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Life at Hogwarts was strangely…the same. At least the same as it had been back before the travesty that was his sixth year. The returning eighth year students laughed together, experimented with the newest items from the local joke shops, and lamented over homework and their impending exams, just like any other students might. The Gryffindors were brash and infuriatingly excitable, the Hufflepuffs were blundering romantic fools, and the Ravenclaws held their noses so deep in their books that they may as well have worn them in place of faces. Even the Slytherins that had returned dove into their studies and strode the halls with their heads raised high as they always had. As if their parents hadn’t been imprisoned or killed for fighting alongside the Dark Lord. As if their dead friends weren’t missing from the dorms. And though much of it was laced with lingering sadness, they were still ready to put the events of the war behind them.

Draco had thought it would be different. That there might be curses thrown at his turned back in the halls. More anger and resentment directed towards himself and his peers. Inter-house fighting, beyond the usual house cup related rivalries. But it wasn’t like that at all. It was as though the returning students had all elected to embrace the simplicity of their childhood school years. Like they were playing house, except in reverse. Perhaps they so desperately wanted time to actually be children again because they’d all been forced into adulthood far too soon.

The younger years followed in their lead, settling into a familiar routine and adapting quickly to the new normal. A better normal, Draco could admit. In a world no longer on the cusp of tearing itself apart. Everyone seemed eager to shed the shadows of loss left behind after the war. To move on.

Draco tried his best to do the same, but it was difficult to carry himself with the same pride he once had now that he no longer believed he had much of anything to be proud of.

The Malfoy name was in shambles. His parents had escaped lifelong sentences in Azkaban, somehow, but kept to themselves in the manor under constant Ministry observation. Their home had been raided and scraped clean of anything remotely suspicious or of questionable value. And any political leverage they once held had been permanently extinguished with the rise of the Light in places of power. 

Draco supposed he should be grateful. He was lucky, really. To even be alive. To still have parents. To still have a home to return to at all.

And despite his insecurities, he wanted to move on too, so he’d drafted a mental list of things to do in an attempt to scratch his way out of the dismal life currently stretched ahead of him. There were still duties expected of him as he stepped into his role as the Malfoy heir, and things he wanted to accomplish despite the hurdles he may face in doing so.

Firstly, he had to complete school. He wouldn’t be able to do much of anything without the required N.E.W.T.s, and exams had never occurred the year prior due to the state of things at the time. He didn’t feel even remotely prepared enough to sit them without further education. Studying hadn’t exactly been his priority leading up to and during the war.

After graduating, hopefully at the top of his class despite Granger’s determination to beat him there, he would find a job. Something simple at first, until he could make a name for himself in his chosen field. Then perhaps he could pursue a mastery and expand into more experimental magic. He could work towards discoveries that mattered, that would make a difference, and perhaps write his name down in history on the right side for once.

He would have to marry as well. Ideally someone who could help lift the family name back up and out from the trenches in which it had fallen. There were, understandably, not many people interested in attaching themselves to someone with a Dark Mark plastered across their forearm, so he tried not to think about that particular item on his list too much. His mother had assured him he would find someone who loved him the way he deserved. That perhaps a lovely French boy from Beauxbatons would hold less prejudice against him for his decidedly unsightly tattoo. But even if that proved true, Draco wasn’t sure he deserved much of anything after his atrocious actions. He didn’t believe his few good deeds were enough to make up for any of it. Even if they had saved the Boy Who Lived, and ultimately allowed him to survive and end the war.

Speaking of the so called Saviour of the Wizarding World, Draco’s gaze couldn’t help but drift towards where he was huddled over a table at the far end of the library. Harry was noticeably not the same, or even pretending to be, unlike the rest of his classmates. His glasses were still round and far too large, framing his eyes like they were individual art pieces hanging on a wall. His clothing hung over him loosely, making him look even shorter than he already was. And that scar stood out on his forehead like a mark of reckoning, no matter how much he tried to cover it up. But the similarities to his pre-war self stopped there. Draco had seen him occasionally in the halls of course, and in the few lessons they shared, despite his proclivity to keep to himself. He’d spent so much time seeking Harry out for various pranks in the years prior it was hard not to drift unintentionally towards him. And the difference in him was remarkable, and not in a particularly good sort of way.

Harry had never been very loud. At least not compared to the crowd of Gryffindors that so often followed him around like little lost puppies. But he’d been sociable. He’d laughed. He’d smiled. He’d gotten angry whenever his character or skill was questioned and he’d stood up for his friends when theirs was as well. And now, there was just…nothing. It was like he was wandering around the castle in a daze. Just going through the motions, while everyone else around him carried on. He spoke only when spoken to, hardly interacting with his surroundings at all. There was a childlike innocence there, like he was attempting to chase after that same feeling of youth as the rest of them, but it was uncomfortable. Like it had been dragged through the mud and scrubbed clean, but the stains had never quite disappeared. And everywhere he set foot, that hint of darkness followed him like he was haunted by his own personal circle of ghosts.

Draco had heard the stories. That Harry had in fact, died, for a brief moment in time. And he believed that. Because he could see it in the heavy circles that sank below the frames of Harry’s glasses, and the frailty of his hands and bony wrists that left him looking almost skeletal under the right light. He’d seen the scar on his chest once too, briefly, during a quick encounter in the Prefect’s Bathroom. Which Harry should not have had access to, mind you, but that seemed like an inconsequential matter to bring up when he’d literally saved the world. Regardless, Draco had caught him in the midst of changing, and his gaze had slid down Harry’s form in surprise before widening at the sight of the patch of mangled skin where the killing curse had shredded through his too thin torso. It was just one second. Maybe two. Enough to take notice. And then Harry had pulled a towel in front of his chest and rushed past him with panicked eyes.

Draco was certain there was more to whatever was going on with him than just…dealing with death. And the repercussions of evading it. It ran deeper. As though his past, present, and future, had all descended upon him like a plague that left him tormented and detached from the living world. He was a shadow of his pre-war self. Living out a life that had never been fated to exist.

Even then, Harry was sitting with his friends, and yet so very alone. Isolated in the midst of a crowd. Granger and Weasley were bickering about something, flirting mercilessly with each other in a way that made Draco gag. Longbottom was there too, chatting idly with the Lovegood girl and some Hufflepuff about this and that. They didn’t even acknowledge Harry’s presence. It was like they didn’t see him. And Draco wasn’t even sure he wanted to be seen. He sat silent as a mouse, tucked away behind a book, staring listlessly at the words without turning a single page.

It wasn’t the first time Draco had witnessed him behaving in such a way. He’d been like that from the moment Draco first spotted him on the train platform at the start of the year. Shoulders sunken forwards, head ducked down between them, fingers twisting in his sweater in search of warmth that was nowhere to be found. He’d looked overwhelmed. On the verge of shattering like an icicle precariously hanging from a swaying tree branch. And then he’d vanished after setting foot on the train and hadn’t reappeared for the entire duration of the sorting ceremony and start-of-term feast.

Draco frowned, his gaze sliding towards the table next to him and the person that inhabited it instead. The Weasley girl was there, scratching away at a lengthy parchment with a fury that matched her fiery personality. It was curious that she wasn’t seated with the rest of the wonder kids. Perhaps she was tired of watching her brother suck face with Granger too. Especially now that her and Harry had seemingly gone their separate ways. Maybe the breakup had left a bad taste in her mouth and she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. No, that wasn’t it. They were on good terms. Draco had seen her talking to him in recent memory. Perfectly amicably, if rather brief. He stuck his tongue into his cheek and bit down on it slightly. He never had been very good at keeping his nose out of things. Especially things that concerned Harry Potter. So why start now?

Draco pushed himself up from his seat and strolled a few steps to the side before slumping in the chair just across from her. She spared him little more than a brief glance and returned to her essay as though he had never sat down. It irritated him to no end. He sat back in his chair, resting his arm over the empty one beside him as he stretched his long legs out beneath the table.

“Ginevra,” he drawled, eyeing her with visible disdain.

“Malfoy,” she spat back with equal venom. Her gaze remained fixed on her parchment, and Draco pursed his lips as he watched her finish off a sentence.

Only once she had set down her quill, sat back in her seat, and lifted her gaze towards him to provide him with an adequate amount of courtesy did he speak again. “What happened with you and Potter?” Ginny Weasley, to his disappointment, didn’t rise to the bait. She raised an eyebrow in question, and Draco sighed heavily and clarified, “Why’d you split?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she replied snarkily. The way she lifted her chin and managed to look down at him from below his greater height reminded him distinctly of Pansy Parkinson. The girl had a way of making even the largest of egos feel properly small. It appeared Ginny had more snake in her than he expected.

Draco huffed and looked towards Harry with resignation. “I suppose it’s not,” he muttered lowly. He leaned back slightly, balancing his chair on the rear two legs for a moment before letting it fall back into place atop the hardwood floor. Harry still hadn’t turned a page. From his new seat Draco could see the way the fingers of his left hand scratched over his right wrist like he was chasing after an insatiable itch. Draco pulled his hands together uneasily and twisted one of his rings as he watched. The engraved ouroboros twirled around his finger endlessly as he traced the scales with his thumb, and with each passing second he tried not to grow increasingly uncomfortable as he eyed the raw patch of skin beneath Harry’s nails expanding in size.

There had been such a lengthy pause he’d nearly forgotten where he was until Ginny spoke up, causing him to flinch in surprise. “If you must know, we never got back together after the war,” she admitted easily. He studied her face for a moment and couldn’t find a hint of remorse, or longing, or anything like that. It was like she was stating a simple fact.

“Why not? Trouble in paradise?”

Ginny grimaced and sighed, then pushed her parchment to the side. “Because I can’t give him what he needs.” She stared at Draco, practically daring him to say something snide, but he resisted. Then, she seemingly grew tired of waiting, and pulled one of the books in her gathered stack into her lap to read.

Draco’s thoughts were in a state of complete disarray. What could Harry Potter possibly need that someone like Ginny Weasley couldn’t provide? She was conventionally attractive, he supposed. With a feminine figure, aesthetically pleasing face, and surprisingly well kept hair considering her relations. If Draco had any inclination towards women he figured she would have caught his eye, as she had much of the rest of the boys in his year and several below. Even if her looks weren’t immediately compelling to Harry, she had other qualities that probably made for a good partner. She was quick witted, and seemed willing to have a good laugh. She was a skilled Quidditch player too, and bantered with the best of them. A competent duellist, from what he’d seen as well. Her Bat-Bogey Hex was a thing of legend around Hogwarts, especially after the horrors of their previous year. She was, of course, a Weasley, which knocked her down a peg or two in Draco’s books, but Harry would not have cared about that. If anything, that would have been a boon. So why? What exactly did Harry need?

He studied her for a moment longer as she continued turning the pages in her book, and then without really thinking he blurted, “Do you think I could?” She glanced towards him slowly, without so much as lifting her chin, levelling him with a surprisingly thoughtful stare, and Draco felt himself sink downwards into his chair. He’d meant it as a joke. Of course he wasn’t serious. But she was looking at him like he’d spoken some ancient words of prophecy. He pulled his wand from the holster beneath his sleeve and spun it between his fingers as a distraction while doing his best to fix his posture without drawing notice to the fact he’d ever slouched to begin with.  

“I don’t know. Can you?” she asked with precisely zero amusement in the inflection of her tone. There was something else there though. Something strange. Like desperation, mixed with hopelessness, and a trace amount of sorrow. Draco paused, his wand precariously balanced over his knuckles as he fought off the shiver running eerily beneath his skin.

He should have taken the opportunity to laugh it off. But instead, like a complete and utter fool, he opened his big mouth and drawled, “Well, what’s he need?”

Her answering frown was laced with so much disappointment that Draco felt suitably chastised by it, and the words that followed slapped him across the face like a stinging jinx. “If you can’t figure out that much on your own, there’s no way you could possibly give him what he needs.”

He gulped down the tightness building in his throat and pressed his tongue harshly against the roof of his mouth to keep himself from snapping at her in the middle of the library. It would only serve to revoke his restricted section privileges, and perhaps put his Prefect status in jeopardy to boot. And he was desperately clinging to that small symbol of prestige as it was one of the few things he still had going for him in this wretched life. Instead he scoffed dramatically and pushed away from the table, before standing to retrieve his bag from the next table over. He struggled to sling it over his shoulder in his anger and stewed the entire way down towards the kitchens.

It was a waste of time talking to her. A Weasley, of all people! What did he think was going to come of that?! He never should have tried.

And as he stuffed his fifth scone of the evening into his mouth under the scrutiny of several scandalized house elves, he resolved to never think of any of it again.

Draco and Harry had potions together, naturally. And something had become alarmingly clear. Harry was abysmal at the subtle science and exact art required for the craft. Why he still insisted on struggling through the class was a complete mystery. There were rumours running about that Harry intended to enlist in Auror training after school, which would have explained it, except he’d heard otherwise on the grapevine, and Pansy’s intel was rarely incorrect. She had informed Draco with mild incredulity that Harry wanted nothing to do with crime fighting, or the Ministry, or any other such rubbish related to Wizarding politics, war recovery, or active field work. That he had, in fact, already been offered a position at the DMLE, and turned it down.

And Draco couldn’t help but think that might be for the best. If his incompetency in such a required subject transferred to the field, the future of their people would most certainly be doomed to fail. Harry needed someone to babysit him through the entire process. To make sure he didn’t blow himself up every time he disappeared into that empty head of his.

Draco had taken it upon himself to sit next to him, since no one else was willing to accept the arduous task. He guided him through the steps of his potion with precision, ignoring the curious glances directed their way from various corners of the room. He corrected his knife technique, and explained the reasoning behind each step until Harry nodded in understanding. And he even received a quiet thank you at the end of the lesson for his efforts. Deservedly. Because without Draco’s help Harry’s cauldron would have dissolved itself and become one with the table below it within the first ten minutes of class.

He said as much to the ginger sitting across from him. She looked at him with some bemusement, her head propped on her fist, as she tapped her fingers over a half-finished letter at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Draco wouldn’t normally have deigned to sit amongst insufferable lions, but it was a free period, and students were scarce at that time of day. He needed a distraction. And her red hair had stood out like a beacon on a foggy night as he strolled in.

“Is that so,” Ginny uttered.

“He’s not that terrible I suppose. But he certainly needs supervision,” Draco prattled on. “I’ve never seen someone with so little confidence in their own abilities. Every mistake he makes is as a result of second guessing or daydreaming. Someone needs to knock some sense into him. And keep him from drifting off when it’s dangerous.”

“And I suppose you’re the man for the job,” Ginny sniped sarcastically.

Draco puffed himself up and sneered, “Of course. I’m excellent at potions,” and Ginny snorted and rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that you know,” she goaded, as though Draco had something to prove.

He stared at her blankly, his brows creasing in confusion, and he couldn’t help the baffled “Huh?” that slipped out as his rattled mind struggled to grasp what on earth she was hinting at. She smirked at him knowingly, to his immediate annoyance, and then collected her things and left him there alone. At the Gryffindor table. As though he was nothing but a decoration on the dinged up wooden surface and not actively holding a conversation with her.

Draco gathered himself and stood before anyone had a chance to see him lounging there by himself, and then he walked away feeling rather perplexed. The heavy Great Hall doors slammed shut behind him as he strode through the corridors with furrowed brows. He stopped briefly next to a portrait reciting some awful ancient prose about star crossed lovers, and as he tuned out the meaningless words, it finally hit him just exactly what Ginny Weasley had been implying.

She thought he was still looking for an answer. Trying to find out what Harry bloody Potter needed like he was a member of his silly little fan club. As if.

But he paused. And revisited his one-sided conversation with the girl. He supposed that in a way, he was doing just that. He’d subconsciously made it his mission to figure it out. Just…well, just because.

He hadn’t really had much of a serious goal up to that point, despite his little inconsequential imaginary list. No drive to do anything apart from attaining passing grades. But this excited him for some reason. It was like a blast from his untainted past. A mystery to unravel. Discovering one of Harry Potter’s best kept secrets. And by the gods it was more entertaining than the daily grind he’d resigned himself to in an attempt to obtain a tolerable future.

Once upon a time he’d made frequent efforts to garner a reaction from Harry. The sight of his reddened cheeks and heated eyes directed straight at him had thrilled him to no end. And that’s all there was to it. It was nothing to do with actually giving him what he needed, or whatever nonsense Ginny Weasley had spouted. He was bored. Simple as that. And there was no harm in having a little fun. Merlin knew he hadn’t had much of that as of late.

Draco observed Harry intently from then on. More intently than usual that is.

He’d always watched him to some extent, but now it was bordering on obsessive. When Draco wasn’t working on assignments or chatting with his housemates he was scrutinizing Harry from afar. Studying him. Like he was a magical beast in the Monster Book of Monsters.

