5
Harry comes to, and finds himself lying in the hospital wing.
Again.
He sighs. He sits up with difficulty, muscles straining, his body aching, and he feels around blindly for his glasses.
“Here.” They are pressed firmly into his palm.
“Draco?” Harry asks. He crams the glasses onto his face and then blinks at the blond boy who is seated beside his bed with a severe look on his face. His eyes are bloodshot, his lips pressed into a severe line.
“Potter,” he says, his tone stiff.
Harry shrinks back slightly. He swallows, but his throat is dry, and he dissolves into thick coughs. A glass of water is pressed into his hand and he drinks frantically before Draco yanks it away.
“You’ll make yourself sick,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and Draco closes his eyes for a moment, seeming terribly pained.
Harry’s head starts to feel heavy. He lays back down on the bed, tucking his hands beneath the sheets, and he closes his eyes. “You seem upset.”
“Of course I’m upset.” Draco sounds half-infuriated and half-despairing. “How could I not be, Harry?”
“I just… I wanted it all to go away,” Harry says quietly. “Just for a little while.”
Under the sheets, his hands knot together. He can feel the soft fabric of Mrs. Weasley’s sweater tucked around his waist. He keeps his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to see whatever look is on Draco’s face right now.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Draco finally says, after letting Harry stew in silence for an uncomfortable stretch of time. “You can’t just—put life on pause. Not like that. Not—” Draco cuts himself off and sounds close to tears, although still terribly angry. “Not alone. You promised you’d come and find me. Or Weasley or Granger.”
“But I didn’t want—”
“Two days, Harry. You were missing for two days.”
Harry cringes. He squeezes his eyes even more tightly shut.
“And then—the whole time, you were in that fucking room? In a fucking—what in merlin’s name did you ask it for, a sensory deprivation tank?”
“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, starting to feel very miserable.
“I don’t want you to apologize,” Draco says, his tone sharp. “Look at me, Harry.”
Harry wants nothing less than to open his eyes. But he does, squinting up at Draco who has shifted closer to the bed. Draco reaches out and runs his hand through Harry’s curls. Harry leans into the touch, a quiet sound in the back of his throat, and blinks rapidly.
“I want you to tell me that you’ll never do that again,” Draco says.
“Draco, I can’t—” Harry croaks. “You can’t expect me to just—”
“Shush. Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses. Just listen to me, Harry.” Draco’s grip on Harry’s curls goes taught and Harry makes a strangled sound.
“Draco—”
“You won’t do it again. You’ll come to me, like you promised. And if you need everything to go away for a while, I will make that happen for you in a way that doesn’t put your life at risk.”
Harry shudders, shaking his head mutely, and tries to sit up but Draco presses a hand on his chest, keeping him lying still on the cot.
“S’not— not fair to you,” Harry pushes out through trembling lips, his breath unsteady and his eyes swimming. He blinks up at Draco who is glaring down at him with an unyielding expression.
“Not fair to me?” Draco laughs without humor. He slides his hand up Harry’s chest and to the crux of his throat, wrapping firmly around Harry’s neck. He squeezes once, gently, and Harry whimpers.
“Draco—”
“If life were fair,” he says coldly, “I wouldn’t have been born already destined to the Dark Lord’s inner circle. I wouldn’t have had to take the dark mark at sixteen.” Draco pauses. “No—if life were fair, I wouldn’t have had to testify against my father in front of the Wizengamot, ensuring that he spends the remainder of his miserable life behind bars while my mother wastes away in our empty manor, left with nothing but broken promises, tainted memories and a son who can’t even look her in the eye.”
Harry inhales sharply. He tries to sit up, again, but Draco pushes him back down. “Can you—okay, I’m sorry, just—Draco—”
“If life were fair,” Draco leans in close, “I wouldn’t have been forced to return to this miserable school for one more year, surrounded by students and teachers that would rather see me dead than set foot on these grounds. I wouldn’t have had to spend every waking moment looking over my shoulder, hiding in the dungeons, trying to pass my classes while hiding a bleeding lip or bruised ribs.”
