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Draco Malfoy has always had an overactive mind. He’s been like this his whole life, his brain constantly moving at a pace that’s sometimes too fast for even himself. There’s no such thing as a truly quiet moment, because his thoughts are so damn loud. If all of his mental energy isn’t zeroed in on some kind of task, he is plagued with a constant stream of thoughts and emotions racing by until he can catch one and ruminate on it for probably far too long. He does a lot of ruminating, nowadays. In guilt, mostly. Soul-crushing, suicidal-thought-inducing guilt. It consumes him. (Not that he doesn’t deserve it.) His court-ordered mind healer told him he needs to find a calming, stress-free, repetitive task he can focus on when the thoughts get too loud. Which is why he’s here, by the fireplace in the common room built specifically for the eighth year students at Hogwarts, folding an origami dragon to join a pile of five other pieces he’s made so far tonight. And it works, mostly. As he sits by the crackling fire, folding paper into cute little animals, he can almost pretend he is six years old again, not tainted by the Dark Mark or by his own bigotry and bullying, not traumatised by war, not covered in unsightly scars, his once athletic body not ruined by curse damage. He can almost pretend he’s okay. “Hey, Malfoy.” Draco jumps, and the paper tears. “Damn,” he whispers, closing his eyes and sucking in a breath in an attempt to steady his rapidly beating heart. He’ll have to start this one again. He grabs another piece of paper. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Potter says sheepishly as he sits at the opposite end of the plush purple sofa. “It’s fine,” Draco mumbles, briefly glancing over at Potter. He’s in his pyjamas, a worn out band tee and red chequered trousers, his glasses slightly askew on his face. He almost seems to glow in the firelight, his deep green eyes, his copper skin, his jet black hair. Draco turns back to his paper. This isn’t the first time Draco has found himself alone with Hari Potter in the common room late at night. In fact, the first instance was all the way back in September, before Draco had rekindled his love for origami, back when he’d sit right at the mouth of the hearth instead of on the sofa, allowing the heat of the fire to get so strong it hurt, as some sort of self-imposed retribution for his crimes. “Doesn’t that hurt? Being so close to the fire?” Potter had asked as he approached, almost scaring Draco out of his skin. That’s rather the point, Draco had thought, but he just shrugged. “NEWT level classes are a bitch, eh?” Potter had remarked, sitting down on the floor just a bit farther away from the hearth than Draco. It was rather surreal, that whole conversation. They just… chatted. Chatted, as if they weren’t… Well, as if they weren’t Hari Potter and Draco Malfoy. Chatted about their classes, about which team they thought would win the world cup this year, about how un-fucking-fair it was that eighth years couldn’t be on the quidditch teams (not that Draco’d be able to play anyways, with his chronic pain, though he certainly didn’t tell Potter about that.) It must’ve been two o’clock in the morning when Draco awkwardly said he should probably get to bed, and Potter had nodded, said he’d be staying out a little longer, and wished Draco a good night. Draco might’ve thought it was a dream, had Potter not flashed him a small smile in greeting when they saw each other in the Great Hall the next morning. Those late night conversations became semi-regular after that. Draco would sit by the fire, eventually accompanied by a stack of paper, at least a few times a week. And at least a few times a month, Potter would show up. They’d chat, slightly awkwardly, about things much lighter than the topics both their minds were actually on, and Draco would leave no later than 2:00, while Potter stayed behind, looking pensively into the fire as Draco went back to his bedroom. Draco isn’t sure how to talk to Potter. He isn’t sure how to talk to anyone, really, especially these days. Social interaction has never come naturally to him, the way it seems to for other people, almost as if it’s some kind of game, and Draco is the only one who wasn’t given a Rule Book. So he had to figure out the Rules on his own, often learning the hard way, if his father witnessed one of his social blunders. He took cues from the people around him, analysing their behaviour and picking up the patterns so he could mimic them. He spent a lot of his life feeling like an imposter, but at least it worked, at least he was able to adhere to the Rules, most of the time. Now, though, he’s lost that ability. It’s not like he’s forgotten what the Rules are, more like he’s forgotten how to follow them. He’s changed. Draco has had to do a lot of changing, recently. It started in the summer before his sixth year. He changed his mind, but it wasn’t like he could change his trajectory when Voldemort was in his home with a wand to his mother’s head. And Draco had the Mark, a cruel reminder that he was a monster, still disgusting and clearly visible even as Draco started slicing into it, allowing thin scars to form rather than healing them in the hopes that they would obscure the symbol, in the hopes that if he punished himself enough it would count as atonement. Then it was seventh year, it was the war. It was hell, it was a summer of being forced to witness innocents be tortured and killed, of being tortured himself, of being terrified. Then it was September, and Death Eaters had taken over Hogwarts, a place that had once been Draco’s sanctuary, where he could almost forget what Cruciatus felt like for a few precious months at a time, far away from home and from Father. Draco had direct floo access to the Manor through Severus’ office that year, which he used regularly to attend meetings, some of those “meetings” really being summons from one Death Eater or another taking the opportunity to take out their aggression on Draco, the weakest link. Draco was able to use those floo visits as an opportunity to sneak food to the prisoners at the Manor, one small way he could try to be useful, try to make up for everything he’d done. He found a friend that way, in Luna, who doesn’t mind that Draco is weird, doesn’t mind that Draco is Draco. The end of the war was the greatest relief Draco has ever felt. He’ll never forget that feeling, seeing Potter jump up from where he’d laid dead on the floor, seeing him kill Voldemort, knowing it was finally over. He couldn’t even feel scared as he was carted off to Azkaban awaiting trial, where he’d still be today if not for Potter’s testimony. Draco thinks it may have been the stay in Azkaban that had forced his strangeness back to the surface. It was only a few weeks, but it felt far longer, like years without regular social interaction, causing his carefully crafted communication skills to erode completely. Now he’s so terribly awkward, now he forgets what to say and how to say it, how to force the “normal” facial expressions he spent his childhood learning, even practising them in the mirror at times. Now he does weird things like scrunching his eyes closed as hard as he can and covering his ears when the world feels like Too Much. He mostly keeps to himself, unless he’s with Pansy, Blaise, Greg or Luna, who surely notice his strangeness but are kind enough not to mention it. And Potter, for some reason. Surely, he notices, too, but it’s never come up. Draco hopes it stays that way. “How was your break?” Potter asks. “It was kinda weird, not seeing you for two whole weeks.” “It was alright,” Draco replies vaguely, “What about you?” Draco had stayed at Hogwarts this year, one of two eighth year students to do so. Pansy had insisted upon staying with him. Blaise and Greg had wanted to, but Blaise had promised he’d go to the Alps with his mother and Greg needed to go with his younger siblings, who were still uncomfortable staying with a distant relative who they’d been entrusted to now that their father was dead and their mother in Azkaban. Luna hadn’t offered to stay, either, not that Draco would ever ask that of them. Their father really needs them at this time of year since their mother died. They sent Draco a wooden thestral they’d carved and painted themself, a