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They had sent Draco Malfoy his letter of invitation to Hogwarts to receive his N.E.W.T.s a month before school started.
He had been asleep for what felt like months, there was really no need to be awake. He had packed appropriately with all his best clothes. He knew it would be rough; he knew he was a traitor, and a coward, so he thought he should at least look good doing it.
Once he had stuffed his clothes haphazardly into his luggage, he waved his mother's wand to summon a house-elf, before remembering they had freed them all after the trials and he was glad when no one appeared to help him pack. Some of his favorite elves had begged to stay, cried on their knees, but Draco had to look away, disgusted with their loyalty as he presented them each with idiotic little vests that he had spent several weeks sewing by hand. They could only truly be free, far away from here.
He glanced at the full body mirror across from him; it startled him to find his father staring back from his reflection. He shuddered, shaking his long bleach- white hair away from his face, deciding that he’d rather look like a steaming pile of garbage than like Lucius Malfoy. With a dizzying rise from his packing, he walked to the scissors on his bathroom counter.
Draco snipped the scissors with anger at his appearance. He had been damned with his father’s striking likeness that had just barely been softened by his mother’s features. He gave himself a cut similar to his 6th year and as far from his father’s overlong hanging hair as he could manage. That's when he really looked at himself. Oval-shaped darkness surrounded his eyes, and he looked gaunt. His ribs stuck out under his skin and his collarbones looked sharp. He was naked, making it much too easy to notice the scars scaling his body, his porcelain skin disgusting him. And last, that damned mark. Draco smirked with no humor. He was the property of the tyrant that had threatened the entire wizarding world. He was only a surviving reminder of his family’s ignorance. He put out an order for his school supplies and promptly sought sleep where his eyelids could block out his reality. Any nightmare where he ended up dead was one he took solace in.
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As Draco rolled his luggage behind him, he rested in the sound of the clunk that the wheels made when meeting the cobblestone path up to what was supposedly the "eighth-year" dorms.
He found that asking a house-elf to do away with his luggage made his gut churn unpleasantly. Images of his father sneering down at the unlucky elf who was forced to throw himself at a wall flicked violently through his memory. Draco couldn't even think of what the poor creature had done to deserve it but he was certain it didn't warrant that abuse. He approached the painting of none other than his ex headmaster and the man he had once been ordered to kill; Albus Dumbledore.
"New leaf," Draco spoke, eyes kept distinctly on his shoes, ones that had been expertly shined earlier that day. He thought the password was cheesy and stupid, but had no one to speak that opinion to, and was sure no one cared to listen. Dumbledore nodded and his painting swung to reveal a common room.
The decorations were simple and neutral, the room empty of movement save for a crackling fireplace that sent a shiver down his spine. He missed Goyle sometimes; they were never close but Vincent was a constant protector and now his absence was a reminder of the death of his childhood.
Shaking his head in a dull effort to clear it, he started towards the stairs that he hoped led him to a bed, maybe with a pillow, he could scream into. The stairs were short and when he arrived at the top, he looked above the first door to his right, to a plaque that read to his horror "Malfoy & Potter".
"Fuck.” was all Draco could manage as he pushed open the door to his new abode. Foreboding weighed down on him like bricks tied to his neck and he was certain if one more thing happened he would run for the hills screaming.
Draco had arrived earlier than most of his fellow students... all except one, it seemed.
"Hello, Malfoy." Scowled the savior of the wizarding world. His hair stood at every direction and his eyes glinted with an emerald disdain that made Draco's chest clench unpleasantly. No peace was to be had, not even in his own room.
Draco held in a sarcastic comment he would have made years ago about how lucky he was to get a room with the savior, trying his hardest to not just turn around and go home.
Draco managed a nod as he turned to the bed that Potter wasn't sitting on, setting his luggage next to what was certain to be his new least favorite place.
Draco breathed deeply, calming the anxiety scratching at his chest only slightly.
"Potter," Draco turned on his heel towards his roommate, trying not to sneer. "I know that we've had our differences but I must thank you for speaking at my trial. I owe my life to you." He decided not to mention that Potter hadn't spoken for his father, who had received the dementor's kiss.
"I owe my life to your mother, I was repaying her. How is she?" Potter's face was unreadable, but Draco was certain his wasn't as he felt horror wash across him before he could wipe it off for the neutral disinterest that he was known for.
"She's deceased as of a couple of months ago."
It was Potter's turn to display horror across his face.
"What?" He questioned dumbly, shock lacing his voice.
"Deceased. Dead. Passed on. After my father received the kiss, she took her life. It was all over The Prophet."
Draco held Potter's eyes until the brunette looked away.
"Fuck, Malfoy. Sorry."
"Not much to be done about it, Potter."
"I- I don't read the prophet." There was a strange shift on his face and for a moment he looked ethereal in a way that made Draco's stomach roll. He could just walk out the door and go back to The Manor. He didn’t need all this. He was rich and could surely afford to miss out on the last year of his education. Yet, he sat down on his bed and began to unpack.
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It was soon dinner time, Potter had spent an extensive amount of time flipping through a Quidditch magazine while lying on his stomach until a Patronus had been sent by a voice that had to be Granger. It had asked him down to dinner, saying that she and Weasley had arrived.
Potter had stood then and walked out while Draco tried to look uninterested. Draco was jealous. Jealous of the friendship, jealous of the ability to cast a Patronus, jealous that he hadn't been on the right side, he was so green with envy that his skin crawled and he felt appalled at himself, disdain for those better than him was truly unbecoming.
He had long before the Patronus' arrival decided to skip dinner, his nerves already fried. He hadn't eaten often over the summer, so it wasn't difficult to skip another meal here and there, though he would have to face the Great Hall, eventually. The thought made him shudder.
Draco was certain he would rot out his lungs with his habits, but nonetheless, he lent down and pulled his cigarette pack from his luggage and lit it by the tip of his mother’s wand. The nicotine rushed to his brain and soothed his nerves that had been screaming ever since he set foot on Hogwart’s cobblestone.
Once all that was left was the butt of a delicious vice, Draco vanished the evidence.
Going to take what he hoped to be a soothing shower before an early night, he walked into the en suite bathroom. He shed his clothing in several fluid motions and placed his too expensive soaps. The water sprayed over him like a balm, and he hummed in satisfaction.
After scrubbing himself clean of the treacherous day he had suffered, he turned off the shower and grabbed his toothbrush.
As he brushed his teeth, he looked to his reflection, and it pleased him to not see Lucius Malfoy looking back at him, but that's where the pleasantries stopped. His gaze fell to his dark mark, and he sucked in an icy breath of disgust.
That's when an idea graced him like a light from heaven.
