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“Hey Harry, there is something on your robes.” Harry feels Ron’s hand brushing his shoulder, pale fingers covered in freckles. Ron grins down at him. “Gone now.”“Thanks, mate.”It’s Monday, the middle of November. Raining cats and dogs outside, wind howling, clouds the darkest shade of steel blue. It’s warm in the Gryffindor tower, but freezing in the hallways. Harry huddles his robes around him, rubs his hands frantically, blowing at them. It’s useless.Harry is always cold lately.Heading towards double Potions with Slytherin, Harry’s eyes wander around, seeing what they’ve seen a million similar morning before. The same corridors, statues, the same people animatedly chatting in the paintings. It’s all the same and dull and slowly draining Harry to the core.Ron and Hermione seem to be lost in a debate Harry has no real desire to participate in. He leaves them to their chatter, his mind wandering off, to the previous night. Harry’s ears turn red.It’s cold.Passing through the crowds, Harry gets a lot of mean stares, some conspiratorial winks and looks from DA members. He is either hated or adored. Hated, mostly, these days.Hated for saying the truth. Hated for trying to warn them, protect them. They turn a blind eye to Voldemort rising, rather than preparing for it, call him crazy, rather than sending their loved ones somewhere safe. Pretend everything is okay, grasping onto cobweb strong ties holding together their world.Sometimes, in the darkest moments, Harry thinks they brought it upon themselves. When Umbridge smiles at him sweetly with venom pouring out of her, I must not tell lies , Harry thinks to himself, they deserve it .He does his best suppressing these ugly, awful thoughts. But he buried them a long time ago, and when they eventually crawled from the furthest, most rotten corner of his mind back into the light, they were different. More aggressive. Worse. And demanding.He is horrified of himself in these moments; but still - these thoughts are there. And they're gonna strike one day.
Throughout the journey to the dungeons, it gets colder and colder. Dean and Seamus join them, Seamus’s hair messy and his tie looking a mess. Think manages to make Harry smile a little, even for just a moment.The dungeons are dark. Harry can’t help but think back to his latest nightmare; buried in the Chamber of Secrets, alone in cold and darkness. Has to watch the basilisk kill Sirius, Ron and Hermione, Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, Hagrid. Him. Harry shivers, a different kind of shiver than the ones from cold. Trashes his whole body, as he hears the screams in his ears, loud and clear.“Chudley Cannons have a pretty good chance this year.” This mundane sentence manages to throw Harry out of his catch 22. Quick look around shows him that his friends didn’t thankfully notice anything. Harry regains his composure, listening to them argue about Quidditch, occasionally offering an opinion of his own.His stomach is twisting. He wants to do nothing more than run to his dormitory, pull out the mirror from the depths of his trunk, and speak to Sirius. What would Sirius tell him?
Get through another day. And another. And another. It becomes easier over time.
Sirius’s warm, excepting eyes. Wrinkles in the corners from laugh. Harry, you are not in this alone. You are not alone. Because Sirius understands. Others don’t. It’s as simple as that. You moron, Harry tells himself, calm the bloody hell down. It’s a normal day. Normal double Potions. Normal chatting. You know you need normal. “Harry, there is a hair on your robes.”This time, it’s Hermione. Her delicate hand smooths the fabric on his back, and Harry feels cold sweat trickling down his neck, over his heated skin. He manages to somehow hide the flush on his face. It’s dark in the dungeons, lanterns a green flame. Harry winks and the flames are back to normal.“Thanks,” Harry stutters out.Hermione isn’t as dense as Ron can be. She notices things. Notices that Ginny wears her hair a little different, that Neville is carrying around another plant than usual. Hermione notices when Harry starts acting weird, starts slipping out of his bedroom at nights, starts to grow paler and paler everyday.Now Hermione’s eyes are narrowed, studying him. Ron notices she is noticing something and tries to find out what he missed. Comically mirroring her analyzing look. Harry is sure he just sees his best mate, looking kind of worn out, sure, like he had a sleepless night. But Harry has a lot of sleepless nights, right? Ron knows he has nightmares, knows how the scar connects him to Voldemort. Harry always looks worn out.
And isn’t that an issue?

No. It never was. Why should it be now?
“Why are you staring at each other like that?” Dean laughs uncomfortably. “Harry, mate, you look like a bloody lamb caught in headlights.”If Harry’s heart is beating a little too erratically, breathing hitching a little, well, you can’t blame him.He shakes his head, tells himself he is overthinking again. The only thing Hermione has is suspicion, and right now he should do something, quick, before it can evolve into something more. He can’t let Hermione study him for long enough, or she might figure it out. Some of it. All of it.It’s the middle of November, and it’s raining outside. Harry Potter is standing with his best friends, waiting for class to begin, as he has for four years already. Harry Potter laughs and apologizes, says he’s just so caught up in all that’s happening, he gets lost in his own thoughts.His friends smile a soft, understanding smiles, but all Harry Potter can see is pity.Snape lurks over to them, seemingly appearing out nowhere, and lets them in the classroom. Harry goes straight for one table, sets his things on top of it, cracking his bones to relax himself. Ron throws his bag alongside his on their worktable, still going on about Quidditch when-“Get lost, Weasel.”Harry’s heart makes a loop. Hesitantly, he looks up, sees a grey sky mirroring the one outside, rimmed with dark lashes softly falling on his cheeks.On the other hand, Ron sees a prick.“I said,” Draco says very slowly and carefully, “get lost, Weasley. Do you understand this sentence? Go, hush, I’m sure Granger will love to partner up with you.”Harry cracks a small smile. Ron looks at like he lost his mind. Harry shrugs, the movement bringing Ron’s attention to the blonde hair on Harry’s left sleeve.“Better than causing a scene,” Harry offers weakly and turns his back on him. Sits down, eyes fixed on his hands lying on the work table, the ancient wood burned and scarred from countless potions being spilled on it.Another pair of hands, pale and delicate, joins his.“What was that about?” Harry whispers.“I decided to switch my Potions partner,” Draco shrugs nonchalantly. “The last one didn’t satisfy me.”Harry nearly chokes. He tries to cover it up with an unconvincing cough. The corners of Draco’s mouth twitch. Harry sends him a grateful glance, relaxing a little.Because that’s what they do. They distract each other from the nightmares their lives are. With humour. With love. Some moments, it feels as though the darkness is gone. Harry now knows that it’s just lurking at the edge of his mind, ready to strike at full force any moment.But seeing Draco give him a small, private smile, soft and perfect and just for him, chases it away.

Harry runs from his friends. How ironic is that.

Turning the corner into a dusty, abandoned hallway, dust is dancing in the light coming through narrow windows. It looks like nobody had set foot here since the founding of Hogwarts.

Perfect shelter.

Harry stalks to the first window, slides down on the dirty floor and leans against the wall, the coldness of it biting into his back. The whole castle is so cold. It used to be warm. Now he feels he is not welcomed here anymore.

He wishes to fly and don’t look back.

Ron and Hermione think they’re helping. Comforting him, when the only thing they do is upset him more. He doesn’t want to talk about it all the time. He wants a break. The pitying looks, the comforting arms touching his shoulder, the shushed voices talking about him, the worry. He hates it.

It’s unavoidable, he knows. However, his deepest desire right now is for everyone to leave him the fuck alone.

Harry sighs.

He stares out the window, sees the tops of trees in the Forbidden Forest; who knows what living under their crowns. From what Harry has seen of the habitants of the place, he is fairly sure he wouldn’t like the ones he didn’t meet very much.

Oh, the good ol’ times where his biggest problem was detention served in the forest.

A certain amount of time passes. Maybe even a couple hours. The only thing Harry does is stare in front of him, breathing deep, and not worrying for once. It actually feels wonderful.

Eventually, out of the blue, Harry has a weird, urgent feeling he is not alone. Even though the hallway is empty, the uneasy feeling won’t stop. Harry’s previous experiences have proven to him that ignoring these types of feelings is the dumbest thing he could possible do, so he focuses on his surroundings, hand already reaching for his wand.

Harry listens for a while, and hears a quiet whimper.

Curious, Harry stalks to the corner, peering over, seeing a hunched figure on the floor, reminiscing Harry of himself just moments ago. The someone is not moving, and for a moment chilling fear fills Harry, but then he hears a sigh.

Sighs continue, accompanied by occasional hiccups. Harry is very quiet, watching the someone on the floor for several moments. They must not no he is there, and Harry is torn between quietly leaving and making his presence known.

He is just about to stalk away, when the figure moves, straightening up and scrambling to their feet. Harry is so shocked he speaks before he thinks it through.

“Malfoy?”

The boy freezes and slowly looks his way. Harry gasps. He sees misery through the cracks in the normally unwavering fasade plastered on the Slytherin’s face 24/7; and is shocked to see pain in his expression, sees; the blonde boy’s face is like an open book -
not masking anything, nor smug, arrogant or mischievous, not the person Hermione punched.
No, this is someone real .
Maybe that’s why Harry, even though he stunned to silence by this, comes closer.

And closer.

No protest. No insults. Malfoy manages to pick up the sharp pieces of his shattered mask and hides his emotions behind a stone wall and cold eyes. Harry is afraid Malfoy will spit out some mean comment by any moment, sending Harry over the edge. He still comes closer though.
It’s like the time stops, Harry takes one little step at a time. They are in a bubble, existing out of space and time, abnormal, eerie experience.
“Malfoy?” Harry clears his throat, the words settling heavily upon them, and dissolving into nothingness as Malfoy doesn’t reply. Why hadn’t he left? Harry wonders. Why is he still there?
It’s weird; he still expects for the other shoe to drop, for the pale boy to snap at him. Nothing happens.