warm reminder of the trips the two of them take down to the edge of the forest to spend time with the hauntingly beautiful creatures. Draco staying behind for the break was a little last minute. He loves his mother, always will, but it’s… hard, to be around her. She watched. She saw everything the Death Eaters did. She saw everything Father did to me for my whole life, and she never tried to protect me. Not to mention how difficult it is to be in that house. “It was really nice, thanks,” Potter answers, “I usually stay at the castle, but it was great to be at Grimmauld with Sirius and Remus and Teddy. Ron and Mione came, too, and I got to see the Weasleys and Luna and Neville. We did all the classic Yule stuff but we also watched some Christmas movies. Have you seen a movie before?” “No,” Draco says, eyes focused on his project, “But I have heard of them. They sound interesting. I’ve been reading some books about muggle technology in the library recently, it’s incredibly fascinating. They’re brilliant, muggles. The things they’ve been able to do without any access to magic are so impressive. I read a whole book about wireless technology, it’s really amazing. I mean, who would even think to use radio waves to connect devices? Well, Guglielmo Marconi, obviously, but the fact that he was able to figure it out is just brilliant!” “I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk all year,” Potter remarks. Draco freezes, his stomach dropping. “Er,” he mumbles, “I, erm, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble, I just…” “It’s not a bad thing!” Potter cries, “It was nice! I’ve been trying to pull more than a sentence at a time out of you for months! I mean, you know I talk to you for a reason, right? I want to get to know you.” Draco blinks. “Oh,” he utters, his hands finally moving again, “Well, I… I’m sorry for not saying more, then.” “You don’t have to be sorry, just… You’re allowed to speak your mind.” If Draco tried to speak his mind, he’d be talking for the rest of time. “I made something for you,” he blurts, then cringes at himself. He hadn’t even decided yet whether he’d actually give it to Potter, but he can’t back down now. “Yeah?” Potter asks, and Draco hazards a glance at him, seeing a lopsided grin on his face. Draco’s heart stutters. He turns pink. “Erm, yes,” he mumbles, reaching over to his little pile of animals for a stag he’d folded. It’s made from some very nice blue paper with a pattern of yellow flowers, part of a set of high-quality origami paper Greg had given Draco as a Yule gift. “Oh, wow,” Potter beams, his eyes lighting up as he accepts the paper animal, “Thank you! This is really pretty!” Shit. Shit shit shit. Why does he have to be like that? Why does his smile have to be so warm? Why do his eyes have to sparkle? And why does he have to be so sweet to me?! “Er,” Draco replies eloquently, “Erm. I, er. Yeah, whatever.” “I got you a gift, too,” Potter says, ducking his head. “What?” Draco utters. “I picked it out for you in Hogsmeade before the break,” Potter admits, “But I chickened out of giving it to you. Wasn’t sure if we were at the gift-giving stage of friendship yet. Hang on, it’s in my room, I can go get it!” Potter stands, racing off to his bedroom while a perplexed Draco sits frozen on the sofa with a half-done origami dragon. Friendship. Huh. “Got it!” Potter announces as he comes barrelling back into the room, holding up a small box triumphantly. He presents the box to Draco, who takes off the lid and looks inside. “I saw it in the window of a shop and thought of you right away,” Potter says as Draco examines the silver necklace. The pendant is a dragon, holding in its hands a crystal in the shape of a star. “Because, you know, Draco, dragon. And Draco is a star, right?” “A constellation,” Draco corrects breathlessly, holding up the necklace, watching it glitter in the firelight. “Right, yeah, a constellation,” Potter says, “And it’s silver and all sparkly, like your eyes, so I just… I thought of you, and I bought it right away. This was back in November, I’ve been holding onto it since then.”
He bought me a necklace…
“Thank you,” Draco chokes out, his face burning up, and not thanks to the fire. “It’s… Erm. Thank you.” He glances over at Potter, to see him grinning softly, just watching Draco. Carefully, as if it’s made of glass, Draco puts the necklace on. “Thank you, Potter,” he mumbles, then mentally scolds himself for repeating what he’d said mere moments earlier. I could’ve just kept my mouth shut instead of repeating myself like an idiot. Merlin, why can’t I just talk to people like a normal person? “Of course,” Potter replies, “And thank you for the stag!” “It’s just some folded up paper,” Draco mutters, fidgeting with his sleeve. “It’s not just folded up paper,” Potter scoffs, “You made it for me, with your own hands! I just dropped some galleons I didn’t even work for on that necklace, you took the time to make something for me.” Draco shrugs. “It’s… It’s whatever.” It’s whatever? What the hell are you even saying, moron? “It’s not whatever, it’s really cool,” Potter insists. Draco goes back to folding his dragon. For a few minutes, the only sound is the crackling fire. “How’d you learn that?” Potter asks, breaking the silence. “Learn what?” Draco asks in reply, eyes never leaving his dragon. Almost done, almost done. “That, er… The paper-foldy-thing,” Potter explains. “Origami?” “Origami!” Potter cries, “Right. Yeah, origami.” “My mother taught me, when I was five years old,” Draco answers. Done. He sets the dragon aside and grabs another piece of paper from his stack, a dark purple one with a golden star pattern. Perhaps he’ll be ambitious and try something new, see if he can make a thestral. Luna would like that. “That’s sick,” Potter exclaims. Draco looks up, startled and hurt. He thought Potter liked his origami… “Oh, it’s muggle slang,” Potter backtracks, “Sick means, like, cool. It’s a good thing.” “Oh,” Draco says, “Er.”
Say an actual sentence, idiot. You used to be pretty good at it, you know. What the fuck happened to you?!
“Could you teach me?” Potter asks, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at Draco with hopeful eyes. “Teach you?” “Origami.” “Oh,” Draco utters, blinking rapidly, “I, er. Yes?”
Why did you say it like it’s a question?!
Potter smiles. “Cool!” he says, “Awesome. How do we start?” “I started with cranes,” Draco replies, “We could try that.” “Sure!” Potter agrees, scooting over on the sofa, getting closer to Draco, “Let’s do it!” “Alright,” Draco nods, trying very hard not to think about how close Potter is, “Erm, here, choose a piece of paper.” He presents the stack to Potter, fanning it out so he can get a proper look. Potter examines the selections for a while, considering, before reaching to grab a bright yellow paper with a pretty green pattern. “Not that one,” Draco snaps, pulling the papers away, something tightening in his chest. “Cranes have to be in cool tones.” Potter blinks, surprised. “Oh, er, okay. Why?” Good question. “They just…” Draco searches for a reasonable explanation. “Well…” Because I’m weird, Potter, that’s why. Haven’t you noticed by now? I’m weird. “They just do.” “Mkay,” Potter shrugs, reaching for a cool green paper instead. Draco breathes a sigh of relief. It’s fine. All is well. Don’t freak out. “Alright,” Draco says, using his own purple paper to demonstrate, “So, you start with your coloured side facing up, and fold and unfold the paper along each diagonal…” By the end of the demonstration, Draco has a pristine crane. Potter, on the other hand… “I’m not sure where I went wrong…” Potter mumbles sheepishly, holding up his miserable clump of paper. Draco’s lips quirk up involuntarily, and he covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle a small giggle. Instantly, he feels guilty, and straightens his face, only to find Potter looking at him with this soft expression, his eyes shining. “Erm,” Draco says stiffly, “I’m not quite sure where you went wrong, either, I was focused on my own work. Why don’t you try it again, and I’ll watch.” He hands Potter another paper, this one indigo, and Potter gets to work. The first two steps go fine, but then— “Okay, okay, so you need to bring the corners together gently,” Draco sighs, “You’re being too aggressive.” Potter goes a bit stiff, his hands going limp. “Too… aggressive,” he utters, only just audible, “Right, er… Sorry, I’m… I’m not a very gentle person.” “That’s fine,” Draco assures him, “It’s a skill, not something you’re born knowing how to do. Just take it slowly. Origami paper is thinner than parchment, so you need to get used to it. You’ll learn.” “Yeah,” Potter nods, “Right, yeah. Okay. Take it slowly.” He tries it again, slow and steady, and completes the third step without incident. “Good,” Draco says, “Alright, now fold this so it meets the centre crease…” It takes about thirty minutes and a lot of encouragement and instruction from Draco, but eventually, Potter has a decent-looking paper crane. It could certainly be improved upon, but it looks like a crane, and that’s enough. For now, at least. “This is very nice,” Draco says, and it’s not true, but he’s at least retained enough of his social skills to understand that to say ‘This crane is mediocre,’ would not be very encouraging. “Thanks,” Potter beams, and while the crane he made may not be as nice as Draco claimed, that smile is bloody radiant. Draco looks away, hoping to hide his burning face, and his eyes land on the intricately carved grandfather clock. 