Chapter 5
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow through the tall windows of the drawing room. Harry sat cross-legged on the rug near the fireplace, leaning against the sofa. The flames flickered softly, the heat licking his face as he stared into the fire, lost in thought.
Across from him, Draco sat perched on a delicate armchair, his legs folded elegantly beneath him. He wore a flowing robe in soft cream with intricate silver embroidery along the cuffs and hem. His hair, brushed to perfection, gleamed in the firelight, and his delicate hands rested lightly on his lap.
For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only with the occasional crackle of the fire. Harry wasn’t sure why he stayed in the room; something about the quiet presence of Draco had become oddly comforting.
Draco broke the silence first, his voice as soft as the silk robes he wore. “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning in expectations?”
Harry turned his gaze to him, surprised by the question. Draco wasn’t looking at him, his silver eyes fixed on the flames, their usual sharpness dulled into something softer.
“Expectations?” Harry echoed.
Draco nodded, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Everyone expects something of me. To be perfect. To be a proper Malfoy.” His voice trembled slightly, but he pressed on. “But sometimes, I wonder if I even know what that means anymore.”
Harry frowned, leaning forward slightly. “What do they expect you to do?”
Draco’s gaze flickered to him for a brief moment before dropping again. “Everything. I’m supposed to uphold the family name, follow in my father’s footsteps, make the right connections, say the right things, dress the right way...” His voice broke off, and he swallowed hard, his pale cheeks tinged with pink. “Even the way I speak and walk—it’s all scrutinized.”
Harry tilted his head, studying the boy in front of him. Draco’s usually composed demeanor was crumbling, leaving him looking fragile and exposed in a way that tugged at something deep in Harry’s chest.
“Your father... is he the one who makes you feel like that?” Harry asked gently.
Draco hesitated, his fingers stilling as he looked up at Harry. “He’s strict,” he said after a long pause. “He has high standards, and he expects me to meet them. No exceptions.”
Harry’s brows knitted together. “That sounds... hard.”
Draco gave a small, bitter laugh. “Hard doesn’t begin to cover it.” He shifted slightly in his seat, the fabric of his robe shimmering in the firelight. “I know he thinks he’s doing what’s best for me. But sometimes, it feels like I can’t breathe.”
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Harry was silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. He thought of the Dursleys, of the cupboard under the stairs, and the constant feeling of being unwanted. Though their situations were different, he could understand the weight of living under someone else’s control.
“I get it,” he said quietly.
Draco looked at him, his silver eyes widening slightly. “You do?”
Harry nodded, leaning back against the sofa. “The Dursleys—my aunt and uncle—they’re nothing like your family, but they made my life miserable. They didn’t expect me to be perfect. They just didn’t want me at all.”
Draco’s delicate features softened, a look of sympathy crossing his face. “That’s awful,” he said softly.
Harry shrugged, though his chest tightened at the memory. “I spent most of my childhood trying to stay out of their way. They never let me forget that I didn’t belong.”
Draco’s gaze lingered on him, his expression unreadable. “But you do belong,” he said after a moment, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.
Harry blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“You belong,” Draco repeated, more firmly this time. “In the wizarding world. At Hogwarts. You’re... remarkable, Harry.”
The sincerity in Draco’s voice left Harry momentarily speechless. He wasn’t sure how to respond to such an unexpected compliment, especially coming from someone like Draco.
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Draco glanced away, his cheeks flushing faintly. “I mean it,” he said, his tone slightly defensive as if trying to cover his vulnerability. “You’ve done things most wizards our age couldn’t dream of. You’ve faced things I’d be terrified of.”
Harry chuckled softly. “I don’t know about that. Half the time, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Draco smiled faintly, the corners of his lips turning up in a way that was both shy and genuine. “Maybe that’s what makes you so remarkable.”
Harry felt his own cheeks heat, and he quickly changed the subject. “What about you? What do you want to do—if you didn’t have to worry about what your father or anyone else thinks?”
Draco looked down at his lap, his fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of his robe. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve always been so focused on what I’m supposed to do that I never considered what I want.”
“Well, what do you like?” Harry asked.
Draco hesitated, his expression thoughtful. “I like art,” he said slowly. “And music. And... exploring. Seeing new places.”
Harry grinned. “Sounds like you’ve got an adventurous side after all.”
Draco’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Maybe. But it’s easier to imagine than to actually do.”
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They sat in silence for a while after that, the fire crackling softly between them. Harry found himself watching Draco, taking in the way his pale lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the way his slender fingers moved with an almost ethereal grace.
“You’re braver than you think,” Harry said suddenly, surprising himself as much as Draco.
Draco looked at him, startled. “What?”