Nothing changes. Malfoy is still silent.

Even when Harry, taking so slow, hesitant steps, eventually reaches Malfoy; even though his face is not showing any emotion, the slump of his shoulders is what gives him away. His clenched fists and angry red crescent marks on his palms.

His heart clenches, for Malfoy and for him and for all the young people who shouldn’t have to grow up so quickly.

“What are you looking at?” is all Malfoy manages. No venom in his voice. Hollow. Harry’s concerned. And surprised at being concerned.

“Me.”

Malfoy fortunately understands. His eyes widen, breathing wavers. The mask starts to slip off again.

Two boys eye each other in an empty corridor, a storm of feelings inside them, while nothing changes; except everything does.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“What does the bastard think of himself!” Ron is furious, the red of his face matching the red of his hair. It’s lunchtime, and Harry has been staring at his plate for several moments without ever touching the food. His good mood from forenoon spent with Draco quickly dissolved when Ron started cussing, leaving him feeling down again.Ron is waving around a chicken leg in his frustration, oblivious to the fact that everyone sat further away from him for fear of being hit by a piece of dead poultry.“Really, Ronald?” Hermione rolls her eyes, not even looking from her newspaper, gracefully nibbling at her salad. “It’s Malfoy for Heaven’s sakes.”“He can’t just do this shit!” Ron carries on without acknowledging her valid point. “That lad is such an arse!” Just don’t take it out on me , Harry silently prays.“How come you didn’t say anything, Harry?!” Ron, of course, turns to him. This catches Hermione’s attention and she quirks an eyebrow at him. “You could’ve at least protested somehow , mate!”Harry studies the table, not willing to look up. “I don’t know, what difference would it make? Snape would made me sit with him anyway, if that’s what Malfoy wants.”To Harry’s immense relief, Hermione nods. “That’s true, Ron. You know how Snape favours the Slytherins. So stop being an immature prat and eat your chicken.”Harry lets out the breath he was holding, looks away from the table, only to catch a certain blonde glaring at him from across the room. When he notices Harry noticed, he gives him a little smirk. Harry’s heart feels a tiny bit lighter.Ron pouts and munches on his chicken, sulking for the rest of the lunch. When they get up to leave and he and Ron part ways with Hermione, with her rushing off to Arithmancy, Harry leaves his plate completely untouched.The only one who notices this is the blonde boy who is always watching him.

He sits there, on his invisible cloak, hidden by a cloak far darker and heavier, his arm pulsing, but he is unable to look at it. Leaving droplets of blood in the crispy snow. Five words like five daggers to his heart.

His whole life, he has been praised for ending Voldemort. Now no one wants to hear it wasn’t the end of the story. Now, when he is fifteen, and somewhat skilfull in jinxing, when he is not just a baby screaming his lungs out, now, when he is ready to fight, now they don’t want him to. Want him to disappear, alongside with his false rumours and with the danger he is representing.

He just might.

“Potter?”

Harry turns around quickly, and curses at himself for hissing in pain. A too familiar figure hovering above him, wearing warm fuzzy coat and leather gloves, hair shining in the spore moonlight.

No energy is in him left to deal with this. Not now.

He doesn’t even try to cover the wounds. Malfoy has seen them, no need.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.” His voice sounds tired and raspy.

“You out here alone, Potter? Where are your little mudblood friends?” There is something off about Malfoy’s mocking tone. A slight tremble to it that hasn’t been there thousand times before.
“And where are your loyal gorillas? Left you for something shiny?” Harry tries to mean the insult, but he just doesn’t care.
Malfoy opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Harry looks away, scanning the little he can see in the night. A light breeze has them both shivering.

Then Draco Malfoy plops down beside Harry Potter in the snow,
trying to ignore the path of blood droplets he followed. His eyes are fixeted at Harry's hand, his hand twitching once, twice, before he

softly takes Harry’s injured hand in his. No urge to draw back comes to Harry, which surprises him, but whatever he tells himself and leaves his hand in Malfoy's grip. It spreads warmth where there is only harh coldness.

Malfoy doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Harry feels him tense. Words forever carved into his skin, scarring it as well as his soul.

“This shouldn’t happen.” Malfoy doesn’t look at him. “Not even to pricks like you.”

Harry makes a surprised laugh. Malfoy looks surprised too. This whole night is just chilly and crimson red and surprising. Malfoy smiles a little.

Last time Harry found him. Now Malfoy found Harry. A silent agreement between them, to not tell anyone. Harry still feels this urge to snicker at Malfoy and insult him, years of hostility solid in his system.

“Yeah, but it happened.” Harry draws his hand back to his body, cradling it against his chest.
It hurts. He is just not sure if it hurts more outside or on the inside.

“You have to tell someone, Potter.”

“No way.”

“Potter-“

“I said no way, Malfoy!” They would know how weak I am, Harry adds in his mind. Malfoy is scowling at him, lips a thin line.

“You should get it through your thick skull Potter, that needing help is not a weakness. You can’t bear the weight of the world on your shoulders alone.”

Like Malfoy is any different than him.

It’s just the two of them, hidden, but still plain in sight. A lion and a snake. Not being constantly judged feels so good for both of them, soothes their aching nerves. So they stay that way.

“Well, isn’t it past your bedtime, Potter?”Harry almost jumps out of his skin. He turns around, heart hammering in his chest and scowls. “Well, isn’t it rude to sneak up on people, Malfoy?”Draco steps out of the shadows, into the dim light, eyebrow raised and a cocky grin playing at the corner of his mouth. So pale he is almost translucent, resembling the Hogwarts’ ghosts quite scarily. Harry often wonders if Draco ever ever goes out in the sun, and if he did, if it would burn him.“You know me, a spoiled little rude prat.” Draco cocks his head to the side. Snowflakes dancing in his eyes, his tie loose around his neck, the little freckle under his left eye. It’s quite magical, and that’s something to say in a world constructed by magic.From all the wonders Harry has seen since entering this crazy, bizarre but wonderful world, Draco Malfoy is by far the most magical, intriguing one.“You are indeed,” Harry grins, and steps closer, and Draco also steps closer and Harry feels arms sneaking around his waist, firm and comforting and grounding. These moments he lives for, this is what keeps him going, when he can stop all of the charade, all of the pretending and playing everything is bloody fine, when it is not, so clearly, painfully not; when he can forget about his worries for a bit, and in the sea of hatred he is swimming through everyday, this is his beacon, his only light.He feels alive. Feels himself.“We’re gonna get caught,” Harry mumbles into Draco’s mouth.“I don’t care,” comes Draco’s muffled response.
After they’ve had their fair share of snogging in the hallway, the boys find themselves in an empty classroom, tucked away far from the door and any possible interrupters. Draco is holding Harry against his chest; his fingers absentmindedly playing with Harry’s unruly raven hair. Content, lost so deep in each other they don’t need anyone else, don’t need the outside world. Just their own happy bubble, which nobody can take from them.Except that they can.“You spoke with Sirius lately?” Draco murmurs. Harry shakes his head, enough of an answer he supposes. Sirius has a lot to deal with of his own; why should Harry bother him with his trivial problems every day?He knows that’s not true, that Sirius specifically told him to call him whenever he wants to, to just chat for a bit or to pour his heart out, and that both Sirius and Draco would smack him for thinking this, but he cannot help it. He still feels like a burden most of the time.“You spoke with your momma?” Harry asks in return. The night is silent and somber, hiding Draco’s face from Harry’s eyes, but he feels him stiffen nevertheless, the muscles he is leaning his head against tensing.“No.” Short-spoken, harsh answer, not allowing any further discussion. There are topics Draco won’t discuss with Harry, no matter how much trust is between them; and there are also things Harry won’t ever tell Draco about, and that’s okay.But sometimes Harry feels the urge push a little. Knows how talking about it, even a few simple sentences, help ease the weight on one’s shoulders.“You know, you can’t be sure…” Harry drawls, not even sure how to finish the sentence to not upset Draco. “That your father-““No is no, Potter!” Draco snaps. The words cut right into Harry’s heart.He winces. Draco hadn’t called him Potter, other than in a teasing tone, for a long time. He deserves it though. He shouldn’t nudge Draco to tell him anything- but. But how is he supposed to help him?His heart clenches; will Draco be mad at him? Will he leave now? Breathing hitches, hands tremble in the slightest. Harry Potter feels the beginning of a panic attack digging its claws into him. It tores his flesh and paints the floor red.Draco is all he has. Draco cannot be mad at him. Is Draco mad at him?
God
please
no.

They never talk. Like none of that happened.

Why should they talk? They’re enemies.

That’s what Harry tells himself every single day. But does it work? No, not really.

Head full of Malfoy‘s words, of vivid memories of him cradling Harry’s injured hand. Of the barely hidden concern in grey eyes. It gives Harry funny feelings, like something is fluttering in his stomach. It scares him to death. He pushes it so, so far away and locks it into a box in his mind, never intending on letting it out.

Enemy. Enemy. Wrong side of the war. Death Eater. Enemy.

And also the promise Harry gave himself; hanging above him like a hangman; dragging him down like chains.

No one else will suffer trying to help him. Not Malfoy.

And so Harry ignores all the glances and attempted eye contacts. And tells himself; not Malfoy.

