation more balanced, turning it away from long, drawn out hours of Draco recounting exceedingly trivial facts about his childhood and trying to make it a more balanced conversation between two people, both just talking normally like the whole relationship wasn’t a tedious setup for them both wich they were only agreeing to for personal gain. This shift also happened at a perfect time for Draco, who was down to a small handful of not incriminating or possibly abusive memories to share.

With the hope of keeping the conversation fun Draco had decided to talk about his favorite childhood memories, the glorious balls and galas his mother would hold. He was surprised to realize how much he had missed them. The last ball they had was before the dark lord’s return over a year prior.

“You wouldn’t believe it Harry, the clothes, the decorations, the food, the drinks, it’s all amazing. I don’t know how my mother pulls multiple off every year.”

Harry was smiling, drinking his tea with one hand and gesturing for Draco to go on with the other. “What were you guys celebrating?”

“Oh, it could be anything with her. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. Every Christmas though she would throw my favorite ball. The house would be enchanted to look completely blue, white, and silver, there was this towering tree in the entryway that I used to help decorate with tinsel, and Blaise, Pansy, Theo, Greg, Vince, and I would always all go off hiding in one of the spare bedrooms or the dungeons two hours in.”

“Would I be invited to your little mid-party sneak out?” Harry asked jokingly.

“Well, I doubt you could go. Aside from balls being put on hold during wars, and you being the Harry Potter, I doubt my mother would let you come.”

“Why?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes with a slight smirk. “Am I too charming? Would I take too many eyes off the prized heir?”

“Oh hardly.” Draco successfully restrained his snicker, which was a lot harder than it should have been considering what he had said wasn’t even that funny. “You’re a halfblood, the guests would riot.”

The room suddenly felt significantly colder and the playful smile left Harry’s face, replaced with a grimace. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Would you riot? Kick me out?”

Draco raked his fingers through his hair. “Well, not you. You’re different. I’d let you in.”

“But another halfblood? Seamus Finnigan? Micheal Corner? Tracy Davis? Would you let them in?”

Draco scoffed. “Please, I don’t like them to begin with, I wouldn’t approve of them regardless of their blood status.”

“But a different halfblood? Would you not let them into your pristine pure mansion for their blood status?” Harry’s hands were now clutching the sides of his armchair.

Draco couldn’t help but feel vaguely annoyed about the loss of their multiple-meeting-no-argument streak. Before today he had been rather cautious and everything had been going so smoothly. He said a bit of damage control. “I suppose, I mean it depends, Potter. The balls are meant for purebloods but I supposed I wouldn’t be too miffed by a few halfbloods being there.”

Harry pressed on. “How about a muggleborn? Hmm? Does both of someone’s parents being muggles instead of just one somehow change things?”

“Well obviously,” Draco rolled his eyes. Even for the sake of keeping the peace he couldn’t lie. Literally. “I don’t see why you're so upset about this. Mudbloods don’t-”

“Shut up Malfoy.” Harry stood up and walked in front of Draco, causing Draco’s heart rate to increase. “Give me your hand.”

“What.”

“I said, give me your hand.” Harry gestured to his own waiting palm.

He put his hand down, and Harry flipped it so Draco’s palm was facing up, then pointed his wand to Draco’s ring finger. “What is this, what are-”

“Diffindo.” A small cut formed on the tip of Draco’s ring finger and he let out a yelp of surprise more than pain. Harry then made a mirrored cut on his own finger. “I’m now going to blindfold you.”

“At least take me to dinner first,” Draco winked jokingly before instantly feeling both embarrassment and regret over it, but Harry didn't seem to notice as he quickly cast Obscuro. “But seriously, what are you doing.”

“Open your mouth.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. He tentatively opened his mouth anyways.

Harry shoved two fingers onto his tongue and Draco’s mouth was instantly filled with the familiar metallic taste of blood. “Which finger has my blood and which finger has yours? Hmm? Which one’s tainted gross half blood blood and which one’s your supreme pure blood?” Draco shook his head. “Do you know? Can you taste the difference? Is one just significantly better?”

Harry withdrew his hand, then Draco felt Harry’s finger rub into his ring finger before Draco was unblinded. He was greeted with the sight of two smudges of blood on the back of Harry’s hand. “Which one’s yours? You’re looking at it, if it's so different you should be able to tell, shouldn’t you?”

Draco sputtered. “It’s more complex than that, not that I’d expect a halfblood like you to understa-”

“You can’t tell the difference! Because there isn’t one! Your blood is no better than that of a muggleborn. Can’t you see that? There is no difference between the blood or people with pure magical ancestry and people without.”

“Merlin, if it’s so important to you we can just agree to disagree.”

Harry repocketed his wand and moved to the door. “No, we can’t. I’ve listened to you talk about your insane family and all of the prejudice they have taught you but you’re old enough to realize that they’re wrong. How blind do you have to be to see that the people who torture you don’t have the right opinions? And the worst part is you don’t even seem like that bad of a person! You’re just some snobby, rude teenager! And sometimes I sit here and think, oh, Malfoy’s not even that bad. But then you go and say bloody bullshit like this! Our session’s ending early this week.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Potter.” Draco stood up and walked to the gryffindor. “You think you understand me and my life and my family but you don’t. You don’t know anything about me. My parents have always been there for me. They love me. And I wouldn’t make you the authority on loving families. Where are your parents again?”

