Archive of Our Own ^beta

It began with the incident in Defence Against the Dark Arts two weeks into the school year, when the new Professor insisted that the eighth years try their hand at "real duelling".

Potter had been frozen while everyone paired off, his expression stoney, and Draco had expected (just as the others no doubt had) that the Professor would just leave him alone to brood in the corner of the room like everyone else did whenever he went into one of his moods.

Instead, the Professor approached him.

'Come now Mr Potter,' he'd said, in a jovial and all-knowing voice that made Draco want to rip his ears off. 'I know it doesn't seem like it but I assure you I have much to teach you. Yes, you may think you know all there is to fighting other wizards, but I'd like to think I will surprise you.'

Potter's face was stoney and flat and he remained unmoving from where he was leaning against the wall.

'Uh, Professor,' called Granger, coming to the rescue as she always did.

The Professor waved her off, stepping closer to Potter with a congenial smile that Draco recognised.

It was the same smile they all wore. Insipid and fake and bordering on worship. As if the man would like nothing more than to "teach the saviour". 

It was never going to end well.

'Come on, Mr Potter,' said the man, gesturing to the duelling platform he'd rigged at the front of the room. 'Perhaps I'll teach you something that might've kept you from having to face He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.'

Something shifted in Potter's expression, taking it from merely broody to something dark and terrifying that Draco recognised (even if the Professor didn't).

Really, someone should have seen it coming. Granger or Weasley at the least should have stopped it. Yet, they all watched. As if it were the Hogwarts Express racing to crash into the station and the duel—if it could be called that—was over, almost as soon as it began.

Potter stepped up onto the dais, his face a cloud of fury, eyes blazing as green as the curse that had struck him not once, but twice. The Professor didn't see it. Didn't recognise the danger, even as the air became static, and the duelling dummies the rest of them were working with began to jitter.

'You're wrong,' said Potter as the Professor got into position. 'Being able to duel wouldn't have saved me.'

His voice was low and deceptively calm, even as the rest of the class shuffled nervously. The hairs on Draco's arm stood on end as the air thickened and he gripped his wand, eyes darting over to Weasley and Granger and wondering why no one was doing anything to stop this.

The Professor smiled affably, still oblivious, but Potter spoke again before he could interrupt.

'Because I didn't go there to duel,' he said, raising his wand. 'I went there to die.'

Power exploded outwards. Magic coiled through the air faster than a lightning strike and before anyone could tell what had happened the Professor was on the ground, with Potter standing over him, his face a blank mask of barely contained rage.

'I don't think you can teach me,' said Potter, voice as flat as his expression. The Professor blinked up at him stupidly. 'Not unless you can teach me how to stay dead.'

'Harry.'

It was Granger. Quiet, calm, firm—an edge of disapproval in her voice.

Potter twitched. He glanced at her, and back at the professor. The blank mask cracked and he scowled, sullen and guilty.

Without looking at Granger—without looking at any of them—Potter turned and stalked off the dais and out the door of the room.

He did not come back to Defence class.

///

The next incident came three days later.

Draco woke during the night, static creeping along his skin, his wand instantly in his hand as he searched the room for the threat.

The eighth years had been given their own combined common room, and been split into four dorms. Two for the girls, two for the boys.

Of course, Draco had ended up in Potter's.

McGonagall's idea of promoting inter-house unity seemed to be thrusting the eighth year Slytherins and Gryiffindors at each other at every opportunity as some sort of example for the younger years.

Still, it had been less of an issue than he'd expected. 

Not all of them had come back. There was Potter, of course, and Weasley and Longbottom. Finnigan and Thomas had opted to retake their N.E.W.T.s rather than repeat the entire year. Theo had done something similar before fleeing to France with what little money his family had left. Greg had been arrested, and Vince… Well, all that left was Blaise and Draco. 

They'd never been close friends, he and Blaise, and yet, in the face of the other three Gryffindors, Draco had never been more relieved to have him around.

He and Blaise had taken the two beds closest to the door, with the Gryffindor's had taking the other side. Weasley had scowled at them before claiming the bed furthest away, while Longbottom had sighed, offered Blaise a tired smile and taken the bed over from his, leaving Potter in between them and three beds over from Draco.

Draco stared at it now. The tangled mass of writhing sheets that was Potter tossing and turning on his bed. Draco could taste static. The ever-familiar feeling of the air before a lightning strike. 

Potter's magic. 

It saturated the air around Potter's bed to the point it was almost visible, shimmering in the air. The only reason the other's hadn't woken yet was that the worst of it was being kept back by a shield someone had cast around his bed.

A lump lodged in Draco's throat as he watched. He didn't get up though. 

Potter may have spoken for him at his trial, he may have tolerated Draco's presence in the dorm with a slight head tilt of acknowledgement, he may have greeted him in the mornings at breakfast with his usual grunt of hello. 

But they were by no means friends.

Waking someone from a nightmare like this—it was not the sort of thing Potter would want Draco privy to, he was sure.

So he did the next best thing. He woke Weasley by flicking a sharp stinging hex his way. 

The redhead yelped, shooting up out of bed and glaring about. He was quickly distracted by the sight of his best friend thrashing in the next bed. 

'Harry? Fuck.'

Draco kept quiet, laying on his side as he watched Weasley wake and settle his friend.

///

No one spoke about what happened in Defence. 

The few times Weasley or Granger had brought it up, Potter had set fire to the carpet in the Common Room, and the rest of them had unanimously decided that the best course of action was to pretend nothing was amiss.

This seemed to encompass any problem relating to Potter. Including the fact that the boy never seemed to sleep. 

No one commented that Potter was the last one left in the Common Room at night, staring into the flames far later than was sensible. No one mentioned how he disappeared each morning before any of them were up. 

At least, no one said anything while he was around.

'Does he ever sleep?' Blaise asked one morning, staring at the empty bed that—if not for the crumpled sheets hanging off the frame in disarray—anyone would think Potter never slept in.

'Of course he does,' Weasley snapped, anger and outrage in his voice.

Blaise and Draco exchanged a look. Draco was half tempted to make some crack about Weasley wanting his friend to go off the deep end. Clearly, he had no wish for his friend to seek help if he was leaving him to his own devices as he was.

Though he was certain Weasley would only snarl at him if Draco dared make a comment, and he'd rather had enough of snarling and shouting and getting involved when he shouldn't. So Draco kept his mouth shut and his head down and ignored the lack of wisdom involved in leaving Potter to wander alone throughout the castle where he was attacked and—if rumours were to be believed—died.

He was proven right when Potter fell asleep in class.

Static crept along Draco's skin, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up under the ever familiar feeling of Potter's magic flaring out of control. 

Potter grumbled something into his arms, his words muffled, yet still managing to interrupt Professor Flitwick.

'What was that Mr Potter?' the Professor asked, squinting over at him. 'Hm? Well, as I was saying-'

Potter's low voice mumbled something incoherent and he twitched in his seat. The static spiked.

Weasley leaned over. 'Harry!' he hissed. 'Wake up!'

Potter did not wake. Instead, the window panes began to rattle and Flitwick cut off again, staring at them with wide eyes.

Weasley's face grew pale. On Potter's other side Granger had a pinched expression. 

Draco, growing frustrated by all the dancing about—as if Potter was made of glass that would break at the slightest push—drew his wand under his table and shot a well aimed stinging hex at Potter.

He jerked awake, sitting up straight in his chair and blinking blearily at Flitwick.

