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Draco knew he fucked up. He knew he shouldn't have done that. He knew, with everything in him, that it was wrong to give the curse to Katie Bell, to anyone, really. But the deed was done, and he could do nothing but face the immense guilt that washed over him.
Another thing Draco knew for sure was that Harry Potter—the person who had half witnessed the curse incident with Katie Bell—knew that he was the person behind it all.
Of course he knew, Harry Potter knew every wrongs Draco had done, but never the rights.
At this moment, it had been a few weeks after he gave the curse to Katie. Potter never confronted him, nor did any of the Hogwarts professors, so he assumed that the issue was long forgotten and that they'd assume Katie got the curse from some random at Hogsmeade.
He himself saw Katie Bell, walking around all healthy and well about Hogwarts, showing that the curse had been healed already. Probably by Professor Pomfrey, he thought to himself.
He was still caught up on this, obviously. He had just done something he could never forgive himself for. He had given a cursed item, a cursed item to someone, for Merlin's sake. Even in Hogwarts, that act could get him expelled. He didn't even want to think about what would happen to him if the Ministry knew of this, he didn't dare let his mind wander that far.
As far as he wanted to acknowledge, he knew that him and his family were safe from their life being taken away by Vold— You-Know-Who.
To take his mind off of this matter, he thought he should eat something at the Great Hall, maybe that would calm him down.
Maybe he some food down his throat could make him feel better, could make him forget about what happened to Katie the moment she opened the box. Maybe he could forget, even for just a moment, that his mind and body were no longer his, but You-Know-Who's.
Walking into the Great Hall, he looked around him and every student were minding their own business. Some were eating, some were talking with one another, some were just there for the overall comfort of Hogwarts—he thought they were probably trying to distract themselves from the obvious happenings around them.
He was calm. He had done the job given and all he had to do now was relax. His eyes were looking around for the familiar faces of his mates, but instead he was met with the eyes he was familiar, yet felt so distant, the very eyes he had least wanted to see.
The eyes of Harry Potter himself.
Potter was with his friends—the Golden Trio— Ron and Hermione, and he noticed from his peripheral vision Katie Bell walking around the table from Harry, presumably just finished a conversation with the latter.
Draco felt Harry's eyes staring at him. He felt the other's eyes staring daggers into himself, feeling like the gaze could pierce through his heart.
Immediately a rush of guilt and anxiety ran over him . The overwhelming fear and suspicion made him walk back a few steps. He could feel himself shaking so violently he swore his wand had already been out of his hand.
All he could think of the time was to run. Run as fast as he could and never see Harry again. Never see Hogwarts again.
But alas, he composed himself and rushed out of the Great Hall, the initial idea to have a light snack no longer in his mind.
He thought he had composed himself, but he could feel his heartbeat in his chest, he could hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears.
Suddenly the sound of everything around him was getting into his head. The sound of birds singing outside, the faint yet deafening sound of students chattering from afar, the sound of his own footsteps, and the sound of the familiar footsteps approaching him at a similar pace he was going at.
After what felt like an eternity of walking about with no absolute destination, he found himself in the boys bathroom on the sixth floor.
The bathroom he always found himself in after a day of devastation—normally days he knew he spoke too bluntly to a random student who had done something as small as bumping into him, or when he had blurted out 'Mudblood' to Hermione, or anytime he had an argument with Harry knowing he had started the argument himself.
The anxiety was creeping in even more prominently now. The jumper he was wearing was making him sweat so much. Suddenly the armhole of the it was too small and was digging into his arms so uncomfortably, the material that was in contact with with his neck was making his skin itch so badly.
He quickly took it off and threw it somewhere next to the other sinks, he didn't bother to acknowledge where it actually was.
He stared into the mirror in front of him and saw that he looked like a mess. His hair was disheveled and he was covered in sweat. His grey eyes were void of colour, and he could see them brimming with stubborn tears that he tried so hard to hold.
His chest heaved as he fought to swallow the lump in his throat. He blindly turned the faucet on, the freezing water shocked his system, but he scrubbed at his face as if he could simply wash the panic away. For a second, he stared blankly ahead, at the shambles that was himself. Then, his composure shattered, and a ragged sob ripped from his chest as he let his head fall down, his trembling fingers gripping the sinks next to him to keep himself from sinking to the floor.
He could feel his tears running down his cheeks, burning as if they were going to scar his face as choked and broken sobs escaped his chest.
And then he heard it.
The voice of the last person he wanted to hear.
"I know what you did, Malfoy," Harry's voice echoed through the walls of the bathroom.