“They stood up to Voldemort for me. They died at his hands for me. Would yours do the same?”

…

“I’m sorry.”

“Could you repeat that? I didn’t hear.” Harry was sitting, a little too smugly for Draco’s liking, in his red chair and was casually sipping his tea.

“I’m not repeating it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I think you’re going to have to, I don’t even know what exactly you’re referring to, making another insult about how my parents are dead or for being a blood racist.”

Draco paused, taking a long deep breath, before replying, “both.”

“Oh, well if it’s for two things you should have to say it twice.”

Draco had felt an unexpected amount of guilt after their last session. If he was being honest he felt like Harry owed him an apology for the entirety of their last session, but that somehow didn’t alleviate the guilt. But instead of moping around to wallow in his regret or spend any of his time doing the necessary task of trying to plan Dumbledore’s death, Draco had made a card. Well, it wasn’t really a card, he refused to stoop to the level of writing out an actual apology card with the words I’m Sorry written on the outside in his sprawling cursive. Instead he made a ticket, a little bigger than the size of his hand, that was an admit several note for the hypothetical next Malfoy ball. He had thought it looked brilliant, with the little image of a Christmas tree on the side and the well coordinated shades of blue keeping the ticket sophisticated, but now that he was actually in front of Harry he just felt embarrassed. On the plus side, with how much progress he was making with his tasks he would probably die before Harry ever got the opportunity to use the ticket, and by extension would only be alive to feel embarrassed about this for so long. “I have an apology gift.”

Harry cocked his head to one side. “Really? I suppose that is the Malfoy way, buying forgiveness.”

“That’s not-“ Draco had to cut himself off before he said true, as that was probably going to be a lie, so he dropped the sentence entirely. “It’s handmade.”

Harry placed his hand out inquisitively and Draco placed his little slip of paper in his palm, which he felt completely embarrassed by and wholeheartedly regretted doing. “Never mind, Potter, give it back. I’ll go buy you something else as a token of my remorse for damaging your brittle feelings.” He made an attempt to grab it back, but Harry was already holding it close to his glasses, reading the ticket slowly.

“Is this a ticket to the world famous annual Malfoy Winter Galla I’ve heard so much about?”

“No need to talk Potter, I know it was stupid,” Malfoy scoffed.

Harry smiled. “No, I love it. I’m keeping it and will be using it this coming winter.”

“Well, since you have a ticket, you could theoretically bring another person, or a few. Since invitations are usually sent to families of multiple people, each admits a small group. If you wanted to bring, say, Granger, that would be possible.” Draco did not really know what he was saying, and really just wanted Harry to forgive him for whatever he had done last meeting, and it was seemingly working.

“You’d let Hermione come to your Galla?”

Draco actually had no idea if that was his decision to make, but nodded anyway. “If she wanted to, I suppose she could.”

Harry laughed, a sound that seemed to mostly come from shock. “Wow, I think this is the best apology I’ve received.”

Draco scoffed, but couldn't contain his earnest small “really?”

“Yeah, but don’t let it get to your head. Your ego’s already horribly big.”

Any tension left hanging in the air had dissipated with that last joke, and Draco couldn’t help but grin. “Well, if you were as amazing as me I suppose you might have one too, I guess we’ll just never know.”

Harry’s laugh, which hadn’t yet completely died out, was renewed to an even larger amount. “You know who you’re talking to, right? I know you might be able to think as a Malfoy you’re better than Zabini or Parkinson but I’m the chosen one, boy who lived, etcetera etcetera.”

“Yeah but I’m just generally phenomenal. I’m extremely intelligent-”

“I’m sure years of tutoring does help with that.”

“Don’t cut me off Potter, it’s rude. But I’m also gorgeous, extremely admired, possibly the best student at Potions to ever grace these halls, one of the best quidditch players on campus, did I mention incredibly pretty?”

Harry had gotten rather red. “Good looks don’t count as a good personal trait, you had nothing to do with that, and that disqualifies half of your list.”

“So you agree? That I’m gorgeous.” Draco couldn’t help but tease.

His face got redder. “I never said-”

“My good looks don’t just come naturally, my twelve step skincare routine is incredibly difficult work and I style my hair every morning, which is more than what you do to get your charm. I mean it’s truly an affront to hard working beautiful people everywhere that you still manage to look nice with that bird’s nest you clearly do nothing to fix.”

“I-” Harry paused, a grin slowly spreading. “So you think I look nice?”

Draco had gone too far. His teasing had revealed too much. Draco was not even sure what he was hiding with this but was paralyzed with the fear of it coming out. “Well I never-”

“And that I’m charming?” His grin grew wider, a joking glint in his eye.

“Now that’s a stretch of my words-”

“Well, Draco, it looks as if you do think rather highly of me, maybe I should develop an ego.”