“Draco,” Harry says, breathless, horrified, his eyes fixed on Draco’s pale face. “Draco, stop. I’m sorry, please—”
“If life were fair,” Draco says, ignoring Harry’s protests and leaning in close, exhaling warm breath, dragging his lips along Harry’s jawline, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Harry’s throat, “then all I would ever have to do is hold you, just like this. With my hands wrapped around you. My lips pressed to your skin. My fingers wound through your hair, pulling hard.”
“Hnnnn.”
“That would be fair, now wouldn’t it?”
Harry inhales raggedly. He turns into Draco’s touch, his eyes sinking shut, feeling faint at the way Draco’s voice has dropped into something low and simmering, hungry and dark.
“Wouldn’t it?”
“It—” Harry mumbles. “It… Draco, it—”
“Answer me.”
Harry’s mind is blank. Draco’s lips are hot on his skin, lips dragging from his jaw to the spot below his ear, to the corner of his lips and then down again, pressing hotly across his collarbone, and his hand is pressing tighter, restricting Harry’s airflow just a little bit, just enough to make his heart race, to flood his brain with panic and send warmth coiling low in his stomach—
“Answer me, Harry.”
“What, I— I can’t, I don’t—”
“Tell me it would be fair. Tell me I can have you.”
Harry exhales shakily. “It’s fair, of course it’s fucking fair, Draco please anything, anything you want, take it, will you just take—mmmfh—”
Harry’s desperate words are swallowed up in Draco’s lips pressed firmly to his, hot breath and teeth clashing and Harry can’t breathe, he can’t think and all he can do is press up further into the embrace, his arms wrapping around Draco’s waist and legs tangling together in the flimsy hospital wing sheets.
He never knew that kissing could feel like this. That just the hot, wet feel of Draco’s mouth against his own would make Harry feel like he is combusting from the inside out, skin tingling, stomach flipping and breath coming out hard and frantic. He wants more. He wants nothing but this, for the rest of his life, just the searing heat of Draco’s touch and the warmth of his breath. He wants to feel smothered beneath the weight of him, blanketed by the smooth panes of Draco’s chest and the hard lines of his arms and shoulders.
Draco curves around him, hips pressed to hips, chest to chest, and he keeps one hand wrapped around Harry’s throat and the other wound through his curls, tugging punishingly.
“Draco—”
“Quiet,” Draco murmurs, dragging Harry’s lips into another searing kiss. Harry’s lips part, and he moans, and Draco presses his tongue inside, licking along the inside of his mouth, panting heavily and Harry’s brain feels fuzzy. He squirms beneath Draco, hands twisting in the sheets, and then tugging at Draco’s shirt, and then slipping beneath it, sliding his palms along the smooth expanse of Draco’s chest only marred by faintly upraised scar lines.
Draco rumbles something too low for Harry to understand and then he tightens his grip on Harry’s curls, yanking hard, and at the same time begins to rub his hips over Harry’s, slow and hot and thorough, and Harry makes a strangled sound, his eyes rolling back. All he can feel is the coiled heat in his stomach and the soft, incessant drag of Draco’s thumb over his windpipe, soft lips pressed to his and hot breaths mingling together.
“Please,” Harry gasps any time he can catch a breath. “Please, please Draco please—”
“I thought,” Draco says between kisses, “you were dead.” He nips sharply at Harry’s bottom lip.
“Hnnn—”
“You weren’t breathing, Harry. You didn’t have a pulse.” Draco traces a line of wet kisses along the line of Harry’s jaw and then sucking hard at the spot beneath Harry’s ear. Harry shudders and arches up, pressing into Draco, and Draco shoves him back down.
“I just—just wanted—”
“I don’t care what you wanted,” Draco says, his words hoarse. He laves his tongue along the side of Harry’s neck, making goosebumps bloom all along Harry’s skin. “You’re not in control here. I am.” Draco drags his mouth along Harry’s shoulder and then bites down hard at the crook of his neck.
Harry gasps and squirms beneath him. “Draco—!”
Draco squeezes Harry’s throat again, gently, and Harry falls silent, his vision whiting out. He feels dazed, his pulse thudding heavily in his ears, and all of the cold chill he had felt the other morning is nothing but a fuzzy memory.
