Chapter Text
If the two of us couldn't meet
What a terrible dream it would be
Between the Second Wizarding War, the rebuilding of the Ministry of Magic, and the trials of most surviving Death Eaters, nobody had really remembered Draco’s eighteenth birthday.
Perhaps that was for the best. Draco used to look forward to his eighteenth, used to imagine himself surrounded by all his mates at the Leaky Cauldron, sharing his first pint with whomever else was overage while the underage wizards goaded them into a drinking contest. His parents would be there too, pretending to have fun while silently lamenting that he didn't choose a much nicer restaurant to waste approximately two hours of their lives in but pretending to be having fun. It would have been kind of funny.
Now they'd be lucky to even get a table at the White Wyvern. There were two kinds of people left after the war– those that hated the Malfoys for their roles in Voldemort’s rise, and those that hated the Malfoys for defecting. Suffice to say, Draco had no friends by his eighteenth birthday, and he couldn't say he didn't deserve to be alone.
He figured this would be the closest he'd get.
He had no idea what he was thinking when he accepted the invitation to Harry’s eighteenth birthday. Actually, it was something along the lines of “why the hell was I even invited?” But he showed up anyway to some noisy Irish pub in the middle of Muggle London and sat stiffly between Luna and one of the other Weasleys as they cheered for Harry and Neville’s first drinks.
“Took you boys long enough!” Hermione chuckled, clinking her glass with the rest of theirs.
“It's not like we could speed up the passage of time, love!” Ron laughed, bumping into her shoulder.
“Yeah, it's not our fault you were born first…!” Harry replied between sips.
The pub was loud, and it was hard to hear the conversation. Draco glared at the ice in his glass like it did something wrong, pushing it around with his straw. He didn't know why he showed up. He didn't know why he was invited. He didn't know why he was sitting between people he had tortured, tormented, or overall ruined their lives like it was anything he had actually repented for. The invitation wasn't even particularly nice, just a note scribbled by Potter himself casually inviting him out.
He knew exactly why he accepted– he felt lonely.
“– Draco?” Draco’s head popped up, glancing around when he heard his name. Everyone was looking at him. “Are you going back to Hogwarts?” Harry helpfully repeated.
Draco shook his head quickly. “No.” Why would he? Everybody hated him, it was his fault the school was ruined anyway. “No, I can't–”
“See? You two are mad, I tell you!” Ron interrupted. It's just as well, Draco would probably have ruined the mood. “Ministry’s already offered us jobs, ‘Mione, you should take it!”
“I want to finish my N.E.W.T.s and graduate!” Hermione huffed as she set her mostly empty glass on the table. “Even if I take the job, what if I change my mind in ten years? Five? Three? I want to have all the options I want open to me.”
“And I don't want to work at the Ministry.” Luna added as she fished around her citrus soda with a fork for an errant lemon seed. “I’d much rather study Magizoology.”
“Fine then, we’ll have a boy’s club!” Ron insisted, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “No girls invited! You lot have fun repeating with my sister, we’re going to keep saving the world!”
“Oh, we will.” Hermione said with a playful smirk. “And when I’m your boss, I’ll throw an all-girls party to celebrate~!”
They were all laughing. They all laughed and carried on about their future and their plans for it, without a care in the world.
Draco didn't have any.
He excused himself to the bathroom, even though he didn't really say it loud enough.
Why did he show up? They all just wanted to get drunk and celebrate with their real friends. Who the hell considered Draco their friend? He’d been punched by about half the guests at that sad excuse for a party, and wouldn't blame the rest for wanting a go. He leaned over the sink to splash some cold water on his face. The water from the tap tasted weird out here in the Muggle world. The pub sounded way quieter in the bathroom with a door that thick between them. The ventilation was worse in the bathroom, but perhaps he was just having a hard time breathing.
Before he could calm down enough to consider leaving, he saw the door to the bathroom open in the mirror rather than hear it. And wasn't this nostalgic– Draco hunched over an outdated sink in the boy’s bathroom, knuckles turning white, while Harry’s reflection walked up on him. He startled, spinning as his fingers twitched for his wand hidden in his slacks. Harry didn't so much as flinch.
“Draco?”
“Why–” Draco’s own voice surprised him with how strained it sounded, “– why did you invite me here? To this, to this disgusting Muggle establishment, with all your little–” He wiggles his fingers at the door, but couldn't bring himself to get the word friends out of his throat. “Why am I here, Potter?”
Harry blinked at him, and Draco could've laughed at the idea of trying to reason with a teenager who had just downed his first beer, but something about the focus in Harry’s eyes made him second guess if it was truly his first. He seemed like he was scanning Draco for something, but was unable to look past anything superficial.
“I wanted you to come.” He’d finally said, hands in his pockets. “I thought… you could use some real friends.”
“So it's pity, then.” Draco scowled at him, but he was cornered between the sink and the cheap plastic wall between it and the stalls. The only way out was towards Harry.
What a hilarious metaphor, in hindsight.
“I wanted you here.” Harry admitted as he stepped forward. “I just thought, after everything that happened, perhaps we could… try again.”
He held out his hand, like he was expecting a handshake. Draco stared at it, at how stiff and straight his fingers were, his thumb open just slightly too far, and it reminded him too much of when they first met.
Try again. What a stupidly naïve thing to say. Harry knew better than almost anyone what a bitter, violent person he really was. He thought running away from Voldemort made him redeemable somehow? It took him too long to respond, so Harry shoved his hand back in his pocket and looked off to the side, like it only now occurred to him to make sure the two stalls in the tiny bathroom were unoccupied.
“I’m sorry if I upset you. I don't mind if you go.” He said so honestly, and Draco knew what he meant by that, or what he thought he meant by that. That he wouldn't be offended if Draco left early because he was uncomfortable. Instead, like always, Draco felt angry. Harry invited him, how dare he not mind whether or not he stayed. If he knew he didn't care, perhaps he wouldn't have shown up at all!
But “I wanted you here” stayed in his mind. Would he have been disappointed if Draco hadn't shown up…?
“Well, I mind.” Draco found the drive to say from somewhere deep inside him, stepping away from the sink and towards Harry. “You wanted me here? Now you're putting up with me. I may even give you the honour of buying me my first drink.”
Harry let out a small scoff. “Hard to believe your father never let you have some sort of expensive champagne over the holidays.”
“Oh he tried.” Draco found himself engaged in some kind of banter against his will, but unwilling to back down. He might even have enjoyed it. “For my birthday last month, he brought a really old bottle from the wine cellar he said was being saved just for me, he and mother picked it before I was even born. Could barely get a mouthful down, it tasted foul. I think the two of them finished the bottle that night.”
