chapter four
The air in the drawing room felt heavy, as though the walls themselves were closing in. Draco sat perched on the edge of the old, worn-out sofa, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, trying to steady the trembling in his fingers. The confrontation with Sirius earlier had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. Even now, hours later, the words kept replaying in his mind, echoing relentlessly.
Has someone hurt you?
It wasn’t the question that had sent his heart racing, but the fact that Sirius had known. He had seen it—seen past Draco’s careful mask, past the walls he had so meticulously built to keep everyone out. He had seen the truth, and that terrified Draco more than anything.
His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he tried to calm the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm him. His chest felt tight, like there was a weight pressing down on it, and the room suddenly seemed much smaller, the air too thick to breathe.
Draco pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing himself to calm down. He couldn’t have a panic attack. Not here. Not now.
But it was no use. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound of it deafening in his ears, and his vision blurred as the panic clawed at him, making it impossible to think, to breathe.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Harry stepped into the room.
“Draco?” Harry’s voice was soft, filled with concern as he immediately noticed the tension in Draco’s posture, the way his hands were trembling. He crossed the room quickly, kneeling in front of Draco, his eyes wide with worry. “What’s wrong?”
Draco tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. His throat felt tight, his chest constricting as his breath hitched painfully. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep control, but it was slipping away too fast. He felt trapped in his own mind, his thoughts spiraling out of control, and he couldn’t stop it.
“Hey, hey,” Harry said gently, taking Draco’s hands in his own, prying them open carefully. “Breathe, okay? Just focus on me. You’re alright.”
Draco’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the crushing panic, but Harry’s voice was steady, grounding him in the present.
“You’re safe,” Harry whispered, his thumb rubbing slow, calming circles over the back of Draco’s hand. “Just breathe with me, okay? In and out. Slowly.”
Harry breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly, guiding Draco through each breath. It took a moment, but eventually, Draco’s breathing began to slow, his heart rate gradually calming as the panic ebbed away, leaving him feeling drained and exhausted.
“There you go,” Harry murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
Draco opened his eyes, his vision still a little hazy from the aftershocks of the panic attack, but Harry’s face came into focus, his green eyes filled with nothing but concern and warmth.
“I—” Draco started, his voice hoarse, but he couldn’t find the right words. He hated that Harry had seen him like this—so vulnerable, so… broken. But there was no judgment in Harry’s gaze, no pity. Just love.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Harry said softly, sitting beside him on the sofa and pulling Draco gently into his arms. “Just let me hold you.”
Draco hesitated for a moment before he let himself lean into Harry, resting his head against Harry’s shoulder, his body trembling slightly as he tried to regain control. He could feel the steady rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat beneath his cheek, and it was comforting—reassuring.
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet of the room, the tension slowly draining from Draco’s body as Harry held him close. It was strange, this feeling of safety, of being cared for. Draco wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to letting people see him like this—fragile, vulnerable. But with Harry, it felt… different. It felt okay.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Draco whispered after a long silence, his voice barely above a murmur.
“Do what?” Harry asked, his hand gently stroking Draco’s hair, fingers threading through the blond strands.
“Make me feel… like this,” Draco admitted, his voice faltering slightly. “Like I don’t have to be perfect all the time.”
Harry smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Draco’s head. “You don’t have to be anything but yourself with me,” he whispered. “I love you, scars and all.”
Draco’s chest tightened at the words, but this time, it wasn’t from panic. It was something else, something warmer, something he had been afraid to feel for so long. Love. Real love. Not the conditional, stifling kind his family had forced on him, but something genuine, something pure.
He lifted his head slightly, his eyes meeting Harry’s, and for the first time, he let the walls fall. He let Harry see all of it—the fear, the pain, the scars that ran deeper than the ones on his skin. And Harry didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He just held Draco’s gaze, his expression soft and full of affection.
Slowly, Draco leaned in, his breath ghosting over Harry’s lips before he closed the distance, pressing his mouth to Harry’s in a slow, gentle kiss. It wasn’t desperate or rushed—just soft, reassuring, like a promise.
Harry kissed him back just as tenderly, one hand sliding to cup the back of Draco’s neck, the other still resting on his waist, keeping him close. The kiss was filled with warmth, with quiet understanding, and Draco felt his heart swell in his chest, the panic and fear melting away completely.
When they finally pulled back, Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”
Draco’s throat tightened again, but this time, it was from something sweeter, something softer. He had never thought he could feel this way—loved, safe, wanted. But here, in Harry’s arms, with the weight of his past finally starting to lift, he felt like he was finally allowed to breathe again.
“Thank you,” Draco whispered, his voice barely audible, but Harry heard him. He always did.
Harry kissed him again, this time a little firmer, a little deeper, and Draco felt himself relax completely into the embrace, letting go of the last remnants of his fear.
For the first time in a long time, Draco felt like he could just be. No masks, no walls, no pretenses. Just himself, with Harry by his side.
Later that evening, as they sat around the dinner table with Sirius and Remus, the atmosphere was light, easy. Harry and Draco moved in perfect sync, passing plates and glasses to each other without needing to ask, sharing quiet glances and soft smiles that didn’t go unnoticed by the others.
“You two are a right pair,” Sirius commented, raising an eyebrow as he watched them. “I swear, it’s like you’re reading each other’s minds.”
Draco smirked, his usual confidence creeping back into his demeanor, though there was something softer in his expression now. “We just work well together, Black. Not everyone can be as uncoordinated as you.”
Sirius chuckled, though his eyes flickered with something deeper, something more understanding. He had seen the cracks, and though he hadn’t said anything, Draco knew that Sirius had put the pieces together. But for now, he didn’t press. He simply let Draco be, and for that, Draco was grateful.
Remus smiled warmly from across the table, his eyes softening as he watched the way Draco and Harry interacted. “It’s good to see you both like this,” he said quietly. “You deserve to be happy.”
Draco felt a lump form in his throat at the words, but for once, he didn’t try to push it down. He let himself feel it—the warmth, the acceptance, the love. And for the first time in his life, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could have this. He could be happy.