FIC: I wish you love [Harry/Draco - PG-13] - Part 1
Author & Artist: Anonymous & Anonymous
Title: I wish you love
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: EWE, Mild coarse language, references to self-harm, this is slash, don’t like? Don’t read. Tissue alert.
Word Count: ~17,800
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make profit from this work of fanfiction. Sadly Harry and Draco belong to JK Rowling, I just borrow them for my own nefarious purposes.
Prompt: #84 - Unrequited love. Harry and most of his year return for their '8th' year. He slowly falls in love with Draco but Draco is straight and doesn't return his feelings. (by tabitha666)
Notes: The title and feel of this story come from one of Rachael Yamagata’s versions of I Wish You Love I hope I have fulfilled the prompt adequately!
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Harry stared out the window, watching a lone figure pace around the lake. Hermione had her nose buried in a textbook, and Ron was absorbed in a heated discussion about the cancellation of Quidditch with Dean Thomas. It all felt like some kind of bizarre dream. On the surface, everything looked normal, but underneath Harry was in turmoil. His thoughts kept turning back to Fred's funeral, the quiet but devastating pain in George's eyes as he stood, back ramrod straight, supporting his mother. Harry had stood with one arm slung around Ginny, the other hand buried in his robes and clenched in a tight fist as he fought to keep his composure.
Jerking himself out of his reverie, he dragged his rough fingernails along the skin of his left forearm, relishing the burn as his skin tore under the pressure. The sting of tears in his eyes faded as pain blossomed on his arm.
"Alright, Harry?"
Schooling his features into what he hoped was a small smile, he glanced across at Hermione. "Yeah, 'm alright." He rose from his seat and donned his cloak. “I’m going out for a walk,” he stated, swiftly leaving the room to avoid speaking further, not seeing Hermione's shrewd gaze.
§§§§§§§§§§
The atmosphere at Hogwarts was oppressive. Everywhere Harry looked he saw fear and pain and death. During the extended summer holidays, the Ministry had worked quickly to restore the school to its former glory. Walls had been rebuilt, rubble cleared away, portraits repaired, statues restored and armour polished. To a newcomer, it was bright and airy, a welcoming place, but to anyone who had been there during the battle, there was no way to erase the scars from their memories. Harry still heard the screams in the great hall. He could still hear the anguished cries of the Weasleys as they grieved over Fred’s lifeless body. He could still see Remus and Tonks, lying silent and still. He choked back a sob, running out into the snow and seeking solitude and escape from the memories that plagued him.
Breathless from his flight, Harry sank down into a crouch, leaning against the wall of the boathouse. His pulse thundered in his ears, chest heaving, lungs burning from the frigid air. The ghost of Colin Creevey flickered through his mind, triggering an overwhelming surge of emotion. Hot tears poured down his face, rage bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. A sudden burning, stinging sensation in his knuckles alerted Harry to the fact that he had punched the ground, leaving a red stain in the snow, slowly turning pink as it spread. Giving in to the urge, he scraped the already torn knuckles against the wall of the boathouse, ravaging his skin further. As the physical pain increased, his raging emotions receded, leaving a blessed numbness in their wake.
“They’ll make you see a Mind Healer if you keep that up,” a dry voice broke through his introspection. Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy leaning back against the boathouse, a cigarette in one hand and smoke curling from his mouth. He quickly moved to cover his bloody hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Malfoy reassured him.
Harry turned his gaze to the lake. “Thanks,” he murmured, unsure how to deal with an almost friendly Malfoy. Pushing himself up, he rose to lean against the wall next to the blonde, feeling more comfortable being at the same level.
“Smoke?” Malfoy offered. Harry shook his head. “Filthy muggle habit, I know, but it keeps me sane.” He took another drag. “If you're not going to heal that hand, I'd suggest a glamour. Mother was furious when she saw my cuts over summer.”
“Er, ok?” Harry stuttered, his agreement sounding more like a question. “Hang on, what cuts?” he asked, then flushed when he realised he was asking something personal of his nemesis.
Malfoy seemed unperturbed at the question. “These,” he stated, pulling up his left sleeve, revealing numerous neat lines on his inner forearm, in various stages of healing. Some were scabbed over, others an angry red, while others were almost silver on the boy's pale skin. “I'm trying to stop, but sometimes it gets too much,” he offered conversationally. “It's about the only thing I feel I can control.”
Harry was lost for words. Malfoy was talking to him, exposing something personal, like they were...friends? “Why are you telling me this?” he blurted out. “I mean, you're Malfoy. Don't you hate me?”
Malfoy shrugged, sucking one last time from the shrinking cigarette and dropping it to the ground. It made a brief sizzling sound as it hit the snow. “I don't hate you. Never did, really.” He pulled a crumpled pack from his robes, withdrawing and lighting up another with his wand. “I've watched you since we came back. You can't make sense of it all, can you?”
Feeling uncomfortable, Harry stepped away and stared out at the lake, his back to Malfoy. For months he had been wrestling with the fallout from the war, feelings of guilt, feelings of failure. Sometimes he wished he hadn't come back. Once Voldemort had cast the killing curse, he was mortal. Hermione and Ron knew what had to be done. Harry could have moved on, been with his parents and Sirius. Guilt flooded him as he remembered his godson. Teddy Lupin would never know his parents. Harry knew what it was like to be an orphan; he did not want that for young Teddy, no matter how tormented he felt. “Nothing makes sense any more,” he stated finally, turning back to face Malfoy, “but no matter how much I want it all to stop, life just keeps on, doesn't it?”
Malfoy smirked. “Yeah, isn't the phrase 'stop the world, I want to get off'?”
Harry managed a small smile, the first genuine smile that had graced his face in months. “Something like that,” he agreed. “I'd better be getting back, they'll be wondering where I am.”
“Are you staying over Christmas?”
“Dunno,” Harry shrugged. “The Weasleys are expecting me, but I just don't know if I can do it this year.”
“The orphans are staying. I have to stay and supervise, Ministry orders. I know McGonagall's asked you to help.” Malfoy raked his fingers through his hair. “You should consider it. They're good kids. They'd love the 'Saviour' to be there.”
The words had Harry bristling, before he searched Malfoy's face and didn't find a trace of sarcasm. “I'm not the 'Saviour'. If I was, they wouldn't be orphans,” he spat bitterly.
“Don't get your knickers in a knot,” Malfoy retorted. “I thought it might benefit you as much as them. Clearly you're too self absorbed. You should pull your head out of your arse, you're not the only one the war affected you know.” Pushing away from the wall, he started walking back to the castle. “Think about it. You never know, you might learn something.” He stopped, turned and tossed the remains of his cigarette, banishing the butts with a flick of his wand. “Oh, and even if you're not going to heal that hand, you'd better at least clean it. If it gets infected, you won't be able to hold your wand.” With that, he left at a brisk pace.
Harry stood, fuming, staring at Malfoy's retreating back. If he hadn't been so perplexed at the bizarre encounter, he might have realised he was mesmerised with the movement of Malfoy's robes over his arse.
§§§§§§§§§§
“I'm sure, Hermione. It's their first Christmas without Fred, and Ginny's still dealing with our breakup,” Harry tried hard to put on a brave face. Standing in the entrance hall with his friends, he did his best to convince them. “It'll be uncomfortable. I don't want to make it worse.”
Hermione cast a worried glance at Ginny, who was bidding a tearful goodbye to Luna in the entrance hall. “I'm sure she'll handle it, Harry. I don't think you should be alone at Christmas.” Ron shifted uncomfortably beside her. He was handling Harry and Ginny's split almost as badly as his sister was.
“I won't be alone,” he replied. “I'm helping with the orphans’ Christmas program, I won't have time to feel lonely. Go, please. I'll be fine.”
Searching his face for any sign of uncertainty, Hermione found none. She flung her arms around her friend. “Owl me if you need, for anything, you understand?” she whispered.
“Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. But yes, if I need you, I'll owl.” He returned her hug, then pushed her towards the entrance. “Now go, you'll miss the train.” Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Give my love to your mum for me?”
“Yeah, I will,” Ron muttered, “see ya Harry.” He steered Hermione toward the door. Ginny peeled off from Luna, joining Ron and Hermione.
Harry felt a pang of regret, realising Ginny hadn't even spared him a glance. Not that he blamed her, after the way he'd broken things off. He just didn't have it in him to continue their relationship. He didn't feel anything for her any more. Most of the time he didn't feel anything for anyone. Except, strangely, Malfoy.
The past two weeks had seen Harry swinging from one extreme to another, but his confusion was a welcome reprieve from the depression that had plagued him since the end of the war. He had gone from barely noticing Malfoy to seeing him everywhere he looked. The Slytherin’s behaviour was also perplexing. Instead of sneering at everyone in sight, lording himself over those he considered beneath him, he was polite, respectful, and while somewhat reserved, went out of his way to assist the first and second years in his house.
Despite persistent efforts by Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff, there was an underlying hostility towards anyone wearing Slytherin robes, and this was particularly hard on the first and second year students who had not grown up with the earlier inter-house rivalry and prejudice. On more than one occasion, Harry had witnessed Malfoy step in to protect a younger Slytherin from bullying. He sported an air of indifference, but his actions were at odds with his projected persona. The first and second years viewed him with a sense of awe, and their attempts to emulate the Malfoy mask were almost...cute?
Harry snorted, bringing himself out of his thoughts. Malfoy? Cute? Shaking his head, he began walking back to the Gryffindor tower, intent on making the most of what little free time he had left before he was needed to supervise the first activity.
§§§§§§§§§§
As expected, Harry had little time to himself during the Christmas break. The orphans’ Christmas program was already tightly packed, and rare free moments were filled with the youngsters pleading with the adults to do this or that. This particular evening it had been an impromptu indoor football game, McGonagall agreeing to clear some space in the great hall and erect some magical barriers to prevent damage to the rest of the hall. The game had started out friendly, with Harry and Malfoy taking the positions of goalie on each team, allowing the younger students to compete equally.
Fifteen minutes into the game, however, Harry's concentration was broken as he became more and more aware of Malfoy’s lithe movements. He was so distracted, that Malfoy's team had little difficulty sneaking goal after goal past him, resulting in a whitewash. The kids were good-natured about it, eliciting a promise from McGonagall for a rematch, without Malfoy and Harry, before New Years.
Leading the way to the Gryffindor tower, Harry was grateful that Malfoy was behind him. He was perturbed by his level of distraction. Their odd friendship had blossomed over the past few days, developing into a comfortable camaraderie. Conversations had remained light-hearted, never touching on that first discussion by the boathouse, much to Harry's relief. What he couldn't understand was why his eyes were continually drawn to Malfoy. He had taken to wearing muggle clothes, which suited him better than Harry thought they should.
Reaching the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry said the password and ushered Malfoy through the portrait-hole. He flopped onto a couch in the common room, while Malfoy sat more gracefully, choosing an armchair and taking in his surroundings. “It's so...red!”
“And the Slytherin common room is so green,” Harry declared sarcastically. “What's your point?”
Malfoy gaped at Harry. “When did you ever see the inside of the Slytherin common room?”
“Even if I hadn't been there, stands to reason it would be decorated in green, Malfoy. But I was there in second year. We...um...thought you were the Heir of Slytherin, and polyjuiced ourselves to try and prove it.”
“You did what? When?” Malfoy sputtered. “Wait, polyjuice in your second year? Granger must have brewed it, didn't she?” Malfoy smirked, knowingly. “Who did you polyjuice into?”
“I was Goyle and Ron was Crabbe.”
Comprehension dawned on Malfoy's face. “Hang on, was that Christmas day? I thought Crabbe and Goyle were acting odd!” he exclaimed. “What about Granger?”
“Ahhh, Hermione was supposed to be Bulstrode, but there was a slight mishap,” Harry chuckled. “She didn't realise that the hairs on her robe were from her cat. Polyjuice is only meant for...”
“Meant for human transformations,” Malfoy interrupted. “Oh, I would have liked to have seen that! But how did I not know?”
Harry laughed. “You were a self absorbed prat! It was pretty easy to get it past you back then.”
“I suppose I was a little self involved,” Malfoy allowed, ignoring Harry's snort at his understatement. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. “So is it helping? Working with the orphans?”
The question sobered Harry quickly. “I suppose. It was fun playing indoor football - I haven't run that much since, well, you know,” his voice trailed off and he stared at the fire. “Malfoy, why are you doing this?”
Malfoy considered the question for a few moments. “This? This, helping the orphans? Or this, being nice to you?” he asked eventually.
“Either, both. We hated each other for so long, I just can't get my head around us getting on.” Harry dropped his head into his hands. “I can't get my head around much these days.” It was the most he had spoken about what he was thinking since the war.
“If we're going to talk about this, I need a drink. Do you have any firewhiskey stashed in here?”