Harry chuckled, trying to imagine the sort of face Draco made. “That sounds dreadful. I’ll buy you something much better, promise.”
Draco’s amused expression quickly fell. “You're serious.”
“Come on, I know you don't have any money on you.”
“How dare–”
“Money that Muggles accept.” He saved, holding his hands up defensively. He got Draco there. “Consider it a late birthday gift.”
Draco glanced at the door, a slight scowl on his face. “I haven't brought you one. I didn't…” I didnt think we were friends. “… know what you wanted.”
Harry waved his hand dismissively. “Hey, don't worry about it. I don't need anything but a good night with my mates.” He put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, and for some reason he didn't shove it off even though his stomach turned. “So come on out and make some friends, alright?”
Draco just nodded. Harry moved to pat his back instead, guiding him out of the bathroom and back to the table. Him, one of Harry’s mates? As if that would ever happen.
He didn't deserve to be forgiven.
And yet…
The drink Harry picked for him was sweet and fruity, though the disgusting and bitter taste of alcohol was still noticeable underneath. It was… acceptable. Each sip was a little easier to take at least, and the conversations started to get a little easier to follow. When his glass was empty, he was chewing on ice and laughing with the others like he’d known them for years.
Well… technically, he had. But they’d never known him.
He was definitely drunk. His eyes moved faster than his brain could process, and if he tilted his head too far he felt like he was falling over. But, as far as his first drink, it was actually kind of fun. He had been scared of having his first drink before. He was a wretched, bitter person sober– he didn't want to find out what sort of awful stuff he’d say if he had the last of his inhibitions removed. Instead, it just made everything… sound kind of funny to him.
“… ‘M glad I’m still here.”
“Yeah?” Harry said too close, and he startled, looking around. The party was over. Neville was red in the face, stacking their plates on the table like he thought it was impolite to leave them for the wait staff, but it seemed everyone else had gone.
He had no idea what time it was. He had no idea how he was supposed to get home. He just sighed and closed his eyes. Harry patted him on the back again.
“Okay if I take you home?”
Why does he sound so close? Oh. Draco’s leaning on his shoulder. He should have stood up abruptly, probably bumping the table along the way and ruining whatever Neville thought he was doing with the cups there, but he was responding before his body got that far.
“I think my parents would be upset if I slept with you.”
Either the pub went silent, or the ringing in his ears stopped.
“… Your home, Draco.” Harry sounded like he was having a hard time not giggling. “Is it okay if I take you back home, I don't think you're in any condition to Apparate.”
“Oh.” Oh indeed. Why did he think Harry wanted to take him home? Did he really let the idea of Harry wanting to see him mutate into something more than a desire to be drinking buddies? He tried to focus on what Harry said, about Apparating. The thought of being squeezed through a spell right now sounded awful. His face scrunched up. “I might throw up.”
“Might throw up on the bus.” Harry added, helpfully.
The hell is a bus?
“Ugh. Fine, take me home, Mr. Saviour.” Draco groaned.
Neville helped pull him up, and once they were safe somewhere out of view from any passing Muggles, they wished each other a happy birthday before Apparating away.
It was never a comfortable thing to do, being squeezed through a tiny crack in space and time or however the hell that worked, all he knew was he was being squeezed by Harry. He only knew they arrived when he was able to shove him off and stumble into the bushes. He threw up.
“I'm glad you came.” Harry said, trying to distract from the awkward silence between them, although it appeared to be one-sided. Draco coughed a few more times before standing back up.
“Why?”
It wasn't a question he was prepared to hear an answer to. He was a terrible guest, a terrible person. He had little to contribute to conversations, he didn't bring a birthday present and constantly inconvenienced Harry throughout the entire night, including requiring that he carry him home. How could he come away happy Draco had shown up to be a burden?
“Well,” Harry stood exactly where they’d landed, back stiff as he played with his fingers. “I meant what I said before. About starting over.”
Draco’s vision was fuzzy, and he couldn't make out what sort of face Harry was making. “Okay? So was it… some kind of test? Some kind of– I don't understand.”
“You wouldn't.” Harry had said. “But you passed, so don't think too much about it.”
“Don't think I can.” Draco mumbled, looking up at the giant door leading into Malfoy Manor. “Thanks anyway.”
“We could do it again sometime.”
Draco looked back at him, trying to readjust his eyes. Harry hadn't gotten closer, although he imagined him stepping forward like in the bathroom. He should've gotten closer, right?
“… Yeah.”
“Yeah?” There was something almost hopeful in his voice. Draco nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He could hear the smile in Harry’s voice, and he could imagine it pretty easily too. “Alright. Well. Goodnight then. And, happy birthday.”
And Draco stared at where he was previously standing, forgetting about his own belated birthday, because yes, that day might as well have been his birthday with the way he felt like an entirely new person.
When “sometime” came, Draco expected it to be a little more like the last time, or at the very least he expected Ron and Hermione to be there doing most of the talking again.
This felt suspiciously like a date. Or maybe more like an intervention of some kind.
“ROCC is always looking for people.” Harry said, attempting to be helpful.
“What rock?” Draco mumbled.
“ROCC, the Rare, Obscure and Confounding Case department at the Ministry. They wouldn't have a problem with you being… you know. Hell, the curse divisions have some old Azkaban inmates working cases, I hear.”
“I don't need a job.” Draco sighed, nudging a sprig of parsley off of the chicken thing he’d ordered. He didn't exactly like the unclean, conveyor-belt nature of these Muggle restaurants, but at least there was nobody to recognise him there.
“It's more than a job,” Harry offered, “it's a career. You said you were looking for “a new place in the world,” right?”
“I never said such a thing.” Draco insisted, but his ears turned a little red. Of course he could be more honest drunk, couldn't he…?
“Oh, sure, I just made that up.” Harry said, smirking behind his glass. “But, in case you're considering it… you know. The offer’s out there.”
“Wasn't much of an offer as a statement.”
“Still the master of sass, I see.” Harry rolled his eyes. Draco gripped his fork tighter. For some reason, that sort of response bothered him. “Well, then I’ll make a real offer– come work for the Ministry. I’ll recommend you, and if you do it soon, maybe they'll put us on the same training course.”
“Same training course.” Draco sneered, looking up at him. He doesn't know what kind of face he was making, but it was probably harsher than he intended. “Out of your bloody mind, wanting– inviting me back to some class with you. I figure we’d’ve seen enough of each other's faces by now, why are you suddenly so interested in spending time with me?”
Harry stared at him, not as phased by his outburst as he… expected? Hoped? What the hell was he even saying that for? Harry’s bored face just pissed him off even more.