'Alright there Mr Potter?' Flitwick said.

'Uh,' Potter cleared his throat. 'Yes, Sir.'

The window rattling stopped as Potter sheepishly slunk down in his chair.

Weasley leaned over, murmuring softly, but Potter shook his head sharply. Weasley sat back, but the frown never left his face as he bent over his books and it occurred to Draco that Weasley was scared.

Scared for his friend. Scared that he wasn't sleeping. Scared that something was wrong.

///

'You're holding your wand too tight.'

Draco looked up, straight into those blazing green eyes, and immediately flushed. 'What?' he snapped.

He'd thought he was alone. Thought he'd finally found a quiet spot away from Pansy's well meaning, but inevitably mortifying encouragement and Blaise's none-too-subtle mockery to practise his damn homework, but no.

There was Potter, as always, watching him. 

Nothing had changed, then.

'Your wand,' said Potter, pushing out of where he skulked in the doorway, and crossing the room to where Draco stood. 'You need to loosen your grip.'

He reached out, readjusting Draco's grip (ignoring the slight flinch of Draco's arm as he did so), as if there was nothing more ordinary than Harry Potter helping Draco Malfoy with wandwork.

There was nothing less ordinary.

Potter's touch was light, and yet it still zinged along Draco's arm. His magic was right there , as if it coated Potter's skin. It felt electric. A crackle that Draco's wand was familiar with. It woke Draco's own magic, bringing it surging to the surface. 

'There,' said Potter, stepping back, and Draco felt the loss of his touch in an instant, so sharp that his own magic tried to reach after Potter's.

Draco clamped down on that instinct before Potter felt it, trying to stop the blush that wanted to creep up his neck.

Attempting to ignore Potter's presence, Draco focused on directing his magic where he wanted it to go.

'Expecto Patronum,' he said, and a silver whisp slivered out of the tip of his wand.

It took a vague shape before dispersing back into mist.

Draco scowled.

'That's better,' Potter said, his tone bright and impressed. 'You've got the movement down, and your grip is better. It's probably just the memory now.'

'Memory?' Draco asked, arching a brow and wishing more than anything that Potter would just… go away.

Potter nodded, leaning back against one of the desks. 'For a Patronus you need a strong happy memory. Especially when you're first doing it. It's light magic. Think of something that makes you light and happy.'

Draco blinked. 'I thought that was just fluff,' he muttered.

Potter grinned, the corner of his mouth quirking up into his dimpled cheek. Draco stared at it, having never seen it aimed at him before.

'You would,' Potter said.

Draco could only stare more. There was no bite to the comment and Draco had the vague sense that he'd entered an alternate universe.

'Have you got a memory?' Potter asked, the dimple deepening. Teasing him.

Draco glowered. 'Yes,' he snapped. 'I have plenty of happy memories, thank you. More than you, I daresay.'

Potter's grin faltered for just a second, before turning wistful. Immediately, Draco regretted the words, but he couldn't take them back now, and he didn't know how to ease the awkwardness.

'Probably,' Potter said, his eyes—so sharp and bright—sliding away from Draco. 'Well, better pick one, then.'

Ignoring the guilt that was bubbling in his gut, Draco focused on a memory from his childhood. Before the mark on his arm, and the mistakes he had made, and that awful night in the fire pressed into Potter's back as they fled the flames on a broomstick.

He thought of his mother. Of Christmas. Of a large tree and hot chocolate by the fire.

'Expecto Patronum,' he whispered, and the silver whips shot out from Draco's wand.

It wound up, gathering into a ball so that—for the briefest moment—Draco thought he'd failed again. The next moment the ball erupted into a gorgeous, silvery eagle owl and Draco's breath caught.

She flapped her wings and soared about the room.

'Beautiful.'

Potter's head was tipped back ever so, emerald eyes bright behind his glasses as he watched the Patronus drift around the room. 

Draco swallowed. 'Yeah,' he managed, turning his gaze back to his owl. 'Thanks.'

///

Draco woke up sweaty and cold, the memory of whatever nightmare was plaguing him fading already. He ran a hand over his face and stared up at the canopy of his four-poster bed.

After a few moments, he knew he wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. Shoving the blankets back, Draco pushed himself out of bed and trudged downstairs.

He hadn't noticed any empty beds in the dorm. Hadn't realised he wasn't the only one who wasn't asleep. He should have.

'Potter,' he said, pausing at the foot of the stairs.

Potter glanced from where he was curled up on the couch. Somehow, despite his tall frame, he'd wedged himself into the very end of the couch closest to the fire (the couch the Slytherins had claimed), and buried himself beneath—Draco gritted his teeth—the best blanket in the common so that only the top of his head was visible.

Potter blinked, long and slow—like he wasn't quite awake. 'Hey,' he said, voice soft and warm.

Of course he was here. Of course he was using Draco's favourite blanket. Draco hadn't brought one of his, because he'd wanted the one currently wrapped around Potter's stupidly lean body.

He wished suddenly that he'd at the sense to get his robe. The night air was cool on his clammy skin, not helped at all by the fact that Draco generally slept in nothing but a loose singlet and boxers to bed.

Draco felt himself going red and turned abruptly to the little kitchenette someone had set up by the windows.

Draco hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder at Potter. 'I'm making tea,' he said reluctantly, not wanting to be rude for no reason (after all, Potter had yet to hex him this year, and had even helped him with his Patronus). 'Do you want some?'

Potter blinked again, his face becoming more alert as he tried to sit up more. 'Tea?'

'Yes,' Draco sighed. 'I find it helps. With the sleeping.'

Potter made a face, followed immediately by a sigh as his shoulders sagged. 'Probably,' he said, grumbling into the blanket. 'What I want is dreamless sleep.'

Well, that Draco understood. 

'So go see Pomfrey,' he said, turning back to the kitchenette and setting the kettle to boil.

'Can't. She's cut me off.'

Draco froze. Unsticking his limbs he turned around to stare at Potter. Potter's expression was a strange mixture of grim and amused, eyes glittering emerald in the glow of the fire.

'Don't,' he said, his tone dry. 'You have that same look Pomfrey and Hermione get when they're about to yell at me. I already know.'

Draco grimaced at the comparison before realising that Potter was trying to distract him. 'You have to have a lot before it gets dangerous.'

Potter looked back at the fire. 'Yeah, I know.'

Well. No wonder he was a mess.

But he wasn't Draco's problem. Weasley and Granger could deal with him. They obviously were, if he was seeing Pomfrey, and Draco didn't need to involve himself.

A few minutes later he stood in front of Potter, two mugs floating along in front of him. 'Move over.'

Potter dragged his gaze away from the fireplace to stare up at Draco. 'What?'

Draco nudged Potter's leg with his foot. 'Move over,' he said. 'You're in my spot.'

Potter's eyebrow went up in bemusement. 'Your spot?'

Draco scowled, but Potter relented, uncurling his long limbs and shuffling over a space. Draco sat down and directed one of the mugs to Potter, who did nothing to hide his surprise.

'Oh, thanks.'

Draco nodded and used the fact that Potter's hands were occupied by the mug to tug some of the blanket over to his side. It dragged off of Potter's leg and Draco raised his eyebrows.

Potter was in longs. Pajama pants hanging over the end of sock covered feet. His sleeves pulled own over his hands as he held the mug Draco had brought him.

'Merlin, Potter, aren't you hot?'