Harry flicked his wand, murmuring a quiet Accio. A bottle of Ogden’s Best flew into the room. Conjuring two glasses, he poured a hefty amount into each glass, handing one to Malfoy.
“Thanks,” Malfoy raised the glass in salute and took a large swallow, exhaling loudly as it went down.
Harry followed suit, watching and waiting as Malfoy toyed with the glass a few moments, watching the way the firelight flickered through the golden liquid.
After several minutes, Malfoy spoke, almost in a monotone. “My father,” he paused, “Lucius, I believed him. I believed in him. So many things he taught me when I was younger made sense. Mudbloods,” he glanced up at Harry's sudden intake of breath. “Sorry, muggleborns, it's hard to break the habit.” At Harry's nod he continued. “Muggleborns create a risk to our way of life. I know some of our traditions might seem antiquated to you, but a lot of them are based in common sense.”
Harry listened intently as Malfoy spoke of his childhood, looking up to his father. He detailed his indoctrination, the arrival of the Dark Lord, the threats to his parents and how his mother's sister drove Lucius into madness.
“When you turned up at the Manor, I thought it was all over and Voldemort had won. I was almost relieved when you disarmed me... there was a chance again that you might win.” Taking a gulp of his third glass of firewhiskey, he put the tumbler down with a little more force than necessary. “You did win, in the end. I never thanked you for that, Potter.”
Harry flushed, still uncomfortable with any form of praise or gratitude for his role. Malfoy continued, “When you spoke at Mother's trial, and then at mine, I wanted to hate you, because you wouldn't speak at Lucius' trial as well. But when I heard all the testimony at his trial, I had to leave. I followed the rest of the trial in the Prophet, along with a lot of the accompanying features.” He stopped, his throat closing as he recalled the stories.
Pouring more firewhiskey, Harry handed Malfoy his glass again. “I remember those. I read one, then I banned copies of the Prophet from the house,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Yeah, they were an eye-opener. I couldn't look Mother in the eye for days, I refused to see anyone, I stopped eating...that's when it started,” he said, gesturing to his arm. “They weren't faceless mudbloods anymore, the victims had names, faces. I started to understand...” Malfoy sat back, his hand over his mouth, unable to continue.
Sitting in silence for a few moments, each boy worked to get his emotions under control. Harry pulled off his glasses and pressed his fingers to his eyes, fighting to suppress the tide of grief and guilt. He started when a hand pressed down on his shoulder; Malfoy had moved noiselessly. A rustle of clothing made Harry look up to see Malfoy kneeling in front of him.
“Potter, don't let it consume you,” he urged, tugging Harry's hands from his face. “Do what you have to, to make it from day to day, but you need to find something, outside yourself, or inside yourself, to move forward.” Harry stared at his own rough hands, being held by pale, elegant fingers. “You saved Mother’s life, my life. I don’t know exactly what your demons are, but I can see your guilt eating you up from the inside. Find something, Harry,” he pleaded. “For me, the Ministry-ordered work with the orphans, and the sessions with the Mind Healer, even though it's required for my probation, they helped me gain perspective.” Suddenly realising he was kneeling, holding hands with another boy, he pulled away. “I don't have the answers, but if you keep busy, keep doing, you'll get by.” Standing, he turned away and stared into the fireplace.
Harry could only gape at Malfoy's back. He had used his first name. Malfoy never used his first name. He turned, and Harry quickly turned his gaze down to his own hands, which were oddly tingling.
“I'd better get back to my dorm.” He raked his fingers through his hair, a move Harry was becoming rather familiar with. “Thanks for the drink. I'll see you at breakfast.” With that, he strode to the portrait-hole and was gone.
§§§§§§§§§§
With the start of the next term, the eighth years were swamped with work, the teachers pushing them harder in preparation for their NEWTs. January gave way to February, and Harry and Malfoy, or Draco, as he thought of him now, rarely found time together. Word of the cessation of their enmity spread through the school quickly after the Christmas break thanks to the praise of the orphans, though neither had been keen to reveal their friendship, not wishing to expose the other to public scrutiny. They managed to meet in the boathouse on a few occasions, sometimes just sitting and drinking firewhiskey while Draco chain-smoked cigarettes. Draco taught Harry how to play the Magical Symbols game in the Daily Prophet, and helped him with his potions work. But mostly the silent support and understanding of the other was enough.
Hermione fretted over study schedules, while Ron slipped back into his usual carefree manner with Harry, discussing Quidditch and playing Wizard's Chess. Harry felt more at peace than he had in months, concentrating better in his classes, and though he still found it difficult to interact with his friends, made a conscious effort. And he found a new distraction, albeit an unwelcome one. For some reason, he couldn't keep his eyes off Draco - whether within the same classroom, or across the great hall, Draco cut a striking figure that did not fail to draw his gaze. The way he walked, his fingers constantly running through his hair, the way his lips moved when he spoke, even the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. Harry was becoming concerned that he was forming some kind of fixation, especially when he woke that morning after an intense dream, which he was sure had featured Draco, though he couldn't remember the details. The nature of the dream was no guess - the sticky feeling in his sleep pants answering that question.
“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, after she observed him putting salt in his tea. “Here, don't drink that!” She vanished the foul concoction and poured him another cup. “You seem awfully distracted, is there anything you want to talk about?”
Harry flushed, and took a gulp of the scalding beverage, causing him to choke. “It's nothing, 'Mione, just...that huge assignment for Charms.” Harry glanced around the great hall, looking for a means of escape. “Er, I have to go, I need to catch up with Goldstein about the assignment. See you later,” he stammered, pushing away from the table and rushing away before Hermione could say anything more. She watched his retreating form, a crease between her brows.
Harry approached the Ravenclaw table, flustered and uncertain, and tapped Anthony Goldstein on the shoulder. “Hi...um, do you have time to work on that Charms assignment now?”
Goldstein took in his Charms partner's flushed appearance appraisingly. “Um, sure, I suppose. I'm not sure how much we can get in before our first class though.”
“Oh...right, of course,” Harry stuttered out. What was wrong with him?
A slow smile spread on Goldstein's tanned face. “You have a free period after lunch, don't you? I've got one too, so we could meet in the library?”
Harry felt a warmth blossom in his chest at the other boy's smile, and gave Goldstein a tentative grin, “sure, after lunch, in the library.” For some reason he held out his hand for the other to shake.
Quirking an eyebrow, Goldstein shook Harry's hand, snickering softly. “See you then.”
Harry stood there, for a moment, staring at his hand. Suddenly he snapped himself out of his stupor and hurried out of the great hall, hoping desperately not to embarrass himself further this morning.
§§§§§§§§§§
Removing his glasses to rub his eyes in frustration, Harry slammed his book shut with his other hand. “I just don't get it. Why won't the charms work together?”
Goldstein huffed, and pushed his notes in front of the Gryffindor. “Look. See how this part of the first charm would interact negatively with the wand movement of the second? They'd cancel each other out, and if by chance you added in a slight variation to the left or right of the prescribed movement, you'd likely hex your eyebrows off.”
“Ok, show me again?” Harry replaced his glasses and leaned closer, poring over Goldstein's notes. The movement placed their heads mere inches apart, and suddenly he could feel the other boy's breath ghosting over his cheek, not an entirely unpleasant sensation.
“I think we need to take a break,” Goldstein said, breathlessly. Harry glanced up, and was frozen by the way that Goldstein was staring at his lips. A surge of desire shot through him, and before he could stop to think about what he was doing, he leaned forward, closing the space between them, and pressed their mouths together.
For a second, Goldstein did nothing, and Harry was just about to pull back, when the Ravenclaw pressed forward just a little, moulding his mouth to Harry's. Their lips brushed back and forth, moist puffs of air mingling. Harry tentatively parted his lips and traced his tongue over the other boy's, earning a soft moan. Emboldened by the response, he increased the pressure of his tongue, and was rewarded by Goldstein parting his own lips to grant Harry entrance to his mouth.
This was so different from kissing Ginny. Now he knew what he had been missing. Their tongues slid against each other, stroking and exploring. Both boys were breathless, caught up in the moment. The rough feel of stubble scraping at his skin felt so much better to Harry than Ginny's soft smooth face. He felt no hesitation in pressing harder, using more force with Goldstein. Soon a firm hand was cupped around the back of his head, pulling him further into the kiss. Harry angled his head, aligning their mouths better, giving in to the overwhelming heat flowing through him. Their teeth bumped together, tongues lapped at the insides of cheeks; Harry wound an arm around the other boy, pulling their bodies closer together. Groaning into the Ravenclaw's mouth, he pushed forward more, suddenly sliding off his chair and onto the floor with a thud, pulling Goldstein down on top of him.
Winded by the force of Goldstein's weight, Harry let out a loud “oof!” Both boys started to giggle as they tried to right themselves from the tangle of limbs, until they were interrupted by a loud gasp. Harry looked up to see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil standing at the end of a row of shelves, mouths agape. “Um, Goldstein, off!” he exclaimed.
Goldstein clambered off him, and offered a hand to help Harry up. Once they were both upright, Harry tried to smooth his robes, but realised that there would be no hiding what had happened. His lips felt swollen and bruised, and Goldstein's were in a similar state. Watching as Lavender and Parvati hurried away, whispering excitedly, Harry groaned - the news would be around the school before he could say venomous tentacula.
Clearing his throat, Harry looked at Goldstein pleadingly. “Er, can we finish the assignment later? I'd better go find Ron and Hermione. Damage control...”
Goldstein nodded understandingly. “Sorry, didn't mean to get carried away. I've wanted to do that for ages.”
Harry flushed, gathering his bag. “Um, ok. See you later.” He rushed out of the library.
§§§§§§§§§§
Harry hid in an alcove near the Potions classroom. His lungs were burning from racing down so many flights of stairs. He had kissed Anthony Goldstein. He had kissed a boy! He had kissed a boy and liked it! He slumped to the floor and put his head between his knees, trying to slow his breathing. His mind was running a mile a minute, replaying the kiss over and over. He couldn't help but recall his kisses with Cho and Ginny. Kissing girls had felt awkward, with Cho it had been... wet. With Ginny, he felt as if he had to hold back, that she was too delicate to kiss with any force. Kissing Goldstein was another matter entirely - he had felt no need to be gentle, the force of their kiss almost bruising, the graze of stubble against his lips and jaw had inflamed him, arousing him more than any kiss with Ginny had.
He lifted his fingers to his lips, they were still hot and swollen. How much time did he have before Potions? Would anyone be able to tell? Then he remembered the startled gasps of Lavender and Parvati. He groaned. The gossip queens of Hogwarts would have spread the news within moments, he was sure.
“Hiding, Potter?” Draco drawled, standing over him. “I hear you've been busy.”
“Oh fuck,” Harry cursed. “You heard already?”
“You expected anything less with Patil and Brown being witness?” Draco snorted. “Come on, you'll be late for Potions, and I don't think Slughorn's in a good mood today.”
Harry groaned again, pushing himself off the floor, accepting the helping hand Draco offered. It was time to face the music.
For once, Harry didn't care what people thought, Draco was his friend, and right now he needed a friend. They walked into the Potions classroom together, the last to arrive. Harry flushed as stares and whispers followed him as he made his way to his workspace next to Ron.
Slughorn seemed preoccupied, writing a list of instructions on the board and retreating to his office.
Harry opened his bag and pulled out his Potions book, cursing when he realised he had left his quill and parchment in the library. “Ron, do you have a spare quill and some parchment?” When he received no response, he nudged his friend. “Ron, can I borrow a quill and some parchment?”
“Why don't you borrow some off your boyfriend?” Ron hissed.
Taken aback, Harry thought maybe Ron was trying to make a joke. “Um, Ron, Goldstein isn't in this class...” he laughed.
“Why don't you try Malfoy then? You seem pretty chummy with him lately.” This time there was no mistaking the venom in his voice.
Harry nudged his friend, a little harder this time. “What's your problem, Ron?” he asked, hurt and angry that Ron seemed to be turning on him again.
Ron's face was turning almost as red as his hair. “Get your hand off me,” he growled, stepping away from Harry.
“Ron!” Hermione's voice was outraged. “Harry, maybe I should work with Ron today.” She grabbed her things, making her way to Harry and Ron's workstation. “Neville, do you mind working with Harry?”
“Oh yeah, Neville would love that!” Ron laughed bitterly.
Neville threw Ron a withering look. “Give it up, Ron,” he said with a hint of warning.
Harry grabbed his bag and moved to swap with Hermione, accidentally bumping Ron on his way through.
The loud “oi!” was the only warning Harry received before he felt Ron's fist connect with his jaw. He staggered back, bumping into someone, feeling a pair of hands reach out and steady him.
“Weasley! What the hell are you doing? If I was still a prefect, that would be twenty points!” Draco glowered at Ron.