Draco quickly decided to change the topic of conversation as soon as possible, pushing away the uneasy feeling and slight giddiness he refused to acknowledge. “Please, you’d be unbearable with an ego. You’re already unbearable, it would just make it significantly worse.”

“Please, you love me.” Harry winked.

Draco had to change the conversation now. He coughed awkwardly then loudly said, “anyways.” he grasped for something. Anything. “You have an upcoming game against Hufflepuff, don’t you?”

Harry groaned. “Don’t remind me. No one wants to practice because they’re so sure we won’t need it, with Hufflepuff not doing so well generally since…” he paused, “since a while. But all I can think of is how embarrassingly horrible it will be if we lose, and it’s like everyone’s forgotten about how house cup points work! Obviously it will be better for us to win by a greater margin, I just, I don’t know how Oliver did it, getting everyone to practice religiously.”

“Well, they have that new seeker this year, right? He’s pretty good.” he was fighting a laugh.

Harry rolled his eyes, but was smiling too. “Don’t be mean, I’m sure he just needs some more experience.”

“I don’t remember you needing any experience in first year,” Draco said, sipping his tea.

“And I remember you needing some in second year-”

“Hey, I was trying to be nice to you-”

“And look at how great you are now.” Draco continued drinking his tea to hide his blush. Harry chuckled. “So he definitely has a chance of becoming great, just maybe not, you know, freakishly fast.”

Draco groaned. “You’re never going to let that go, are you.”

Harry just smirked into his cup.

…

“For the love of Salazar, please…” Draco sat in front of the Vanishing Cabinet and waited for the potion to seep into the hinges. The last time he had used a potion, he neglected to wait and let the potion sit in moonlight for the three days certain potion masters argued helped the potion become more potent and potentially effective regardless of varnish type. Thinking the certain group had just been pedantic and not wanting to waste time he chalked up the entire potion as a failure, but decided it was worth another try now that he was out of ideas and the date he was supposed to complete this by was swiftly approaching. Finals were merely days away and right after that he would be back at the manor, and his tortuous summer would be significantly worse if this was not finished. When the potion had made contact with the cabinet it had shimmered, which Draco was choosing to take as a good sign.

What wasn’t a good sign was the sound of a door opening.

Draco quickly tried to move or hide, but Harry was in front of him in a matter of seconds. “Draco! What a wonderful surprise!”

Harry wore a giant grin on his face and, to Draco, generally seemed a bit off. He was too…carefree. Maybe he just wasn’t used to seeing Harry free of inhibitions, he supposed being almost murdered by the most powerful wizard of the world every year might put a semi-permanent damper on the amount of carefreeness one could feel.

“Are you drunk?”

Harry laughed, lowering himself onto the floor to sit next to Draco. “No, not at all. Why do you ask?”

Draco bit his lip. “I don’t know, you just don’t seem entirely like yourself I suppose.” He then remembered that they were sitting right next to the vanishing cabinet. He raked his brain for the best possible course of action. He could move to sit in front of it, but that might just attract more attention to it, and if they were going to be talking Harry would be facing the Cabinet and have more of a chance to realize something was amiss. Alternatively, he could move away from the cabinet so Harry wouldn’t be facing it to speak with him, but would that be suspicious?

“Well I had a drink with Hagrid and Slughorn, but not nearly enough to really affect me. I just feel…lucky.” Harry laughed lightly to himself as if he had said some kind of joke, then leaned his head back and looked around. “So, why’s the room like this? Need a junkyard for some reason?”

Draco had no idea what his answer to that should be, and was finding it hard to focus on coming up with a convincing reply when he was so focused on Harry’s casual smile. “Well, I like clutter. It helps me think sometimes.” He knew that made no sense but hoped Harry wouldn’t press it.

“Mhm, sure. I guess that makes sense for you.” Harry did another look around the room then scooted closer to Draco so they were shoulder to shoulder, which was even more distracting than it had any right to be. “You know, we’re still in the room despite its new furnishings. Maybe this could just be another session.”

Draco wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come up with a reason for him to stay and watch the cabinet and for Harry to leave, so he nodded, hoping he could come up with something later, after they talked. “Sure.”

“Then I have a question for you, I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now.”

Draco was still nodding. “Alright, ask it then.”

Harry leaned in and suddenly his eye contact was sharp. “Do you like me?”

Draco stopped breathing. He tried to stop thinking too, but suddenly thinking was all he could do.

He had purposefully not thought about it, but now that the question was asked thoughts filled his brain like a floodgate had been opened. Harry’s laugh during a trivial story of Draco’s childhood. The intensity with which he listened to Draco’s complaints about Transfiguration homework. How soft his hair looked by the firelight. The focused look he got while chasing a snitch Draco had no chance of catching. The small, secretive smile he’d throw Draco in the halls. His shoulder, touching his now. His eyes, his bright green eyes, staring at Draco with an eager earnestness.

He didn’t just like Harry. He loved him.

Salazar, he was screwed.

Draco blushed furiously. “Well, what do you mean? Who doesn’t like you Potter, you’re Harry Potter after all, savior of the wizarding world. Beloved by at least 90% of the british public-”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Harry leaned in closer and Draco could now see the individual freckles that lightly peppered his face. “Do you like me?”

