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Throughout the time Draco had been dating Harry, he’d noticed the little ticks—quiet habits that crept in like shadows, only visible up close. Yesterday, after they’d spent the afternoon cuddling in the Slytherin dorms (nothing more, just warm and close), Harry paused at the door. He turned back to Draco’s bed and straightened it with meticulous care: sheets tucked tight under the mattress corners, pillows fluffed to perfect symmetry, quilt smoothed flat at the foot. It looked untouched, as if Harry had never rumpled it at all. Draco had watched, half-amused then, wondering why his boyfriend erased himself so thoroughly.
Other moments piled up in memory. Once, Filch had caught them wandering after curfew and sentenced them to detention: organizing the cramped storage closet near the dungeons. The space was a suffocating mess of old desks, broken cauldrons, and dusty crates, barely room to move. Harry had frozen the second they stepped inside, breath hitching as Draco started shoving things aside. His hands trembled on a stack of chairs, eyes wide and distant, like the walls were closing in. Draco thought it was a flashback to last year’s final battle at first—pulled him out with soft words and a hand on his elbow—but now he saw the pattern: Harry always tensed in tight spaces, bracing like escape was never guaranteed.
Meals told the same story. In the Great Hall, Harry cleared his plate every time, scraping up the last crumbs with fork or spoon, even when his appetite faded mid-bite. No mess left behind, no evidence of indulgence—just a clean slate, shoulders relaxing only then.
And months back, when Harry slept over in Draco’s dorm, Blaise and Theo had bickered loudly over the bathroom counter’s lack of space, blaming Draco’s forest of hair products. Draco grinned, nudged Harry to join the defense—only for Harry to shrink into the pillows, knees to chest, face buried in his hands. That’s when Draco first clocked the scars: thin, faded lines on his knuckles from gripping too hard; a pale slash along his wrist peeking from the sleeve; another faint mark on his forearm, like old belt edges or sharp corrections. Harry tugged the fabric down fast, but the pieces clicked—small damages from a life demanding perfection under threat.
Draco hadn’t named it until tonight. They were tangled on Draco’s bed again, firelow in the grate, Harry’s head on his chest. But Harry’s fingers kept twitching against Draco’s shirt, tracing seams like he needed to smooth something invisible. Draco caught his hand gently. “Harry.”
Green eyes flicked up, wary.
“These.” Draco brushed his thumb over the scars on Harry’s knuckles, light as breath. “The bed. The plates. The closets. It’s not just nerves, is it?”
Harry went still. His free hand fisted the blanket. “Draco…”
“The Dursleys?” The name tasted like ash. Draco had heard whispers—muggle relatives, pre-Hogwarts misery—but never details. Now it fit: every tick a survival lesson carved into Harry’s bones.
Harry’s laugh cracked, bitter. “Yeah. They liked things perfect. The cupboard under the stairs for me, “too messy to deserve a room,” they said. Locked in when I was bad. Only got food if chores done were spotless, no scraps wasted. Vernon’s belt for backtalking. Little things.” He shrugged, but his voice shook. “You learn quick.”
Draco’s stomach twisted. Rage boiled, for his Harry, for a boy who’d survived it silent. “That’s not little. That’s—” He stopped, pulling Harry closer instead. “You were a child.”
“I had to be perfect or it hurt.” Harry’s scars gleamed, faint in the firelight. “It still feels like that sometimes.”
Draco tilted Harry’s chin up, fierce. “Not here. Not with me. You can leave crumbs. Leave my bed a mess. Take up space. Yell if you want.” He kissed the wrist scar, soft. “These end now. I’ll fight every ghost that says otherwise.”
Harry’s breath hitched, eyes glassy. He curled in, burying his face into Draco’s neck. “Promise?”
“Promise.” Draco held him tight to his chest. They stayed like that till sleep came, Harry’s ticks over time, easing into trust. Draco vowed silently: he would never let those muggles touch his boyfriend again.