Grabbing his shaving cartridge, that went unused due to his inability to grow the smallest splash of facial hair, he kept his gaze distinctly on the brand his forearm held. He placed the cool metal onto the disgusting blemish and idly wondered if his mother felt this way when she slit her own wrist. He had no aim to end his life as his stinging slices slid opposite to hers. It barely struck him, the whacks of his father's cane being an often occurrence had built his pain tolerance early.
The beads of red pursed at the newly puckered skin and he felt satisfied to see his past treated in such a way. Draco was taking control of the thing that controlled him and it brought him endless satisfaction to see that repulsive skull and snake weep blood.
He slept well that night.
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When Draco woke, it was with dread in his chest. He was up and dressed before Potter had woken. The soft breath coming from the other boy's bed made Draco long to be peaceful like the unconscious savior.
Draco arrived at the common room, pleased to see the fire extinguished and no one around. His time table was pinned to a board on the wall which he swiped gratefully. It wasn't like he would really need it, he could just follow one of the few returning 8th years as they all had the same times table but he figured if caught too close to one of his peers he surely would be assaulted.
He couldn’t bring himself to attempt breakfast, but with nothing else to do; he felt out of place.
Deciding to walk toward his first class and sit outside the door in the hall was his plan. It proved to be a stupid plan that made him susceptible to stinging hex after another when he nodded off. His skin boiled where the hexes had struck and he shielded himself with a textbook, feeling rather deserving of the ambush that only calmed when the day’s first professor walked out of his door to investigate.
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Classes were shit. No one sat near Draco, giving him a wide berth and plenty of room to remind him of his past actions. He was bored with the droning teachers and tired of sitting ramrod straight as to not irritate the hexed skin of his body. At lunch break, he retired back to the room he shared with his nemesis. He would do any homework sent his way. He was in no mood to be around others and their opinions of him, so the decision to alienate himself came with ease.
Draco’s luck seemed to have no plan of changing though because when he entered his room there was Potter with his back turned to the door. Harry Potter skipping lunch was unheard of and quite annoying. Draco sighed audibly and Potter shuffled, turning to him.
There sat the chosen one with red-rimmed eyes and a pink nose. He had been crying.
“Are you quite alright Potter?”
The brunette starred right through Draco and took a long blink before nodding. Draco’s mouth went dry. He turned stiffly to his bed and rummaged through his bag, more so for something to do than anything else.
After a while, Draco had taken to sitting at the head of his bed and staring into nothing.
“Draco?” His given name drew him from his thoughts with a start, the last person to call him by his name was dead.
When Potter saw he had gotten his attention, he said something that took Draco more back than his name.
“I- I really don’t have the energy for this feud thing we have. I feel as though this all too much to add hatred to, and to be quite clear I don’t think I ever managed to hate you.”
Draco could feel the dumbfounded look on his face.
Without another word, Potter rose and stuck his hand out.
Draco grabbed the other’s tanned and sinewy hand after a moment and shook.
“Alright, Potter.”
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Potter left for his next class and Draco laid back on his bed. He didn’t know how to feel about Potter’s outburst, but he doubted their newfound truce would last the week.
Draco nodded in and out of sleep until his stomach’s grumbling woke him. He cast a Tempus only to see it was 5:00 pm and everyone would be at dinner. His aversion to The Great Hall had only been growing as he thought of all the faces of hatred and the boils across his body from hexes cast by them. He knew he could call for a house-elf to bring him something to eat, they often did this for sick students, but he couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of a house-elf’s generosity.
With little of a thought, Draco walked to the bathroom where he took in his reflection. His eyes were still sunken, skin grey, and his body still looked sickly and frail. He then remembered the blemish he could remove, that sat right under his sleeve, that if gone would surely make bounds in his appearance.
Without hesitation, Draco’s boney fingers stretched to his razors, and he clasped the cool metal. Rolling up his sleeve was like revealing an atrocity.
This time when he pressed the razor into his branded skin and dragged it he took solace in the stinging flesh that he no longer considered his own. Yes, it was Draco’s nerve endings that lit up when he opened the skin, but it was not his; it hadn’t been his for quite some time. Flashes of his marking ceremony took his memory in clutch as he continued his actions. He watched omnipotently, his body writhed as Voldemort’s wand met his skin.
Draco looked to his damaged skin and was satisfied. He rinsed his arm and rolled down his sleeve. He apparently had impeccable timing because a startling knock pounded at the other side of the bathroom door.
“Malfoy? Are you alive in there? It’s been like 30 minutes!” Potter’s voice rang and Draco doubted largely it had been half an hour.
Unlocking the barrier between him and his roommate, he was met with emerald eyes looking at him in concern that made him squirm within himself.
“Quite fine, thanks.” Draco tried to keep the bite in his voice at bay as he slid past Potter.
“You haven’t been in The Great Hall,” Potter spoke, gazing at Draco.
“No, I haven’t” Draco pulled his pack of cigarettes from his trunk.
“Do you mind?” Draco asked, more out of social obligation than anything else as he lit it by the tip of his mother’s wand.
“You smoke?” Potter watched the curling smoke escape Draco’s lips.
“Suppose I do, though you mustn't tell my father,” Draco spoke with a bitter chuckle, “it’s terribly muggle of me.”
A frown distorted the brunette’s features.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but dinner is long over, as I’m sure you're aware,” Draco didn’t like the onslaught of questions coming his way. “Besides, these wondrous little objects do as a fine meal replacement.” Draco allowed more smoke to seep past his lips.
“Just call for a house-elf, you know they’ll be happy to bring you something,” Now Potter looked at him as if he were daft for not having the idea. “Then you can stop giving yourself lung cancer for a bit.”
“No.” The word had passed Draco’s lips in a curl of smoke before he could even think to stop himself.
“Why not? Here, I’ll do it.”
Before Draco could even wrap his hands around the brunette’s neck as he so wanted to do, a house-elf appeared between the two with a plate of cheese and assorted fruits, disappearing just as quickly after setting the plate in Draco’s shaking hand, his cig between two fingers on his right hand completely forgotten.
Draco sucked in a gasp of cool air. He didn’t want the food anymore, his stomach churned at the very thought. He bent down and placed the food lightly on the side table next to his bed, banished his cigarette, and waved his mother’s wand to summon the house elf. The elf popped up right in front of Draco.
“Hows can I help you sir?” spoke the large-eyed creature that stood no taller than Draco’s knees.
“My name is Draco, and I’d like it if you referred to me as such. What is your name?”
“Tilly” Her eyes gazed up at Draco's, he attempted to keep his own eyes kind under the stress of the situation.
“Alright Tilly, it would make me very happy if you,” Draco rummaged around in his pocket for a second before pulling out a galleon. “Would accept this as payment.”