That was how he’d picked up on his eating habits and how incredibly concerning they were. Harry was practically wasting away. And Draco, to his own shock and surprise, was worried. It seemed like such a horrendous loss of opportunity for someone to survive the killing curse twice in their life only to starve to death due to self-inflicted negligence. He watched Harry poke aimlessly at the few items on his plate, never so much as lifting the silver fork to his face. Granger, to her credit, had at least loaded his plate up with food when she noticed it was still empty nearly halfway through the meal. But she didn’t monitor him after that. Not enough to notice the food was simply rearranged rather than ever consumed.

Draco pressed his mouth into his knuckles, the head of his serpent ring nipping at his lips. He was so busy watching Harry not eat, that he hardly ate himself, and when Pansy kicked him pointedly beneath the table he flinched in surprise and hurriedly shoved a few spoonfuls of French onion soup into his mouth, trying his best not to splash it all over his perfectly pristine robes. Theo met his gaze briefly, scowling at him in a mix of confusion and disgust, but Draco ignored him. He had more important things to focus on in that moment. Like how Harry had just stood from the Gryffindor table and was quickly heading towards the doors to leave.

Draco choked on the hot liquid still making its way down his throat and dropped his spoon into the bowl with a splash. He wrapped a napkin around a few biscuits in a hurry and as he stood up he paused, reaching over Blaise’s head to snatch a stray piece of treacle tart from his over stacked plate. He ignored his friend’s offended spluttering and swiftly followed Harry’s path out the door.

He managed to catch up and corner Harry halfway towards Transfiguration. With a quick glance around to make sure they were alone, Draco whipped the bundled items out from within his pockets and pressed them into Harry’s startled hands. “Sweet Merlin, Potter, you look like you’re dead on your feet. Do me a favour and eat something before I’m forced to scrape you up from the stone floor.”

The biscuits were received with a questioning look, but the treacle brought a particular shine to Harry’s eyes that Draco hadn’t realised he’d missed seeing. Harry still eyed it all suspiciously for a moment before he shrugged and took a small bite of the sugary sweet snack. As they walked the rest of the way towards class, Draco watched him nibble away at it like the entire experience was some kind of optical drug injected into his very veins via his vision. And though he didn’t realize it at the time, he was well and truly addicted.

“Ginevra, we meet again,” Draco drawled, like he hadn’t actively followed her through the halls for the last ten minutes just to catch a brief moment of her time.

“It’s Ginny,” she muttered, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head as she let her hands fall to her sides dramatically.

He ignored her, and with no small amount of glee, immediately blurted, “He needs someone who makes sure he eats.” She looked somewhat surprised at that claim, and he stood tall with pride at having solved the puzzle. “I swear he’d disappear entirely if not for others constantly putting things on his plate.” Draco leaned against the nearest tapestry, staggering slightly as it dipped into a crevice in the wall, and he pushed himself away from it and dusted off his shoulder like the tapestry had been the one to lean against him. “You know, I practically had to shove a meal down his throat outside the Transfiguration classroom this afternoon. Completely missed breakfast, and may as well have skipped lunch for all he consumed.” Ginny remained silent, and Draco gestured at her in disbelief. “Nothing, Ginevra. He ate nothing. Can you believe it? The moron.”

She tilted her head to the side, eyed him like he was the puzzle that needed solving instead, and then after a moment of consideration her expression morphed into intrigue. “And?” she asked tauntingly. “What else?” Draco ogled her in surprise. He was stunned silent. And she laughed at his expression before adding, “Well you can’t be so daft to think that’s all he needs. If that were the case my mother would be more than sufficient.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open and he snapped it closed immediately. He wasn’t about to catch flies in front of her like a bedraggled peasant. “O-of course not, I know that,” he stuttered, his eyes shifting back and forth as he fought the blush rapidly appearing on his cheeks. She didn’t look like she was buying his act, and Draco floundered for a moment before huffing loudly and skirting away down the hall from her.

Draco’s watching continued, though with little success, for several days after the incident, as he was referring to it. He knew that Ginny hadn’t been convinced by his stuttered ramblings in the least. Her challenging gaze often met his across the Hogwarts grounds, and then she would smirk, in that infuriating way of hers. It made Draco want to curse the damn thing off her face.

Ginny Weasley, of all people, had made a mockery of him with hardly any effort at all. And now he was left feeling rather downtrodden as he struggled to come up with any sort of solid answer to the puzzle.

Ridicule was supposed to be his specialty. Not hers. How dare she.

It was complete happenstance that he spotted Harry walking on the seventh floor that morning. They didn’t share any classes that day, and Draco only travelled so high in the castle to attend his own Arithmancy lessons, always careful to avoid the curiously blank section of wall across from the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. He stopped for a moment and followed the brainless idiot’s movements with his eyes. Harry walked aimlessly, like a puppet controlled by strings. One foot in front of the other, each dragging across the ground with every onerous step ahead. He clearly wasn’t seeing anything in front of him, and his fingers scratched idly at his wrist again, practically rubbing it raw. Draco followed him from a distance as he continued ahead towards the stairwell down. The currently empty stairwell. Its staircase nowhere to be found. And it looked like he wasn’t stopping. Scratch that, he definitely wasn’t stopping.

Draco’s eyes widened, his heart lurched in his chest, and he dropped his satchel full of supplies as he launched himself down the hall like a man on a mission. His loafers squeaked atop the stone floor as he scrambled forwards and stretched his arm out while simultaneously grasping the nearest suit of armour – some knight that Draco couldn’t be arsed to care about – to keep his momentum from launching himself right into the horrifyingly lengthy drop ahead. The knight spluttered at him and squawked indignantly as Draco yanked it precariously to one side, but the metal plates held fast in his grip. One of Harry’s feet was already hanging out over nothing but air once Draco reached him, and he wrenched him away from the ledge with all his might, so forcefully it sent his body flying backwards towards the ground. Draco scrambled to steady himself against the nearest wall after, and as his heart beat rapidly in his chest, he screamed, “Potter, what the fuck!”

Harry looked up at him from his place on the ground with wide eyes, then towards the open edge where the staircase no longer resided. “I…,”

Draco didn’t give him time to finish his sentence, immediately stepping closer as he snapped, “Are you a complete idiot?!”

Draco’s vision had greyed out as his head rushed with adrenaline, but when it cleared he noticed Harry’s eyes were glassy, and there was a slight tremble in his arms that betrayed his terror. But it was gone so quickly Draco was hardly sure it was ever there. And that was the worst part. That aside from that brief glimpse, Harry didn’t seem particularly fazed. He just looked at the place where the staircase should have been, and wasn’t, blankly. As though it was expected. As though walking over that ledge would have been perfectly fine and not a complete fucking travesty that would tear a schism in the fragile state of the Wizarding World. Or in Draco’s already crumbled psyche.

Draco’s voice caught in his throat, his anger immediately dissipating. He bent low, touching Harry’s elbow gently, and muttered, “Shit. Fucking hell, Potter, it’s okay,” more for himself than anyone else. To calm his frazzled nerves. Because Harry was apparently fucking fine with it all. Completely at peace with the idea of dying another fucking time. The Boy Who Lived Thrice. Hah! More like The Boy Who Barely Lived at All. Draco nearly laughed out loud, but nothing about the situation was humorous, and it came out as more of a shaken gasp of air than anything else.

Draco stood there anxiously, breathing deeply as he came down from whatever existential crisis had decided to show its face and wreak havoc on his emotions while Harry lingered beside him on the ground like a lifeless wraith. He waited for the staircase to come back, helped Harry back to his feet, and walked side by side with him down multiple levels to his next class, even though Draco’s was four floors above and had long since started. When Harry walked into his designated classroom his eyes were still glazed over, completely unseeing, and Draco wondered if it would happen again. Would he wake up one day to find out that Harry Potter had toppled over the side of the Astronomy Tower without even realizing it before he hit the ground and died? Even worse, what if he did realize it, but not until it was far too late, and his last waking thought was consumed with a nightmarish level of fear? Or even worse than that, he did realize it, and didn’t fucking care.

Draco shivered and shook his head free of that particular notion as he worked his way slowly back upstairs on unsteady legs. He eased into his classroom with a whispered apology, hardly even fazed by the scathing look the professor directed his way or the curious glances from his classmates. His mind was too gone. Lost in a never-ending cycle of nightmarish imagery, each possibility worse than the last.

He made a point of tracking Harry’s schedule and tailing him discreetly throughout the castle every day after.

“He needs someone to protect him,” he wheezed as he slumped down atop the curved stone bench below. “Nearly fell right off the edge of an empty stairwell this morning.” Draco tried to control the slight tremble in his voice that betrayed his genuine concern. He was still shaken. It had been far too close. Another second and Harry might have…

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to imagine what might have happened if the fabric of Harry’s robes had slipped through his grasp before he could properly take hold of it. Tried to block out the image of him falling endlessly into the depths of the castle that his brain had formulated moments after leaving his side. Draco was not particularly comfortable with the way that particular figment of his imagination was already beginning to replace Dumbledore’s death in the crevices of his mind. “Daft idiot. Going to get himself killed out of pure obliviousness one of these days. Who needs a Dark Lord when you’re determined to do yourself in like that?”

Ginny was eyeing him intently from where she sat nearby, her gaze laced with worry but also acknowledgment that Draco didn’t fully understand. “What?” he snapped at her, his voice scratchy and pitched significantly higher than he would have liked.

“I’m genuinely surprised you figured that one out,” she spoke softly. “Most people assume Harry will be the one to protect them. To look out for them and fight their battles for them.” She leaned back against the carved décor of the wyvern fountain behind them, staring up at the clouds. It looked like it might storm. “I was guilty of that once.”

“And you’re not now?”

She chuckled sadly. “Merlin, no. I can protect myself and others perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“So why not stay with him?”

She blinked up at the sky and turned towards him just as the first raindrops started to fall. “Well, obviously, because that’s not all he needs.”

Harry looked tired. Every second of every day. His eyes were nearly always glazed over, his entire body sagging like he wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and find a permanent home in the cracks between the stones. He walked from place to place like an Inferi raised from the dead. It was no wonder he was utterly helpless all of the time.

Except when he was flying. Then, and only then, he looked so incredibly alive.

They weren’t allowed to play on the house teams as eighth years. But it didn’t stop them from getting on their brooms after hours and flying around the pitch whenever it was available. Harry was out there more often than most, and when Draco spotted him in the air as he approached, broom in hand, he couldn’t resist releasing a snitch into the sky and challenging him. To his delight, Harry responded to the challenge in kind.

The two of them circled the pitch in tandem, searching the skies for a familiar flash of gold. It was an easy rhythm to settle into. Familiar. And for a time, Draco could almost convince himself that they were little more than two schoolboys competing in a carefree game. That they hadn’t fought on opposite sides of a war. That they hadn’t cursed each other, left permanent scars on each other, and spent days drowning in the losses that still haunted every step they took inside the castle walls.

Draco’s gaze travelled to Harry often, taking in his windblown appearance and exhilarated expression. He looked…happy. Truly happy. For the first time in months. Even as the crisp, cool air, just on the cusp of winter, nipped at his exposed skin.

Draco faltered at the sight of his grin, the way it split wide across his face. It was brighter than the stars on a clear night’s sky. It almost made him hold back and let Harry take the snitch in between his fingers without a fight. But in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to give up the rare win when the small winged-ball passed him by close enough to snatch easily into his grasp. He regretted it immediately when he spotted the crestfallen look now in the place of that shining smile.

With his Quidditch robes flapping wildly about his form Draco flew over to Harry’s side. He was at a loss for words as he looked upon Harry’s flushed skin. His pink lips were slightly chapped from the dry air, and he grasped the neck of his broomstick so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Merlin, where on earth were his Quidditch gloves? Draco glanced back up at Harry’s eyes, already glossing over as the excitement from their race faded.

It was the first time he’d ever beat Harry Potter to the snitch, and yet, Draco couldn’t bring himself to gloat. The tiny wings fluttered furiously in Draco’s hand as the snitch sought its freedom, but Draco only held on to it tighter as he felt his chest constricting the longer they floated next to each other in silence. Why was it so hard to breathe? What was wrong with him?

The intelligent thing to do would have been to call it a day. The sun was getting lower in the sky. It would be curfew soon, and they’d already missed dinner.  But he didn’t want this moment between them to end. The match had only left him yearning for more. More of what, exactly, he didn’t feel particularly inclined to consider. But he knew without a doubt that he wanted to watch the light return to Harry’s eyes. To fly next to him for hours as he radiated with life. To watch that smile stretch across his face again as they laughed and teased each other with the wind in their hair.

In a moment of absolute weakness he held the snitch out between them, fist directed upwards in wait. “Best two out of three?” he offered, drawing Harry’s startled gaze towards him.

And just like that, it was like the sun lifted back up into the sky. Harry’s mouth widened into a toothy and incredibly endearing smile. His eyes curved slightly along with it, shining bright as can be. His so often slouched shoulders straightened as his entire form seemed to reignite. “Yeah? Sure!” he breathed excitedly, and Draco consumed the sight of him like a starving man.

He wasn’t even upset when Harry won the next two matches. If anything, he was relieved. Because Harry was glowing. And when they finally landed, that joy, that indescribable and exquisite delight that positively radiated from Harry while he was flying, remained. The two of them bantered back and forth like old times, only without the bottled up rage and masked jealousy that had followed Draco throughout the bulk of his youth. Draco even found himself returning Harry’s grins with playful smirks of his own that left Harry blushing in a new and unfamiliar way and floundering for a coherent response while Draco’s heart beat twice as fast as usual in his chest. It was infinitely better than staring into Harry’s vacant expression, wondering if the light would ever return to his eyes again, or if he’d seen that infectious radiant life for the last time. And when Draco swung his arm over Harry’s shoulder to pull him towards the locker rooms to shower and change, surprisingly, Harry didn’t shake it off.

He was at the drinking fountain across from her brushing his sweaty hair back away from his face when he blurted, “He needs someone to make him feel alive.” Draco propped his hands on the engraved stone and bent over the structure as he caught his breath, and a few loose blond strands dripped down in front of his eyes while he leaned in to drink his weight in water. Merlin, he was tired.

The upper years of all four houses had come together for a spur of the moment exhibition Quidditch game. It was some inter-house relationship building exercise that Granger had pitched in their last Prefect Meeting. To ‘promote the value of working together as a community’, or some other such nonsense. It sounded like complete drivel when she first described it, but Draco still volunteered to captain one of the teams when he heard that Harry would be playing on the other. He’d do anything to see his captivating expression of joy up close and personal again, even participate in one of Granger’s ridiculous extracurricular events.

And he had seen it. Oh how he had seen it. That stupid smile. On display the entire time Harry was in the air. And perhaps Draco had spent more time looking at him then he had actually looking for the snitch. But how could he not, when Harry shone far brighter, and sparkled like he was born of the sun and stars.

With Draco so distracted, Harry had ultimately caught the snitch again, of course, winning the game despite Draco’s own team’s efforts and initial lead in goals. It was like a permanent fixture in Harry’s hand at this point. He was still out in the field even then, floating between the posts with a practise snitch, and Draco’s gaze flitted towards him like he was under the influence of a spell. Gods, Harry was truly something else in the air. Bloody well made to fly. Draco could have sat there shamelessly watching him all day long. He gaped at him blatantly, hardly even noticing as the water from the fountain missed his mouth entirely and dripped down the edge of his jaw instead.

When he managed to pull his gaze away and wipe away the wet trails from his chin, Ginny was peering at him curiously. Calculatingly. Her eyes took in his windblown and sweat-laden appearance with amusement. She had the gall to look as though the five and a half hour match barely affected her in the slightest, while Draco was a sticky mess. He was out of practice, admittedly, and the continuous flight had completely ruined him. Full on games were entirely different than casual flights around the pitch or simple seekers matches. His legs were on fire from constantly dodging incoming bludgers, and his abs felt like they’d risen from the dead after weeks of neglect. It was brilliant. But he was one hundred percent down for the count.

“Why?” she asked as she squeezed her towel out over the basin until it was sufficiently damp.

Draco shook himself free of his thoughts, and tried to recall what he’d even been talking about. His face fell the moment he did, and he uttered, “Because he sometimes thinks he’s still dead.”

She pondered him for a moment before throwing the now cool towel over her shoulders with a relieved sigh. “Very astute,” she commented.

He pushed himself upright and stretched his shoulders out, wincing slightly when a crack sounded from somewhere beneath his skin. “That’s it then,” he gritted out.

But then she laughed at him haughtily and said, “Of course that’s not it.”

Draco hated the sight of the confident smirk on her face. He practically ripped his gloves off his hands before sticking his thumb in the constant stream of drinking water to direct it at her face. She squawked and swatted at it when it sprayed right at her, trying to direct it back his way, but it did little more than add a few stray droplets to his already drenched jersey.

“You stink,” she muttered afterwards, scrunching her nose at him as she waved her hand dramatically in front of her face. And then she picked up her broomstick and glowered at him. “Keep trying Malfoy, you might actually get it one day, just like the snitch.”

He scowled at her and hissed, “Oi! Cow! You lost too! Score more goals next time why don’t you!” as she walked away, though it lacked its usual bite, and he was certain he spotted a grin on her face as she disappeared into the locker room.