Draco notices the wince, of course he does. It makes his heart shatter; he shouldn’t be the one to cause Harry pain. Sooth it, yes, make it go away, kiss it better, but not be the cause of it. Never the cause of it.Draco sighs and tries to catch Harry’s eye. Reflects his guilt into his eyes, for Harry to see. But he won’t and won’t look up.“Sorry, shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” Draco says as a peace offering. “Just it’s so bloody bad back home… I know I can tell you anything. It’s just quite hard to talk about it.”No response. The body in his arms is shaking in the slightest. Harry’s breathing is odd; uneven and raspy. Hyperventilating, Draco realizes.“Harry?”Harry’s throat is working, but no sound comes out. Only incoherent, gluttural sounds. He tries. God, he tries. But the world is pressing on him, drowning him, and suddenly no words can be formed as the air is punched out of his lungs and does not come back. He knows this state - and hates it so much it blinds him sometimes.He can’t breathe.“Harry?” Dread is forming a tight knot in Draco’s stomach. It squeezes and squeezes until it’s so painful he gasps.Frantic movements followed by rustling of fabric, as Draco hurriedly turns Harry over. Before, Harry wouldn’t look him in the eye; now his eyes are huge and terrified as he flees his hands up to claw at his throat.Draco might faint.He has lived through one of these with Harry before, and he has never been more scared in his life. And you caused it , sneers the poisonous voice in his head. What to do? He doesn’t know what to do.What can he do?What had he done?

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.”

Draco stops dead in his tracks. He is only a feet away from Potter, where he is crouching under a big oak, in a place nobody would see him were they to look out a window in the castle.

But Draco saw. (Maybe he was casually checking here and there now where Potter was. So he wouldn't catch him off guard with whatever he was planning, of course.)

He cursed himself all the way from school. Silently, of course. How embarrassing would it be if someone heard him talk to himself, and even more, to hear him say “you’re acting like a wet thirteen year old” to himself.

What is he doing? Why the hell did he sneak out of his dormitory, and came all the way out here like a bloody idiot? He’s a bloody idiot, that is. It’s so cold, fuck. What is he even doing here?

Now, Potter’s words throw him out of his haze. Leave him alone. Huh. Like Draco had any other intentions. Pfff. What does the bastard think of himself anyway?

He straightens his back and pulls on his most arrogant, pure blood face he can muster. His voice still comes out high-pitched though, dammit!

“What, Potter, you think I came her for a little bit of midnight chit chat? I just wanted a peaceful walk, and I can’t even have that without your sorry arse ruining it!”

It sounds forced, not natural. Like something he practised in front of a bathroom mirror and sounded far, far better in his head. Draco’s cheeks redden.

This arsehole! This full-of-himself wannabe saviour, who thinks he can mess with Draco Malfoy! He shouldn’t have come here, of course he shouldn’t have, why did he come here? Potter isn’t his friend. Potter isn’t even his acquaintance. Potter is an idiot playing dress up as a hero, and one or two random encounters cannot change that, even though both of them left Draco with a hammering heart.

But Potter is so silent lately. Not responding to any of Draco’s mocking. So, so silent, literally disappearing in front of his eyes. Hollow. Like him.

Maybe that’s why he had come. Or not? Draco is so frustrated he wants to rip out his hair. He is so overwhelmed by all this; confusion ruling his days now.

Yes, he is confused. That could do. Confused. Very much so.

Potter slowly turns his head towards him. The night breeze ruffles his hair. Ever so unruly. Ever so annoyingly looking like a bird’s nest, sticking into random directions. Sometimes the urge to tame Potter’s hair is so strong Draco has to bite his cheek in order to remain calm.

What the fuck?

says the voice of wisdom in his head.

What happened to him? Mocking, teasing, insulting, that’s what he does. It rules his life. How come he cannot muster any good comeback at Potter? Only coming up with that pathetic speech. And why are Potter’s eyes shining so brightly? Such a pretty color anyway, this emerald green thing he got going on there - but hollow, dull. No life in them.

How come Potter’s enemy is the only one who notices there is something wrong with the guy? Isn’t that the most fucked-up thing ever? And here Draco thought his friends were fake.

“So why are you still here?” Potter whispers. The words are like a slap, waking Draco up. Why is he still standing there?

Because you’re a bloody idiot

, says the voice again.

He is so dumbfounded he leaves without saying anything else - because he has nothing else to say. Because he has so much to say and no way of saying it. Because he is so bloody confused it feels like his head is going to explode. Because he can’t come up with an insult anymore. Because he just risked detention and followed Potter under that stupid oak, even though he didn’t know why the fuck he had done that, only to be told off. Because Potter wants Draco to leave him alone.

Because Draco doesn’t want to leave him alone.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Harry regains consciousness part by part, his brain foggy and all wrapped in candyfloss. His thoughts dragging like melasa. He yawns and sprawls - and feels hundreds of tiny knives stabbing into his back and side, making him groan. Stiff, he rolls on his stomach, lying on the hard floor made its number on him. He remembers this sensation clearly - the years spent either on floor or a hard bed with the Dursleys.But why the fuck is he lying around on the floor now?“You… awake?”Harry shoots up, scanning the place frantically, fear overcoming all of his sense before he realises he is in a Hogwarts classroom. He hadn’t taken you. Calm. Down. Breathe. By the spore light coming through the windows, Harry realizes it’s sunrise alreadyHarry’s eyes land on the boy hovering over him; his bottom lip is trembling. ( That’s so distracting. ) The memories come rushing back and Harry’s hand instinctively goes to his throat, which makes Draco flinch - he tries to cover it up, it’s very subtle, but Harry knows it’s there. His throat burns.“What time is it?” Harry croaks, shame burning through him like lava. He must have fainted. He had a fucking panic attack . Because he thought Draco was mad at him. He lowers his gaze, rubs his hands nervously. ( He is such an idiot. ) Showing how pathetic he really was. How a little thing can throw him spiraling into a breakdown. Who would want to date someone like that? Draco, perfect, captivating, mesmerising Draco certainly couldn’t, right? Oh Merlin.“Six,” Draco responded after clearing his throat. “I… You were out for about 3 hours. Started breathin’ after you fainted, thank Merlin. I almost went to get someone like five times, but figured the punishment would be far worse, and also you wouldn’t like someone finding out very much,” Draco says in one go, taking a deep breath when he is done.“I’m sorry,” is all Harry manages. He curls in on himself and hides his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m such a disappointment. I ruined our night. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me-”“No! Harry,” Draco grips his hands tight and softens his tone when he notices how Harry trembles. “Harry, love, no, don’t you apologise, it’s my fault, I snapped at you, even though I know how these things trigger you-”“No, no, I…” Harry sucks in a breath. “I’m just so weak .”Suddenly Harry is pulled up to his knees and embraced in a hug so bone-crushing he hears his ribs crack. Fluffy blonde hair is tickling his left cheek and an arm is rubbing circles into his back. He instantly melts into the other boy, his reaction automatic; though still panicking on the inside.“You,” whispers Draco, in his most earnest voice, into his ear, “are not weak. You are fucking brave, intrepid even with that hero glow of yours and, well, sometimes pretty suicidal, and often stupid, but never, never say you’re weak, Harry.” Harry feels the back of his eyes burning and closes them. “I’m the one who messed up. You have nothing to apologise for. Gosh, baby, I was just so scared , y’know.”Harry mutters grateful, incoherent things into Draco’s skin and grips him tighter.They stay that way for a while, and Harry is just so immensely grateful for Draco. For everything that he does for him. For loving him when no one else did. It may sound cheesy, and it is cheesy, bloody hell, but it’s also so painfully true - if Draco hadn’t appeared in his life when he did, Harry is not sure for how long would he’ve been able to carry on.The intensity of his feelings doesn’t surprise him, rather it drowns him, washes over him and leaves Harry gasping for air. He never felt anything so strong in his life - and that’s why the thought of Draco being mad at him, leaving him, was so, so terrifying to him.They never said ‘I love you’ to one another. It almost slipped from Harry’s lips countless times, but the possibility of Draco not saying it back made Harry always swallow those words and leave them in his heart, locked safely away where they couldn’t hurt anyone.They were bubbling up to the surface though, and Harry was bursting with the need to say them out loud.“Sorry I scared you,” Harry smiles into Draco’s collarbone instead and with all of his willpower he leans away. “We should get going.”“Yeah.” Draco scrambles to his feet and helps Harry up too. Eyes still widened, watching Harry’s every step, worried that Harry might fall apart with even the slightest blow of wind. Draco’s hand presses lightly against Harry’s middle, guiding him gently towards the door. His touches featherlight, treating Harry like he was made of glass.Harry squeezes his hand and did his best to smile at him, cocking his head to the side. He doesn’t like Draco treating him like he is a fragile doll, but he supposes it’s only natural, after what he put him through. ( He can’t imagine how he would feel if he had Draco in front of him, gasping for air, slowly suffocating.) They leave the classroom not holding hands anymore, and Harry hates this charade they have to keep up. Despite that he steals a tiny goodbye kiss before he rushes off to the Gryffindor tower, and Draco down to the dungeons.
He plans on sneaking back into his bed, but as soon as he sets his foot on the first step towards the boy’s dormitory a clear voice rings through the silence.
It’s early in the morning and the castle is beautiful with the soft light pouring in. The worry that Draco found his panic attack repulsive is still there, but Harry pushes it as far away as he can. They are fine. Draco is not mad. No sulking. They are fine. Harry tries to think about something else and just takes in his surroundings, appreciating how dust dances in the light.