“I-” Draco was speechless. He couldn’t move, couldn’t lean closer and most definitely couldn’t lean away. He couldn’t even break eye contact. “I-”

Harry lurched forward and their lips collided. For a second Draco froze and could feel Harry tentatively pulling back, but as soon as their lips separated Draco reached forward.

The kiss was sweeter, softer than Draco would have expected from them and their years of aggression, as if both of them felt that the kiss was too fragile to push too far. Draco wasn’t quite sure what to do, too scared any wrong movement would break it. But Harry quickly moved forward, placing a hand in Draco’s hair as he pushed him back into the cabinet. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Harry whispered onto Draco’s lips.

“Then don’t stop,” Draco responded breathily. “Unless you’re scared, Potter.”

Harry pushed further, lifting Draco onto the cabinet and slotting himself between Draco’s legs. He moved his mouth from Draco’s lips to his jaw, slowly descending and making Draco shiver. As the grappled with each other, Draco’s leg hit the door of the cabinet open and he had a fleeting thought of worry that sitting on and kicking the cabinet might not be best for it’s repairs, but it was hard to think about it for longer than a second with Harry’s mouth on his neck, slowly descending to his collarbone. Draco felt like he was being unraveled, slowly becoming undone under Harry’s lips messily traversing across his skin. As much as he had praised Theo, their makeout sessions had never been anything like this.

Draco slowly, then with a more frantic urgency, began fumbling with the buttons on Harry’s shirt. As he pulled and tugged he accidentally knocked a strange piece of wood out of Harry’s breast pocket, but before he could even look to where it had fallen Harry’s open mouthed kiss interrupted his thoughts and make him let out a low moan in addition to flailing his legs and kicking the cabinet door closed again.

Harry pulled away and laughed. “Sorry, but I have the strangest feeling that I should pick that up.”

Draco felt a little confused at the sudden break but shrugged and tried to make his breathing normal. “Sure, of course. What is it? The little wooden thing?” You’re gay? You like me? We just made out? Were all more pressing questions swimming though his mind but he didn’t know enough proper mid-makeout break etiquette to say any of them.

Harry was now on his knees and had closed the cabinet door to get a better view under and around the floor of the cabinet. “Just my pencil. I love showing them to wizards who haven’t interacted with muggles, they always get so amazed that you don’t need a tub of ink. I think it fell in here,” Harry was now opening the cabinet and peering inside, then scrunched up his face in confusion. “Weird, I feel like it would have fallen into here if not the ground. Where else could it have gone?”

Draco was rapidly becoming more alert and tried to un-daze himself. “Potter this place is huge, and your piece of wood could have bounced or rolled away anywhere.” A strange mix of dread and excitement was coursing through his veins. If the pencil had fallen into the cabinet and was no longer there… Draco didn’t even want to entertain the thought, both scared to be let down again and scared of what actually fixing the cabinet could mean. Still, the thought that he might have actually done it, that his task was actually complete, gave him a thrill. More pressingly though, Draco could not let Harry find out, and it was looking rather difficult to prevent. “Maybe you don’t have to find it right now.” He jumped off the cabinet and touched Harry’s arm, but Harry was insistent.

“No, no. I think I have to find it.” He glanced around the rest of the floor, but then returned to the cabinet. “Hey, don’t I know this cabinet?”

Draco bit his lip. “I don’t know Potter, I’m not really focused on the cabinet right now.”

“No, I think I saw one like this, but I can’t remember where.” Harry inspected closer then suddenly gasped. “You’ve seen it too! At Borgin and Burkes before second year! I was hiding in it and you and your father were there, you were going to open it!” He opened and closed the door.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken, I mean there are so many vanishing cabinets in the world, it’s not like they’re rare or anything. It probably connects to somewhere else. Besides, what does it matter?” Draco was sweating now and this emotional whiplash was not good for his health.

“Wait, you said it’s a vanishing cabinet?” Shit, Draco thought. Of course Harry hadn’t already known and he had just revealed information, he needed to shut up. “So if I’m right, it could connect to Borgin and Burkes? Do you think it could bypass Hogwarts security measures? If my pencil did fall in and is gone now…Godric, I need to tell Dumbledore about this-”

“No!” Draco realized the suspiciousness of his interjection a second too late. “Potter, Harry, please can we just…” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “Keep doing…what we were doing? Not talk about the cabinet?”

Harry squinted at Draco, confusion coloring his face. “But you’ve got to understand how dangerous this could be.” He paused, a glint of fear entering his eyes. “Draco, what were you doing in here before I came in?”

Draco froze. “I- I was just studying.”

“Without textbooks? And why study here, not in your common room or something?” Harry had moved farther away from Draco and the cabinet.

Draco laughed nervously. “Is it against Hogwarts rules to study where I want? Maybe I just wanted a change of scenery.”

Harry took a step back. His face had lost any trace of the euphoric joy it had moments before. In its place was a mix of anger and sadness and, perhaps most depressing for Draco, disappointment. “So you came here. And made the room look like this.”

Draco reached forward but Harry lurched back again, slowly backing away toward the exit. “Harry, Please. Please you can’t-” Draco felt his throat catch.