“Braver than you think,” Harry repeated. “It takes courage to be honest about how you’re feeling. And to want something different.”
Draco stared at him for a long moment, his silver eyes shimmering with something Harry couldn’t quite place. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that made Harry’s chest feel strangely warm.
“Thank you,” Draco said quietly.
And for the first time, Harry felt like they were truly beginning to understand each other.
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The next morning, Harry found himself walking through the bustling streets of the nearby French village with Sirius. The air was crisp and warm, and the quaint cobblestones glistened faintly from an early morning mist. Bright flowers spilled from window boxes, their vibrant colors contrasting with the soft pastel tones of the buildings.
Sirius had insisted they take a break from the manor and enjoy a day exploring. “You’ve been cooped up for days,” he said with a grin. “France isn’t just about posh manors and high tea. There’s life out here, Harry. Color. Energy.”
Harry couldn’t deny that Sirius had a point. The village was alive with chatter, music, and the enticing scents of freshly baked bread and roasting chestnuts.
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As they wandered through the market square, Sirius turned to Harry, his gray eyes glinting with mischief. “So, how’s it going with young Malfoy?”
Harry nearly choked on the piece of baguette he’d just bitten into. “What?”
“Oh, don’t play coy,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’ve seen you two together. Spending more time around each other than you probably expected, huh?”
Harry hesitated, unsure how to put his thoughts into words. “It’s... surprising,” he admitted finally. “He’s not like I thought he’d be.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “And what did you think he’d be like?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said, shrugging. “Arrogant, I guess. But he’s not. He’s... different. Quieter. Softer.”
Sirius chuckled. “Ah, the infamous Malfoy charm. Narcissa’s always been the softer one in that family. I suppose it makes sense Draco would take after her more than Lucius.”
Harry frowned. “What was she like? Before all... you know.”
Sirius’s expression grew thoughtful, his playful demeanor momentarily subdued. “Narcissa was always kind to me,” he said. “We didn’t see eye to eye on everything—especially later on—but she had a way of making people feel seen. I imagine that’s why she’s trying so hard with you. She’s good at breaking down walls, even ones built with blood feuds.”
Harry nodded, thinking back to Narcissa’s gentle persistence in encouraging him and Draco to spend time together.
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They paused at a small café, Sirius ordering two cups of strong coffee. As they sat at one of the outdoor tables, Harry decided to change the subject.
“Do you think they’d be proud of me?” he asked quietly.
Sirius looked up from his cup, his expression softening. “Who?”
“My parents,” Harry said, staring at the steam rising from his drink.
Sirius leaned back in his chair, studying Harry for a moment. “Harry,” he said gently, “your parents would be beyond proud of you. James especially. He’d probably be strutting around, telling everyone who’d listen that his son is the bravest wizard alive.”
Harry smiled faintly at the image, though his chest ached. “What about my mum?”
“Lily?” Sirius said, his voice taking on a fond tone. “She’d be proud, too. But she’d be quieter about it. She’d probably just give you that look—the one that says everything without her needing to say a word. And then she’d fuss over whether you’re eating enough.”
Harry laughed softly, imagining his mother doing just that.
Sirius leaned forward, his tone growing serious. “But they wouldn’t just be proud of what you’ve done, Harry. They’d be proud of who you are. Of the choices you’ve made, the way you care about people.”
Harry hesitated, then asked, “What were they like together? My mum and dad?”
Sirius’s face lit up with a wistful smile. “Oh, they were brilliant. James was all charm and confidence, always trying to make Lily laugh. And Lily—well, she kept him grounded. She didn’t put up with his nonsense, but she loved him for it anyway. They balanced each other out.”
Harry nodded, his heart heavy with longing. “I wish I could’ve known them.”
Sirius reached across the table, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know, kid. But you carry them with you every day. In your bravery, your kindness, your determination. They live on in you.”
For a moment, Harry couldn’t speak, his throat tight with emotion. He looked away, blinking back tears, and focused on the sound of the village around them—the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of cups and plates.
Sirius gave him a moment before breaking the silence. “So, what’s this I hear about you and Draco going on adventures?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.
Harry groaned, grateful for the shift in conversation. “It’s not like that,” he said quickly.
Sirius smirked. “Not like what?”
“You know what,” Harry muttered, his cheeks flushing.
“Well, whatever it is, it seems to be doing you some good,” Sirius said, his grin softening into a genuine smile. “You’ve been lighter lately. Happier.”
Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I guess I have.”
And as they finished their coffee and continued wandering through the village, Harry couldn’t help but feel a sense of quiet contentment—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. For once, the weight of the past didn’t feel so heavy, and the future didn’t seem so daunting.