“Really, Mr. Draco sir? Are you sure?” Tilly’s eyes filled with tears that made Draco shudder.
“Certainly.” Draco placed the coin in Tilly’s tiny hands that made the coin look huge.
“Thank you, Mr. Draco, thank you!” Tilly wrapped her frail arms around Draco’s knees and then left with a pop.
Draco’s body sagged onto his bed and he placed his hands over his face, rubbings at the stress under his skin.
“Why’d you do that?” Draco startled at Potter’s voice in front of him, having completely forgotten his presence.
Draco sat up and smoothed his features, hoping that the burning tears behind his eyes stayed put.
“It was the right thing to do, and heaven knows I’ve done plenty of the wrong thing.”
Draco’s tear threatened to fall as he looked up at the ceiling. Suddenly, there was a weight next to him, Potter had sat down.
“I forgive you for the past you know, you were just a kid.” Harry's voice had said it but Draco was certain it wasn’t him who spoke it.
“You were just a kid.” Draco countered, thinking longingly of his cigarette.
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Several days passed by Draco without incident, Harry went to classes and Draco slept the sun away, smoking whenever he felt the pains of hunger. When he woke and felt it time to bathe, he would also take several razor bladed swipes at his dark mark.
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There in front of Draco lay Tilly’s dead body. Draco’s wand was pointed and the taste of the killing curse still sat in his mouth. He had killed her. Her tiny body leaked blood that began to stain his shoes. His favorite pair of shoes were now sullied with an elf’s blood. A hand crept to his neck and grabbed hold, the unmistakable cool of his father’s hands burned as he heard the whispers began.
“Splendid boy Draco, the Dark Lord will be so pleased.”
Draco woke with a start and flinched away from whatever held his arm.
“Draco! Draco, it’s just me, you were having a nightmare!” Harry spoke with a strangely calm voice for someone who was woken by screams.
Draco drooped at hearing that he had not in fact murdered an innocent, the fight leaking out of him. He noted the cool tear stains on his cheeks while he tried desperately to catch his breath.
“Sorry.” He wheezed as he struggled; embarrassment creeping up his chest.
“No need to apologize, I well... I get them too so I suppose this evens the playing field a bit. Try to breathe with me.” Harry’s voice was calming and Draco caught more frequent breaths, focusing on Harry’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Harry whispered, his face so open to whatever Draco had to say.
Draco thought for a moment, scrubbing the tears from his face, flashes of the house elf’s corpse at his feet causing his chest to clench.
“No, no, I don’t think so.” Draco breathed out unevenly and reached for his cigarettes.
“Isn’t it a little early for a smoke?” Harry questioned, still sitting beside Draco’s fragile form, hand resting on Draco’s shoulder like a plaster over a wound.
“Probably, yes. I erm- it just helps a bit.” Draco hated the croak in his voice and glanced down at his tangled bed sheets.
“Alright then.” Harry stood swiftly then and walked over to his own bed. Draco couldn’t help the way his body flopped down onto his mattress without the support of Harry’s presence to hold him up.
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That morning Harry got up and dressed without a word to Draco, who was curled into himself like a child without any intention of moving. The weight on Draco’s chest anchored him to his bed, his head fogged with nonsensical thoughts about running back to the cold empty manor that he called home. His ex-nemesis had not only been woken by his shrieks but had sat with him as he cried about nothing. Draco was mortified.
He rolled slightly and picked at the room temperature grapes Tilly had brought him several nights ago, stomach yearning for something more. He knew better than to call upon Tilly though, having no desire to feel the rot of his past creeping up his throat again.
He always knew that humans had large capacities for hate, having been raised by Death Eaters and later the Dark Lord himself, but he had never known that self-hatred could be so prominent. As a child had no reason to dislike himself, he was an heir to the Malfoy throne after all. As a teenager, he had started to have doubts about his family and consequently himself. He found those doubts to have come far too late when he watched the atrocities inflicted by the same man who had branded him. There was no escape for him, he has been claimed by his heritage before he was even given the chance to have distinct morals. Now that he was far away from that life, it never seemed closer. Disgust crawled his spine and reminded him that hundreds of the students in the castle he sat in right now had been harmed by his actions and had seen the hatred he reaped. Draco’s body curled further into himself and he hoped against the odds that peaceful sleep would take him.
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At lunchtime, Draco had managed to stumble over to their window and smoke out of it, attempting to be courteous to his roommate.
Harry swung the door to their shared room open and walked in, closing it behind him and gazing directly at Draco. Draco felt a sudden sweltering heat that must have blown in from the window, so he flicked his cigarette out of sight and shut it.
“Are you planning on actually leaving this room anytime soon?” Harry spoke so directly to Draco that he felt rather ambushed, taking a step back in surprise.
“Yes, I use the bathroom at least three times a day for your information.” It wasn’t Draco’s best come back, he could admit that.
“The en suite bathroom, Malfoy?” Harry’s smile was crooked as he chuckled at the weak rebuttal.
“What if I don’t want to leave, what then Potter?” Draco heard his heartbeat in his ears.
“Then I’d tell you to get over yourself, but thankfully we aren’t having that issue.” Harry’s words were automatic and made more guilt crawl the length of Draco’s torso.
“Aren’t we though?” Draco asked, trying to come off more fierce than he felt.
“We are not. You want to leave, you’re just telling yourself you don’t and since I’m quite tired of the room smelling of cigarettes, you are coming with me to lunch.” Harry seemed smug as he spoke.
Draco was taken back by Harry’s directness, they hadn’t spoken to each other for days on end but now he had the audacity to order Draco about and what was worse, Draco wanted to listen. Draco didn’t think of himself as easily bossed around, but something within him wanted to do what Harry said. Probably, Draco thought, it was Harry’s Gryffindor ability to lead people into danger as he had done most of his life.
“Bloody Gryffindor Savior with a hero complex trying to drag me out of my own bedroom! The nerve!” Draco slid into his robes and stood at the door, tapping his foot impatiently.
“Are we going or not?” Draco barked exasperatedly at the brunette.
“Alright, alright. Let’s go.” Harry had slid into a comfortable smile that reeked with the sense that he had gotten what he wanted.
Walking through the castle was uncomfortable, Draco held his head high as anxiety pulsed through him. Draco had no intent to make conversation with the man striding contently beside him, so they walked in silence, heels clicking.
When they arrived at The Great Hall all heads turned to The Savior and The Death Eater with an array of looks from confusion to disgust. Draco was unsurprised at the reaction while Harry seemed to shuffle uncomfortably for a moment before leading himself and Draco over to a table that claimed no house.
“Who’s table is this one?” Draco asked tentatively, feeling out of place as he sat beside Harry, their backs to the other tables.