His chin snapped up and he turned his back to look at Potter, standing behind him at a distance that was far but felt as if Harry was standing right next to him, breathing directly next to his ears.
"You hexed her, didn't you?" Harry shot at him, eyes filled with rage as he said that.
Draco couldn't say anything. He couldn't deny what Harry had said, he did hex Katie after all. But not willingly, not on his own accord, and it was done by Voldemort's orders.
But he couldn't bring himself to say that. He knew Harry wouldn't bat an eye at whatever he said.
Before the silence could swallow him whole, Draco lunged.
He whipped his wand forward, slashing the air with a swordless curse directed at Harry. Harry shifted instantly, the spell flashed an almost grey colour as it hit the wall.
Before Draco could even react, Harry had retaliated and casted a spell that Draco narrowly missed as he lunged himself to the side to avoid the curse. His boots skidded away into a passageway that felt suffocatingly narrow although it was quite the opposite. He could hear the rapid, heavy rhythm of Harry’s footsteps rushing into the area he was in. Draco could feel the panic seeping through his veins as he whirled around, his vision blurring as he could barely make the silhouette of where Harry was situated. His fingers shook so violently that the wand in his hands felt slick and alien in his grip.
He tried to point his wand and cast a spell at Harry but his hands wouldn't obey and the curse ended as a blind surge of magic that slammed directly into the wall that Harry quickly hid behind.
The white flashes of the curse hitting the wall and the sound of water leaking from a pipe from Harry's curse choked the air between them. Harry peeked through the wall to see if the was on open space where he could counter Draco but instead he heard the latter's wand drop next to him. He didn't even try to pick it up as he let the wand roll away to wherever gravity lead it.
He slid down the rough wall, his knees buckling until he hit the ground. His chest heaved in shallow, useless gasps. He could feel his tears escaping his eyes once more, this time he didn't bother holding them in, no, he couldn't. He felt the air stuck in his throat as he struggled to breathe. The air felt like ash in his throat. His sobs echoed through the walls of the bathroom as he buried his face into his knees and palms.
No matter how much he tried to hold them in, to hold the tears back, to hold the choked sobs from his chest, he just couldn't.
"Fuck," Draco choked out, the voice tearing from his throat, his voice raw and stripped of the usual pride it had. "Just hex me. I don't even give a damn, I'd rather just—just die now," he continued, voice cracking in between sobs.
"Why?" Harry asks, as he steps closer to Draco. "Why did you do that?"
Draco muffled out a chuckle at Harry's question. But he didn't answer, still overwhelmed with the lingering anxiety he felt.
"Why did you hex her? Why did you go out your way to avoid me in the Great Hall? Why did you—"
"Enough!"
The word tore from Draco's throat, shattering the walls of the bathroom. The sudden, violent volume of his voice cut Harry off instantly, leaving the air silent once again, this time vibrating with tension.
"Voldemort made me do it, alright?" Draco shouted, his voice cracking under the strain.
"He made me do it. He forced me to do it. I—I didn't have a choice or he'd kill me... he'd kill my mother, Potter," he forced out, his voice almost shouting the words at Harry but at the same time sounded like a scared whisper, as he pressed his back further into the wall as if to make himself disappear.
"I didn't have a choice, Potter. I never had a choice. Do you think I want to be this... whatever this is, whatever I am now? Do you think I want to live my life in fear knowing that I'm on the wrong side of the war, decided by someone else? Do you think I wanted this?" Draco said, his voice gradually slowing down as he tilted his head back, his hand gripping—almost pulling—at his own hair.
"I.. I didn't know. You were acting all suspicious in Hogsmeade and you—you were the last person to see Katie before she got the curse so I just..." Harry said, his voice trailing off when he realised he didn't know what to say. His words stuck in his throat as he struggled his continue his words.
"Yes, I did it, alright? I hexed Katie, Merlin, I didn't even intend the hex on her. She was just supposed to be the middleman, the hex was supposed to be on Dumbledore," Draco admitted. He didn't even know why he was admitting this, to Harry Potter for Salazar's sake.
Harry didn't even realise the hand in which he was pointing his wand directly at Draco was wavering, and slowly dropped to his side. The anger, resentment, hatred that had been directed at Draco all these years evaporated, leaving himself feeling confused, but more so guilty towards the boy who looked so miserable in front of him.
He looked at Draco, curled up against the rough walls of the bathroom, sitting on the almost stinging cold tiles. His already pale skin had become impossibly paler than it was, desperate hands clutching at his platinum hair, which looked darker in the shaded bathroom.