Potter shrugged, staring into the mug of tea. 'Not really,' he said. 'I don't really…' He trailed off and sipped at the tea. He closed his eyes, sighing long and slow. 'It's good.'

'Of course it is.'

'It's warm.'

'It's tea,' said Draco dryly.

'Mm,' Potter said and let his head fall back on the couch. 'It's nice. I never feel warm.'

Draco frowned. He looked at Potter, bundled under the blanket, in his long sleeved pajamas in front of the fire, drinking tea.

He looked warm. If anything he looked as though he should be sweating. 

'You should probably see Pomfrey about that,' Draco said, before he could help himself.

Potter snorted. He tilted his head back down to have another long drink of the tea. 'I did. She can't help me,' he sighed dropped his head back on the couch again. 'I came back broken. Should've just stayed….'

He trailed off and Draco's grip tightened around his mug. He didn't think about what Potter was going to say. Couldn't think about what Potter was going to say. Couldn't think about the way it made his stomach twist and his throat go dry.

'Thanks for the tea,' Potter said, finishing off the mug and pushing himself to his feet. 'It helped.'

'Sure,' said Draco.

Maybe Weasley was right after all.

///

Potter sat down across from him the next morning at breakfast. 'Okay,' he said, reaching out for the orange juice and pouring himself a glass. 'What was in that drink you gave me?'

Draco, hiding his surprise with an arch of his eyebrow, countered with his own question. 'Did it work?'

Potter shrugged. 'A bit,' he said, gaze sliding sideways to look at Draco before refocusing on the food in front of them. 'Got a few hours, at least, which is better than usual.'

Draco shook his head. 'Better than usual? Honestly, how are you functional?'

Potter smirked. 'Sheer force of will,' then his grin turned sheepish and his gaze slid away again, his hand running through his unruly curls. 'Well, the functional part could be debated. I'm sure you of all people have noticed that my spellwork has been a little…off.'

As if to emphasise this point, the pitcher of orange juice wobbled, raising itself off the table an inch. Potter frowned at it, expression going sharp and displeased, his eyes flashing bright like a curse. He reached out and forced it back to the table. When he lifted his hand, it stayed put.

If anything, Potter's scowl deepened. He looked away, back at Draco, and the scowl eased.

'I'd noticed,' Draco said ryly.

Potter grinned. 'Told you,' he said, head tilting ever so slightly, those green eyes bright and enchanting. 'I'm broken.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Not to mention dramatic.'

Potter barked out a laugh and reached for the bacon.

Draco could feel the other Slytherins staring. Not just Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne—who, yes, were staring at Draco like he'd grown a second head. But further down. The younger years gaping as Potter munched on a cripsy strip of bacon as if he belonged there.

Draco didn't blame them. After all, it wasn't that long ago that the most civil interaction they'd had was an exchange of insults, if not curses. Even Draco was feeling slightly off kilter as Potter chattered away.

'You have different food to us,' he said, peering at the breakfast foods with interest.

Draco raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression cool and unruffled, 'Fascinating,' he drawled.

Potter hesitated, his hand pausing halfway to a plate of egg muffins.

Draco rolled his eyes and gestured to the plate. 'By all means eat something,' he said, 'Merlin knows you're far too skinny.'

Potter flushed and muttered, 'You sound like Hermione.' 

'I do not!' Draco objected.

Potter grinned and Draco was once again thrown, eyes snagging on the dimple that formed in Potter's left cheek. 

He blinked, returning his attention to the tea he was making. Potter took one of the muffins, and Draco tried not to feel pleased when he ate the entire thing.

'Harry?'

Ah, there it was. Weasley and Granger stood a little ways away from the Slytherin table, staring at them with the same dumbstruck expression as the rest of the students who were not so subtly watching.

Potter glanced at them. 'You didn't tell me what was in the drink,' he said to Draco, reaching for a napkin and wiping his fingers.

Draco ignored the little twist of disappointment in his stomach. 'What makes you think I'll tell you?'

Irritation flashed across Potter's face and then stuttered out as quick as it had come. He tilted his head, those damn killing curse eyes boring into Draco as if they could see right through to his bones. The corner of his mouth twitched, and though he didn't smile, Draco spied a hint of the dimple—telling him that, for whatever barmy reason, Potter was laughing at him.

'Family secret?' Potter asked, his tone light and, yes, definitely laughing at him.

Draco glared. 'Yes,' he said. 'Obviously.'

Potter shrugged, as if it didn't matter. 'Alright. Well, I guess I'll see you later for more then.'

He pushed up from the table. He was halfway to his insipid little Gryffindor friends when Draco realised what he'd said.

'Don't expect me to make you tea just because you asked, Potter!'

Potter didn't answer, but he threw a grin back over his shoulder and Draco knew that—despite his complaining—he probably would.

///

Potter dropped into the seat across from Draco's.

'Hey,' he said, leaning over as he spilled his potions book and bits of parchment and quills across the table. 'So, you're good at this right?'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Yes.'

Potter grinned, green eyes soft and dimple flashing. Draco looked at his books.

'Reckon you could give me some pointers? McGonagall says I have to pass but… I dunno. I can never get it right. 'Mione's been trying to help me but…' Potter shrugged, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 'I'm a bit hopeless.'

'I'm aware,' said Draco.

There was no flash of irritation. There hadn't been in days. Not since that night with the tea. It didn't matter how barbed Draco made his retorts and insults, Potter just flashed that bloody dimple, soft green eyes refusing to let Draco out of his sight.

'If you want pointers,' Draco said, pulling out his own book. 'You should probably start with ingredients.'

Potter nodded. 'Sure,' he said. He turned to look at the board. 

Almost immediately his expression shifted. Irritation flashed in his eyes and the scowl came back. Weasley, sitting on his other side and looking thoroughly perplexed as he watched his best friend, leaned in.

Potter shrugged him off, pushing out of his chair and heading to the ingrediants cupboard.

Draco tried to focus on preparing his own bench.

Blaise, sitting next to him, nudged his elbow. 'What's that about? Are you and Potter friends now?'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

'Mm-hm,' Blaise said, unconvinced.

Draco tried to ignore him. Instead, he glanced at Potter's retreating back, unable to stop himself.

Terry Boot, trying to clean the remnants of last weeks potion out of his filthy cauldron, jerked backwards from his station. He bumped straight into Potter, sending him staggering sideways into the bookshelves at the front of the room.

A shelf cracked and books, jars, and boxes came scattering down around him. A shield blossomed to life around him, shielding him from the falling objects.

'Shit, sorry Potter, I didn't—' Boot stopped abruptly. He stepped back from Potter, staring over his shoulder in horror.

'Oh fuck,' Blaise whispered.

Chaos errupted around the room as a fucking Dementer rose out of the shattered remains of a box.

'Harry,' several people shouted at once, but they were all too far away and too useless to help.

Potter stared up at the Dementor with a blank expression.

A silver owl swept toward the front of the room from Draco's raised wand.

He stared at it, not even remembering casting the Patronus. It dove and the Dementor staggered backwards. 

Potter jerked himself out of whatever trance he'd been in. He drew his wand out of his sleeve and pointed at the Dementor.

'Ridikulus.'

A boggart. It was a fucking boggart. Draco sagged back into his seat, the air whooshing out of his lungs as he realised the situation was under control.

Well, mostly.

Flapping silvery wings of light, the owl—his Patronus —turned and dropped onto Potter's shoulder.

Potter blinked up at it. 'Thanks, Aurora.'

Draco stared. 'Aurora?'

