Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy sat on a low stone wall by the Black Lake, the cold wind rippling through the water, sending faint shivers through him. The autumn chill wrapped around his body like a second layer of skin, though his Hogwarts robe did little to keep out the bite of the air. He pulled his knees up to his chest, staring out at the stillness. It felt easier to be near the water. Here, he could pretend for just a little while longer that the world wasn’t watching.
The eighth year was meant to be different—a second chance, a chance to be a teenager for a while longer, something they all deserved. Or at least that’s what McGonagall had promised when Hogwarts opened its doors again after the war. And yet, despite the newness of it all, The lectures on forgiveness and unity, some things hadn’t changed. Draco found that promises of new beginnings rarely delivered on their word.
“Oi, Malfoy! How’s it feel to be out of the closet?” The jeering voice rang out from across the courtyard, and Draco’s heart clenched. He didn’t turn around. He knew the voice too well. It belonged to Nott, his former friend, if he could even call him that anymore.
“I bet the Dark Lord wouldn’t have wanted a bloody poof in his ranks,” another voice chimed in, this time from a seventh-year Slytherin. “Maybe it’s for the best you switched sides, huh?”
Draco bit his lip, willing himself not to react. His fingers dug into the stone beneath him, knuckles white. It was the same every day—ever since Blaise had decided to open his mouth and “accidentally” spill the truth about Draco’s sexuality. Like blood in the water, it attracted attention Draco never wanted.
He could feel the panic rising in his chest, his breaths growing shallow. It was suffocating—being outed, being talked about like he was some sort of freak, like being a death eater brat and a failure at that. It was almost as if they knew that taunting him about the war no longer penetrated the numbness he felt, they had to find something new and cutting. He felt stripped bare, exposed. How had this happened? How had he lost control over his own life so completely? How had he ended up so alone?
But Draco wasn’t alone anymore. He had someone watching out for him.
Harry Potter had been keeping an eye on Draco ever since their return to Hogwarts. At first, it was out of guilt—something about the way Draco carried himself after the war had tugged at Harry’s conscience. But soon, he realized there was more to Draco than he’d ever noticed before.
“Malfoy?” The tone wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t sharp, or cold, or cruel. In fact, it was almost… gentle.
Draco stiffened. He knew that voice.
“Potter,” he mumbled, not looking up. He couldn’t face Harry right now. Not like this.
There was a pause, and then the sound of footsteps on the grass. Harry stepped closer, not too close but near enough that Draco felt the warmth of his presence despite the cool autumn breeze. “Are you alright?”
Draco forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “What do you think, Potter? You’ve always been the saviour, are you here to swoop in and fix everything with a wave of your wand?”
Harry didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sat down next to Draco on the stone wall, leaving enough space between them to not crowd him but close enough that it didn’t feel like he was a stranger.
“I’m not here to fix anything,” Harry said softly. “I just thought maybe you could use someone to talk to.”
Draco clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. “What, feeling sorry for me, Potter? Think I’m some sort of charity case now?” His voice was sharp, but there was no real venom behind it. He just… didn’t know what else to say.
Harry shook his head, his gaze steady on the water ahead of them. “No. I don’t feel sorry for you, Draco. I just… I get it.”
Draco turned his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Get what? You don’t get anything about me.”
Harry let out a small breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get what it’s like to have people watch you all the time. To have them assume things about you. To feel like you can’t be yourself because everyone’s expecting you to be something else.”
Draco was silent for a moment, letting Harry’s words sink in. It wasn’t the same, he told himself. Harry had never been outed, never had people make cruel remarks about something as personal as his sexuality. But there was something in Harry’s voice, something honest and real, that made Draco pause.
“You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire life picked apart,” Draco muttered, though the bite in his voice had softened. “To have people look at you and see nothing but a mess, a failure.”
Harry turned to look at him then, and Draco was caught off guard by the intensity in his green eyes. “I do, actually. I’ve felt like that for most of my life.”
Draco blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected Harry to relate to him. He’d always thought of Harry as this untouchable figure, someone who had everything figured out. The Chosen One. The hero.
But here, sitting next to him, Harry seemed more human than Draco had ever thought possible.
“I’m not here to judge you, Draco,” Harry said quietly. “And I’m not here to remind you of anything you did in the past. I’m just… here. If you want to talk.”
Draco didn’t respond right away. He stared at the lake, the ripples in the water reflecting the cloudy sky. His chest felt tight, like there was something lodged there that he couldn’t quite dislodge. He wanted to push Harry away, wanted to tell him to leave and mind his own business. But something about the way Harry was sitting there, calm and patient, made it hard for Draco to find the words.
Instead, he let out a slow, shaky breath. “I don’t know how to fix any of this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind.
Harry didn’t look at him, but Draco could feel the weight of his presence. “You don’t have to fix everything on your own, you know.”
The words settled between them, soft and full of meaning. For the first time in a long while, Draco felt like he didn’t have to hold everything together by himself. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling, but not entirely unwelcome.
He still didn’t trust Potter—not fully. But for now, sitting here in the cold by the lake, with no one around to jeer or mock, it was enough. He didn’t have to pretend. Not with Harry.
And that was something.
***
Back in the castle, Harry made his way toward the Gryffindor common room, his thoughts still tangled up in the image of Draco sitting by the lake. He had always thought he knew what Draco Malfoy was—arrogant, cruel, selfish. But these past few weeks had forced him to reconsider that.
Maybe Draco was more than what people thought. More than the mask he wore so carefully.
As he entered the common room, he found Ron and Hermione waiting for him. Hermione was sitting by the fire, her nose buried in a book, while Ron lounged on the sofa, looking up when Harry came in.
“There you are, mate. You’ve been gone ages,” Ron said, sitting up. “What were you doing?”
Harry hesitated, unsure how to explain what had just happened. “Just… talking to Malfoy.”
Ron frowned, clearly confused. “Malfoy? What for?”
Hermione looked up from her book, her gaze sharp. “You’re trying to help him, aren’t you?”
Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I’m doing, honestly. I just… I think he’s going through something. And I don’t think anyone else is helping him, Even the Slytherins seem to have turned on him.”
Ron looked sceptical. “It’s Malfoy, Harry. He’s always been a prat.”
“People change, Ron,” Hermione said gently, but firmly. “And from what I’ve seen, Draco is… well, he’s not who he used to be.”
Harry nodded, grateful for Hermione’s understanding. “Exactly. He’s been through a lot. I think he’s struggling. And I can’t just… I don’t know, ignore that.”
There was a brief silence, and then Ron sighed. “Alright, alright. I get it. Just… be careful, yeah? I don’t want you getting hurt by him.”
Harry gave a small smile. “I will be. Thanks, Ron.”
Hermione glanced between them, a thoughtful look on her face. “You’re doing the right thing, Harry. He needs someone to be there for him.”
Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He didn’t know what would come of all this—whether Draco would even let him in, or if this fragile connection they’d begun to form would last. But for now, he was doing what he could.