“This is the eighth year table, you can sit with Slytherin if you like.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck as if he felt wrong for leading Draco to the table they sat at.
“No, no, I quite think it’s better if I stay here at this point.” Draco thought of the hexes that would be thrown if he were to get up and walk across the hall and shuddered.
“Hermione and Ron are spending lunch in the library so you don’t have to worry about them,” Harry said as he heaped a large serving of mashed potatoes onto his plate.
“I owe them both my sincerest-” A stinging hex was thrown at Draco’s back. “Fuck!”
Draco was grateful his spoon of food hadn’t yet met his mouth because he was certain it would have gone flying as soon as the hex had landed.
“Filthy Death Eater scum!” Screamed a voice from behind them.
At the announcement of Draco’s position, an onslaught of hexes came raining in his direction. Draco bit his lip so as to not cry out and allowed the hexes to fall, knowing full well that he deserved this and so much more. He didn’t cry, his father had told him years ago that it was unbecoming. Draco didn’t even recognize some of the hexes that hit him, creative youngins.
“Stop it!” Cried Harry’s voice above the cacophony of spell casting, and they did.
Draco opened his eyes, not remembering closing them in the first place, and turned to see Harry standing at Draco’s back in a protective position.
Without a second thought, Draco rose and walked with his head held high towards his dorm. As soon as he had made it around the corner though, he found himself rather dizzy, leaning against the wall for all the support it could give as his aching body sagged. He was certain he looked a right state with his shaking body being covered in bright red stings and his willowed appearance.
“Hey, hey, let me help.” Harry’s voice was in his ear and he felt himself shiver under the breath.
Draco’s pride screamed as Harry slid a supportive arm along his back, but he felt the exhaustion set into his bones, quieting any objection he could have managed.
Their trek up to the dorms mirrored their journey to the Great Hall in silence and anxiety in Draco’s chest.
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Once in their room with the door closed Draco dug around for seconds before finding a cigarette and lighting it, throwing his robe down and falling onto his bed in one fluid motion.
“I’m sorry.” Harry breathed, sitting on the foot of Draco’s bed and looking to the blonde with genuine remorse.
“It’s not your fault, Potter.” Draco’s voice creaked like an old chair.
“I made you go down there.” Harry glanced down at his hands like they had done something awful.
“And I am a Death Eater.” Draco took a long drag from his vice before vanishing it.
“You were a Death Eater, now you’re just a survivor like the rest of us.”
“We can’t erase the past, Potter.” Draco breathed.
“Harry. Call me Harry and you have no idea how much I wish we could.” Harry’s voice cracked, and he scrubbed at his face.
“Well, then I must insist that you call me Draco.” Draco propped himself up on an elbow, feeling his stomach do somersaults.
“Alright, Draco. Can I heal those hexes for you?” Harry’s empathy was leaking from his every pore and wrapping Draco in it.
Draco nearly agreed, wanting to agree desperately so that the aching throbs would stop pulsating through his entire body, but just as he was about to open his mouth he was reminded of the blemish on his forearm that he could not hide without his shirt.
“No, thank you.” Draco couldn’t help the way his voice and body went rigid.
Harry seemed to be confused, maybe a little offended, but said nothing as he rose from Draco’s bed.
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Draco found himself asleep before Harry had even left the room. His dreams mingled together in a blur of confusion until one stuck out like a sore thumb.
Draco stood in front of Harry, who slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Harry’s eyes were piercing Draco’s soul with the directness of his stare. Harry’s shirt came down and rested at the crooks of his suntanned elbows. Harry offered a crooked smile as Draco took in the wonderful body in front of him.
Draco woke, rolled onto his stomach, and screamed into his pillow. Of course, this was the perfect time for Draco’s childhood crush on Harry to make itself known again.
Draco had known for a long time that he was gay, he had known it before he knew how to fly a broom. Draco's attraction to men was a fact of life to him, not abnormal until one day his governess had told him he had to have a child.
Draco had had little time to even bother thinking about coming out to his parents, though he knew what their reactions would be down to the hand gestures. His father would yell about carrying on the Malfoy name and call him a faggot. His mother would smile and pet his hair, telling him it was normal to go through these types of phases as a teen. Draco knew it wasn't a phase as much as he knew that his name was Malfoy.
He had known he had a crush on Harry Potter since he had seen him getting his robes tailored their first year. Harry Potter was not only the boy who lived, but the boy Draco dreamed about. The day that Harry rejected Draco's hand in friendship was the worst day of little Draco's life. He had craved Harry's attention from then on.
Draco recalled when The Prophet had published the expose on Harry and the Weaslette's breakup and the thrill that shot through him before he had quickly squashed the thought. Draco had always thought Harry too good for her, anyway.
Draco knew his feelings could never be reciprocated. Harry Potter was the chosen one and Draco Malfoy was a death eater. It didn’t help that Harry was probably definitely straight.
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Draco shuffled the sheets over his head for weeks whenever Harry entered the room. Until one day Draco had managed to rally his courage and exist around Harry. Harry began to bring food from the kitchen, explaining that he was friendly with the elves, and Draco began to eat. They continued their routine then, with brief but friendly conversations and life moved on.
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It was Halloween, Draco wouldn’t know this except whenever he opened the window for a smoke he would glance around the grounds and he was surprised to see first years carving pumpkins by the lake. He checked the date on the calendar and sure enough; it told him that time had passed at a surprising rate.
Draco didn’t think much of the date, he remembered the most eventful Halloween he had was his first year when he was terrified of coming face to face with a troll.
Draco lay on his bed, listless. He had finished every homework assignment sent his way quickly and then would take to staring at the ceiling for however long it took until he had something to do again.
Draco was doing just that when Harry entered the room with dinner. Draco took the plate gratefully from Harry’s outstretched hand.
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” Draco said and then chuckled to himself about how true it was.
Draco ate and eventually was unnerved by the silence, usually Harry would ask how his day was or need help on one of their recent assignments. Draco glanced over to Harry’s bed and was startled. Harry was sat cross-legged with tears cascading down his cheeks, and not a single emotion displayed on his face.
Draco quickly set the plate aside and indulged his mother hen instincts by heading over to Harry’s bed. He approached slowly, but Harry took no notice, not even as Draco set himself gently next to him and started rubbing circles into his back. Draco was worried that someone had hexed Harry but couldn’t for the life of him think of who in the school could be ungrateful enough to do so.
Suddenly, Harry took a large gasp of air and began to sob properly with noises that made Draco’s chest clench.
“Harry? How can I help?” Draco was becoming more frantic, he had never seen Harry Potter in this way and he truly never wished to again.
