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Draco sat quietly on the edge of the Astronomy Tower railing, his feet dangling over empty air. He looked up at the moon hanging in the night sky, though his gaze was unfocused.
Fireworks burst across the distant horizon one after another, accompanied by endless cheers and celebration.
Of course.
Their Golden Boy had defeated the Dark Lord. Once again, he had saved the wizarding world.
He was everyone’s savior.
Just not Draco’s.
Lowering his eyes, Draco let the gentle night breeze brush across his face. It tousled the fringe falling over his forehead and stirred the shoulder length blond hair resting against his robes.
Sometimes he wondered if things would have turned out differently if he had been just a little braver.
After he had stumbled into his parents’ arms, overwhelmed by fear and despair, the boy who had broken his heart had risen from the dead once more.
And so Draco had gathered every scrap of courage he possessed.
He tore himself away from the warmth of his parents’ embrace and ran toward the light.
For the first time, he stopped caring about what anyone thought.
For the first time, he let go of all hesitation.
Under the sunlight, he had thrown his wand to Harry.
He had not known whether Harry would emerge victorious. But he had been willing to gamble everything on the belief that Harry Potter could perform another miracle.
And he had been right.
Once again, the Savior proved to the entire world why they called him their Golden Boy.
Why they called him their hero.
Draco was proud of him.
*
Watching the celebration from afar, Draco felt as though the quiet solitude of the Astronomy Tower existed in a different world entirely.
And on the other side of that invisible divide lay everything he longed for but could never reach.
What was Harry doing right now?
Probably being lifted onto people’s shoulders and tossed into the air before being caught again. Everyone would be raising their glasses, celebrating victory and welcoming the dawn.
And Harry would be kissing his Weasley girlfriend.
After all, the two of them had shared that famous kiss after Voldemort’s defeat.
A perfect love story.
Wasn’t it?
The thought made Draco’s gray blue eyes sting.
He blinked rapidly and tilted his head back, trying to force away the ache rising in his chest.
Ever since Harry had started dating Cho Chang in fifth year, Draco should have understood.
He should have moved on.
But his heart never listened.
It still remembered those eyes, deep and green as a lake.
And for the serpent hidden beneath the Black Lake, they remained utterly irresistible.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling bitter.
He could understand Cho.
At least that relationship had made sense.
But Ginny?
That was the part he could never understand.
His eyes had never truly left Harry, so he had long noticed the youngest Weasley girl’s feelings.
Yet all he could do was watch from a distance.
The relationship between him and Harry had always been far too terrible for anything else.
Draco closed his eyes.
When had he fallen for Scarhead?
Was it the sting of being rejected that first day? The frustration of not getting what he wanted? The endless years of trading insults? The way Harry always managed to command his full attention the moment he appeared? The childish lengths Draco would go to just to make him look his way? The changes they both went through as they grew older? Or that strange flutter in his chest after some long forgotten glance?
Draco didn’t know.
Maybe it had started after overhearing one of the Gryffindor Trio’s conversations. Maybe it was the moment he realized the famous Harry Potter had grown up without the childhood he deserved.
The hero Draco had admired since he was a boy had not turned out to be the perfect figure from his imagination.
The first friend he had ever tried to make had rejected his hand.
Every meeting afterward had become another exchange of sharp words and wounded pride.
The fantasy had shattered.
*
The soft creak of the door pulled Draco from his thoughts.
He turned.
Standing in the moonlight was the person he had been thinking about all night.
Harry Potter.
Draco immediately rose to his feet. He brushed nonexistent dust from his robes and straightened his collar, though he already looked as immaculate as ever.
“Uh… hi, Malfoy?”
Clearly, Harry hadn’t expected anyone to be up here.
Especially not the former enemy who had, in a way, helped save his life.
The Savior looked oddly uncertain, as if he didn’t know how to speak to Draco anymore.
For six years, insults and arguments had been the language they shared.
But on the battlefield, when Draco had called out “Potter” in that unmistakably familiar voice, Harry hadn’t stopped to think.