“I’m going to talk to Dumbledore.”

He felt frantic, rapidly becoming aware of just how dangerous this situation was for him. “No! Harry no you can’t, you said you wouldn’t tell anyone anything, please, please you don’t understand,” Draco was shaking now and tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. “Please, Harry-”

“I’m sorry Draco.” Harry wouldn’t look into his eyes. “I-I have to go. I have to go right now.”

…

Draco couldn’t sleep. He considered taking a dreamless sleep potion or atleast a drought of peace but was out of both, so all he could do was stare at his closed curtains. He had briefly considered chasing Harry, finding him and confessing to everything he had done and begging for forgiveness, asking him to come up with a solution to the horrible, inescapable mess around him. Alternatively he considered telling his parents to go tell Voldemort and give warning of their compromised plans, perhaps even work on a new mission for him to complete in the dwindling amount of days before his impending, looming punishment during summer break. Unfortunately, he, at his core, was a coward, so he did neither.

But that had been a week ago. And Draco had not spoken to Harry since then. Draco wasn’t even sure who was avoiding who was avoiding who, as with finals both had been incredibly busy and the brief moments Draco caught sight of Harry he swiftly looked away, hoping to simply not be noticed to avoid either confrontation or outright avoidance or, even worse, rejection.

Just like it had for an entire week, while lying in bed his mind kept circling back to one thing. Well, it kept circling back to multiple things, but he was trying to not think about the kiss so he wouldn’t start crying. It was stupid and foolish to even entertain wanting something he couldn’t have, and after the second half of their meeting Draco didn’t think making out, or maybe even more distressing just going back to being friends, was ever going to be back on the table. So instead he focused on the other thing that was irritating him.

He had lied to Harry. He had said he was studying, not implied or said a phrase that left interpretive wiggle room. No, he had told Harry something other than the truth and nothing had happened. No jinx, no loud alarm, he had only been revealed because of how flimsy the lie was and how on point Harry’s train of thought had been.

Draco desperately wanted to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. Harry was doing the right thing after all, reporting Draco’s morally dubious, no not dubious simply morally wrong, actions to Dumbledore to prevent what might have been a catastrophe at the small expense of Draco and his family’s well being. He could feel betrayed and angry and wish Harry had somehow understood his dire state, but after just a moment of thought he couldn’t fault Harry for that decision, the hours spent chatting with Harry had apparently impacted his already unfavorable opinions of the dark lord to an extent that he hadn’t realized. However, the promise being broken and nothing happening made Draco’s blood run cold. Sure, Harry might have simply messed up the spell or they had both gotten pranked by the unbearable redheads, but the other option was too big, too simple to overlook.

Had Harry never made a vow? Was it all just made up so Draco would tell the truth and Harry could secretly tell whoever he wanted at any time without Draco’s knowledge? Draco wanted to say no, wanted to be able to confirm that their hours by the fireside, chatting about their lives had meant something, that it was all just a layer Harry had to get through to complete some mission. That the kiss- he couldn’t even bring himself to think about the kiss in this context, it made him feel too sick. He desperately craved some sign of confirmation in his memories that Harry hadn’t just been using him, but that was just something he couldn’t confirm. He had wanted to avoid real secrets, his secret mission and the secret location Voldemort was staying at, from Harry, but in doing so had revealed himself, almost all of himself. And now, even under the covers in his silk pajamas, he felt nakedly exposed. Who else had Harry told? Just Dumbledore, or his gaggle of Griffindors too? Did Ronald Weasley know how he had spent his 9th birthday? Did Hermione Granger know that when he needed to calm down he listened to Celestina Warbeck alone in his bed? The more he recalled his conversations with Harry the more he couldn’t sleep, so he was already awake at two in the morning when Professor Snape opened his curtains.

“Mr. Malfoy, you need to come with me right away. Pack your bags, you’re not going home for the summer.”

Draco rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. “What the…Sorry Professor, I mean could you tell me what’s going on?”

“Mr. Malfoy you have ten minutes to pack, we have to go to Dumbledore’s office before two thirty.”

Draco sat more alertly at that. “No, professor, you know what I-I can’t go-” Draco was breathing rapidly. “What are you going to do to me? I mean, I know what I was doing was-but they aren’t going to hurt me, are they? I mean they can’t keep me from my parents for-for fixing a cabinet right?” It couldn’t be worse than the summer that awaited him at home, could it?

Professor Snape sighed and rolled his eyes. “Draco, you have my word that this is in your best interest, but we don’t have time for this. You need to get ready now.” He cast a quick Tempus, but that was probably more for dramatic effect than anything, as they had only been talking for half a minute at most. “Nine minutes.”

Draco got out of bed, dazedly flicking his belongings into his suitcases in a matter of minutes while continuing to ask Professor Snape questions about what could possibly be going on. “Please professor, I-” he paused while muttering a quick spell to shrink one of his suitcases into a size that would fit into his pockets. “I just want to know what’s happening? I’m not…in trouble, am I?”

