Chapter Text
The castle was quieter that evening, the air thick with the last traces of summer warmth. The open windows carried the faint hum of crickets and the distant chatter of students heading back to their dorms. The fire in the common room burned low, more for comfort than for heat, its light soft against the stone walls, throwing a golden glow over the pair sitting on the rug.
It started with a dare.
Draco had insisted, in that insufferably smug way of his, that he could carry Harry "as easily as a broomstick." Harry had scoffed — right up until Draco slid an arm around his back and another beneath his knees, and lifted him clean off the ground. "HAHAHA WOW!" Harry started to laugh — really laugh — the kind that started in his chest and made his whole face light up. "You can actually carry me!"
Draco rolled his eyes, though his mouth twitched. "What do you mean actually? Of course I can carry you! You weigh basically nothing."
"What? I'm not that light!" Harry protested between laughs, clutching at Draco's shoulder in case he dropped him.
"Oh, you are," Draco said, smirking. "I could carry you halfway up the Astronomy Tower without breaking a sweat."
"Show-off," Harry said, grinning, but his ears went pink — and Draco, of course, noticed.
"You like it," Draco teased, "You think it's hottt."
Harry looked away, but the small, crooked smile that tugged at his mouth gave him away. "You're insufferable."
"And yet," Draco said, tilting his head, "you've been putting up with me for what — three weeks now?"
"Two and a half," Harry corrected, pretending to be thoughtful. "Feels longer, though."
"Rude."
"I meant that as a compliment," Harry said, laughing again — and it was the kind of sound Draco would've done anything to keep hearing. Light. Unburdened. The sort of laughter that still surprised him, as if he hadn't realised he was capable of it. When Draco finally set him down, Harry didn't move away. For a long moment, they just stood there — close enough that their breaths mingled in the firelight.
"You're ridiculous," Harry said, smiling helplessly.
"And you're light," Draco shot back, though his voice had softened, too. "Honestly, what do you eat?"
Harry shrugged, half-sheepish, half-amused. "Food?"
Draco gave him a mock-suspicious look. "Define food."
Harry grinned. "Things that can be eaten. Usually found on plates."
"Vague as ever," Draco said, shaking his head with a smirk. "One day, I'm going to make you a proper meal, just to prove I can do better than the Hogwarts elves." They sank back down in front of the fire, the laughter still warm between them. Harry leaned against the couch, knees pulled up; Draco leaned back on his hands beside him, watching the flames flicker across Harry's face. "Are you implying I'm small?" Harry said suddenly, mock-offended.
Draco arched an eyebrow, playing along. "Not small. Just… travel-sized."
Harry laughed, leaning into Draco's shoulder, "Just because you're all lean and polished—"
"—and devastatingly handsome—"
"—doesn't mean—" Harry broke off, laughing so hard he doubled over. "You're impossible."
Draco couldn't help it — he laughed too. The kind of laughter that came easily now, softer than he was used to, realer somehow. He liked seeing Harry this way — messy-haired, flushed, happy.
It was a simple moment. A joke. Draco didn't think about it again until weeks later, when he realised it hadn't been a joke at all.
Dinner had ended an hour ago, but Harry was still sitting at the edge of the sofa in the common room, legs drawn up, eyes half-focused on the fire. Draco had learned that look—it meant Harry was somewhere far away, but not anywhere good.
He tried for lightness. "If you stare hard enough, Harry, it might start staring back."
Harry startled, the way he always did at unexpected sound. "Didn't hear you come in." Draco nodded slightly.
"I've noticed." Draco sat beside him, careful not to let their shoulders touch until Harry shifted first. When he did, leaning slightly against Draco's arm, the warmth settled between them in a quiet, steady pulse.
"You didn't eat much at dinner," he said softly. He remembered looking up — seeing Harry laugh at something Granger said, his fork barely moving, his plate nearly untouched. At the time, it hadn't struck him as odd. Harry was always distracted, always running on nerves and purpose and too much weight on his shoulders. But now… now he looks tired in a way that doesn't fit.
Harry shrugged, the motion small and defensive. "Wasn't that hungry."
"You never are," Draco said before he could stop himself. Then, quickly, "Sorry, that came out wrong."
Harry smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It's okay. Old habits, I guess."
Draco frowned. "Habits?"
Harry hesitated, gaze flickering toward the fire. "I used to… well. At my relatives, we didn't exactly—"
He cut himself off, fingers twisting in his sleeve. "It doesn't matter."
Draco waited, but the silence stretched. Harry breathes out, shallow and steady, as if exhaling the thought away. "Anyway," he says, too lightly. "It's fine. I'm fine."
Draco doesn't believe him.
He nods anyway.
In the days that followed, they didn't speak of it again. Harry smiled and laughed in all the right places, but something stayed hollow in it, like an echo without a source. Draco tried to ignore it. He failed.
