Chapter Text
Harry was in the Gryffindor common room watching the dot marked Draco Malfoy. Hermione and Ron were giving him odd looks. They had taken to doing this whenever they saw Harry partaking in what they had deemed his ‘obsession’ with Malfoy. The dot moved up from the dungeons and he traced its path with his finger. It stopped in the first-floor girls’ bathroom. The one Moaning Myrtle frequented, and where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets lay hidden. Harry couldn’t for the life of him work out what the Slytherin boy was doing in there. He knew he’d let his curiosity get the better of him before, the Chamber of Secrets and the Philosopher’s Stone being prime examples, both of which had resulted in trips to the hospital wing for himself. But if he hadn’t, Voldemort would have stolen the stone. Ginny would have died. Besides, he had to know. He just had to find out. Discovering what Draco Malfoy was up to had ingrained itself into him like a parasite, feasting on his every thought. And it wasn’t letting him go anytime soon. He grabbed up his school bag and quickly made some excuses about needing a book from the library and exited through the portrait hole. He was fairly certain neither Ron nor Hermione believed his feeble excuse in the slightest. He threw his invisibility cloak on as soon as he was round the first corner. He didn’t want to be followed by his friends, who would no doubt be plotting another intervention over his ‘obsession’. He moved as fast as he could through the corridors.
When he reached the bathroom, he paused for a minute outside to catch his breath and check the map again. He was pleased to find that Malfoy hadn’t moved. Harry walked in quietly, still under his cloak. The sight of his rival was shocking. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Malfoy was stood by the sink. It was obvious he was crying. The once handsome boy was emaciated, and deep purple bruises were sunk beneath his eyes with lack of sleep. He’d evidently been using some sort of spell to cover this up most of the time. There was no way Harry wouldn’t have noticed this degree of physical deterioration otherwise. Harry felt something stir in him. He’d come here to catch Malfoy. To prove he was up to something. Looking at the wretched state his school rival was in, he realised he didn’t want to do that anymore. Unbelievably, even to himself, he wanted to help the other boy. He had learnt suffering far too intimately over the years, from the fateful day he’d been left on the Dursleys’ doorstep, and it wasn’t something he could tolerate seeing in another. Not if he could help it. He took off the cloak and shoved it into his bag before he spoke.
“Malfoy…”
There was no response. Harry wasn’t sure whether he’d been heard. He tried again.
“Malfoy…”
Again, nothing.
“Draco…”
The use of his first name seemed to drag the other boy from his state of introspective despair. Harry’s use of it was seemingly as surprising to Malfoy as it was himself. It was only desperation which had drawn it from Harry’s lips. Malfoy turned. He turned to face Harry with his wand up and pointed towards him. His hand was visibly shaking. Harry just waited. Deliberately not making a move towards his own wand. His instincts told him one wrong move and this would end up as a blood bath, rather than the offer of compassion he currently intended.
“Draco… I want to help…” Harry pleaded. He had to get through to Malfoy somehow. He didn’t know how he knew he had to do this; he just did. Something deep inside him was telling him that it was important.
“You can’t help me… No one can help me…” Malfoy sobbed. “Just go away and leave me alone.”
“Let me help you. We can go to Dumbledore…”
“No!” Malfoy snapped.
“But…”
“I’m not going to that old man. He can’t protect me. He’s a useless manipulative fool.”
Harry had to agree with Malfoy a little on that point. He’d seen the way Dumbledore had treated eleven-year-old Riddle in the pensive. He knew it was Dumbledore who’d left him on the Dursley’s doorstep when he was one year old. It was Dumbledore who sent him back there every year. Hell, it was Dumbledore who sent Hagrid, rather than a proper teacher, to show him the wizarding world for the first time. Being muggle raised, he should have at least been given the courtesy of someone who would actually explain things properly, like all of the muggleborn students got. Instead he got Hagrid, who, however nice, had not done much other than show him off to a bunch of people in the pub and warn him against Slytherin house. And who had left him alone so he could go get a drink. He had brought Harry Hedwig, his very first birthday present. Harry loved the owl, but it would have been more useful to him to have a proper introduction to everything wizard related rather than a pet. There were many more things, but it was the way Sirius had been treated which really put the final nail in the coffin of Harry’s trust of the headmaster. Not only had he never pushed to get Sirius an actual trial, he kept vital information from Harry last year. He had left Harry unprepared for the trick Voldemort had played and Harry had walked into the trap, resulting in Sirius’ death. No. The headmaster wasn’t a good choice. It was just automatic at this point for Harry to suggest him. He thought he’d learnt his lesson about acting before thinking, but if he was still suggesting the headmaster, patently he had more work to do on that front. Besides, even if he still trusted the headmaster, he knew Malfoy wouldn’t. His family had always been scathing of Dumbledore and the way he ran the school.