(

‘Harry, you have to start enjoying life’, Draco tells him in a funny serious voice, on one lazy afternoon not long after they got together. ‘Problems will always be here, but you cannot give in - you have to see the good. Seek the good. Always.’ Harry rolls his eyes with a smile. ‘How deep of you’.

)

Harry rushes up the stairs praying to not bump into any teacher. He figures it’s not technically night now, and there hopefully isn’t any rule about taking leisure morning strolls through the castle, but he thankfully doesn’t bump into anybody afterall and is in the Gryffindor tower in no time, only panting a little.
“Where were you, Harry?”Harry almost jumps out of his skin. Whips around, only to find Hermione sitting in one of the chairs next to the fireplace, her robe on on top of her pyjamas, dark circles under her eyes and a scowl scarring her features. Hair as stubbornly untamed as always. Harry feels his skin tingle. How could he not see her sitting there? Was she waiting for him? For how long?“On a walk,” Harry squakes, and his face burns because he is not a very good liar and that was a terrible lie, and Hermione knows, of course she knows, because it’s Hermione . Narrows her eyes at him, and breaths through her nose - so Harry knows she is really, really angry.She kind of looks like a puffing bull, but Harry isn’t going to tell her that and get himself slapped.“You were on a walk for six hours?” Hermione utters calmly, but Harry feels furiousness bubbling under that seemingly tranquil facade like fire licking at his skin, “In the middle of the night? That seems rather fishy to me, Harry. Unless you took a walk to London , that is.”Was it that long? Oh, dear Merlin.“I… well… I got lost?” Harry tries, stupidly raising his voice in the end so it comes out as sort of a question. He sighs and comes to sit to the chair next to Hermione, drawing his knees up. Hugs them and stares in front of him, not willing to look at one of his best friends in the entire world. ( But is she? How long is it since they had a meaningful conversation longer than five minutes? When was the last time she asked how he was doing? )He is exhausted, and drained out from his earlier panic attack, and just sick of lying to people all the time. Of people lying to him all the time.“Why do you lie to us, Harry?” Hermione’s voice is pained, and she looks… betrayed? Disappointed. Why does she says 'us', anyway? Did she and Ron plan this? Like a fucking intervention or something?Harry would love to tell her about Draco, and all the wonderful things he does for him; but how would she react? Him throwing the leg with a Slytherin? How could she ever understand who Draco really is? And what is he to him. It wouldn't be pleasant to hear Draco did for him more in those few months than they did in a year for her, for sure. And Ron would totally hate him.
He should them tell. But he doesn't. Because he is weak.

'Never, never say you're weak, Harry.'
Silence. Long and heavy, settling over them like a thick blanket.“We’re your best friends,” Hermione sniffs, and Harry hides his face in his knees. Not fair. This is not fair. A lump is swelling in his throat; he digs his fingernails into his palms to ground himself.
If everybody just let him be, just stopped nagging at him all the time, Harry may actually start healing. But they push. And push. And push. His friends too - if they are not too busy overlooking him. Rubbing salt in Harry’s wounds.
But not Draco. Never Draco.
What would Sirius do? Harry asks himself. You’re not weak.
Eventually, he looks up, and glares straight into Hermione’s accusing brown eyes. Something in his own makes her face crumble in worry.

“I’m not okay,” he stutters, and his voice cracks only a little. He counts that as a small victory.

He said it. What has been choking the life out of him for months - it is said now. Someone - other than Draco and Sirius of course - knows. He takes a deep breath and his chest feels lighter, his heart, his soul feels more free. It’s stupid; only three simple words - Hermione doesn’t know what is bothering him, doesn’t still know

anything

, really. But Harry said

something

. Said the words that almost slipped so many times - didn’t because Harry couldn’t make himself say them. Didn’t have the courage. He doesn’t feel any more courageus now, but

he is not weak

. He is not.

He is not.

Harry gets up and leaves without another word, leaving Hermione with her mouth hanging open. She doesn’t try to stop him. He bounces up the stairs - sneaking into their bedroom and into his bed without waking up the boys is relatively easy; he draws the curtains on his bed closed and clutches his and Sirius’s mirror in his hand. He doesn’t use it. He doesn’t need to. He hadn’t felt this good about himself in a very long time.

You would be proud of me, Sirius. Draco.

Harry wakes up from a particularly nasty nightmare, screaming Sirius’s name as he regains consciousness, shooting up to a sitting position. Luckily, the silencing spell he casted yesterday prevented anybody from hearing it and confronting him about it.

With trembling hands, Harry brushes his damp hair from his face, waiting for his breathing to even.

After a while he gets up, quietly exiting the room and leaving the ever-present snoring behind. Anyone else never thought of sparing their mates the sounds they make at night, apparently.

Harry wanders around for a while, coming down to the common room only to go up the stairs again, and finally setting for a quiet little corner next to the bathrooms. He sits on the cold windowsill and rests his head on the soothingly cold window; his hands never stop to tremble.
Harry is tired, so tired, but he cannot get any sleep lately, the nightmares always chasing him. Afraid to fall asleep, afraid what is going to happen if he does. And afraid of the thing , of the connection he shares with Voldemort.
Harry quietly looks out the window, trying to shut his mind down. Humming a lullaby under his breath, not even aware of doing it. The night is dark, and embracing him like a lost lover, hiding him in her depths - which he appreciates; he does not wish to be found.
‘You should get it through your thick skull Potter, that needing help is not a weakness. You can’t bear the weight of the world on your shoulders alone.’
He remembers clearly what Malfoy told him, and deep down he knows it is true. He cannot handle this alone, but the thought of telling anyone is creating a lump in his throat and causing his palms to sweat. He is so overwhelmed by all this, if he tried to tell anyone that would surely make him crumble down like a house of cards. So fragile, a blow could make him break down.
‘You should get it through your thick skull Potter, that needing help is not a weakness.’
It is a weakness indeed, because everyone who tries to help Harry Potter always ends up bad. Which is why Malfoy should stay as far away from Harry as he can.

Harry gets exactly a half an hour of sleep before Ron and Dean are waking him up.

“Rise and shine!” yells Ron into his face. He growls and shoves him away, like he is waving off an annoying fly. It takes some time for him to roll out of the bed, his brain still trying to kick in.

“You look like a fucking corpse, mate,” points out Dean and Harry can only agree.

Dressing is kind of complicated because he puts on his robes backwards, creating an amusment for his friends, and how the fuck did he manage to put it on backwards? They finally make it to the common room and Hermione is there waiting for them. She spots hi and tenses, and Harry’s heart sinks a little.

Hadn’t thought it through. He was so proud of himself for saying it; but what now? Will Hermione demand answers? Absolutely. Harry can only hope she won’t bring it up in front of other people. She wouldn’t be so cruel, would she? He just wants it to be like old times; get back the trust between them. Years of friendship hopefully cannot be ruined in a few months, but who knows? Harry certainly doesn’t. He doesn’t know anything lately.

Harry rushes forward so he can get to her first. Dean and Seamus exchange glances behind his back, eyebrows raised.

“Hi, Hermione,” Harry utters, and searches in her face, her eyes for an answer to his worries. Her face is closed off though, a distant look in her eyes; absent-minded; she is playing with her hair, and it takes her a second to register him.

“Oh, hello, Harry.” Harry analyzes her voice - but it is neutral, no trace of any real emotion. He is glad there is no anger in there, but it kind of scares him - Hermione is always present in the moment, her brain always working away, always thinking and deducting. She is hardly ever this empty-headed.

Maybe Hermione is going through a hard time also, and Harry was so lost in his own problems and misery that he hadn’t noticed. (He was complaining about his friends not paying attention to him - but was it possible it went both ways?)

Ron catches up with him and bumps into his shoulder. “Come on, breakfast is awaiting!”

Soon enough they are eating pancakes and waffles with maple sirup and chatting animatedly. Except for Harry and Hermione - they’re both silent and Harry picks at his food with a disgusted look like it will attack him any moment.

He spends his breakfast trying to catch Draco’s gaze, which, unfortunately, doesn’t happen. Harry doesn’t give it much thought; Draco had, after all, the same exhausting night as him. He is surely tired.

They leave for their first class and Harry’s grumbling stomach protests at the sight of almost not-touched pancakes. Ignoring it, Harry fishes out his schedule and groans when he sees that it’s Defend Against the Dark Arts. How nice of a way to start the day.

Everything goes weirdly smooth until Umbridge asks him a question, with that venom-sweet smile of hers, and Harry wasn’t paying attention at all. Which throws him off is however the fact that Hermione’s hand is not in the air, and she is not on her tiptoes in the need to answer the question.

“I don’t know,” Harry replies and Umbridge’s smile widens.

“Well, Mr. Potter, if you spent half of the time you spend spreading lies studying,” she says so sweetly Harry’s teeth hurt, “you would know the answer, I’m sure. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Harry’s vision swims. Gets nasty looks from some from his housemates. He clenches his fists and the words carved into one of his hands stretch over his skin. Hate so pure and furious fills him whole.

“They are not lies,” he says quietly. It’s here all over again. He knows it. But he cannot back down. Even if everybody hated him - he has his truth. And he will fight for it.

“I thought we already established that, Mr. Potter.” Umbridge is actually beaming. Her little frog face is lit up and her eyes almost popping out of her head. “But, sadly I have to say you’re still confused about this issue. I’ll be seeing you tonight at detention in my office.”

Maybe Harry will get a matching scar.

