Stop running.
As the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Harry felt an ominous weight settling over him. The festive decorations of the holiday break were behind him, replaced by the cold, foreboding presence of Hogwarts in the dead of winter. The snow-covered grounds and the towering, shadowy castle seemed to echo the growing darkness inside him.
Voldemort's presence had become more intrusive over the holiday. Harry could feel the dark tendrils of the Dark Lord's influence reaching deeper into his mind, attempting to twist his thoughts and pry into his memories. It wasn't just the visions anymore—Voldemort was getting stronger, his power seeping into Harry's consciousness, warping his reality. The fear of what Voldemort might find was becoming unbearable, especially now that Draco was part of those memories.
Harry had managed to keep his connection to Voldemort hidden from Sirius over the break, but he could sense Sirius's growing concern. Harry had become more withdrawn, trying to protect everyone by keeping his distance, but it only seemed to make the darkness inside him grow.
As the students began to file out of the train, Harry pulled his cloak tighter around him, trying to shake off the cold that seemed to have settled into his bones. He kept his head down as he walked, avoiding the eyes of the other students. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. He had to stay focused, stay in control, or else Voldemort might find a way to break through.
Draco was somewhere in the crowd, Harry knew. He hadn't seen him yet, but he could feel Draco's presence, like a magnetic pull he couldn't ignore. Harry tried to push it aside, to focus on the task at hand—keeping Voldemort out of his mind. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Draco's face. The memory of their kiss, of the way Draco's eyes had looked at him, was something Voldemort could use against him.
The castle loomed ahead, its stone walls and towering spires like a fortress. Harry tried to draw strength from its familiar presence, but instead, he felt a sense of dread. The safety of Hogwarts felt like a fragile illusion now that Voldemort was trying to infiltrate his mind. If the Dark Lord found out about Draco... Harry couldn't let that happen.
As they entered the Great Hall, the chatter of returning students filled the air, but Harry barely heard it. He moved through the crowd like a ghost, barely acknowledging the greetings of his friends. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances but didn't press him. They knew something was wrong, but Harry wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet.
He took his seat at the Gryffindor table, his eyes flicking over to the Slytherin table across the hall. Draco was there, surrounded by his usual crowd, but something was different. There was a tension in the way Draco held himself, a tightness in his jaw that hadn't been there before. Their eyes met briefly across the hall, and Harry quickly looked away, his heart pounding. He couldn't let Draco know how much he was struggling, couldn't let him see the fear in his eyes.
But as the feast began and the plates filled with food, Harry found it harder and harder to keep his mind focused. The noise of the hall seemed to blur into a dull roar, and the flickering candlelight cast strange shadows that played tricks on his mind. He could feel Voldemort's presence, lurking at the edges of his thoughts, searching for a way in.
Harry clenched his fists under the table, his nails digging into his palms. He had to stay strong. He had to protect his memories, protect Draco. But the more he tried to block Voldemort out, the more he felt his control slipping. It was like trying to hold back a tide with his bare hands.
The feast ended, and the students began to disperse, but Harry barely noticed. He was lost in his own battle, trying to fortify his mental defences against the Dark Lord's intrusion. He knew he needed help, but who could he trust? Dumbledore? Sirius? Hermione and Ron? They wouldn't understand. They wouldn't understand why he couldn't let Voldemort see those memories, why it was so important to keep Draco safe.
As he made his way to the Gryffindor Tower, Harry felt the weight of the world pressing down on him. The familiar warmth of the common room did little to comfort him. His thoughts were a chaotic mess, a swirl of fear, anger, and something he didn't want to name—something that had to do with Draco Malfoy.
He climbed into bed, pulling the curtains shut around him. Sleep was impossible; the nightmares had become relentless. But it wasn't just the nightmares anymore—it was the waking moments when he could feel Voldemort's presence in his mind, pushing, probing, trying to take control.
Harry lay there, staring up at the canopy of his bed, his mind racing. He had to do something before it was too late, before Voldemort found a way to use his feelings against him. But what? How could he protect Draco when he couldn't even protect himself?
He closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was no use. The fear gnawed at him, and the more he tried to resist, the stronger Voldemort's presence became. He was losing control, and with it, any chance of keeping Draco safe.
As the night dragged on, Harry felt a deep sense of despair settling over him. He had to find a way to fight back, to regain control of his mind before Voldemort tore through his defences. But for now, all he could do was lie there, fighting to keep the memories hidden, hoping that somehow, he could keep Draco out of the Dark Lord's reach.
The darkness seemed to close in around him, and Harry knew that this was only the beginning.
-------------------------
The tension between Harry and Draco had grown unbearable. They had been avoiding each other since returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas break, each too consumed by their own fears and uncertainties to confront the other. But the avoidance wasn't sustainable, and they both knew it.
The castle had taken on a gloomier atmosphere since their return, the corridors colder, the shadows darker. Even the bustling students seemed subdued, as if they could sense the underlying tension that thrummed through the very walls of Hogwarts.
Harry had thrown himself into his studies and his responsibilities with the Order of the Phoenix, hoping to distract himself from the confusion that had taken root in his heart. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the thoughts of Draco, the way their encounters lingered in his mind like an unresolved melody.
It was late one evening when they finally crossed paths, alone in a deserted corridor. The wind outside howled against the castle walls, and the flickering torchlight cast long, wavering shadows on the stone floor.
Harry had been on his way back from a meeting with Dumbledore, his thoughts a chaotic tangle of worry and frustration. Draco was walking in the opposite direction, lost in his own thoughts, his usually impeccable appearance slightly disheveled.