“Shhh. That’s it. Quiet, now. And isn’t that what you wanted?”
Harry makes a thick, strangled sound, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.
He can’t really pull a sentence together. He can’t think. He can’t breathe, he can hardly move, it’s just like—
“Ohh,” Harry says, exhaling heavily, his breath shuddering. He sinks back fully into the hospital bed. He stops struggling.
Draco sighs. “There you go. Nice and easy.”
Harry feels the heaviness lifting from his chest, his shoulders, fizzling into the air above them, and he finally feels like he can breathe again. He feels thick tears building at the corners of his eyes and spilling over his cheeks.
Draco stays quiet, letting Harry cry for a long time, only moving to wipe the tear tracks over Harry’s cheeks or to adjust the blankets around him. And Harry cries until he can’t anymore, until his eyes and throat are aching, but his head feels soft and empty and all of the tension has left his body and he finally feels calm and normal for the first time in days.
“Now tell me what’s wrong,” Draco says after a while, finally pulling back a little bit, seating himself on the chair beside Harry’s bed. “Tell me why you did that, Harry.”
Harry swallows. “I told you,” he says slowly, his voice small, still struggling to string words together. “I just wanted… quiet. To be alone. To not have to… deal with… all of it.” He pauses. “To not hurt anyone.”
“Harry,” Draco says, his eyes liquid-soft, taking Harry’s hand. He squeezes it. “When have you ever hurt someone?”
Harry gapes at him. “I… well, it’s…. It was—”
“Tell me,” Draco says, squeezing Harry’s hand again.
“Um, my… my aunt Marge, once. I suppose.”
“What did you do?”
Harry closes his eyes. “I, er. Sort of blew her up.”
Draco doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand. “And why did you do that?” he asks.
“She made me angry,” Harry breathes out, his eyes closed. “Said… things. About my mum. I was so… I don’t think I had ever felt so furious. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to go away.”
“Did she survive?”
Harry half-smiles. He opens his eyes. “She was fine,” he admits. “She only, erm. She sort of floated away into the sky. They had to fetch her and, er— deflate her. She had to be obliviated.”
Draco snorts. “That’s what you meant by ‘blew her up?’”
Harry nods, his face flushing. He shifts on the bed and tries to tug his hand out of Draco’s grip, but Draco doesn’t let go.
“That’s nothing more than a funny story to tell at a slumber party,” Draco says. “That’s nothing, Harry. You didn’t hurt her.”
“I could have,” Harry says somberly. “I wanted to—”
“You didn’t, though.”
Harry falls silent. He grits his teeth. “There were other times,” he says. “Other people I’ve hurt. Lots of them. I don’t know why you—why you treat me like this. Like I’m a good person. Just because I killed Voldemort doesn’t mean—”
“I treat you exactly how you deserve to be treated,” Draco says hotly, sounding frustrated again, although he only shifts closer to Harry’s bedside, hands still firmly clasped around Harry’s. “I can’t let you go through life with such ridiculous guilt bearing down on your shoulders and those sad, lost puppy dog eyes always swimming with tears. You saved us, you blithering idiot. You’ve done enough. And to continue punishing yourself for no good reason—”
“I hurt you,” Harry blurts out, his jaw clenching.
Draco rears back, startled. “Outside, with the other students? No, Harry. I told you I was fine. And you didn’t—”
“No,” Harry interrupts. He reaches out his other hand, the one not entwined with Draco’s, and slides it carefully up Draco’s shirt, pressing his palm to the other boy’s soft, warm skin. He drags his fingertips along the raised scar tissue.
Draco sucks in a sharp breath, going tense.
“In the bathroom,” Harry says quietly.
Draco’s eyes darken. “Don’t. That is not—”
“I could have killed you,” Harry continues. He lowers his gaze down to the blanket draped over his waist. He focuses on the feel of Draco’s skin beneath his hand. “I was blinded by my anger. I went too far, and you almost died because of it.”
