Stay With Me

When Hermione first suggested he’d turn to an Animagus to help him cope, he laughed and thought it stupid. But it was Hermione and she is one of the most stubborn people in the world and she insisted and forced him, so Harry relented. 

The process was awful. It was long and tiring and Harry hated almost every part of it. Close to the end of the whole ordeal his body had ached. His head would itch, his arms would hurt and his legs would wobble. Hermione said it’s a normal thing that happens. Harry hated it.

But then, the night came. He chanted what he needed to chant. He pointed his wand where he needed to point it. And he did it. He did the transformation. At first it felt unnatural and wrong. Walking was strange and seeing was strange. Everything was strange.

When he first changed, Hermione and Ron were both there. Hermione smiled at him and Ron grinned. He couldn’t tell what animal he had turned to but he didn’t think it was particularly awful. He wasn’t a bug, that much he was certain of. And he wasn’t a bird, he was too big to be a bird.

Then he changed back, fixing his glasses and staring at them both. No one said anything for a while. He feared they’d say he was some awful animal that he’d never want to turn to and this whole thing had been completely useless. But they didn’t. They wrapped their arms around him tightly.

“Stag.” Hermione had said. “The most beautiful, most majestic stag.”

Harry had cried when she said that. Hermione had taken a picture of him transformed and he stared at it for a while. Embarrassing as it may be to admit, he looks more like a fawn than a stag. But he doesn’t mind. The transformation still worked and the connection he has to his parents is there.

Now he uses his Animagus form when he wants to escape everything, and it is quite often. It’s just… being back in Hogwarts is tough enough in its own, but being back at Hogwarts with children following you and watching your every move, begging you to sign their stuff, that’s just torture.

So he turns to a fawn and goes to the forest. No one bothers him in the forest when he looks like a fawn. Sometimes he sees other students that are just roaming the forest. Sometimes he walks to them and lets them pet him. It tends to put them in a good mood which Harry likes.

Sometimes he just runs around the forest, going nowhere at all. He just looks at all the woodland creatures and the magic of the forest and he just feels it. Sometimes he just sits near where all the deer are. Sometimes they’d come to him and sniff him. He’d let them, but he never joins.

No one knows that he’s an Animagus. Well, Ron and Hermione know, but besides them no one knows. And he likes it that way. He has this part about himself no one else knows. This secret that brings him closer to his parents. This secret that gives him a break from life. This precious secret that Harry will guard with all his life.

Ron says it's an unhealthy coping mechanism. He doesn’t think so. It’s better than drinking or wallowing in self pity, isn’t it? Besides, it's not hurting anyone. In fact it’s quite the opposite. He gets to be outside, to run around, and when he sees people they get to be happy at witnessing a fawn.

So really, there is no downside to him being an Animagus. And what’s the worst that could happen? Hunters don’t come near Hogwarts. The absolutely worst case scenario is someone trying to adopt him, and he doubts that will happen. Really, who would be crazy enough to try and adopt a wild fawn?

~

Harry strolls around the forest without much care. It had take some getting used to, walking on four, but now he’s a natural. It’s cold, and it looks as though it might rain, which is to be expected from Scotland in October. But it’s quite fine, rain doesn’t bother him.

He hears someone murmuring. A soft voice, barely even noticeable. Maybe he’s imagining it? He doesn’t think he is. But who will be so far away from the castle when it might rain? People never leave the castle when it rains, it’s like a rule. A very weird rule that Harry doesn’t know why it exists, but a rule.

Slowly and quietly, he walks towards the sound. Maybe it’s a lost first year that’s trying to find their way back to the castle. They’re probably so scared, so far away from the castle, in this cold forest. He could lead them back. Bite their sleeve and lead them the right way.

It would be a bit suspicious, a fawn knowing where someone wants to go and the way there. But this is a world of magic. They can simply assume that he is a magic fawn. And it’s not like he isn’t a magic fawn. He is a magic fawn. Sort of. Just not that type of magic.

He closes his eyes and walks through the bushes making sure to be heard, as to not frighten the first year. He doesn’t hear a gasp or a yelp or a coo. Was he not noticed? He made sure to be loud and noticeable. Should he stomp the ground? Walk through the bushes again?