“I-I’m okay, just- can you grab my blanket for me? I’m freezing.” Harry’s voice was nothing more than a tearful whisper and Draco was instantly doing as he was asked, wrapping the blanket around Harry for good measure.
“Please tell me what’s wrong.” Draco wasn’t sure he could take the heartbreak he felt as Harry scrubbed at his tears to no avail as new ones took their place.
“It’s stupid.” Harry’s voice was growing in strength but was still too broken for Draco’s nerves.
“It can’t be stupid if it’s making you this upset.” The words left Draco without a thought, but he was glad they did because it seemed to cause a shift in Harry as he leaned into Draco’s side and closed his eyes for a moment.
“My parents- my parents died on Halloween, a bit of a bummer really, makes it hard to enjoy the holiday. You know, the feast just doesn’t taste the same if all you can hear is your mother’s screams while you eat. Seems foolish to miss people you never knew though.” Harry looked at his hands that were playing with the edge of his blanket as he spoke, the tears rolling slower down his face than before.
Draco pulled Harry further into his side and held him as tightly as he could manage, ignoring the prick of his own tears at the corners of his eyes.
“You have done plenty of foolish things but this, this is where you are allowed to be foolish. You are allowed to feel things whether or not they make sense. You’ve seen enough harm done to take your time and mourn.” Draco didn’t recognize the words coming out of his mouth.
Harry’s tears picked up again and Draco held on for dear life until eventually, Harry fell asleep in Draco’s arms. Draco slipped away when he was sure he wouldn’t wake Harry and headed over to his own bed. That night, though he was not religious, he prayed for the wellbeing of Harry Potter.
----------------
One evening Draco thought truly of leaving Hogwarts for the manor.
“Do you think I should stay here?” Draco glanced up to Harry who was sitting on his bed doing his homework. Draco popped a grape from the plate Harry had brought from the kitchen into his mouth.
“Here at Hogwarts, do you mean?” Harry looked up with confusion, as if the question was insane.
“Yes. I could go back to the manor.” Draco couldn’t piece together why he had asked Harry in the first place, but he figured it had something to do with talking to literally no one else for weeks.
“Is there anything to go back to?” Harry’s question was innocent enough, but the answer ached like a hole in Draco’s chest.
“No, I suppose there isn’t.”
------------
Draco and Harry continued in their pattern for a while, they would have conversations here and there, Draco would smoke cigarettes and cover his dark mark in scar tissue, Harry would go to classes and bring back food from the kitchens, they only woke from nightmares once in a while, and it worked.
Christmas was rapidly approaching to Draco’s chagrin, and he knew the manor would be there to greet him with icy marble floors and empty rooms.
He loathed to admit it, but he would miss Harry’s sun shining smile and the comfort it provided. Harry had become a constant in Draco’s life, he brought calm where Draco sincerely doubted he would find it organically.
“What are you doing for Christmas Draco?” Harry looked up from wrapping a rather enormous book, that Draco had to assume was meant for Granger, and looked Draco in the eye, knocking the wind out of Draco.
“I’m heading to the manor, what about you?” Draco hoped against the odds that the statement didn’t come off as intensely depressing as it was.
“I think I’ll stay here, the Weasleys invited me of course but I don’t know, without Fred it seems so wrong and Ginny will be there.” Harry looked empty for a moment before shrugging. Draco was reminded forcefully that the Weasleys were missing a son and his heart ached for the people he was raised to hate.
“Well, that settles it then, you're coming to the manor with me.” The statement seemed to fire from his lips before he could stop it, and Draco felt the burn of embarrassment sit high on his cheeks.
“Er, that’s really nice of you Draco but I’m not sure I’d like to visit that house, no offense.” Oh yes, Draco had completely neglected the fact that his family had held Harry and his friends captive in the manor's basement and tortured some of them for good measure. The red on his cheeks darkened.
“No offense taken, it’ll be nice to get away for a bit, without your ugly gob around.” Draco joked as Harry chucked a pillow, landing it squarely on Draco’s face.
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As Draco approached his childhood home, he felt as though tethers of darkness were latching onto him and pulling down. The sky was lightly spitting down and gave the cold air a foreboding that looked natural for the manor. The grounds were covered in overgrown yellow grass, and any flowers his mother had planted were nothing but crunchy piles of decomposition. The house loomed over him like his father had when he was younger, powerful, and full of hatred.
As Draco pushed open the grand doors, he felt warm air rush past him, escaping into the chilling evening. His shoes clicked over the marble as he walked past the sitting room, glad that the charm to light the fire in anyone’s presence had long since faded. The house felt hollow and much too powerful to be in Draco’s charge. It was like the thrumming heartbeat of this grand estate had died with his mother, now all that was left was unbridled death. Draco’s stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought.
Draco walked through the house, spotting more cobwebs than ever before, and he met the doors to the backyard portion of the estate. He must have been walking quicker than he thought. Feeling all too eager to be out of the eerie warmth of the house, he pushed the door open and stepped out.
If this was how he was feeling now, he was certain he would have to sell the manor. It was a shame for a house such as this one not to stay in the family, or at least that’s what his mother would have said. He looked up at the too-large building and felt vertigo began to sweep through him.
Draco turned and looked out to all the land that had been preserved by his family's money and wondered what would happen to it when he sold. He couldn’t find it in himself to truly mind, though.
There, about 100 yards in front of Draco, was the pool, surrounded by more yellowing grass.
Draco walked down the long, overgrown pathway to the edge of the pool, thankful that Voldemort had killed the peacocks as they would have come and chased him away.
When he met the edge of the pool and looked at the water it was green and foggy, slime greased the edges and yet, Draco was apathetic. Slowly, he unbuttoned his white shirt and threw it to the ground, then he kicked off his shoes, and slowly but surely Draco found himself naked. Goose pimples graced his skin and his joints creaked as he lowered himself into the muck. Draco swam to the center of the Olympic-sized pool and floated with his eyes closed and stomach facing the sky.
Soon, much too soon, the water felt like nothing at all; the wind lapping at the freezing water didn’t phase his body.
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Harry was sitting at the head of his bed, staring at the empty bed directly in front of him. Draco had changed a lot, maybe not for the better. Harry knew what depression looked like, and he looked it in the eyes every time he talked to Draco. Draco’s eyes were empty, and he looked starved. Harry hated himself for not trying to save Draco along with everyone else, as if Draco didn’t need saving when he very well may have needed it more than most. Maybe it was Harry’s hero complex talking like it had for Ginny, but Harry couldn’t help his pinning. One evening Harry came to their room and found the blonde asleep, and that was when Harry knew that he had feelings for Draco. The way his features had relaxed and his hair had been tousled made Harry’s heart clench.