The last thing Draco expected to walk into when he turned the corner into a largely abandoned hallway on the second floor was a stray pair of disembodied legs. They were sprawled across the ground, seemingly attached to nothing at all, and he shrieked loudly at the sight of them and scrambled backwards in the hall. His satchel flew from his shoulder and across the stone tiling, several of the supplies within scattering over the floor, and his back pressed up against the wall across from the strange apparition as he cowered in fear. Disgusting gurgling noises reached his ears the moment they stopped ringing. Like someone was choking, perhaps on their own blood. Or any number of other horrifying things. And the nearby walls were shaking, the portraits rattling as they quaked precariously from some unknown force. He could only imagine what sort of ghoul might have crawled out of the woodwork with intent to finally do him in.

He pulled his wand free with shaking fingers and brandished it threateningly at the unmoving appendages as though they might jump out at him and attempt to kick him into submission. “S-show yourself!” he shouted, and to his horror, they merely shifted upwards at the knee, and then pulled away, disappearing beneath some kind of invisible shroud. He could still see the patched up trainers sticking out from the wall, and he was half a second away from reciting his last words when he recognized the layered Spellotape holding the soles in place.

What in the…

He lowered his wand slowly and stepped closer on trembling legs. It took every ounce of his willpower to reach out his palm until it came up against something solid and soft. He couldn’t help but flinch away from it at first, but then when nothing perturbing happened he grabbed hold of the rumpled fabric and lifted it with a flourish. And like a cheap muggle magic trick Harry was revealed to him in his entirety. Slumped on the floor, heaving as though the air was poison, and with his hands wrapped around his own neck as he clawed at the skin there desperately. There was magic coiled around him too, erratic, like a dark thrashing cloud, and it lashed out at several objects in their surroundings seemingly at random.

It took Draco a moment to come to his senses, but once his heart stopped trying to jump out of his chest he fell to his knees in front of Harry, dropping his wand with a clatter as he eyed him with dismay. He was having some kind of…panic attack! Draco couldn’t see anything in the surrounding area that might have caused it and he floundered on his knees for a moment uselessly with no clue what to do. He wasn’t exactly a healer. He’d seen similar things among students in the dorms. Especially in recent years. Though nothing so violent. But the sight of Harry gasping desperately for air while his face greyed from lack of oxygen intake was enough to push him into action as he scoured his memory for a solution.

“Potter, for fuck’s sake, breathe,” he pleaded. He reached out towards him, prying Harry’s hands away from his abused windpipe. “Just breathe,” he urged, softer this time. He pulled Harry closer and ran his fingers soothingly through his hair, ignoring the increasing rattling in the walls and the swirling magic winds lashing at his robes. It hardly helped, and Harry stared at him with wide frightened eyes as his chest jerked in irregular patterns with each pained gasp of insufficient air. He needed help, and fast.

Draco clenched his jaw and held out his hand blindly towards the hall to wandlessly summon his bag. It spun on the floor wildly, quills and ink shooting out from the large pouch as it swirled towards him in a whirlwind. When it slapped against his face and fell limply over his thighs Draco wasn’t even offended, and he reached into it with shaking fingers in search of his portable potions kit.

“Come on, come on, where are they,” he muttered, hoping the potions hadn’t flown free when he’d first dropped it, and when his palm settled against the familiar smooth glass vials he yanked them from the opening and scattered them carelessly on the ground beside him. It took him a moment to find the right one, and he quickly popped the cork from the vial with his thumb. Then he grasped the back of Harry’s neck and tilted his head to ease the pale blue liquid down his throat drop by drop. It wasn’t a very complex calming draught. Something simple. Meant only to suppress Draco’s overactive mind when it prevented him from focusing on a singular thought. But it was the best he had at the moment, and he sincerely hoped it did the trick.

Thankfully, the dark magic tendrils dissipated almost immediately, snapping quickly out of existence as the rapid shaking in Harry’s chest abated somewhat, and the tension in his body eased as he managed a few half-hearted intakes of air. “That’s it,” Draco soothed. He was pleased to see some of the colour returning to Harry’s face, even if his breathing hadn’t completely stabilized yet and his panic was far from gone. Draco was certain it could easily worsen again too, and he pushed aside his bag rather roughly, kicking away several books and rolled parchments in the process as he shifted Harry into his arms and propped himself against the wall behind him. “I want you to count with me, okay?” he whispered in his ear, and Draco slid the scaled silver band from his finger and pressed it into Harry’s grasping hands. He guided Harry’s thumbs over the engraved ouroboros, just like he always did himself when he needed something to occupy his fidgeting fingers. One at a time they traced the intertwined scales together, Draco counting upwards at his temple, until Harry himself took hold of the ring and began working his fingers around it in an endless cycle. When Harry’s breathing evened out, Draco let his head fall back against the stone wall in relief, but he didn’t dare move away. Even if it took hours, he was determined to stay. Until there wasn’t a hint of a tremble in Harry’s form.

And even then it was Harry that eventually pulled out of his embrace. At the sound of the bell chime signalling the end of break, he jolted and stood up on wobbly legs. Draco followed, gathering his and Harry’s things into his arms and straightening the lopsided portraits on the wall with a quickly cast charm. Harry still clung to the ring as he twisted the serpent around and around between his thumb and forefinger. One scale at a time. Over and over again as his empty gaze stared down at the ground.

Fuck, Draco hated seeing that expression on his face.

Draco reached out and touched his shoulder tentatively, and Harry blinked himself back to awareness and flushed as he fully acknowledged his surroundings. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stuttered out a bloody needless apology, and as Harry looked up at him with red rimmed eyes nestled behind those large round frames Draco came to an astonishing revelation.

He should have realized it ages ago. When he was half out of his mind with awe because of some stupid grin on Harry Potter’s stupid bloody face. When he’d felt the need to forfeit his own ambition for the sake of another’s happiness. Hells, when he’d lied directly to Bellatrix in the middle of the war. This wasn’t just some stupid puzzle to solve. Or entertainment to get him through the day. He actually cared. He was completely and utterly besotted, come to think of it. Hopelessly enamoured with the bloody Boy Who Lived. And he wanted to find out what Harry needed so desperately so that, for just once in his life, he might be the one to give it to him. That he might be the reason for that fucking flawless smile.

And the more he thought about it, the more he wondered.

What if he really could?

“He needs someone to ground him. To bring him back, when he’s so far gone he can’t even breathe,” Draco commented, his gaze fixed somewhere straight ahead. He wasn’t looking at anything in particular, leaning back so far in his chair that it was propped up against one of the bookshelves behind him. He wasn’t even put off by Madam Pince’s stern glare from across the room. The books could handle a little bit of his drama. Though when she stood from her desk, straightened her perfectly pressed robes, and so much as hinted at walking in his direction, Draco still scrambled to readjust his chair to its proper place on the ground.

“You saw one then. One of his…attacks,” Ginny clarified.

He nodded mutely. His fingers tapped erratically atop the desk, and he reached for them subconsciously only to wrench his hands quickly apart when his thumb came across bare skin instead of the familiar cold metal of his favourite ring. He felt practically naked without it. It was like an entire appendage was missing and he had to readjust the way he accomplished every task without it.

“They happen often?” Draco asked quietly, pressing his fingers into his knees to keep them from bouncing up and down.

“Often enough,” she muttered. “They’ve gotten worse. Since the war.” The sound of her quill scratching over parchment was the only thing that filled the silence until she paused and suddenly asked, “So, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Ground him?”

Draco faltered, his fidgeting halting for the first time in hours.

He recalled the way Harry had looked up at him, with those devastatingly beautiful eyes. How he’d let Draco carry his things, press a palm against his lower back, and guide him towards their next class. How the few lingering trembles in his shoulders had slowly faded away with each step they shared side by side. Harry’s body was practically limp and toppling over by the time they reached History of Magic. And then he’d fallen asleep atop his desk, his face completely lax in the midst of a rare peaceful slumber.

Draco had watched the afternoon sun’s rays cascade through the stained glass windows and down across his form. Spotted the occasional glint of light from a familiar trinket on one of his fingers. And when the bell rang to signal the end of class he’d met green eyes, clear, and aware, if a little drowsy, and looking at him like they actually saw him instead of through him for once, before they both went their separate ways.

“Yes, I suppose I did,” he said.

“Good.”

Draco glanced towards her quickly. He was tempted to claim he’d finally discovered the answer to her little challenge, but he knew in his heart there was more to uncover. He hadn’t solved it yet. Not by a long shot.

Almost like the subject of their conversation had heard them talking about him, Harry walked into the library, pushing the creaky door open slowly with both his hands. He stepped inside tentatively and scanned the tables as he held his satchel in front of him like a shield, but the moment Draco caught his eye he skittered behind a shelf like a scared rabbit. Draco shared a confused glance with Ginny, who looked equally as mystified by his behaviour. Draco sat there for a few minutes watching the aisles for a hint of him with no success. And he spent much of the rest of his afternoon fishing through nearby shelves as he discreetly tried and failed to find Harry between the endless rows of books. By the time he returned to his seat he was suitably disgruntled. Harry was clearly avoiding him.

He let out a hefty sigh and pulled his Arithmancy text closer in an attempt to get some actual work done when he noticed the book wasn’t quite closed all the way. Draco tilted his head to the side in confusion and poked his finger inside the obvious gap between pages to flip it open, and as the book parted atop the table with a hefty flop, a small piece of paper flew outwards and away from it. Draco spluttered and scrambled to catch it, gangly fingers crumpling the paper inelegantly as he clutched it tight to his chest. He blinked down at his clenched fist, gaze flicking towards the open book and widening as he spotted his silver ouroboros ring tucked into the crease between the pages. His heart skipped, and he lowered his hands into his lap with budding excitement before unfolding the wrinkled paper with shaking fingers.

It was a note. And though the message was nothing special, he stared at it like it was a precious treasure for an outrageous length of time.

Thank you.

   ~ Harry

That’s all it said. Two words, scratched unevenly on a torn bit of parchment. But Draco still studied the crudely etched letters like they possessed hidden magic more powerful than every rune within an ancient tome. Draco lifted the ring after, pressing the coiled serpent into his palm as though searching for the warmth of another’s hands.

“What are you grinning at so delightedly?” Ginny asked. Draco’s fist snapped closed and he practically slammed the book shut, trapping the note inside the pages as he did so. He’d completely forgotten she was even there.

“Nothing,” he spat. She raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously, but he stared at her challengingly until she gave up and looked away. Draco swallowed and pulled his hand beneath the table edge before opening it upwards atop his knee. The ring glinted up at him from the centre of his palm like a twinkling star. After a moment he slid it over his finger discreetly, and once it settled back into place his thumb dragged across the familiar scaled surface as he recalled holding it in Harry’s hands.

They were smaller than his own. Harry’s hands. Small enough to encase them entirely within his grasp.

He felt his ears heating up as that thought swirled in his mind persistently and he gritted his teeth as he willed himself to focus on his assignment instead. But somehow, decoding the intricate magical properties hidden in the numerology of several ancient passages and relating them back to how they had correlated with specific events throughout the history of magic was proving difficult, especially when the only thing he could focus on were the magical properties of Harry’s name.

Later, after decorating nearly thirteen inches of parchment with variations of Harry in both numerical and letter form, Draco lay within the confines of his four-poster bed and pulled the trapped note free from his Arithmancy text. He held it up over his head and stared at it well into the night.

Harry. He’d signed it Harry.

Draco pressed the ring over his mouth, the metal cool against his heated lips. He knew there was more to uncover. So much more for him to give. And he would give it. Anything. If only to hold those hands within his own once again.

Draco had noticed that Harry didn’t seem to feel his surroundings. Not in the way most people did. He barely even acknowledged the cold. Going out in the early mornings and evenings without so much as a cloak over his shoulders to keep him warm. But this. This was far too much.

“Merlin, Potter, what are you doing?” Draco cried out, feet crunching through the first fresh snow of the season as he strolled over to Harry’s side. The idiot was standing there looking out over the water of the Black Lake, completely oblivious to his surroundings. And perhaps that would have been fine, if he had been wearing shoes, and didn’t have his bloody toes submerged in the ice cold water. “You must be freezing! Are you completely mad?” Draco gasped.

Harry turned his head towards him slowly, and his eyes blinked at Draco in confusion. When Draco gestured towards his feet incredulously, Harry looked down at them like it was the first time he’d seen them all day. “Oh,” he muttered quietly, and Draco stepped up right beside him.

“Where the fuck are your shoes?”

Harry’s vision cleared somewhat, and he looked around them confusedly. “I…I’m not sure. I can’t remember. I think maybe I never put them on,” he admitted, and Draco’s heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest.

“How long have you been here like this? You’re going to lose your toes if you do that much longer,” he breathed in warning. “Have you never heard of frostbite, Potter? Hypothermia?” Still, Harry didn’t move, so Draco moved for him, pushing him backwards from the water’s edge before lifting him into his arms. Harry breathed in quickly as he was hoisted up, looking down into Draco’s eyes with real surprise while his legs dangled at the edges of Draco’s hips.

“What are you doing?”

Draco faltered. What was he doing? He stared up at Harry dumbly as his fingers settled firmly beneath his rear. Fuck they were close. “G-getting you inside, of course. To warm up,” he stuttered out. “Maybe some hot cocoa in front of a fireplace?” That sounded like a distinctly ridiculous suggestion coming out of his mouth, and Draco coughed slightly as his cheeks reddened from more than just the cold. “Can’t let you die on my watch. Can you imagine the scandal? The headlines? Ex Death Eater lets Boy Who Lived Multiple Times Finally Perish on Hogwarts Grounds. They’d revoke my Prefect status,” he babbled on.

He caught Harry’s pretty green gaze briefly and tightened his grip. There were snowflakes speckled throughout his eyelashes, and Draco wondered how they’d managed to sneak in behind the frames of his glasses. Magic. It must have been. There was no other logical explanation.

The longer they stared at each other the more tempted Draco was to say something he wasn’t entirely ready to, and without waiting for Harry’s agreement, he swivelled in the snow and began walking swiftly back towards the school. At least as swiftly as one could while carrying another human being of the same age. Even if said human being was considerably smaller in stature.

He felt Harry slump against him after a few steps, and Draco wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than being on the other end of his snow frosted stare. Harry’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as his head of fluffy hair settled beside his own, and Draco nearly stumbled over his own two feet in surprise when he felt heated breaths up against the skin of his neck. Draco paused to readjust Harry in his arms, and by the time they stepped inside the large gothic doors Harry was sound asleep.

“Ridiculous,” Draco muttered to himself. Though internally, he was savouring every second of the experience, even if his arms were beginning to strain by the time he reached Gryffindor Tower. Harry was short, yes, but he was still an eighteen year old boy for Merlin’s sake. And Draco, despite his posturing, was sadly not a god. He hoisted Harry upwards again, quickly checking to see if the movement roused him, and then bickered with the Fat Lady in hushed whispers – “Can’t you see he’s sleeping, would you just let me in you intolerable bint!” – until the portrait eventually opened from the inside. Draco pushed himself between the group of leaving third years despite her shouts of disagreement and stepped into the commons with disgust plastered across his face. It was…vile. Maroon everywhere, at least fifteen different shades of it! And gold filigree trimming lined nearly every visible surface. No wonder Gryffindors were so unbearable. Their living quarters were absolutely tragic.

He ignored the baffled looks directed his way from the students huddled together nearby. If anything deserved such affront it was the egregiously patterned lounges they sat on. His gaze wandered the room as he strolled passed them, until he found Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan hunched over a game of exploding snap, and he walked right up to them and drawled, “Thomas, Finnegan, do me the courtesy of directing me towards your dorm, so I no longer have to burn my retinas on this frankly horrific décor.”

The two of them looked up at him in surprise, gazes flicking towards Harry for a moment before refocusing back on him. They were both staring at him like he had some kind of transmittable disease, and Seamus dropped the card held limply from his extended fingers and it exploded as it hit the pile sitting in front of him. He cursed and looked down at the empty space left behind while Dean pointed hesitantly towards a staircase in the corner, his lips still hanging open in surprise.

Draco made quick work of the spiral stairs, stopping at each landing to take a few hoarse gasps of air while his thighs burned from the strain. He was beyond grateful to find the eighth year dorm room was empty once he made it there. He found Harry’s bed easily among the rest, framed as it was with various Quidditch paraphernalia and several photos of his parents and friends. Draco kicked away the covers with a mild struggle and then laid Harry down amidst them, careful to keep his head supported on the way. After a brief moment spent wiping the beads of sweat away from his face, he folded Harry’s glasses and set them on the nearest dresser, then dried his robes and warmed his alarmingly ice cold toes before sliding his feet into a fuzzy pair of knitted mismatched socks. They were ugly as sin, but would hopefully do the trick. Lastly, he pulled the heavy comforter atop his body, and after watching him curl into the heat of his bedding, he left, as though he’d never been there at all.

It wasn’t hot cocoa in front of a fireplace. As much as he wished it was. But it was something.

Draco just hoped it was enough.