He brings one of his hind legs to the bushes and kicks it. Apparently it was far from the right thing to do, because now his leg got stuck in the shrub and the thorns are hurting his leg and for fuck’s sake, this is just really unfair. He was trying to help someone and this is how the universe repays him? A leg full of thorns? Fucking universe.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Someone coos. “Look at you. Did you get stuck?”

He turns towards the sound and freezes. Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy. He hasn’t uttered a word to Malfoy since the trials, and Malfoy hasn't spoken to him. But now Malfoy is looking straight at him, crouching down to his level, examining his leg. What in the actual fuck?

Since when does Malfoy care about animals? Didn’t he hate Buckbeak? Why is he doing this? Why is he in the forest? And… are those flowers in his hair? What is happening? Is Harry hallucinating? Is this some sort of poisonous bush? That’s the only explanation, right?

“It’s alright, don’t be scared.” Malfoy whispers in a soft voice.

Harry didn’t know Malfoy could talk like that. He decides not to look at Malfoy and just lets him work on his leg. He looks at where Malfoy sat a second ago. Two bunnies stand there, staring at Harry, a raccoon, and Merlin’s beard, three birds sitting on the tree and one owl.

He blinks a couple times but the picture remains. It looks like a fucking Disney movie, all these animals gathered together. He remembers Dudley watching them when he was really young. This looks like a gang of animals Snow White would summon. Had Malfoy just been sitting with them? Had he summoned them? Had he transfigured them?

“There we are.” Malfoy says, letting go of Harry’s leg. “Right as rain.”

He gets up and sits by the gang of animals. The raccoon climbs onto his lap and Malfoy lets him, petting him absentmindedly and humming a song. What the fuck? Harry is hallucinating right? There is no way Malfoy is sitting there, flowers in his hair, a gang of animals around him, humming a song and oh for Morgana’s sake, is he really going to start drawing now? When will the cliche end?

Harry doesn’t leave, instead he creeps towards Malfoy very carefully, ready to escape at any given moment. Maybe this will all change in a second and Malfoy will whip out his wand and begin cursing each animal there. Maybe Harry will have to change back and fight him.

Malfoy glances up at him and smiles. “Hello.” He whispers so very softly. “Do you want to come? I’ve got some food if you want.” He turns to his bag and looks inside, pulling out food. Actual human food that Harry is fairly certain came from the great hall.

“Go on, take it. Don’t be shy.” Malfoy says.

Harry doesn’t move.

He expects Malfoy to scoff or huff or curse him out, insisting that he is trying to be nice and will he accept it? But Malfoy doesn’t. He takes back the food and breaks it in half. One half he eats for himself and the other he breaks into tiny pieces and gives it to the animals around him, including the birds on the tree.

“This is Dionysus.” Malfoy tells him, gesturing at the raccoon. “This is Artemis and Apollo. They’re siblings.” He points at the two bunnies. “The birds are Ariadne, Hestia and Medea. Oh, and the owl is Odysseus.”

Harry blinks. Malfoy named all these creatures? Furthermore, he named all these creatures weird mythology names? Is he going to name Harry? Will it be an odd mythology name? Should Harry just leave? He doubts Malfoy would stop him. He could essentially just leave.

“What’s your name?” Malfoy asks. Then he chews his lip. “How rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Draco Malfoy, I study here at Hogwarts. And you are?”

Harry stares.

“You look like a Leander to me.” Malfoy tells him. “Lion of a man. That’s what it means. Do you think it’s fitting?”

Harry stares.

“I think it's a perfect fit.” He says. “Would you like to sit down?”

Ok. What in the actual fuck? This can’t be happening. Right? Maybe this isn’t Malfoy. Maybe this is a very blond, very pale guy Harry has never seen before. Maybe this is someone using polyjuice to pretend to be Malfoy. He doesn’t know why someone would do it but it’s a possibility.

It makes a lot more sense than Malfoy turning into a fucking Disney princess, naming a bunch of woodland creatures, petting them and feeding them. It’s not that Harry doesn’t think that Malfoy can be nice, it's just that… Well, he doesn’t think Malfoy can be nice.