“Weasley, someone told you yet how much you resemble a flobberworm?”

Snickers and smirks. Ron is red in the face, ears burning. He is so easily manipulated, thinks Harry. Lets Malfoy drive him crazy, reacts like this every single time. Harry sighs. Ron is such an easy target.

“Leave it be, Ron,” murmurs Harry. He can’t understand that Ron doesn’t see, that if he wouldn’t always throw a tantrum at Malfoy’s stupid remarks, the Slytherin would eventually let it go.

“Harry, you can’t be serious!” Ron gasps, exasperated.

Harry is, unfortunately for Ron, deadly serious.

Eyes on them. One particular pair of eyes is burning a hole through Harry. The walls squishing him. The world squishing him.

“Leave it be.” Harry carries on walking, not looking back. Stares at his shoes. Suddenly too hot. His face tingles from the feeling of being watched. Harry knows Ron will follow eventually.

Ron throws one last furious glance at Malfoy and hurries to catch up with his friend. Thanks to his long legs, he reaches his shorter mate in no time.

Draco Malfoy stays where he is, looking behind Potter and his comical little friend. The slump of his shoulders. The snickers following him everywhere.

Frowns. Potter told him to leave him alone. And he is doing a pretty decent job of that. However… he still

sees

. Sees what others are apparently totally oblivious to. How can they not see Harry Potter is slowly vanishing in front of their eyes?

A plan blossoms in Draco’s mind. There is no need to deny that Potter intrigues him somehow, not anymore - after days of fighting with himself he made peace with that. (And maybe he needs a distraction from his own nightmares in his life.) So he makes himself a promise.

One wants to get closer - to keep sane; and the other one wants to stay away - from the exact same reason.

Harry tries to catch Draco all afternoon after he is done with classes. Checks all of their usual spots, but finds no trace of him anywhere. Finally, when he gives up and goes to the library to do his homework in peace, dreading the evening and trying to do anything that would make him not think about it constantly - he figures homework is the second best thing to Draco - he finds him just sitting in an abandoned corner by himself.

“Draco!” Harry breaths out, a smile already spreading on his face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you-” Harry comes to him and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning down - and that’s when Draco flinches away.

Harry stays glued to the spot and just stares at his boyfriend, who is out of the chair in no time, facing Harry with an almost frightened expression.

“Sorry if I scared you,” Harry says quietly, not quite understanding what is happening. Maybe Draco was lost in his thoughts? Or so tired he drifted off?

“No, no…” Draco shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

Harry hesitantly offers a small smile. “Great then. I need to talk to you about something-”

“Not the best time,” Draco cuts him off and starts packing his things into his bag.

“No the best...?” Harry trails off.

“Yeah. I gotta do - my homework,” Draco stutters and closes his schoolbag. “We can do it together here?” Harry offers, “I have to do mine too.”

“Nah, that’s fine.” Draco hurriedly says and throws the bag over his shoulder. “I have to do it, in, in my room. Left my books there. So. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

And then Draco is gone.

Harry numbly sits down and repeats in his head what just happened. Maybe… maybe they weren’t fine after all?

Oh no.

Harry storms out of the common room, followed by shouting he doesn’t pay any attention to, not anymore. Steps out of the painting and hurries away, legs trembling under him as they carry him instinctively towards the Owlery.

Harry doesn’t want anybody following him and he has a feeling nobody will. Blood is rushing in his ears and he feels anger squeezing his intestines. Hot and white, eating away at him.

The walk is short and soon Harry is inside the windy room, dozens of owls piercing their gazes through him; he is used to that however, people - or birds in this case - always watching him, judging him. Burrows his hands in Hedwig’s soft feathers, which is always so comforting. She must sense something is wrong, because she makes distressed sounds and nibs at his hand.

“Life sucks, Hedwig,” Harry whispers to his silent companion. At least Hedwig can’t write him off. He hopes.

She basically pats his hand with her wing and Harry is so touched; but also, how could his life come to having his only friend in his owl?

‘Tone it down a bit,’ Ron said. ‘Just stop shoving it down people’s throats mate. They don’t believe you. Just shut up and bear it, you’re only making it worse with what you’re doing. You’re making it worse for us too.’

Maybe it was meant as an advice. Harry couldn’t care less. Yelled some pretty unflattering things at Ron, who of course yelled them back. Harry left the Gryffindor tower feeling more alone than ever and didn’t know where to go. Where does he belong, honestly? Nowhere. Maybe he should just go back to the Dursleys and let them abuse him to death. That would be a relief for everybody anyway.

“Harry?”

He braces himself, thinks of a fitting insult to spit at Ron and turns around, however is surprised at seeing a different Weasley than he expected.

“What are you doing here, Ginny?”

Ginny shuffles her feet and comes closer. “Well, I - everyone heard you and Ron fighting. I just wanted to say to you that Ronald is a fucking arsehole.” Harry lets out a surprised laugh. “He just is. And… I know you’re telling the truth. More people know. Just don’t let the haters get you down. Please?”

Harry smiles a watery smile as Ginny pulls him in for a hug, and hates himself for not realizing sooner what a great friend she is.

‘Just shut up and bear it.’

What would he be then, if he stopped fighting for the truth?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Harry suffers through his detention with a stoic face and only slightly trembling hands. Umbridge is watching him intently, like a hawk, as he uses her altered twisted squill to write with his own blood.Wounds that managed to somewhat heal reopen, blood slowly dripping down. Carving the words in deeper, sealing them into his skin. Making them more permanent than before. Who knows if this is his last time using this quill, writing those words? Maybe Umbridge will have him write them over and over until he tears his flesh to the bone and carves them there too.Another wound, small but surely widening, is opening in his heart.Harry numbly tries to finish his punishment. The time drags like melasa, searing pain consuming him nerve by nerve. Hurts much more than last time. But who is going to stop Umbridge? ( No one if you don’t tell anyone, idiot, says his reasonable side. Harry turns a blind eye to that. ) Certainly not Dumbledore, the headmaster couldn’t give less shits about Harry.But who gives a shit about him anyways?“You can stop now.” Umbridge’s voice rings clear and high, and he has to fight down the urge to jump across that table decorated with pink and kittens and pink kittens and strangle the life out of her, watching her eyes bulge out of her head until there is no light in them anymore. ( Maybe he really is a killer. )Sets down the quill and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of him. Hand still burning, but not holding that quill anymore feels just great . He shakily stands up, trying to regain his composure as Umbridge watches him like a hawk.“I must say, sadly, I don’t think you’ve learnt your lesson the last time. I sincerely hope this time is different, Mr. Potter.”“I hope so too,” Harry grits through clenched teeth and gathers his things. “May I go now, professor?”“Yes, go, go.” Her voice stops him at the doorstep. “Do not tell any more lies, Mr. Potter. Many dangers are lurking in the shadows.”Harry straightens his back and gives her his most stubborn, adamant look he can muster. He is not scared of her. She can threaten him all she wants but he is not scared. ( A little.) “Yeah, like Voldemort.” ( She may be a nightmare, but nothing in comparison with the other ones he is facing. )He quickly sneaks out of the door and closes them before Umbridge can give him another detention. Catches only the tiniest bit of smirk on her face before he is out of the door. Hurries away, looking over his shoulder, but the doors do not open. God, that wasn’t a clever move, but goddamit, he couldn’t help it. Maybe this is what she wanted him to do - judging from the smirk.Harry wants so desperately away he doesn’t notice Hermione until he is bumping right into her. Pain flares from his hand up his body. “Ouch, Harry, sorry, I wasn’t -” Hermione quickly apologizes, but promptly gasps and gapes at his hand. Harry jerks it behind his back, hissing.“Oh my God , Harry!”Harry’s cheeks redden, and he experiences a moment of total panic, before he forces himself to calm the bloody hell down. He cannot lie to her, not now when she saw. He will have to say the truth. ( How ironic - truth was the thing that got him into this mess in the first place. ) It’s (almost) the most terrifying feeling ever.“You had a detention with Umbridge.” It’s not a question, Hermione announces it a fact. Understanding flashes in her eyes followed by fury.“I’ll tell you,” Harry sighs, resigned, “but not here.”They settle for a quiet empty classroom. Harry makes sure it’s on the opposite side of the castle than Umbridge’s office. Hermione shuts the doors lightly and takes out her wand, wordlessly taking Harry’s forearm gently and performing some healing spells they are probably going to learn next year.“I must not tell lies,” she whispers when she finishes. Shame burns through him. Words get stuck in his throat, he opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Fear is pressing down on his throat, making it impossible to articulate.The spark in Hermione’s eyes tells him he doesn’t need to say anything. Yet again he is reminded how frighteningly clever his friend is, much cleverer than he will ever be. Clever enough that were she in his place, she would do the wise thing and shut up when the situation needed it. Clever enough to know when to pick her battles. Clever enough to not suffer for her truth, think of another way to do it.Harry is not that clever. “I must not tell lies,” he repeats. His voice is hoarse. He is aware of every sound around them, of the sound of his breath.Hermione sniffs. Harry whips his head in her direction and sees tears running down her cheeks. None of them say anything as she leans in and hugs Harry, tight and reassuring. They say nothing as Harry’s cheeks get wet too, as he tangles his hands into her robes and weeps, silently.Eventually, Hermione whispers, but she could have shouted the words and it would have had the same effect,“You’ll be fine. I promise you that.”And Harry almost believes her.