“Just as well you aren't and I am, then, isn't it, ferret-face!” Ron shot back.
“Well, I'm a prefect, Ron, and I agree with Malfoy. Even if it is my own house, that'll be twenty points.” Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, glaring disapprovingly. “Harry, do you need to have that jaw seen to?” her voice softened.
Harry rubbed his jaw tentatively. “I think it'll be alright, 'Mione.” He glared at Ron. “I can't believe you just hit me!”
Ron huffed. “And I can't believe you dumped Ginny for a boy!” he spat.
“Ron! Shut up!” Hermione hissed, glancing at Slughorn's office door. “If Professor Slughorn comes out here you'll be in even more trouble!”
Ron stepped back to his workstation, effectively ignoring Harry and Hermione. Draco turned Harry's face toward him to check for damage. “Harry, Granger is right, you should get Pomfrey to see to this.” Harry sighed in defeat, feeling his jaw throb. His cheek felt tight and swollen, and he was sure a deep bruise was beginning to form, though Draco’s fingers were sending an odd tingling through his jaw.
Hermione gathered her bag, collecting Harry's as well. “Neville, can you tell the Professor Harry's not well and I've taken him to the hospital wing?”
“Sure,” Neville agreed.
“Come on Harry, let’s get your face fixed up,” Hermione lead the way out of the classroom.
As he reached the door, Harry looked back to Draco and mouthed “Boathouse, later?” Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod, moving back to his cauldron as the door closed.
§§§§§§§§§§
Thudding his head back on the boathouse wall, Harry winced. “I just wish people would get over it,” he whined.
Draco looked at him without sympathy. “You snogged Goldstein in public. The school, especially your fangirls, are shocked. This will take time to die down. At least they're not pestering you for information about the war now,” he said dryly, taking a drag from the ever present cigarette.
“Give me one of those,” Harry reached for the packet, stumbling when Draco pulled it out of his reach.
“No, you've got enough on your plate, you don't need your adoring groupies berating you for smoking too.”
“Argh, why can't things just be simple for once?” Harry let his head fall back against the wall with another loud thud.
“And stop doing that, do you want brain damage?”
“Maybe...maybe Ron would speak to me again if I was injured,” Harry pouted. “I didn't realise there was such a taboo about homosexuality here.”
Draco snorted. “There isn't. He's probably just pissed that you're getting attention again.”
Harry looked up at Draco, trying to decide if he could make another swipe at the smokes. “I thought he was over that.”
Smirking, Draco tucked the packet back into his robes. “He probably thinks you were leading his sister on, too. Or maybe he wishes you snogged him instead!” He chuckled at the look of outrage on Harry's face.
“Ron...” Harry sputtered. “Me snog Ron? Not likely! He's like my brother!” He dropped his face into his hands. “He was like my brother...I don't know what to do...”
“Do? You do nothing. Well, just keep on. Make out that everything is normal,” Draco advised. “Being gay isn't unusual in the wizarding world. It's just that you're so high profile.”
Harry looked up at Draco with hope. “So if I pretend it's nothing out of the norm, they'll leave me alone?”
Draco snorted again. “Not likely. I expect the Prophet will have a headline on you soon. But if you act as if it's normal, they'll eventually back off on the speculation about your love life...at least back to how it was before.”
“I guess that's the best I can hope for. Well, at least it's been interesting to have something else to stress about,” he said humourlessly.
§§§§§§§§§§
What Draco had predicted had come to pass. By the end of the day, Harry had been on the receiving end of everything from slaps on the back congratulating him, to vicious slurs and stinging hexes, one of which he was sure had come from Ginny. The Daily Prophet headline the following morning screamed “BOY WHO LIVED - GAY?”. Harry could only be grateful there were no photos. Soon after the delivery of the Prophet, the howlers started to arrive, and Harry had to beat a hasty retreat from the Great Hall with the assistance of Professor McGonagall.
His first class of the day was Transfiguration, but he was unable to concentrate when Ron alternated between completely ignoring him, and throwing hateful glances his way. After the tenth derogatory remark delivered under his breath, Harry packed his books into his bag and fled the class without a word to McGonagall.
Too scared to risk being seen in the library again, even alone, he retreated to the only safe place he knew, the boathouse. The freezing February rain soaked through his robe before he was even halfway, and by the time he made it inside he looked more akin to a drowned rat, which suited his mood perfectly. Shoving his fingers into his hair he tightened his fists and pulled, making his scalp sting. The churning in his gut didn't ease, so he dug his nails into his head hard, praying the pain would help him calm down, but this was also to no avail. A sob worked its way up his throat, choking him. Hot tears pricked at his eyes and his face started to burn, despite the frigid weather.
The urge to give in to his old habit resurfaced with a vengeance. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he started muttering to himself, “not again, I won't do it again, I won't...” He paced back and forth inside the boathouse, trying desperately to restrain the urge to kick something, to hit something, to tear into his own skin. He was moments away from punching a wall when he heard a footstep. Whipping around, Harry gaped at Draco, who leaned just inside the doorway, the customary cigarette between his lips.
“Hit something if you need to - it's not healthy to suppress that rage, you should know that by now.” He took a deep pull, releasing the smoke from his lungs through pursed lips and making it curl seductively from his mouth.
Harry's mouth went dry, the rage within him fled and was swiftly replaced with something else almost as disturbing. He aimed a swift kick at the wall to disrupt the wayward thoughts, only succeeding in making himself fall over.
Draco snickered. “What's the headline tomorrow, Boy who fell down?”
“Shut it, you,” Harry growled, hauling himself off the floor and stomping over to Draco. “Give me that,” he grabbed the cigarette from Draco's mouth, took a deep pull and promptly had a coughing fit, scattering ash all over Draco's robes. Eyes stinging and throat burning, he ignored Draco's loud complaints and started brushing off the ash. Harry quickly discovered this was a bad idea, as he could suddenly feel strong, lean muscles shifting under the fine fabric. He could smell a delicious scent of leather and citrus mingled with tobacco and it set his senses ablaze. Verdant green eyes were drawn to silver grey, Harry's gaze flicking down to soft, pale pink lips, making him lick his own.
“Oh no you don't, Potter.” Harry jerked his gaze up to Draco's piercing eyes, shocked at the use of his last name. Stepping away just a little, Draco tried to reassure. “I realise you're having a bit of an identity crisis here, but I will thank you to not go down that path.”
Flushing, Harry stepped away, trying his best not to show the disappointment he felt.
“For Merlin's sake, Harry, don't look like I just kicked your puppy. I'm just not...I don't swing your way, alright? I have no problem with homosexuality, but I'm straight.” He lit another cigarette, looking off into the distance pensively. “I expect things will get worse before they get better, Harry. I'll support you, you know that, just don't confuse what we have for more than it actually is.”
Cursing himself silently, Harry worked to get his thoughts in order. He paced the length of the boathouse several times, while Draco chain smoked through several cigarettes in silence.
“Sorry,” he said eventually. “Er...I guess you're right, it's all just a bit confusing...all so new, caught up in the moment, you know?” He prayed Draco would believe that's all it was, he couldn't afford to lose the only friend who really understood. “Um, sorry, you know, for the robes, the cigarette...”, oh Merlin, he snapped his mouth shut to stem the flow of words.
Draco lazily waved his wand, vanishing the ash on his fine wool robes. Pulling something silver out of his robes, he handed the item to Harry. “Here, this might help.”
Taking the flask gratefully, Harry removed the lid and swallowed a large gulp of the liquid inside, coughing violently at the burn of the firewhiskey. “Thanks,” he said once he caught his breath, passing the flask back.
“No, you keep it, I expect you'll probably need a bit of liquid courage to get through the rest of today. Just don't let McGonagall catch you with it.”
“Oh Merlin, I'm in so much trouble,” Harry groaned, taking another swig.
“I think you'll find she'll be alright, as long as you don't miss any more classes. She told me to come and find you, make sure you were alright.”
“How did she...oh, of course, Christmas.”
“She doesn't miss a thing, nearly as omniscient as Dumbledore, that woman,” Draco agreed. Casting a breath freshening charm to get rid of the tobacco smell, he beckoned his friend. “Come on, if we hurry, we'll make it to Herbology and only be a few minutes late.”
§§§§§§§§§§
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Harry stepped through the door into the dorm silently. He had hoped Ron would be off with Hermione somewhere, but luck continued to elude him today. "Hiya, Harry," Seamus called out, making him cringe when Ron looked up sharply.
"Brilliant," the red-head muttered. "Boy wonder is here." He slammed down the book he was reading and stormed out of the room, not heeding Harry's cry of "Ron, wait!" as he left.
Harry plopped down in his bed, defeated. Unwilling to meeting the pitying gazes of Dean or Seamus, he lay down, scrunching his eyes closed behind his glasses. A rustle of robes and someone's weight depressing the mattress told him he wasn't going to be left alone.
“Harry.”
Harry groaned as he heard Neville's unmistakable voice. “Not now, Neville.”
“No, Harry, you need to listen,” Neville spoke, an underlying tone of authority that Harry was only now becoming used to.
“Please, Neville.” Harry refused to open his eyes and turned on his side, facing away from his friend. “I just can't deal with this at the moment.”
Neville sighed. “Okay, I'll leave you be, but Harry, not everyone thinks the same way you know. Some of us understand more than you think.” The mattress shifted again as he stood. Harry wasn't sure if he imagined the gentle touch to his shoulder. “I'm here if you want to talk. You don't have to do this on your own.” With that, he quietly left the room and closed the door.
Several minutes later, Harry sat up and looked around, startled to find himself completely alone. Even while seeking solitude, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. The conflicting thoughts and feelings were tearing him up inside. It was hard to believe that less than twelve months ago, he, Ron and Hermione were out hunting Horcruxes, their sole aim to destroy Voldemort. The goal seemed simplistic in hindsight; everyone thought once Voldemort was dead, everything would be normal, but none of them had really known what normal meant. Harry's life up to that point could never have been considered normal, why should it start now?
He reflected on the bizarre turn of events so far this year. No one would have expected this strange friendship he now had with Draco. Hermione was coming to terms with it after learning of the time they spent together over the Christmas break helping with the war orphans’ program. Ron had scoffed, insinuating Draco was only sucking up to Harry to try and redeem some kind of status as the Saviour's friend. Seamus and Dean were wary at first, but cautiously accepted Harry's reassurances that Draco could be trusted, and Neville had stood back and just quietly observed. The developments of the last two days had turned everything upside down. Hermione was now running interference between Harry, Ron and Ginny, Seamus and Dean didn't seem to know what to say to him, and Neville...well, Harry couldn't work out what was going on with him, but was too absorbed in his own torment to try. The only person he could rely on with any certainty was Draco, but now that Harry’s feelings had been acknowledged in some form, Harry didn't even know if he could depend on that friendship enduring.
Pressing his fingers hard into his eyes, Harry groaned. He almost wished he could search the Forbidden Forest for the Resurrection Stone. Counsel from Lupin, Sirius or even his parents would be welcome. He just felt so alone.
§§§§§§§§§§
Despite Harry's torment, life went on. Easter swiftly approached, with a barrage of assignments and study set by the teachers in preparation for their final exams. Harry and Draco continued with their infrequent meetings in the boathouse, conversations limited to the safe realm of study, career plans and the war orphans’ program over Easter.
Draco made no reference to Harry's crush, and Harry did his best to hide his feelings, despite becoming more attracted to him every time he saw him. No longer was it just Draco’s physique and looks that drew him in, it was the way he continued to discretely mentor the younger students in his house. It was the way he spoke up against the vitriol and prejudicial views still held by some of his peers, and the way he staunchly supported Harry whenever even remotely derogatory remarks were made behind his back or to his face. The occasional pats on the back or squeezes of the shoulder were becoming Harry’s lifeblood.
There were no more incidents with Goldstein, much to the Ravenclaw's disappointment, but he was understanding when Harry explained that he was still trying to work things out, and could do without the speculation of fellow students and the wizarding world at large. Harry was still uncomfortable though, when Goldstein sent several wistful glances his way as they finalised their Charms assignment to hand in before Easter.
For the most part, Seamus and Dean were supportive, though Harry often witnessed a hurried end to a whispered conversation when he entered the dorm. Neville said no more about his offer of a listening ear, but did his best to just be there for Harry. Harry didn't quite know what to do with this, uncomfortable with the idea of opening up to anyone else, too caught up with his inner turmoil to consider seeking help. He was unaware of the shy, pained glances Neville cast his way when Harry was discretely watching Draco.
The continued rift between Ron and Harry, and spiteful behaviour from Ginny, made Harry's decision to remain at Hogwarts for the Easter break easier. Hermione worried that he was isolating himself from his friends again. “I’m not exactly being given much choice, ‘Mione,” Harry pointedly reminded her. Eliciting a promise of at least two owls during the holiday mollified Hermione a little.
