Harry hated the press. Particularly press conferences. Along with going back to Hogwarts for his make-up year he was expected to show up for these conferences where he did nothing but answer question after question for nosy reporters. He'd made it nearly fifteen minutes before the question he'd been dreading was asked.
“Is it true that you are currently in a relationship with a dangerous Deatheater?” Harry tried to glare at the reporter who asked the question but with the whole throng he couldn't determine which one it was.
“I am not.” The shouting started again and he raised his voice to be heard over the din. “I am however currently dating Draco Malfoy who is a brilliant man and is studying to become an auror.” One of the reporters, a rather unpleasant looking man piped up.
“If I may, Mr. Potter, one might say that the answer to my question would have been yes.” Ah, so this was the man that asked.
“One might say that, however if one were to do so one would be very wrong.” His voice had a hard edge that had the reporter he had his glare trained on, take a step back.
“All I'm trying to say is that Mr. Malfoy took a very large part in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named plots and made some… extremely bad decisions that resulted in many deaths.”
“And all I'm saying is that you played a very large part in your parents misery and-” He was cut off by his publicist, Abigail, who quickly stepped in front of him.
“Thank you, unfortunately that's all the questions Mr. Potter has time for.” She dragged him away from the reporters and out of the press conference room. Once they were alone she turned to him, arms crossed. “Now what exactly were you thinking?” Positively fuming he just glared at her. “You can't go around insulting reporters left and right.”
“He started it!” She sighed and rubbed her temples.
“Yes, Harry, I understand that. But there's a certain amount of insults that you just have to take as a public figure.”
“And I have no problem doing that when they're aimed at me but he doesn't get to insult Draco!” Abigail sighed again.
“Go ahead and head back, I'll deal with the reporters.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Though I applaud your choice of insult. I do though background checks on all the reporters and I do believe his parents got divorced.” Harry snorted, then quickly muffled his laughter.
“That's not funny, I shouldn't be laughing.” Abigail bit back a grin.
“It's hilarious. Have a good evening.” He echoed the sentiment before she swept out of the room.
- - -
Harry couldn't find Draco anywhere and he was getting worried. When he hadn't shown up to dinner he had asked Pansy where he was but she had just frowned and said she didn't know. He had checked his dorm afterwards, then pulled out his map but he didn't see his dot anywhere.
After double checking he headed towards the 7th floor corridor, not bothering to hide under his cloak. 8th years technically didn't have a curfew and were allowed to wander. Most still stayed in the dorms at night but some, like Harry, were regularly seen walking the halls at unholy hours of the night.
Coming upon the Room of Requirement he saw that the door was already there, meaning that someone was inside. Quietly opening the door he stepped into a large bedroom like room. There was a crackling fire on one end of the room with chairs around it in a semicircle, a desk with an open notebook on top, and a circular bed.
A small lump underneath the blankets caught his attention. He slowly made his way over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Draco?” There was a small sniffle.
“Go away.” Harry pulled the blanket down, revealing Draco’s tear stained face.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” Harry brushed a few strands of hair off his face and wiped the tears off his cheeks.
“Can you tell me what's going on?” Draco sniffled again and pointed to the floor, some feet away. The Daily Prophet laid there, torn into several pieces.
“Another stupid article.” Harry's jaw clenched.
“I'm going to burn those people to the ground.” Draco laughed lightly but it was full of bitterness.
“They're not wrong. You can't kill them for telling the truth.” Harry scowled.
“It isn't the truth. You were forced into it. You were sixteen, a kid.” Draco just shook his head miserably.
“I still did it.” Harry combed a hand through Draco’s hair. He leaned into the touch and Harry gave him a look of indescribable sadness.
“I wish you didn't truly believe that. I wish you knew how amazing you are.” He pressed a kiss to Draco's forehead. “I wish you could see yourself the way I can.” Blinking back tears Draco held his arms up to Harry.
“Can I have a hug?” Harry smiled.
“Of course you can have a hug.” He laid down next to Draco and pulled him into a tight embrace. He started sobbing in Harry's arms, tears soaking his shirt. Harry just held him to his chest, murmuring reassurances that it's not his fault and he's not a bad person in his ear.
- - -
Draco had fallen asleep an hour ago, entirely worn out. Harry laid, unmoving underneath him, unwilling to risk waking him with even the slightest readjustment.
He hated the press, true seething hatred that he hadn't felt since, well… he didn't know when. They were tearing Draco apart and it killed him to see him so shattered. Nights like this were becoming depressingly more and more routine.
He tightened his grip on Draco’s waist and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He mumbled quietly in his sleep and shifted slightly but didn't wake. He'd deal with the press, one conference, one question at a time if needed.
Harry hated the press.