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There's a special kind of hatred that lies within Harry Potter, one that is meant only for him. It whispers to him at night as he falls asleep. Creeps up on him in hallways when he walks alone. Sneaks into spaces in the middle of conversations. Haunts him, no matter what he does.
It says 'you are not enough' 'you are not what they needed' 'you will never live up to your role as the chosen one'.
What hurts is knowing that voice is right. Hermione doesn't see it, she thinks he just needs to focus. Ron doesn't see it, he thinks he shouldn't worry about things like that. No one in this school sees how stupid he is, how useless he is, how wrong he is.
Except for Draco Malfoy.
And maybe that's why he searches for the boy during the day. There's only one other person in the whole of the wizarding world that hates him the way he hates himself. Validation for the way he feels.
Today was especially full of praise and kind words and Merlin he was sick of it, but how is he supposed to explain that to his adoring masses? To make matters worse, Malfoy was still so focused on whatever stupid project he was working on that he'd barely thrown one insult at Harry in the last week. What could be more important than verbally sparring with his nemesis?
So yeah, when that beacon of white blonde hair appeared in the Great Hall, maybe he perked up a little. If he just so happened to follow the boy after he ran from the room, maybe that was understandable. He needed that disdain like he needed oxygen. He hadn't really considered the result.
Grey blue eyes met his through the bathroom mirror, widening in surprise. Malfoy spun on his heel, leaning back against the sink and settling his glare on Harry. A shiver of anticipation ran down the length of his spine at the anger in that gaze.
Then that look softened and his next words sent a different kind of shock through Harry's system. "Help me," he said, his voice soft and shaky. "Potter. Harry. Help me."
Harry rushed forward as Malfoy seemed to collapse on himself, catching him before he hit the floor, the blonde now practically in his lap. Silent sobs shook his body while Harry held him, pulling him as close to his chest as he could. If asked later, they would both deny the way Draco begged for help as he cried or the way Harry soothed him with hushed words and circles rubbed into his back.
It was an hour later when Malfoy's tears finally subsided, the lean boy attempting and failing to remove himself from Harry's arms. "You can let me go now, Potter." His words fell on selectively deaf ears as the darker boy tightened his grip.
"What do you need help with," he asked, his voice low, his breath tickling the other boy's ear.
Malfoy shivered, twisting to look up at him. "My potions homework," he snapped. "Let me go, Potter."
"Not until you tell me the truth," Harry replied, the muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing over and over again. "What's wrong? Tell me how I can help you, Draco."
Gray blue eyes widened at the use of his first name, Draco leaning out and then back in to Harry's chest. He took a deep, shaky breath. "I- I want out. They marked- they made me do it. I didn't want to. Father held me down and now-. You can do that, can't you?"
Harry considered what the other boy was saying, blood rushing in his ears. They had held him down, forced the mark on him, forced Malfoy to become a Death Eater. It was a stupid fate for anyone to choose, but choice was the point. This was Draco making a choice.
"Potter?"
"Harry."
"What?"
"If you're gonna be on our side, you should call me Harry."
"So you can do it then?" Draco's voice was laced with distrust and hope and it made Harry's heart twist in his chest.
His eyes darkened as he answered. "I'm the chosen one. Who's gonna stop me?"