Harry said saying goodbye to Hermione and headed to his dorm, looking forward to the solitude of the eight year Gryffindor boys’ dorm. Seeing Neville sitting on his bed, his nose buried in his Herbology textbook, made Harry start with surprise, a vague sting of irritation passing through him. “Er...hi Neville?” his greeting sounded more like a question. “Not going to see your Gran for Easter?”
Neville looked up and scrutinised Harry, not missing the annoyance he was trying to hide. “No, I decided it was more important to stay and do some study. I need to get decent NEWTs scores if I'm going to get an apprenticeship.”
“Oh.” Harry tried to school his face into an expressionless mask, wondering how Draco managed it so easily. “Er, I...um...I need to go to the library...to plan...the thing...orphans’ activity tonight,” he stuttered, turning to leave.
A hand on his shoulder arrested his flight. Damn, he thought, when did Neville learn to move so fast? “Harry, I wanted to talk to you,” the taller boy pleaded. “I need you to listen, I...I think I can help...” Despite trying to keep his voice steady, a slight tremor was audible at the end. Realising he still had his hand on Harry's shoulder, he snatched it back, a slight flush staining his cheeks.
“Oh. Um...ok” Harry could not get his mouth and his brain to connect, and settled on nodding, walking to his bed and sitting down. He stared at his hands as he fidgeted with his wand.
§§§§§§§§§§
Plodding down the steps to the boathouse, Harry's mind was awash with a myriad of thoughts and feelings. Neville's disclosure left him in a quandary. Suddenly he had a friend who was in a unique position to understand, and yet Harry felt more burdened than before. What could he say to Neville after such a confession? Reaching his refuge, Harry sat in his usual spot and pulled out the flask that he had never returned to Draco. He took a swig of the strong liquid, and closed his eyes.
Neville's words continued to ring in his ears. “Harry, I know how you feel. I've been in love with you since fifth year.” What was he supposed to do with that? The disappointment in the taller boy's eyes when Harry had bumbled through a tactless response had cut him to the core, and yet Neville had relieved him of any obligation and continued, offering him words of wisdom and comfort on how to live with unrequited feelings. He was astounded at how Neville had pushed through his own process of discovery, not only coming to terms with his sexuality, but also dealing with an attraction to someone he thought was straight, and stepping up as a member of the DA to eventually lead others during the war.
Harry groaned as he realised that he had been so caught up in his own self-recriminations, he had been completely oblivious to the fact that others were struggling with their own issues as well. He suddenly felt childish and unimportant. The irony of the situation was not lost on him - Neville was in love with him, and he was in love with Draco, something he could finally acknowledge.
A soft knock on the wall alerted him to another's presence. “Mind if I join you?” Draco asked, as Harry looked up. Harry nodded stiffly, the awkwardness between them still present. “Can we talk?”
The question made Harry look up sharply. Draco rarely spoke of anything personal, not since Christmas; instead, he was usually the one to offer advice to Harry. “Um, sure, I suppose,” Harry said uncertainly, his mind already overflowing with the events of the afternoon.
Draco slid down the wall to sit near Harry and pulled out the customary packet of smokes, lighting one with his wand. He took a deep pull from the cigarette and released the smoke slowly from his lungs. “I got a letter from Mother today.”
Harry waited, not knowing where this was going.
“She's in negotiations with the Greengrass family.”
Harry continued to look blankly at Draco.
“We're to be betrothed. Mother wants the wedding next year.”
“Oh,” Harry said dispassionately, knots forming in his gut. He turned his gaze to the floor.
“It's a good match,” Draco continued quietly. “The Greengrasses are purebloods, untainted by the war. They are willing to overlook our part, it will help to restore the Malfoy name.”
Not knowing what to say, Harry remained silent.
“She's a nice girl. I could grow to love her, I think.”
Harry nodded, turning his face away from his friend, unable to conceal the pain in his eyes. He now understood what he had seen in Neville's face earlier. “Why talk to me about this, Draco?” His voice remained steady, despite the conflict raging inside.
“I don't know, we're friends, aren't we?” Harry could feel Draco's eyes on him and couldn't help but look back, the uncertainty in Draco's eyes making his stomach flip.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “We're friends.”
Draco nodded, and took another drag of his cigarette. “I just feel like Mother is rushing things, you know? I understand that we need to improve the family's standing in society, but surely the betrothal contract will be enough for now?”
Harry shrugged. “I don't really get your pureblood traditions and contracts. Why do you have to arrange something, can't you find someone the normal way?”
“You mean the muggle way? Marry for love and all that tripe?” Draco almost sneered, but managed to hold back the contempt in his voice.
A surge of bitterness flooded Harry's mouth. “At least you have a choice! It's not like I get a choice about marriage either, is it? You say the wizarding world doesn't have any prejudice towards gays, but we're still not allowed to get married!”
Draco looked at Harry, shocked at the sudden outburst. “You've only just figured out for yourself that you're gay, and now you're talking about getting married? Putting the carriage before the Thestral a bit aren't you?”
Suddenly finding an outlet, Harry's rage burst forth. “Don't, Malfoy. Just don't!” He pushed to his feet, making to storm out of the boathouse, impeded when Draco grabbed his robes. A window near them cracked loudly. “What the fuck do you want from me, Malfoy? Why are you telling me this?” he asked again, his tone a blend of accusation and distress.
Even more taken aback, Draco released Harry's robes, slumping back against the wall. “What's crawled up your arse today, Potter?” he asked bitterly, letting his head tilt back and staring at the beams in the roof.
Harry felt like he was watching a train wreck, but could do nothing to stop it. “You say we're friends, then you tell me you're going to get married?” The question sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.
“Well, yes. What did you think, you and I were going to fly off on a broom into the sunset together?” Draco did sneer this time, but the expression faded as he read the truth in his friend's eyes. “Oh Merlin, I thought we sorted that out?” Harry flinched, feeling as if his very soul was on display for the world to see. He fled the boathouse. Draco scrambled after him. “Harry, wait!”
Striding up the hillside as fast as possible, the cold air burned in Harry's lungs. Hot tears were flooding his eyes, making it hard to see. He stumbled, feeling strong arms grab him to prevent him from falling. Trying to wrench himself free in a blind panic, Harry's limbs became tangled with Draco's, and both boys tumbled to the ground. In their attempts to disengage from each other, their torsos became pressed more firmly together. Harry, angry and upset, gave in to the desire, ceasing his attempts to flee and pressing his lips to Draco's.
Draco froze in shock, inadvertently allowing Harry to increase the pressure of the kiss. Heat flooded them both - Harry was overwhelmed with sensation as he was finally able to express his attraction to Draco, while Draco's flush was fuelled by indignation and anger that his friend was taking advantage. When he was able to gather his wits, Draco managed to get his hands pressed flush to Harry's chest, then pushed hard. Caught in the moment, Harry wound his arms around Draco, holding tight and trying to bring their bodies closer, increasing the pressure of his mouth. Horrified at the sensation of Harry's tongue trying to force between his lips, Draco gasped, squirming and pushing harder to try and get away. Harry paid no heed, his desperation overruling his common sense. Seeing no other way to extricate himself, Draco opened his mouth to Harry's tongue, then bit down, hard enough to hurt, but hopefully not to draw blood.
“Fuck!” Harry swore, tasting copper in his mouth.
Using the brief reprieve, Draco managed to separate himself from Harry and scrambled some distance away. “What the hell are you doing?” he cried. “Why did you do that? Why did you have to ruin it?”
Humiliation washed over Harry like ice cold water, and he slumped to the ground. A lump formed in his throat, making it impossible to speak.
“I can't...I don't know...” Draco's voice was laced with betrayal and hurt.
Harry swallowed hard. “I'm sorry,” he choked out, then, unable to face his friend any longer, he fled.
§§§§§§§§§§
Grateful for the quiet of the holidays, Harry sequestered himself in his dorm, drawing the curtains around his bed and setting locking and silencing charms for good measure. He was supposed to be watching another indoor football game in the Great Hall, but could not bring himself to face another soul. He felt as if he was at war with himself, swinging from one emotional extreme to another. When he remembered the feel of Draco's lips on his, even though they had been frozen and unyielding, heat flooded his body and his arousal spiked. Recalling the distress in his friend's voice brought on waves of humiliation and regret that threatened to overcome him. When the tears pricked his eyes, he would bite his lip til it bled, and when that was no longer enough and the sobs broke through, he dragged his ragged, bitten nails along the inside of his left forearm. Spots of blood started to seep onto the sheets of his bed, but he couldn't bring himself to care, only praying the sting and burn of the scratches would help numb the turmoil in his mind.
He didn't know how long he lay back and stared at the canopy over his bed. Maybe he should have gone to the Burrow after all. Removing the charms on his curtains with a sigh, Harry did his best to straighten his robes. He siphoned off the blood stains on his sheets and sleeve and ran his fingers carelessly through his hair. Night had fallen, the windows black against the warm light in the room. There was a soft knock on the door, heralding the arrival of Neville. “Harry? Malfoy wants to talk to you.”
Harry groaned softly, wishing he could put off this confrontation, but knowing it was best to deal with his friend and the consequences of his actions sooner rather than later. Nodding to Neville, he glanced around to ensure there were no telltale signs of his earlier activity. While Draco was aware of his shameful habit, he didn't want this conversation to be about that.
Draco strode confidently into the room, taking in the furnishings with a cursory glance. He dismissed Neville imperiously. “Potter, we need to talk.” Staring at a fixed point past Draco, Harry gestured to Ron's bed, indicating Draco should sit. Draco sat, holding himself stiff and aloof. “I was going to tell you this afternoon, that Mother was coming to visit today, with Lady Greengrass.” Harry nodded, but remained silent. “Mother arrived early, as we were coming up from the boathouse.” He fell silent, as if waiting for a response.
Harry looked up, uncomprehending. “So?”
“She was at the top of the hill, Potter. She saw everything!”
“Oh.” Harry didn't know what else to say.
“'Oh'? All you have to say is 'oh'?” he spat out. “Lady Greengrass could have been with her! Mother was livid, she could barely restrain herself until we were in private!”
Harry grimaced, the familiar feelings of guilt and regret rising. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, at a loss, twisting his fingers in his lap.
“Potter, I'm the only one left to try and redeem the Malfoy name! Mother put a lot of work into getting Lord Greengrass to consider the contract. The name Malfoy doesn't hold a lot of weight in pureblood circles. This opportunity isn't one I that can afford to jeopardise.” Draco rose and began pacing. “The announcement will be in the Prophet on Saturday. I will be under intense scrutiny from other purebloods.”
Harry nodded. He could hear and understand the words Draco was speaking, but he felt strangely detached. It was odd to be sitting and listening to Draco and not seeing the customary cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Draco's words floated through his mind, but their meaning did not really register.
“Potter!” Draco snapped, trying to get his attention. Harry's head snapped up. “People were already questioning the lack of enmity between us. Since the incident with Goldstein, your movements are watched even more than before. I cannot afford to be seen consorting with you, especially once the announcement is released.”
Draco's words finally sank into Harry's mind. “What? Are you...are you saying...” the prospect of losing this friend was too painful to verbalise.
“Yes, Potter. I'm saying this accord we have, this friendship, must cease. The slightest hint of any scandal between us would have the Malfoys ostracised from every pureblood circle. I cannot let that happen. I will not let that happen.”
His words fell like blows on Harry's ears. How could one small action, one kiss, bring his world crashing down around him? He sat there, trying desperately to hold himself together, but wondering how anything would ever be the same.
“I have to go. Mother is waiting to take me into Hogsmeade,” his voice softened slightly. “I'm sorry, Harry.”
The soft snick of the door indicated Draco's departure. Harry sat on the bed, staring at the floor, feeling numb. The only person who truly understood him was gone. Their odd friendship was over. Drawing in a ragged breath, the air caught in his throat, and a sob tore free. For months he had felt as if he was in some form of stasis, able to function, but not really living. Now the dam broke. He could not stop the keening cries as he heaved in great gulps of air. Tearing at his skin made no impact, other than to break open the already ravaged skin. He sank to the floor and curled up in a ball, alternating between shuddering breaths and gut-wrenching howls of pain. Every memory, every guilty feeling, the faces of those lost all flooded his mind. Recrimination and disgust overwhelmed him, and he yanked at his hair, raked his fingers over his face, his cheeks breaking out in red welts.
Strong arms lifted him from the floor and cradled him against a broad chest. Fingers restrained his wrists as Harry sought to inflict more damage on himself. Whispered words of comfort failed to break through the loud sobs that he could not suppress. He struggled against the restraint, wanting to be freed, wanting to be left alone with his grief. White spots began to swim across his field of vision, his breathing rapid and uneven. He was vaguely aware of soft voices, a cool vial being pressed to his lips. When the darkness descended, he welcomed it.