That was when Harry realised. Voldemort hadn't given him a place of honour but a death sentence. Draco wasn't a vile, disgusting Death Eater. He was a prisoner, a prisoner who was robbed of choice.
Draco let out a jagged, bitter laugh that caught in his throat, turning into a deep sigh. "He's in my manor, Potter. He sits at our dinner table with... you know, the others and hold meetings like he owns the damned place!" he talks in almost a whisper, another sob fighting its way through his throat. "Every day I look at my mother and I... I know that if I fail, if I don't kill Dumbledore, he'll tear her apart. And he'll make me watch him do everything," he buries his face in his knees again, shoulders trembling fighting away tears.
"I can't do it, the necklace didn't work. He already has a plan for me to execute—with wine this time. Merlin, why am I even telling you this?" he says as an empty chuckle escapes him. "Well, now you know everything, you can report me. Hex me, kill me, whatever you want to ease yourself. I'm bound to die at this rate, you know?"
The sheer hopelessness in Draco’s voice struck a cord deep within Harry. He knew what it felt like to have Voldemort inside your head, constantly speaking to you as his voice rings. He knew the suffocating weight of a destiny you never asked for, forced upon you by a war decided by adults.
Harry took a few steps forward, making sure his movement posed no threat and slips his wand to the back pocket of his pants.
Draco flinched slightly at the sound of Harry's boots hitting the now wet tiles of the bathroom floor, but his eyes remained on the ground. He was entirely defenseless, his wand no where to be seen, waiting for the curse that he thought he deserved.
Instead, Harry sank down, dropping to the cold tiles next to him, leaving some space between them so as to not overwhelm Draco further.
Surprised, Draco lifted his head up and turned his head towards Harry, eyes wide with confusion at the latter's action, but putting his head back to where it was before.
"I know what it's like," Harry said quietly as he kept his eyes glued to the wall opposite of them, his voice filled with sincerity, something Draco never thought he'd hear from him. "To have him have total control over you, over everything dear to you. To feel as if you're just a piece on his chessboard,"
Draco slowly looked up, tears stained his pale face, guarded and suspicious as he looked into Harry's green eyes for any signs of mockery, but to no avail.
"You don't know anything," Draco muttered under his breath, though the words lacked the bite he wanted.
"I know he's a monster," Harry replied softly. "And I know you're not. If you were, Katie wouldn't be alive, so would Dumbledore. Your failure is because you don't actually want to kill anyone, Malfoy,"
"There's always going to be a way out," Harry continued, still holding eye contact with Draco. "Dumbledore... he can protect your mother, he can protect you. You don't have to carry this alone anymore,"
Draco stared at him, his breath hitching. To hear his greatest flaw—his lack of cruelty—reframed by his enemy as a saving grace fractured the last of his defenses. Without realising it, tears streamed from his eyes and his posture relaxed, the rigid tension finally draining out of his spine. He dropped his head again and sobbed into his knees, shoulders shaking violently from crying.
Harry froze.
His stomach did a flip from the nervous feeling creeping inside of him. He had spent months—maybe even years— obsessing over Malfoy. He tracked his every movement wherever and whenever, whether it was across the Great Hall or the corridors of Hogwarts, but seeing him completely unravel like this was rather... terrifying.
Harry was historically awful at dealing with people crying. His instincts screamed at him to do something but his brain wasn't keeping up.
He hadn't felt like this earlier when Malfoy first broke down because he was still clouded by resentment. But now? Maybe he was clouded by... Merlin, he didn't even want to think about it.
Slowly and carefully, Harry shuffled across the damp floor, his boots making an awkward squeak against the tiles. He knelt in front of Draco, the distance between them closed entirely as his eyes darted around everywhere—the cracked mirrors, the dripping taps, puddles of water, anywhere but Draco.
He rubbed his nape, his face suddenly becoming incredibly hot.
"Er—" he started. "Do you... I mean, would it help if I... can I hug you? Or something?"
The question hung damp in the air, heavy with awkwardness, but entirely honest.
Draco lifted his head up again, staring at Harry through his blurred vision at the curly-haired boy who somehow found more interest in the walls and sinks around them while offering comfort through a hug. For a second, Draco just stared as he let out a laugh, thrown off by the absurdity of Harry Potter awkwardly offering him a hug.
"Um... it's okay if you don't want to. I just... well, it was—" Harry shifted awkwardly again as he thought Draco was mocking him with that stupidly attractive laugh of his.