It started in the mornings. Harry was always up before everyone else, sitting in the common room with a book, eyes shadowed but alert. He never lingered in bed. Never allowed himself rest.
Then Draco noticed the way Harry ate — small, measured bites, never taking seconds, always pausing halfway as though waiting for permission that never came. Once, when Draco pushed the last of his pudding toward him, Harry flinched. Flinched, as if generosity might hide a trap.
Draco said nothing, but the knot in his throat tightened.
A week later, it was raining hard outside. The castle walls hummed with the sound of wind, the kind that seeps into your bones. Draco and Harry were walking back from the library, the torches throwing thin shadows across the corridor.
A door slammed somewhere far off — just Peeves, no doubt — and Harry stopped dead. His shoulders locked, his breath shallow, eyes unfocused and far away.
"Harry," Draco said quietly. No response.
He reached out, fingers brushing Harry's sleeve. At the touch, Harry jerked back like he'd been burned.
"Hey," Draco said again, softer now, almost whispering. "It's just me."
It took a long moment — too long — for Harry to come back. His breath hitched, and he blinked rapidly, forcing a weak smile. "Sorry. Don't know what that was."
But Draco did. Or at least, part of him did — the part that had spent a lifetime watching for fear, reading silence as language.
He wanted to ask who made him flinch like that. He wanted names, faces, addresses. But Harry was already walking again, as if nothing had happened, and Draco followed in silence, the question turning acid in his throat.
That night, Draco couldn't sleep.
He lay awake listening to the wind against the window, thinking of Harry's careful voice, his deliberate stillness. At my relatives, we didn't exactly—
Exactly what? Feed you? Care for you? Treat you like something human?
The thought curdled inside him. He'd seen cruelty before; he'd committed his share of sins. But this — this quiet, unspoken suffering — it was worse somehow. Because Harry didn't even think he was allowed to be angry about it.
The next evening, Harry found him sitting by the fire.
"You're quiet tonight," Harry said.
"Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit, that."
Draco looked up. "What kind of relatives don't feed their child properly?"
Harry froze, mid-step. "Draco—"
"You don't have to tell me," Draco interrupted, voice low, measured. "But I know. I see it when you eat. When you startle. When you apologise for breathing too loudly." Harry's eyes softened, full of that maddening patience — the kind people wear when they've been hurt too much and learned to hide it. "You shouldn't worry about it. It's not your problem."
"Then whose is it?" Draco's voice cracked. "You were a boy. You deserved better than whatever they—"
"Draco." A quiet plea, barely above a whisper. "Please."
The word stopped him cold.
Was he...scaring Harry? He wasn't any better than those filthy muggles then.
"But Harry..." His voice was shaking, tears threatening to fall, "Why didn't you tell me? I thought you were just… private. Not that you were—" He broke off, unable to find a word that wasn't too small.
Harry's eyes softened. "Because it's done. It was a long time ago."
"That's not an excuse," Draco said, sharper than he meant. "They starved you, didn't they? You were a child."
Harry flinched, then forced a shaky laugh. "Not exactly starved. Just… didn't always get enough. If I was lucky, maybe some toast."
Draco's breath hitched. He tugged Harry's sleeve, moving slightly so he had room to sit down. "You joke about it."
"I have to," Harry said quietly. "If I don't, it's—" He stopped, eyes distant. "It's easier this way."
Draco's hands clenched against his knees. He wanted to destroy something—anything—to make up for the years Harry never got to have. "They locked you up. They treated you worse than—" He stopped again, the word creature hanging unspoken. "I should've known. All those times you looked like you'd gone hungry during the war. I thought it was stress, or guilt—Merlin, I was so blind." Harry reached out, tentative, then dropped his hand, as though worried he'd anger Draco any further. "You didn't know. Nobody really did."
Draco had noticed though. He always had. But he didn't do anything about it. His throat burned. "If I ever meet them, I'll—"
Harry cut him off with a soft, weary smile. "You won't. They're gone. Out of my life."
Draco swallowed hard. "Still. They don't deserve to breathe the same air."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire cracked. Snow pressed against the window. Then Draco shifted, pulling Harry closer, tucking him under his chin. Harry went easily, resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You're shaking," he murmured.
"So are you," Draco said, voice low. "It's infuriating, you know."
"What is?"
"How much they took from you." He hesitated. "How much you still give anyway."
Harry didn't answer, just breathed against his shoulder. After a while, he said, "You can't change what happened."
"No," Draco said. "But I can make sure no one ever makes you feel that small again."
Harry's laugh was soft, almost fragile. "That's a big promise, Draco."
Draco tightened his arms. "Then I'll start with this. Eat dinner with me tomorrow. Properly. I'll let you pick anything you want."
Harry looked up, green eyes shining in the firelight. "Even treacle tart?"
"Even that." Draco slipped his hand into Harry's, entwining their fingers.
And for the first time all evening, Harry smiled—truly smiled—and Draco knew that was enough for now.