§§§§§§§§§§
part two...
Title: I wish you love
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: EWE, Mild coarse language, references to self-harm, this is slash, don’t like? Don’t read. Tissue alert.
Word Count: ~17,800
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make profit from this work of fanfiction. Sadly Harry and Draco belong to JK Rowling, I just borrow them for my own nefarious purposes.
Prompt: #84 - Unrequited love. Harry and most of his year return for their '8th' year. He slowly falls in love with Draco but Draco is straight and doesn't return his feelings. (by tabitha666)
Notes: The title and feel of this story come from one of Rachael Yamagata’s versions of I Wish You Love I hope I have fulfilled the prompt adequately!
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Harry stared out the window, watching a lone figure pace around the lake. Hermione had her nose buried in a textbook, and Ron was absorbed in a heated discussion about the cancellation of Quidditch with Dean Thomas. It all felt like some kind of bizarre dream. On the surface, everything looked normal, but underneath Harry was in turmoil. His thoughts kept turning back to Fred's funeral, the quiet but devastating pain in George's eyes as he stood, back ramrod straight, supporting his mother. Harry had stood with one arm slung around Ginny, the other hand buried in his robes and clenched in a tight fist as he fought to keep his composure.
Jerking himself out of his reverie, he dragged his rough fingernails along the skin of his left forearm, relishing the burn as his skin tore under the pressure. The sting of tears in his eyes faded as pain blossomed on his arm.
"Alright, Harry?"
Schooling his features into what he hoped was a small smile, he glanced across at Hermione. "Yeah, 'm alright." He rose from his seat and donned his cloak. “I’m going out for a walk,” he stated, swiftly leaving the room to avoid speaking further, not seeing Hermione's shrewd gaze.
§§§§§§§§§§
The atmosphere at Hogwarts was oppressive. Everywhere Harry looked he saw fear and pain and death. During the extended summer holidays, the Ministry had worked quickly to restore the school to its former glory. Walls had been rebuilt, rubble cleared away, portraits repaired, statues restored and armour polished. To a newcomer, it was bright and airy, a welcoming place, but to anyone who had been there during the battle, there was no way to erase the scars from their memories. Harry still heard the screams in the great hall. He could still hear the anguished cries of the Weasleys as they grieved over Fred’s lifeless body. He could still see Remus and Tonks, lying silent and still. He choked back a sob, running out into the snow and seeking solitude and escape from the memories that plagued him.
Breathless from his flight, Harry sank down into a crouch, leaning against the wall of the boathouse. His pulse thundered in his ears, chest heaving, lungs burning from the frigid air. The ghost of Colin Creevey flickered through his mind, triggering an overwhelming surge of emotion. Hot tears poured down his face, rage bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. A sudden burning, stinging sensation in his knuckles alerted Harry to the fact that he had punched the ground, leaving a red stain in the snow, slowly turning pink as it spread. Giving in to the urge, he scraped the already torn knuckles against the wall of the boathouse, ravaging his skin further. As the physical pain increased, his raging emotions receded, leaving a blessed numbness in their wake.
“They’ll make you see a Mind Healer if you keep that up,” a dry voice broke through his introspection. Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy leaning back against the boathouse, a cigarette in one hand and smoke curling from his mouth. He quickly moved to cover his bloody hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Malfoy reassured him.
Harry turned his gaze to the lake. “Thanks,” he murmured, unsure how to deal with an almost friendly Malfoy. Pushing himself up, he rose to lean against the wall next to the blonde, feeling more comfortable being at the same level.
“Smoke?” Malfoy offered. Harry shook his head. “Filthy muggle habit, I know, but it keeps me sane.” He took another drag. “If you're not going to heal that hand, I'd suggest a glamour. Mother was furious when she saw my cuts over summer.”
“Er, ok?” Harry stuttered, his agreement sounding more like a question. “Hang on, what cuts?” he asked, then flushed when he realised he was asking something personal of his nemesis.
Malfoy seemed unperturbed at the question. “These,” he stated, pulling up his left sleeve, revealing numerous neat lines on his inner forearm, in various stages of healing. Some were scabbed over, others an angry red, while others were almost silver on the boy's pale skin. “I'm trying to stop, but sometimes it gets too much,” he offered conversationally. “It's about the only thing I feel I can control.”
Harry was lost for words. Malfoy was talking to him, exposing something personal, like they were...friends? “Why are you telling me this?” he blurted out. “I mean, you're Malfoy. Don't you hate me?”
Malfoy shrugged, sucking one last time from the shrinking cigarette and dropping it to the ground. It made a brief sizzling sound as it hit the snow. “I don't hate you. Never did, really.” He pulled a crumpled pack from his robes, withdrawing and lighting up another with his wand. “I've watched you since we came back. You can't make sense of it all, can you?”
Feeling uncomfortable, Harry stepped away and stared out at the lake, his back to Malfoy. For months he had been wrestling with the fallout from the war, feelings of guilt, feelings of failure. Sometimes he wished he hadn't come back. Once Voldemort had cast the killing curse, he was mortal. Hermione and Ron knew what had to be done. Harry could have moved on, been with his parents and Sirius. Guilt flooded him as he remembered his godson. Teddy Lupin would never know his parents. Harry knew what it was like to be an orphan; he did not want that for young Teddy, no matter how tormented he felt. “Nothing makes sense any more,” he stated finally, turning back to face Malfoy, “but no matter how much I want it all to stop, life just keeps on, doesn't it?”
Malfoy smirked. “Yeah, isn't the phrase 'stop the world, I want to get off'?”
Harry managed a small smile, the first genuine smile that had graced his face in months. “Something like that,” he agreed. “I'd better be getting back, they'll be wondering where I am.”
“Are you staying over Christmas?”
“Dunno,” Harry shrugged. “The Weasleys are expecting me, but I just don't know if I can do it this year.”
“The orphans are staying. I have to stay and supervise, Ministry orders. I know McGonagall's asked you to help.” Malfoy raked his fingers through his hair. “You should consider it. They're good kids. They'd love the 'Saviour' to be there.”
The words had Harry bristling, before he searched Malfoy's face and didn't find a trace of sarcasm. “I'm not the 'Saviour'. If I was, they wouldn't be orphans,” he spat bitterly.
“Don't get your knickers in a knot,” Malfoy retorted. “I thought it might benefit you as much as them. Clearly you're too self absorbed. You should pull your head out of your arse, you're not the only one the war affected you know.” Pushing away from the wall, he started walking back to the castle. “Think about it. You never know, you might learn something.” He stopped, turned and tossed the remains of his cigarette, banishing the butts with a flick of his wand. “Oh, and even if you're not going to heal that hand, you'd better at least clean it. If it gets infected, you won't be able to hold your wand.” With that, he left at a brisk pace.
Harry stood, fuming, staring at Malfoy's retreating back. If he hadn't been so perplexed at the bizarre encounter, he might have realised he was mesmerised with the movement of Malfoy's robes over his arse.
§§§§§§§§§§
“I'm sure, Hermione. It's their first Christmas without Fred, and Ginny's still dealing with our breakup,” Harry tried hard to put on a brave face. Standing in the entrance hall with his friends, he did his best to convince them. “It'll be uncomfortable. I don't want to make it worse.”
Hermione cast a worried glance at Ginny, who was bidding a tearful goodbye to Luna in the entrance hall. “I'm sure she'll handle it, Harry. I don't think you should be alone at Christmas.” Ron shifted uncomfortably beside her. He was handling Harry and Ginny's split almost as badly as his sister was.
“I won't be alone,” he replied. “I'm helping with the orphans’ Christmas program, I won't have time to feel lonely. Go, please. I'll be fine.”
Searching his face for any sign of uncertainty, Hermione found none. She flung her arms around her friend. “Owl me if you need, for anything, you understand?” she whispered.
“Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. But yes, if I need you, I'll owl.” He returned her hug, then pushed her towards the entrance. “Now go, you'll miss the train.” Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Give my love to your mum for me?”
“Yeah, I will,” Ron muttered, “see ya Harry.” He steered Hermione toward the door. Ginny peeled off from Luna, joining Ron and Hermione.
Harry felt a pang of regret, realising Ginny hadn't even spared him a glance. Not that he blamed her, after the way he'd broken things off. He just didn't have it in him to continue their relationship. He didn't feel anything for her any more. Most of the time he didn't feel anything for anyone. Except, strangely, Malfoy.
The past two weeks had seen Harry swinging from one extreme to another, but his confusion was a welcome reprieve from the depression that had plagued him since the end of the war. He had gone from barely noticing Malfoy to seeing him everywhere he looked. The Slytherin’s behaviour was also perplexing. Instead of sneering at everyone in sight, lording himself over those he considered beneath him, he was polite, respectful, and while somewhat reserved, went out of his way to assist the first and second years in his house.
Despite persistent efforts by Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff, there was an underlying hostility towards anyone wearing Slytherin robes, and this was particularly hard on the first and second year students who had not grown up with the earlier inter-house rivalry and prejudice. On more than one occasion, Harry had witnessed Malfoy step in to protect a younger Slytherin from bullying. He sported an air of indifference, but his actions were at odds with his projected persona. The first and second years viewed him with a sense of awe, and their attempts to emulate the Malfoy mask were almost...cute?
Harry snorted, bringing himself out of his thoughts. Malfoy? Cute? Shaking his head, he began walking back to the Gryffindor tower, intent on making the most of what little free time he had left before he was needed to supervise the first activity.
§§§§§§§§§§
As expected, Harry had little time to himself during the Christmas break. The orphans’ Christmas program was already tightly packed, and rare free moments were filled with the youngsters pleading with the adults to do this or that. This particular evening it had been an impromptu indoor football game, McGonagall agreeing to clear some space in the great hall and erect some magical barriers to prevent damage to the rest of the hall. The game had started out friendly, with Harry and Malfoy taking the positions of goalie on each team, allowing the younger students to compete equally.
Fifteen minutes into the game, however, Harry's concentration was broken as he became more and more aware of Malfoy’s lithe movements. He was so distracted, that Malfoy's team had little difficulty sneaking goal after goal past him, resulting in a whitewash. The kids were good-natured about it, eliciting a promise from McGonagall for a rematch, without Malfoy and Harry, before New Years.
Leading the way to the Gryffindor tower, Harry was grateful that Malfoy was behind him. He was perturbed by his level of distraction. Their odd friendship had blossomed over the past few days, developing into a comfortable camaraderie. Conversations had remained light-hearted, never touching on that first discussion by the boathouse, much to Harry's relief. What he couldn't understand was why his eyes were continually drawn to Malfoy. He had taken to wearing muggle clothes, which suited him better than Harry thought they should.
Reaching the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry said the password and ushered Malfoy through the portrait-hole. He flopped onto a couch in the common room, while Malfoy sat more gracefully, choosing an armchair and taking in his surroundings. “It's so...red!”
“And the Slytherin common room is so green,” Harry declared sarcastically. “What's your point?”
Malfoy gaped at Harry. “When did you ever see the inside of the Slytherin common room?”
“Even if I hadn't been there, stands to reason it would be decorated in green, Malfoy. But I was there in second year. We...um...thought you were the Heir of Slytherin, and polyjuiced ourselves to try and prove it.”
“You did what? When?” Malfoy sputtered. “Wait, polyjuice in your second year? Granger must have brewed it, didn't she?” Malfoy smirked, knowingly. “Who did you polyjuice into?”
“I was Goyle and Ron was Crabbe.”
Comprehension dawned on Malfoy's face. “Hang on, was that Christmas day? I thought Crabbe and Goyle were acting odd!” he exclaimed. “What about Granger?”
“Ahhh, Hermione was supposed to be Bulstrode, but there was a slight mishap,” Harry chuckled. “She didn't realise that the hairs on her robe were from her cat. Polyjuice is only meant for...”
“Meant for human transformations,” Malfoy interrupted. “Oh, I would have liked to have seen that! But how did I not know?”
Harry laughed. “You were a self absorbed prat! It was pretty easy to get it past you back then.”
“I suppose I was a little self involved,” Malfoy allowed, ignoring Harry's snort at his understatement. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. “So is it helping? Working with the orphans?”
The question sobered Harry quickly. “I suppose. It was fun playing indoor football - I haven't run that much since, well, you know,” his voice trailed off and he stared at the fire. “Malfoy, why are you doing this?”
Malfoy considered the question for a few moments. “This? This, helping the orphans? Or this, being nice to you?” he asked eventually.
“Either, both. We hated each other for so long, I just can't get my head around us getting on.” Harry dropped his head into his hands. “I can't get my head around much these days.” It was the most he had spoken about what he was thinking since the war.
“If we're going to talk about this, I need a drink. Do you have any firewhiskey stashed in here?”