Potter's gaze shot through him, bright and so very green. 'That's her name, isn't it?'

'I…' Draco couldn't think. Potter had named his Patronus. He shook his head, flicking his wand to cancel the enchantment.

The Patronus vanished and Draco tried to ignore the little swoop in his stomach when Potter looked disappointed . 

He could only hope that, as with everything else relating to Potter, no one would dare mention it.

///

Potter was having another nightmare.

Draco didn't understand how the others didn't feel it. How they didn't wake up at the touch of that static magic. 

It woke Draco from a dead sleep, snapping him into awareness. 

Potter's shield was still up around his bed, holding back the noise and the thrashing. But the magic seeped out still. 

Draco watched for a moment, deciding what to do. He could wake Potter. Or he could wake Weasley like he had before.

He didn't do either.

Draco thought of Christmas and hot chocolate. He thought of warm fires and tea. 

'Expecto Patronum.'

Aurora glided out of the end of his wand and fluttered over to Potter's bed.

There were no creatures to banish, and Draco wasn't even sure it would work, didn't even know why he thought it would…only…

Aurora landed on the top of Potter's four poster bed, and the thrashing eased. 

As Potter settled, the static left the air, dissipating into nothing.

///

'Holy shit,' said Blaise.

Pansy looked up from her eggs. 'What?'

Blaise turned around his paper. Pansy's eyes widened and she dropped her fork, reaching across the table to snatch the paper out of Blaise's hands. 'Holy shit ,' she said.

Draco sighed. 'What?' he asked, knowing they won't stop going on about whatever it is until he asked.

He got his answer, but not from either of them.

A loud bang echoed out from the Gryffindor table. Students shrieked as food and juice splattered over anyone close enough to the epicentre of the explosion.

Potter stormed away from the table, fists clenched and face pale. The static coiled out from him, but it was different than usual. There's a heat to it that Draco hadn't felt before.

Draco snatched the paper from Pansy. 

On the front page of the Daily Prophet was an article centring around Potter. Not unusual, but for the contents of said article. Someone had released an expose about Potter's childhood and as Draco scanned the page, he suddenly understood the look on Potter's face.

'Fuck,' he said.

Potter didn't show up to morning classes. He didn't go to lunch. He didn't turn up in afternoon classes.

Granger and Weasley spent the entire day with those pinched, nervous expressions, picking fights with anyone who dared mention Potter's name. Even Longbottom and Blaise—who got on relatively well out of all the Gryffindors and Slytherins—had an argument during charms in which Neville hexed Blaise's hair.

It had been a long day, full of tension and bickering. Several of them had been issued detention and the rest of the school seemed to have the sense to give them all a wide berth.

Draco kept his head down and tried not to think about what Potter was doing. Potter wasn't his problem. It didn't matter to him that the rumours about his childhood were true. He didn't care if Potter hadn't had a proper bed for most his life. It was nothing to him that Potter had once gone three days without a meal for accidental magic.

Potter wasn't his problem. 

Except, as it turned out, he was all their problem.

When he and Blaise pushed into the Common Room after Muggle Studies they found several of the other eighth years already working.

'Oh good,' said Longbottom with a sigh of relief. 'Blaise, can you help with the chimney, I'm not sure what he did but I can't get this frame right.'

Blaise's jaw dropped. 'What the fuck happened?'

Draco smelt the ozone and static still thick in the air. 'You mean who happened?' he muttered, pulling out his wand and flicking it at his favourite couch.

'Potter did all this ?'

'He didn't do it on purpose,' Weasley snapped.

'For fucks sake, Weasley, no one said he did,' Draco drawled before any of them could start fighting again. 

Blaise, however, was still bitter about his hair. 'Has it occured to you that this isn't exactly normal ?' he snapped. 'Do you think maybe it's time you got him some real help?'

Draco sighed as Weasley started shouting again.

'Mind your own business!'

'It's a bit hard to mind my business when the place we're supposed to go relax has been destroyed —'

'Then sod off, go back to Slytherin you fucking snake!'

'Oh real original—'

'Ron! Stop it!'

'No, they have no idea what they're talking about. Harry's fine, Harry's—'

'Fine?' said Draco, stopping the repairing spell on the curtains to turn and stare incredulously at Weasley. ' Fine ? There's nothing fine about this. You think the fact he can't sleep is fine ? Or his addiciton to sleeping potions, you think that's fine ? Or, how about the fact he won't eat a decent meal? Is that fine ?'

Weasley gaped at him. 

'He's not fine ,' Draco snapped, turning and flicking a reparo at the broken mugs by the kitchenette. 'And acting like he is fine isn't helping him.'

'He got help,' said Longbottom, still standing by the fireplace.

Weasley shot him a look that Longbottom ignored.

'Pomfrey brought in a mind-healer last week from St Mungos who was supposed to help him get some sleep but…' he frowned, turning to glare at the fireplace. 'It didn't work out.'

Weasley swore. He turned and stabbed his wand at the loveseats the Ravenclaws used. One of the cusions exploded.

'Hey!' said Terry Boot, feathers drifting down around them. 'Uncalled for. We're supposed to fixing this mess.'

Weasley's glare didn't let up and Granger moved to put a hand on his arm.

'The article,' said Pansy, her eyes widening. 'You're saying that the mind-healer sold him out.'

'That's what people do,' said Weasley darkly. 'They expect him to save them and then they stab him in the back.'

'Fuck,' said Blaise.

Fuck , thought Draco.

///

Draco was still sitting in front of the fire when Potter slunk into the Common Room later that night.

He froze when he saw Draco, eyes darting about the room before settling back on Draco.

'Don't fret Potter, it's only me. Everyone else went to bed hours ago. They wore themselves out repairing the Common Room,' Draco paused before adding dryly. 'Someone destroyed it.'

Potter flushed. It was hard to see in the dim light of the fire, but Draco recognised the expression. Knew what the blush would look like under proper lighting. The way his dark skin would brighten around the neck and his cheeks.

'I was about to make tea,' said Draco, pushing up from the couch. 'Want one?'

Potter swallowed and edged into the room. 'Why?'

'Why what?'

'Why are you being nice to me?' 

Draco arched an eyebrow. 'You're upset. It's what one does when someone is upset.'

'Offer them tea?'

'Yes.'

'Oh,' said Potter. He followed Draco over to the kitchenette with a frown. 'You never cared before.'

Draco glanced sideways at him. 'You want to go over that now?'

Potter flushed and looked away. 'No.'

Draco nodded, tapping the kettle and setting it to boil. He reached up to the cabinets and pulled out the freshly repaired mugs.

'Not that it ever matters what I want,' Potter muttered. He stared out into the common room, leaning back against the cabinet with that blank expression that Draco was beginning to hate.

'That's stupid,' said Draco, lifting the kettle to pour the water into the mugs. 'You could have anything you want.'

Potter snorted. 'Yeah, right,' he said. 'I want to sleep, but Pomfrey won't let me have anymore dreamless sleep. I wanted to stay there tonight and she kicked me out. She made me talk to that—' The mugs rattled in the cabinets and Potter broke off.

Draco tapped his fingers on the counter, waiting. When the static in the air dwindled he passed the mug to Potter.

'You know what your problem is?' Draco asked.

Potter ran a hand through his hair and turned a rye expression on Draco. 'Several things, but I'm guessing you're thinking of something specific.'

Draco let out an unexpected laugh. 'You're funny,' he said. 

Potter raised his eyebrows. 'Thanks?' he said.