Now, without the company of his roommate, he felt rather lonely. He loved his friends but with their relationship now completely official he felt himself taking a step back, seeing them together made him happy in the most unfortunate way.
Harry liked to take care of people he had found, when he had first arrived back at Hogwarts he felt despair at having to live on past the war, empty and without motive but when Draco had appeared in his life again he had something worthwhile again. At first, he was happy to have someone to bicker with, but Draco had stomped that flame out with a genuine apology.
Harry wished that Draco was here, a wish that presented a stark difference from his younger years.
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When Harry apparated to Malfoy manor he shivered, but that shiver had nothing to do with the spell nor the weather. The gates were open and without protective spells, leading him through their open arms and to the front door, also left open. Harry’s sense of foreboding tingled as he drew his wand and crept inside. The house was quiet save for the whistling of the wind.
Harry spotted watery boot prints that lead in a straight line towards the back of the house. As Harry followed the trail, he wondered if he could convince Draco to stay his Christmas at Hogwarts, away from this cursed house. Harry was met with another open door and a trampled grass trail that he followed with a quickening pace, the cold making him shiver.
Harry saw him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he ran towards Draco. Draco’s body was tinged blue, floating in the middle of a muck- ridden pool.
Without another thought, Harry jumped into the pool and swam, swam as quickly as his freezing limbs would allow and grabbed hold of Draco’s limp body.
“Potter?”
Oh, thank Merlin. Harry didn’t bother to respond as he gasped and swam himself and Draco to the ladder. Getting Draco’s dead weight out of that God-forsaken pool was one of the most difficult things Harry had ever managed. Soon though, he had Draco’s form in his arms, bridal style, and was rushing them back to the manor.
Carrying Draco was much easier than dragging him through water, Harry thought as he climbed the stairs and pushed open every door until he came across a bathtub. Draco stirred slightly as he was set down into the tub. Harry pushed down the drain stopper and ran warm water, not hot as he knew that would hurt Draco’s delicate skin.
Harry began to survey the boy for injury as the tub filled, and Draco woke. Harry was raking Draco’s body with his eyes when he came across a wad of purple scar tissue. Harry scooped Draco’s forearm from the water to get a closer look.
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Draco felt warmth begin to settle into his bones and he hummed in agreement. Suddenly, his arm was pulled from his side and his eyes shot open. Potter was holding his arm up to his face, the arm covered in self-inflicted carnage. Draco pulled back and shuffled to get in a better position when he realized he was buck naked. It all came back to Draco with startling clarity, the pool, then Harry, now the bath.
“It’s rude to stare, you know.” Draco tried to make it come off as biting, but it merely sounded like he was about to cry, and he wasn’t sure that was untrue.
“Who did that to you? I’ll kill them.” Harry’s eyes didn’t move from Draco’s arm as he threatened.
“You’d kill me? And here I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” Harry stated dismissively when understanding dawned on him and he had to force his jaw closed.
“Okay, Draco, okay.” Harry’s eyes met Draco’s and Draco broke. Draco broke naked, in front of Harry Potter, in a bathtub.
Sobs ripped from Draco’s chest like claws, and Harry wrapped his arms around him.
Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Harry stood them both and wrapped Draco in the nearest towel. Harry scooped Draco in his arms and Draco clung to his shoulders like a lifeline. Draco felt more than heard Harry cast a drying and warming spell over the both of them.
“Which room is yours?” Harry whispered to Draco, nose pressed to his hair.
“The- the one at the end of the hall.” Draco hiccupped and gasped and Harry just nodded and carried him towards a bed.
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When Harry sat Draco’s body down on his bed Draco seemed to curl into himself further. Harry looked around the practically barren room until he came across the wardrobe that sat next to a large full body mirror. Harry dug around for anything less practical than a suit. The best he could manage was a knitted green sweater shoved to the back of the wardrobe and matching silky pajama bottoms. Harry rushed over to Draco’s curled form on the bed and began to dress him, shocked that Draco didn’t object. Draco seemed almost catatonic, the way tears flooded Draco’s eyes that held nothing but a blank stare.
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Draco felt clothes being slid over him and he was thankful for Harry’s desire to help every miserable creature he came into contact with.
“Draco, would you look at me? Please?” Harry’s voice was gentle and caring, yet it took all of Draco’s force to bring his eyes to Harry’s.
Draco hadn’t yet been able to calm the tears running down his face when Harry brushed under his eyes with his thumbs. Draco found himself shivering with the force of his emotions. Silently, Harry crawled onto Draco’s bed after toeing off his shoes and held Draco again.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Draco cried into Harry’s shoulder.
Draco felt a hand running through his hair and his gut tangled in disgust that someone would dare comfort his shame.
“What in the world do you have to be sorry for right now?” Harry’s hushed breath ran over Draco’s ear.
Draco thought he might scream but found he lacked the energy. “Everything! Everything’s so wrong! I was so wrong!”
Draco gasped as he felt the panic in his chest grip ever tighter. He was hyperventilating, choking on his words, and part of him hoped this was death.
Maybe Harry knew he couldn’t convince Draco of his innocence because he only whispered; “Shhh, you’re having a panic attack, has this happened to you before?”
Draco thought of all the times he couldn’t find his breath, all the times Snape had slipped him a calming draught, all the times he had collapsed and gasped in various places.
Draco nodded.
“Okay, do you know what helps you?” Harry breathed.
“Cigarettes and calming draught.” Draco choked out when he realized his cigarettes were in his pocket in the pair of pants he had shed by the pool.
“M-my bedside drawer.” Draco didn’t like talking in this state as more tears stained Harry’s shoulder though, he thought it was the literal least he could do.
Harry pulled away to open his bedside drawer and Draco longed desperately for him to hold him, screw the potion.
“Got it, here.” Harry placed a finger under Draco’s quivering chin to tilt his head back and with his other hand, he pressed the cold vial to Draco’s lips and poured. Draco drank greedily.
Once the vial was empty Draco took a shuddered gasp and grabbed back onto Harry.
“Please don’t go,” Draco begged into Harry’s shoulder.
Harry dropped the vial off the side of the bed and curled into Draco, bringing them down on the pillows and wrapping them in the blankets. Draco’s breathing evened.
“I’ll stay as long as you want me.”
Draco blinked sleepily.
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When Draco woke, it was from one of the best nights of sleep of his life. He sighed, calm washing over him like yesterday never happened.
“Hey.” Harry’s rough and sleep ridden voice spoke from beside him.
Draco looked over at Harry, who was leaning on his elbow. At some point, Harry had shed his glasses, and Draco was struck by direct emerald eyes staring back at him.
Harry sat back, his legs crossed, and sighed.