“… How's the chicken?”
“Dry.” He all but threw his fork on the table, leaning back in his chair as far as it would allow and glaring at a far wall. This was stupid. Why was he still here…? He came for no reason, made a fool of himself over nothing, and had to either make it worse by leaving or stay and let Harry pity him. Harry studied him for a minute, only saying something when Draco finally dared to make eye contact again.
“Do you still think I hate you?”
“Obviously.” But he had already said it when what Harry implied actually sank in. His glare softened into something resembling horror. “No. No way. No bloody–” He glanced around, but thankfully nobody was looking their way. “– you seriously believe I’m some sort of good person now? You think that one act of cowardice makes me some sort of saint? That I’ve changed my ways by running away from my responsibilities?”
“You have changed.” Harry said calmly, causing Draco to dig his nails into the cheap wood finish on the table.
“That’s rubbish.” He bit out.
“Do you still hate me?” Harry asked simply, holding his gaze in a way that made Draco feel cold. He froze, unable to figure out which of Harry’s eyes to focus on.
Of course he hates Harry Potter.
But then, what the hell is he doing getting lunch with him on a random Thursday afternoon in Muggle London…?
“Sit down, please.”
Draco didn't remember standing up, but he sat back down.
“… You have changed, Draco. You're about the only person in my life I think has, actually.” Harry said, looking down at the table with something in his eyes that almost seemed bashful. “I think– sorry.” Draco watched him, confused as to why he seemed to have trouble picking his words properly. He wasn't confused for long; “I think about you a lot. About how we… could've been friends.”
Draco’s breath left his chest.
“It's silly, I know. And impossible, honestly. But… I wished you could've been there with us. Actually working with us, instead of… you know. Trying not to get caught running.” Harry continued, though in what direction it was hard to say. “Maybe things would've turned out different, if I was friends with you, you know? If I had just–”
“Stop–” Draco choked out. He was feeling a bit dizzy from the sudden information. He took a breath like he had breached the surface of water. “– stop talking. Just– just stop, alright? I’m not just some thing for you to fix, Potter, or wish you'd fixed, or whatever your weird little fantasies about me are. All this– all this “what-if” rubbish is completely pointless. There's no do-overs, no take-backs, no apologies, no time for regrets. We did what we did, and now we have to live with it, alright? So just… stop it.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Every muscle in his body was tense, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to run, like he always had. Run away and deal with the consequences of his outburst when they hunted him down like they always did. He reached for his glass, but his hand was shaking, so he just grabbed it and tried to focus on how cold it made his fingers feel. He couldn't bring himself to look at Harry.
He said what he said, and now he had to live with it. Just like he said.
“Draco,” Harry started, hesitating to see if he would look up, “I don't think you needed me to fix you. I actually think you did a pretty good job of that on your own.” Draco looked up at him then, eyes widening. Harry smiled sadly at him. “That's why I've been thinking about you. I'd just wondered if it had possibly happened sooner, maybe… you'd be happier.”
Draco looked down again with a scowl. “I just said, there's no use thinking like that. You'd drive yourself mad. Only thing you can do is plan your next step.”
Harry chuckled. “That is some very Slytherin advice.”
“Yeah, well, you could learn a thing or two from it, instead of barreling head-first into trouble without a plan like a Gryffindor.” Draco scoffed.
Harry laughed. And then they were laughing together.
“So then, what is your plan? For moving forward and stuff?” Harry asked when the giggles died down, taking a long swig of whatever drink he’d ordered that time. Draco’s smile fell just as quick as it had come.
“… Dunno. Don't really have one yet. I'm still… adjusting.” He mumbled, waving a hand vaguely. Harry followed it, looking at the rowdy Muggles at the bar.
“… It's kind of nice out here, right? I mean, relatively speaking. Nobody recognises us. Sort of makes you feel like less of a zoo animal, right?”
Draco glanced at them, a slight grimace of disgust still on his face. “I suppose that's one way of looking at it. Nobody’s thrown any hexes our way.”
“Or tried to snap a photo.”
“Ugh, that would be awful. I can practically see the headlines now; “Idiot Saviour’s Lunch Date With The Boy Death Eater” in that bloody ugly font.”
“It’s hideous, isn't it?”
“And the formatting, so unprofessional. It's hard to read, right?”
“I think my handwriting’s worse.”
“Oh you think?”
“Almost as bad as your drawings.”
“Oi!” Draco balled up his napkin and threw it at Harry, who couldn't help but laugh.
“Would you believe I kept the one from third year?”
“No.”
“I did!”
“Why?”
“I think I was convinced I could use it to try and get you expelled or something. I don't really remember, I hit the ground pretty hard during that Quidditch game.”
“Clearly not hard enough.”
Harry laughed and threw the napkin ball back at him. “You're still such an arse.”
“What happened to all that stuff about me changing then?”
Harry shrugged, unable to stop smiling. “Well, you're laughing instead of threatening me. I think that's a pretty big change.”
Draco scrunched up his nose and crossed his arms. “Oh, you think this is funny, Potter? Wait until my father hears about this!” He said in an exaggerated falsetto. Harry cackled, causing a nearby family to glance over in irritation. Draco’s expression returned to an uncertain discomfort, and he leaned back in his chair again. “… It would be ridiculous to be upset over something like that now. Frankly, I agree.”
“That you've changed?”
“That I’m an arse.” He finally picked up his glass, drinking about half of it in one go as he glared off to the side at one of the walls.”Haven't changed nearly enough to be a good person.”
“Hey,” Harry interrupted, “it’s not too late. Your life isn't over yet, you know.”
“Isn't it?” Draco spat without thinking. “Our family’s blacklisted from just about everywhere you can think of. We’d be lucky not to be run out of the country by the end of the year.” He crunched on a piece of ice for dramatic effect, or maybe as a way to cool down from his rising anger. “Face it, Potter. Nobody wants us.”
“That's not–”
“Except you, for some foolish reason.”
Harry had the audacity to smile at that.
He was, unfortunately, right about the ROCC accepting him. He didn't think he came across as all that enthused during the interview, but he surprised even himself with all the knowledge of cursed artefacts he’d picked up from his father over the years. He was not put on the same training track as Harry, but they did run into each other once during his eight months of learning.
“I've actually done this before, you know, back with Dumbledore’s Army. I suppose I'm sort of a natural, but it's not as easy for everybody. It's okay to take your time–”
“You're not my babysitter, Potter.” Draco snapped, his ears already turning red from humiliation.
It was bad enough he’d failed to produce a Patronus, but now his “student tutor” was Harry bloody Potter. Why was he still there? He should've quit a long time ago.