2:31. He stands. “We should go to bed,” he says, gathering his origami. “I think I’m gonna stay here and practise a little more,” says Potter, remaining seated and grabbing a couple more sheets of cool-toned origami paper. Draco frowns. “Potter, we have school tomorrow.” “I know,” Potter assures, “Don’t worry, I won’t stay out too long.” “It’s nearing three o’clock in the morning!” Draco scolds. Potter snorts. “What are you, my mum?” “No, I’m not dead,” Draco replies bluntly, unthinkingly. Potter’s head snaps up to stare at him. Oh, Draco thinks, his heart sinking, Fuck. Why did you fucking say that, you idiot?! Potter bursts out laughing. “Oh my god!” he cackles, “Oh my god, yeah, that’s a good point. You’re funny, you know that?” Draco wasn’t trying to be funny. He chuckles awkwardly. “Well, er,” he stammers, “I’m, er. I’m heading to bed. I hope you do the same shortly.” He’s almost closed the door to his bedroom before he remembers— “Goodnight, Potter.” “Night, Malfoy!” Potter replies, waving to him. Draco casts an alarm spell, something he never does, thanks to his strong internal clock always waking him up at around 7:00. Just in case. And suddenly it’s Friday, three days later, and Draco hasn’t done any origami that whole time. As much as he loves the craft, he has to keep a level of moderation. The muscles in his hands, weak and achy as the rest of his muscles, cramp up quite painfully if he spends too much time using them without breaks, and he needs to conserve that limited use for school. But then today, at lunch time, Draco was walking around the castle alone. He hadn’t felt like eating lunch today, even less so than usual, so he tried to clear his head and ignore the grumbling of his stomach by walking. He came across a first year, who looked terribly lost, and against his better judgement, he let the frantic expression on the kid’s face get to him and tried to offer help. And of course the kid ran away from him, screaming. Why wouldn’t they? You’re a monster, you know that? You are a monster, and you’re irredeemable. Little kids run away from you, and they have every right to. In fact, they’d be stupid not to. It’s merely instinct, to run away from monsters. Every moment you’re in this school, every moment you exist, you’re making life worse for the people around you. You should just do everyone a favour and kill yourself— Too loud. The thoughts are getting too loud again. Draco has two choices; the knife hidden in his bathroom or the stack of paper on his desk. In his mind he sees Greg’s smile as he handed him the paper. He hears Blaise’s scream that one time he caught Draco cutting last year. He sees Potter’s green eyes, lighting up as Draco gave him the stag. He goes to the common room, and sits by the hearth. Perhaps now he can make that thestral. It’s only 10:00 at night, so Draco is not alone in the common room. Sue Li, a Ravenclaw girl, sits at a nearby table writing an essay. They nod to each other awkwardly, and that’s that. The other eighth year students — well, most of them, anyways — tend to let Draco be, not pay much attention to him or make a big deal out of his existence the way the younger kids often do. Seventh years, too. They don’t like him, but they don’t seem to hate him, either. There’s a bit of a silent mutual understanding, between the older students at Hogwarts; We went through hell. Everything was fucked. We almost died. Let’s just live and let live, yeah? So that’s what Draco and Sue do. Draco’s loud thoughts are muffled as he zeros in on his work, trying to find the best way to fold the paper so he can get a decent thestral-like shape… “Oh, great, you’re here!” Potter exclaims, sitting down right next to Draco on the sofa. “Merlin!” Draco yelps. He takes a breath. “Potter, you can’t sneak up on me like that!” Potter just sort of looks at him for a second, expression pained. Unsure what to do, and unable to hold eye contact — he’s lost that skill, too — Draco’s eyes shift to the grandfather clock. It’s not even 11:00, Potter doesn’t usually show up until after midnight. Sue is still here, and she’s staring at the two boys, perplexed. “Ah,” Potter utters, “I’m sorry, Malfoy, I didn’t mean to scare you. I, erm, I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.” “It’s fine,” Draco replies, “Don’t worry about it, I was just startled. Er, there’s somebody else here…” he adds in a whisper, gesturing subtly to Sue, So you should probably leave, Potter, lest people find out you’re associating with the likes of me. Potter turns. “Oh,” he says, “Sue, right? Hi. Anyways, Malfoy, I got myself some origami paper of my own so I don’t have to take yours anymore.” He holds up his stack of brightly-coloured papers, then sets it down on the coffee table next to Draco’s. “Ah,” Draco says slowly, processing, “That’s nice.” Sue is still here, still looking at them. And Potter is chatting to Draco, making reference to their prior interactions. Acting like his friend. They are friends. Potter said so himself on Tuesday. “I haven’t really practised since last time,” Potter admits, “I was sort of waiting for you, I guess. Hey, maybe next time we should plan this ahead? So we’re not just hanging out whenever we both happen to be in the common room.” “Sure, er,” Draco stammers, “Erm. How about… Tomorrow at ten o’clock? To be honest, I’m an early riser, so the late nights have been getting to me…” Don’t complain, you idiot. He’s being nice to you, offering friendship despite everything you’ve done, and you dare to complain that he isn’t catering to your sleep schedule? Merlin, you’re so selfish— “Oh, yeah, for sure,” Potter says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was interrupting your sleep.” He ducks his head and bites his lip nervously. “I just… I’m a bit of a night owl. But yeah, we can do ten. Or maybe right after dinner, if that’s easier. Gives us more time, too.” “The, er…” Draco utters, fidgeting with his sleeve, “The common room is quite crowded right after dinner.” “That’s true,” Potter agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Oh, we could just hang out in my bedroom.” “Er, okay,” says Draco, a bit too slowly. “Cool,” Potter smiles, grabbing a piece of blue origami paper from his stack, “Tomorrow after dinner. And you can leave to go to bed whenever you need to, just so you know.” “Erm, thanks,” Draco says, and he notices as he looks above Potter’s head that Sue has left. “So, er,” Potter asks sheepishly, “How do you make a crane again?” Draco instructs Potter once again, going slowly, and Potter produces another crane that’s about the same level of quality as his last one. “Okay,” Potter grins, “Now I’m going to try to do one on my own, no instruction from you. You can just pretend you can’t see what I’m doing, alright?” “Alright,” Draco says, “I’ll just work on my thestral.” “You’re making a thestral?” Potter gasps, “Awesome! Can you teach me how to make one?” “I’m trying to figure out how,” Draco replies, “And I don’t think you should be trying experimental designs when you haven’t mastered the crane yet.” “Right,” Potter nods, though he looks disappointed.
You fucking prick, he was excited and you ruined it.