Draco felt the color rise in his face, the savior of the wizarding world was sat in his bed, had slept in his bed. His embarrassment at being found naked came crashing into the fiend that he was when he realized how desperately he craved his cigarettes.
“Can you-” Draco didn’t like the gravel in his voice so he cleared his throat, “could you summon my things from beside the pool?”
Harry nodded sleepily and stretched out his empty hand, which quickly caught a pile of clothes and a wand that had come rushing through the door. It certainly wasn’t the first time that Draco had seen someone’s power as attractive, but the way a pool of electric warmth settled beneath his navel made him shiver as a good reminder. Harry stretched his hand full of Draco’s things towards the blonde as he yawned and rubbed at his face with the other hand.
“Thanks.” Draco dug around in his pant’s pockets before finding his vice and quickly lighting it up by the tip of his mother’s wand.
Draco pulled the smoke deep into his lungs and his eyes fluttered in satisfaction, he blew the smoke above himself and Harry, stretching his neck to do so.
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Draco had risen from his bed while Harry showered in his bathroom and had begun to make tea in the large and mostly empty kitchen.
As the steam began to whistle out of the silver kettle Draco heard a presence enter the kitchen.
There stood Harry Potter, his tan skin glistening in the morning light, his hair wild, his eyes piercing in Draco’s clothes. The black slacks came up too high on his ankles, and the white button-up strained slightly on his shoulders. Draco had seen pornography less enticing.
“Haven’t you got anything less formal?” Harry asked as he scratched at his shoulder, Draco knew that shirt, it was very itchy for something so expensive.
“I’m afraid not, unless you’re looking for some lingerie, then yes I have,” Draco spoke and then felt his body go rigid, why in the world had he said that?
“How do you take your tea?” Draco let the words fall out of his mouth before Harry could process his last statement.
“Lots of sugar, splash of milk.” Harry’s breath was on Draco’s neck and Draco shivered involuntarily.
Draco made up their teas and sat them down at the never before used breakfast nook. Draco refused to eat in the dining room.
“Did you have any plans for today?” Harry blew at the steam of his tea and looked Draco in the eye.
“Why would I?” Draco felt confusion strewn across his features.
“Only because it’s Christmas morning.” Harry chuckled.
Horror washed over Draco, he had completely forgotten the notion of Christmas as soon as he set foot in the manor. There in front of him sat the most well-known wizard in the entire world, and he hadn’t even a gift for him. Draco put his head in his hands and groaned.
“You must forgive my foolishness, I’m so sorry for the trouble, please feel free to send me the costs of your trip back.” It was easy for him to slip into the way he had been raised, especially when it came to speech patterns, the formality lathering his every word like he was performing.
“What?” Harry was full-on doubled over laughing now.
“What do you mean ‘what’?” Draco demanded. “It’s Christmas morning and you’re stuck in this blasted manor without a gift in sight, all because I needed rescuing like some damsel in distress!”
“I really don’t mind Draco.” Harry had stopped laughing but his lips held a genuine smile as he placed his calloused hand over top Draco’s silky one.
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Draco and Harry apparated back to Hogsmeade around lunch and trekked their way up to Hogwarts, the ground now caked in a layer of slush.
Draco shivered desperately as Harry seemed absolutely unbothered by the cold. Draco’s warming spells kept falling away within minutes of casting.
When they finally made it into the castle Draco sighed in relief.
“It wasn’t even that cold.” Harry chuckled at Draco’s antics.
“Says the human furnace!” Draco shot back with a glare.
They were walking up to the dorms when Harry placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder for a moment and the deepest warmth seemed to seep from it. A warming spell.
“Thank you,” Draco said in awe.
“No problem, it’s not exactly the most difficult spell.” Harry smiled down at Draco as they continued walking toward the dorms.
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When they made it to their room, they both went towards their respective beds.
“Uh, Draco?” Harry spoke from his bed.
“Hmm?”
I- uh- well, I got you a gift. It’s not anything much. You don’t have to open it if you don’t want to.” Harry held a small wrapped package he had pulled out from beneath his bed.
“Oh.” Draco couldn’t string his thoughts together as he walked towards Harry’s bed and sat at the end.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Draco mumbled.
“Don’t be sorry! I don’t need anything, I just stumbled across this and thought of you is all.” Harry pushed the package into Draco’s hands.
Draco pulled gingerly at the atrocious wrapping until it was completely unwrapped, there in his hands was a picture frame with a pressed and dried Narcissa within.
“Oh, thank you, it’s beautiful,” Draco whispered his worlds, eyes unmoving from the delicate flower that sat behind the glass.
“I’m glad you like it.”
----------
Harry had suggested they go down to the kitchens for dinner since not many students had stayed back; it wouldn’t be a bother to the elves. Draco had eventually agreed after some placating.
When they had stumbled back into their room after the gift of a pitcher of butterbeer from the elves had been split between them, they were very lightly buzzed.
“It’s nice how good things always seem to happen around you,” Draco said genuinely to Harry.
Harry snorted.
“Like how Voldemort tried to kill me for most of my life?”
“Well, you survived, didn’t you?”
“No, I’m dead, this is all a dream.” Harry deadpanned.
“I’m going to kill you if that’s true.” Draco laughed as he threw himself at Harry and began to wrestle him.
They laughed desperately as they struggled against each other, falling onto Harry’s bed.
“Truce!” Draco giggled as he looked up at Harry who had him pinned.
Harry’s eyes glinted with a mischievous nature that made Draco’s heart thrum, and Draco couldn’t stop himself. Draco craned his neck slightly and brought his lips to meet Harry’s. Harry’s lips were warm and soft, just how Draco had imagined. Draco took in Harry’s aroma of pine and mint and felt much more intoxicated from Harry than he had felt from the butterbeer.
Draco pulled away to look at Harry, and he knew that he had done something he would regret. Harry’s eyes were shocked and his lips parted as if he just didn’t have the words.
“I’m sorry! Oh my Gods! I’m so sorry!” Draco began to remove himself from beneath Harry, who was unmoving.
“Please don’t apologize.” Harry’s warm breath brushed Draco’s cheek as they were both sitting now, inches apart.
Harry reached out and put his hands on either side of Draco’s face and brought Draco towards him. This time Harry was prepared, and the kiss was passionate. Draco felt high on Harry’s breath alone as they kissed each other so deeply he felt he was touching Harry’s soul.
When they finally pulled apart, panting slightly, Draco rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and laughed.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Harry’s voice rang like bells and Draco smiled.
-----------
The holidays continued in an ease that soothed Draco. He had quickly taken to sleeping in Harry’s bed because it smelled like the brunette and he seemed to sleep restfully instead of intermittent states of panic. Harry never complained, just chuckled, and lifted the cover for Draco to slide under.