Draco peered into his bags, taking inventory of his purchases as he walked across the cobbled pathways of Hogsmeade Village. The holidays were still several weeks away, but it was never too soon to get a handle on shopping. He knew it would be different this year. Less…extravagant. What with his parents having been confined to the manor for the last several months, and the recent dent in their considerable wealth in an attempt to make reparations and mend the public image of their name. There were the memories too. The ones he’d rather avoid entirely for the rest of his days if he could. But, despite all of that, he had much to be grateful for, and he was going to make the best of it. He hoped his parents felt the same.

He spotted Ginny leaning against a lamppost as he shrunk his bags and tucked them away, licking at an ice cream cone in the middle of winter like a complete lunatic. Where had she even managed to find that? He shook his head and walked up beside her. She side-eyed him and took a break from devouring her treat to comment, “I heard you infiltrated our common room.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, horrid place,” he sneered. Then without further prompting he ranted, “And I didn’t subject myself to it by choice. I had to put Potter to bed like his own personal house elf. He even needs someone to dress him by the gods. Utterly hopeless.”

“Ah,” she acknowledged. “Is that your solution?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying…,” he trailed off. Draco looked down at his feet and pressed his sole into the snow several times until the imprint began to look like it was left by a Hippogriff.

“Hmm. I thought not. In fact, it looks like you intend to do the opposite of dress him from where I’m standing most of the time,” Ginny muttered under her breath.

It took Draco a moment to connect the dots, but once he did he sputtered indignantly and scoffed, “How crass.” She laughed mischievously and then took a full on bite of the ice cream atop her cone. Draco eyed her with disgust as she even chewed it before swallowing. Absolutely barmy.

“I don’t hear you denying it,” she taunted.

Instead of arguing with her Draco turned away and stayed remarkably quiet. She…she wasn’t wrong. He knew there was attraction there. Beyond all the other desires he had when it came to Harry. Draco was a gay man for crying out loud. Pansy had already clocked him for it too. Years ago. Before he’d ever considered the possibility he might like boys. And Harry was…damn beautiful. And somehow getting even more gorgeous by the day. Draco was impossibly attracted to him despite his stupid glasses, permanently mussed up hair, and horrific fashion sense. But there were more pressing matters than his extraneous urges to strip Harry naked and take him apart up against the nearest wall.

“I’m not,” he admitted, and when her eyes widened in surprise, he turned towards her and crossed his arms. “I’m being serious though. He walks about in the snow without socks or shoes. Forgets his cloak and scarf. It’s like no one ever taught him how to do the basics.”

Ginny’s gaze remained visibly startled as she studied him, and then her expression shifted as her eyes filled with profound sadness. “Maybe no one did,” she said, her gaze suddenly distant.

Draco narrowed his eyes and shifted his shoulders uncomfortably as he asked, “What do you mean?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, before avoiding his gaze almost guiltily. “It’s not my place to tell.”

Draco felt like an Ashwinder had wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed. He struggled with the implications of her words. Didn’t Harry grow up with muggles? He was pretty sure he’d heard something about that somewhere along the line. His only living relatives. There had been articles about them in the Daily Prophet. Rumours. About neglect, and cupboards, and a general distaste for magic. Things that Draco had laughed at as a child because it was so ridiculous a notion. Especially after they’d all been told lavish tales about how Harry had been raised in the lap of luxury away from the public eye like some kind of prince. And now he wondered if perhaps…those rumours weren’t so ridiculous after all. If perhaps some of those articles held some truth to them.

Draco cleared his throat as he caught sight of Harry leaving Zonko’s Joke Shop down the street from them. His ears and cheeks were already red from the cold. He stepped down onto the snow covered pathway hesitantly, his exposed fingers clutched around the bag held between them. Like a child afraid someone would steal their favourite toy. Draco’s throat tightened and he pushed away from the wall, ignoring the burning sensation settling behind his eyes.

“Did you know he’s always fucking freezing? Fingers like ice. Refuses to learn a damn warming charm,” Draco choked out.

Ginny nodded and whispered, “I guess you’ll have to cast them for him then.”

“Damn right. Someone has to,” he uttered. And then he strode towards Harry a moment later, shouting down the street as he walked. “Potter! Put on your fucking mittens!”

Harry jolted and looked towards him, tracking his forward motion with wide eyes, right up until Draco was looking down at him from hardly a single step away. Draco snatched the bag from his unsuspecting fingers, and Harry watched him fearfully as Draco pulled him closer, opening Harry’s cloak up just enough to tuck his purchases inside one of the inner pockets. He patted it twice, muttered a quick, “Safe and sound,” and then fixed the fastenings lining the front of his robes. Harry had clearly forgotten his mittens entirely, so Draco removed his own, sliding them over Harry’s fingers in a hurry. When he was done, Harry’s mitten covered hands pressed over the obvious lump in his cloak briefly, and then he smiled softly, looking up at Draco with gratitude he didn’t feel like he deserved.

Draco ignored the heat building in his ears and removed his scarf too, wrapping it securely around Harry’s neck until the exposed skin was completely protected from the wind. And when he was fully bundled up, looking like a Puffskein ready for a snowstorm, Draco packed together some snow between his long fingers and tossed it at him challengingly. The flakes flew out on impact, framing Harry’s body in scattered ice crystals, and Harry flinched and held his hands out in front of his chest in surprise. For a moment Draco wondered if it was too much for him, too violent, but then their gazes met, and a familiar fire flickered behind those green eyes.

And that, was exactly what Draco wanted to see.

It was nearly three in the morning, the night before the train left for Yule, when Draco suddenly felt compelled to send a letter to Twillfitt and Tattings with an order for a new pair of sleek black trousers. It was highly urgent, and absolutely couldn’t wait, and was not at all a tactic to distract himself from the dreams that had tormented him and startled him awake half an hour prior.

Draco grimaced as he recalled the far too vivid nightmare. The manor’s walls had towered over him, and the temperature in the halls had been so cold he could see his own breath upon the air. He’d heard Voldemort’s strange sliding steps following him through the darkness, the slithering of his pet snake inching closer with each passing moment. Then Vince’s terrified face framed in fire had flashed before his eyes and he’d woken up to a phantom burning in his arm. It wasn’t really there, of course. The pain. But it didn’t change the fact that the mark upon his arm still was, glaring up at him mockingly. He’d looked at it for some time as he struggled to catch his breath, fingers pressing firmly into the permanent reminder that his worst nightmares were actually memories he’d had the burden of living through.

He walked up the owlery steps in his pyjamas, cloak and scarf wrapped tightly about his shoulders as he clutched the hastily written note between his fingers. It was quiet. And cold. Incredibly lonely. And for a moment Draco contemplated turning around and returning to the warmth of his bed. But then he reached the landing at the top of the stairs and spotted Harry sitting cross legged on the ground, atop who knew how much bird dung, and looking out at the night sky forlornly. Harry startled at the sound of Draco’s feet scuffing on the ground and pushed himself quickly to his feet, and Draco froze at the sight of his puffy eyes. He was wearing shoes, thank Merlin, but his cloak was nowhere to be seen.

“Potter, why on earth are you in the owlery at this time of day?” he asked.

“Why are you?” Harry snapped in return, though his voice trembled slightly over the words, and he was doing a shameful job of covering up his blotchy face as he wiped his nose and cheeks on the sleeve of his threadbare sweater.

“Prefect duties,” Draco replied, far too quickly to sound natural, and his voice cracked slightly as the words left his lips.

Harry frowned at him and then looked down at Draco’s satin clothed legs. “I didn’t realize patrols went all the way out here,” he muttered sullenly.

“Can’t be too careful. Never know when misbehaving students might be out of bed. Case in point.” He gestured towards Harry then added, “I should take points.”

Harry didn’t challenge the statement. He simply lowered his chin and waited for the judgement to come. Draco’s eyes narrowed, and he observed Harry carefully. Even in the low light of the tower the tear tracks were still visible on his skin. His lip trembled faintly too, and there were horribly dark circles behind the frames of his glasses. The round spectacles did nothing to hide the haunted look in his eyes. It wasn’t difficult to determine what had happened, because Draco recognized all of the signs in himself. Harry must have had a nightmare. And just like Draco, it had clearly been one bad enough to send him walking across the entire castle grounds in the middle of the night. He could only imagine what terrors Harry saw in his dreams.

Draco’s gaze lowered, latching on to Harry’s jittery hands, where he clutched a little white feather between his fingers like it was a lifeline.

Right. His owl. Yet another thing he’d lost in the war.

Draco swallowed nervously and shifted his weight to his other leg. “But I suppose I can let it slide this time,” he added softly. His fingers fidgeted with the letter clasped between them for a moment before he sighed and tucked it into the folds of his cloak. Draco held out his arm for his owl even though he had no intention of sending him off with a letter anymore, and Rion flew down upon him with a graceful swoop from the rafters. He was an elegant eagle owl, but feisty, and he nipped at Draco’s hair and clothes insistently in search of treats until Draco finally gave in and pulled some free from his pockets. Draco glanced towards Harry while Rion nibbled out of his palm and then cleared his throat.

“Well, since you’re here. Would you…would you like to pet my owl? I don’t give Rion enough attention. And he’s rather needy, as I’m sure you can see.” The owl puffed up indignantly in response. “He likes just about any treats, and a good scratch between the ears. Just under his feathers like so. Feel free to call on him, whenever. It might be nice for him to have more visitors. Not that you have to mind you-oof!” Draco gasped as Harry suddenly flung himself into his body with a surprising amount of force. He staggered backwards and his arm swayed as Rion’s wings flapped at the sudden instability of his perch.

Draco looked down at Harry in surprise. He eyed the mop of dark hair now tucked beneath his chin and the arms wrapped tightly about his body, and then he noticed Harry’s shoulders moving up in down with staggered jitters. Soft cries quickly followed, and in a matter of seconds Harry was full on sobbing, his tears soaking into the front of Draco’s cloak. “Ha-,” Draco faltered, the name caught on the very tip of his tongue. Instead he stood there awkwardly in the centre of the owlery with one arm raised, an owl balancing precariously on his elbow, and Harry Potter wrapped around him like a Bowtruckle clinging to a tree. Draco’s heart stuttered, and he took a shuddery breath before nodding at Rion, who took the hint for once and lifted off from his arm to hop onto a ledge beside them. And with both his arms completely free, Draco wrapped them hesitantly around Harry in return.

His fingers reached up into Harry’s curls, pressing the thick black strands down the way Draco’s mother used to when he was a child. And as his palm settled behind Harry’s neck Draco tensed. Merlin, he was cold. Positively glacial. How could he stand it? Draco whispered a heating charm and tried to massage some warmth back into his clammy skin. He held Harry like that for a while, encased him within the circle of his arms. Until his crying slowed, until his shoulders stilled. And when Harry’s grip on him eventually loosened, Draco pulled away just enough to peer down at his face. His face which he was pointedly hiding from Draco’s view. Soon after, Harry stepped backwards, and Draco let his arms fall away entirely. The two of them avoided each other’s gazes, shifting awkwardly in silence as they looked at the owls tucked into their little nooks along the walls.

Draco already missed the feeling of holding him in his arms. Holding Harry like that was so much better than holding just his hands. He slotted into the concave of Draco’s tall angular body alarmingly well. Like he was meant to be there all along. And now that he wasn’t, it felt as though a crucial part of his self was entirely missing. Draco wanted to reach out and grab him again. To pull him back in tight and never let go. But instead he stood there watching him with fleeting glances while his fingers grasped unconsciously at nothing but air.

Draco cleared his throat after a rather uncomfortable length of tense quiet and tentatively asked, “Did you…did you want to talk about it?” and when Draco stepped towards Harry with his hand raised, the sleeve of his robes fell backwards just enough to expose the edge of the branded coiling snake upon his arm, and Harry flinched and jerked away, practically throwing himself into one of the wooden support beams. The physical reaction was surprising, but it was the flash of horror in his gaze that was truly shocking. Like for a brief moment in time, Harry was genuinely terrified of him. Like he saw whatever haunted him in Draco’s form, in his movements, and it made Draco feel sick. He hurried to slide his sleeve back over the mark, clutching onto his arm tight enough to leave bruises upon his pale skin.

“S-sorry,” Harry stuttered, and Draco frowned at him in concern. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry. I know you aren’t…it’s just the dreams and…I mean…I’m just sorry. I’m so tired. I’m sorry.” A moment later he took a few more steps away, gaze lowered towards the stone floor. Draco could see Harry distancing himself, turning inwards as he grasped at his own wrist and began digging his nails into the skin. His breaths were quickening too, and Draco wondered if he was in the beginning stages of another panic attack.

It wasn’t right. That he was tormented like this. He shouldn’t be tainted by such darkness. Not when everything about him was good, and grand, and wondrously filled with light. It was clear he needed someone to talk him down. But Draco wasn’t sure that he could be the one to do so. Not now. Not after Harry’s visceral reaction to Draco reaching out towards him. Of course Harry wouldn’t want him to be the one to comfort him. Of course he would pull away from the person who had mocked and taunted him throughout their entire school career. Of course he wouldn’t want to be touched by someone with such a dark stain upon their arm.

Still, Draco wanted to try.

“Don’t say sorry for something you can’t control,” Draco whispered. His brow furrowed slightly in disgust. “It’s not like I’ve ever done anything to deserve your trust.” Harry froze, his rapid breaths coming to a sudden halt. “I…,” Draco started. “I don’t know where your nightmares take you. But, if they are anything like mine, then I understand. What it’s like to wake up and wonder what you could have done differently. To see the faces of those you’ve lost in the people around you. The faces of those you…fear.” Draco swallowed nervously when Harry’s scratching stopped, and he stepped towards him again, testing the waters as he slowly chased after him into the centre of the terrace. “You can’t change the past. But you don’t have to live in it,” he added. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. In an owlery, before the crack of dawn. With me, of all people,” Draco muttered, and he laughed bitterly. “I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear any of this from.” But then Harry looked up at him with wide watchful eyes, and Draco felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.

He stepped closer again, just a hair’s breadth away from Harry as he stared into his once again attentive gaze. He thought about what he’d always wished someone had told him. The one thing that might have helped when he woke from dreams that left him drowning in misery and guilt. “Whatever you see, just remember, that none of it was your fault.” Harry startled at his words, and his expression crumpled into one of disbelief, and Draco knew it had been exactly what he needed to hear. “None of it,” Draco reiterated, and when Harry let out a choked sob, and another tear dripped down his splotchy cheek, Draco hesitantly reached out to catch it on his finger. His fingers shook as they settled against his cool skin, and this time, Harry didn’t flinch away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, leaning into the touch for a moment like he was drawn to the warmth of Draco’s hand. He pulled away the moment he realized what he was doing and looked down at the floor forlornly with another hushed apology. Like he thought he couldn’t seek the comfort of a simple touch. It was heartbreaking. And enough to urge Draco to pull him swiftly back into his arms. Harry grunted as their bodies collided, and Draco clutched him so tight he was likely doing more harm than good. But wasn’t it just like him to break the things he cared about? It was the only thing he was good for these days. Shattering expectations in all the wrong ways.

It was after sunrise when Harry finally slipped free of his hold with a few muffled words of thanks as he struggled to hide his beet red face. His green eyes were glassy, and Draco sought them out almost frantically, desperate for some kind of acknowledgement of whatever connection they had shared in those few hours before the break of dawn.

In the end, he didn’t manage to catch them, and Harry stumbled away in a hurry while Draco leaned against one of the rafters wearily. He watched Harry race down the spiral stairs and then across the grounds towards the castle with far too many thoughts swirling about in his mind. The air was infinitely cooler without Harry there at his side. He felt the early morning breeze through the thin fabric of his pyjamas and shivered, wrapping his cloak tighter about his form. His gaze slid from Harry’s disappearing back towards the straw covered floor where he stared at the mix of owl droppings and mice bones strewn about in a daze.

How strange. How very strange. He was exhausted, and beyond mentally drained, and yet…he felt so light. Like a weight had lifted off his shoulders, and the simple act of holding Harry in his arms had cured him of a year’s worth of bottled up anguish. He laughed out loud suddenly. How ironic that Harry had thanked him, when Draco was the one who should have spoken those words. Without Harry, Draco wouldn’t have had a chance at any future, let alone a good one. He would have been locked away behind bars with the very subjects of so many of his nightmares. Hells, if not for Harry, he would have burned to ashes right along with Vincent in the churning flames of Fiendfyre. Fuck.

He closed his eyes for a moment before pushing away from the support beam behind him. His feet dragged through the straw mindlessly, and his vision remained hazy until his gaze landed on something strikingly familiar. A single feather, bright, and white, speckled with faint brown dots, and different from all those scattered around it. Harry must have dropped it in his hurry to leave.