“Okay. Not the headmaster. You’re right. We can’t trust him,” Harry said. He felt like he was talking down someone from the edge of jumping off a cliff.
Malfoy gave a small laugh, but his wand remained pointing at Harry. “Never thought I’d hear the day you’d say I’m right.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Harry grinned. “You going to put your wand down? I really don’t fancy getting hexed and I’m not going to fight you. I meant it when I said I wanted to help.”
“I don’t see how you can,” Malfoy said petulantly, although the desperate look on his face was in direct contrast to this.
“Neither do I,” Harry said, keeping his tone as reassuring as he could manage. “But maybe two heads are better than one. You clearly don’t want to do whatever it is that has been slowly killing you over the last year. And don’t try to deny it, you look like shit. Maybe I can think of a way out of it that you wouldn’t have thought of.”
“He has my mother though,” Malfoy whispered, eyes closing at the admission of helplessness. But he lowered his wand.
“Fuck.” There wasn’t much else Harry could think to say.
“If I don’t do what he wants, he’ll kill her.”
Harry’s mind resonated in sympathy. If it were his mother in that situation, if she were still alive, he was sure he’d be half killing himself trying to save her too. Even if it meant doing something he would never do under any other circumstances.
“Can you tell me what he’s asked you to do?” Harry asked, gently. Malfoy still looked a bit like a rabbit about to bolt. Wide eyed with panic. Radiating nervous tension.
“No…” Everything about that small word seemed to conflict with the aura Malfoy was portraying. He seemed to want the help Harry was offering. Then, Malfoy continued barely above a whisper, and Harry had to hold himself back from sighing in relief. “Someone might overhear.”
It was said so quietly. With such fear. But it confirmed what Harry suspected. Draco needed help. And more importantly, he was at least slightly willing to accept it. However strange it was for Draco Malfoy to be willing to accept help from Harry Potter.
“Let’s go somewhere more private then…. Room of Requirement? I know you’ve been using it. We can make sure no one can come in or hear us in there.”
Malfoy paused for a long moment, still looking uncertain. He met Harry’s eyes. Harry wished he knew legilimency at that moment. He wanted desperately to mentally send Malfoy the message that he could be trusted. That Malfoy could trust him. He tried to convey the thoughts anyway. Whatever Malfoy saw, it must have been enough, as he eventually murmured out an “Okay.”
“I’m going to get something out of my bag, Malfoy. It’s not my wand. And it’s not a way to communicate with anyone else. So please don’t hex me. It will help us get to the room without being seen.”
Harry slowly pulled his invisibility cloak back out of his bag; taking care over every movement and ensuring the other boy could see exactly what he was doing. He didn’t want Malfoy to spook. He knew that this tentative truce they’d come to was fragile. That the risk of this turning into a duel was only fractionally less than when he’d first entered the bathroom.
“You’ll need to come over here. We should both just about fit under this. You might need to bend your knees a little.”
Malfoy looked at Harry dubiously. “So your feet aren’t seen,” Harry clarified. “It’s an invisibility cloak. It belonged to my dad.”
Malfoy stared at him open mouthed.
“Third year… The shrieking shack.” It wasn’t what Harry had expected Malfoy to say. The memory it brought up had Harry grinning like an idiot though.
“Yup,” Harry chortled. “Now come on. Let’s get to the room. At the very least talking about it might give you an idea as to how to complete your mission.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because if I were in your shoes, and it was the only way to save my mother, I wouldn’t give a damn what awful thing I had to do. I would do it a thousand times over to save her.”
Malfoy was staring again. As if contemplating whether Harry really meant it.
“How do you know my mission isn’t to kill you and this is all just a ploy to get you somewhere private to do it?”
The words were said with challenge. Harry had spent enough time studying Malfoy over the last six years to know that. He didn’t think Malfoy’s mission was to kill him, however. He knew Voldemort would never send another to kill him. Maybe to capture him, but he didn’t think that was what Malfoy’s task was either. And even if it were, he was clearly failing miserably at it, and would have no way of getting him out of the castle and to wherever Voldemort was.
“Because you stood there with your wand pointed at me with me making no move to arm myself and didn’t fire a single spell. Because I’m the one who’s suggested the place to go, therefore it can’t be something you’ve got prearranged in the room to kill me or take me away from the castle – “ Harry paused for a second, thinking. “Especially given that I’m going to be the one to ask the room to create us a space to talk.”
Malfoy studied him for several long moments before eventually seeming to come to a conclusion. He sighed. “Fine,” he said, and Harry felt relief flood through him.
Malfoy slowly walked towards Harry, as if still not quite trusting what was happening. Harry didn’t blame him in the slightest.