How could he laugh after almost crying his eyes completely dry? Has he got no shame? Harry thought, thinking he'd just wasted his kindness on someone like Draco.
"Well then, off I go. See you when I—" Harry got ready to stand up before Draco's arms got hold of his waist before he could.
"I never said I didn't want to. In fact, I think a hug is exactly what I need right now," Draco said as he buries his head in the crook of Harry's neck. Harry swears he can feel the smugness on Draco's face.
The sudden weight of Draco’s arms around his waist pulled Harry back down on his knees. His brain short-circuited entirely. He was completely frozen by the sudden closeness Draco had made between them. The hug was intensely intimate, especially because it was happening between two people who were supposedly sworn enemies.
Harry hovered there like a wooden plank. He didn't know where to put his arms. Should I wrap them around his shoulders? His back? His neck? Wouldn't it be weird? His mind couldn't think anymore and he just stayed stiff like that for what felt like an eternity.
"You're thinking too loud. Just hug me, is that too much of a task for your pea-sized brain?" Draco said, smugly this time. It seemed that he had gone down from the high of his cry earlier, and was back to his old—well not old, frankly—self.
He then pulled Harry impossibly closer, their chests now completely touching. Harry is terrified that the latter can hear, or worse, feel his heart beat almost as if it's about to escape his chest.
Harry attempts to pat Draco's back a few times and finally melts into the hug when Draco nuzzles his head further into Harry.
Harry inhaled and he could smell all of Draco. His cologne—he could catch on the scent of fresh mint, old parchment, and some green apple in it— and the smell of his shampoo, he had never felt more comfort before.
The rigid tension and the awkwardness in Harry’s own chest from before began to disappear. He stopped thinking about how ridiculous they looked on the wet dungeon floor. He stopped worrying about what to do with his hands. All he was thinking about now was Draco in his arms.
He could hear Draco sigh into the hug as he pulled tighter on Harry's waist, seemingly in his own state of comfort already.
"You're still a git, you know. Don't think that I'm offering you a hug that I forgive you ultimately, Malfoy," Harry said, lacking mockery and dominance as he does.
Draco softly hums, which vibrates directly against Harry's chest. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a Gryffindor, Potter," Draco murmured.
The stay locked like that as the minutes bled together. The previous awkwardness and the fact that they'd been at each other's throats was completely forgotten and left behind. The rest of Hogwarts—the Great Hall filled with students, the faint chatter of students in the corridors, the looming war—felt like it belonged to an entirely different world.
At that moment, in the flooded bathrooms, the only thing that existed were the sound of their breathing, the sound of water dripping from a faucet, and the loud leaking pipe from earlier.
Harry found himself resting his head against Draco's shoulder, feeling his soft platinum hair slightly in his face. If the Harry Potter from an hour ago saw this, he would've been terrified but now, it felt correct to do so. He closed his eyes, simply absorbing the warmth of Draco’s body against his own.
Eventually, the reality of the damp, cold floor began to seep back in. Draco was the first to shift, his tight grip on Harry's waist had slowly loosened. It was a slow, reluctant pull away from their shared embrace. Harry let his arms slide down Draco's upper arms for a split second before fully letting go.
When they finally sat back, the space between them felt cold, and Harry held himself back from closing the distance between them. He looked at Draco, his eyes were puffy and red from the crying, his hair beautifully messy, but the bloodshot, wild look of terror was gone. Instead he looked calm, calmer than he had ever seen Draco.
Draco wiped the remnants of his tears on the back of his sleeves, a sudden flash of self-consciousness as he looked at Harry with the same old disgust he always had, only this time his eye gave away his endearment.
"You're a terrible hugger, by the way," he muttered, trying to fight through the smile creeping up his face. "Almost like hugging a bag of rocks. I reckon a bag of rocks hug better than you do, actually,"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry bites back, unable to hide his smile. "It's not like I didn't warn you," he shrugged.
Harry stood up first, extending his arm towards Draco.
Draco stared at Harry's calloused arms for a long moment. For six years, taking Harry Potter's hand had been a symbol of defeat and weakness in his dictionary. But now, he saw it as an equal, as someone who was genuinely on his side.
Draco reached up and took his hand. Harry gripped it firmly and pulled him off his feet. They stood close for one final, lingering second, their hands still connected, before Draco gently pulled his fingers away, dusting himself off.
"Come on," Harry said quietly, gesturing toward the bathroom door. "Let's go find Dumbledore. Together."
Draco didn't object. He just gave a quiet, weary nod, stepping into stride right beside Harry as they finally left the shadows behind them.