Harry frowned. “You need to be able to perform a Patronus charm in order to do field work. Doesn't have to be corporeal, but it’s too dangerous with the threat of Dementors otherwise.”
“I know. But it just won't work for me.”
“You need to focus on–”
“Your happiest memory, yeah, yeah, I bloody well know how it should be done!” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “But it doesn't work for me.”
Harry stood there patiently, watching him. Studying him.
“… It just won't work. You didn't say that when you fixed the Vanishing Cabinet–”
Draco had Harry’s shirt in his fist in an instant. He couldn't actually hurt him, and he’d be in way worse trouble if he pointed his wand at him, so all he could do was get in his face threateningly. “Do not bring up my past like that.”
Harry held his gaze, his bright eyes steadfast. He tugged at Draco’s wrist. “That's what this is all about though. If you can't accept your past, it’ll just serve as a blockade for your magic.”
Draco huffed and released Harry’s shirt, though it took a second for Harry to release his wrist. “I already accept my past. And I hate myself every damn day for it.” Harry smiled sadly at him, and it made Draco rethink punching him. “Don't look at me like that. Don't pity me.”
“I'm not–”
“Yes you are.”
“So what?” Harry asked, and for some reason Draco didn't actually have a response, so Harry continued, “Is it wrong to want to help you?”
“I don't need help.”
“Then produce a Patronus.” Harry said as he took a few steps back. Challenging him. Draco set his jaw.
“Expecto Patronum!”
And nothing happened. But Draco would rather be made a fool than forced to beg for help. Harry just sighed.
“Let's just start from–”
“It doesn't work, okay?!” Draco shouted in frustration, taking everything in him not to just throw his new wand in anger. “Nothing works!”
“It will. You just have to trust me.”
Draco scoffed. “Why would I do that?”
“You already do.” Harry said, and his smile seemed so genuine it actually took Draco aback. “Just take a deep breath. What memories have you tried?”
Draco shook his head, gesturing widely with his arms. “I've tried all sorts of things! Getting my letter to Hogwarts, hanging out with my old friends, my mother’s Christmas gifts…”
Harry nodded, taking a step closer. “Is there a possibility that… those things never really made you happy?”
It sounded stupid. Of course he was happy! But… no, no buts! He wasn't going to let Harry be right!
“Your letter from Hogwarts… didn't you want to go to Durmstrang?”
Oh.
“I was eleven. I wanted to go where my father said I belonged. He made it sound so… superior. But my mother didn't want me so far from home.” Maybe he really was disappointed to get the letter.
“Your mother’s Christmas gifts, did they make you happy?”
“Obviously. She got me anything I wanted.” He smirked, but it fell quickly. “And… there was always a letter. From Aunt Bellatrix.” It had all felt so normal, back then. Not knowing any better. But normal or not, it still freaked him out. All the things she’d promised to do when she got out– not if, when. He used to be afraid of waking up to find her standing over his bed, face the distorted caricature on the family tapestry, dragging him off somewhere to watch her torture Muggles.
I’ll have to show him the difference in our blood from theirs when he gets older. Just a few drops, he won't even feel it!
Harry nodded, taking another step forward. He looked concerned. Did Draco really seem so miserable to him now? “And… your friends?”
Draco looked away. He didn't really have to explain why thinking about Crabbe and Goyle, Blaise, Pansy, made him so miserable, did he? “Real friends wouldn't have left so easily.”
Harry nodded again. He was close enough to reach out to him, if he wanted to. “… You can't think of a happy enough memory, can you?”
It wasn't an accusation. It felt like one, but it wasn't a stinging sort of pain. It was… dull. Because he agreed. So he did what he did best when he felt vulnerable, which was to deflect. “No, guess not. How awful, that someone like me could grow up so loved and spoiled, can be absolutely miserable, yet the boy who grows up with nothing is so talented at this… happiness magic.”
He doesn't know how he expected Harry to react that day. Probably angrily. Maybe he’d attack him, and he’d have a reason to fight back. Get himself and Harry kicked out of the Ministry, then be done acting like they had some kind of relationship to salvage. Or maybe he’d just end up in the infirmary wing like he deserved. So when Harry reached out, every muscle in his body tensed, ready to either fight or flee.
Harry put a hand on his shoulder. “They don't have to be real.”
Draco’s aggression was very quickly replaced by confusion. “… What?”
“The memories.” Harry smiled, though he looked tired. “They don't have to be real.”
“What do you mean? If they're not real, then they're not memories.”
“That's always been my secret weapon.” Harry chuckled, taking a step back to draw his wand. “They can be fantasies. Imagining what you want the most. A future to work for that would make you happy. Expecto Patronum.”
Draco had only ever seen a single corporeal Patronus before, and it was merely his instructor’s demonstration earlier in the week. If anything, watching the bright white bird flutter about the training room only managed to freak him out. While less personal, the glowing stag before him still made him a bit uncomfortable. It approached him curiously, and Draco backed away. He’s not sure how much free will it had, or if it was entirely controlled by Harry, but it seemed to respect that he wanted space and circled around to stand behind Harry.
“It can't hurt you.”
“I know!” He said defensively, immediately regretting how on edge he sounded. Harry stared at him, that same studying look, but Draco hardened himself against it this time.
“It, uh, will probably be easier on you, if you practice by yourself.” The stag shook itself out, dissipating into glowing blue strands. “So just, remember what I said, and I’ll let you… do your thing.”
“Wait–” Draco would die before admitting how close he was to panicking at that moment. He didn't want Harry to leave, he was just being difficult, as always. He didn't want to be left alone. “– don't give up on me so easily. I can try it your way, I suppose.”
Harry grinned, and it was just cheeky enough that it indicated he saw through Draco’s stubborn pride. “It might be easier if you close your eyes.”
“I know how to fantasise…!” Draco huffed, red creeping back up his neck. He made sure Harry saw how hard he rolled his eyes before closing them, trying to think of… something that would make him happy. But truth be told, he hadn't really made any breakthroughs since their last conversation at that restaurant. He still had no goals, no aspirations in life. He wasn't delusional enough to believe in a future where his family was forgiven and accepted again. Were they ever really…? Or were they just feared? No, he had to think about something else. When's the last time he was sort of happy? Hell, when was the last time he’d even smiled?
… Ah. He remembered. It was at Harry’s birthday party.
He didn't fully remember; not after the alcohol started kicking in. But he remembered before. He remembered laughing. He remembered feeling included, wanted by the group. He remembered Harry making sure he got home safely. He remembered Harry letting him lean against his side. He remembered being held by him.