The professor scoffed. “No more than the trouble you’ve been in all year, and currently less than the amount you’ll be in if you aren’t finished in three minutes.” Blaise suddenly snored loudly, causing both Draco and Professor Snape to jump slightly. “It’s best not to talk here Mr. Malfoy, hurry up.”

Draco quickly scanned his small area then nodded quickly. “I’m ready.”

They walked quickly through the castle, the only noise being the light sound of their feet hitting the ground. As they slowly approached the office Draco could feel his already absurdly high nerves growing, but as they reached the door he steadied himself. Facing Dumbledore after his plans had been permanently foiled would probably be a lot easier than it had been when he was plotting to murder him.

But when they opened the door Dumbledore wasn’t the wizard standing inside.

“Potter.”

Harry turned to him quickly, his mouth gaping open slightly. “Draco you- you’re-” He looked down, then back up to his face. “You’re in your pajamas.”

Draco mentally cursed himself for not having the foresight to change before packing up his entire closet, then cursed Professor Snape for not even bothering to point out his oversight, then Harry for having the audacity to have that be the first thing he said to him after- well after. “I’m sorry for being underdressed, but not all of us were told we would be woken up and told to pack in the middle of the night in advance.”

Professor Snape ignored their little exchange and spoke to Harry. “Where did Headmaster Dumbledore go, Potter?”

“He said he was headed to Professor McGonagall’s office for some last minute correspondence, he said he’d be back in a few minutes.”

Professor Snape rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath before turning to go back through the door, but not before looking menacingly at both boys. “You both stay right here till we get back, do not leave this room.”

Draco and Harry nodded, then were left alone in uncomfortable silence. Draco sat on the ground. Harry remained awkwardly standing.

After a minute or so Harry turned to Draco, faked a cough, then spoke. “I’m, Merlin Malfoy, I’m sorry.” He paused, biting his lip, then continued. “Well, I’m partially sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you like this. But, I mean, I had to do this, you see that right? I couldn’t let death eaters, I couldn’t let Voldemort,” Draco shuddered involuntarily, “-into Hogwarts. And I know you see that too, don’t you? You see how that’s bad, right? Through our conversations I got the sense, I thought,” he shook his head, “I knew that you understood right from wrong, at least a little. I mean, Godric, you’d invite Hermione to your ball. Even if you wouldn’t outright bloody denounce your parents, I mean you get that the side of the war and those thoughts are wrong, don’t you? And regardless this will be so much better for you, even if you don’t-”

“Was anything, any part of this, actually real?” Draco cut him off. “Were you actually ever trying to talk to me? Or were you just gathering information from the beginning?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth a bit before any words actually came out. “Look, when we started I…I wanted to help you. I felt bad for you and I also knew you were doing something horrible and I wanted to stop it, so I figured two birds one stone, you know? But then we kept talking and, and I mean this sincerely Draco, I see you as a friend. I care for you, and not just out of pity.”

Draco scoffed. “And when you kissed me? Was that you seeing me as a friend too? Or was that just some little move to figure out whatever I was plotting? Was our friendship not getting anywhere fast enough for you?”

“Merlin, Draco no I-”

“Potter, were the wands ever enchanted? Did they even do anything?”

Harry inhaled sharply. “I…” He looked down. “No. They were never enchanted, they’re just toys that shoot sparks from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. I just thought-”

“You just thought you’d go tell Dumbledore everything after each of our little heart to hearts? Not just thought, I bet you actually did report back to him like a little spy, keeping him updated on whatever evil thoughts were just lurking around my head. Why stop there? Did you tell Granger? Weasley? Weasleys plural?”

“No, no Draco originally I planned on telling Dumbledore but-” Harry tried to explain himself but Draco stopped him.

“If we were actually friends, why didn’t you ever tell me? Tell me that the wands were fake? Why did you keep lying to me?”

“I was going to, I just never thought it was the right time or that it might ruin our meetings, I just-”

Dumbledore opened the door, with both Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall on his heels. “I’m so sorry for the late notice Mr. Malfoy, but it is imperative that we get you to your safe house as quickly as possible. The longer we stay the more compromised the entire situation may become. You will be taking an altered version of your last few finals remotely from the safe house. Professor Snape has reached out to your mother but she is…reluctant to come with you, though her opinion is not yet finalized.”

Draco stood in shocked silence, staring back at the expectant gaze of his professors. “I’m…not being tortured?”

Professor McGonagall made a small gasp and Dumbledore smiled kindly at him. “No, not at all Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter has made it very clear how little control you had over your situation.” Draco didn’t risk looking at Mr. Potter himself to confirm that. “We just want to help you as best as we can Mr. Malfoy, but ultimately the choice is yours. If you want to go back to Malfoy Manor, you may go back to your bedroom tonight and be picked up as scheduled in a few days, but then this is out of our hands and we cannot help you. We value the safety of all of our students, and we truly want what is best for you.”

Draco gawked at his headmaster, unable to process what was happening as reality till he made eye contact with Professor Snape who nodded solemnly. He finally had it, it wasn’t too late after all. There was a way out. “I want to go to the safe house, thank you headmaster.”

“It’s the least we could do. Is there anything else you need to do before we leave?”

