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Harry realized he was scared of nothing when Malfoy’s boggart turned to him, blurred through a kaleidoscope of visions, none clear enough to make out—and then, as if confused, nearly fizzled out like a weak flame. Ridiculous, Malfoy muttered.
The boggart snapped back toward Malfoy with a hungry desperation, reforming into the image of him torn open at the chest. A few trainees gasped again at the graphic scene. Harry’s heart had leapt into his throat. He hadn’t been expecting it, but he wasn’t surprised. Surprised that he hadn’t seen it coming, maybe.
Of course Malfoy’s worst fear was Sectumsempra.
No one else knew it, but Harry did. The boggart had omitted the worst part of the memory. Harry’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he didn’t know if it was fear he was feeling or something else. Boggart Malfoy threw a disdainful look at Harry.
The others probably thought they were seeing a nightmare, an exaggerated vision born through a vivid imagination. They didn’t know the scene was incomplete. Malfoy’s boggart did not show Harry standing over him after cursing him, and Harry felt weirdly grateful for that.
Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe a boggart couldn't recreate every detail.
Still, Harry couldn't help but think that Malfoy had left him out on purpose, consciously or not. As if even his worst fear wasn't enough to make him expose Harry to the room.
Or maybe Malfoy’s boggart hadn’t conjured an image of Harry because it didn’t need to. Harry was already there. To Malfoy, Harry at twenty was perhaps no different from the boy who had cursed him and left him there.
“Riddikulus,” Malfoy said, sounding so disdainful that for a moment Harry thought he was dismissing Harry's fears. They both watched Malfoy's likeness collapse into a teddy bear, red yarn unraveling from its center.
Another pair stepped forward.
Wren’s worst fear was fire, Harry gathered. Her partner’s was drowning. The boggart ping-ponged between them before being cowed into a giant ice cube.
Harry was still reeling from the knowledge that he wasn’t afraid of anything.
It didn’t feel right. He lived life always feeling like a little kid, unsure of everything. He tried to think of his worst fear and came up with nothing.
He didn’t feel like a real person. He was a paper cutout of a man, and this was just another example.
“What’s wrong?” Malfoy asked afterward, having found Harry in the trainee lounge. After an afternoon spent laying their fears bare, there was an unspoken understanding among the trainees—it had all been rather vulnerable.
Harry didn’t know how to comfort anyone. There was a strange imbalance to it: he knew everyone else’s fears, whether of failure or injury or exposure, but his own refused to become anything tangible at all.
Malfoy, whose fears had come out as some of the most vivid and horrifying, seemed to know exactly what to say to everyone. And yet, when anyone tried to comfort him, Harry noticed, he only brushed them off with a laugh. He seemed very embarrassed about the whole thing.
Everyone else had either gone home or gone out for drinks. Harry assumed Malfoy had gone with them.
A month into training, Malfoy came up to him and asked him to be Auror partners. Harry remembered being shocked. It was early into the process, and they’d been one of the first to partner up. Malfoy was visibly nervous, and Harry didn’t know why. Everyone loved Malfoy. He could have had his pick of partners. When he chose Harry, there had been more than a few disappointed.
Harry had been relieved. He didn't know who to pick as a partner. He hadn't really made the effort to get to know anyone. And here was Malfoy, the one everyone wanted, choosing him.
He'd also been disappointed. Disappointed that he was going to let Malfoy down. Malfoy was going to learn that Harry wasn't any fun anymore. That he was too serious, that he always said the wrong thing. He couldn't even blame it on his fame this time; the other Aurors were older and less starry-eyed. If they kept their distance, it was because they wanted to.
Harry hated that Malfoy had been the one to come to him, then and now. He was always so considerate. Harry felt ashamed; he should have been the one asking then, definitely now.
Instead, Harry had run away. Scared of nothing, what a joke. Scared of everything, more likely.
Malfoy’s worst fear was Sectumsempra, and he was here asking Harry what was wrong.
“We don’t have to be partners,” Harry said. Malfoy paused. They were the youngest in their training class by at least five years. They were in the top section. Everyone would graduate at the same time, but the pairing system still mattered for performance assessments and future assignments.
“Scared?” Malfoy asked, a smile playing across his face.
He was always smiling. Getting to know Malfoy was deeply disconcerting. He thrived in Auror training. It reminded Harry of school—Malfoy holding court in the Great Hall. The Prince of Slytherin. Harry found himself wondering if he'd always been this way with his friends. Malfoy had been cruel once, certainly, and Harry had hated him. He'd changed, but it seemed likely that at least some of what made him so easy to like had been there all along.