Harry sees various things in his nightmares. Sees ghosts, blood, hollow dead eyes staring blankly at him, shattered pieces of what used to be. Of what was destroyed because of him. Sees his parents die, in various ways, his mom pleading for his life, her eyes which stopped to shine, her cries which died down.

Tonight it’s Cedric. Bloodied, only having one arm, the remaining one hanging limply, standing in shredded clothes in front of him. Harry knows he was killed by a curse, a painless death at least, but he could have been slaughtered all the same. It wouldn’t have made a difference. He is dead. Because of Harry. Harry killed him.

A weird smell is filling the place, lingering on Harry’s clothes, his skin. Settling deep into his bones. His hands; bloody, blood running down his arms, his torso; falling into his eyes. Moon shining brightly. Cedric stepping closer to him. A crooked version of the content, full of life boy he used to be.

“What’s that smell?” Harry asks.

“Look around.” Cedric’s voice is raw, sounding like he was screaming all day. Maybe he was.

Harry looks around.

Crosses.

Big, made of stone, thousands of them. All he can see are crosses, marking countless graves spreading as far as he can see. Piles of bodies between them. Smelling of death. Of rotting. Of pain. Only a feet away from him is lying a woman he doesn’t know, her head twisted at an awful angle. Face frozen into her final scream. Fingers clutched around something in her palm.

Harry yelps, frantically tries to get the stench of dead bodies, the blood off of his clothes, his soul. He wails and falls to his knees, cradling his head between his hands as he screams. His heart is aching so much it might actually kill him. Cedric doesn’t need to tell him the people are dead because of him; he knows that much. Liquid guilt burning through him.

“Look at me.”

Harry shakes his head, still screaming probably, he honestly can’t tell, can’t tell illusion apart from reality, dream from the truth, and is trapped. Every night, trapped here, alone, with corpses crawling towards him, drenching him in their blood.

“Look at me.”

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

“Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Harry does. Watery green eyes pleading for mercy. Cedric is right in front of him. Kneels down. Places a hand on his shoulder. Leans in. Whispers in his ear.

“You can never make up for what you took.”

The next second, Cedric is dragged away by a wolf. Terrible screams echo in Harry’s head as Cedric is ripped apart.

Harry screams himself into consciousness. Blinks his eyes open and shoots up, into a standing position, frantically touching all parts of his body to check if he isn’t bloodied. Just when he is sure he is not, and that he is awake, he notices he is not in his bed, nor his dormitory.

No, he fell asleep in the hallway he always comes to, too tired from days of not sleeping. His back aches, and his clothes full of dust and dirt from the floor. Daylight pouring in through the windows. He used to believe light would chase darkness away; now he knows it can never be truly gone.

Still so tired, Harry hasn’t gotten any rest. This can’t go on much longer before he loses his mind. He dusts his robes off and makes up his mind - he will go to Miss Pomfrey and ask for a sleeping potion. Mature decision, Harry chuckles. He can almost hear Hermione. The old Hermione.

Harry turns to leave. But he must have been screaming too loudly.

And now he has a frightened Draco Malfoy staring at him.

Harry literally spends the next few days with Hermione, and only with her. Ron is not getting any of it, air of confusion around him, but Harry is still not ready to speak with him about it, too hurt and mad and he knows Ron will need a lot more explaining than Hermione.
Hermione is gentle but firm, coaxing bit after bit of information out of him. Harry’s chest feels lighter with every word he says, every confession he makes, every fear he shares with her. He doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t know the right words, doesn’t know if there are any right words how to express the storm inside his mind, but everything he says, even though his inner voice says that’s so dumb don’t say it they’ll laugh don’t say it Hermione just nods, smiles, appreciates it. It’s like rays of sunshine breaking through clouds, like a quiet sea after a hurricane, it’s soothing and Harry soaks in the feeling, and when someone snikers at him he doesn’t want to die anymore.Hermione has her own demons, her own battles fought on shadowy battlefields behind brown eyes, but she hasn’t started to confess yet. Harry waits. He can wait until he dies. And when she will tell, he will be the most sincere listener she could possibly wish.“There is someone,” Hermione says now. Harry flinches, and clasps his hands together to prevent shaking, but her eyes are soft and not accusing at all. She just wants to help. He hopes.Draco is avoiding him like the plague, even though he denied it when Harry managed to corner him the day before, and then hurried away to do some task that couldn’t be done later.“There is.” It’s quiet and broken, barely a breeze in the night, and it’s like light bursted into the darkness clouding his mind. There is. Or maybe not anymore . This, this Harry cannot talk about. He wants to tell her, wants her advice, wants her understanding, but he is so afraid, so much, that if he says it out loud, the feverish dream he had been having will diminish, crumble into ashes, and the next time he meets Draco in the hallway, he and Crabbe and Goyle will point at him and laugh and he will yell “Potter, the dark Lord says hello!” and Harry will die, right then and there, will just collapse to the ground and no air will ever enter his lungs again because that cannot happen, just can’t, and if he says those words, they will break the fragile, wonderful thing they had been building - and he will rather have Draco avoiding him than not having him at all.“Will you tell me who?”“No.”She smiles. “I thought so.” Her hand finds his and she squeezes, and Harry is just so estatic about this because Merlin he has missed having friends . (And now he misses having a boyfriend, what an irony.)Wind ruffles Harry’s hair and he lies on his back, looks up, sees shards of sky through crooked branches and green leaves, and shadows are dancing across his face, but he is not afraid they are gonna swallow him anymore. ( He is . But a little less than before. And he will take any progress he can get.)“Do you love them?”Hermione is also on her back, and her face is soft and warm and her robes are messy and Harry missed it.“I do.”“Do they love you?”She doesn’t try to convince him to tell her, and he loves her for it. (Still, he realizes, he loves Draco more.)“I don’t know.”“We never know, I suppose, unless we ask. Did you ask?”“No.” A pause. “How could I?”“It’s simple, really. You just say, I love you . And then they say it back.”“That’s not a question.”“That’s certainly a question. The most important question ever asked.”“I can’t.”“Of course you can.”“ I can’t! ”Hermione studies him. Her eyes sparkle. “Something happened.”“No.”“Harry, you’re a terrible liar.”“He says that too.” Nostalgy. Bittersweet, making Harry blink to prevent any embarrasments.“So he is a he?” A smirk.“Yeah.” Harry chews on his bottom lip, anxiously waiting.“Nice.”“Uh-uh.”“So, what happened?”“I don’t know what.”“Oh Harry, again I must say - you are dense. And again I must say - just ask.”Harry falls silent and rolls the thought over and over the mess in his head. Just ask . Talking helped; maybe asking will too. Why are words the key to everything? Harry wonders.
Did you ask?
He gets up. Looks down on Hermione who props herself on her elbows and raises an eyebrow.“Again I must say - you might be right.” Harry takes off and begins to climb back up to the castle, only to climb back down when he gets there, down and down.To the dungeons.
Draco doesn’t know where to look, how to stand, what to do with his hands. He is shaken to the core, confused; scared. But mostly, he is worried, wants to hold Potter’s shaking hands but afraid to move so not to scare off the other boy. (Potter looks ready to bolt away any second.)

He shouldn’t have heard it; shouldn’t have seen Potter toss around caught in vices of a nightmare, scream so loud and so desperate it made Draco’s blood freeze and the fine hairs on his neck stand. (But it must be taken into consideration, that Potter was sleeping in a public place - that only he and Draco knew about, so not that public, okay - and where Draco had come to totally at random, not hoping to casually run into anybody, and for Merlin’s sake god forbid if he would run to any particular raven-haired Gryffindor.) It was personal, not meant for Draco.

But Draco saw. Draco heard. And now Draco is standing here and doesn’t know where to look, how to stand, what to do with his hands. Potter’s eyes dart around, looking for an escape route; only there is none. He cannot escape the knowledge that Draco knows, it will follow him like a stray dog until it bites off his head.

Potter wants him to leave him alone. He should leave then. He won’t. He has a promise to himself to keep, and an opportunity smashed into his face. But how to let Potter know he is not judging him, or going to make fun of him, poke at him or ever bring it up. He thinks so hard his brain is sweating, and soon all of Draco is sweating a cold, chilling sweat, running down his back almost making him gasp.

Potter moves his hand then and the stillness is broken and Draco expects him to raise his wand and curse Draco into the next year. Before he can do so, Draco rapidly moves to grasp his own wand and when Potter’s eyes go wide, he drops it to the ground and raises his hands. The only response is Potter’s eyes going comically wider.
“You can curse me into whatever you want to, but just hear this.” Well, really genius Draco, congratulates him his inner fucking voice, ‘just hear this’, that would be a really wise thing to say to a person with a wand while not having any if you had something for him to hear but you DON’T you fucking idiot!
“I’m sorry for what has happened to you,” is what Draco says, because he has to say something because only a weirdo would say ‘just hear this’ and then be silent; well, maybe only a weirdo and Weasel, whose flobberworm brain would forget he said any ‘just hear this’ before his mouth could even finish saying ‘this’; and Draco is not a weirdo and certainly not a Weasel, and certainly not a weird Weasel. And it’s true after all, he is really sorry for what has happened to Potter, a small deal of it by his fault.

And also Draco makes long inner monologues when he is nervous.

What is worse, he has a tendency to say them out loud.

“I don’t…” Potter is so perplexed he stays with his hand frozen midair, face so solemnly confused Draco wants to burst out laughing because that’s the most Potter expression of all time. Is this hysteria? It could be; Draco read about it in a book.