Should he just leave? Malfoy won’t stop him from leaving but he doesn’t know. Staying feels odd. What if Malfoy pets him? Merlin, he cannot let Malfoy pet him. That’ll be far too weird. This whole situation is weird enough, he does not- no, he should not make it weirder.

Harry slowly turns around and begins walking. Malfoy doesn’t call for him. Harry decides to just return to the castle and try to forget this ever happened. And if anyone asks he’ll just say he was studying transfiguration, and he definitely does not know where Malfoy is. Why would he know where Malfoy is?

~

Malfoy looks fucking exhausted. Truly dead on his feet. How has Harry not noticed before? Really, Malfoy looks as though he hadn’t slept in years. Why? Is it nightmares? Is he having nightmares? Harry has quite a lot of nightmares, so he knows the feeling.

Should he speak with him? It’ll be strange, won’t it? But it’s not like anyone else is speaking with him. It’s a bit strange. Harry has been watching Malfoy for the better part of the week and Malfoy is always alone. Always. No one speaks to him and he doesn’t speak with anyone else.

Is Malfoy lonely? Is that why he speaks with those animals? Doesn’t Malfoy have friends? Harry supposes, that if Goyle, Parkinson and Zabini haven't returned to the school, it would make sense that Malfoy won’t have anyone. There are only three Slytherins who returned to eighth year, one is Malfoy and the other two avoid Malfoy like the plague.

Harry had the thought of speaking with Malfoy for quite some time, but then he remembered that this is Malfoy he’s thinking about, and speaking with him would be odd and it’s Malfoy for fuck’s sake. So what if he’s lonely and doesn’t have any friends? Harry doesn’t care. Why would he?

He looks down at the book in front of him, he’s been trying to read for the past half hour, but he just can’t focus with Malfoy sitting right in front of him, reading a book with ease, hair tied back in half a braid. Each time Harry looks at him the only thing he can think of is Malfoy with flowers in his hair, humming soft songs to animals around him.

He groans and buries his face in his hands. He needs to just buckle down and concentrate. Screw Malfoy and those animals and that weird name Malfoy had given his Animagus form. Leander. What even is that name? Is it from Greek Mythology as well? What’s the story? He could ask Hermione, she’d probably know.

He’d have to give her an explanation on why he’s asking her about this random Greek myth. He could just say someone had seen his Animagus form and named him that. He won’t have to say that it’s Malfoy. He’ll just say that’s what happened and hope Hermiome won’t ask questions.

“Hello Harry.”

He blinks. “Luna,” he says. “Hello.”

“What are you reading?” She asks.

“Oh just something for charms.” He tells her. “I’ve got to write this essay and I haven’t even started.” He closes the book in defeat. “I don’t think I’ll get to it, to be honest.”

“Because of the Wrackspurts in your brain.” Luna says, matter-of-factly. “Your brain is quite full of them.” Then she glances at Malfoy’s direction and hums, face turning very serious all of the sudden. “Ah I see. That makes sense then.”

“What makes sense?”

She smiles warmly. “All the Wrackspurts in your brain,” her voice is calm and quiet. “I understand why there are so many now.”

“Because of Malfoy?”

She shrugs. “Yes, of course.” She says as though it’s obvious.

Harry decides not to ask anymore questions. It won’t do any good. Sometimes Luna, bless her heart, just doesn’t make sense, and trying to make sense of her nonsense would be useless. So if she thinks there are Wrackspurts in his brain because of Malfoy, let her think that.

He looks back down at the charms book then at Malfoy. He really ought to write this Charms essay. Staring at Malfoy won’t do him any good. He needs to just buckle down and write this essay. No excuses. No distractions. No Malfoy directly in his line of vision.

He gathers all his things and shoves them in his bag. “If you’ll excuse me Luna,” he says. “I'm going to work in the common room.”

“Alright.” She hums. “Have fun.”

~

“You’re back.”

Yes. He is. Why is he back? Why did he come back? Is he stupid? Is he just an utter idiot? He didn’t have to come back. He didn’t have to be directly here. There is a giant forest to roam; he did not have to come back. Merlin, what now? He can’t just leave, can he?

Malfoy offers him a tentative smile, hand reaching out towards him. Maybe, Harry will leave and think to himself why exactly he came here. He wasn’t thinking when he walked. He just wanted a break for a bit and then he ended up here, in front of Malfoy and his gang of creatures.