“Er—” Draco blurts, “I can… Once I’ve finalised the design, I can show you how to do it. I’m sure you’ll be more than capable of learning how, I just… I don’t want you to get frustrated if you can’t do it well yet, seeing as you’re still a beginner. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it when I started.” Potter smiles. “You’d make a good professor,” he says, “You’re really good at teaching things, and like… managing expectations, and encouraging people, and all that.” Draco’s face warms up. “Oh,” he murmurs, “Erm. Thank you.” He turns to his paper, and Potter turns to his own, and they work in silence for a little while. The only interruptions of this quiet are the occasional frustrated exclamation from Potter, and then the sound of him crumpling up his paper and grabbing a new one. Then, he hears the sound of Potter’s paper tearing. “Fuck!” Potter shouts, throwing the paper across the room. Draco jumps, his heartbeat quickening at the sudden noise, and he closes his eyes, trying to take some deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” Potter whispers, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you… Again.” “It’s fine,” Draco says, his voice trembling, “It’s fine. Are you… alright?” There’s a beat of silence. “No,” Potter sighs, leaning back on the sofa and running his hands through his curls, “No, I’m not alright. I… I kept fucking it up, crumpling the paper, or tearing it, going too fast… You were right, the other day. I’m too aggressive.” Draco frowns. “Potter,” he says, “I— I didn’t mean to call you aggressive! I don’t think you’re aggressive. I mean, you can be, but not without cause. You’re a very kind person. I just meant you were being too aggressive with the paper. That’s not a reflection of you.” “Isn’t it?” Potter asks, his eyes shining with tears, “Isn’t it a reflection of me? I’m aggressive, always have been! I’ve got so much anger in me, I’m… I’m violent. You know, just yesterday I heard some kids whispering about you, and you know what I thought? I thought, I’m gonna kill them. They couldn’t have been older than thirteen! I—” “Woah, hey,” Draco soothes, “Potter, take a breath. Did you kill those kids?” “Of course not!” “Exactly, of course not. You would never actually do something like that. Sometimes people just have weird, disturbing thoughts.” “But it’s not just sometimes,” Potter cries, “It’s all the time! Whenever I feel like somebody is doing something that could hurt someone, especially someone I care about, I get so angry I just want to…” Potter rubs his face with his hands, curling in on himself. “I just don’t understand, why am I like this?” “You’re traumatised, Potter,” says Draco, thinking back to things his therapist has told him, “Trauma can have a serious impact on your psyche. I think perhaps you get that angry, violent feeling as a defence mechanism.” “Why did that have to be the way trauma affected me?” Potter asks, “Doesn’t that mean this was always inside me, just waiting to be released? Trauma made you kinder.” Draco scoffs. “Potter, my father has been beating and cursing me for as long as I can remember. If trauma was going to make me kind, it would’ve happened long before we met. Trauma made me bitter, and terrified, and insecure. I made myself kinder.” Potter looks up at him with tearful eyes. “Malfoy, I’m so sorry that happened to you, I had no idea. I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.” “See?” Draco exclaims, “There you are! That’s you, Potter. You’re not violent, or aggressive, you are one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever known. You… You see the good in people, you’re kind to people, you protect people. Even this violence you claim to have inside you stems from a desire to protect the people you care about. And you’d never actually act on those thoughts, I know you wouldn’t. You’re an amazing person.” Potter bites his lip, staring at Draco for a long moment. “I’m a murderer, Malfoy,” he murmurs, voice breaking, “I killed someone, and I was relieved.” “We were all relieved,” Draco replies, reaching out to touch Potter’s shoulder, “You had every right to be relieved, he was trying to kill you. You were defending yourself, you were defending everyone. You’re a hero.” “I didn’t want to be a hero,” Potter sobs, scooting towards Draco and leaning against him, “I just wanted to be a kid.” “I know,” Draco whispers, patting Potter’s hair, “I know. You shouldn't have had to be a hero, you never should have been in that situation. But you did it. You survived, you helped people. You should be proud of yourself. And I… I understand if you can’t be, but just know that other people are proud of you. I’m proud of you, Hari.” Before Draco can even begin to mentally prepare himself, Hari is crushing him in a warm hug. “Thank you, Draco,” Hari whispers, “Thank you so much. You’re… You’re a wonderful friend, you know that?” “Er,” Draco stammers, his whole body stiff, “I just— Er. …Okay.” What’s the matter with you, you prick?! He’s hugging you, he needs comfort, and you’re just sitting there like an idiot?! Pansy’s been hugging you all the time since you met. Greg hugs you. And Blaise, sometimes. Vince used to, before… Luna hugs you now, too, and you still haven’t figured out how to act normal about hugs?! “So, er,” Hari mumbles, “I should get back to those cranes.” “If you want to, then sure,” Draco replies. “I do,” Hari says, pulling away, “I really wanna figure it out. I’m sorry for freaking out earlier.” “It’s alright,” Draco assures. “It’s okay if you’re judging me,” Hari says with a rueful smirk, “I know that was kinda strange of me.” “I am not judging you,” Draco says, and though he can be a rather judgmental person, he really does mean it. “I freak out over the most ridiculous things, you know.” “Like Buckbeak?” Hari jokes. Draco snorts. “Like that,” he admits, “And… And like the colours of the cranes. There’s not some established law of origami that they have to be cool tones. It’s a me thing. I’m not sure why, I just… I dunno, sometimes it feels like I’ve got rules I have to follow, that nobody else knows about.” “Oh,” says Hari, pondering. “Sorry, I know that’s weird,” Draco mutters, ducking his head, “I’m weird.” Hari shrugs. “Everybody’s weird,” he says, “It’s fine. I like your weird.” “Oh,” Draco breathes, blushing, “Erm. I… like your weird?” “You sound unsure,” Hari chuckles. “I’m not. I’m just… awkward. Sorry.” “That’s fine,” Hari assures. He reaches to grab a new — cool toned — piece of paper. “Okay, time to get back to the cranes.” Draco nods, and turns his attention back to his thestral. He thinks he’s almost got the design down, it just needs some tweaking. “Why did you start with cranes?” Hari asks after a few minutes, still working on his own diligently, “Are they the easiest animal?” “I wouldn't say they’re the easiest,” Draco replies, “But they’re culturally significant. There’s a Japanese legend that says if you fold one thousand paper cranes within a year, you get a wish from the gods.” “If I fold a thousand by the end of school, can I get a wish from you?” Hari grins. Draco raises an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a god?” he jokes with a smirk. “You look like one,” Hari utters, the words seeming to fall out of his mouth. Draco’s breath hitches, and his hands still. “…What?” “I just—” Hari stammers, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just mean, like… You’re… sparkly.” “Sparkly?” “Yeah, you…” Hari rambles, “Your hair is all soft and shiny, and your eyes sparkle… Like an angel, or something. Sorry, I’m being weird.” “It’s— It’s fine,” Draco murmurs, his heart pounding in his ears, “Like I said… I like your weird.” Hari flashes that gorgeous smile of his, and Draco, now done with his thestral, reaches for the necklace hidden under his robes and begins to fidget with it. “You’re wearing the necklace I gave you,” Hari observes, his smile growing. “Oh, er. Yes,” Draco replies, “I’ve been wearing it every day since you gave it to me. I like it.” “Cool,” Hari breathes, his eyes, soft and warm, on Draco. “One thousand cranes is too much,” Draco says, turning away to avoid melting completely in the warmth of Hari’s gaze, “It would take you ages. And I may be sparkly, but I’m not a god. Five hundred cranes will do.” “Deal,” Hari agrees. “I’d better get to work.” Draco nods, and grabs his own paper. He thinks he’ll make a fox, now… “Hari? What are you doing out here?” Draco startles at the noise, his