Harry had changed, too. He did well in Auror training. That came easily to him. It was something else. He felt out of place, like everyone had grown up and changed for the better while he had regressed. Harry remembered being small and hiding in his cupboard, both a comfort and a punishment. He'd reverted back to that.
Maybe Malfoy wanted Harry because he was the only one who could match him. They were the youngest, but also the best. It wasn’t ego so much as fact, confirmed by the performance rankings.
What had Malfoy been saying? Right, he was asking Harry if he was scared.
“I’m scared of pain, you see,” he said. “I’ve always been a coward.” Malfoy was trying to explain that he wasn’t scared of Sectumsempra. Of Harry. His cheeks were tinged, and he was so lovely in the light.
“Why not Crucio, then?” Harry asked, because he couldn’t let it go.
“I’ve never been tortured before,” Malfoy replied, and winced. “I’m not scared of you.” Harry looked at him and tried hard to believe it.
“I’ll never hurt you again,” Harry said. “As long as we’re partners, I’ll do anything to protect you.” His voice came out rougher than intended, more protective. Threatening. Malfoy’s eyes were very, very wide.
Maybe he was scared of Harry after all.
Harry thought a lot about Malfoy being scared of pain. An Auror wasn’t the best career for that.
Malfoy had thrived in offensive spell training, but they were on defense now. Boggarts were day one, basics only. It would get more difficult from here—more dangerous. By now, six months in, partners were mostly settled.
That was better. It meant they were tested in pairs. Malfoy still talked to Harry about it sometimes, predicting who would end up together. He had done that since they first became partners, filling the tense silence before they were friends. Malfoy was perfectly content to speak when Harry fell silent. Harry liked to hear him talk. Malfoy didn't seem to think Harry was no fun. He dragged Harry out for drinks with the other Aurors, and Harry felt his best with Malfoy at his side.
Harry held true to his promise to protect Malfoy. The instructors had to tell Harry to let Malfoy get a spell in. Malfoy looked a little chagrined, and a lot pleased. The older Aurors even made up scenarios, just for them, where Harry was tied up and bound without a wand so Malfoy could rescue him.
Harry was really good at defense, in school. That was something that hadn't changed.
Harry watched as Malfoy moved, catlike and skittish, even if he wasn’t going to get seriously hurt in these controlled sessions.
By now, Harry knew Malfoy was actually scared of getting hurt.
It felt like Malfoy was breaking through his defenses.
Malfoy correctly guessed the partner pairings. Everyone had officially partnered up.
Auror training was coming to a close, and he and Draco were far above the rest of the class. Soon, they would graduate.
The instructors made them duel each other. Draco and Harry were to go last. There was an excited expectancy in the air—everyone was looking forward to a show. Harry was to defend first. Draco had five minutes to get a spell in. There was even a healer on standby in case things got out of hand.
Draco was allowed to hurt him.
“Do your worst, Malfoy,” Harry told him. They’d only recently stopped referring to each other by their surnames, even though they’d grown close before that. Old habits die hard. Draco grinned, and Harry felt nervous. If Draco could disarm Harry with a smile–!
The fight lasted the whole five minutes. At first, Draco used nothing worse than a mild jinx, and Harry wondered if this was how it was going to go.
Suddenly, Draco switched tactics, casting so fast Harry could barely keep up. His spells were precise and dangerous. Once, the healer even cried out at a particularly vicious curse, but by the time the sound left her mouth, they had already traded five more spells. Draco was casting wordlessly, too, trying to slip spells through Harry’s shields. He had a tell in his eyes, though, and Harry could feel his familiar magic moments before it hit.
Nobody had ever matched Harry like this. Harry was aware that the room had gone silent. They wanted a show, and a show they got.
A Diffindo cut through Harry's defenses in the final few seconds, and a cheer went up through the room. Harry was so flushed with exhilaration he barely felt the sting. Draco was on him in an instant, faster than the healer, wand already raised. He'd been trying to attack Harry seconds ago, but Harry didn't even think to flinch. The cut blooming across his cheek vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Harry lifted a hand and touched the freshly healed spot Draco had left behind.
“Switch,” Instructor Proudfoot instructed, sounding extremely pleased and even a little out of breath. Harry was exhausted, panting. Draco looked at him, and there was a mix of excitement and anticipation in his eyes. A bit of fear, too. Harry saw his breathing pick up, the rise of his chest. I'll never hurt you again, Harry had promised him.
Harry raised his wand-
“Expelliarumus,” Draco tried. Harry’s wand flew towards him, and so did Harry. In a racing dive, Harry knocked Draco onto the floor. Draco's arms had gone up as though Harry were falling rather than attacking, instinctively reaching to catch him. The opening made it easy for Harry to pin him.