Harry flicked his wand, murmuring a quiet Accio. A bottle of Ogden’s Best flew into the room. Conjuring two glasses, he poured a hefty amount into each glass, handing one to Malfoy.
“Thanks,” Malfoy raised the glass in salute and took a large swallow, exhaling loudly as it went down.
Harry followed suit, watching and waiting as Malfoy toyed with the glass a few moments, watching the way the firelight flickered through the golden liquid.
After several minutes, Malfoy spoke, almost in a monotone. “My father,” he paused, “Lucius, I believed him. I believed in him. So many things he taught me when I was younger made sense. Mudbloods,” he glanced up at Harry's sudden intake of breath. “Sorry, muggleborns, it's hard to break the habit.” At Harry's nod he continued. “Muggleborns create a risk to our way of life. I know some of our traditions might seem antiquated to you, but a lot of them are based in common sense.”
Harry listened intently as Malfoy spoke of his childhood, looking up to his father. He detailed his indoctrination, the arrival of the Dark Lord, the threats to his parents and how his mother's sister drove Lucius into madness.
“When you turned up at the Manor, I thought it was all over and Voldemort had won. I was almost relieved when you disarmed me... there was a chance again that you might win.” Taking a gulp of his third glass of firewhiskey, he put the tumbler down with a little more force than necessary. “You did win, in the end. I never thanked you for that, Potter.”
Harry flushed, still uncomfortable with any form of praise or gratitude for his role. Malfoy continued, “When you spoke at Mother's trial, and then at mine, I wanted to hate you, because you wouldn't speak at Lucius' trial as well. But when I heard all the testimony at his trial, I had to leave. I followed the rest of the trial in the Prophet, along with a lot of the accompanying features.” He stopped, his throat closing as he recalled the stories.
Pouring more firewhiskey, Harry handed Malfoy his glass again. “I remember those. I read one, then I banned copies of the Prophet from the house,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Yeah, they were an eye-opener. I couldn't look Mother in the eye for days, I refused to see anyone, I stopped eating...that's when it started,” he said, gesturing to his arm. “They weren't faceless mudbloods anymore, the victims had names, faces. I started to understand...” Malfoy sat back, his hand over his mouth, unable to continue.
Sitting in silence for a few moments, each boy worked to get his emotions under control. Harry pulled off his glasses and pressed his fingers to his eyes, fighting to suppress the tide of grief and guilt. He started when a hand pressed down on his shoulder; Malfoy had moved noiselessly. A rustle of clothing made Harry look up to see Malfoy kneeling in front of him.
“Potter, don't let it consume you,” he urged, tugging Harry's hands from his face. “Do what you have to, to make it from day to day, but you need to find something, outside yourself, or inside yourself, to move forward.” Harry stared at his own rough hands, being held by pale, elegant fingers. “You saved Mother’s life, my life. I don’t know exactly what your demons are, but I can see your guilt eating you up from the inside. Find something, Harry,” he pleaded. “For me, the Ministry-ordered work with the orphans, and the sessions with the Mind Healer, even though it's required for my probation, they helped me gain perspective.” Suddenly realising he was kneeling, holding hands with another boy, he pulled away. “I don't have the answers, but if you keep busy, keep doing, you'll get by.” Standing, he turned away and stared into the fireplace.
Harry could only gape at Malfoy's back. He had used his first name. Malfoy never used his first name. He turned, and Harry quickly turned his gaze down to his own hands, which were oddly tingling.
“I'd better get back to my dorm.” He raked his fingers through his hair, a move Harry was becoming rather familiar with. “Thanks for the drink. I'll see you at breakfast.” With that, he strode to the portrait-hole and was gone.
§§§§§§§§§§
With the start of the next term, the eighth years were swamped with work, the teachers pushing them harder in preparation for their NEWTs. January gave way to February, and Harry and Malfoy, or Draco, as he thought of him now, rarely found time together. Word of the cessation of their enmity spread through the school quickly after the Christmas break thanks to the praise of the orphans, though neither had been keen to reveal their friendship, not wishing to expose the other to public scrutiny. They managed to meet in the boathouse on a few occasions, sometimes just sitting and drinking firewhiskey while Draco chain-smoked cigarettes. Draco taught Harry how to play the Magical Symbols game in the Daily Prophet, and helped him with his potions work. But mostly the silent support and understanding of the other was enough.
Hermione fretted over study schedules, while Ron slipped back into his usual carefree manner with Harry, discussing Quidditch and playing Wizard's Chess. Harry felt more at peace than he had in months, concentrating better in his classes, and though he still found it difficult to interact with his friends, made a conscious effort. And he found a new distraction, albeit an unwelcome one. For some reason, he couldn't keep his eyes off Draco - whether within the same classroom, or across the great hall, Draco cut a striking figure that did not fail to draw his gaze. The way he walked, his fingers constantly running through his hair, the way his lips moved when he spoke, even the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. Harry was becoming concerned that he was forming some kind of fixation, especially when he woke that morning after an intense dream, which he was sure had featured Draco, though he couldn't remember the details. The nature of the dream was no guess - the sticky feeling in his sleep pants answering that question.
“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked, after she observed him putting salt in his tea. “Here, don't drink that!” She vanished the foul concoction and poured him another cup. “You seem awfully distracted, is there anything you want to talk about?”
Harry flushed, and took a gulp of the scalding beverage, causing him to choke. “It's nothing, 'Mione, just...that huge assignment for Charms.” Harry glanced around the great hall, looking for a means of escape. “Er, I have to go, I need to catch up with Goldstein about the assignment. See you later,” he stammered, pushing away from the table and rushing away before Hermione could say anything more. She watched his retreating form, a crease between her brows.
Harry approached the Ravenclaw table, flustered and uncertain, and tapped Anthony Goldstein on the shoulder. “Hi...um, do you have time to work on that Charms assignment now?”
Goldstein took in his Charms partner's flushed appearance appraisingly. “Um, sure, I suppose. I'm not sure how much we can get in before our first class though.”
“Oh...right, of course,” Harry stuttered out. What was wrong with him?
A slow smile spread on Goldstein's tanned face. “You have a free period after lunch, don't you? I've got one too, so we could meet in the library?”
Harry felt a warmth blossom in his chest at the other boy's smile, and gave Goldstein a tentative grin, “sure, after lunch, in the library.” For some reason he held out his hand for the other to shake.
Quirking an eyebrow, Goldstein shook Harry's hand, snickering softly. “See you then.”
Harry stood there, for a moment, staring at his hand. Suddenly he snapped himself out of his stupor and hurried out of the great hall, hoping desperately not to embarrass himself further this morning.
§§§§§§§§§§
Removing his glasses to rub his eyes in frustration, Harry slammed his book shut with his other hand. “I just don't get it. Why won't the charms work together?”
Goldstein huffed, and pushed his notes in front of the Gryffindor. “Look. See how this part of the first charm would interact negatively with the wand movement of the second? They'd cancel each other out, and if by chance you added in a slight variation to the left or right of the prescribed movement, you'd likely hex your eyebrows off.”
“Ok, show me again?” Harry replaced his glasses and leaned closer, poring over Goldstein's notes. The movement placed their heads mere inches apart, and suddenly he could feel the other boy's breath ghosting over his cheek, not an entirely unpleasant sensation.
“I think we need to take a break,” Goldstein said, breathlessly. Harry glanced up, and was frozen by the way that Goldstein was staring at his lips. A surge of desire shot through him, and before he could stop to think about what he was doing, he leaned forward, closing the space between them, and pressed their mouths together.
For a second, Goldstein did nothing, and Harry was just about to pull back, when the Ravenclaw pressed forward just a little, moulding his mouth to Harry's. Their lips brushed back and forth, moist puffs of air mingling. Harry tentatively parted his lips and traced his tongue over the other boy's, earning a soft moan. Emboldened by the response, he increased the pressure of his tongue, and was rewarded by Goldstein parting his own lips to grant Harry entrance to his mouth.
This was so different from kissing Ginny. Now he knew what he had been missing. Their tongues slid against each other, stroking and exploring. Both boys were breathless, caught up in the moment. The rough feel of stubble scraping at his skin felt so much better to Harry than Ginny's soft smooth face. He felt no hesitation in pressing harder, using more force with Goldstein. Soon a firm hand was cupped around the back of his head, pulling him further into the kiss. Harry angled his head, aligning their mouths better, giving in to the overwhelming heat flowing through him. Their teeth bumped together, tongues lapped at the insides of cheeks; Harry wound an arm around the other boy, pulling their bodies closer together. Groaning into the Ravenclaw's mouth, he pushed forward more, suddenly sliding off his chair and onto the floor with a thud, pulling Goldstein down on top of him.
Winded by the force of Goldstein's weight, Harry let out a loud “oof!” Both boys started to giggle as they tried to right themselves from the tangle of limbs, until they were interrupted by a loud gasp. Harry looked up to see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil standing at the end of a row of shelves, mouths agape. “Um, Goldstein, off!” he exclaimed.
Goldstein clambered off him, and offered a hand to help Harry up. Once they were both upright, Harry tried to smooth his robes, but realised that there would be no hiding what had happened. His lips felt swollen and bruised, and Goldstein's were in a similar state. Watching as Lavender and Parvati hurried away, whispering excitedly, Harry groaned - the news would be around the school before he could say venomous tentacula.
Clearing his throat, Harry looked at Goldstein pleadingly. “Er, can we finish the assignment later? I'd better go find Ron and Hermione. Damage control...”
Goldstein nodded understandingly. “Sorry, didn't mean to get carried away. I've wanted to do that for ages.”
Harry flushed, gathering his bag. “Um, ok. See you later.” He rushed out of the library.
§§§§§§§§§§
Harry hid in an alcove near the Potions classroom. His lungs were burning from racing down so many flights of stairs. He had kissed Anthony Goldstein. He had kissed a boy! He had kissed a boy and liked it! He slumped to the floor and put his head between his knees, trying to slow his breathing. His mind was running a mile a minute, replaying the kiss over and over. He couldn't help but recall his kisses with Cho and Ginny. Kissing girls had felt awkward, with Cho it had been... wet. With Ginny, he felt as if he had to hold back, that she was too delicate to kiss with any force. Kissing Goldstein was another matter entirely - he had felt no need to be gentle, the force of their kiss almost bruising, the graze of stubble against his lips and jaw had inflamed him, arousing him more than any kiss with Ginny had.
He lifted his fingers to his lips, they were still hot and swollen. How much time did he have before Potions? Would anyone be able to tell? Then he remembered the startled gasps of Lavender and Parvati. He groaned. The gossip queens of Hogwarts would have spread the news within moments, he was sure.
“Hiding, Potter?” Draco drawled, standing over him. “I hear you've been busy.”
“Oh fuck,” Harry cursed. “You heard already?”
“You expected anything less with Patil and Brown being witness?” Draco snorted. “Come on, you'll be late for Potions, and I don't think Slughorn's in a good mood today.”
Harry groaned again, pushing himself off the floor, accepting the helping hand Draco offered. It was time to face the music.
For once, Harry didn't care what people thought, Draco was his friend, and right now he needed a friend. They walked into the Potions classroom together, the last to arrive. Harry flushed as stares and whispers followed him as he made his way to his workspace next to Ron.
Slughorn seemed preoccupied, writing a list of instructions on the board and retreating to his office.
Harry opened his bag and pulled out his Potions book, cursing when he realised he had left his quill and parchment in the library. “Ron, do you have a spare quill and some parchment?” When he received no response, he nudged his friend. “Ron, can I borrow a quill and some parchment?”
“Why don't you borrow some off your boyfriend?” Ron hissed.
Taken aback, Harry thought maybe Ron was trying to make a joke. “Um, Ron, Goldstein isn't in this class...” he laughed.
“Why don't you try Malfoy then? You seem pretty chummy with him lately.” This time there was no mistaking the venom in his voice.
Harry nudged his friend, a little harder this time. “What's your problem, Ron?” he asked, hurt and angry that Ron seemed to be turning on him again.
Ron's face was turning almost as red as his hair. “Get your hand off me,” he growled, stepping away from Harry.
“Ron!” Hermione's voice was outraged. “Harry, maybe I should work with Ron today.” She grabbed her things, making her way to Harry and Ron's workstation. “Neville, do you mind working with Harry?”
“Oh yeah, Neville would love that!” Ron laughed bitterly.
Neville threw Ron a withering look. “Give it up, Ron,” he said with a hint of warning.
Harry grabbed his bag and moved to swap with Hermione, accidentally bumping Ron on his way through.
The loud “oi!” was the only warning Harry received before he felt Ron's fist connect with his jaw. He staggered back, bumping into someone, feeling a pair of hands reach out and steady him.
“Weasley! What the hell are you doing? If I was still a prefect, that would be twenty points!” Draco glowered at Ron.
“Just as well you aren't and I am, then, isn't it, ferret-face!” Ron shot back.