He imagined doing it all over again, sober and in control of his mind and body. Still being wanted. Still having things to say that made the group laugh. Still being held by Harry at the end of the night.
His heart fluttered.
“E-Expect… Expecto Patronum…!”
A light flickered on the other side of his eyelids, brief but bright. It was already gone when he dared to peek, but the look on Harry’s face said it all.
“You’ll definitely pass by the end of the month.”
He never created more than an incorporeal mist, but he didn't need to in order to pass to the next level of trainee. Since he could adequately defend himself and others, he was studying the more specialised subjects– curse identification, curse removal, and curse containment.
There were three divisions in the ROCC department; Cursed Locations, Cursed Objects, and Cursed People. There was also a subdivision of Objects that basically stayed and did all the paperwork on confiscated items, and Draco almost accidentally ended up there simply because he had more advanced reading and writing skills than many of his classmates. That wasn't to say he was some sort of genius– rather, many former Azkaban inmates that had ended up there could not read or write, or had forgotten how to.
The Ministry made a big deal about how important it was to allow the formerly incarcerated an avenue back into functional society. From Draco’s point of view, they were actually being used as expendables on their suicide missions. Let the people with no homes, no families, no futures risk their lives venturing out into poorly-understood danger to rid the world of one more haunted doll or something.
Well, Draco still hadn't quit.
He wasn't sure why. He hated most of the people he was around, and they hated him too. He hated the association with the majority of his classmates, and they hated associating with him, too. And he hated the feeling of being utterly used by this system that probably wouldn't print his name in the papers if this job actually killed him.
But he liked having something in common with Harry.
Every time they caught a glimpse of each other– which wasn't more than once or twice a week, and given how huge the Ministry was, that was a bit of a miracle– he couldn't help but smile just a bit. Maybe that was the reason he stuck with it. Because Harry believed in him. And for some reason, that meant something to him.
He received a letter from Harry to the manor one day. He didn't see the owl that dropped it off, and it was buried beneath the rest of the morning’s mail. It was sent really early then, or possibly even really late last night.
Draco,
Did you hear about graduation next week? We're having a private party for Hermione, Ginny and Luna on the 26th, want to come?
From, Harry
It was simple, informal, and for some reason Harry had signed his name on the bottom like the envelope didn't already show who it was from. He might have laughed, if the idea of going to another party with Harry’s friends didn't make him sick with anxiety.
Fantasising about the last year’s events was one thing. If it was really going to happen, he had to figure out how not to mess it up.
Graduating was a pretty big deal, especially under those circumstances. Hermione, Ginny, and Luna. He could probably find decent enough gifts for them all. They seemed simple, Hermione liked books, Ginny probably still played Quidditch, and Luna always wore jewellery made of literal garbage. It couldn’t be that hard to please them. Just a simple little gift, a peace offering that said “sorry I called you slurs for about five years, we don't have to be friends but I appreciate your accomplishments.”
But they didn't make cards that said that, and six days wasn't enough time to become a decent artist.
He could get Luna earrings made out of some actual precious gems. Would she wear them, though? She'd definitely be too nice to tell him anything other than she loved them, even if it wasn't true. Besides, she was not exactly… refined. Her tastes leaned more towards the homemade. He’d never made jewellery before. His fingers were skinny and dexterous, but he'd never held a pair of those skinny-nosed not-scissors things before in his life. And how do earrings actually work? Aren't they sharp? He didn’t want to have to stab his ears in order to try them on to see if they worked.
He could get Hermione a book, but how does he know what she’s already read? She's probably read more books at Hogwarts than he could even name. Should he go to the shop and just hope he got lucky? Maybe if he picked one that was only recently published, there was a higher chance that she had not read it. But what if she didn't like it? She was a girl, would she like one of those murder-romances? Or was that stereotyping too much? He could get something nonfiction, but that didn't seem very appropriate as a graduation gift.
And Ginny… he didn't have a clue what any of her clothing sizes were, and it would probably be really weird to ask. He couldn't even pick out a nice pair of Quidditch gloves without more information.
And all of this was implying he could make it through Diagon Alley without causing a scene. He was very recognisable, after all.
In the end, he merely put together a few basic 20 Galleon envelopes. He thought twice about using the wax seal with the Malfoy family crest on it, and folded them closed instead. He made an extra one, just in case something got lost or damaged. He wanted Harry’s friends to like him. If they did, maybe it wouldn't be so weird if he wanted to spend more time with Harry.
He spent so much time worrying about all of that, he forgot to actually reply to Harry's letter until after he finished the gifts.
The restaurant was only marginally nicer than that one he first met everybody in, though at least it wasn’t a Muggle establishment, probably so they could discuss their classes and future careers without trying to hide from the world. Draco probably should have guessed that this wasn't going to be any sort of formal party, but he expected that at least one other person would be wearing a tie. He looked like he got lost on the way to a funeral compared to the others. He could tell it took a lot out of Harry not to laugh when he saw how he combed his hair back for the first time in several years.
“I sort of expected you to wear something closer to what you wore to my birthday party, but I guess I didn't specify.” He sort of apologised, rubbing the back of his neck. “You look really good, though!” His cheeks were pink, probably from shame.
“I think your interpretation of a “party” is different from ours.” Draco deadpanned, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.
Harry wasn't dressed terribly, but cargo trousers were only a few steps above denim jeans. Black cargo trousers ranked above all other possible colours, at least, so it wasn't a complete travesty. “I’ll pick my words better next time so you don't come dressed to propose to someone. Come on, our table's in the special party area.”
“It’s not a “real” party, but it's in a special party area.”
“Yeah, that basically means off to the side and with a wall between us and the normal guests.” Harry explained like it was so obvious. Of course, Draco’s family had never celebrated in public, that's what the manor was good for.
Emphasis on was.
Luna wore something resembling a dress and Ron’s pullover looked new, but other than that nobody wore anything out of the ordinary. He sat stiffly at the table, only vaguely registering that someone had saved the corner seat next to Harry for him like it would make him more comfortable. It did, but he’d deny it if someone asked.
Once all the food had been ordered, the Weasley matriarch stood to start a toast, and then her husband, and then all of the friends and family began to give small speeches and accolades that gradually got longer and longer the more people joined. Draco considered a few words, but it didn't feel very appropriate to interrupt. He wasn't friends with any of them, not really. Harry wanted him here, not them. He waited until the final cheers, and when everyone had taken their first drinks, he finally said something.
“So do we exchange gifts now, or after our meal?”
Based on the bizarre looks people gave him, he immediately realised that he was the only one who brought anything. He stood up before anyone could say something humiliating.