A gasp went up as Harry wrestled both wands out of Draco’s hands and shoved them into his mouth, freeing up his hands. Draco let out a laugh of disbelief, trying unsuccessfully to push Harry off him.
“Walrus! Walrus!” Draco shouted between bursts of laughter. The rest of the room was in hysterics, cheering them on. “No—don’t laugh, you’ll take my eye out!” Draco warned Harry, who bit down on both wands and grinned.
Harry had dove headfirst and fallen. He’d definitely fallen, was still falling.
The fight ended like that, Harry on top of him, Malfoy’s arms pinned above his head, still laughing.
The rest of Auror training went quickly. The intensity of practices was decreasing, and there was a cheerful mood in the air. There was a new intensity between Malfoy and him, one that Harry could not name.
Their class graduation started without much fanfare. They were given their crimson Auror robes and waited for their instructors.
“I look like a Gryffindor,” Draco said, pulling a face. Harry smiled.
There was suddenly some commotion, and the Mirror of Erised came flying through the door. Draco ducked, even though it was several feet away. Harry recognized it immediately.
“Sorry we’re late! Artifact collection went overtime. We found the Mirror of Erised!” Auror Savage said, motioning for the trainees to come over. The room looked blankly at her.
“It shows you what you want,” Harry explained quickly. Draco looked at him curiously but did not ask how he knew. Harry vaguely remembered the mirror having been displaced during the war.
“Desire, backwards,” Draco murmured, already distracted by what he saw in the glass. Impressed, Harry rearranged the letters in his head. Harry looked into the mirror and-
There was nothing there.
For a moment, he thought of the boggart. How it had turned to him, searched, and found nothing. A hollow feeling spread through his chest. He had no fears, no desires. He felt like a machine, again.
Harry saw their reflections— could see Draco beside him, wide-eyed with wonder. Harry wanted to ask him what he saw but thought of Dumbledore telling him he dreamed of thick woolly socks in first year and did not. Instead, Harry schooled his face, trying to emulate an expression of seeing everything he ever wanted.
“I see myself in Auror robes,” Harry said, and it was true, technically. There was a chorus of cheers.
The others all wanted a turn, sidling over and crowding around the mirror. Harry moved politely out of the way, grabbing Draco by the sleeve to direct him.
“What did you really see?” Draco asked, clearly having no qualms about asking. Harry sighed.
“I didn’t see anything,” Harry said, suddenly very tired. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, but to see it confirmed.
“You’re fulfilled then,” was Draco’s interpretation, ever the optimist.
“I’m not,” Harry said. “Do you remember the boggart? It said I was scared of nothing. I saw a dementor once—you remember, in third year. Now the mirror says I don’t have any desires. In first year, I saw my parents in this mirror. But now the Weasleys are like my family, and—”
He broke off, embarrassed.
“I just don’t know what’s left of me. Who isn’t scared of anything? Who doesn’t desire anything?”
Draco didn’t speak for a long time. They’d moved to the back of the room— everyone else was peering into the mirror and talking about their dreams.
Harry thought about how he didn’t have any.
“When the boggart disappeared, I thought you weren't scared of anything,” Draco said. “Now I'm starting to think it found exactly what frightens you.”
Harry smiled a little, considering that. Maybe Draco was right. Maybe his worst fear wasn't pain, or death, or loss.
Maybe his worst fear was being nobody at all.
“You make me feel normal, Draco,” he said. “Doesn’t explain the mirror, though.”
“What exactly did you see?” Draco asked.
I just saw- our reflections. Like it was a regular mirror.” A strange expression crossed Draco’s handsome face.
“So did I,” he said.
Harry blinked.
“What?”
“I thought- you said the mirror shows what you want most, right? I was looking at it. You were standing beside me. We’re about to graduate together. That’s what I want.” His cheeks were tinged. “Maybe I misunderstood.”
Harry closed his eyes. Trainee Gilmore was talking about singing on stage with Celestina Warbeck. Trainee Fields was describing himself swimming in a vat of money. (“You picked being an Auror, I’m not sure about that one,” Instructor Proudfoot said.)
Harry opened his eyes. He saw Draco Malfoy, soon-to-be Auror. He saw his future there, and for once, it didn't feel so uncertain. Auror partners. Friends. No longer enemies, at the very least. There were other things, too—things neither of them had put into words yet.
There was nothing to be afraid of. Not when Harry knew what he wanted, and Draco stood beside him. He would take this, if nothing else.
Draco smiled uncertainly.
“You always see things so clearly,” Harry said.