“I… don’t think you’re a weirdo…” Potter says after a good minute passes and Draco hangs his head because oh Merlin, from his two nervous babbling options of course he chose the loud version, whereas he could just have insulted his sorry arse in his mind and keep Potter out of it, when it doesn’t concerne him anyway. “And you thought… I was gonna curse… you?”

And then his hand goes up and finished the motion it started a panic attack and a hysteria before and he adjust his glasses on his nose.

And Draco bends forward and howls in maniatic, desperate laughter, because Potter was just adjusting his glasses and
he hasn’t slept good in weeks and his father wants him to join the Death Eaters and Potter is right and everyone is wrong and everyone who is wrong will die, and Potter will die too, because the Dark lord cannot be stopped now, and the thought of Potter dead makes Draco sad, and before he knows it he is crying while still laughing and calloused, rough hands are gripping his shoulders.

“I am so bad at keeping promises,” Potter murmurs and Draco looks up, sees bright green eyes like two tears drops of emeralds sitting on a ghostly pale face.

“I am exceptionally good at that,” Draco replies, and wipes his face, his cheeks red with embarrassment. He is just happy Potter is not looking so pained and his face is now lightened up. That’s such a pretty sight, happy Potter, happy Harry Potter, happy Harry.

Draco wants to chase away all of Harry’s nightmares.

“You cannot be exceptionally good at everything,” Harry whispers and Draco grips Harry’s hands still gripping his shoulders, so they are now awkwardly entwined. Draco fancies the thought of them never untangling again.
What the fuck are you doing , yells his inner voice. I’m keeping my promise, replies Draco.
“Try me,” he whisperes back and crashes their mouths together.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Harry doesn’t know what the fuck is he doing. He just knows he has to go down, down, into the cold and darkness, into the green flame in the dungeons. He knows he cannot give up now, cannot back down. He has been holding it together for days now, and if this is really going to end (Harry might as well kill himself and it would hurt less), Harry will be there to see, he

will

hear it in person, it will not come to an end by avoiding and hiding.

No, Harry thinks they deserve better than that.

Once actually in front of the Slytherin common room, Harry realizes he has no plan, and no idea what to actually do. He doesn’t have a password, and even if he did, he can’t just waltz in there with his Gryffindor tie and his best smile and ask if Draco is home. He remembers clearly how nerve wracking it was the last and only time he was there, and that time he was disguised as one of the Slytherins. No, no he can’t go in.

Harry’s courage slowly drifting away, his eyes darting around for some clues, for some help on what to do. It’s just - he checked all the other places, and then checked them again and again until his eyes were sore from all the looking, and here Draco has to eventually come to, right?

Right?

Did you ask?

Harry plays with his tie, fidgeting, knowing very well he can’t stay there forever. The first Slytherin to find him there would rip him apart and Harry as hell isn’t in a state to handle that. But the need to see Draco overcomes every other feeling.

Harry just wants to ask.

“Oi, Potter!” Harry whips around and sees Pansy Parkinson, with her pug face and shit-eating grin, Millicent Bulstrode strolling behind her. “Got lost?”

It’s just two girls,

Harry tells himself,

just two girls. They can’t do anything to you.

“No,” Harry manages to say, trying to look like he has a reason for his presence there.

“Well you sure do look like it.” Parkinson’s grin is hideous. It’s not that she is

that

ugly - but it’s a wicked, crooked, mean grin, nothing warm about it. It's not a smile. It’s a promise of trouble. A warning. “We should help you find your way. Since you’ve clearly lost your mind that is, dancing around telling everyone of the big bad Dark Lord coming to kill us all.” She comes closer, mocks him. “You freak.” Millicent laughs, it sounds forced, when Pansy shoots her a look.

They’re just words.

Words.

Words can’t hurt you. Not unless you allow them to.

Never say you’re weak, Harry.

Harry hasn’t survived all of the attempts at his life, all of the crazy people trying to kill him, every attempt from the Dursleys to starve him to death; all the terrible things that happened to him for him to be broken by fucking Pansy Parkinson.

Harry takes a deep breath. Even if things with Draco end today, he still taught him so much. To value himself. To not see himself lower than everyone else. He taught him that he can be loved. And even though Harry never listened to him, laughed off every praise Draco ever said to him, it stayed inside him; a little golden seed of hope for happiness flowering.

Squares shoulders. Straightens his back. Sets his jaw.

Your voice will not crack this time.

“Well since your daddy is licking Voldemort’s shoes right about now, I think you and I both know who is the liar here.”

Pansy gasps. Millicent gasps. Harry almost gasps too but stops himself. He said

that

. Harry feels so incredibly proud he wants to do a happy victory dance. He might even go and give Hermione a kiss, who knows. Kick Mrs. Norris might be also fun. He can do

anything

because he just said

that

.

“You little son of a-“

“If that’s all, I’ll be going then. I have other, more enjoyable business to attend to.” Harry makes his leave, bumping a little into a stunned Pansy as he goes. After he takes two turns, he quickens his pace until he is running and stops only when he runs out of breath.

Marvellous. Harry feels marvellous right now. He hasn’t been able to stand up for himself for so long; his insecurities always shutting him up, his mind playing tricks on him. The hate he has gotten has been co crushing he broke, and was sure he would never come together again. That he was damaged, an error that needed to be eliminated anyway. (That’s what the Dursleys always said. That he was a mistake. An error in the system. Right before they locked him down and turned off the light.)

He leans against a wall and tries to catch his breath. He is sweating and his body is trembling.

I said that.

Yes, you did. And do you know what you have done? You have angered her. She will tell the other Slytherins and they will get meaner, more vile. How many times do you need to hear you’re useless before you understand? You fucked up again. When will you learn fighting back is stupid? You’re so dumb. She will tell Draco and he will laugh at you with them. Because that’s all you’re good for. Being a laughing stock.

Somewhere along the way the voice in his head starts sounding like uncle Vernon.

“No…” Harry whispers. “No, no.” Please, he was feeling so good about himself

just

now.

Please go away. I don’t want any dark thoughts.

How can I go away? Didn’t you say you’re fighting for the truth? Well why can’t you accept the truth that you’re just a burden?

“No, stop this…” Where is he? He is still in the dungeons, but he wasn’t paying attention to where he is running. Pansy and Millicent cannot see him like this. He would be screwed. He did so well, why… why is slipping into the darkness so much easier than crawling out? Getting out is like it takes forever to make only one small step, but getting in is like taking a step and falling down a hole.

He needs to move. He will get out of these depressing, dark, suffocating dungeons and go back into the light up there. He will go back to Hermione under the tree, in the light, brightness, under the branches throwing shapes at his face, and not allowing any hiding spots for ghosts and monsters ready to tear him apart if he is not careful enough - and he will have to admit how weak he is when she asks how it went.

Did you ask?

“Harry?”

Harry almost jumps out of his skin, presses his whole body flushed to the wall, trying to control his erratic heartbeat and his hitching, raspy breath, and knows very well that his face is showing all of his emotions right now, there is no way he is able to school it down at this moment, not in this mindset, not in this dark place with lanterns burning a green flame and casting shadows of obscure shapes. (He sometimes wonders about how much his surroundings affect the way he feels about himself. This dark hole of a place is making him feel more terrible than he felt in weeks.)

He slowly turns his head to the right, inch by inch until he has no more room left and he is staring right into Draco’s ghostly pale face.

“I… I didn’t expect to see you here,” Draco mumbles, averting his gaze, looking down at the floor, up at the ceiling, at the spider webs hanging from one of the torches, just about anywhere but at Harry. This, for some reason, is the last drop Harry needed.

“Well since you’ve tried your best to avoid me in the last few days, I guess you weren’t planning on seeing me ever again.” Harry’s words are bitter, dark and Draco looks taken aback, actually takes a step back as if he had been slapped. (As if Harry would ever, ever do something to hurt Draco. That for some reason upsets him even more.)

“That’s not true.” Draco’s defense is weak, Harry thinks he knows that Harry knows he doesn’t really mean it - like Hary is kind of stupid, all right, not the brightest of minds, sure, but he is not that stupid. He can put two and two together. He knows that if his boyfriend has been avoiding him for the last week it means they are probably going to break up which he really doesn’t want to do because Draco is his

everything

, his life, his heart, his breath, his thoughts, his lucky charm - what will he do without him? He will diminish, into the ashes he came from.

No. No, focus

. He came down here for a reason, he has to stick to that, even though his mind is a complete and utter mess and total chaos. He has to know, he just

has

to. He cannot live like this anymore.

“Are we breaking up or what?”

Draco flinches, actually he jumps a little, uit almost looks funny, like if you point a flashlight on a rat and it gets scared of the light and runs away. Draco looks like a deer caught in headlights, like a lamb ready to get slaughtered. He opens his mouth and closes it - but Harry, who knows Draco better than he knows himself, senses an underlying feeling of confusion there. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

“What, why?” Draco utters, sounds small and scared, looks even smaller, like he is folding in on himself.

Harry’s laugh is even more bitter than before. It hurts, it’s not a natural laugh - it’s like Pansy’s smile; not really a sign of happiness, more like layers and layers of anxiety, sadness and bitterness which can transform any light feeling into something crooked and terrifying. “Well, maybe because every time I try to speak to you, you run away from me, you avoid me, you don’t wanna see me and what’s the point of being with someone if you’re not actually

with

them?”