Draco bent low to pick it up, twirling the feather delicately between his fingers as he let out a hefty sigh. He didn’t know exactly where Harry’s nightmares took him, but he hoped he wasn’t a regular feature in them. With their history, and the role Draco had played in the war, it was entirely possible. Perhaps when Harry looked at Draco he didn’t see Draco at all, but rather a faceless representation of every person who’d ever hurt him or those he loved. Or even worse, perhaps he saw Draco exactly as he was, and that alone was enough to ignite his fear. Draco grimaced, and he spent the rest of the morning trying not to fixate on such a painful thought, while the weight that had briefly lifted from his shoulders found its way right back.

Draco lumbered down the staircases, his trunk dragging after him like a ball and chain. He could have cast a charm to make it weightless, but somehow the repetitive thunk thunk against every step appropriately matched his mood. The prospect of going home for the holidays was a rather daunting thought at the best of times, but when he was half asleep and his head was overrun with worries it was practically the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t particularly keen on returning to the haunted manor hallways so soon, and so recently after such vivid nightmares, but he did want to see his parents. To remind himself that not all was lost, that he still had the one thing a Malfoy valued most…his family.

His friends had long since abandoned him on their quest to reach the carriages, and he sighed as he carted his trunk down the dirt pathway alone. At least until Ginny Weasley sidled up next to him and knocked into his shoulder in greeting.

“You look like shit,” she muttered, taking in his appearance with intense scrutiny.

“Thanks,” he sneered in return.

“Dare I ask?”

Draco couldn’t even find the energy to stay angry with her, and he sighed and muttered, “I didn’t get much sleep.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to talk about it, but before long he added, “He had a nightmare. I…get the feeling it’s a regular occurrence. Like…daily.”

She didn’t need to ask who. And she grimaced and confirmed his statement with a nod, but then her expression morphed into one of confusion and she asked, “How did you know?”

Draco peered at her out of the corner of his eyes and then even more unconvincingly than when he’d spoken with Harry, he squeaked, “Prefect rounds.”

She pondered him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly before she turned away and ultimately decided to let her suspicions go. “I made the mistake of trying to stop them,” she said quietly. “We all did.”

Draco hummed as they approached the carriages, and he dropped his trunk and stretched out his fingers before approaching the nearest Thestral with a haunted look in his eyes. He held out his hand towards it and let it lick at his fingers as Ginny greeted the Thestral next to it sadly.

“They’ll never stop,” Draco muttered. He knew that better than anyone. It was one thing to expect nightmares to go away in the wake of short periods of stress. Everyone experienced the odd vision here or there about a forgotten assignment or missed exam in the midst of end of year studies. But the dreams Harry had weren’t temporary or fleeting. His nightmares were a result of lifelong trauma. Harry had seen and survived things that no eighteen year old should ever be made to experience. More than any of them. And if they all still suffered the consequences in their dreams, Harry was certain to.

Healers often defaulted to prescribing potions to deal with such things instead of actively breaking down the deeper cause. But Dreamless Sleep only went so far when it came to treating persistent night terrors. It was dangerous to consume for extended periods of time too, as not dreaming was unhealthy for the mind. And the properties of the potion were highly addictive with long-term side effects that could be devastating, sometimes having the adverse effect of worsening hallucinations or even leading to death.

Dealing with the trauma, talking through it, and seeking help from a mind healer, couldn’t fix everything either. No matter how much a person worked to face their fears in daily life, the memories would still be there, waiting for the right moment to sneak up and attack the subconscious mind.

No, there was no simple answer. The dreams would continue to come. Perhaps for years. Perhaps for the rest of his life. “But I can be there when they happen to remind him they aren’t real,” Draco whispered.

Ginny turned towards him, and after a moment she smiled and offered him a nod of acknowledgement. “Enjoy your holiday Malfoy,” she said, and to his surprise it sounded genuine. When she walked away to find a seat in one of the carriages, Draco lingered by the Thestrals quietly for a bit longer, running his fingers up and down their muzzles one at a time. He waited until the very last call before eventually doing the same.

It was after the holidays that he finally saw it. And in retrospect, he should have noticed it sooner. With all of the flinching. And the yearning. And the obvious guilt and shame that often laced Harry’s expression as a result.

Draco stood on the train platform beside his friends, catching up with them after their few days apart. It seemed their Yule celebrations had been just as low key. Some of them didn’t even have family to return to, and so they had spent their days away from school quietly burning logs and making oaths that would hopefully change their destinies and allow the future suns to shine upon them in a new light. Draco had made several oaths of his own, and spent the rest of his time working diligently on a last minute gift. One he was particularly nervous about how well it had been received.

He spotted familiar dark hair easily as his gaze roamed the busy space with masked indifference, despite the fact that Harry stood a head below nearly everyone else in their year. He was alone again too. Watching the other students hug and say their goodbyes, several steps away from his friends as they gathered one last time with their families before the trip back to school. Harry observed them all with a sort of quiet intensity that Draco was not expecting to see in his often faraway gaze. Like a child who’d been told they ought to be neither heard nor seen and yet longed for both.

Draco’s parents weren’t there either, but he’d said his goodbyes at home. He’d held them both tightly and felt the comfort and warmth of their embraces as they wished him luck with his studies upon his return to school. But Harry didn’t have that. He didn’t have parents waiting for him. And if what Ginny Weasley had implied was true, he didn’t have any family at home that cared. Draco wasn’t even sure if he had a place he considered home at all. And Draco suspected that he likely never had. At least not for long enough to make any sort of difference.

Draco’s thoughts drifted towards those articles he’d so easily dismissed in the years prior. He thought about what it might be like, to grow up unloved. Never celebrating a birthday. Never being comforted or held or acknowledged like a human being. He imagined being hated for possessing the gift of magic. Being told he was worthless, and ordinary, when he was anything but. The thought of Harry enduring any of that was unimaginable. Surely, it hadn’t been that bad. He hoped it hadn’t been. But as he watched the way Harry reacted to the world around him Draco knew in his heart it had.

He…yearned for touch, rarely received it, and never asked for more. But when it was given he soaked it in like a wilting plant, leaning towards the contact until he reminded himself it was something he was not allowed to have.

Harry’s gaze dropped suddenly from the emotional scenes all around him and Draco watched him pull something free from the confines of his knitted sweater. There was a sleek silver chain hanging about his neck, and attached to the end of it a single small feather.

He was wearing it. The gift that Draco had fashioned with utmost care. His precious late owl’s feather encased in a series of charms to preserve it forever, and imbued with the most intricate series of protection charms and dream wards that Draco was able to manage with his limited knowledge of such complex magic. He didn’t know how well it would work, but he hoped, if Harry kept it close, that it would lessen the severity of his nightmares, and perhaps even their frequency. He’d explained all that in the letter he wrote as well. Longer than most of his essays so far that year. And filled with so much drivel that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry tossed it aside without reading a single word. There’d been an apology in there somewhere as well, hidden between the endless lines of meaningless words that Harry probably hadn’t deciphered and never would. But Draco didn’t much care about that. Because he was wearing it.

That was more than enough.

Draco didn’t even bother following his friends to the carriage at the back of the train once they boarded, instead rushing through the aisles with sweeping strides as he peered into each compartment window impatiently. He was in such a hurry that he nearly strode right past the compartment he needed, and he skidded to a halt and twisted in place, nearly barrelling over a group of first years as they traversed the corridor behind him. Draco dodged them with practised seeker’s reflexes and slammed the compartment door open before barging in.

“Hey!” Weasley shouted in surprise, but Draco ignored him as he stomped forwards and reached for Harry’s wrist, pulling him up from his seat. Granger peered up from the book her nose was shoved in with a puzzled expression as he placed his palm behind Harry’s lower back and began ushering him out the door.

Draco might have enjoyed her confusion more if he didn’t have more pressing concerns. As it was he simply offered them both a sophisticated nod and drawled, “Terribly sorry to interrupt this no doubt thrilling conversation, but I have urgent business with the Saviour, you understand.”

Harry didn’t utter a single word as Draco whisked him through nearly the entire length of the train, though his eyes remained wide and he tripped over his robe several times while Draco peered into windows until he found a compartment that was blissfully empty. Draco rushed them inside, and he had the door locked behind them and the blinds pulled down moments later. His gaze settled on Harry’s face and then he looked down towards the feather that now rest freely above his sweater, on display for the entire world to see.

“Hi,” Draco muttered, his gaze snapping back up to Harry’s bewildered expression.

“H-hi,” Harry stuttered back. His cheeks reddened as Draco stood there staring down at him and eventually his gaze shifted sideways and he stuttered out, “Erm, t-thank you, for the gift. I thought I’d lost it.” Harry’s face crumpled slightly and he bit down on his lip and looked away, reaching up to twist the feather between his fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t send you anything. I wasn’t expecting to receive-,”

Draco simply couldn’t wait a moment longer. And he pulled Harry into his arms, running his hands down his back as he settled his chin atop his head. He just held him like that, folded his body around his like a cocoon. And though Harry tensed at the initial contact, Draco didn’t pull away. He wanted to make up for every day Harry went without being held when he should have been. For every touch he’d never felt against his skin. He wanted to whisper so many things in his ear. That he was special. That he mattered. That he deserved the contact he silently yearned for and none of the shame he felt for wanting it. But instead, he merely said, “Happy Yuletide, Harry,” as his fingers curled in Harry’s hair and the loose knots of his knitted sweater.

At the sound of his given name Harry breathed in quickly, and a moment later he practically sagged in Draco’s arms. His fingers reached upwards, clutching at the fancy embroidery of Draco’s new winter cloak, and he turned his head sideways to rest against Draco’s chest with a sigh. He breathed in once, then twice, and murmured, “Happy Yuletide,” into the expensive fabric. And then, “Draco,” followed. Soft and sweet, and like music to Draco’s ears.

Draco pulled him in even tighter, pressing gloved fingers behind Harry’s ears until he leaned into him as if searching for more.

Yes, that was it. Draco wanted him to take it all. As much as he needed.

And he would give it.

Draco would give him anything.

The Great Hall was decorated to the nines, draped lavishly in magical star clusters that mimicked the glittering winter sky above. The Phoenicis Ball. That’s what they were calling it. An event to welcome the students back from their holiday and to commemorate the days ahead as the new generations of witches and wizards would begin to shape the world of magic in the wake of war. Rebirth, renewal, and all that other rubbish that the Ministry was trying to promote amongst the youth in an effort to keep the peace. And though Draco could appreciate the gravitas and décor of the whole thing, he didn’t particularly care about whatever political undertones the event represented, or for any of the high profile guests that Slughorn had invited to mingle with the impending graduates. He was focused solely on a singular person across the room, one who was currently doing his best to dodge every representative of the Daily Prophet and Ministry of Magic while disappearing unnoticed into the crowd.

Draco snatched a potted cream from the nearest table and began spooning it into his mouth as he narrowed his eyes and watched Harry slip away from yet another poor soul. He was becoming quite the little master of evasion. But not from Draco on this particular day. It didn’t matter how well he faded into the background, Draco always managed to find him somewhere in the crowd. His little tufts of black curls were not to be missed. And his green eyes stood out like lanterns even hidden as they were behind a thick layer of glass.

Draco’s gaze shifted to the left, towards the punch bowl and a particular redhead that looked far more interested in sucking back whatever liquid was in her glass than the conversation she was holding with some pompous Ravenclaw the year below. Draco strolled towards her, scooping up the last bit of cream into his mouth before abandoning the empty dish on a passing airborne tray. He shifted up directly behind Ginny, beyond thrilled when the boy speaking to her caught his eye and disappeared in a frightened flash at the sight of his sneer. And then he leaned over her shoulder to reach for some punch and whispered, “He’s fucking touch starved. Did you know?”  

Ginny choked on her drink and turned towards him with a heated glare. “Malfoy you prick, you made me soil my dress!”

He shrugged and eyed the blue stain rapidly spreading across her front. “Hmm, an improvement,” he muttered.

She glowered at him and after filling his glass to the brim he rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed before pulling out his wand. It took a few quick gestures without so much as uttering a spell to remove the discolouration, and she pressed her hands over the fabric in genuine surprise. “Thanks,” she grunted. “And for getting rid of bad company as well.” Her eyes lifted towards him and narrowed. “Now what were you saying about your…special interest?”

Draco scowled at her and she raised an eyebrow and smirked at him knowingly. Draco took a long sip of his drink before leaning against the table at her side. He made a point of searching the crowd, and as per usual he found Harry within it easily. He was in the midst of shoving some kind of sugar coated pastry into his mouth. Crumbs fell all around his fingers, and he floundered as the mess scattered down atop the floor in front of him. His gaze shifted from side to side as if searching for spectators, and when he saw none he quickly indulged in the rest of the treat with glee. Draco was just glad to see him eating something for once, and perhaps a tad amused at the display. Only Harry Potter could get away with acting so uncivilized and still look devastatingly beautiful while doing so. “He needs to be held. All the time. As much as possible,” he uttered fondly.

Ginny cleared her throat and wiped some stray droplets from her hand with a napkin. “And how exactly did you come about that discovery?” she asked.

Draco glared at her. “Mind your business,” he drawled before taking a long gulp of punch. It was far too bland for his tastes. He eyed the bowl on the table next to them and wondered if it tasted the same.

Before he had the chance to slip away and investigate Ginny leaned in and whispered, “If he’s so touch starved, maybe you ought to be dancing with him.”

The mere suggestion brought a deep flush to Draco’s cheeks. He shifted uncomfortably but considered it. A dance. In public. An ex-Death Eater with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. That would be taking a pretty drastic step. Especially here, in front of so many delegates and politicians. The scandal! Draco didn’t know what their relationship was, but he was pretty sure Harry wouldn’t be interested in any of that. They could hardly even be considered friends.

Draco peered across the room where Harry stood teetering back and forth on his feet. He held a glass tightly between his fingers now, and his gaze was distant, fixed somewhere on the ground. But then Harry looked up suddenly, searching the room briefly before catching sight of Draco. His eyes widened in surprise and immediately flitted away while his ears turned a bright brilliant shade of red. He even sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit down on it, practically gnawing at the skin. Then, one hand lifted to toy with something hanging about his neck, the tiny white feather on a shiny silver chain that had been there every second as of late.

Draco swallowed nervously, and his heart rate kicked into gear.

Fuck it.

Moments later Draco slammed his glass down on the nearest table, and he strode across the dance floor between the swaying bodies with grace and purpose. It took him longer than he would have liked to reach Harry’s side, each heavy footfall granting him enough time to question this more than likely foolish decision. And though he wavered in his steps just a tad as the distance between them lessened, Draco did not stop.

Harry didn’t spot him until Draco was practically standing atop his feet, and when wide green eyes glanced upwards in surprise, Draco couldn’t look away. He didn’t give Harry time to react, reaching out to pry the glass from his fingers before grasping his hand and leading him into the mass of dancing bodies without so much as a single word of explanation. Harry stumbled over the edges of his somewhat too long robes as Draco rearranged him appropriately in his hold, and then soon after, they were moving. It was clumsy, and inelegant, and Harry tripped over each step Draco guided him through like the entire dance was some kind of elaborate obstacle course. As Draco caught him for the fifth time he frowned in frustration and let out a huff of air.

It was clear that Harry was not experienced in the art of dancing. Though Draco had figured as much long ago, after his abysmal display at the Yule Ball in fourth year. But he hadn’t expected it to feel like he was dragging an Erumpent through knee deep mud. Usually even inexperienced dancers could at least let loose and enjoy a few twirls around a room.

Harry’s body was tense, his face flushed and strained as he concentrated on the steps ahead. Not that it mattered. His foot missed the proper placement once again and he staggered as his fingers tightened in Draco’s grasp. His face crumpled in disappointment as he frowned down at his feet, and then he missed the next three steps due to the distraction as a result. This simply wouldn’t do. “You’re thinking too much,” Draco leaned down and whispered in his ear.

Harry’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he spoke. “I don’t know all the-,”

“Don’t worry about the steps,” Draco interrupted. He tugged him impossibly close, wrapping his hand tighter about his waist. “Merlin, Harry, dancing is supposed to be fun.”

Harry grimaced, his teeth pressing down into his lower lip as he looked at the pairs swirling smoothly about the dance floor around them. “I’m not good at it,” he muttered. His expression tightened, and his body tensed further, and Draco’s fingers clenched in the fabric of his robes before lifting to grasp the side of his face.

“Hey,” he hissed, and Harry’s gaze flew back to his in an instant. “Look at me, not them.” The music switched into something slower and Draco hurried to take advantage of it, pulling Harry against his body as he swayed them back and forth to a much gentler rhythm. “You don’t have to be good at it. Just…let go. Let me…,” he trailed off. Draco’s gaze flitted away briefly before settling again upon Harry’s green irises. He really was quite short. Draco had to look down and bend his neck slightly just to make eye contact. But he liked that. Just as he liked the feeling of Harry’s hand clasped tightly in his own. And the way his other sank into the arch of Harry’s lower back. He liked feeling like he could provide a shoulder to lean on. A steady form for Harry to rest against. He wanted to be a safe space for him. A person he could rely on, and trust, and…love.