He had simply caught the hawthorn wand Draco threw to him and turned back toward Voldemort.
It had been a battle for life and death.
“Oh? And what brings our glorious war hero to this forgotten little corner of the castle?” Draco drawled. “Shouldn’t your Weasley girlfriend be keeping a closer eye on her boy?”
The familiar smirk settled onto his face.
His chin tilted upward.
His eyelids lowered slightly.
Harry was nearly a head taller than him now, but Draco still refused to look up at him.
Even if Harry was the closest thing he had to a hero.
He tried to slip back into the role he had always played.
Unfortunately, every time he looked at Harry, all he could see was that kiss with Ginny in the middle of the Great Hall.
The memory burned.
So he buried the bitterness beneath sharp words.
“Well… Malfoy, the war’s over.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe… I mean, maybe we could try getting along?”
To Draco’s surprise, Harry didn’t sound offended.
War had changed him.
It had taught him patience.
“Oh, really?” Draco scoffed. “The great Harry Potter wants to be friendly with an evil Death Eater? How noble of Saint Potter.”
He swallowed the harsher words waiting on the tip of his tongue.
The truth was, he didn’t want things to stay the way they had been before.
The war was over.
Yes, he had once borne the Dark Mark.
But Narcissa had lied to Voldemort and saved Harry’s life.
And Draco himself had helped Harry in the end.
He didn’t want to use those things as leverage.
But if they could help Harry see him differently…
If they could repair even a tiny part of what lay between them…
Then Draco was willing to make use of them.
A very Slytherin solution.
“Oh, Malfoy, you’re still impossibly sarcastic.” Harry laughed.
When Draco shot him a glare, Harry immediately raised both hands.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m just stating facts. Fine, fine. Can we at least sit down and talk?”
Without waiting for an answer, Harry sat down beside him.
Draco hesitated.
After a brief internal battle, he gathered his robes and sat as well.
Unlike Harry’s casual sprawl, Draco’s posture remained neat and proper.
Almost elegant.
Harry stole a glance at him beneath the moonlight.
Silver light spilled over Draco’s hair, turning the pale blond strands into something almost luminous.
It was impossible not to stare.
And those gray blue eyes…
They looked as though they held an entire galaxy.
Harry found himself captivated.
*
He had to admit it.
Draco Malfoy was beautiful.
The word fit, even if Draco was a man.
By third year, when everyone had begun growing into their features, Harry had gradually realized just how unfairly attractive his longtime rival actually was.
Which was why, whenever they fought, Harry always avoided hitting Draco in the face.
His punches landed elsewhere.
Meanwhile Harry usually walked away with bruises and cuts across his own face, making it look as though he’d gotten the worse end of every fight.
Feeling Harry’s gaze linger on him, Draco turned away uncomfortably.
He still couldn’t imagine what Harry wanted to talk about.
As far as Draco knew, they had nothing in common.
Especially now.
Harry cleared his throat.
“So, see? We can sit together without trying to hex each other.”
Draco hummed quietly in acknowledgment.
That tiny response seemed to encourage Harry.
Harry thanked both Draco and Narcissa for saving his life.
He promised he would speak on Lucius’s behalf and hoped it might reduce his sentence.
From there, the conversation drifted toward the past.
Their shared history was hardly pleasant.
In fact, most of it had been awful.
Yet somehow they kept talking.
One memory led to another.
One confession led to the next.
They exchanged the thoughts they’d hidden from each other for years.
Well, most of them.
Draco had absolutely no intention of revealing the real meaning behind certain words and actions that had been driven by feelings far more dangerous than hatred.
Still, as the conversation continued, they discovered something unexpected.
They actually had quite a lot to talk about.
*
Moonlight bathed the highest point of Hogwarts.
It shone across the castle stones and across the two boys sitting side by side.
Their voices drifted through the night.
Sometimes they agreed.
Sometimes they argued.
Some things never changed.
Far away, fireworks continued to bloom across the sky without end.
And on the first night after the war, the world felt almost beautiful again.