They both stopped in their tracks as they saw each other, the space between them suddenly feeling too small, too charged with everything unsaid. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anger, longing, and something he couldn't quite name.
Draco was the first to break the silence. "Potter," he said, his voice low and cautious. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that Harry had never seen before, a glimpse of the boy behind the mask of arrogance and disdain.
"Malfoy," Harry replied, his voice tight with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, or even if he wanted to say anything at all. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of confusion, and standing here now, with Draco so close, everything felt too raw, too complicated.
They stood there for a long moment, the weight of their unresolved issues pressing down on them like the heavy stone ceiling above. Neither of them seemed willing to make the first move, to acknowledge the truth that had been simmering between them for months.
Finally, Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is ridiculous, isn't it?" he muttered, more to himself than to Harry. "We can't keep doing this."
Harry's jaw clenched. "Doing what, Malfoy?" he snapped, though he knew exactly what Draco meant. It was easier to stay angry, to keep the walls up, than to admit how much he cared.
"This," Draco said, gesturing between them. "Pretending like none of it matters. Like we don't..." He trailed off, clearly struggling with the words.
"Like we don't what?" Harry demanded, taking a step closer. His heart was hammering in his chest, the anger mingling with something deeper, something he didn't want to name.
Draco looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, Harry saw the truth in his eyes. The same confusion, the same fear, the same longing. But then Draco looked away, his face hardening.
"This isn't supposed to happen," Draco said quietly. "Not here, not in this world. Not between us."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. He knew Draco was right. The world they lived in, the roles they played, didn't allow for what was growing between them. It was dangerous, impossible even, and yet...
"It doesn't change anything," Harry said, though the words felt hollow. "We're still on opposite sides, Malfoy."
"Are we?" Draco asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability there that made Harry's heart ache.
They both knew the answer, but neither of them could say it. Not here, not now. The world they lived in was too unforgiving, too rigid to allow for the truth of what they felt.
Draco's eyes flickered with something unreadable, and Harry felt the tension between them thicken, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The moment stretched on, each of them waiting for the other to speak, to break the fragile silence.
But in the end, neither of them did.
Draco took a step back, his face closing off again. "We should... just forget it, Potter," he said, his voice cold and distant. "It doesn't matter."
Harry couldn't let it end like this. Not with so much left unsaid, unresolved. As Draco's retreating figure faded into the shadows of the corridor, Harry felt a familiar surge of frustration and determination rise within him. He had been chasing after Draco for what felt like forever—through corridors, through emotions, through everything that had been thrown their way.
This time was no different.
Without giving himself a moment to second-guess, Harry pushed off the wall and sprinted down the hallway. His footsteps echoed loudly, but he didn't care. He had to catch up to Draco. He couldn't let him walk away again.
"Malfoy!" Harry called, his voice cutting through the darkness. But Draco didn't stop. If anything, he quickened his pace, his robes billowing behind him like a shadow.
Harry cursed under his breath and pushed himself to run faster. "Draco, wait!"
Finally, just as they rounded a corner into a more deserted part of the castle, Harry reached out and grabbed Draco's arm, yanking him to a stop. Draco spun around, eyes flashing with surprise and something else—something Harry couldn't quite place.
"Potter, what the hell—"
But Harry didn't let him finish. "Why are you always running away?" he demanded, his chest heaving from the chase. "Why can't we just talk about this?"
Draco glared at him, his expression guarded. "Because there's nothing to talk about, Potter. You said it yourself—opposite sides, remember?"
"That's not—" Harry broke off, struggling to find the right words. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
Draco looked away, his jaw clenched. "What do you want from me, Potter?" His voice was barely above a whisper, and there was a raw edge to it that made Harry's heart ache.
"I just want the truth," Harry said, his voice softer now. "I want to know what's going on between us. Because it's not nothing, Draco. It's never been nothing."
Draco's eyes flickered with something—fear, uncertainty, maybe even hope. But he shook his head. "This isn't a fairytale, Potter. We don't get to have a happy ending."
"I'm not asking for a happy ending," Harry shot back. "I'm just asking for a chance to figure this out. Whatever this is."
Draco's gaze finally met Harry's, and for a moment, the mask he always wore slipped. Harry could see the conflict, the confusion, the fear that mirrored his own. They were both so lost, caught between what they were supposed to be and what they wanted to be.
"I don't know how to do this," Draco admitted quietly, his voice trembling just the slightest bit.
"Neither do I," Harry said, taking a step closer. "But we can figure it out together. If you'd just stop running."
Draco looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he looked down at the floor. "I'm always running, Potter. It's what I do."
Harry reached out, placing a hand on Draco's arm, the same arm he had grabbed in the hallway just moments ago. But this time, his touch was gentle, reassuring. "Then let me catch you."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Draco didn't pull away, didn't argue. He just looked up at Harry, and in that moment, something shifted. The tension that had been building between them for so long finally started to ease.
But before either of them could say anything more, the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor. Harry and Draco both stiffened, the moment broken. They were still in the middle of the castle, still vulnerable to prying eyes and ears.
Draco pulled away, his expression once again guarded. "We should go," he muttered, his voice tight.
Harry nodded, though his heart ached at the lost connection. "Yeah. We'll talk later."
But even as he said the words, he knew that "later" might never come. They were both too tangled up in their own fears, their own roles in this war. But for now, it was enough to know that he had finally caught Draco—at least for a moment.