'Finish your tea,' Draco said, 'I want to show you something.'

Potter blinked, but did as Draco bid. Which, was also unexpected. He tipped his head back and chugged the rest of the tea, and Draco stared as he watched Potter's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

Draco searched for something to say to distract himself. 'Isn't that hot?' he asked.

'I told you,' said Potter, putting the empty mug on the counter. 'I don't get warm. So, what did you want to show me?'

'Uh, right,' said Draco, shaking his head. He gestured to the fireplace. 'Help me with these couches.'

'Okay?' 

Draco pulled his wand out and started to shift the couches, but Potter trudged over from the kitchenette and—once again without saying anything—waved his wand vaguely at the furniture.

Everything shuffled back against the wall.

'Good?' Potter asked, head tilted.

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Show off,' he muttered. 'Alright, lay down.'

'Er.'

'Don't be a giant baby, Potter, clearly you could squash me like a bug. Just lay down,' said Draco, and lay down on the floor himself.

When they were both laying on the floor staring up at the ceiling, Draco cast several more spells. One to make the floor more cushioned. Another to add more logs to the fire, raising the warmth in the room. And one more, to turn the ceiling invisible.

Potter sucked in a breath.

'When I was little,' Draco said in a soft quiet voice, settling back into the cushioned ground and making himself comfortable under his blanket. 'I would have this one recurring nightmare. When it got really bad, my mother would bring me into our ballroom—'

Potter snorted but Draco ignored him.

'And she'd make the floor soft and comfortable just like this, and we'd lay down and we would stargaze for hours. She'd tell me all sorts of stories about the different constellations and…and the nightmares would go away.'

Potter swallowed. 'Oh,' he said.

'I thought…well, you didn't have anyone to do this for you when you had nightmares,' said Draco, keeping his voice low and soft. 'I thought maybe, seeing as you don't sleep, it might…help?'

Draco glanced sideways, but Potter's eyes were transfixed on the ceiling. He shivered, though didn't look away from the ceiling. Their heads were pointed away from the fire, their feet closest to the grate. Draco's toes were warm, but his shoulders were a touch cool.

'Accio blanket.'

Draco's favourite blanket came soaring over from the couches. It was one of the few things in the room that Potter's magic had left untouched. Now, though, Draco enlarged it, before flicking it out to cover them both.

'What kind of stories did she tell you?' Potter asked.

Draco thought for a moment. He studied the sky, trying to pick a constellation he thought Potter might like, before giving up and settling on his favourite story about the Big Bear.

He traced the constellation with his wand as he told the story of how Zues fell in love with Callisto, creating faint lines between the stars. 

'I thought you'd tell me the story of Draco the Dragon,' Potter said softly when Draco was finished.

Draco couldn't help the smile that stretched his mouth. He glanced sideways but Potter was still looking up at the sky. His posture had relaxed and his chest rose and fell with even breaths.

'Well if you want to hear it I won't be opposed to telling.'

Potter's mouth curved and Draco caught sight of that dimple. Then his expression faltered. 'Are…are there any stories about Sirius?'

'A few,' said Draco, and began outlining the constellation Canis Major, along with its brother constellation, Canis Minor. 'Sirius is the brightest star in Canis Major. The myth says that it was a dog called Laelaps that could catch anything it chased. Zues transformed him and placed him in the night sky, to forever chase the unbeatable fox that outran him. This one is Sirius.'

'What about yours?'

Draco pointed out the star, making it shine brighter with the tip of his wand.

'Hm,' said Potter, staring up at the pictures Draco had traced. 'You were right. This is…I feel better.'

Draco smiled, remembering the times his mother had done this for him. He felt warm and comfortable. Potter must have felt the same, as he yawned, long and wide next to him. 

'Thanks,' said Potter, softly, barely audible.

'Sure,' said Draco and blinked long and slow.

He knew he should go to bed. Knew they couldn't stay out here all night. Yet, it had been so long since he had laid under the stars like this and he was so cosy. He remembered doing this once for Greg, in their first year when he still got homesick and felt a sudden pang of loss for that friendship.

Greg was long gone, now, and Draco missed those days when his life had been simple and easy to understand.

Instead, here he was, a reformed Death Eater, laying on the floor in a Hogwarts Common Room next to Harry Potter, staring at the stars and realising that maybe they weren't so different after all.

He only closed his eyes for a moment. Just the barest moment. Yet, when he opened them, the sky was bright and blue.

Draco winced, blinking against the harsh morning light and rolling over with a groan.

'Harry?'

Draco's eyes flew open at the sound of a girl’s voice. Granger’s voice. 

Potter faced him. He was curled on his side under the blanket Draco had englarged for them both, his unruly curls falling into his face. His eyes were shut, his glasses…somewhere, and his face was smooth and unworried.

Draco didn't realise how tense the boy normally looked until looking at him fully relaxed and sleeping.

Sleeping. On the floor. Next to Draco. In the common room .

Fuck.

Potter grumbled, burrowing further down into the blanket. 'Five more minutes, 'Mione.'

'Harry, mate,' said Weasley weakly. 'You're…'

Slowly, Draco rolled back onto his back. Weasley and Granger were hovering by Potter (no doubt making sure Draco hadn't done anything to him during the night).

Blaise and Pansy were standing by Draco, both of them with varying degrees of delight across their faces that did not bode well for Draco.

He groaned again and ran a hand over his face. 'Potter, wake up. We fell asleep.'

'I'll go to sleep soon, m'just comfy.'

'Potter.' Draco sat up and then hesitated.

Potter was hanging onto his sleeve. Squashing a blush and refusing to look at the others, Draco untangled Potter's fingers from his sleeve and shook Potter's shoulder. 

'Potter, it's morning .'

Potter blinked. 'What?' He sounded more alert, and he blinked several times before bolting upright. ' What ? It's…it's morning? I… slept ? What time is it?'

'Almost seven,' said Granger, glancing over at Draco before focusing on his friend. 'When did you come back?'

'I— seven ? Holy shit. I, I came back around ten. We were looking at the stars and…holy shit. We can't have been up later than eleven. I…I slept for eight hours .'

Potter's eyes were huge. He stared at his friends, his face slowly transforming into a brilliant smile. 

'I slept for eight hours . Hermione, I didn't wake up. Not once. Oh my god,' he laughed, delight transforming his features, making him look younger and less war-hardened. 

As Draco watched, he thought he was well and truly screwed.

///

For several weeks things seemed to be better. 

Potter started going to bed at a reasonable hour. He stopped disappearing in the mornings and even had to be woken on occasion by Weasley in order not to miss breakfast.

His mood improved. There were less arguments with Weasley and Granger, and the pair followed along behind Potter with confused and hopeful expressions.

The accidental magic stopped almost completely.

He still had the occasional nightmare, static filling the air in the dorm. But Draco would wake and send over his Patronus, and it wouldn't be long before Potter settled back into a restful sleep.

Draco didn't think about it. He ignored the knowing looks Blaise sent him through the day. Dismissed the too-casual way Pansy asked if Potter would be joining them for breakfast that morning. (He did, usually. And Draco ignored that too).

And if, sometimes, when he woke in the night from his own nightmares and headed for the Common Room to make himself a calming cup of tea, Potter would traipse down the stairs minutes later to join him—well, that was just a coincidence.

Sometimes they talked. Mostly, Draco would cast the charm on the ceiling and Potter would tilt his head back on the couch to watch, the reflections of stars glittering in his bright eyes.