Draco still, it seems like, can’t from normal, coherent sentences. He looks like he has million things to say, but no way of saying them. Harry feels his skin crawl, cold sweat running down his back, it’s so hot isn’t it, or so cold, he honestly can’t even tell anymore, he is lightheaded and he might pass out at some point in this conversation. But other than that, he is quite okay.

“No, no, no. Harry, no.” This is the first thing Draco said today, that doesn’t sound weak or uncertain. His voice, which Harry guesses he finally found, sounds firm, steel even, and it surprises him. He blinks and opens and closes his fists to ground himself.

“No?” Harry cocks his head to the side. “So what, you were just playing a twisted version of hide and seek with me the whole week?”

“No, please Harry, you have to listen to me, let me explain-“

“No, actually I don’t need to do that. I really don’t. You could’ve explained when I tried to talk to you in the library, or when I was looking for you every minute of every day because I

missed

you.” Harry takes a shaky breath and runs a hand through his unruly hair.

He hears a gasp. “Harry, your hand.” The lights dim. The temperature drops by at least ten degrees.

Harry cradles his hand and hides it behind his back, suddenly looking away from Draco and staring into the flames of a torch instead. His eyes get watery from the light, not from anything else. “That’s what I wanted to tell you in the library,” he whispers. “I had another detention with Umbridge. But Hermione helped me clean it and everything. You were right, you - when you still talked to me of course - that I should tell other people. People can help.”

Draco looks so crestfallen, so

destroyed

that Harry almost wants to hug him until he hears his bones crack and they become one - not almost, he longs to do so so much his body is aching from him restaining it from doing so.

Harry feels tears in his eyes and he looks up so they won’t fall. He has cried in front of Draco many times, but this time, he feels far more vulnerable than usual. He feels so many things at the same time, he might explode, it may tear him apart into tiny pieces no one will be able to collect and put back, not even Draco. That is, if Draco even bothered to do so.

Harry is suddenly out of breath, that thought just freezes him in place. When he had Draco, he always had someone to collect the pieces; to hold him when he cried; to restrain him when he is clawing angry red bleeding marks on his arms, unable to stop himself.

“Yes, they can.” Draco says. The words get lost in the darkness slowly crawling to them. Seriously, how can anyone live in these dungeons, it’s the most depressing place Harry has ever had the displeasure to visit - except for maybe the Dursleys’ kitchen after Aunt Petunia’s spring cleaning, all polished and arranged and twisted until it resembled a life the Dursleys wanted to live, not the one they actually lived; every grapefruit, tea cup, framed photograph of Dudley in its place, clicking together only for one thing there; one thing out of place.

Harry.

“I need to leave,” Harry whispers, not sure he said it out loud or no, but he doesn’t care anymore as he starts to move his limp, numb limbs. (

It’s over. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over-

)

“Harry, Harry wait!” A hand roughly tugs on his sleeve, making him halt, but he keeps going, he needs some light to not drown down here. The hand stays on his sleeve, desperately clutching the overpriced piece of fabric he bought for who even knows how many galeons. Bought surrounded by a ton of people side-eyeing him or openly glaring at him, hearing

That’s the boy who lived - the boy that lived only to go crazy.

“Please, just please, Harry, I’m not gonna let you walk away like this, this… this is not finished, do you hear me Harry, stop, please, just let me say something, come on, please, just listen, just for a moment, gosh, Harry, I never realized, it never even occurred to me you could be mistaking it for me-” Draco’s voice falters, “for me not wanting you anymore.”

“Let go, I have to go… go up,” Harry pants, jerking his arm from Draco’s grasp, but his hand only follows, grabbing him more tightly this time. Harry avoids his piercing gaze. “I don’t think I’m mistaking anything here, Draco. Let

go

!”

“No, Harry I…” Draco stills tries to catch his eye. “I

hurt

you!”

It’s so loud and it echoes around, coming screaming back to haunt them. Harry finally stops his attempts to escape, forgetting about everything and he stops wringing his arm and just stares at Draco open-mouthed. (A little part of him is worried;

what if someone heard?

He doesn’t want them mocking Draco. They can mock him, sure, think they broke him all they want, but never Draco. )

“What are you talking about?”

“You… I…” Draco looks at his hand gripping Harry’s arm so tightly his knuckles turn white and drops his arm as if it burned him. “That night. You… you had a panic attack. Because of me. Because of what I said to you. And you couldn’t breathe and you were in pain and hurting and thinking I would leave you and then you fainted and all I could do was sit in the dark with you uncouscious, I…” the words fall from Draco’s lips, and he speaks quicker and more frantic by the moment, “It was so terrifying, not knowing when you were gonna wake up. I was so scared. I did that to you. And then you woke up and kept apologizing, you thought it was your fault… And I was just so scared that I would hurt you again, so I hid. But you have to understand Harry, I could never leave you, please, believe me…” Draco sighs and rubs his eyes. He chuckles a bitter laugh. “I wanted to protect you and the only thing I managed to do was get you hurting again.”

Harry stays frozen for a few seconds, taking in what he just heard and then throwing all his precautions away as well as throwing himself around Draco’s neck. He shouldn’t give in to the hope, but Hermione’s words burn bright in his mind and Draco’s solemn, pleading face in front of his eyes makes him able to let go of the fear and just risk it once in his life.

Draco is tense, so tense, and doesn’t immediately reciprocate Harry’s hug, probably processing what’s happening. Harry feels so sad that Draco felt that way, it makes him sick that he caused Draco that much pain; and that Draco was holding back because of Harry’s weakness that day. Just when he feels Draco’s arms tentatively sneak around his waist, he leans back, and cups Draco’s now tear-stained face; a little, almost not there smile is tentatively tugging the corners of his mouth up.

They never said I love you to one another. But it never felt so right so say it as it does now.

So Harry gathers his courage and jumps. He has nothing to lose now. He asks.

“I love you,” he whispers. And the way Draco’s whole face lightens up and his eyes sparkle and shine with happiness is the best sight in the world, balm for Harry’s wounds.

“I love you too,” Draco whispers back and leans closer and Harry leans closer and then they make out for a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit actually. Time seems to pass differently in the dungeons. When they break apart, Harry feels giddy and lightheaded and can almost feel the dark clouds surrounding his mind disappear.

“I do believe we have so much more making up to do,” Draco raises his eyebrow teasingly and Harry smacks his arm with a fond eye-roll.

“You jerk.”

Maybe they can’t escape the darkness for good, but they can sure as hell fight it. Together.

Being in a relationship with Harry Potter is what one would expect it to be; and so much more.

Of course, there are pros and cons as there are to any relationship. Even though the pros outweigh the cons so much the cons are to be considered foolish, in Draco’s opinion, however, the cons are still there and unfortunately very much present.

For one, they can’t exactly hold hands and eat lunch together and make out in the hallways and make lovey-dovey eyes at each other and take romantic trips to Hogsmeade like the other couples at Hogwarts do. He is Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, and Harry is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the brave Gryffindor, and on the opposite side of the war no one knows is happening but that is full-blown by now than him. They only get their stolen moments; in their corridor, behind gobelins, in dark hallways and broom closets and on the school grounds under Harry’s invisible cloak, giggling like schoolgirls.

Harry seemed worried at first, that it would bother Draco to have to sneak in dirty places no one even stepped a foot in since the founding of Hogwarts to get some privacy. It hurts Draco to think that Harry has every reason to feel that way, because the first four years they have known each other, he presented himself as a giant prick. And sometimes it is Draco that worries; worries that Harry will realise he is too good for him, too pure and just plain

good

for a rotten Slytherin like himself. That Harry deserves so much more.

But they work out somehow. And Draco chases any worries he might have, of his father finding out and turning Harry in to the Dark Lord out of spite, of their classmates finding out, of the ruthless mocking that would follow, of the dark circles under Harry’s eyes and the way he pinches himself until he bruises and how his arms hidden under the robes look, all purple, he chases all of these worries away. Because of moments like when he passes Harry in the Great Hall and he winks at him, or when they’re partners at potions and Draco has a two-hours long excuse to touch Harry.

Because of the moments in hiding, when they kiss and it’s the only thing Draco wants to do for the rest of his life.

And because of his gorgeous, amazing boyfriend. Because of how smart he is, even though he likes to let everyone think he needs their help, that he isn’t a good student, so that he doesn’t feel more out of place than he has to thanks to being the Boy Who Lived. How he cackles at Draco’s stupid jokes, how he throws his head back with laughter, how when he smiles Draco’s belly makes all sort of weird things, how his lips taste like.

Draco sighs contently as he runs his hand through Harry’s hair, his boyfriend’s head in his lap,
the two of them sitting in comfortable silence, not feeling the need to fill it with meaningless chatter. Harry purrs and leans up into his hand.

"You're a great cushion," he informs Draco. "Mind if I sleep here tonight?"

"Not at all," Draco chuckles and tugs sligthly on Harry's hair. "But I think your little friends might be worried the Dark Lord kidnapped you if you don't show up for bedtime."

Harry is silent for a while. "They wouldn't worry about that at all." There is a pinch of bitterness in his voice and Draco gets a lump forming in his throat when he realizes what Harry is hinting at. He is so sick of the looks Harry gets, the way they mock him when he is there, and gossip about him when he is not; and how his so-called Gryffindor mates turn the blind eye to that.

"Then they're the stupidest people I know."

Harry scoffs. "Says the stupidest lad

I
know."
But he is smiling again and Draco considers his mission accomplished.

Draco watches him with a fond, slightly sad, smile. Harry still doesn’t believe he deserves to be loved; but Draco counts himself lucky that he has the right to do so.