Draco made eye contact with Harry and watched his mouth almost form a word, but quickly looked away and responded. “No, nothing. I’m ready.”

…

The first weeks of summer passed by calmly. Draco would not call it fun, or even especially good, but it was leagues above his previous summer spent being tortured by Aunt Bella or cowering in his room trying to ignore the cold feeling the dark lord brought into his home, and he imagined this summer would have been significantly worse than the last had he been stuck at Malfoy Manor instead of the order’s dingy safehouse.

He was staying in a dusty room in Grimmauld Place, a house he had heard vaguely about from his mother as a child but never visited till now. Logically he knew that the house being practically abandoned would lead to some disrepair, but he never expected that the noble House of Black would be so dusty.

He spent most of his time in the second story bedroom a disgruntled order member had begrudgingly told Draco he could stay in. He didn’t really blame them, he would most certainly not trust himself if he was in their place, but it wasn’t like there was a shortage of empty rooms in the house. He was certain they could be doing a better job of using it as a safe house considering so many people were unsafe and there were so, so many extra rooms.

For the first week he mainly stayed out of everyone’s way, truly confined to the room except for the odd hours of the night that he would sneak down to the kitchen to attempt to cook himself something before settling for a box of crackers after his failure to produce anything of value. However, after being caught by Nymphadora Tonks during one of his midnight snack trips, she insisted he actually start joining them for meals.

“My own cousin, scrounging around for leftover crisps,” Nymphadora said, shaking her head. “Do you even know how to cook? Or have you just been eating crackers for weeks?”

When Draco responded, reluctantly, that he had never learned to cook a meal and had planned on just eating cereal every night she groaned. “Draco, this is just depressing. Grimmauld Place wouldn’t be much of a safehouse if you died by starvation here,” and when he tried to protest she just rolled her eyes, responding, “It’s not like you could even betray us, how would you deliver a letter to Voldemort? I doubt you even know where the stationary is, or even the front door.”

She was, embarrassingly for Draco, right. So Nymphadora, who insisted Draco call her Tonks, started spending moments of her free time giving Draco partial tours of Grimmauld Place and giving him small cooking lessons both in addition to dragging him to the Order’s nightly dinners. At first most of the table seemed less enthusiastic than Nymphadora about Draco’s sudden integration into their nightly routine, but as days passed and he didn’t betray them or murder them in cold blood, all while being perfectly polite and occasionally making an inedible side dish (he liked to think they appreciated the effort, as Nymphadora claimed it was the thought that counted), anyone with any animosity towards him started to ignore him and a few people engaged in light small talk with him.

He learned that his mother would not be joining him but was staying at a different safe house, apparently with her estranged sister Andromeda. While still mildly disappointed he had no idea when he would next see or talk to his mother, he felt more relief for her safety than anything.

By his third week in Grimmauld Place Draco would say he was comfortable, and rather thankful to Dumbledore, his professors, and, well, Harry. With all the free time Draco had to himself he couldn’t help but circle back to the last conversation he had with Harry. He wouldn’t really let himself think of the meeting just before that. Draco could admit that he may have overreacted to the perceived betrayal, especially since it seemed like Draco wouldn’t be facing any repercussions except for his guilt, which was significantly less than what he would have to face if he was in Malfoy Manor, even if he had been loyal to the Dark Lord. Really, Harry had probably saved his life, or at least prevented him from doing something he would spend the rest of his life facing punishment for in daylight and internally tormenting himself for in his bedroom. Even Harry lying about the wands was not nearly as egregious as Draco had made it out to be, considering Draco had been an active Death Eater trying to murder his Headmaster. Logically, Harry was completely in both his right and the moral right to do everything he had done to Draco. Yet the emotional pain of the betrayal lingered. He had assumed they had been so close, he would have expected at least a slight warning from Harry of his lies and plans. Then again, Draco had never told Harry about his plans to kill Dumbledore or about the entire scheme of the vanishing cabinet, so he had no right to expect complete honesty from Harry when Draco’s lies and omissions had been slightly more appalling.

The more Draco thought about Harry, the more he blamed himself for anything Harry had done against him. If he didn’t want Harry to lie to him he probably should have warned him about the Death Eater takeover of the school he had been planning. And even after piecing it together, Harry had still saved Draco.

Slowly, during the weeks at Grimmauld Place, the anger he had initially had dissipated, replaced with worry. No one really gave him Harry Potter updates in the house, which was admittedly his fault as, despite constantly thinking about him, Draco never actually asked anyone for information, too scared they’d go back to not trusting him and would assume the information would be used in nefarious ways. But Draco did worry, wondering how safe Harry could be considering he wasn’t with Draco in the safe house. Exactly what sort of protections would Harry have living with his muggle family when he couldn’t even legally use magic?

But under the concerns for Harry’s safety was a different, more selfish concern. Now that Harry had gotten the information he needed, the whole point of their meetings in the first place, what would Harry need Draco for? Even if their entire friendship hadn’t been entirely an act it had been built off of the potential for Harry to gain something, and now that he had gained it what use could Draco really be to him? Was the relationship they had built up in the privacy of the room of requirement enough to justify Harry being friends with Draco on it’s own? And even if it had been, Draco had be cruel to Harry, who had been in the process of saving his life, at their last encounter weeks ago. Surely their friendship would be damaged by that, definitely anything else that might have been forming would have been.