“Well, I'm a prefect, Ron, and I agree with Malfoy. Even if it is my own house, that'll be twenty points.” Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, glaring disapprovingly. “Harry, do you need to have that jaw seen to?” her voice softened.
Harry rubbed his jaw tentatively. “I think it'll be alright, 'Mione.” He glared at Ron. “I can't believe you just hit me!”
Ron huffed. “And I can't believe you dumped Ginny for a boy!” he spat.
“Ron! Shut up!” Hermione hissed, glancing at Slughorn's office door. “If Professor Slughorn comes out here you'll be in even more trouble!”
Ron stepped back to his workstation, effectively ignoring Harry and Hermione. Draco turned Harry's face toward him to check for damage. “Harry, Granger is right, you should get Pomfrey to see to this.” Harry sighed in defeat, feeling his jaw throb. His cheek felt tight and swollen, and he was sure a deep bruise was beginning to form, though Draco’s fingers were sending an odd tingling through his jaw.
Hermione gathered her bag, collecting Harry's as well. “Neville, can you tell the Professor Harry's not well and I've taken him to the hospital wing?”
“Sure,” Neville agreed.
“Come on Harry, let’s get your face fixed up,” Hermione lead the way out of the classroom.
As he reached the door, Harry looked back to Draco and mouthed “Boathouse, later?” Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod, moving back to his cauldron as the door closed.
§§§§§§§§§§
Thudding his head back on the boathouse wall, Harry winced. “I just wish people would get over it,” he whined.
Draco looked at him without sympathy. “You snogged Goldstein in public. The school, especially your fangirls, are shocked. This will take time to die down. At least they're not pestering you for information about the war now,” he said dryly, taking a drag from the ever present cigarette.
“Give me one of those,” Harry reached for the packet, stumbling when Draco pulled it out of his reach.
“No, you've got enough on your plate, you don't need your adoring groupies berating you for smoking too.”
“Argh, why can't things just be simple for once?” Harry let his head fall back against the wall with another loud thud.
“And stop doing that, do you want brain damage?”
“Maybe...maybe Ron would speak to me again if I was injured,” Harry pouted. “I didn't realise there was such a taboo about homosexuality here.”
Draco snorted. “There isn't. He's probably just pissed that you're getting attention again.”
Harry looked up at Draco, trying to decide if he could make another swipe at the smokes. “I thought he was over that.”
Smirking, Draco tucked the packet back into his robes. “He probably thinks you were leading his sister on, too. Or maybe he wishes you snogged him instead!” He chuckled at the look of outrage on Harry's face.
“Ron...” Harry sputtered. “Me snog Ron? Not likely! He's like my brother!” He dropped his face into his hands. “He was like my brother...I don't know what to do...”
“Do? You do nothing. Well, just keep on. Make out that everything is normal,” Draco advised. “Being gay isn't unusual in the wizarding world. It's just that you're so high profile.”
Harry looked up at Draco with hope. “So if I pretend it's nothing out of the norm, they'll leave me alone?”
Draco snorted again. “Not likely. I expect the Prophet will have a headline on you soon. But if you act as if it's normal, they'll eventually back off on the speculation about your love life...at least back to how it was before.”
“I guess that's the best I can hope for. Well, at least it's been interesting to have something else to stress about,” he said humourlessly.
§§§§§§§§§§
What Draco had predicted had come to pass. By the end of the day, Harry had been on the receiving end of everything from slaps on the back congratulating him, to vicious slurs and stinging hexes, one of which he was sure had come from Ginny. The Daily Prophet headline the following morning screamed “BOY WHO LIVED - GAY?”. Harry could only be grateful there were no photos. Soon after the delivery of the Prophet, the howlers started to arrive, and Harry had to beat a hasty retreat from the Great Hall with the assistance of Professor McGonagall.
His first class of the day was Transfiguration, but he was unable to concentrate when Ron alternated between completely ignoring him, and throwing hateful glances his way. After the tenth derogatory remark delivered under his breath, Harry packed his books into his bag and fled the class without a word to McGonagall.
Too scared to risk being seen in the library again, even alone, he retreated to the only safe place he knew, the boathouse. The freezing February rain soaked through his robe before he was even halfway, and by the time he made it inside he looked more akin to a drowned rat, which suited his mood perfectly. Shoving his fingers into his hair he tightened his fists and pulled, making his scalp sting. The churning in his gut didn't ease, so he dug his nails into his head hard, praying the pain would help him calm down, but this was also to no avail. A sob worked its way up his throat, choking him. Hot tears pricked at his eyes and his face started to burn, despite the frigid weather.
The urge to give in to his old habit resurfaced with a vengeance. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he started muttering to himself, “not again, I won't do it again, I won't...” He paced back and forth inside the boathouse, trying desperately to restrain the urge to kick something, to hit something, to tear into his own skin. He was moments away from punching a wall when he heard a footstep. Whipping around, Harry gaped at Draco, who leaned just inside the doorway, the customary cigarette between his lips.
“Hit something if you need to - it's not healthy to suppress that rage, you should know that by now.” He took a deep pull, releasing the smoke from his lungs through pursed lips and making it curl seductively from his mouth.
Harry's mouth went dry, the rage within him fled and was swiftly replaced with something else almost as disturbing. He aimed a swift kick at the wall to disrupt the wayward thoughts, only succeeding in making himself fall over.
Draco snickered. “What's the headline tomorrow, Boy who fell down?”
“Shut it, you,” Harry growled, hauling himself off the floor and stomping over to Draco. “Give me that,” he grabbed the cigarette from Draco's mouth, took a deep pull and promptly had a coughing fit, scattering ash all over Draco's robes. Eyes stinging and throat burning, he ignored Draco's loud complaints and started brushing off the ash. Harry quickly discovered this was a bad idea, as he could suddenly feel strong, lean muscles shifting under the fine fabric. He could smell a delicious scent of leather and citrus mingled with tobacco and it set his senses ablaze. Verdant green eyes were drawn to silver grey, Harry's gaze flicking down to soft, pale pink lips, making him lick his own.
“Oh no you don't, Potter.” Harry jerked his gaze up to Draco's piercing eyes, shocked at the use of his last name. Stepping away just a little, Draco tried to reassure. “I realise you're having a bit of an identity crisis here, but I will thank you to not go down that path.”
Flushing, Harry stepped away, trying his best not to show the disappointment he felt.
“For Merlin's sake, Harry, don't look like I just kicked your puppy. I'm just not...I don't swing your way, alright? I have no problem with homosexuality, but I'm straight.” He lit another cigarette, looking off into the distance pensively. “I expect things will get worse before they get better, Harry. I'll support you, you know that, just don't confuse what we have for more than it actually is.”
Cursing himself silently, Harry worked to get his thoughts in order. He paced the length of the boathouse several times, while Draco chain smoked through several cigarettes in silence.
“Sorry,” he said eventually. “Er...I guess you're right, it's all just a bit confusing...all so new, caught up in the moment, you know?” He prayed Draco would believe that's all it was, he couldn't afford to lose the only friend who really understood. “Um, sorry, you know, for the robes, the cigarette...”, oh Merlin, he snapped his mouth shut to stem the flow of words.
Draco lazily waved his wand, vanishing the ash on his fine wool robes. Pulling something silver out of his robes, he handed the item to Harry. “Here, this might help.”
Taking the flask gratefully, Harry removed the lid and swallowed a large gulp of the liquid inside, coughing violently at the burn of the firewhiskey. “Thanks,” he said once he caught his breath, passing the flask back.
“No, you keep it, I expect you'll probably need a bit of liquid courage to get through the rest of today. Just don't let McGonagall catch you with it.”
“Oh Merlin, I'm in so much trouble,” Harry groaned, taking another swig.
“I think you'll find she'll be alright, as long as you don't miss any more classes. She told me to come and find you, make sure you were alright.”
“How did she...oh, of course, Christmas.”
“She doesn't miss a thing, nearly as omniscient as Dumbledore, that woman,” Draco agreed. Casting a breath freshening charm to get rid of the tobacco smell, he beckoned his friend. “Come on, if we hurry, we'll make it to Herbology and only be a few minutes late.”
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Harry stepped through the door into the dorm silently. He had hoped Ron would be off with Hermione somewhere, but luck continued to elude him today. "Hiya, Harry," Seamus called out, making him cringe when Ron looked up sharply.
"Brilliant," the red-head muttered. "Boy wonder is here." He slammed down the book he was reading and stormed out of the room, not heeding Harry's cry of "Ron, wait!" as he left.
Harry plopped down in his bed, defeated. Unwilling to meeting the pitying gazes of Dean or Seamus, he lay down, scrunching his eyes closed behind his glasses. A rustle of robes and someone's weight depressing the mattress told him he wasn't going to be left alone.
“Harry.”
Harry groaned as he heard Neville's unmistakable voice. “Not now, Neville.”
“No, Harry, you need to listen,” Neville spoke, an underlying tone of authority that Harry was only now becoming used to.
“Please, Neville.” Harry refused to open his eyes and turned on his side, facing away from his friend. “I just can't deal with this at the moment.”
Neville sighed. “Okay, I'll leave you be, but Harry, not everyone thinks the same way you know. Some of us understand more than you think.” The mattress shifted again as he stood. Harry wasn't sure if he imagined the gentle touch to his shoulder. “I'm here if you want to talk. You don't have to do this on your own.” With that, he quietly left the room and closed the door.
Several minutes later, Harry sat up and looked around, startled to find himself completely alone. Even while seeking solitude, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. The conflicting thoughts and feelings were tearing him up inside. It was hard to believe that less than twelve months ago, he, Ron and Hermione were out hunting Horcruxes, their sole aim to destroy Voldemort. The goal seemed simplistic in hindsight; everyone thought once Voldemort was dead, everything would be normal, but none of them had really known what normal meant. Harry's life up to that point could never have been considered normal, why should it start now?
He reflected on the bizarre turn of events so far this year. No one would have expected this strange friendship he now had with Draco. Hermione was coming to terms with it after learning of the time they spent together over the Christmas break helping with the war orphans’ program. Ron had scoffed, insinuating Draco was only sucking up to Harry to try and redeem some kind of status as the Saviour's friend. Seamus and Dean were wary at first, but cautiously accepted Harry's reassurances that Draco could be trusted, and Neville had stood back and just quietly observed. The developments of the last two days had turned everything upside down. Hermione was now running interference between Harry, Ron and Ginny, Seamus and Dean didn't seem to know what to say to him, and Neville...well, Harry couldn't work out what was going on with him, but was too absorbed in his own torment to try. The only person he could rely on with any certainty was Draco, but now that Harry’s feelings had been acknowledged in some form, Harry didn't even know if he could depend on that friendship enduring.
Pressing his fingers hard into his eyes, Harry groaned. He almost wished he could search the Forbidden Forest for the Resurrection Stone. Counsel from Lupin, Sirius or even his parents would be welcome. He just felt so alone.
§§§§§§§§§§
Despite Harry's torment, life went on. Easter swiftly approached, with a barrage of assignments and study set by the teachers in preparation for their final exams. Harry and Draco continued with their infrequent meetings in the boathouse, conversations limited to the safe realm of study, career plans and the war orphans’ program over Easter.
Draco made no reference to Harry's crush, and Harry did his best to hide his feelings, despite becoming more attracted to him every time he saw him. No longer was it just Draco’s physique and looks that drew him in, it was the way he continued to discretely mentor the younger students in his house. It was the way he spoke up against the vitriol and prejudicial views still held by some of his peers, and the way he staunchly supported Harry whenever even remotely derogatory remarks were made behind his back or to his face. The occasional pats on the back or squeezes of the shoulder were becoming Harry’s lifeblood.
There were no more incidents with Goldstein, much to the Ravenclaw's disappointment, but he was understanding when Harry explained that he was still trying to work things out, and could do without the speculation of fellow students and the wizarding world at large. Harry was still uncomfortable though, when Goldstein sent several wistful glances his way as they finalised their Charms assignment to hand in before Easter.
For the most part, Seamus and Dean were supportive, though Harry often witnessed a hurried end to a whispered conversation when he entered the dorm. Neville said no more about his offer of a listening ear, but did his best to just be there for Harry. Harry didn't quite know what to do with this, uncomfortable with the idea of opening up to anyone else, too caught up with his inner turmoil to consider seeking help. He was unaware of the shy, pained glances Neville cast his way when Harry was discretely watching Draco.
The continued rift between Ron and Harry, and spiteful behaviour from Ginny, made Harry's decision to remain at Hogwarts for the Easter break easier. Hermione worried that he was isolating himself from his friends again. “I’m not exactly being given much choice, ‘Mione,” Harry pointedly reminded her. Eliciting a promise of at least two owls during the holiday mollified Hermione a little.