“Don't act like they don't deserve any. Is this a celebration or not? They worked hard, after a bloody war no less, and they deserve it, do they not?”
“Draco,” Harry started, but he was already taking one of the envelopes out of his bag.
“Please accept my gift.” He’d said, holding them with two hands even though he was shaking a little.
Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose in a show of second-hand embarrassment. “Bloody hell, we're not being disrespectful, Malfoy, we're just not the gift-giving lot–”
A chair squeaked across the floor. Ginny stood up, silently walked to his side of the table, and accepted the envelope with both hands as if to specifically prove her brother wrong.
“Thank you.” She said calmly, holding his gaze. She had the steadfast will of a woman who’d grown up surrounded by troublemakers, something Draco recognised eerily well from his own mother. He ended up breaking eye contact first, and she returned to her seat. He looked back up, and Luna was smiling at him, so he went over and handed her one next.
“The best things in life are the least expected. I will treat it well.” She said, and Draco hoped the next time he saw her, the money wasn't literally sewn onto a shirt.
He finally gave one to Hermione, who tried to take it with one hand but nearly dropped it, clearly not expecting it to weigh much. Draco shoved his thumbs in his belt loops and avoided eye contact. “It's not a bribe. You could have taken the easy way out, like Potter and Weasley, but you didn't, and now you've graduated.”
Hermione looked up at him, and some sort of amused expression crossed her face when she realised that was the closest thing to Draco admitting he was proud of someone else’s accomplishments she would probably ever get. “That's… oddly mature of you, Malfoy.”
Draco nodded and took that as the closest thing he would get to a “thank you” from her, then returned to his seat. Luna’s father proposed a new conversation starter, but Draco stopped paying attention as soon as he had a cold cup of water in his hands. He couldn't believe he did that. He must have looked so foolish, like he didn't understand any of them at all.
A hand on his shoulder jolted him from his spiral before it went too far, however, and when he looked up and saw Harry smiling at him like he was proud of what he’d just done, he started to think he actually did do something good.
He still had that fourth envelope. He should thank Harry too, for all of his help. And if he refused, he’d just insist it was to pay him back for all of the Muggle money he’d covered for him so far. It was a flawless plan, unlike everything else that had happened.
They were talking about their future plans again once food arrived. Either being in the presence of family members changed their attitudes, or the fact that it had been nearly a full year since they'd last discussed it left a lot of time for reflection, because there was far less joking and complaining than he remembered. Hermione had already petitioned changes at the Ministry before she’d even graduated, and they seemed to be taking her issues rather seriously. Ginny had been scouted by not one, but two professional Quidditch teams who were interested in drafting her. Neville spoke at length about his training at Saint Mungo’s poison ward, and it was probably the most confident Draco had ever seen him speak.
Maybe Harry was wrong, they were all changing. Not into different people, but into better versions of themselves.
“– and we're pretty excited for our first field mission as Aurors, right, Harry?” Ron finished, looking over at him.
“Yeah, it's gonna be great.” Harry said, his face half-hidden behind a beer glass. But Draco was sitting closest to him, and from his angle, he wasn't sure Harry was fully convinced of that himself. He didn't have enough time to fully think about it before Harry locked eyes with him. “You’re getting close to that stage too, right? Ready to rid the world of some more evil?”
Draco was taken slightly off guard, not just by Harry’s focused eyes but the way he worded it. Like Draco was doing something good, on purpose and stuff. To be honest, he’d briefly forgotten there were other people listening and responded with a short, but confident nod.
“Oh, you're training with ROCC, is that right?” The Weasley’s father, Draco didn't know his name, started with interest. How did he know that? Had they been talking about him before that night? “You know, I worked with them once, for a short time back in the winter of ‘81. Of course, I volunteered to help clear up the Muggle world of dangerous artefacts after the war, but the Ministry soon caught on to my, heh, let's call them work-sponsored field trips.”
“Dad, stop.” Ron groaned in embarrassment.
“Hey, I'm just saying it's a great job!”
“Only because you actually liked Muggles!” He laughed. It was meant to be a jab at his father, and his bizarre obsession with the Muggle ways of life, and that's clearly how everybody else took it as they either chucked or agreed in an attempt to move the conversation forward. To Draco, it just reminded him that this job would entail frequent trips into a magicless reality, to remove pieces of their world in an effort to uphold peace and order. A twinge of disgust instinctively ran through him, followed quickly by a wave of self-hatred. He tried, he really did, but it was very difficult to keep those kinds of thoughts from forming. He could at least keep them inside better than before, but every time he still thought about them, he remembered what an awful person he truly was deep down.
He looked at his plate, having forgotten what he’d ordered. The herb chicken was room temperature.
He went to the bathroom to escape the noise for a few minutes, only for Harry to, once again, follow him. He was able to at least look busy by washing his hands.
“Sorry it wasn't what you were expecting.” Harry said, and Draco stared at him in the mirror for a few seconds before he responded.
“I'm not angry.” He decided to say.
“You don't seem very happy.” Harry said, a simple observation.
Draco turned around to face him then. “It's pretty clear I don't belong here, right?”
Harry tilted his head slightly. “How so?”
Draco wanted to punch him for that. “Are you serious? Look at me! I don't act like them, I don't talk like them, I'm not even dressed like them! And I looked like a fool with that stunt earlier, didn't I?”
“You didn't know.” Harry sighed, leaning against the wall and looking at the door. “I'm sorry.”
“Why?” Draco snapped, irritated. “Why are you apologising? Why did you want me here? Why…” He slows down, letting his frustration fade as he takes in Harry’s expression. He also looked… irritated? Not quite. He looked like he didn't want to be there either. He thinks back to Harry at the table, down on the far corner with him, avoiding talking about his future job. Out of all his friends, he chose to wedge himself between Ron… and Draco. Not Hermione, his other best friend, and not Ginny, his… actually, had they even spoken to each other?
“Did something happen between you and Ginny?”
Harry tensed, but played it off with a laugh. “No, no, nothing happened. We just… you know. It was weird, telling people my girlfriend was still in school, you know? So we're sort of… on a break?” He said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck.
Draco stared at him for a few seconds. “You’re joking. You expect me to believe you broke up because you're insecure about a single-year age gap? Potter, even I know she's too smart to agree to that.” He dried his hands off for a few seconds before leaning against the sink. “Look, I don't really care about your love life, but don't act like you're back here because you care about how I’m doing if that's the case.”
“I do!” Harry said a bit too loudly, giving Draco a wounded look. “I can– bloody hell, I can be uncomfortable and worried about you too!”
“Why?” Draco challenged. He didn't know why the idea of Harry caring about him twisted some sort of knife in his side. He needed to force him to stop lying to his face. To make him admit he didn't care.