eyes flying open. He’s leaning against something, something warm… Oh. Hari. He’s leaning against Hari, his head on Hari’s shoulder. Was he asleep? He must’ve been. He remembers finishing his pink fox, then sitting for a bit, considering what to make next, his eyes getting heavy— “Draco’s teaching me origami,” Hari replies, and Draco follows Hari’s eyes to see Hermione Granger, standing by the fire and looking at the two boys curiously. “That’s nice,” Granger says slowly, “But why does it have to happen at five o’clock in the morning?” “Oh, shit,” Hari exclaims, “It’s that late?” “Have you been out here all night?” Granger scolds, “Hari, I keep telling you, you need to sleep more!” Draco, feeling a bit more awake, sits up and scoots away from Hari, staring down at his lap. Hari puts an arm around him, as if on instinct, reinstigating contact. Draco turns pink. “I know, Mione,” Hari sighs, “And I promise I’m trying, I just…” He trails off, looking into the fire. Granger’s eyes soften. “I know,” she murmurs, “I know you’re trying, Haz. I just want you to take care of yourself. Are you alright, Malfoy?” Draco blinks, his head turning to look at Granger in surprise. “Er—” he stammers, “I, erm. Yes?” “Seems like you at least got some sleep,” Granger observes. “Yeah, he fell asleep a few hours ago,” Hari confirms sweetly, a fond smile on his face, “I couldn’t bear to wake him. We lost track of time, and he tends to wake up early so he really needed the rest.” Granger raises her eyebrows, looking between the two of them with a calculating gaze. Draco shrinks under the scrutiny, fighting against the urge to apologise to Granger again. She’d insisted he needn’t do it anymore after the last time, and he doesn’t want to annoy her. “Okay,” Granger says, nodding. “Well, I just got up to go to the Astronomy Tower, there’s a meteor shower starting soon that I’d like to see. Do you boys want to come? We shouldn’t have to worry about being caught, I don’t think Sirius will snitch if he sees us.” She’s probably right about that last bit. Sirius Lupin is a far better caretaker than Filch ever was, and one of the many reasons for that is that he doesn’t mind a little rule-breaking so long as nobody is getting hurt. Draco’s been very grateful for that on the nights where he can’t resist the urge to go to the Room of Requirement in search of Vincent’s ghost. He’s been unsuccessful so far. He knows, deep down, that he’ll continue to be unsuccessful. But he can’t give up. He just wants to tell Vinny he’s sorry. “Sure,” Hari agrees, standing. “Will you come with us, Draco?” “Er, sure,” Draco complies, standing up as well, his aching muscles protesting as he does. He stumbles, and Hari steadies him. They pass Mister Lupin on the fourth floor, and all that happens is that he asks where they’re going, and tells them to have fun when Hari answers. They make it to the base of the Astronomy Tower, and only then does Draco remember why he chose not to take NEWT level astronomy despite his love for the subject. “Erm,” he stammers, looking up at the formidable flight of stairs, “I’m sorry, I think I need to go back, I don’t know if I can…” “What’s wrong?” Hari asks, “Are you feeling sick?” “No, I just…” Draco sighs. “I… I have curse damage. I have… chronic pain, and fatigue, and weak muscles. I don’t know if I can climb those stairs.” “I’ll carry you,” Hari asserts, and before Draco can protest, Hari has picked him up bridal-style and started up the stairs. Draco has to hold back a high-pitched squeak; He’s never been so flustered in his life. The three watch the meteor shower in relative quiet, and leave the Tower as the sky begins to turn pink. Exhaustion claws at Draco as he stumbles through the castle, wishing now more than ever that apparition was allowed inside Hogwarts. Hari puts an arm around him, allowing Draco to lean on him for support as they walk sluggishly, Granger walking ahead with the purpose and energy of a person who’s actually slept a decent amount. “Well,” Granger says once they’re back in the common room, “I’m going to get a head start on some homework, but you two should go to sleep. Now, Hari,” she adds firmly. “Alright, alright,” Hari sighs, slurring his words a bit, “I’ll go to bed. Here, lemme take you to your room, Drake…” Draco tries to say that he can make his own way to his room, but before he can, Hari is guiding him to the door. “G’night,” he says when they reach it. Draco turns the handle— “Oh. Wait.” Hari walks over to the sofa, and grabs a pile of paper cranes that had been sitting on it, holding them in his arms and presenting them to Draco. “Here. Take these.” “Thanks,” Draco mumbles, accepting the pile. It’s going to be a bit more difficult to get his door open now… Except that it’s not, because Hari opens it for him. “Get some sleep,” Hari says, “Sorry for keeping you up.” “It’s alright,” Draco replies, “You should sleep, too. Goodnight, Hari.” “Night,” Hari says as he closes Draco’s door behind him. Draco tosses the pile of cranes onto his desk and crawls right into bed. “Hellooooo?! Draco, answer the door!” Draco groans, rolling over in bed, his head pounding. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but he is sure that it wasn’t long enough.
“DRACOOOOOOO!!!!”
Nevertheless, Pansy’s shrill screeching rouses him, and he shuffles to the door to his room, fully ready to murder his best friend if only he had the energy to pull it off. “‘M tired,” he mumbles as he opens the door, “Go away…” “How late did you and Potter stay up last night?” Blaise asks with a frown as Pansy pushes her way past Draco and into his room. “I hate you…” Draco grumbles, “I want to sleep.” “It’s one in the afternoon,” Blaise says, joining Pansy. “I brought you lunch,” Greg adds, holding up a container of food and following Blaise. Draco goes after them, slamming his door closed and then flopping back down onto his bed. “Zabby, how’d you know I was with Hari last night?” Draco asks, fiddling with his necklace, which he now notices has left an imprint on his arm from sleeping with it on. “Everyone’s talking about it,” Pansy replies, “I heard from Millie that she heard Parvati Patil tell Lavender Brown that Padma Patil told her that Sue Li told her she saw you and Potter in the common room last night. Said it seemed like you’d hung out before, that Potter was getting all close to you and smiling and all that. What were you doing, anyway? And why didn’t you tell us?” Draco sighs, forcing himself into a sitting position. “We just… Well, sometimes we’re in the common room at the same time, and nobody else is there, and the first time it happened he came up to me and just started chatting, so I chatted back. Now we talk whenever we’re both in the common room, and then yesterday we decided to actually make plans to hang out tonight because I’m helping him learn origami…” “You’re teaching Hari Potter origami?” Blaise snorts, “How did that happen?” “He asked me to teach him, said it looked cool,” Draco answers, shrugging. Pansy smirks. “What?” Draco frowns. “Hari Potter asked you to teach him origami,” Pansy says. “Yes? So what?” “What, just, randomly?” Pansy grins, an evil glint in her eye. “No,” Draco replies, “He’d seen me doing it and thought it was cool. Why are you being so weird about it? Greg, could you give me my lunch, please? Thanks for bringing it, by the way,” he adds, hoping to change the subject. “‘Course, mate,” Greg replies, handing Draco the container, “I don’t want you to go hungry. You skip enough meals as it is.” Damn. Another uncomfortable subject; Draco’s eating habits. He opens the container and takes a bite of his sandwich, which thankfully smooths the concerned furrow in Greg’s brow. “Potter doesn’t strike me as the type to do origami,” Blaise remarks, sitting down on Draco’s bed. Draco shrugs, and he fiddles with his necklace absentmindedly. “Well, he’s a multifaceted, complex person. Perhaps you just don’t know him very well.” “How well do you know him?” asks Greg. “I dunno, decently well, I suppose,” Draco replies, “We… We talk, about things. He’s confided in me, and stuff.” “You keep doing that,” Pansy says. Draco tilts his head in question. “Fiddling with your necklace when you talk about Potter—” Her eyes widen, her face splitting into a wicked smirk. “Potter gave you that necklace, didn’t he?” Draco turns pink. “Oh. My. God,” Blaise gasps, “He so did! That’s why you were so cagey when I asked you where you got it!” “Yes, Hari gave me the