Then, leaving class one day, Draco bumped into someone in the hallway.

'Watch it, Death Eater,' snarled the boy—a fifth year Ravenclaw.

Draco didn't recognise him, but he knew the expression. That hate that always managed to cut through his defences. He felt his shoulders tightening. The instinct to drop his head and just get through the day without being noticed. Followed swiftly by the burning frustration. The anger at having to hide.

'You ran into me,' Draco snapped, before he could stop himself.

Honestly, it was better to ignore it. He should have ignored it. It wasn't worth it. If he stood up to every person at Hogwarts who wanted him gone, he'd never have time for anything else.

The boy turned, face mottling red in a familiar sign of anger. He'd seen this before too.

'What?' the boy said, stepping forward in what he probably thought was an intimidating way—but he was younger and shorter than Draco, and he had nothing on the real Death Eaters that had tormented Draco's seventh year. 'You shouldn't even be here. You should have died along with your Death Eater scum father.'

'The fuck did you just say?’ 

Magic crackled through the air. Static sharp and buzzing along Draco's skin, echoing the harsh fury of Potter's voice.

He was right behind them, standing at Draco's shoulder.

The hall was crowded with students leaving class, but everyone had gone quiet, staring as fury rippled outward from Potter.

He stepped past Draco, eyes flashing killing curse green, and the boy who had told Draco he should have died flinched backwards.

'Did you just—' Potter's voice was low and barely even. His fists were clenched at his side, his wand nowhere in sight and yet magic saturated the air.

Potter stopped in front of the boy and looked down. In that moment, as with that failed duel at the start of the year, he seemed taller. He glowered down, his entire body stiff with rage.

'What did you do?' he asked.

'I…what?'

'In the war,' Potter said. 'What did you do? Did you fight?'

'I—'

'Did you stand up to the Carrows? Did you protect the Muggleborns? Did you do anything ?' Potter's voice was scathing and harsh, cutting off any attempt from the Ravenclaw to answer. 'Or did you hide? Protect your own skin?'

The boy stammered, face paling to the point that Draco thought he might be sick. Potter's magic rose like the moment before lightning, tasting of ozone and making Draco's own magic react in kind, wrapping around himself in preparation for the strike.

He should stop him.

'That's what I thought,' Potter snarled, taking another threatening step forward and making the Ravenclaw flinch backwards. 'How does that make you any better than him?'

'I didn't—'

'You didn't what ?'

'Potter,' said Draco, finally unfreezing, stepping forward and reaching out a hand. 'Potter, stop. He has a right to his opinion.'

Potter whirled and Draco froze again, hand halfway to Potter's shoulder. 'He doesn't have a right to that one!'

Draco's stomach knotted. 'Why?' he asked.

Potter blinked, his rage stuttering. 'What?'

Draco shrugged, dropping his hand. 'It's not like he's wrong.'

Potter's gaze narrowed. 'So what?' he asked, and Draco could only stare at him. 'You paid for it. You'll pay for it your entire life. You don't need anyone else reminding you. It's not fair!'

Draco was lost. 'Potter,' he hesitated and then tried again. 'I hurt people.'

The fury was back in full force. And something else. Something darker and more twisted.

'So did I,' he said. And his voice was ragged.

The light in the hallway flickered, though there were no lanterns, just the sun streaming in from the large open windows. Potter's magic swirled around with no outlet. Nowhere to go. He glowered at Draco, his chest rising and falling sharply, his emerald eyes glittering bright with unshed tears, and Draco didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to stop it.

He didn't know how to make it better.

'Potter.' McGonagall's voice was a whip through the air, slicing through the tension created by Potter's magic. 

Potter scowled, his shoulders hunching as he glanced toward the Headmistress.

'Hospital Wing,' she said, her expression brooking no arguments.

Potter snarled. His gaze shot to Draco and held him there, frozen in place. Draco should do something. He should say something.

He just didn't know what.

Potter's shoulders sagged. His gaze slid away. His magic fell.

He turned and walked away.

The Ravenclaw boy scrabbled out of his way—as did most everyone else—but Draco could only watch him leave, feeling like he should have gone after him. 

///

It all came to a point in Care of Magical Creatures.

Draco hadn't wanted to take the class (had avoided it at all costs after the incident in third year) but as it was one of the conditions of his sentence he didn't have much choice.

Despite this, he'd found the class unexpectedly interesting. Hagrid was still an oaf. And yet, he taught his lessons with an enthusiasm that—although Draco could never replicate—was almost… fun.

Draco hadn't had fun in ages.

It helped that there were so few of them. Most of the other Eighth years had forgone the class, and few enough of the Seventh years that McGonagall had combined the lesson..

There was Draco, Potter, Longbottom, and Susan Bones from the Eighth years, and Weasley (that is, Ginny Weasley, Potter's ex ), Lovegood, and two Hufflepuffs that Draco didn't know the name of.

At first he'd resented being the only Slytherin. But he'd kept to himself and no one had bothered him. Even before Potter had started hexing people for insulting him.

Still, Draco found he looked forward to the quiet Friday afternoons when Care of Magical Creatures was held.

Hagrid often called on Potter to help him and Draco watched in growing interest as they worked with the creatures together—Potter often looking a little lost, and yet eager to assist.

He was somehow more relaxed, despite the often chaotic nature of the class, and the byproduct meant he had far less issues with accidental magic during the course of the classes.

Until the afternoon he and Weasley had an argument. 

They'd been bickering when they walked down. Lovegood trailed behind them, big blue eyes watching in a rare display of nerves. From Draco's limited experience the girl was as unflappable as they got.

'Just mind your own bloody business,' Potter snapped, storming away from the two girls.

'Alright Harry?' Longbottom called.

'Fine,' Potter snapped.

Longbottom nodded, giving in quickly, the way they all did when it came to Potter. Draco frowned. More than ever he wanted to comment. But he was outnumbered here so he held his tongue, watching as Potter hung back while Hagrid began the class.

Draco didn't notice it at first.

Potter was on the edges of the group, standing over by the Kappa tank. Closer to where Draco usually spent the lesson, rather than at the front as he normally was. 

Hagrid was talking about the prospect of bringing in a Dragon tamer to talk to them when it happened. Draco felt the static right before Potter's magic cracked through the air. It grew from static to shockwave in no time, bursting through the clearing in a sudden wave that came out of nowhere.

Potter flinched as everyone turned to look at him, dropping his gaze.

Hagrid, no longer stammering his way through the lesson, trundled toward him. 'Alright, 'Arry?'

'Fine,' Potter said, running a hand through his hair. 'I…sorry Hagrid, I—' he stopped, stiffened, spun around.

The Kappa tank cracked.

Draco stared, horrified, as the crack splintered across the glass before shattering in a rain of sharp slivers over Potter.

Draco saw it all in slow motion. The crack. The shower of glass. The Kappa, stepping out of its container, reaching out its scaly hand toward Potter. Potter starting to raise his wand and then… then nothing.

Potter didn't fire off a spell. He didn't raise a shield. There was no crackle of magic. No static. Nothing .

Potter's shoulders sagged as he stared up at the beast coming toward him. He sighed, long and drawn, and then he lowered his wand .

'Harry!' Weasley was yelling, trying to get his attention, pushing forward with Lovegood hot on her heels, their wands raised.

Four different Patronuses erupted in the clearing. 

An incorporeal whisp of silver shot towards Potter from one side of the clearing. A hare, outpaced swiftly by a horse coming from the other.

