Chapter Text
His chest felt too tight, constricting him. Loosening his tie in a desperate attempt to suck air into his shuddering lungs, he takes short, panicked breaths and tries to fight back the growing dizziness. He wanted to scream but his throat wouldn’t allow anything more than small gasps to leave him, making him weak and shaking. Wrenching his jumper over his head, he lamented over his family’s chance of survival come his inevitable failure. A sob of despair tore itself from his throat at the thought of his impossible task and he doubled over, gripping the sink tighter in an attempt to ground himself.
The minute that Draco had seen the trio questioning Bell he had jerkily hurled himself back through the Great Hall doors and had darted to Myrtle’s bathroom as quickly as he could without breaking into a run, uncaring of the confused onlookers. He only hoped the trio hadn’t noticed and followed him; he doubted he could hold back his break down any longer.
Why do they always have to meddle? Of course, they have to try and save the day again.
Just as a pitiful sob left his mouth, a set of hurried footsteps sounded through the echoey room, approaching him as he felt the beginning tears slide down his cheeks. Hastily scrubbing at his face with his arm, he spun around to face his pursuer, masking his face to look as if his life wasn’t collapsing around him.
Shit.
Instead of all three of them, only Weasley appeared a moment later, his hand clenched tightly around his drawn wand and clearly furious. However, when he saw Draco’s face his anger seemed to melt into confusion, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open as if he had lost the words he had planned to say.
After a long moment of silence, Weasley finally spoke. “Malfoy? Um, are you,” a pause, “crying?”
Draco felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment and he spat out in a shaky voice, “Of course not. Just because you’re used to Potter blubbering nonstop doesn’t mean we're all as pathetic."
Weasley scoffed, glaring. Instead of rising to the bait, he countered with a question. “You did it, didn’t you?”
Put off by the sudden accusation, he stuttered, “Did what? I don’t know what nonsense you’re talking about!” Despite his attempts to have the same lofty superiority in his tone as always, his denial only made him sound guiltier.
Another tear trailed down his face as Weasley watched him closely, wand trained on his chest. The sink was a solid rock behind him, keeping him afloat as his legs threatened to give in. He was sure he looked mortifyingly weak at this moment, with damp cheeks and disarrayed hair.
A long moment passed between them as they seemed to size each other up. Eventually, Weasley let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders lowered and his whole body seemed to release the tension he had been holding. He gave the blonde a plaintive look and Draco felt his heart lurch. Pity leaked throughout his expression and Weasley, instead of attacking, sedately put his wand into his pocket while taking a small step forward.
“W-what are you doing?” Draco croaked. He felt crowded, the sink pressed into his back as Weasley approached him soothingly; as if he were calming a wild animal.
Holding out his hand, showing appeasement, he spoke in a pacifying voice, “The Order can help you - Dumbledore can help you.”
Draco surveyed Weasley’s hand with a mixture of longing and hesitance. If he took this opportunity it could mean safety for him and his parents; Dumbledore would protect them, wouldn’t he? Would Draco have to become a double agent, a spy for the Order? He doubted he had the ability for that. What if they weren’t significant enough to win the war, would they be turned away? If he chose this then he wouldn’t be able to turn back, the Dark Lord would surely find out and Draco doubted he would allow them back with open arms.
As if understanding his confliction, Weasley broke the silence again. “You wouldn’t be forced into anything, Draco, but we could save you. Please.”
Curse his puppy dog eyes.
The use of his forename somehow reassured him and his eyes flickered to Weasley’s outstretched hand again.
“Why would you want to help me, after everything I’ve done? Everything my family has done?”
A sheepish grin appeared on Weasley’s face and he mumbled out “One less Death Eater, y’know? Every bit helps.”
Draco wasn’t sure if what Weasley was offering was as straightforward as he presented it, surely acceptance into Dumbledore’s ranks wouldn’t be that easy. Besides, anything with the Golden Trio involved was rarely simple and inevitably ended in disaster.
Yet, when he looked at Weasley, with his too short trousers and face full of freckles, he found something disgustedly endearing.
Damn you, Weasel.
Closing his eyes, Draco took a deep breath, subsequently a risky chance too, and reached out a trembling hand to Weasley’s. A firm but comforting grip enclosed around it, the redhead’s skin warmed his where they met.
Maybe he had made the wrong choice; maybe he had doomed his family. Though, as he opened his eyes and looked into Weasley’s he knew that at least he would enjoy it.