necklace,” Draco admits in a huff, “What of it? It was a Yule gift. He saw it in a shop window in Hogsmeade and it reminded him of me, so—” “Potter spontaneously bought you a necklace, because it reminded him of you?!” Pansy shrieks, clapping her hands excitedly. “Yes, that’s what I just said,” Draco mumbles, shifting around awkwardly. “Draco,” Pansy squeals, “This boy is trying to get into your pants!” “WHAT?!” Draco yelps, face burning, “Pansy, that’s insane!” “Mate, he bought you jewellery,” Blaise says. “You bought me jewellery for my sixteenth birthday, Zab,” Draco counters. “Yeah,” Blaise admits casually, “I was trying to get into your pants.” “Blaise?!” Draco gawps. “Don’t freak, I’m over it,” Blaise assures, waving Draco off, “I mean, not like you’re not fit as hell, but we wouldn’t work in a relationship. You and Potter, on the other hand…” “He hated me a year ago!” Draco exclaims. “And now he buys you jewellery, and asks you to teach him origami,” Pansy smirks, holding up air quotes. “I’m really teaching him origami!” Draco huffs, “Nothing else to it!” “Maybe that’s all there is to it for you,” Pansy replies. She makes circles with her hands, holding them in front of her eyes to imitate Potter’s glasses. “Oh, Draco, would you please teach me origami? Then maybe later I can fold you into a new and interesting shape—” “PANSY!” Draco shrieks, “You are so disgusting! Greg, help me!” Greg just laughs. The bastard. Vulgar comments from Draco’s friends are not the only consequence of people finding out about his friendship with Hari. On Sunday, Draco is cornered and hexed by some sixth years for daring to act like he deserves anybody’s kindness, let alone Hari’s. Hari later approaches him, looking furious, asking if the rumours he’s heard about the incident are true. The next time Draco sees the boy who seemed to be the leader of the group, he’s got a black eye. People go back to leaving Draco alone after that. There’s also Draco’s conversation with Ronald Weasley in February. They don’t talk about Hari at all, really, but Draco can only assume that Hari is the reason Weasley approached him. Weasley awkwardly asks him how he’s doing, makes small talk about classes and quidditch and such, eyeing Draco as if analysing his responses to see if he’s worthy of Hari’s friendship. Thankfully, he seems satisfied with his findings, and even ends the conversation with a smile and well wishes for Draco. Draco meets with Hari at least twice a week, usually starting out in one of their bedrooms and then moving to the common room to sit by the fire as the night wears on. Those meetings are the highlight of Draco’s week. Every meeting ends with Draco adding more cranes to his growing collection, and Hari even has a couple to give to him on most of the days when they don’t meet, leaving them at Draco’s door, where he finds them when he wakes up in the morning. May thirteenth is another one of the days where Draco is spending his evening with Hari, an evening that will consist of studying for his NEWTs as they chat and staunchly ignoring his growing Feelings for the Boy Wonder. They start off in Draco’s bedroom, this time, right after dinner, Draco at his desk while Hari sits on his bed with his pile of origami paper. “NEWTs aren’t for another month, mate, you really don’t need to be studying this much,” Hari says as he folds a crane, “I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna fail. You’re one of the smartest people I know. Hermione only beats you out by a hair and she’s like freak levels of genius.” Draco flushes, as he usually does when Hari compliments him, and thanks the stars his back is facing his friend. As the months have gone on, Draco fears that his feelings (What feelings? Draco? Having feelings for Hari? Ridiculous—) are only becoming more and more obvious. Just the other day, Draco spent about five minutes just staring at Hari as he rambled excitedly about his predictions for the next Quidditch World Cup. Five minutes. Just bloody staring. Like a moron. …Hari stares at him, too. A lot, actually. But it probably doesn't mean anything. “I have to study as much as I can,” Draco replies, “My future job prospects are already screwed enough by my reputation, the last thing I need is subpar NEWTs.” “You’ll be able to get a job,” Hari assures, “You’re a genius, and a brilliant potioneer. You’re one of the most hardworking people I know. And with the Mastery Programme McGonagall’s got you lined up for, you’ll have labs begging to work with you once you complete it.” Draco flushes again. “Well,” he mutters, “I’m not taking any chances.” “What’ll you do if you fail?” Hari asks. “You won’t, but like, if in some alternate reality you did, what would you do?” Well, isn’t that a tough question. Draco doesn’t really have a backup plan. He’ll be a potioneer, or he’ll… die, probably? “I will simply walk directly into the Lake and let the Giant Squid take me,” he answers wryly, after a moment of consideration. Hari snorts. “Didn’t take you for a tentacles man,” he says, “I respect it.” Draco frowns. “I beg your pardon?” He turns to look at his friend, perplexed. “Oh, er—” Hari stammers, rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s an internet thing, erm— I was joking, it’s— You know what? Nevermind.” “…Okay?” Draco mumbles, turning back to his textbook. “What would you do?” Draco inquires after a minute, “If you failed your NEWTs, I mean.” “Certainly not teach defence at Hogwarts,” Hari replies, “Merlin, I dunno, that’s kinda… my plan, you know what I mean? Maybe I’d get into something like carpentry, I’ve always liked working with my hands. Oh, or baking, I love to bake! Or maybe pottery, just for the bit.” Draco laughs. “Maybe don’t hinge your future on a bit,” he suggests. “You won’t fail, though. You’re smarter than you look, Potter.” Hari chortles. “And you’ll make a wonderful professor.” “Thanks,” Hari murmurs. “I still think you would, too. Make a good professor, I mean. ‘Specially with all the time you’ve spent tutoring the younger Slytherins these last few months. And I can’t imagine Slughorn will be sticking around much longer. I bet McGonagall would love to have you fill his position.” Draco knows she would, because she offered, in April. As soon as Draco gets his Mastery, she said. Draco told her he’d think about it, and then never spoke of it to anyone. “You really think I’d be good at it?” Draco asks, hushed. “Hell yeah!” Hari cries, “You’d be great! You know potions better than anyone. And admittedly, I do have ulterior motives. I’m going to be working here, after all, and… Hogwarts just wouldn’t be the same without you.” Draco takes a breath. “The younger years are afraid of me,” he utters. “They don’t know you like I do,” Hari replies, “You’re not even a little bit scary, you’re sweet.” The air leaves Draco’s lungs, and his heart stutters. Sweet?!?!?!?!? “Ah—” Draco stammers, searching for a new topic, “Erm— Er, how’s the sleep aid treating you? Still working? No new side effects?” “It’s perfect, Draco,” Hari assures with a sigh, “Really, you need to get better at trusting yourself. I promise I’ll tell you if something goes wrong, but it won’t, because you’re a great potioneer. You should really patent the stuff, sell the formula. A lot of people need sleep aids nowadays, Dreamless Sleep addictions are on the rise.” As if the general public would buy a rudimentary altered Dreamless Sleep developed by Draco Malfoy. “Right,” Draco mumbles, “Well, er, I’m glad it’s working well for you.” “It was really nice of you to do that for me, you know,” Hari says, “I know I’ve said before, but really, it means so much to me.” Draco shrugs. “It’s nothing,” he mutters. “It’s really not,” Hari sighs. “I wish you liked yourself more.” More? Draco doesn’t like himself at all. “Sorry,” Draco mumbles. Really? Sorry? You couldn’t lie to ease his mind? Or at least come up with something less stupid to say? “Don’t be sorry, just…” Hari murmurs, “Just know that, even if you can’t like yourself, I like you, okay?” Draco’s heart flutters stupidly, even though he knows Hari doesn’t mean it Like That. He’s just being a good friend. Friend. “Er, thanks,” Draco breathes, “I… I like you, too.” Far too much, in fact. He dares to glance at Hari, and sees him smiling softly, his half-folded crane lying limp in his hands as he gazes at Draco. Draco turns away again quickly, his face burning. “You were at all three meals today,” Hari observes, “Have been all week.”