Perhaps that last bit was too much to ask for so soon. Or ever. But the rest…was it possible? Draco eyed him as the thought lingered in his mind. His gaze lowered, towards the feather pendant hanging between their bodies, and then he steadied his jaw and urged, “Let me lead you.” Harry shifted nervously, but eventually sighed and relaxed in Draco’s hold, and the two of them settled into the simple pattern of steps that Draco eased them through.

It was far from perfect. But Draco had long since given up on such things. In fact, the longer they danced together, the more he found he preferred the opposite. The slight stagger here and there that left Harry clinging to his arms in search of reassurance. The unexpected twirls that forced squeaks of surprise from between Harry’s lips. The occasional blunder, a foot atop a foot, or a twist in slightly the wrong direction. Actions that brought a deep red blush to Harry’s cheeks. And of course, best of all, the toothy grin that spread wide across Harry’s face, once he realized each of those fumbles and falters were okay.

In fact, it was perfect, in a way. It was just a different kind of perfect.

When the music picked up in pace again, reverting back to a more traditional waltz, it was not nearly as difficult to guide Harry through the more complex steps. He let Draco pull him over the floor without resistance, and paid little attention to those around them or the proper placement of his toes. But if he had taken the time to look, he would have seen that the way they glided throughout the room was not so dissimilar to everyone else.

Draco was beginning to sweat in places he’d rather not admit by the time the two of them slipped away through the large doors and made their way towards the courtyard outside. It was a brisk night, and they sat closely pressed together on a bench beneath the cool winter air as the fairy lights strung up all around them flickered like distant stars. Draco cast a warming charm in the area with a wave of his hand, and it was just enough to keep them comfortable in their dress robes while their breath left clouds of mist on the air. Draco glanced at the empty benches nearby and rolled up a sleeve to cool his overheated skin. Just the one. He was always careful to keep his other arm covered, as though hiding the mark upon it might make people forget it was ever there. His fingers fiddled with the fastened cuff link as his leg fidgeted against Harry’s thigh. It was a nervous habit. And he wrenched them away the instant he noticed what he was doing. It didn’t take long for them to settle back on his ring instead.

He looked to his side, surprised when Harry’s green gaze was already staring back at him. Draco had grown used to him disappearing in moments of silence. He hadn’t expected him to look so…alive. So aware. Even after a night that had more than likely overwhelmed Harry’s mind and body. Harry studied Draco’s face intently, his brows furrowed as he searched for answers to questions Draco couldn’t begin to guess the nature of.

Harry’s gaze dropped suddenly towards Draco’s fastened sleeve, and then his fingers were upon it seconds later, tugging at the cuff link until it snapped open with a pop.

“Harry, what-,”

Before the question could fully form in his mind his sleeve was rolled up by sure fingers. So much more controlled than they typically were. There were no shakes in them as Harry pushed away the decorative black fabric, along with the simple white layered underneath. No trembles as they settled over the disgusting mark permanently etched upon Draco’s skin. Those fingers, steady, and impossibly warm for once, wrapped around his forearm, as though they meant to brand him all over again.

“None of it was your fault either,” Harry whispered.

This time it was Draco who trembled beneath his touch. He breathed in and out shakily, and ran his free fingers through his hair. His rings caught on the blond strands until he was forced to clumsily shake them loose. He didn’t know how to respond to this. To this acknowledgement of everything he was. And this clear acceptance of it. He glanced towards the hands wrapped around his arm and then his focus returned to Harry’s insistent gaze.

Merlin, he was so beautiful.

He couldn’t help but wonder what Harry might do if he kissed him.

It was a silly thought. He couldn’t kiss Harry Potter. He was positive it would start another war. They hadn’t…talked about any of this. About what they were. What they wanted to be. And Draco was terrified. Surely this couldn’t be real. It was incomprehensible. Nothing he wanted ever went the way he hoped and dreamed. But then Harry lifted his chin and looked up at him. His green eyes were so vibrant and shining beneath the scattered fairy lights, framed with dark lashes that Draco found rather enchanting. And his nose was pink just on the tip, dusted with freckles that somehow stood out even more when they were flushed from the cold. And they were so close together. When had Draco leaned down like that? When had he gotten near enough to feel hot breath upon his skin? Their noses touched at the tips, and Harry jolted in surprise, but he didn’t move away. So Draco didn’t either.

It could hardly be called a kiss. The way they first came together. The barest amount of contact as skin rested upon skin. It was hesitant. Laced with uncertainty. But then Draco moved his lips, pressing closer, his tongue creeping out to taste the sugary remnants of whatever sweet treat Harry had recently pushed into his mouth. And Harry’s eyelashes fluttered closed as he leaned into the embrace and opened up to him. It was…exhilarating. The best kiss of his life. And Harry melted into it like snowflakes landing on hot lips.

Draco tried to catch them on his tongue for the rest of the night.

He’d taken to kissing Harry at every opportunity. Pulling him into abandoned classrooms and broom sheds. Catching him unawares between shelves of books in the library, or in the supply cabinet as they prepared their potions. He sought him out in the halls between lessons, in the early morning out by the lake, and late at night during his rounds. He wasn’t satisfied unless their lips were locked together, and every moment they weren’t he spent yearning for more.

It had been weeks of soft touches, holding hands, and gentles kisses on cheeks and lips. And they hadn’t progressed much beyond that. Their wandering hands remained persistently above clothing as though afraid that skin to skin contact might set one of them entirely alight. Draco was worried he might take things too far. That he might unintentionally pressure Harry into something he wasn’t ready for. He wanted to be gentle with him. To show him how touch, and pleasure, and comfort should feel. To make sure he knew, without a doubt, that this was no fleeting whim. But Draco wanted to do more. Oh sweet Merlin did he want to. And he was pretty sure Harry did too. With his desperate little sounds, and his writhing hips he so often tried in vain to keep from seeking friction against Draco’s leg.

He was a sweet little thing. Pliant and responsive to each and every touch upon him, no matter how innocent. And hesitant to take the lead. He was quite content to let Draco guide him through their kisses and groping sessions. And Draco was more than happy to do so. He only wished that Harry wasn’t so afraid to ask for more.

They were in the locker room after an afternoon of flying when Draco said it. And truly, it couldn’t be helped.

Draco was already dressed and still wet from his shower, but he’d caught Harry on his way back to the lockers in nothing but a towel. He couldn’t resist letting his fingers drag down Harry’s skin, catching stray water droplets upon his nails. It was the first time they’d touched like this. The first time he’d really had a chance to look at Harry in any sort of state of undress. That one time in the Prefect’s Bathroom couldn’t even begin to compare. He hadn’t felt the heat of Harry’s skin upon his own, freshly clean and pink from the too hot stream of water. He was testing, touching, teasing, and he toyed with the edge of Harry’s towel playfully, searching his gaze for any sign of discomfort, before he loosened it from his hips. The soft fabric fell heavily to the tiled flooring below, and Draco’s breath caught at the sight of him. Entirely nude. And flushing head to toe. And to his absolute delight, aroused. Draco’s gaze lingered, practically burning the image before him upon his retinas. He never wanted to forget the way Harry looked.

He was covered in scars, unsurprisingly, but Draco hardly saw them. He just saw Harry, standing there nervously. Beautiful and willing. Every last intimate part bared before Draco like a feast upon a platter. He was pressed up against the cool tiled wall, and his fingers splayed against it as Draco marvelled over him. His nipples were peaked, lovely little nubs that Draco grazed over with his fingertips. Harry let out a gasp as he was fondled and stood up on his toes, his prick jutting out from his body adorably. He was so responsive, and Draco wanted to devour every part of him.

He was completely enthralled.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed. Because it was true. He’d never seen someone so flawless before.

But Harry froze at the endearment, his eyes widening in fear like he’d never heard such a thing before and couldn’t possibly believe it. His expression darkened, laced with uncertainty and distrust, and Draco watched helplessly as he slipped away into his mind.

It was nearly Valentine’s Day, and Draco eyed the oversized heart shaped confetti floating in the air above his work table in the library with mild distaste. There were charms everywhere throughout the castle, decorating the walls and ceilings in long strands of various cute and supposedly romantic paraphernalia. Stupid notes were getting passed around, bouquets of flowers were randomly popping up in the common rooms, and Draco had seen a horrendous number of love potion laced chocolate boxes stacked in Filch’s arms as he struggled to lock them away in his stores. He was thankful the singing candygrams, at least, were not permitted within the limits of the library. Madam Pince would never have allowed it, and Draco found the horribly off key tunes and flowery prose wording of them all revolting. It wasn’t at all because Harry was the intended target of nearly every single one of them.

He sighed deeply, staring off into the distance as he contemplated his own concerns with…love. His brow furrowed, and he twirled his wand atop the desk anxiously as he worried the inside of his cheek. Truthfully, he had no need to be jealous. Not that he was, of course. But if he was, there was no good reason for it. He knew that.

Harry didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at Draco. He should know. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Harry for more than a second at a time. And they weren’t exactly hiding their status. Whatever it was. They had been rather open about everything. Kissing in public here and there, and surreptitiously snuggling up beside one another in front of their friends and classmates. They held hands as they walked between their classes, and frequently sat with each other at lunch or dinner, swapping tables depending on the day. Harry didn’t seem to mind. And Draco wanted people to know. He was tired of hiding the things that made him happy. And Harry…well, it was a sappier sentiment than one of those silly candygrams, but Harry made him happier than anything.

The response to it had been…mixed, he supposed. But better than expected, all things considered. Draco’s friends were remarkably unfazed. Like they had expected the two of them to get together all along. And Harry’s friends supported their developing connection, if with some hesitance. Weasley still sent Draco the occasional suspicious glance, and Granger eyed him like she was searching for answers to some kind of advanced Arithmancy problem. And though Draco struggled to hold in his irritation at such scrutiny, he understood their concern. He opted to keep his focus on Harry instead. Doting over him, with the goal of bringing out lasting smiles and laughter enchanting enough to lift the spirits of an entire room. Thankfully, Granger and Weasley were just as affected by that as he was, practically mooning over Harry whenever he managed such a feat. And that alone, he figured, was beginning to find Draco a position in their good books.

His parents had heard of course. And written. And though Draco could practically hear the exasperation in his father’s tone even through his sweeping cursive strokes on parchment, both his parents had expressed their approval of their budding relationship, to his delighted surprise. It was rather revealing to be honest. They clearly hadn’t expected him to embark upon a relationship with someone so soon, perhaps secretly doubting in his desirability due to the current state of things just as much as he had. Nor could they have suspected he would find himself with such a…suitable match. He supposed one couldn’t attempt to aim much higher than the Saviour of the Wizarding World. It would do wonders for their family name. If Draco managed not to fuck it up somehow.

Something he felt like he was already dangerously close to doing.

“You look as though you’re on the cusp of a discovery,” Ginny breathed as she slapped her books down on the table across from him. She sat down with a huff, swatting aggressively at the nearest fluttering cluster of hearts that immediately swarmed around her head.

“Hmm? Oh, maybe,” Draco muttered. He glanced towards her rather morosely, still somewhat lost in thought. Truth be told, he hadn’t the slightest idea where to go next with Harry. There was still something he was missing. Something big. And even if it meant conceding that he couldn’t, in fact, come up with the final answer to her stupid puzzle on his own, he felt it was worth it to ask.

“I’ve…noticed things, recently, with Harry. Perhaps, you might have some advice,” he started, tapping his fingers atop the wooden surface beneath them to some unknown rhythm. She raised an eyebrow at him and tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to continue. “Sometimes I’ll…say something to him,” he added and when he didn’t continue for several seconds she glanced side to side and screwed her face up with impatience. Draco sighed and lifted his feet onto the chair next to him, slotting his fingers together in his lap as he grimaced. “I can’t help it you see. He’s so…perfect,” he blurted. Draco flushed slightly when Ginny’s brows practically rose off her face entirely, but he did his best to pretend like it was a perfectly rational declaration. “I mean, I’ve only told him the truth. When I look at him, I see…,” he trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then he swayed his hands out to his sides in frustration and ranted, “But, it’s like he rejects the mere concept. That he might be…good, or desirable, or…or…beautiful. Anything I say that even hints at such a thing sends him drifting off into his head. He can’t seem to process it. And I just…I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Ginny shifted awkwardly, and her shoulders relaxed as she leaned against the backrest of her chair. “He’s not used to it, you know. Praise.”

Draco’s head twisted towards her and he laid his arm atop the table and pressed his palm against the surface as he leaned over the edge. “What do you mean? He’s the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy, surely he gets enough compliments to go around,” he drawled.

The look Ginny gave him was decidedly full of snark. “You know that’s not true,” she snapped.

“He gets piles of letters every day. The owls are horribly overworked. It’s a travesty.”

“You should actually look at them sometime,” Ginny countered. “You’d be surprised how many of those letters are filled with vitriol blaming him for the deaths of people he’s never met. And the ones that aren’t, are hardly sincere.” She levelled him with a stony stare. “Admittedly, going public with you hasn’t done him any favours in that regard.” Draco’s mouth opened in surprise before he snapped it shut and averted his gaze guiltily. He was well aware that for every bit of prestige or status dating Harry gave to him, it did just the opposite for Harry. He really didn’t need the reminder. “I’m not saying any of this is your fault, to be clear. You’ve…been good for him, and the public and the press can fuck right off,” Ginny snarled and Draco, who had been on the verge of spiralling into yet another existential crisis, startled at her tone. His gaze snapped right back to her, and the dread that had begun pooling in his gut dissipated as he fully registered her words. Good for him. She thought he’d been good for him. That was…surprising.

Ginny fiddled with her book for a moment, curling one of the pages back until it folded slightly, and Draco grimaced at the poor treatment. He wasn’t given much time to dwell on it however, because Ginny suddenly looked at him nervously and asked, “You know about…about his childhood now. Don’t you?”

Draco flinched and stared at her quietly for a moment, and then he lowered his feet back to the ground and sat facing her directly. “I have suspicions.”

Ginny paused, her expression laced with uncertainty, and then, after studying him intently for a moment, she quietly asked, “Did you know they used to call him a freak?”

Draco stared at her in disbelief. How was he supposed to respond to that declaration? He’d known, deep down, that Harry had grown up in undesirable conditions. But somehow the direct confirmation of just how bad it had been, from a very reliable source, struck inside him like lightning. It was painful. And left a gaping wound in him that he knew would only fester and grow the more he dwelled on the ignorance of his own youth. To his dismay, she didn’t stop there.

“He didn’t even know his name until he was five years old,” she claimed. Draco listened to her with vacant eyes, her voice like an echo in his mind. But the words stuck with him all the same. They were too horrifying not to. “They lied to him about his parents. Told him they were drunks and died in a crash. They kept bars on his window, and a cat flap on his door to feed him through. And before that, they starved him and locked him away in a cupboard under the stairs. That’s just what I know. I’m sure there’s more. So much more.”

His mouth tightened as the fingers of his right hand tightened into a fist. “Why are you telling me this,” he whispered.

Ginny leaned over the table to whisper back, “because you need to know what you’re getting into. It…it won’t be easy.” She stared at him imploringly and eventually added, “He needs to be treated with kindness at every step. Because the hate is so ingrained in him at this point that he’s accepted it as truth. He thinks everything is his fault.”

“So…you’re saying he actually needs someone to tell him how good he is,” Draco commented. He sat back, his expression shifting into one of confusion. “I don’t get it. Surely you were able to do that much.”

Ginny huffed and rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I could tell him, certainly. But I’m sure it means more coming from someone like you.” Her gaze dropped briefly towards his chest and Draco frowned.

He slouched in his chair slightly and crossed his arms, as if doing so might make it feel less like her probing stare was stripping him bare. “Didn’t seem to make a difference the other day,” he snapped.

Ginny scrunched up her face and glared at him, and for a moment Draco almost wished she’d kept her gaze directed towards his clothed scars. “You can’t just say things off the cuff and expect him to react well. He needs…,” she trailed off. “He needs to believe it. There needs to be a reason for it. Or he’ll just think you’re lying to him. And he hates that. More than anything, he values honesty.” She looked like she wanted to say more, her mouth opening with intent to speak, but she faltered when the library doors creaked open and Harry entered and began to approach. “Bugger,” she muttered under her breath, and she hurried to compose herself, shuffling her papers around atop the table nervously as she struggled to mask an expression of guilt. She was more distressed than Draco had ever seen her. It was like she felt as though she’d said something unforgiveable.

And perhaps, in her mind, she had. Draco’s eyes shifted towards Harry quickly, coming to a quick understanding as dark curls bounced atop Harry’s head when he plopped into the seat beside him. Draco realised that much of what Ginny had told him was likely shared with her in confidence. By a lost boy, who’d never known love before coming to Hogwarts. A boy afraid to trust. She likely felt she’d betrayed that trust by discussing it with Draco. Perhaps even fear, over the prospect that Draco might not treat the information with similar care.

But he wouldn’t dare spread it. Not in a million years. Draco would take that knowledge to the grave long before he even considered sharing it with another soul.

Why Ginny had chosen to trust Draco with something so important was a mystery. But he wasn’t about to let that trust go to waste.