“Because we’re the same!” Harry blurted out instead. He looked annoyed for a split second, but then the dam finally burst, and all of his true emotions were free to fall out, starting with his eyes softening. “Because I don't know what the hell I’m doing with my life either. And Ginny does. And Hermione does, and Ron doesn't really care but I– I care! Because I shouldn't even be alive…! I…” He took a second to breathe, clutching the front of his shirt like that would keep it from strangling him. “I was supposed to go down with him, or try to, anyway. And it's a miracle that I didn't. So I… I don't know what I’m supposed to do now. There's no evil to fight, no more destiny to be revealed. I’m just… lost.”
He sighed and looked around, but there was no clock in the bathroom. Well, no one had come looking for them yet. Maybe they hadn't been gone that long.
“… Ginny knows what she wants. She wants to be a Quidditch star. She wants to fight, and win, and make a name for herself, as herself. Not as Harry Potter’s girlfriend. She wants to be a real person, and I’m not even sure what that looks like anymore. What sort of future does The Boy Who Lived have?”
Draco was slowly starting to understand what he meant by all of this. Why he suddenly started reaching out to Draco, trying to help him on the path to claiming his own future. He wasn't trying to play saviour– he was trying to convince himself it was possible too.
“You have… a future, with a lot of friends.” He started, and Harry gave him a confused look. He wasn't very good at being supportive, though, so he kept trying. “You have a future with a lot of people who care about you. And a future to prove a lot of people wrong.”
It wasn't very good advice. In fact, it seemed pretty incoherent once he heard it said out loud. But, it was true, and it was more than what he could say about his own future.
And against the odds, Harry laughed. Harry was drunk and emotional and somehow, Draco managed to say the right thing that cut through all of that. His chest fluttered.
“Guess I do, huh? Are you one of them?”
Draco smirked. “Probably.”
“Why do we always have to fight before we get along?” Harry suddenly said, standing at the sink next to him and trying to fix his shirt in the mirror.
Draco’s smile fell pretty quickly. “I think I told you, I’m something of an insufferable arse.”
“… Yeah. Think I am too sometimes, though.” Harry mumbled, wetting his fingers and trying to part his hair nicer. He took a step back and smiled. “There, that looks a little better. Sorry about… all of that.”
“Oh please, that was barely a fight.” Draco said, stepping away from the sink but still watching the mirror. He’d never seen what it looked like, to have Harry standing beside him before. He wanted a photograph. But his memory would do for now. “Apologise for those trousers instead.”
“Oi, I like these!” Harry laughed, and Draco finally understood what that strange feeling was– he liked being the reason Harry laughed.
In fact, he was probably looking at Harry the same way Harry looked at him when he’d first started opening up nearly a year ago. Harry seemed happy once they were back at the table, happy to be there, and he was the reason for it.
Maybe Draco really was capable of being a good person, somehow.
He forgot to give Harry the money, but he was presented another opportunity when he was invited to hang out for his birthday again.
“Wow, you're early. You're the first one here.” Harry had said, smiling in amusement.
“I suppose I had nothing else going on.” He replied, still standing in the doorway to 12 Grimmauld Place. He’d started to take off his shoes, but there wasn't any obvious area to put them, and the floor didn't exactly look clean, so he kept them on even though it felt weird. His parents would have scolded him for wearing wet shoes inside. Harry didn't comment, so it was probably fine.
“And just so we’re clear, those are the least formal clothes you have.” Harry said with a chuckle.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I get it, I dress weird and talk weird and I am overall doing you a favour by stooping down to your level any time you write to me.”
“Hey, I’m not making fun of you, I’m just wondering if you even own shorts.”
“I did when I was about ten. Besides, it's raining.”
“Yeah, but it's almost thirty degrees out.”
Draco huffed, looking away. Why did he even bother coming? Why does he let Harry get to him like this…?
“Well, I suppose since no one else is here yet, I won't have to make a fool of myself in front of anyone that matters.”
Harry had started to say something, but his amused expression immediately dropped when Draco reached into his bag. He heard the money shifting in the envelope before he saw it.
“Oh, Draco, you didn't have to, we don't really–”
“Shut up.” Draco interrupted. He gripped the envelope tightly, so that the money wouldn't rattle and give away that his hands were shaking. “You think this isn't weird for me too? Somehow, you… changed my life, even though I’ve wanted nothing more than to ruin yours for a long time. So let me thank you in the only way I know how.”
The Malfoys didn't apologise. They didn't thank people. They gave money and gifts in exchange for services, and took them away when the favours were overdue. All of their relationships were transactional. It's all he knows how to be.
Harry suddenly hugged him.
It was weird. The way he was raised, that just wasn't something you did. Hugs were for romantic couples, or comforting the grieving, or perhaps even reuniting with a very good friend you haven't seen in a long time.
His mother hugged him once, the day he departed for Hogwarts. Before they left for the train station, she knelt and hugged him, overcome with emotions. Draco never doubted she loved him. She always provided whatever he needed or wanted, even while he was away. She could be terrible to other people, but never to him and his father. His parents were not physically affectionate to him or each other, that's just now how they were. He was pretty sure the only time he’d seen them kiss was the morning before their trial, believing they might never see each other again.
Harry had also held him before, but that was to keep Draco from losing a limb while they Apparated. This felt entirely different.
That hug was longer than a few seconds. How much did Harry actually like him…?
“This works too,” He’d said, “if that's okay.”
Draco wasn't sure if it was. It still felt weird. “It’s warm.” He observed, unhelpfully. Harry laughed.
“Well, maybe you should've worn short sleeves!” After a few more seconds, he seemed to realise Draco was uncomfortable, and finally let him go. “Sorry.”
“It's fine.” Draco lied, offering the envelope to him again. Their fingers brushed as Harry accepted it. Draco spoke without thinking. “Next time, just hold my hand instead.”
The air was somehow more tense after he said that than during the hug. Harry’s face turned bright red. “Are you flirting with me?” He said dumbly.
Draco gave him an incredulous look. “Didn't you just hug me?”
“I-I mean, mates can hug too, right?” Harry said, and for a few seconds Draco felt absolute panic.
Draco wasn't raised to be any sort of “normal,” why would his assumptions about a simple stupid hug be correct? Was he so insulated and lonely that he honestly believed Harry bloody Potter could be interested in him romantically? It was a stretch enough to assume he even wanted to be friends and not just use him as some sort of weird heroic social experiment, and now he’s completely ruined even that because he couldn't understand the intention behind a hug.