Draco gazed dreamily at the tanned skin and black rat's nest next to him. He had woken before Harry. The brunette’s face looked so young when he slept, no longer a war veteran but just a boy. If he got really close, he could see a speckling of freckles dancing across Harry’s nose.
“Stop watching me sleep, I can feel your eyes burning my skin!” Harry’s deep morning voice complained as he took his pillow from below his head and covered his face with it.
“Come off it.” Draco huffed as he gingerly lifted the pillow and was met by emerald eyes that never failed to knock him senseless.
Harry’s glare was cut short by Draco leaning down and kissing his cheek. Harry shuffled, more awake, and quickly rolled the both of them so that he was on top of Draco.
“You're lucky you’re cute,” Harry smirked down at the now helpless blonde.
“The luckiest,” Draco said with whatever breath was left in his lungs.
Harry leaned down to place a possessive kiss on Draco’s lips, and Draco was pleasantly surprised by the lump that touched his stomach from between Harry’s thighs.
Draco was a sexual person, he learned that quickly. His first wank being the best discovery of his life. He remembered how often he would hook up with Blaise in 6th year as a stress relief. Now, with his only love interest straddling him in a deep kiss with a rock hard erection between them, he felt his confidence growing.
“Hey,” Draco whispered against Harry’s lips. “May I?”
“Harry rested his head in the crook of Draco’s shoulder and nodded. Draco reached between them and placed his hand on the soft pajama bottoms that held back Harry's throbbing member. Harry grunted and pushed into Draco’s hand. Draco’s own cock was throbbing with blood by the second. Harry moved the collar of Draco’s shirt and began to suck a love bite on the crook of his neck. The noise that escaped Draco was nearly pornographic, and Harry chuckled in satisfaction. Draco began to slip his hand under Harry’s shirt and over the planes of his stomach and chest. Slowly he worked his back down towards the more pressing issue and graced his hand into Harry’s pants. Harry wasn’t wearing any underwear, which made his gut clench desperately as his hand roamed some short curls before brushing Harry’s member. Harry groaned again as Draco slipped him out of his pants, seeing that Harry was impressively large.
“Lay down.” Draco purred into Harry’s ear, and Harry flipped onto his back.
Painstakingly slowly, Draco crawled between Harry’s legs and stuck his tongue out, licking one strip up the large vein of Harry’s cock from base to tip.
“Fuck.” Harry said as he grabbed hold of Draco’s hair.
Draco took his time, licking the pre-come from the top of Harry’s swollen member, and then without warning, he slid his mouth around Harry’s prick all the way down to the base. Draco had never struggled to take a man in his mouth, but the tears in his eye told him that Harry was larger than anything he’d experienced before.
The entire time Draco had been sucking Harry off, Harry had been spewing a list of profanities that had no end.
Draco began to bob his head, pleased to hear the hitch, moan, and curse on Harry’s breath as he did so. Harry’s fingers dug into Draco’s scalp and just when Draco placed his hand on Harry’s balls, Harry screamed.
“Fuck!” and there was hot liquid gliding down Draco’s throat as he swallowed diligently before pulling from Harry’s deflating cock with a pop.
“You’re amazing.” Harry panted, gazing unseeingly at Draco.
“I try,” Draco whispered as he crawled up and planted a kiss on Harry’s lips before laying down next to him.
Draco was beginning to squirm because of the pressure between his thighs when Harry rolled on his side and began to palm him through his pajamas.
“You don’t have to,” Draco whispered, trying not to let pleasure drip into his voice.
“Shh.” Harry soothed as he sunk his hand down Draco’s pants and pulled Draco’s aching prick free. Draco couldn’t help the whines that passed his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. Harry’s hand felt so warm and big around Draco’s cock,
“You’re so fucking pretty, Draco,” Harry whispered as he began to stroke faster.
“Mmmm” was all Draco could manage as he squirmed in pleasure.
Draco knew he was loud during sex, but it never ceased to surprise him what noises came out of him.
Finally, Harry gave one firm squeeze to Draco’s cock and Draco came back arching into the air and a scream pulling from him. He saw nothing but white as his nerves tingled and danced in pleasure. He only began to come down when he felt kisses being pressed all over his face.
“You did so well.” Harry praised as Draco panted.
-------------
It would be nice, Draco thought, if loving someone and being loved cured people. He would like that, but it wasn’t how the world spun. Draco had never known this to be more true than right then.
Draco was curled on the floor of the bathroom as blood dripped from where his dark mark used to be. He pulled a cigarette from his pants and lit it as tears streamed down his cheeks and blood hit the floor.
It had all started innocently enough, Harry had gone to get them both dinner and Draco had gone to the bathroom to freshen up. All-day he had felt more down than he usually did around Harry, and when Harry had asked what was wrong Draco had brushed him off. Draco was now thinking maybe he shouldn’t have done that.
The slashes on his forearm wept fresh blood and Draco knew he hadn’t the strength to try to bandage himself in this state.
So he waited, cigarette between his lips, for something to happen.
Eventually, the bathroom door slid open and Draco looked up at Harry’s green eyes.
“Oh, Gods.” Harry gasped before he went and busied himself with collecting bandages and the like.
Draco closed his eyes and leaned his head back until he felt Harry’s presence sit down beside him. He watched as Harry gingerly handled Draco’s wounds, wrapping and cleaning each one. The scar tissue of the area would make a healing spell useless, and Draco knew that. Harry plucked the cigarette from between Draco’s lips and vanished it, and then he curled so that he was holding Draco.
“You smell like lavender, your laugh sounds like a birds song, you are kind, you are smart, the clothes you wear fit you perfectly, your skin is like snow, I can pick you up, you talk in your sleep, you count on your fingers, you hum when you’re pleased, your breath tastes like cream..”
Harry went on and on, listing these things until Draco’s tears stopped.
Draco leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek.
“I love you too,” Draco whispered.
----------
When the holidays were over and they returned to their normal pace Draco became more trusting of his environment, even going as far as attending classes.
Draco still ate in his room and in classes he always sat next to Harry, but it was an improvement.
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When Draco took his N.E.W.T.s he knew he passed with flying colors, and he was right. Harry whooped and cheered when they got their scores, Draco’s being at the top percentile.
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When the final days of school crawled towards them Harry and Draco decided to rent an apartment together. Harry didn’t want to go back to his godfather’s house, and Draco didn’t want to return to the manor.
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When they moved in together, their bickering was at an all-time high until Harry had gotten too worked up and had a panic attack. They both agreed that they needed to take better care of themselves.
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After a year of living together, Draco only smoked one cigarette a day and hadn't harmed himself for months.
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Two years in and they bought a house, they both now saw a therapist of their own and their bad days became less frequent.
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