“Harry, you can’t possibly—”
“I get so angry,” Harry says. He’s still feeling mostly calm, floaty, although he’s beginning to wish they didn’t have to speak, and that Draco would climb back onto the bed with him and make all of his bad thoughts go away. “All the time. I have all of this— inside me, and it just builds and builds, and I’ve never been able to,” Harry hesitates, “I can’t escape it. And people get hurt because of it. And ever since,” Harry hesitates again, longer this time, “ever since the horcrux in my head was destroyed, my magic has felt… different. And I feel like I can’t control it. I’m scared all the time, and angry, and I never know when I’ll start to get this tight feeling in my chest, like I’m going to explode, or like I need to do—something, let it all out, but I never know exactly how to do that so—”
“Harry,” Draco interrupts, sounding a bit exasperated. He bats Harry’s hand away from his chest and scoots closer, wrapping his palm around Harry’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze— he just rests it there, thumb dragging slowly over Harry’s windpipe.
Harry falls silent.
“I tried to Crucio you,” Draco says casually. “Or did you forget about that part?”
“I remember,” Harry says. He swallows hard, his throat feeling tight, and Draco’s eyes narrow.
“So we were both stupid, that day. Two stupid sixth years who hadn’t learned to communicate beyond harsh words and violence. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, Harry.”
“But—”
“Would you do it again?” Draco says gently. “Would you use the spell on me now? Or on anyone?”
“No,” Harry says, his eyes widening in horror. “No, of course not— I would never—”
“Everyone gets angry sometimes,” Draco says. He presses down slightly on Harry’s throat, and Harry shudders. “You just, well. You get a bit more angry than most, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Harry says, miserable.
“But that’s okay,” Draco hums. He presses down again, and Harry makes a strangled sound. His eyes brim with tears.
“No, Draco—”
“That tight feeling in your chest? That’s called emotion, you numbskull. Do you think you’re the only person in the world to ever feel angry, or scared, or having a panic attack? Do you think you’re the only one suffering PTSD from the war?”
Harry blinks, a bit startled. “No, of course not—”
“What did you think I was doing, when I spent the entire summer locked up in the ministry after the final battle and the trials?” Draco goes on. “Did you think they had me in solitary confinement, or were torturing me for information on the remaining death eaters?”
Harry jerks. He tries to sit up, his heart stuttering in alarm, but Draco keeps him pressed firmly down on the hospital bed.
“They didn’t,” Harry rasps. “Draco, tell me they didn’t— I spoke for you, at your trial, you were declared innocent, they weren’t supposed to—”
Draco snorts. “Of course they didn’t,” he says. “Court ordered therapy, that’s all. Twenty sessions with a ministry-approved mind healer until they could be certain I no longer held sympathies for Voldemort’s cause.”
Harry falters. He stops struggling. “Oh,” he says. “That’s…”
Draco’s mouth slips into a soft smile. He leans in close, hot breath ghosting over Harry’s face, and he presses a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I needed it,” he says quietly. “I was broken. I didn’t know who I was. I was afraid, of everything. I was angry with my parents. Angry with you, even. Bitter. I wanted it all to go away. I was tired of fighting, and I wanted—” Draco pauses, and then sighs. “Well. I’m sure you understand.”
Harry feels his heart sink. “Draco, what do you mean? Did you—”
“Couldn’t conjure my own water tank to drown myself in, could I?” Draco says wryly, and Harry flushes. “No, they wouldn’t let me alone enough to accomplish something like that. And it took time, but I got better.”
“Oh,” Harry says again.
“Yes,” Draco says. He leans in again, presses his mouth to Harry’s more firmly this time, swallowing up Harry’s breathless moan and coaxing his lips open, licking into his mouth and not stopping until Harry’s vision goes dark at the edges, his entire body trembling.
“Draco,” Harry gasps, struggling to sit up on the bed, wanting to be closer, but Draco carefully presses Harry back down.
“There will be time for that later,” Draco says, his tone very soft. “When you’re feeling better.”
Harry shudders, nearly whining in complaint, but sinks compliantly back down. “I’m fine now,” he says, feeling hot, and needy, and wanting Draco all over him, wanting the boy to press his body entirely over Harry’s until he can’t breathe.