“We’re going to have to get pretty close. Put your arms around me.”
Malfoy did as he was told. It felt strangely nice to have the other boy close like this. Harry ignored that thought. It was really not a useful thought to be having right now. He swung the invisibility cloak around the two of them.
Despite having to make it up six floors, it didn’t take them too long to get to the Room of Requirement. The castle seemed to be in a good mood with them, and the stairs were surprisingly cooperative. Harry quickly had the door open and the two of them inside. The room was relatively small and cosy, a little bit like the Gryffindor common room but without the loud red and gold colour scheme. Instead it was a calming mix of blues, greys, and silvers. Harry sat down on the sofa in front of the fire and pulled Malfoy down next to him. He wasn’t sure of the best way to approach this conversation now they were here. In the bathroom, talking had been like walking along the edge of a knife. Now the adrenaline of the situation had worn off, awkwardness had settled in. He stared at Malfoy in silence for several minutes. He was looking down at his hands and tugging at his fingers. Picking at his cuticles with anxiety pouring off of him. His wrists looked like they would snap, they were so thin. Seeing this renewed Harry’s conviction about helping and pushed him into talking.
“Draco…” Harry used Malfoy’s first name again, knowing that it had worked before to get him to listen. “I know talking to me about this is going to be hard and scary. And I might not even be able to help… But I want to… I don’t want you to lose your mother… I know I got your father arrested…”
“He deserves to rot in that place,” Malfoy retorted with venom.
That surprised Harry. He’d always thought Malfoy idolised his father.
“Okay…” Harry paused, feeling slightly on the back foot. He had to continue though. He couldn’t let himself get distracted with knots and frayed threads not relevant in this moment. If he did, he might take a wrong step and fall back onto the path leading to fighting and hexes; to blood and pain and screaming. “But your mother doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her?” He wasn’t sure whether it was a question or a statement, but Malfoy nodded in response anyway. He continued. “And you don’t deserve what you’ve been threatened with.”
“Don’t I…” Malfoy was focussed entirely on his own hands. Harry looked down at them too. One of his fingers was now bleeding where he’d torn some of the skin off the side of his fingernail.
“You’re sixteen and you’re scared,” Harry said with conviction. “Your father is an evil bastard, but I don’t think you are. You may have been a bully and a prat, but that doesn’t mean you deserve whatever is happening to you. You look half-starved and sleep deprived. You’re a wreck. No, I don’t think you deserve whatever is happening to make your life so unbearable right now.”
“He’s living in my house.” The tears started when Malfoy admitted this, and Harry wanted to do nothing more than pull him into his arms and hug the other boy. The way Harry wished someone could have done for him every time he was upset. No one ever had though. Harry went with his instinct and wrapped his arms around Malfoy, letting him cry on his shoulder.
“Hey… it’s okay… we’ll work together and make it okay… we’ll get your mother out of there… I’ll protect you and her… It’ll all be okay… I promise.”
“It’s just not fair. She finally escapes Father and his temper with him in prison, and then immediately the house gets taken over by an even worse bastard.”
“Shhhhh… it’ll be fine… we’ll get her out of there… I won’t let anyone hurt either of you again…” Harry was stroking at the soft blonde hair.
“Even with this on my arm…” Draco said with a self- deprecating laugh. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark. Harry had to force himself not to wince and push Malfoy away from him. The sight of the Mark made him feel a little sick. He took a deep breath to control himself.
“You took it to save your mother, right? I don’t think you truly want to serve him…”
The look of amazement in Malfoy’s eyes when he said this made Harry sure he’d said the right thing. He took hold of Malfoy’s hands and squeezed them. Harry didn’t know how, but he was going to fix this for Malfoy. He’d try his damned hardest to do so.
“It was punishment for Father… I…”
“I’ll protect you. I promise.”
“I just wish… I wish I could go back to before all of this… Get me and mother out of there… I wish Father had gone to Azkaban the first time and it could have just been me and Mother… I wish…”
Hearing that fervent wish made Harry think about his own life. The way he was raised. How he’d spent his entire life being kept in the dark. Of all the adults who had so much control over him. Those who said they wished for him to have a childhood, but still sent him back to the Dursley’s, where he’d never had anything of the sort. He empathised so much with Draco, who by all accounts was the black pawn to his white. Opposite chess masters moving the two of them around a board to play their game of good versus evil. “I wish that too… I wish so much that I had never been raised the way I was too… I wish I could go back and steal myself from the doorstep and never let the Dursley’s have me…” Harry had started crying too. The salt water of their tears running in rivulets. Mingling where they had joined in an embrace of shared trauma and a fervent desire to change everything. Neither noticed the light building around them.
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