Chapter Six
He remained sitting in bed, sleepless, his dinner cold and untouched on the tray on the bedside table to his left. That thick and heavy book remained open on his lap, on chapter five, which was marked with a satin ribbon. Despite the book, Draco continued to look at the window, dejectedly, at the change of season from autumn to winter.
Hogwarts was in the far north of the United Kingdom, right? A remote and cold place. But Draco didn't care about that, he liked the snow, being able to play in the snow. He wished he wasn't stuck in this room. He wished he could play in that white snow that covered the grass outside.
— Well, so this is your new room? — Draco turned his head from the window.
He saw that black-haired boy again. He was wearing blue and white striped pajamas that looked really uncomfortable. The boy's hair was messier than the last time he saw him. He was staring at Draco a few steps away from the bed. When had he come in?
— You still haven't shown up for classes. — the boy examined him thoroughly with those beautiful green eyes. So alive and bright. — Some people are saying that you have some kind of highly contagious disease and that's why you were sent to isolation. But they also say they saw you wandering around the castle in the middle of the night as if you were a zombie, so some people are saying that you were bitten.
Draco remained silent, staring at the handsome and attractive boy. He didn't remember that boy, he didn't know how that boy knew about him. And what infirmary? Draco had never been to the Hogwarts infirmary, he had been in this room since he arrived at Hogwarts... When did he arrive at Hogwarts? He couldn't remember. It seemed like a long time ago, but it also seemed like that was his first day there.
— What's wrong with you, Malfoy? You only went to class for two weeks and were in the infirmary until a few days ago. And now you're here.
Draco looked up from the blanket and stared at that intense green. That boy. His mind was spinning around that boy who was so familiar, yet so strange at the same time. Draco had the feeling he knew him, but he couldn't remember when, where or how he met him.
Harry.
His name is Harry, he managed to remember.
Harry what?
Draco could only remember the first name, the fog of the surname hovering in his mind, but Draco liked having the boy's eyes on him, having his attention.
— I don't know. — Draco replied in a low voice.
— You don't know? How do you not know?
Draco shrugged, looking away at the blanket, playing with one of the corners.
— They don't tell me.
— And you don't have the ability to tell yourself what's wrong?
— No… I don't feel anything. I don't feel sick. They just say I'm too sick to stay home, that it's better for me to recover here.
Harry frowned, looking confused and a little worried.
— So they put you here without telling you exactly what's wrong? — Harry asked, now moving closer to the bed.
Draco nodded, still avoiding Harry's eyes.
— I don't understand either. — Draco murmured, his low voice barely audible. — I feel like something's wrong, but I can't explain what it is. It's like…
Draco didn't continue.
Harry narrowed his eyes, sensing that there was something much deeper there. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
— Like… — he encouraged.
Draco finally looked up and stared at Harry. His gray eyes seemed dull, as if something important was being forgotten, lost in the shadows of his own mind.
— I don't know... My memories, my emotions... Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in a dream.
Harry remained silent, letting Draco continue.
— I don't know who's right or wrong. Who's my friend, who's my enemy... until you. — Draco looked directly into Harry's eyes. — I don't know why, but I feel like I've met you before. Like you're a significant part of my life, somehow.”
Harry took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Draco's words, the confusion and pain he was carrying.
— Draco, I… — Harry began, but stopped halfway, thinking. — Forget it.
That boy kept coming to visit him every night. He asked questions that Draco couldn't answer, told stories that Draco couldn't remember, and talked about things that Draco didn't understand. At least he had some company and didn't have to focus so much on that loneliness and discouragement.
When did he start feeling so sad and alone?
Uncle Sev kept visiting him at least once a day to see how he was doing. Draco always expressed his unhappiness and desire to go home, to see his parents, and Uncle Sev kept telling him that Draco couldn't leave, that he wasn't well enough to do that.
Draco tried to convince him to let him leave that room for a while, claiming that he was tired of being alone and doing nothing all day. At least, he thought he was doing nothing all day. Things were getting more and more confusing, his actions more and more disjointed, as if some of the linearity in his attitudes was missing.
— You've been so polite lately. The first few times you threw me out of the room, shouting and throwing me out, yelling and cursing. And now you barely insult me. What happened? Have you become a decent person? — the boy asked him, sitting in an armchair next to his bed that Uncle Sev had recently put up.
Draco remained silent, watching the snow fall outside. He loved the snow. He loved playing in it, making snowmen. He wanted to play in the snow.
— You look upset. — the boy said, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.
— I don’t like it here. — Draco replied, still without taking his eyes off the window.
— Why? Aren’t things here good enough for you, Your Majesty?
— I want to see my parents.
The boy remained silent. Draco felt those green eyes piercing him, but he still didn’t look.
He wanted to go back home, to his parents. He wanted to play in the snow. He loved the snow, he loved playing in the snow. His mother also loved the snow. She would always play with him in the house's extensive gardens, making snow angels, snowmen, snow forts, snowball fights, and at the end of the day they would take a hot bath, sit in front of the fireplace wrapped in blankets and drink tea with chocolate chip cookies.
Draco sighed, looking away from the window. A figure in his peripheral vision drew his attention to the armchair next to his bed. Draco saw, sitting there, with his feet up on the armchair and a mug in his hands, a handsome boy, with vivid green eyes like a forest in spring and messy hair as black as a raven's feathers, looking at him with an expression of surprise.
Draco tilted his head to the side, studying the boy curiously.