Harry said saying goodbye to Hermione and headed to his dorm, looking forward to the solitude of the eight year Gryffindor boys’ dorm. Seeing Neville sitting on his bed, his nose buried in his Herbology textbook, made Harry start with surprise, a vague sting of irritation passing through him. “Er...hi Neville?” his greeting sounded more like a question. “Not going to see your Gran for Easter?”
Neville looked up and scrutinised Harry, not missing the annoyance he was trying to hide. “No, I decided it was more important to stay and do some study. I need to get decent NEWTs scores if I'm going to get an apprenticeship.”
“Oh.” Harry tried to school his face into an expressionless mask, wondering how Draco managed it so easily. “Er, I...um...I need to go to the library...to plan...the thing...orphans’ activity tonight,” he stuttered, turning to leave.
A hand on his shoulder arrested his flight. Damn, he thought, when did Neville learn to move so fast? “Harry, I wanted to talk to you,” the taller boy pleaded. “I need you to listen, I...I think I can help...” Despite trying to keep his voice steady, a slight tremor was audible at the end. Realising he still had his hand on Harry's shoulder, he snatched it back, a slight flush staining his cheeks.
“Oh. Um...ok” Harry could not get his mouth and his brain to connect, and settled on nodding, walking to his bed and sitting down. He stared at his hands as he fidgeted with his wand.
§§§§§§§§§§
Plodding down the steps to the boathouse, Harry's mind was awash with a myriad of thoughts and feelings. Neville's disclosure left him in a quandary. Suddenly he had a friend who was in a unique position to understand, and yet Harry felt more burdened than before. What could he say to Neville after such a confession? Reaching his refuge, Harry sat in his usual spot and pulled out the flask that he had never returned to Draco. He took a swig of the strong liquid, and closed his eyes.
Neville's words continued to ring in his ears. “Harry, I know how you feel. I've been in love with you since fifth year.” What was he supposed to do with that? The disappointment in the taller boy's eyes when Harry had bumbled through a tactless response had cut him to the core, and yet Neville had relieved him of any obligation and continued, offering him words of wisdom and comfort on how to live with unrequited feelings. He was astounded at how Neville had pushed through his own process of discovery, not only coming to terms with his sexuality, but also dealing with an attraction to someone he thought was straight, and stepping up as a member of the DA to eventually lead others during the war.
Harry groaned as he realised that he had been so caught up in his own self-recriminations, he had been completely oblivious to the fact that others were struggling with their own issues as well. He suddenly felt childish and unimportant. The irony of the situation was not lost on him - Neville was in love with him, and he was in love with Draco, something he could finally acknowledge.
A soft knock on the wall alerted him to another's presence. “Mind if I join you?” Draco asked, as Harry looked up. Harry nodded stiffly, the awkwardness between them still present. “Can we talk?”
The question made Harry look up sharply. Draco rarely spoke of anything personal, not since Christmas; instead, he was usually the one to offer advice to Harry. “Um, sure, I suppose,” Harry said uncertainly, his mind already overflowing with the events of the afternoon.
Draco slid down the wall to sit near Harry and pulled out the customary packet of smokes, lighting one with his wand. He took a deep pull from the cigarette and released the smoke slowly from his lungs. “I got a letter from Mother today.”
Harry waited, not knowing where this was going.
“She's in negotiations with the Greengrass family.”
Harry continued to look blankly at Draco.
“We're to be betrothed. Mother wants the wedding next year.”
“Oh,” Harry said dispassionately, knots forming in his gut. He turned his gaze to the floor.
“It's a good match,” Draco continued quietly. “The Greengrasses are purebloods, untainted by the war. They are willing to overlook our part, it will help to restore the Malfoy name.”
Not knowing what to say, Harry remained silent.
“She's a nice girl. I could grow to love her, I think.”
Harry nodded, turning his face away from his friend, unable to conceal the pain in his eyes. He now understood what he had seen in Neville's face earlier. “Why talk to me about this, Draco?” His voice remained steady, despite the conflict raging inside.
“I don't know, we're friends, aren't we?” Harry could feel Draco's eyes on him and couldn't help but look back, the uncertainty in Draco's eyes making his stomach flip.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “We're friends.”
Draco nodded, and took another drag of his cigarette. “I just feel like Mother is rushing things, you know? I understand that we need to improve the family's standing in society, but surely the betrothal contract will be enough for now?”
Harry shrugged. “I don't really get your pureblood traditions and contracts. Why do you have to arrange something, can't you find someone the normal way?”
“You mean the muggle way? Marry for love and all that tripe?” Draco almost sneered, but managed to hold back the contempt in his voice.
A surge of bitterness flooded Harry's mouth. “At least you have a choice! It's not like I get a choice about marriage either, is it? You say the wizarding world doesn't have any prejudice towards gays, but we're still not allowed to get married!”
Draco looked at Harry, shocked at the sudden outburst. “You've only just figured out for yourself that you're gay, and now you're talking about getting married? Putting the carriage before the Thestral a bit aren't you?”
Suddenly finding an outlet, Harry's rage burst forth. “Don't, Malfoy. Just don't!” He pushed to his feet, making to storm out of the boathouse, impeded when Draco grabbed his robes. A window near them cracked loudly. “What the fuck do you want from me, Malfoy? Why are you telling me this?” he asked again, his tone a blend of accusation and distress.
Even more taken aback, Draco released Harry's robes, slumping back against the wall. “What's crawled up your arse today, Potter?” he asked bitterly, letting his head tilt back and staring at the beams in the roof.
Harry felt like he was watching a train wreck, but could do nothing to stop it. “You say we're friends, then you tell me you're going to get married?” The question sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.
“Well, yes. What did you think, you and I were going to fly off on a broom into the sunset together?” Draco did sneer this time, but the expression faded as he read the truth in his friend's eyes. “Oh Merlin, I thought we sorted that out?” Harry flinched, feeling as if his very soul was on display for the world to see. He fled the boathouse. Draco scrambled after him. “Harry, wait!”
Striding up the hillside as fast as possible, the cold air burned in Harry's lungs. Hot tears were flooding his eyes, making it hard to see. He stumbled, feeling strong arms grab him to prevent him from falling. Trying to wrench himself free in a blind panic, Harry's limbs became tangled with Draco's, and both boys tumbled to the ground. In their attempts to disengage from each other, their torsos became pressed more firmly together. Harry, angry and upset, gave in to the desire, ceasing his attempts to flee and pressing his lips to Draco's.
Draco froze in shock, inadvertently allowing Harry to increase the pressure of the kiss. Heat flooded them both - Harry was overwhelmed with sensation as he was finally able to express his attraction to Draco, while Draco's flush was fuelled by indignation and anger that his friend was taking advantage. When he was able to gather his wits, Draco managed to get his hands pressed flush to Harry's chest, then pushed hard. Caught in the moment, Harry wound his arms around Draco, holding tight and trying to bring their bodies closer, increasing the pressure of his mouth. Horrified at the sensation of Harry's tongue trying to force between his lips, Draco gasped, squirming and pushing harder to try and get away. Harry paid no heed, his desperation overruling his common sense. Seeing no other way to extricate himself, Draco opened his mouth to Harry's tongue, then bit down, hard enough to hurt, but hopefully not to draw blood.
“Fuck!” Harry swore, tasting copper in his mouth.
Using the brief reprieve, Draco managed to separate himself from Harry and scrambled some distance away. “What the hell are you doing?” he cried. “Why did you do that? Why did you have to ruin it?”
Humiliation washed over Harry like ice cold water, and he slumped to the ground. A lump formed in his throat, making it impossible to speak.
“I can't...I don't know...” Draco's voice was laced with betrayal and hurt.
Harry swallowed hard. “I'm sorry,” he choked out, then, unable to face his friend any longer, he fled.
§§§§§§§§§§
Grateful for the quiet of the holidays, Harry sequestered himself in his dorm, drawing the curtains around his bed and setting locking and silencing charms for good measure. He was supposed to be watching another indoor football game in the Great Hall, but could not bring himself to face another soul. He felt as if he was at war with himself, swinging from one emotional extreme to another. When he remembered the feel of Draco's lips on his, even though they had been frozen and unyielding, heat flooded his body and his arousal spiked. Recalling the distress in his friend's voice brought on waves of humiliation and regret that threatened to overcome him. When the tears pricked his eyes, he would bite his lip til it bled, and when that was no longer enough and the sobs broke through, he dragged his ragged, bitten nails along the inside of his left forearm. Spots of blood started to seep onto the sheets of his bed, but he couldn't bring himself to care, only praying the sting and burn of the scratches would help numb the turmoil in his mind.
He didn't know how long he lay back and stared at the canopy over his bed. Maybe he should have gone to the Burrow after all. Removing the charms on his curtains with a sigh, Harry did his best to straighten his robes. He siphoned off the blood stains on his sheets and sleeve and ran his fingers carelessly through his hair. Night had fallen, the windows black against the warm light in the room. There was a soft knock on the door, heralding the arrival of Neville. “Harry? Malfoy wants to talk to you.”
Harry groaned softly, wishing he could put off this confrontation, but knowing it was best to deal with his friend and the consequences of his actions sooner rather than later. Nodding to Neville, he glanced around to ensure there were no telltale signs of his earlier activity. While Draco was aware of his shameful habit, he didn't want this conversation to be about that.
Draco strode confidently into the room, taking in the furnishings with a cursory glance. He dismissed Neville imperiously. “Potter, we need to talk.” Staring at a fixed point past Draco, Harry gestured to Ron's bed, indicating Draco should sit. Draco sat, holding himself stiff and aloof. “I was going to tell you this afternoon, that Mother was coming to visit today, with Lady Greengrass.” Harry nodded, but remained silent. “Mother arrived early, as we were coming up from the boathouse.” He fell silent, as if waiting for a response.
Harry looked up, uncomprehending. “So?”
“She was at the top of the hill, Potter. She saw everything!”
“Oh.” Harry didn't know what else to say.
“'Oh'? All you have to say is 'oh'?” he spat out. “Lady Greengrass could have been with her! Mother was livid, she could barely restrain herself until we were in private!”
Harry grimaced, the familiar feelings of guilt and regret rising. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, at a loss, twisting his fingers in his lap.
“Potter, I'm the only one left to try and redeem the Malfoy name! Mother put a lot of work into getting Lord Greengrass to consider the contract. The name Malfoy doesn't hold a lot of weight in pureblood circles. This opportunity isn't one I that can afford to jeopardise.” Draco rose and began pacing. “The announcement will be in the Prophet on Saturday. I will be under intense scrutiny from other purebloods.”
Harry nodded. He could hear and understand the words Draco was speaking, but he felt strangely detached. It was odd to be sitting and listening to Draco and not seeing the customary cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Draco's words floated through his mind, but their meaning did not really register.
“Potter!” Draco snapped, trying to get his attention. Harry's head snapped up. “People were already questioning the lack of enmity between us. Since the incident with Goldstein, your movements are watched even more than before. I cannot afford to be seen consorting with you, especially once the announcement is released.”
Draco's words finally sank into Harry's mind. “What? Are you...are you saying...” the prospect of losing this friend was too painful to verbalise.
“Yes, Potter. I'm saying this accord we have, this friendship, must cease. The slightest hint of any scandal between us would have the Malfoys ostracised from every pureblood circle. I cannot let that happen. I will not let that happen.”
His words fell like blows on Harry's ears. How could one small action, one kiss, bring his world crashing down around him? He sat there, trying desperately to hold himself together, but wondering how anything would ever be the same.
“I have to go. Mother is waiting to take me into Hogsmeade,” his voice softened slightly. “I'm sorry, Harry.”
The soft snick of the door indicated Draco's departure. Harry sat on the bed, staring at the floor, feeling numb. The only person who truly understood him was gone. Their odd friendship was over. Drawing in a ragged breath, the air caught in his throat, and a sob tore free. For months he had felt as if he was in some form of stasis, able to function, but not really living. Now the dam broke. He could not stop the keening cries as he heaved in great gulps of air. Tearing at his skin made no impact, other than to break open the already ravaged skin. He sank to the floor and curled up in a ball, alternating between shuddering breaths and gut-wrenching howls of pain. Every memory, every guilty feeling, the faces of those lost all flooded his mind. Recrimination and disgust overwhelmed him, and he yanked at his hair, raked his fingers over his face, his cheeks breaking out in red welts.
Strong arms lifted him from the floor and cradled him against a broad chest. Fingers restrained his wrists as Harry sought to inflict more damage on himself. Whispered words of comfort failed to break through the loud sobs that he could not suppress. He struggled against the restraint, wanting to be freed, wanting to be left alone with his grief. White spots began to swim across his field of vision, his breathing rapid and uneven. He was vaguely aware of soft voices, a cool vial being pressed to his lips. When the darkness descended, he welcomed it.
§§§§§§§§§§
part two...