But the last, a shaggy looking wolf-dog eerily reminiscent of a Grim, burst forth from Draco's wand. It went sprinting across the clearing toward Potter and the Kappa.

Faced with four Patronus's, the Kappa shrieked and staggered backwards. Away from Potter.

Hagrid was there, shouting for the creature to get back in its box. The Patronuses herded it on Hagrid's directions and Lovegood hurried forward to repair the glass. Weasley reinforced the glass, backed up by the Hufflepuffs and Longbottom.

Draco stood frozen, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, his wand still raised.

The chaos was over and yet, and yet…

Potter stood back from it all, his wand slack in his hand as he watched, his expression numb. The wolf-dog Patronus trotted toward him and sat at his feet, nudging at his hand but going straight through it. 

Potter looked down and his expression splintered.

The others were starting to turn toward him, but Draco beat them to it. He beat them all.

He was there before he'd even realised he'd moved, grabbing Potter's shoulder and yanking him around.

'Are you okay? Are you hurt? Merlin what the fuck—? Do you have a death wish? It could have killed you, Potter, why the hell didn't you do anything? Do you want to die?'

Draco's voice was high and strangled. He knew he was yelling, but couldn't make himself stop. His heart hammered so hard in his chest he could hardly hear his own shouts. He held Potter's shoulders just to keep his hands from shaking as he looked him over, checking for injuries.

'Sometimes.'

It was small. Low. Barely a whisper. But Draco heard it. He heard it and his stomach lurched.

Potter wouldn't look at him. He stared down at the ground between them. Green eyes shining and bright for all the wrong reasons and rage filled Draco. Rage that was hot and ugly and he clamped down on it, not letting it out. If he did he would say something he'd regret and right now, right now that's not what Harry needed.

'No,' said Draco, his voice hoarse. 'No.'

Potter's shoulders curled inwards even as Draco held them. Draco dug his fingers in and shook.

'You don't get to do that,' Draco snarled, and shook him again. 'You don't get to act like your life doesn't matter. You think you should've died when you beat him but you're wrong. You're wrong! You're more than that, you're more than some stupid Prophecy. Your life matters, Potter!'

Potter's gaze snapped up, a sheen of unshed tears making the green of his eyes seem both duller and brighter all at once. Draco swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. 

'You matter,' he said again, his voice going soft.

Potter sucked in a sharp breath, choking down a sob and Draco wasn't holding his shoulders anymore. He crushed Potter to him, his arms going tight around Potter's back.

'I'm sorry,' Potter sobbed, clutching at Draco's robes, burying his head into the crook of Draco's neck. 'I'm sorry. I didn't—I'm just so tired . I didn't…I don't want to die. I don't. I don't. I…'

He dissolved into incoherency. 

'Shh,' said Draco, and ran a hand over the back of Harry's head. 'Shh. It's okay, Potter. You're okay. Hush. Hush, Harry. You're alright. You're okay.'

Draco didn't let go until the sobbing subsided.

When it did, he drew back and checked Potter over for injuries again. There was glass in his hair, a cut on his cheek, and a gash on his arm. Long and raw. 

Draco swore looking at it.

'It doesn't hurt,' said Harry, his voice soft and childlike. 

Draco glowered at him. 'That's not exactly comforting.'

Harry dropped his gaze and Draco sighed. He turned to Hagrid.

'I assume you have an emergency Portkey?' Draco asked.

He ignored the wide-eyed way Hagrid was staring. He didn't look at the rest of them. He knew it would be the same. He knew they'd be staring. He knew they wouldn't understand.

'Y-yeah, o'course. Hang on,' Hagrid riffled through the pockets of his oversized coat and withdrew a small Muggle coin. 

'I don't—'

'You're hurt,' Draco snapped, cutting Potter off with a glare. 'You are going to the fucking Hospital Wing.'

'I was just going to say that I can walk,' Potter mumbled, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. He winced immediately and Draco's expression became pointed.

'Fine,' Potter said with a shrug, glaring at the ground. 'Give me the Portkey.'

He held his hand out and Draco snorted. 'Yeah, sure. If you think for one second I'm letting you out of my sight after this you're even more fucking delusional than I thought.'

He grabbed Potter's hand, holding the coin between their palms. He looked at Hagrid. 'What's the activation phrase?'

'Er, Thestrals.'

Weasley started to speak, but Draco—too impatient to get Potter healed, to get him somewhere safe —cut her off. 

'Thestrals,' he said.

The tug on his abdomen was uncomfortable, and yet preferable to the panic that was just now beginning to ebb.

Potter was quiet in the Hospital Wing, letting Draco tell Pomfrey what happened in a clipped, harsh voice without interrupting.

'Very well, Mr Malfoy, thank you for your assistance, I can handle it from here.'

'I…you're kicking me out?'

Pomfrey raised an eyebrow, her lips pursed (perhaps he'd gone a little overboard in his disapproval of the situation). 'Potter needs rest, and I need to make sure he is okay.'

'I… right,' he said, having no reason to argue to stay. 'Of course.'

He didn't move, but Potter, speaking for the first time, glanced up. 'You can leave the Patronus.'

The wolf-dog had come with them, having not been dismissed by Draco yet. It was currently curled up at the end of Potter's bed. Potter had been staring at it while Draco told Pomfrey what happened.

Now he turned those bright green eyes on Draco. 'I'd like it to stay.'

Draco's throat constricted. He nodded. 'Sure,' he said and, with nothing further to say, he left.

His Patronus had changed. He didn't understand why, and he didn't much care. Potter had almost got himself killed. Potter had almost let himself get killed.

Draco was done ignoring this situation. He was going to make sure someone helped Potter, even if he had to do it himself.

///

Draco awoke to shouting.

When he came downstairs, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, he stepped into the Common Room and straight into chaos. People shouted. Spells shot across the room.

He caught a flash of something dark streaking across the room as Weasley shouted a spell after it.

Several girls shot out of its path. Lavender Brown shrieked something about a 'Grim' and almost fainted.

Pansy, standing on the coffee table yelled, 'Get it! Get it! For goodness sake someone stun the bloody thing!'

Finally, the thing shot around the corner of the loveseats the Ravenclaws favoured and Draco caught a proper glimpse of it. His heart leapt into his throat and he moved without thinking crossing into the middle of the room as Weasley dove around the other side of the loveseat.

'Got you!' Weasley shouted, pointing his wand. 'Stupefy!'

'Protego!'

Draco's shield blossomed between Weasley and the large, shaggy black wolf-dog, Weasley's stunner sputtering out against it. The wolf-dog yipped, green eyes snapping around to Draco as Weasley glowered. Draco would know those eyes anywhere.

'What the hell are you doing?' Weasley growled.

'Me?' Draco snapped, turning on him. 'What the hell are you—Oof!'

The wolf-dog jumped on him.

He staggered backwards, tripped and fell into the couch. His couch. In his spot.

'Potter, what the fuck! Get off me!' Draco shoved at the animal, and grunted as a paw went into his ribs.

'Potter?' Weasley repeated and then—when the wolf-dog pulled back from Draco, turning back into a wizard as he went—he yelped, ' Harry ?'

'Hey,' said Harry, bright eyed and grinning widely, his eyes locked on Draco's for a moment before tearing his gaze away and looking at his friend. 'Hey Ron, did you see what I can do?'