He must have been visibly distressed, because Harry tried to save the conversation. “I-I mean, don't get me wrong, I do think you're really cute…!”
That didn't save it as much as it just gave Draco whiplash. Harry’s face could only get redder if it was actively bleeding, so he was probably telling the truth. “What?”
Harry groaned, taking off his glasses so he could rub his face in embarrassment. “Bloody hell, this is not how I wanted to come out.”
Draco was still standing next to the door. He could always just leave. The hidden street he was instructed to Apparate to and from wasn't a very long walk away, hell, because of the rain maybe he could just do it in the middle of the street if there weren't any Muggles out.
But maybe there was a reason he was still here.
“Had something a bit more romantic in mind?” He asked, and though it sounded far more teasing and… well, Draco-like in his head, his throat was tense and gave away his true feelings.
He wanted to stay here with Harry Potter.
Harry let out a nervous laugh, slowly uncovering his face. He looked weird without his glasses. His eyes looked too small. “No, I’m frankly quite terrible at romance.”
Draco nodded, looking away. “So we have two things in common.”
Harry put his glasses back on. “Are you having me on right now? Or do you actually fancy me?” He asked bluntly, and Draco couldn't blame him. He also found the idea of Harry holding those kind of feelings for him suspicious.
But there was only one way to find out.
“I don't know.” He said honestly. “But, when you taught me how to perform the Patronus charm, I…” He took a deep breath and dared to look at him. “I thought about you. I think about you, and how you invited me and included me and took care of me when I was not in my right mind, and it makes me… happy.” Harry’s expression brightened, and he had to look away again. “Don't think that makes me some pining, lovesick loser looking for your approval, Potter. I'm just confused because I don't know what your version of “friendship” is supposed to make me feel.”
“Do you think I’m cute?” Harry asked, completely ignoring what Draco had just said.
“What?”
“Like, would you actually want to date me?”
It was Draco’s turn to turn red. “You're not that cute.” He said, completely ignoring what Harry had just asked. Harry smiled.
Now it was a game.
“That's fine, you can be the cute one, I’ll be the handsome one.”
“You're not handsome , either.” Draco fought, turning even more red. Harry laughed.
“You think I’m cool then?”
“You are not even a little bit cool.”
“What kind of blokes do you fancy, then?”
“Muppets, apparently.”
“Oh, you really are bad at romance.”
“Alright, why don't you give it a go.” Draco challenged, leaning against the wall. Harry stared at him for several seconds.
“I think I’m obsessed with you.”
Draco snorted. “Abysmal.”
“Yeah, that sounded bad in my head too.”
“I meant your taste in men.”
Harry wheezed. “Why don't we go sit down.”
Draco frowned. “Are my shoes okay?”
Harry looked down at them, not understanding the meaning behind his question. “Yeah, they're nice. Shoelaces are still tied.”
The house was… interesting. It felt like walking through an old, antique dollhouse that had been left in an attic for a century, down to the dirt and cobwebs. Draco kept his tongue between his teeth, but he was careful not to touch anything. He wasn't a germophobe, but the thought of feeling the grit under his fingers physically repulsed him. He could see it beautiful once restored, but for now, he couldn't believe Harry lived like this. In fact, it was obvious what parts of the house Harry used because they were the cleanest. The living room was nice, but the books had clearly never been read, and his mother would have burned that carpet rather than try to get those stains out.
Of course, blood was easier to get out of carpet than hardwood, which drove her mad as well.
Harry was saying something, but he had been too distracted by his thoughts to hear him. It was probably boring anyway.
“Am I your boyfriend now?” Draco interrupted. Harry’s face had just started to look normal again, but his ears were turning pink as soon as he was asked that. “I think we just confessed that we fancy each other. Is that all, or do we have to go on a date first?”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, sat on the old sofa. “Oh. I guess so? I mean, I guess I called Ginny my girlfriend without going on a real date with her. But I’d also kissed her?”
“So we have to kiss first.” Draco stated more than asked, very confused. That seemed like a huge step, right? He didn't think he’d be capable of doing it yet.
“What? No, I don't think so.” Harry said, and Draco visibly relaxed a little. “It’s not like… there aren't exactly rules to a relationship, I don't think.”
“Of course there are. There's rules to all kinds of relationships.”
“Well, no one taught me what they are.” Harry smirked, although it slowly fell and was replaced with something anxious. He looked towards the empty fireplace. “So, relax, I'm not some stuffy princess you’ve gotta impress. I’m just some normal bloke, alright?”
Just some bloke, said Harry Potter. But, Draco hesitated. Because to him, that clearly meant he didn't want to be treated special. He didn't want to be treated as Harry Potter, he wanted to be… normal. Luckily, Draco never thought he was special.
Actually, he did. But he stomped that part down for years out of jealousy.
“I've always thought the people treating you like some special chosen-one-royalty were way overblown.” Draco sneered, sitting on the sofa with him. Not too close, but he wasn't hiding on the opposite end like he might've otherwise. Harry looked at him, and his eyes were so bright and saturated that it made Draco sort of nervous. If it had been a novel he was reading, he’d expect this was the time for the main love interest to make a move. But he didn't– he couldn't. So he sat still and stiff and looked away.
“Let’s not tell anybody else.” He said instead of about a hundred other things that would remain on topic. “I'd rather not make the news.”
He didn't see the face Harry was making, but the chuckle he let out sounded relieved. “We're up to three things we have in common.”
A deep bell rang throughout the house. Draco flinched, and Harry stood.
“That’ll be Hermione. Congrats on making it here before her, by the way.”
“I’m sure Weasley slows her down now.” Draco mumbled, and Harry laughed harder than he’d ever heard before.
“Yeah, you might be right about that one. Stop worrying about them now. You fit in just fine with the rest of us.” He’d said, and Draco couldn't stop thinking about that for the rest of the night.
For the next few days, Draco had let himself get a bit freaked out over the whole “boyfriend” thing. He wasn't entirely sure if he was making the right decision. Did he actually love Harry? Or did he simply let himself get overly attached to the first person who showed him honest kindness? It wasn't like he could talk to his parents about this. Not that he didn't think they'd accept Draco wanting to be with another man– although they'd surely be very disappointed at the lack of an heir– but they would likely urge him to exploit Harry’s standing in the wizarding community to improve their family name once again.
He doubted himself until Harry sent him another letter.
If all the Hogwarts houses combined, this would be their mascot.
The rest of the page showed a Chimera traced from a textbook, but the goat parts were replaced with bird legs and what was supposed to be a badger head, but instead resembled a weird horse. That was it, no formality, not even his name. Just something silly Harry wanted him to see after a long day of training.
Draco realised that he really did love him.