— Hello. — he said. — Who are you? — Draco asked, curious to know who this attractive boy next to his bed was.
The boy frowned, his previously confused and harmless expression changing to one of anger. Anger and confusion.
— What do you mean with who am I?
— I don’t know you.
— Stop with that shit, Malfoy! — the boy said through gritted teeth.
Draco flinched, looking warily at the handsome boy.
— I apologize, I really don’t know you.
The boy fell silent, the anger slowly leaving his face as he realized Draco was telling the truth. Without saying anything, the boy stood up, leaving the mug on the bedside table and walking towards the empty bookshelf, pulling it open, revealing a secret passage, and leaving without saying anything.
Draco continued to stare at the bookshelf for a while, a feeling of sadness and disappointment growing in his chest that the pretty boy was gone.
Draco stared at chapter five of the book on his lap. He was tired of being alone, the loneliness made that strange sadness and anguish worse. He felt his breathing difficult due to an unfounded anxiety, making him restless in bed. He had been like this since he was left alone a few hours ago.
He looked away from the book when he heard the sound of the bookshelf being dragged. There was that handsome boy again, looking at him shyly and reluctantly.
— You're back. — Draco tried to contain his smile at having his company again.
— Yes… — the boy said hesitantly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
—What's your name? — Draco asked to break the awkward silence that had already begun to settle between them.
— You really don't remember?
— Sorry, I've never seen you before.
The boy nodded, looking at the floor for a moment.
— It's Harry. — he answered, looking into his eyes.
— Harry. — Draco said to himself, trying out the sound of the name.
He thought that name suited the boy. A beautiful name for a beautiful boy.
Draco bit his lip to hold back a smile at that thought.
— Mine is Draco. Draco Malfoy.
— I know.
— You know? How? — Draco tilted his head to the side, curious.
— I know who you are. I've seen you around school.
Harry seemed nervous, as if something was bothering him. He approached with slow steps, sitting in the armchair next to him, watching him carefully. Draco looked away to the bed, feeling uncomfortable with that silence. He looked back at the snow outside, trying to distract himself and not think about the feeling of the boy’s eyes on him.
— What do you like to do in your free time?” — Harry asked.
Draco looked at him again, staring at those vivid green eyes again.
— I like reading, hunting bugs, flying and playing Quidditch, I also like playing piano. — Draco answered after a few seconds of thinking.
— Do you play piano?
— Yes. Mom taught me. Oh, I also like studying potions.
— I know you like potions, I just don't understand how that's possible.
— It's fun. I like to categorize and organize things and I can do that with potions. I can categorize the ingredients, the potions, even the containers. Don't you like potions?
Harry wrinkled his nose, making a face of disgust.
— I hate potions.
— Why?
— I can never do anything right. I always do something wrong and end up ruining the potion. And I don't think my teacher helped much with that, he irritates me.
— Isn't he a good teacher?
— Terrible! — Harry said angrily. — He always tries to humiliate one of his students in front of the rest of the class! And he won't let me off the hook!
— I don't think exposing other students is the attitude of a teacher. It's not right. — Draco saw a flash of surprise in Harry's eyes. — Why doesn't he leave you alone?
— He thinks I'm my father, because I look so much like him. He says I'm arrogant like my father.
— And you are?
Harry let out a laugh, looking at the floor.
— A little. But not like him. My professor is definitely the most arrogant person I've ever met. Even more than…
Harry cut himself off.
Draco looked into his eyes.
— Who?
He asked curiously.
— No, no one. — Harry shook his head, looking at the floor for a moment before returning his gaze to Draco's eyes. — It doesn't matter, it's in the past now.
— Okay. — They fell into an awkward silence again. — And you? What do you like to do? — Draco tried to break the ice.
— I like flying, mostly. And… Well, I don’t have many hobbies. Flying is what I do best. Flying and Defense Against the Dark Arts.
— Do you like Quidditch?
— Are you kidding me? I love Quidditch? How could anyone not like Quidditch? — Harry said with a smile on his face.
Draco thought that smile was beautiful. His eyes were shining with joy, genuine happiness in his expression. A smile as beautiful as everything else, making Draco smile too.
— Do you play?
— I'm a Seeker.
— I wanted to be a Seeker. I want to be able to be part of the Slytherin team when I study at Hogwarts.
Harry's smile faltered for a moment, swallowing hard.
— Do you think you'll be part of Slytherin?
Draco shrugged, looking at the window.
— My whole family is in Slytherin. It's kind of a legacy. Dad would be mad if I was sorted into another house.
— But what about you? — Draco looked at Harry again. — What do you think?
Draco thought in silence for a while.
— I think so. I know what I want, I don't give up until I get it, and I'm loyal to those who are my friends, I know how to stand out even in disadvantageous situations and... Maybe I'm a little proud. — Draco smiled with amusement at the last part, making Harry laugh.
— I'm sure you'll make it on the team.
— How are you so sure?
Harry shrugged.
— I just know.
Draco nodded.
— But what about you? What house are you from?
— Gryffindor, just like my whole family. But I was almost sorted into Slytherin.
— Almost?
— I begged the Sorting Hat not to put me in Slytherin?
— Why would your parents be mad at you for not being in the same house as your family?
— No… I was just an idiot back then. I fell for the story that all Slytherins are evil. — Harry looked deep into Draco's gray eyes. — But I was wrong.
ANOTHER FANFICTION(S):
The Phoenix Fire - Harry Potter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60382195
Ao Amanhecer - Avatar: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47670538