But Draco tried not to think about Harry that much. He preferred to spend his time memorizing the pattern of the wallpaper in his room.

He was tracing said wallpaper with his eyes for the hundredth time that day when Draco heard the Order loudly congregating at the first floor and decided to use this as a time to use the restroom. While he thought he was on decent terms with most of the Order, he still tried his best to avoid any awkward encounters outside of lunch and made an attempt to only walk down the hall to the restroom when they were empty, and the planning of it as if it was a mission at least gave him something to do instead of stare at walls for hours.

Unfortunately he had overestimated how long whatever had been going on downstairs would keep everyone’s attention because as he left the restroom he ran into someone, literally.

“Oh, sorry I should have-” As Draco looked to the face of the person he had bumped into, his mouth dropped. “...Harry?”

Harry Potter stood in front of Draco, stunned.

An overwhelming joy filled draco at the sight of him, replaced almost instantly with concern. “You’re okay? You weren’t sent here because you were hurt or anything, right?” Draco wanted to reach out, to pat Harry down for injuries, to touch him, but had no idea how Harry might react to that and restrained himself.

“No, no Draco I’m fine. And-and the safe house? For you? I mean, you’ve been okay here at Grimmauld Place?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, yes.” He felt like there were too many things to say, too many things he wanted to tell Harry or ask Harry to choose just one. After only a moment of silence, Harry opened his mouth before Draco could even pick.

“Draco, I-I’m sorry. I’ve just been replaying our conversation over and over in my head and I should have explained better or-or never lied to you-”

Words flooded out of Draco’s mouth before he could stop them. “No it’s on me, I shouldn’t have been so angry. Harry, you stopped me from causing so, so much pain, from being in so much pain. Salazar, you’re the reason I’m here in a safehouse instead of being tortured at the manor right now, or suffering in Azkaban for the rest of my life.”

“Still I just have felt so bad, so racked with guilt, and I couldn’t even contact you to talk to you, to tell you…” Harry raked his finger through his hair, not able to look Draco in the eyes. “I should have been honest with you. I should have done things differently-”

“No, Harry, look at me.” Draco put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, finally purposefully touching him for the first time in weeks, and Harry’s eyes finally met his. “I thank you. If I could I’d forgive you but I have nothing to forgive you for. For Merlin’s sake I was going to murder someone, I was working with Death Eaters, and it took you to make me realize I didn’t have to be, that I had another option. Everything you did was right.”

“Not everything.” Harry’s eyes dropped again. “Draco, you were right, I never should have kissed you.”

Draco’s heart dropped and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. His arm dropped. He stepped back. “I- Potter, did you not…”

“No! No-” Harry raked his hands through his hair making it even messier than it already was, Draco yearned to reach out and comb it down. “Draco, I shouldn’t have done that while lying to you. Lying to you while becoming friends, betraying your trust like that, was bad, but what I did…I shouldn’t have done it.”

Draco bit his lip. “I don’t regret it.”

Harry’s eyes snapped back up to Draco’s. “You don’t? You…you don’t hate me for it?”

Draco stepped forward, arm reaching out again, having the restraint to stop only just before Harry’s face. “Harry, I could never hate you.”

Harry chuckled, smiling for maybe the first time in their conversation. “I think I can remember six years of that not being true.” Harry leaned into Draco’s hand, causing their skin to finally touch.

“So,” Draco smiled slowly. “You liked it?”

“I liked it so much I could barely bring myself to regret it.”

Draco leaned in slightly, stopping inches away from Harry’s face. “And…might you enjoy doing it again?”

Harry closed his eyes and breathily responded, “Yes.”

Draco finally leaned in fully, closing the distance between them.

It was sweeter, less frantic than last time, despite Draco feeling like he was desperately trying communicate all the nights spent missing Harry, all his regret of what he had last said to Harry, and his all consuming want for Harry through his lips. He felt a little like he was melting and forced himself to pull back so a random order member wouldn’t walk in on them making out in a random hallway.

Draco leaned back, breathless and gasping for air. “I didn’t realize how serious you were being when you claimed to not be picky.”

Harry’s fingers curled around a lock of hair by Draco’s ear. “Draco, this is me being picky. You might be the first thing I’m being picky about.” His playful smile dimmed and he leaned his forehead to Draco’s. “This isn’t just from lack of options or obligation or something insane you might be thinking of. This is me choosing you because I want you. Draco, I love you.” Draco blushed and Harry started rambling after the slight pause. “And you don’t have to say it back or anything, Merlin I have no idea what you’re thinking if this a casual thing for you and I misread this I understand I-”

Draco cut Harry off with a quick peck before creating just enough distance to stare into Harry’s eyes. “Harry, I choose you too. I’d always choose you. You idiot, of course I love you too.”

Harry broke into a grin. “Even over Knott?”

Draco snorted. “Obviously over even Knott.” He rubbed his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “For me, it will always be you.”