Draco's stomach swooped, but he swallowed it down and pushed himself upright. He pulled his legs free from under Potter and sat up on his end of the couch. Harry beamed at his friends, lounging back on the other end of the couch.

'You…you're…' Weasley's gaze darted back and forth between Draco and Harry.

'An animagus!' Harry said brightly.

'That's great, Harry,' said Granger, tucking her wand away and sitting down opposite them. 'I thought you were still having trouble visualising your animal. What helped you figure it out?'

Harry glanced sideways at Draco before refocusing on his friends. He rubbed his hands along his trousers and tilted his head.

'You remember when you asked me if there was anything going on between me and Draco?'

Draco jerked, head snapping around to stare at Harry's profile. Harry was blushing, but his gaze was steadfast on Weasley, not looking at Draco at all. 

Weasley's jaw dropped open. 'Uh, yeah,' he said, his voice going high pitched as he looked back and forth between Harry and Draco again. 'You said there wasn't?'

Harry nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. 'Yeah,' he said, and sighed heavily. 'That was true, but…'

'But?' Weasley asked, his voice cracking over the word.

Granger reached out and tugged on Weasley's arm, pulling him into the seat next to her, her expression patient and kind and expectant. 'Go on, Harry. We're listening.'

Harry nodded, flushing bright red. 'Right. Well. There wasn't but, but I wanted there to be.'

Draco's jaw dropped. Granger’s expression didn’t change, like she’d known this all along and oh god, they were all listening. They all heard –

'Holy shit,' someone muttered—Blaise, Draco thought—and someone else immediately shushed him.

'Only,' Harry cleared his throat, rubbing his hands along his legs again. 'I wasn't sure if, if he felt the same. You know?'

Weasley stared, his face pale beneath his freckles. He didn't manage more than a strangled high pitched noise. Granger took his hand and nodded at Harry.

'He is rather…aloof,’ she said, and very purposefully did not look at Draco.

Draco felt his ears go hot and knew that his face was entirely pink. Potter wanted–

'See, that's the thing, right?' said Harry, nodding in relief at her understanding. 'Sometimes he is. Sometimes he's so curt, and sharp, and aloof that I think, I think he's only tolerating me out of- of some sort of sense of debt.'

'Harry, mate,' said Weasley weakly, his gaze flicking to Draco again.

And Draco was just as stunned. Potter wanted there to be something between them? Why hadn’t he said anything? Because Draco was aloof? How could he think– but, no. Draco clenched his hands around the edge of the couch. Blaise was always telling him he was taciturn. Pansy always said she never knew what he was thinking. Draco supposed it was true but, but he didn’t mean it. It was just that half the time he wasn’t sure how he felt himself (or, he just didn’t want to face it).

Harry shook his head. 'Just, just let me get this out, okay? I know you're freaking out. I'm freaking out. But I can't…I have to say this. And I need you to let me say this. Because I don't know how else to do it.'

He rubbed his hands along his legs again, and suddenly Draco understood. He wasn't saying this for Granger and Weasley. He was saying it for Draco, but he was embarrassed, so he was using his friends to do it.

Draco swallowed, fingers digging into the couch as he waited for Harry to keep going.

'I was so tired,' he said. 'I was tired and angry and I couldn't control it. And everyone was always praising me and I hated it. Everyone, but not him. He didn't treat me any different, except, except there were these moments . He didn't fawn over me, but he was…he was funny, and kind, and sweet and I…I started to feel…I wanted…God I wanted to kiss him so bad.'

A strangled noise echoed into the silence of that statement and for one heart-stopping moment Draco thought he'd made the noise until he realised it was Weasley.

'You like him,' said Granger, her voice soft and understanding as she rubbed Weasley on the back.

Harry laughed, light and amused, before he shook his head. 'No,' he said, and Draco's stomach lurched.

For the first time Harry's gaze slid sideways, to Draco's face and away again. He looked at the floor, his ears darkening to the point Draco honestly worried he might be feverish.

'I love him,’ he said to the floor, and though his voice was so soft and quiet it rang through the room. ‘I've loved him for weeks. Since that night I slept through. I told you about the tea, and the stars, and the stories, but I didn't tell you about the Patronus. His Patronus. Any time I have a nightmare, it's there. And I can sleep again.'

Draco started and Harry's gaze flickered sideways at him before refocusing back on his friends with a renewed flush in his cheeks. Draco hadn't realised Harry knew about the Patronus.

'I was too scared to say anything,' Harry laughed, dropping his gaze back to the floor. 'I couldn't tell how he felt. One minute he would help me and the next…and then yesterday…'

He looked up, but not at Weasley and Granger.

'You were so upset,' he said, green eyes bright behind his glasses, staring straight through Draco like they always did. Like they could see through to his soul. But, it turned out he was just as confused by Draco as Draco was himself. 

'You were upset,' said Harry. 'and angry, and I realised you weren't aloof. You were protecting yourself. From me.' He smiled wryly, his head tilted. 'I'm a bit of a flight risk.'

'You…' Draco stopped, licked his lips, tried again but couldn't find the words.

Harry said, 'I stared at your Patronus for hours last night before I figured it out. Did you know that a Patronus is a representation of what makes you feel safe?'

Draco shook his head and Harry's smile crept into that dimple.

'I kept wondering why it had changed,' he said. 'And it took me forever, and I got so frustrated I tried going through the steps of my animagus training just to distract myself.'

'Your animagus,' Draco said, barely more than a whisper. ‘It’s the same.’

Harry nodded. 'You saw me before I did.'

'I didn't…' Draco licked his lips again, and Harry's gaze dropped to watch before refocusing on Draco's. Draco's mouth went dry all over again. 'I didn't know,' he said hoarsely.

'I know,' said Harry. 'I'd really like to kiss you now.'

The air whooshed out of Draco's lungs. 'Okay,' he said.

Harry grinned. He leaned forward, but Draco raised a hand, palm flat against Harry's chest, stopping him.

'One condition,' he said.

Harry blinked. 'Okay?'

'No more potions,' said Draco. 'No more pepper up, or dreamless sleep. And you have to see a healer. You can pick them, and we can get them to swear a vow or something to make sure they can't tell anyone anything but…but you need to see someone. And you have to eat at least two decent meals. A day . No more picking at things and pretending you've actually eaten.'

'That's a pretty big condition,' Harry said with a wry smile.

'Do you want to kiss me or not?'

'Yes,' said Harry and his dimple was back.

He was so close Draco could smell the soap he'd used. He could even feel the faint buzz of static from his magic, calm and under control for once. It set Draco's heart hammering in his chest and he had to concentrate on his point, lest Harry's stupidly nice mouth and stupidly adorable dimple melt his resolve.

'Then those are the conditions,' said Draco. 'No more acting like your life doesn't matter.'

'Alright,' said Harry, and didn't wait for an answer.

He pressed closer, and Draco didn't stop him. His hand clenched in Harry's shirt, holding him in place as Harry sunk his hands into Draco's hair, pressing his mouth firm against Draco's with a soft little sound of relief.

'I mean it, Potter,' said Draco, pulling back for air.

'I know,’ said Harry, and his smile turned sheepish. ‘I, uh, I already told Pomfrey not to give me anymore potions. And I have a meeting with a new healer on Friday.'

Draco stared at him before glaring. ‘Did you just hustle me?’

'Sorry,' said Harry, all dimpled smiles and infuriatingly gorgeous. 'I promise I'll work on the eating thing, though.'

'Well, good,' said Draco and yanked him back in for another kiss. ‘Because I love you, too.’