“Hi Gin,” Harry spoke happily. And then, “Hi Draco,” followed quickly thereafter. And when a cluster of hearts danced over his head in greeting he plucked one of them from the group and peered down towards where he clutched it between his fingers. He fidgeted in his seat for a moment, obviously searching for a kiss, judging by the direction of his fleeting glances, but clearly afraid to take the initiative and lean in for one. So Draco did it for him, pressing a quick and chaste kiss against his cheek.

“Hello,” Draco drawled against his skin, and Harry flushed prettily and smiled.

Hmm.

He needed to believe it, she had said.

Already his mind was shuffling through possible ways to test that theory. He figured it was probably best to start…small.

“Harry, sweetheart,” he spoke up after coming to a decision, and the endearment slipped off his tongue so easily it caught him somewhat by surprise. Harry looked at him with wide green and incredibly attentive eyes, and the blush already visible on his cheeks bloomed across his entire face and right out to the tips of his ears. Draco grinned slightly in response. He’d have to make use of that more in the future. But not just now. Now, he had something far more pressing to attend to. “Do you remember that book I was reading the other day. The Ancient Runes text, for my essay?”

Harry paused only for a second before nodding quickly and asking, “Moste Mysterious Manuscripts?”

“Yes, that one.” Draco lifted one of Harry’s dark curls away from his brow and twirled it between his fingers as he asked, “Do you think you might be able to find it for me again? It seems I’ve returned it too soon.”

“Sure!”

And Harry got up to go get it, just like that. With no argument at all. Draco’s eyes followed his movements studiously until he disappeared down one of the aisles with a little skip in his step.

“Was he like that with you?” he asked lowly.

Ginny, who had actually started to focus her attention on classwork, blinked at him for a moment before asking, “Like what?”

“Desperate. Needy. Eager to please.”

She frowned at him, and then glanced to the side to make sure they were still alone. “No, not particularly, but it’s not as if I ever gave him opportunity. With me, I think he felt like he needed to…be a hero. To be, what everyone else wanted him to be. Expected him to be.” She turned back to face him and added, “With you, he can just…be.”

Ginny studied him for a moment and then set her quill down atop the table before leaning in slightly. “Look, Malfoy,” she began, and Draco listened to her while keeping a close eye on the nearby shelves for signs of Harry. “If you intend to pursue this, please be careful with him,” she stressed. “He doesn’t have the best history, as you know. His life has been one tragedy after another. You could…do a lot of harm.”

His jaw tightened and he straightened in his seat. He didn’t need her to tell him that. He was well aware of Harry’s emotional state. And he didn’t intend to abuse it. But…he did have a tendency to make bad decisions. He was reactionary, and despite his best efforts to contain them, his emotions often got the better of him. He said things he didn’t mean. Did things he came to regret. He pushed away the people he cared for, and hurt the ones he loved.

He even got some killed.

It seemed like every big and important moment in his life had gone awry. What reason was there to believe that this would be any different?

He wasn’t good enough for Harry. He wasn’t kind enough. Or patient enough. He was certain to fuck it up. Just like every other thing he’d fucked up in his life thus far. He felt his throat constricting suddenly and he clasped his hands together in his lap and twisted his ring between his thumb and forefinger rapidly. “Do you actually think I could make this work,” he wondered aloud.

He was expecting a scoff or a rebuttal, but to his surprise, Ginny eyed him seriously and whispered, “I think you’re the only person who could make this work.”

It felt like the ground had been pulled out from beneath him and he struggled to re-center himself as he spotted Harry slipping out from between the shelves and scampering back towards them. Thankfully, by the time he reached their table Draco’s breathing had steadied, and his vision was no longer swaying at the sides. Harry sat down beside him with a happy but hesitant grin on his face. He held the book he carried close to his chest for a moment before thrusting it towards Draco. “Found it,” he claimed proudly, and when Draco looked down at it he noticed Harry had used a sticking charm to attach the paper heart he’d captured earlier to the cover. It was pink, glittery, entirely infuriating, and flapping restlessly as it tried without success to jump out and dance around the nearest person. For the first time all week Draco found himself looking at one of those silly hearts with fondness instead of horror. Draco looked at Harry with every bit of that fondness and more.

There was a lot he still didn’t know. But he knew enough. Ginny’s words had shed some light. And even without them, he’d seen the scars, hundreds of them, many of which were hidden beneath the hem lines of Harry’s clothes. Draco didn’t doubt that was intentional. There were his eating habits too. Odd ones. Whether it was forgetting a meal entirely or devouring the food on his plate in a rush, as though it could disappear at any second. He had nervous ticks, extreme reactions to loud noises or specific spells, and an aversion to small dark spaces.

Harry Potter was seemingly one step away from shattering at any given moment, and currently sitting tentatively in the palm of Draco’s hand. He could do a lot of damage indeed. Irreparable damage.

A younger version of him, a more cowardly version of him, would have taken advantage of that. He would have used it. Played the long game. Sold the information to the highest bidder in an effort to gain status or acclaim. But he didn’t want to be that version of himself any longer. And the mere idea of causing the man in front of him even an ounce of pain made him want to claw out his own eyes.

He was still a Slytherin to the core. He would stop at nothing to achieve the things he desired. But the way in which he planned to do that, and the things he found himself wanting, had very much changed.

Draco smiled at Harry in return, softer than he might have normally, and he took the book from his grasp gently. He whispered the appropriate countercharm and slid the paper heart off the surface of the cover before holding it between his fingers for a few seconds. And after watching it flap around and rain glitter for a minute he slotted it carefully in between the pages to use as a bookmark.

“Thank you, Harry,” he spoke reverently. Harry’s eyes widened slightly and Draco reached out, running his fingers through the hair at the back of Harry’s skull. “You did so well, finding that for me so quickly.” He was pleased when Harry twisted towards him attentively, his cheeks flushing deeply with happiness instead of shame or uncertainty. Draco felt a pleasant stirring in his chest and he ate up the sight of that reaction with hungry eyes. It seemed that what Ginny had said was true after all. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want the praise. He did. He needed it like he needed air. Thankfully, Draco was happy to give it. More than happy. Doing so had left him feeling surprisingly focused and calm.

But Ginny was also right when she said he needed to believe it. If he didn’t, it would serve only to ignite his internalized shame.

Draco may not have had any reason to be jealous. But that didn’t make him any less afraid.

Because Harry looked at Draco like he was the only thing that mattered in his world. He treated the one and only gift that Draco had ever given him like a precious treasure. Even then he was twisting the feather necklace between his fingers with utmost care as his body leaned into Draco’s side almost unintentionally, naturally drawn into Draco’s warmth. It was like he was teetering back and forth on a tightrope tied to him. And the more trust Harry put in Draco, the lengthier that rope became, and with it, the balance that much more precarious. One wrong move, and it might all come crashing down.

Draco’s scars were the tipping point, oddly. Though Draco supposed he should have expected it. If Harry blamed himself for the deaths and injuries of people he had never spoken to, he was bound to do the same for those caused by a spell he physically cast himself.

He had foolishly thought that showing them off with confidence might put them on an even playing field. More often than not Harry was the one in a state of undress while Draco fawned over him. And if Draco could look at Harry, see all of his scars, and look beyond them, maybe Harry might be able to do the same, and in return understand why Draco was so enamoured with him. But, Harry didn’t just see scars on Draco’s skin. He saw his own actions in those scars. His own shame. And Draco never could have predicted just how deeply rooted Harry’s self-hatred truly was or how close it was to overtaking him.

Their evening had started off well enough. Draco had convinced his dorm mates to remain scarce for the night in an effort to give them access to an actual bed and some guaranteed privacy for once. He wanted to make their little date special for Harry, whatever they did or didn’t do. And he had an idea. Something that might lead Harry down the path of understanding and acceptance of self. But before that plan could even reach its beginning stages he was staring across the room at panic stricken eyes as Harry froze the second after Draco unbuttoned and removed his shirt.

Draco hadn’t even considered that his scars might be a trigger. He’d grown so used to the sight of them on his own body, and he’d long since forgiven Harry for putting them there. He deserved them. If anything it acted as a reminder of what he had nearly become and never wished to be. But for Harry…it was something else altogether.

“Stop that,” Draco uttered urgently with narrowed eyes as he looked into Harry’s stricken expression. He could feel a shift in the air. The room had gone so very cold. Like a Dementor had sucked every ounce of happiness from within it, leaving a frost like coating on the surrounding surfaces. It reminded him of Harry’s other panic attacks, and yet, somehow worse. His arm hair was standing on end, and there was a strange magic lingering about. The sort of magic he’d only ever felt in the presence of terrible things.

“D-Draco,” Harry stuttered. “I-I…I,”

“I said stop that,” he repeated, but Harry didn’t seem to hear him, shaking his head from side to side as he stumbled backwards across the room. The few posters stuck upon the walls peeled away and fluttered out above their heads, and the four-poster beds in each corner of the room began to shake and tremble atop the stone dungeon floors. Draco’s eyes flitted about, before snapping back to Harry. He’d never seen him panic quite like this. Harry’s magic had always made itself known, but now Draco was certain he could see it. Or see something. Perhaps not his magic at all. It was swirling about him, swelling out from his body in dark twisted shapes and Draco’s entire body tensed as he spotted a hint of red surging in the centre around Harry’s heart, like a pulsing, breathing, molten lava core. He watched Harry’s eyes flicker pure white and back again, like he was fighting against some internal force and failing. Then the magic tightened up, coiling in a shadowed misty sphere around Harry’s form, and Draco’s stomach twisted in horror as he was struck with sudden realization.

Harry looked like a bloody Obscurial! Just like the rough drawings he’d seen in one of his DADA texts in passing. The milky white eyes, the dark misty shapes, the living red core. Draco had glossed over the chapter, because it had been years since anyone had to deal with one, and of all the creatures within the book he was unlikely to ever encounter one in the flesh. Not amongst so many witches and wizards who were proud of their magic. But now he was staring at that very creature just steps away, and it wasn’t just some drawing in a textbook, it was feeding off of Harry! And it fit, didn’t it? Because apart from his age, Harry was the perfect target for an Obscurus parasite to find a home within.

He’d never been so terrified in his life.

Draco wasn’t foolish enough to think a mere potion would help fix this. And he knew that every second he stood there staring was a second wasted. He fought against his terror, willing his limbs to move. To do something! Anything! He couldn’t let this happen to him. Not to Harry. Not to the beautiful boy with an even more beautiful soul that Draco had grown to love and adore and crave with every fibre of his being. Not to the one person who took him as everything he was and never expected or wanted anything more.

No! No no no no no!

He acted without thinking, flying forwards despite his unsteady legs. He practically tripped over his own feet as he reached out into the darkened swirls of magic to grab hold of Harry’s shoulder. He wasn’t about to lose the only thing that mattered to him before he’d even had a chance to hold it properly in his grasp. The Obscurus lashed out at him in return, whipping at Draco’s arms violently as it fought to take its chosen victim. And Draco screamed as his fingers clamped down on Harry’s arms and wrenched his body atop the nearest bed.

Draco pushed him down atop the mattress and straddled him, forcing his face through the dark mist surrounding Harry in an effort to look him in the eyes. His fingers wrapped around Harry’s neck as he held him in place and shouted, “Look at me!” at the top of his lungs. Harry’s body jolted, and the strange film coating his irises cleared briefly before swirling back into solid white. Draco breathed in and out a few times and leaned even closer, speaking urgently against Harry’s nose. “Darling, I need you to listen to me,” he pleaded, quieter this time, but no less insistent. “Look into my eyes, Harry.” He pressed his fingers into Harry’s cheekbone, digging his scaled ring into the soft skin at the side of his face, all the while refusing to look away. And slowly, he watched the beautiful green colour begin to fight against the white threatening to overtake it. “That’s it!”

Harry’s body writhed atop the bed, and Draco frowned with worry, his jaw so tightly shut his teeth were grinding together. Harry was trying. So very hard. But the Obscurus fought against him relentlessly in an effort to take hold. He didn’t know what to do! Then, when he felt the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, he felt it. An insistent vibration between their chests. Where Harry’s necklace was warding away the reddened core of the darkened energy swirling about him. It was trying to break through! All the protection spells that Draco had woven together in it were pushing themselves to their absolute limit in an effort to save him. He took hold of the feather charm between his fingers and guided it closer to the core, and as the vibrations shook through his entire arm, a loud screeching sounded around them as the magic dissipated briefly and fought to keep its form. Harry’s gaze cleared for a moment and Draco saw his opportunity to act.

“Stop blaming yourself!” Draco hissed. He saw droplets of water on Harry’s face, stray tears that had fallen from his eyes. He couldn’t let up! Not now, when Harry’s gaze had locked on him, wide, and scared, and full of desperation. “Look at my arm!” Draco shouted, guiding his head to turn with his free hand. He thrust his forearm in front of Harry’s face, pressing it up against the frames of his glasses “Look!” He watched as Harry’s gaze shifted to the right, inches from the dark mark. “You’re not the only one who made mistakes,” Draco said quickly. “But if you can accept me for mine, then you have to let me accept you for yours.” He felt the Obscurus falter again, and Draco dragged his fingers through Harry’s hair and pressed a kiss against his scar. “You have to fight it Harry. Fight it, please.”

The feather between his fist pulsed with energy, and Harry’s entire body tensed as he let out a violent scream. Magic burst forwards from his body, and though it was powerful, and erratic, it also felt like warmth. Entirely him. The shadowed shapes twisting around Harry broke apart with a final screech of horror, and then they were gone in an instant, disappearing before Draco’s eyes like a dust cloud whisked away with a spell. And apart from Draco’s heavy breathing and Harry’s trembling form, the room was startlingly silent and still.

Draco dropped the necklace atop Harry’s chest, and his grip in his hair loosened, but he didn’t move away. He stared down at Harry with swollen eyes, and watched as Harry’s gaze became shiny and uncertain as tears pooled along his lower lids. “I’m s-sorry,” Harry stuttered out. The words, despite their intent, brought a shaky sigh of relief to Draco’s lips.

“Don’t apologize,” Draco breathed. “This…this wasn’t your fault.” It was the fault of every person who had allowed Harry to think he was anything other than wonderful. But Draco knew he wouldn’t believe him if he said as much just yet. To be honest, he wasn’t even certain Harry knew the extent of what had happened. He wasn’t sure he wanted him to know if he didn’t. It would only worsen his guilt. Draco was certain he’d find some way to blame himself for succumbing to the Obscurus in the first place. It was absurd.

But then he looked up at Draco with those watery eyes and asked, “W-what happened?”

Draco felt stuck. He contemplated lying. But he knew that Harry valued honesty. And every single one of Ginny’s warnings replayed in his mind. Don’t fuck this up Draco. Don’t fuck it up. So he closed his eyes briefly, and against his every instinct whispered, “Obscurus.” Harry’s eyes went impossibly wide, and then moistened even further with tears. His body tensed as he took in a few staggered breaths, and his mouth opened to speak, and before he had the chance to talk himself into a state of panic Draco held his finger over his lips and uttered, “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

Harry looked properly chastised. His brow scrunched up, and he snapped his mouth closed, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to leave lasting marks. Draco dragged both his hands up into Harry’s hair at the sides of his head. Then after holding him like that for a minute or two he leaned down and pressed their brows together, nuzzling against his nose. “You fought it Harry. That’s what matters. You fought it. And I’m proud of you.”

Draco wasn’t sure he believed it. But it was important for him to hear regardless. And they would work on that. Getting him to accept his accomplishments, no matter how small, or how big. To Draco’s surprise, Harry didn’t argue, or pull away at the words. Instead he shivered and asked, “What if it comes back?” His voice cracked, and he looked ready to flee.

“It won’t,” Draco promised. “I won’t let it. And neither will you.”

The two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment before Harry blinked and looked away, and Draco let his gaze roam towards the rest of him. He could see the marks on his neck left in the wake of Draco’s initial grip, the way his hair was twisted upwards from Draco’s fingers holding it back, and he frowned in concern. “Did I hurt you?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head no as Draco’s fingers grazed across the fresh bruises, dragging down the side of his neck and back up again. He checked, oh so carefully, for any sign of pain. When Harry didn’t flinch away he settled his palm atop his throat and Harry lifted his own hands to hold it there.

Draco watched him carefully, taking in the red splotches on his skin still swollen from tears, and the way his lashes clumped together beneath his glasses, framing those thankfully green eyes. He couldn’t help but study them carefully, searching for any sign of something amiss. They were wet, and bloodshot, but entirely his. He sighed once in relief before lowering his body enough to press a gentle kiss against Harry’s lips, and then he let his mouth rest over one of the marks on Harry’s neck between his thumb and forefinger as he took several deep breaths.

“I had other plans for tonight,” he muttered, his eyes slipping closed as the remainder of the adrenaline fuelled energy finally left his body.

“S-sorry.”

Draco huffed and pushed himself upwards as he stared down at Harry with a raised eyebrow. “What did I say about apologizing for things that aren’t your fault?”

“S-, right, yeah,” Harry said, and then he twisted his lips into a grimace and glanced away.

