Chapter 1
The first time Draco noticed his sweaters missing he didn’t think much of it. It's not like the Ministry janitors didn’t ‘accidentally’ throw his things away every now and then and honestly Draco had practically gotten used to the odd knick knack disappearing off of his desk with no explanation only to reappear in the trash can. He simply stopped leaving his valuables out.
But the sweaters consistently going missing was getting a little strange. For one he never found them once they went missing. They just disappeared for a time before appearing back on his desk freshly washed and neatly folded.
Occasionally, he’d spot a cross looking Hermione Granger speed walk back towards Potters office, but apart from that he saw no one else coming and going.
But even stranger was that they disappeared and reappeared on a schedule. They’d go missing every Tuesday and be back by the following Sunday. Draco had taken to bringing two jackets on Tuesdays to brave the cold English weather. Whoever it was stealing the jackets left one of them alone.
Honestly Draco had started getting used to the strange thing he and the mystery thief had going on. It’s not like it was hurting anyone. In fact, since it started, the sweaters have become the only thing on Draco's desk that went missing.
So Draco had accepted it, for the first couple of weeks. Had let whoever it was take his sweaters, but three weeks in both of his jackets went missing. When he brought another jacket in again the next day that one went missing as well.
He decided on not bringing a jacket after that. Why should he if the stranger stealing them wasn’t returning them? But when he returned from his lunch break a jacket that didn’t belong to him was folded neatly on his desk. A sticky note was on top of the jacket and in a somehow familiar messy scrawl, a single word…
‘Sorry,’
Distantly, he could hear Granger shouting stunning spells.
~~~
Everything was hot. So hot. Harry had to be melting.
Hermione was eying him with concern, a welcome change from the glares she's been giving him recently, but her suggestion was notably less welcome.
“You need to go to Mungos, Harry.” She places her palm on his forehead, the touch almost burns, “You’re running a 40 degree fever.”
He spins away from her in his chair, the action makes him dizzy, “‘m fine ‘mione,”
“At least go home,” She frowns.
“No-” He feels his entire body recoil at the suggestion, he can't leave, he can’t, he has to stay, “It was worse at home.”
He thinks back to how empty Grimmauld Place felt, his skin had itched and the air refused to enter his lungs.
He eyes the three sweaters in the bottom drawer of his desk. He was trying to ignore them but he couldn’t help but reach down and rub the fabric between his fingers. It was soft and well worn and so enticing.
The usual irritation returned to Hermione's stare, when she spoke it was as though she was in another room, “I thought you had agreed to stop taking those,”
Harry roughly shoved his drawer closed and glared, something low and unwelcome building in his chest. The type of rage he hadn’t felt since he still had a horcrux in his forehead coursed through him. Animalistic and raw. It was almost a physical separate thing threatening to boil over. It ached.
He could feel the usually tight grip he had on his magic faltering with every word.
“You’re confusing Malfoy and I saw him shivering on his way into the department,” Malfoys name hits him like a bucket of cold water.
Harry's eyes widened. Malfoy’s cold? He grabbed his own jacket and started trudging towards Malfoys cubical.
“Harry, no.” Hermione tried to stand in the way of the door but he pushed her aside with a single motion of his hand and her back hit the wall with a thud.
When he arrived at Malfoys desk no one was sitting at it, he breathed deeply. The air around Malfoys desk somehow felt clearer, cooler. He folded his own jacket neatly and placed it gently on Malfoy’s desk. Nabbing a sticky note and a pen he scrawled out a quick sorry and placed it atop the pile.
He took a moment to relish in the ease he could breathe whilst standing near Malfoys desk. He knew he couldn’t stay for long but these few seconds might as well have been gold for the relief they provided him with.
Standing here, clarity washes over him. He shoved Hermione into a wall- fuck.
He had never gotten so physical with her. Even at his angriest he had never laid a finger on her. What was he thinking.
He starts walking away from the desk but with every step his brain feels foggier. By the time he makes it back to his own office he is back to feeling like shit and Hermiones bewildered stare barely registered as he collapsed back into his chair.
The shaky grasp he had on his magic before stopping by Malfoy’s desk returns with a ferocity and he gasps at the sudden influx of raw power. It bubbles up in his throat and spreads across his skin, it burns. He barely registers the feeling of his own nails raking against his throat, or the sound of Hermione shouting stunning spells at him. The only thing in his mind was how good it felt near Malfoy’s desk.
He yanks open the drawer where he was keeping the sweaters and pushes them into his face. Breathing in deeply, he feels a muted version of the prior feeling, not nearly enough to allow him any level of serenity. The fever and pain still cuts sharply through any relief they offered.
His own magic seems to collapse in on him and for a moment he feels as though he is the center of a black hole, matter crowding him before Hermione's spell takes and he collapses into a heap, still holding the sweaters to his chest.
Even as she apperated him to Mungos his grip refused to loosen.