“You are not fine,” Draco says dryly. “But that’s alright, isn’t it? I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you. And you’re going to be a good boy and start seeing the school’s mind healer. Aren’t you?”
Harry shudders. “But Draco, I don’t want— I tried that, Hermione made me go and and it’s not—”
“You’re not getting out of it,” Draco says firmly. “If we have to go to Saint Mungo’s and find you a more suitable healer, so be it. But you need this, Harry. Please don’t deny it.”
Harry opens his mouth and then closes it. He sighs.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Draco says, and he sounds a bit hesitant now, almost guilty. “I want to be everything that you need. But that won’t work if you don’t trust me to take care of you. And I’m not always going to be able to get there in time. I need to know that you’re not going to disappear for days on end without a word to anyone as to where you are or what you’re doing to yourself.”
“I won’t,” Harry starts, frowning, but Draco cuts him off.
“I can’t lose you,” Draco says, his eyes dark and glittering. “I won’t. I won’t let you leave me. And I won’t let you do that to Granger and Weasley. Do you understand?”
Harry wants to argue. He wants to complain, to deny all of it, to promise that he’ll be fine and that he doesn’t need any help. But he looks into Draco’s eyes, he shifts on the hospital bed, and his heart falters. It skips a beat. And Harry thinks of the way Draco had looked the other day, on the grounds of Hogwarts, his mouth stained with blood and his eyes glassy. And he thinks that if he can do this, if it will make Draco happy, then he will do it.
“Okay,” he finally says. “I understand. You’re… you’re right. And I’m sorry.” His brow furrows, and he darts his eyes away again. He fidgets with the edge of the hospital blanket. “I haven’t been fair to you at all. I shouldn’t have…”
“Don’t do that,” Draco interrupts gently. “No more apologies. Just… tell me you’re here. Tell me you’re going to do as I say and see a healer. Tell me that you want to live. That you want to get better. Tell me you believe that this life still holds something for you in it, something that you don’t want to let go of for anything, no matter how hard it gets.”
Harry stares at Draco. “It does,” he says. His chest suddenly feels warm and tight, like he can’t breathe, although not in a bad way. He squeezes Draco’s hand. “It does have something for me.”
Draco sighs. He seems incredibly relieved, like a ton of pressure has just been lifted from off his shoulders. He opens his mouth to say something when the doors to the hospital wing are thrown open and Hermione and Ron tumble inside, out of breath, like they’d ran the whole way here.
“Harry!” Ron nearly shouts, racing to Harry’s bedside. He grabs Harry and tugs him into a hug. “Bloody hell, mate.”
Harry wheezes out something incomprehensible, burying his face into Ron’s neck. “M’sorry,” he tries.
“Oh, hush,” Hermione says sharply, her arms coming around both of them. “Harry, you idiot. You scared us! What were you thinking?”
“Clearly, he wasn’t thinking at all,” Draco’s amused voice drawls out from somewhere beside them.
Harry nods in agreement, basking in the feel of his friends’ arms around him. He inhales Hermione’s familiar scent, like peppermint and fresh parchment. “Wasn’t,” he says. “Stupid of me. Won’t do it again.”
“You bloody well better not,” Ron nearly snarls, holding Harry tighter. “I’ll put a leash on you if I have to! Merlin, Harry. We didn’t even think the Room of Requirement was still functional. If Malfoy hadn’t—”
Harry tenses up, and Draco makes a quiet sound of disapproval, and Ron falls silent.
“I know,” Harry says, a bit uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Ron. Hermione. I’m… I’m sorry.” His heart squeezes. He tries to withdraw from within their grasp, but Hermione tuts at him, running her fingers gently through his hair.
“It’s alright love, of course it’s alright. What Ronald means to say,” she pauses, shooting Ron a dirty look, “is only that we’re so very glad that you’re okay. That’s all.” She kisses Harry’s cheek, and Harry flushes.
“You are, aren’t you?” Ron asks gently. He glances between Draco and Harry. “You’re going to be alright, aren’t you Harry?”
Harry nods. He glances between his two best friends, and then over to Draco, and he smiles. He nods again.
“Yes,” he says. “Yeah, I think I’ll be alright.”