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he flopped down atop the blankets at Harry’s side. “Besides, I never said my plans were ruined,” he drawled, peering at Harry out of the corner of his eye. He was met with a curious glance, and Draco smiled slightly and turned towards him as he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered. His gaze drifted down Draco’s form, towards the scars that had set him off not so long ago, before wandering back up to meet his probing stare.

“Are they going to be a concern moving forward?” Draco asked softly, and though it was with some hesitance, Harry reached out to touch his chest, pressing his nails over the ridges on his skin. He traced the long scars carefully, and after inspecting them in their entirety, clearly no longer stricken by the mere sight of them, Harry shook his head. Draco didn’t need to hear him say it. He could see the truth in his gaze. Alongside the tiniest glimpse of absolution he had wished Harry might grant himself one day. Draco thought it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

“Good,” Draco said. “There’s something I’d like to try. A little experiment if you will. And I need you ready and willing. Do you trust me?” That question was met with a simple nod. And yet again, Draco knew Harry meant it. “Excellent.”

Draco pushed away from Harry with some regret and searched the room quickly with his eyes. He spotted his belongings directly across, and realized the two of them were cuddled up together on Greg’s bed. It was probably best not to continue their activities there. He stood up and stretched, and then held his hand out to Harry before tugging him upwards and leading him towards his own four-poster bed. As Harry settled beneath the dark green duvet Draco searched his side table and pulled out two small vials. He set one atop the table but kept the vial filled with crystal clear liquid on hand. He looked down at Harry seriously and dangled it between his fingers.

“Do you know what this is?”

Harry peered at it with squinted eyes and Draco let him take it from his fingers to inspect as he slipped under the covers beside him.

“Veritaserum?” Harry guessed a moment later, and Draco couldn’t keep the proud grin off his face.

“That’s right,” he said, and at Harry’s questioning glance he asked, “Are you ready for a little fun?” Harry paused, looking between the vial and Draco a few times, and Draco quickly added, “It’s okay if you’d rather not tonight. We can just…rest a bit. If you like. Whatever you need.” He cupped the side of Harry’s face gently in his palm, searching his eyes for signs of uncertainty. He was surprised to find nothing of the sort.

“I’m okay,” Harry reassured him, and then he made to open the tiny vial, but Draco pulled it quickly from his grasp before he had the chance.

“Oh it’s not for you, darling. It’s for me. Though, I appreciate your show of trust,” he drawled. Draco pulled the stopper free and carefully let three droplets of the potion fall on his tongue. Immediately he felt it taking effect. His mind relaxed, cleared completely of any worry, and nothing but his own truths settled into the forefront of his thoughts. His inhibitions lowered considerably, and he already felt like spilling his innermost secrets. Typically, Draco never would have allowed his mind to be weakened in such a way. He valued control. Desired it in every waking moment. Especially after spending a nightmarish amount of time at the mercy of others while forced to do their bidding. But for Harry’s sake, he was willing to let his carefully constructed mask slip away.

There would be no disputing the things he said as truth. At least a truth that Draco believed in.

It was one of his more brilliant ideas, if he did say so himself.

“What now?” Harry asked, as Draco sighed and blinked his eyes, doing his best to keep some level of focus in an effort to actually enact his plan.

He turned towards Harry dazedly, every limb in his body suddenly loose and almost rubbery. Thankfully, he was still able to guide them to do his bidding if he worked hard enough at it. Draco reached out to grab hold of Harry’s chin as a lazy smile settled over his lips. “Now, sweetheart, you are going to listen.” Draco vaguely noticed that his words were slightly slurred, but he was more preoccupied with Harry’s startled expression. He had stilled at the endearment, his green eyes fixed upon Draco’s stormy grey. That was exactly the attention Draco was looking for. “Because there are some things I would like to address. Do you understand?”

Harry barely had time to nod before Draco was already blurting, “Firstly, how ridiculously beautiful you are.” Harry took in a quick breath of air. He opened his mouth but ultimately closed it, unable to refute the claim. “Secondly, how much I want to suck on your arsehole until you squeal like a pig.” Harry’s eyes widened and Draco blinked at him as his mind caught up with his loosened tongue. Ugh, that was not what he meant to say. This was going to be more difficult to manage than he thought.

Draco cleared his throat with some embarrassment. His thoughts were so scattered he couldn’t find it in himself to be particularly fazed for terribly long. But Harry…Harry was another story altogether. His entire face flushed bright red, right out to the tips of his ears, and Draco could see patches spreading down his neck beneath his clothes.

Hmm. That was an interesting reaction.

With some struggle, Draco rearranged his body atop Harry’s on the bed, and as he shifted his legs between the two beneath him, his knee slid upwards against something hard. Draco stilled, his eyes jolting quickly down towards Harry’s clothed crotch. “Merlin, Harry. Does the idea of being spread open on my tongue turn you on?”

Harry visibly shuddered, and then to Draco’s disappointment he practically sank down into the mattress as he withered away in shame. “It’s okay, baby. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I want to give you everything you deserve. Everything,” Draco soothed. He pressed long fingers around the side of Harry’s neck, and then guided his attention upwards. Green eyes flitted about behind those ridiculously large round frames for a moment before meeting his gaze shyly. “Do you like this? Be honest, my darling. Tonight is all about honesty,” Draco asked. Again the endearment startled Harry. His cheeks, already rosy from embarrassment somehow deepened further in colour. But Harry nodded, and as Draco ground his knee carefully upwards he watched his eyes flutter closed in pleasure.

“Good,” Draco whispered. He removed Harry’s glasses with as much care as he could muster under the influence of the potion and then kissed him, pressing his body deeper into the mattress beneath the blankets. Harry made it easy for him to remove his trousers, wiggling out of them as Draco’s somewhat shaky hands pushed the fabric quickly out of the way. He didn’t bother fussing with his own, perfectly satisfied with letting the waistband linger loosely over his waist as he lowered the zip and pulled his swollen length free. The first touch of skin against skin was brilliant. And Draco nearly came right then and there. The complete disarray of his thoughts in combination with the presence of a half-naked Harry fucking Potter ready and willing beneath him was bordering on too much to bear.

Things progressed quickly from there. And if one were to ask Draco how he had gone from kissing Harry to thrusting his fingers inside him as deep as they could go he wouldn’t have been able to map it out at all. All he knew, was that he couldn’t shut the hell up, leaning in against Harry’s dark curls as he whispered anything and everything in his ear. He hadn’t even removed his rings. Because he liked dragging them across Harry’s skin. The little gooseflesh trails that were left in the wake of his cool touch. He vaguely recalled telling Harry about it. How much he wanted to finger him with them on. And Harry didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’d responded eagerly to the suggestion. And he jerked in surprise every time the cool metal pressed up against his rim, leaving Draco delighted and gushing with compliments.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” he promised. “Gonna make you feel it for days.” And then his heart ached for a moment at the mere possibility that Harry might be left feeling any pain and he quickly added, “Don’t wanna hurt you baby. Tell me if it hurts. Want you to feel good.”

It was like the opposite of an interrogation. Because Draco never stopped talking without ever being asked a single question. He simply spouted fact after fact, told Harry every little detail on his mind. Things no sane person wanted to know. How warm his body was on the inside. How Draco could feel the way he constricted around him. How he’d dreamed about taking him over the desk in History of Magic. How cute his cock was. How much Draco loved their difference in size. Fuck. He’d glanced into Harry’s eyes immediately after that in concern. The last thing he wanted was Harry to feel insecurity as he made love to him for the very first time. But just as it had been from the moment Draco first confessed his innermost desires, Harry’s gaze was completely overtaken by lust.

“You like that baby? You like that you fit inside my hand?” Draco asked, with no real expectation of receiving an answer. He didn’t need one. Not with Harry’s cock dripping between his fingers, or the little whines that sounded in the back of his throat, or the writhing of his hips upwards to meet Draco’s deep downward thrusts.

“Look what you do to me Harry. Look how hard I am because of you. All because of you,” he rambled. “So beautiful. Taking me so good. So perfect.” This time the declaration didn’t make him fade away into nothingness. Because Draco made sure he knew it was true. That there was no possible way it was a lie. Nevermind the Veritaserum. How could it be anything but the truth when he was this bloody well aroused? The physical evidence of what Harry did to him was right there. Currently buried to the hilt inside of him and impossible to ignore. But, if even that wasn’t enough, the Veritaserum meant every single word he said was as real to him as anything conceivably could be.

“Can you feel it? Can you feel how deep inside you I am? How thick I am for you? How wet you are?” Draco asked. Gods he was getting close. The way Harry’s legs wrapped around his waist and pulled at him relentlessly was bound to do him in. He dragged his fingers through Harry’s curls, holding the sides of his head with care as he licked at his lips. “Only you can do this to me, darling,” he swore. “Gods you’re lovely like this. Flushed and pliant beneath me. So good for me.”

Harry’s arms practically clawed at his shoulders, his nails dragging into Draco’s skin and leaving marks he hoped might last forever. Draco wanted everyone to know that he was Harry’s. Just as much as he wanted everyone to know Harry was his. “I’d do anything for you Harry. Anything at all.”

He felt his body’s limitations reaching their end. The mix of potion and pleasure induced haze was becoming overwhelming, and as he felt himself at the cusp of his climax he hesitated to leave the warmth of Harry’s body. “I want to come inside you. I want to paint your insides with it.” It was a ridiculous primal desire. But he couldn’t push it aside all the same. Harry released a shuddery breath that Draco couldn’t interpret, ruined as he was in that moment, and he swallowed and desperately added, “I won’t, don’t worry.” With his last bit of coherent thought he moved to pull out but Harry’s legs tightened around him urgently and he whispered pleadingly, so sweetly against his chin, “Draco, d-don’t pull out, please.”

It surprised him, because Harry had been so quiet up to that point, nothing but little squeaks and moans passing through his bite-swollen lips. It was Draco who clearly liked to talk while encased within him. While feeling so much and with reservations lowered. And he thought it was a good thing. Because Harry was listening. And he was learning. Just how good he was for Draco each and every day. But there was something equally as incredible about hearing his desperate little noises, those stuttered words, his innermost desires, spoken with such confidence and without a hint of regret.

“Well, when you ask so nicely,” Draco drawled. His hips stuttered uncontrollably, and he pushed inside Harry impossibly deep as he came. Harry convulsed beneath him, hips jittering uncontrollably as he released between their sweat soaked bodies, and Draco laughed into his curls and muttered incomprehensible things into his temple until they both came down from their shared high.

Afterwards, when they were lying next to each other on the bed, and Draco was so fucking tired, with so many thoughts still swimming at the very tip of his tongue, Harry leaned over him in concern. “Er…you should take this,” he uttered, and Draco blinked at him wearily as a small vial was pressed between his trembling fingers. Ah yes, the antidote. He was already mumbling praises to express his gratitude as he uncorked the glass container and lifted it languidly to his lips.

It felt like a wave crashed over his body the second the bitter liquid hit his tongue, and Draco shifted upwards and propped himself against the headboard as his head began to clear from his self-induced haze. Suddenly the lights in the room were far too bright, and the static sound of silence became an uncomfortably loud echo inside his ears. He adjusted to the recovery of sense and impulse control for a minute or two and then, once his thoughts were back in their usual order, he pressed his fingers over his face in horror.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking hell.

How utterly embarrassing.

He couldn’t help but recall every ridiculous thing he’d said in his moment of weakness. His mind sorted through the unending platitudes one by one, carefully adding each and every one of them to a lengthening list of stupid shit he’d done in the depths of his mind. He’d intentionally broken down his Occlumency walls in an attempt to allow the potion to work to its greatest extent, but he regretted that somewhat now. Already they were restructuring themselves, hiding the worst of it behind blockades that even the strongest Legilimens would never be able to penetrate. But what he really needed was a Pensieve. So he could spare himself the disgrace of possessing such memories at all.

He threw his skull back into the headboard and groaned. He’d said so much he couldn’t even keep track of it all. After an appropriate length of time pondering what they might dress him in for the burial he cleared his throat and croaked, “Well, that was fun. I’m suitably mortified. And completely knackered. How about you?”

He pressed his thumb against the cork as he resealed the vial, and then Harry shifted at his side and said something that stopped him in his tracks.

“I love you, Draco.”

Three simple words, addressed only to him. But they were enough to send Draco to places he’d never been and never thought he could visit. His insistent work towards regaining mental focus crumbled in an instant, and any effort he’d put towards protecting the most vulnerable corners of his mind dissolved right along with it. Harry…loved him? Every embarrassing thing he’d said that night disappeared from his thoughts in a flash. The only thing he heard cycling in his thoughts was Harry’s whispered words. Beautiful words. They sounded like raindrops bouncing off of leaves on a warm summer’s day.

He looked over at Harry with wide eyes. Watched him slide his glasses back on his face like he hadn’t just shattered Draco’s entire world view. The Veritaserum was no longer in his system, urging all those deeply kept secrets to the surface for him to spew. But even without the combined components of Jobberknoll feathers and powdered moonstone loosening his tongue, it was the easiest thing in the world to whisper the sentiment right back.

“I love you too, Harry.”

And Harry looked at him like he believed it, eyes shining, seeing. Not with insecurity or doubt, but rather joy.

Their hands intertwined between them on the bed and Draco squeezed Harry’s fingers gently between his own. He leaned in, kissed him like a desperate man, until the two of them fell back atop the bed with racing hearts and breathless panting.

Harry gazed at him fondly and then his mouth lifted in a teasing smirk that Draco adored the sight of. He hadn’t seen such an expression on his face since before the war. “Did you really mean it when you said you wanted to twist my body like a pretzel and fuck me so deep you could see it down my throat?” he asked, his cheeks flushing despite his playful demeanour. And Draco choked in disbelief before letting his head fall limply on Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh Merlin,” he wheezed. He let out a few scandalized laughs, and then with a shaking head he whispered, “Would you like me to show you just how much I did?” against Harrys clammy brow.  

Harry shuddered beneath him, and then turned towards him with searching eyes. “Thought you were tired.”

“Not enough to keep my hands off of you,” Draco claimed.

It turned out he didn’t even need the Veritaserum to become an embarrassingly loose tongued fool. All he needed was Harry bloody Potter naked in his bed and shyly nipping at his nose.

“He needs me,” Draco proclaimed as he studiously ignored the plant vine fondling his shirt sleeve. He didn’t have any reason in particular to be loitering about in Greenhouse Seven on a Sunday afternoon. No reason apart from Harry electing to spend the day there with Neville and a few other friends as they harvested and tended to various plants for Professor Sprout. Draco had managed to convince Greg and Pansy to join him, and the two of them were currently arguing over the best method of clipping back an overgrown Snargaluff without sustaining injury, while Lovegood worked effortlessly between them without a care in the world. But Draco’s eyes were elsewhere. Caught on Harry’s smile, flashing golden beneath the light streaming through the glass Greenhouse covers.

Ginny looked at him over the pot she was patting fresh soil into, her gaze attentive even as she continued diligently working.

“I need him too,” Draco added.

She smirked and laughed, then uttered, “Took you long enough,” and Draco knew, that really was it. He’d solved it. Her little puzzle. And the answer had been staring him in the face all along.

“You’re a right cow. You are aware, aren’t you?” Draco snarled.

“And you’re an insufferable prat.”

He pursed his lips and glared at her. “You could have just told me from the start.”

“No. No I couldn’t have,” she insisted. Her gaze shifted towards Harry, and Draco’s followed, drawn back to him like he was under the influence of the world’s most potent love potion. Except it was a love so pure that no mere potion could possibly come close to replicating it. Draco sighed and leaned against the table as he watched Harry grin proudly after catching a particularly rambunctious Bouncing Bulb. He repotted it in a more appropriately sized planter and then looked up, catching Draco’s eye. Draco smiled slightly and Harry flushed and looked down. But he was smiling too. Genuinely smiling. He looked relaxed. Sated. Had done ever since they woke entangled in Draco’s bedding. They’d spent the early hours of the morning snuggling and kissing, while Draco whispered sweet nothings in his ear.

“I suppose you’re right. I needed to figure it out on my own,” Draco conceded.

“Great, so glad you’ve finally had some sense knocked into your thick skull. Now, are you going to actually help or just sit around watching Harry get dirty like some kind of useless lump?”

Hmm. He rather liked the sound of that. His eyebrow lifted, and his mouth slid to the side in a devious grin. Ginny groaned when she seemingly realized just where his thoughts had travelled, and Draco laughed for a good long while. He quickly became the target of a fair few clumps of soil along with a series of levitating dung beetles that left him shrieking and ducking for cover. And though it took him a considerable amount of time to pluck the remnants of Ginny’s attack from his hair, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her. In fact, he felt lighter than he had in a very long time. And as he took in the warmth of the greenhouse ambiance, the excited chatter of his friends and classmates, and the vibrant energy that came from their laughter and enjoyment of youth, he felt more than just a glimpse of hope for his uncertain future. Especially after he looked across the room and caught sight of Harry’s mirth filled green gaze reflecting a similar sentiment right back.