God, please shut up—
No. No. Don’t be such an ungrateful brat, Draco. He cares. That’s good. “What, are you stalking me again, Potter?” Draco drawls, a deflection. He just… Merlin, he just wishes everyone would stop talking about how much — or how little, until recently — he eats. Hari snorts. “What can I say? You’re irresistible.” Draco chokes on air. “I’m just really happy to see you eating more,” Hari says, “I’ve been worried, you know.” “Right, er,” Draco wheezes, his heart not yet recovered from Hari’s irresistible comment, “Well. I suppose I, er. I suppose my appetite has improved some.” And he couldn’t take the worried looks from his friends anymore. Especially from Hari. “I’m proud of you, Draco,” Hari says. The words warm Draco to his core. He might be in love. Dammit. By the end of the night, Draco’s collection of cranes has reached 462. “Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” Hari says as they sit by the fire together around midnight on June 16th. Well, 17th, now. Two cranes to go. Hari has actually started studying the past few weeks, which hindered his progress a bit. Draco ponders, frowning. Damn, it’s like he’s forgotten everything about himself. “Er…” he utters, momentarily distracted from his studying, “Well, I… Oh! I’m French.” “You’re French?!” Hari gasps. “Born and raised,” Draco replies, “Until I was nine, at least. I’ve got French heritage on both sides of the family, so my father sent my mother to one of the Malfoy properties in France while she was pregnant with me, to avoid the war. It was supposed to be temporary, but then with the stigma around the family name in the UK after the war, my father joined us in France until we had to move again.” “Damn,” Hari says, “Do you speak French?” “Fluently. It’s my first language. My live-in nanny turned governess was French, and she basically raised me up until we moved.” “French is your first language?!” Hari exclaims, “Wow, your English is great!” “I’ve been fluent since I was six,” Draco shrugs, “Started picking it up much earlier, though.” “Super cool,” Hari says, “Do you know any other languages?” “Yes, I do,” Draco replies, “I know Mandarin, Swahili, Korean, Latin, and Spanish. Not quite fluently, but enough.” “Damn,” Hari exclaims. “Is there anything else I don’t know about you?” “Probably,” Draco replies, looking at Hari curiously, “Why do you ask?” Hari smiles. “I just like knowing you,” he answers, “And… I’d like to do it some more.” Draco might die. “Well, I—” he stammers, “I can’t— I can’t really think of anything, right now… How about you tell me something I don’t know about you?” Hari grins, ducking his head. “I will,” he agrees. “Later, though.” “Alright,” Draco says, dubious. He turns back to his textbook, not to be disturbed again until the sound of Hari’s triumphant, “Yes!” “What?” Draco asks, whipping his head around. “The five-hundredth crane!” Hari cries, presenting it to Draco. The frequent practice has paid off, this crane is perfect. It’s blue, covered in traditional white patterns, and nowhere near as beautiful as Hari’s smile as he holds it out for Draco to take. Draco accepts it, and Hari scoots closer to him on the sofa, grinning. “Thank you,” Draco murmurs, “So, er. What’s your wish?” Hari blinks, then he turns away, rubbing the back of his neck, his smile turning nervous. “Well, erm,” he breathes, glancing at Draco, “There’s… A movie theatre just opened up in Hogsmeade last week, and tomorrow’s a Hogsmeade day…” “Oh,” Draco says, “Would you like me to buy you a movie ticket?” “No,” Hari replies, “No, erm. I’ll pay, don’t worry about that, I just…” He takes a breath, fully turning to face Draco, vulnerability in his eyes. “I was wondering if you’d go see a movie with me? …As a date?” Draco blinks, processing. “Or we could do something else,” Hari rambles, “I mean, you’ve talked before about wanting to see a movie for the first time so I thought you might like that, but we could get lunch, or drinks, or… Or we could just not go on a date at all, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, but I… I’d hoped you would…” “We can do that,” Draco breathes, his heart pounding in his ears, “Er, we can go to the movies, if that’s what you want.” “It shouldn’t be just because it’s what I want,” Hari sighs, looking dejected, “If we’re going on a date, it should be because we both want to…” “I— I do!” Draco exclaims, “I do want to, I just… I don’t understand… why?” Hari frowns. “You… don’t understand why you want to go out with me?” “No,” Draco sighs, “I— I don’t understand why you want to go out with me.” “Because you’re amazing!” Hari cries, “Because you’re smart, and funny, and sweet, and you make me feel seen, and you’re so passionate and driven, and you’re beautiful, and you make me really happy, and I just… I just… really like you.” “Oh,” Draco mumbles, turning away and hiding his burning face in his hands, “I, erm… I… I… like you, also.” That’s an understatement. He chances a look at Hari, and sees that he’s beaming. “Awesome,” Hari says, “Awesome. Cool. So, er… Tomorrow, we’ll catch a movie in Hogsmeade? We can spend the rest of the day just doing whatever you want. I don’t mind, so long as I’m with you.” Yeah. Draco’s gonna die. “Erm. Er, that’s… That sounds pleasant.” That sounds pleasant?! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why can’t you just talk like a person?! “I’m weird,” Draco blurts. Hari tilts his head. “Huh?” “I’m…” Draco admits, staring at the floor, “I’m weird, Hari. I don’t… I’m bad at talking to people. I’m bad at being a person. Every time I talk to people it’s like they all have a list of rules to follow and I’m just guessing. I’m awkward, I say strange things and do strange things. I used to be good at pretending to be normal, but after the war and after Azkaban it’s… It’s like I’ve forgotten how. I react to things in weird ways, I’m sensitive and I freak out over stupid things that don’t bother other people, I… I don’t know if that’s the kind of person you want to be with.” “Draco,” Hari soothes, touching his arm, “I don’t care that you’re autistic. I know a lot of wonderful autistic people, you included. It doesn’t change any of the things I adore about you.” “Sorry,” Draco frowns, “What… Autistic? What is that?” Hari’s eyebrows shoot up. “I… You don’t know?” he utters, baffled, “Oh, shit, sorry, I just assumed you… were aware. I mean, not that I have the power to diagnose, but like… I know a lot of autistic people, like Hermione and Luna, and you remind me a lot of them. Not to mention Sirius and Andromeda and Nym Tonks, and they’re all related to you so clearly it runs in the family, and… Damn, I thought you’d been diagnosed, since you have a mind healer, and everything.” “Diagnosed?” Draco asks, his throat closing up a bit, “I’m sick?” “No!” Hari assures, “No, not at all. Autism is a developmental condition. I’m not really the right person to explain it to you, but you should definitely look into it. It basically just means your brain works differently from most people, and that has an effect on your overall functioning. But you’re not sick, and it’s not a bad thing. And I mean, I suppose it’s possible you’re not autistic at all, but… I mean, the things I’ve noticed in you, and everything you just described to me… I really don’t know what else it could be. And I promise, it’s nothing to worry about, you’re in good company. Like I said, Hermione and Luna and Sirius and the Tonks’ are autistic. …Elon Musk is, too, but you win some, you lose some, I suppose.” “So… I’m not just a socially inept idiot?” Draco breathes, feeling as if a giant weight has been taken off his chest. “NO!” Hari cries, grabbing Draco’s hands, “Draco, you’re… You’re amazing.” “You’re amazing,” Draco mumbles, staring into the fire resolutely to avoid melting under Hari’s gaze. In an instant, Hari pulls him into a hug. “Would you be my boyfriend?” he asks. “Sure,” Draco murmurs, “Yeah, sure, okay.” ~~ Four Years Later ~~ Draco sighs as the warm shower water flows over him, his eyes closed and the bathroom dimly lit. He’s getting better about it, but Draco just can’t bring himself to be okay with his horribly scarred, damaged body, even now that a tattoo covers where the Mark once was. Hari thinks he’s beautiful, though. It took Draco a while to believe that, but he knows now. Hari never shies away from telling Draco how gorgeous he is, and in fact he’ll probably whine about Draco showering without him as soon as he wakes up. Hari is still fast asleep, at the moment, as it’s only 8:30 and they don’t have work today. That man takes every opportunity to sleep in he can get, and Draco’s rather glad of it, as it means he gets to spend plenty of time each morning gazing at his lover’s stunning, peaceful face as he sleeps. June 17th is a Thursday this year, so typically, Draco and his boyfriend would be teaching today. But Hari, the bastard, went to Minerva behind Draco’s back to plead for a day off to celebrate their anniversary. Sap. So, instead of preparing to review the principles of experimental potioneering with his seventh year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Draco is in the shower. And, well, it’s not like he’s mad about spending a day with his boyfriend, or anything, he just… It’s the principle of it, really. If one of his students took a day off school to celebrate their anniversary, they’d be punished, so how come Draco gets to do it? It’s just not fair. Not to mention Hari’s off, too, which means Minerva had to find two substitutes. And sure, she had a month’s notice, but it’s almost the end of the year! It’s ridiculous, to be honest— You’re overthinking, he tells himself, massaging his shampoo into his scalp, You need to relax. Try to quiet your brain. Draco takes some deep breaths, breathing in the calming citrusy smell of his shampoo. It’s fine. He can take a day off to enjoy his anniversary with the love of his life if he wants. And he does want, despite his earlier grumblings. When Draco finishes up with his shower and enters his bedroom, he realises right away that Hari’s not in bed. “Haz?” he calls out, “Where are you, mon choux?” “Kitchen!” comes the reply, “Morning, angel!” “You’re up early,” Draco observes in a shout as he slips into some boxers and one of Hari’s band tees before joining his boyfriend in their kitchen. He can smell the pancakes — his favourite — before he even reaches Hari, who’s grinning when he finally lays eyes on him. “When I woke up and you were in the shower I knew I had to take the chance to surprise you,” Hari replies, eyes warm. “By the way,” he pouts, “Quit showering without me! You can just wake me up if you want to do it early in the morning, I promise I won’t complain.” Draco snorts, putting on a show of rolling his eyes. “And miss out on surprise pancakes? Not on your life, Potter.” Hari's smile softens, and he stills, just staring at Draco with that ridiculous sappy look he gets sometimes. “I love you so much, my sweet angel,” he murmurs, “More than anything.” “I love you, too,” Draco replies, grinning, “Now stop staring at me, you’re going to burn the pancakes.” “Oh, shit!” Hari manages to pull off the pancakes perfectly, just like with everything he cooks, and he sets Draco’s plate down with the strawberries and whipped cream (his favourite toppings) on the side. “I know you were feeling anxious about taking the day off,” Hari says, “So I left the toppings on the side just in case the extra texture is overwhelming right now.” “Thank you, dearest, that’s very thoughtful,” Draco smiles, spooning the toppings onto his pancakes. Hari has been the most supportive boyfriend on earth in all contexts, but particularly in regards to Draco’s autism. Which, by the way, it only took so long for him to be diagnosed with because his mind healer had, much like Hari, assumed Draco already knew until he brought up possibly getting evaluated. Apparently, he assumed the paperwork documenting Draco’s diagnosis hadn’t been sent in, since administrative neglect is common for court-ordered patients. Go figure. Breakfast is lovely. Suspiciously lovely, in fact. Hari can’t stop grinning, like he knows something Draco doesn’t. Then again, it was Hari who planned this whole day, so really there’s a lot he knows that Draco doesn’t, in regards to what’s going to happen today. It’ll be great, though, Draco’s sure of that. Every day with Hari is great. Hari is great. “Hey, let’s go catch a movie,” Hari ‘suggests’ once breakfast is finished, even though they both know he had this planned all along, “There’s a new Coralie Fargeat film out.” Draco decides to play along. “Oh, good idea,” he indulges, “Let’s go! Hopefully there’s still tickets available.” Hari freezes, caught out. “I may have already bought tickets,” he admits. “I know, love,” Draco snorts. “Damn,” Hari swears, though he’s grinning like an idiot, “You got me.” They get ready, Hari wolf-whistling obnoxiously when Draco takes his shirt off, and then they’re off. They walk to the theatre from their home just outside the wixen city of Eldham, which has a direct floo to Draco’s rooms in the Slytherin quarters for easy access. The introduction of staff floos by Minerva has made life much easier, from what the older professors have told the young couple. They can live at home year-round now. And they can do things, like taking the day off and going to the movies in Eldham. Draco loves movies, and this one is no exception. He has to shush an overexcited Hari a couple of times, but overall it’s a perfect experience. Hari checks his phone as they exit the theatre, his brow creasing slightly. “Alright?” Draco asks. “Yeah, sweetheart, just fine,” Hari replies with a smile, “Let’s go get lunch!” And of course, Draco has no objections as Hari leads him to their favourite cafe for some food. After lunch, Draco expects they’ll be going home, but after checking his phone again, Hari announces they should go to the local park and take a walk. Another perfectly good suggestion, so Draco obliges, giggling when Hari picks him up and starts carrying him at one point to take the strain off of his muscles. The sun hangs low on the horizon as they start heading home, and by the time they make it to the secluded wooded path to their house, it’s setting. There’s a lot of lights in the distance, though, colourful and warm, and once they round the bend in the path, Draco gasps. Their front garden is filled with glowing lights, and little coloured… things scattered about. “Hari,” Draco breathes, “What’s this?” “A thousand paper cranes,” Hari replies, beaming, “Folded them all myself.” As they get closer, Draco sees that he’s right. They stop in the garden, under the blossoming apple tree. “Well, actually,” Hari corrects, grabbing both of Draco’s hands, “It’s nine hundred and ninety-nine paper cranes. The thousandth one is in my pocket. It’s a bit smaller than these, though.” Draco opens his mouth— But a gasp comes out instead of words as Hari bends down on one knee, pulling an ornate box Draco presumes he carved himself from his pocket. He opens the box, and inside is a tiny paper crane, a beautiful gold and silver ring around its neck. “Oh, Hari,” Draco murmurs, his heart soaring. “Draco,” Hari says, his eyes shining with adoration, “When I met you for the first time, I never would've guessed we’d wind up here. We met as dumb, scared kids who were just trying to survive. We saw each other at our worst, we lived through a nightmare together. And yet, as we became friends and then more, I looked at the mess of our past and knew that it didn’t matter at all in the face of the joy of our future.” Hari gets a bit choked up, and takes a breath to compose himself. “I am in awe of you,” Hari continues, “Of your resilience, your compassion, your brilliance, your strength. I am in awe of the way you love, of the way you care for the people around you so fiercely, the way you’re always there with some dry humour and a helping hand whenever you’re needed, even if you grumble about it a bit. I feel like myself with you, and I feel like I can just… be, without having to worry about expectations, because I know that you have seen all of me, and you love me anyway. And I have seen all of you, and I love your flaws just as much as your virtues. I want to spend my whole life with you, angel. I want to spend forever with you. Draco Lucius Malfoy, will you marry me?” “Is that even a question?” Draco laughs, his vision blurred by happy tears, “Of course I will! Yes!” Hari lets out an excited whoop, jumping up and presenting Draco with the ring. Draco holds out his left hand, and Hari slips the ring onto his finger before pulling him into a searing kiss. As they kiss, a thousand paper cranes fly off into the sky.