Maybe the forest is messing with him and it led him here to be hand-fed by Malfoy. Maybe this is the universe laughing at him. He wanted to be an Animagus to escape society so the universe brought him fucking Malfoy to bother his Animagus form. That’s just hilarious.

“Leander?” Malfoy calls softly. “I’m sorry I offered you a sandwich last time. I’ve got an apple if you’d prefer that.” He rummages through his bag. “I’ve also got some strawberries and potions. But I doubt you’d want the latter.”

Harry carefully and slowly walks closer to Malfoy. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he’s just curious. Yes, that’s it. He’s curious. This is a strange situation and he’d like to know how it will evolve. Plus, strawberries do sound quite delicious, if he’s completely honest.

Malfoy brightens, a smile spreading across his face. Harry had never seen Malfoy smile like that. Malfoy always smirked or smiled in a smug, gross sort of way. His smiles were never bright and thrilled and genuinely happy. It’s disorienting to witness that sort of happiness coming from Malfoy.

Malfoy brings out a bunch of strawberries, handing one to Harry. Malfoy puts the rest of the strawberries on his lap. “Go on.” He whispers. “It’s for you.” His hand is held out, he has a weak grip around the strawberry’s stem, seemingly to let Harry take the strawberry with ease.

Harry hesitantly bites the strawberry. It tastes good. Really, really good. It tastes perfectly sweet and ripe. Where did Malfoy even get these? They are certainly not from the Great Hall or kitchens. If they were then Harry would have found them and eaten all of them.

“Good, isn’t it?” Malfoy asks. Then a bunny (one of them, Harry doesn’t know which is which) jumps on Malfoy’s lap where all the strawberries are. Malfoy huffs and grabs the bunny, raising it face to face. “Absolutely not Apollo. That is unacceptable and rude.”

The bunny, expectedly, does not respond. Malfoy huffs, a small smile on his lips. He puts down the bunny, grabs one strawberry and gives it to him. “Next time,” he says. “Ask politely or wait.” He turns to the second bunny and gives her a strawberry as well.

“Would you like another one, Leander?” Malfoy asks.

Harry wonders, vaguely, if this is real life. He is currently in an Animagus form, looking like a fawn while Draco Malfoy speaks with a bunch of animals that seem to understand him, having flowers in his hair, humming songs and handing out fruit. Merlin, what is his life?

Malfoy offers him another strawberry which Harry eats, taking a step closer to Malfoy and his gang of woodland creatures. It’s odd and strangely endearing, how sweet and gentle Malfoy is with all these animals. It makes him seem less like Malfoy and more like… like what?

Harry doesn’t know what to think. How to put it into words. He doesn’t think of Malfoy as a Death-Eater. He hasn’t thought of him as one in ages. But he still thought of him as Malfoy. This arrogant, smug Slytherin that believes he’s better than everyone around him.

But this Malfoy doesn’t look arrogant or smug. He looks calm and at ease and one with nature. Truly, he looks as though he’s some sort of fae that belongs in the forest and nowhere else. He looks as though he feels at home in the forest, amongst the creatures and the trees and flowers.

“Merlin, look at the time.” Malfoy says suddenly, eyebrows furrowing. “I should go. Not to mention tomorrow…” he trails off, getting up, shoving everything inside his bag, leaving a couple of strawberries on the ground. “I believe this is everything.” He mumbles to himself.

He turns towards Harry. “I am sorry, Leander, for not staying any longer, but I really must be going, or Madam Pomfrey shall have my head on a spike.” He mutters something to himself, something along the lines of how stupid of him was to lose track of time and such.

“I’ll see you.” Malfoy promises, Harry is fairly certain he’s speaking to all the animals at the moment. He pets the two bunnies, the racoon, he waves to the birds and owl and then he hesitantly reaches to Harry, petting him softly, his hand barely touching Harry for a second. “Goodbye.”

Then he’s gone and Harry is left to overthink all of it. Merlin. What in the actual fucking fuck? Malfoy had just petted him. Malfoy fucking petted him. Should he be angry? He doesn’t feel angry. He feels. Well, what does he feel? He isn’t embarrassed. He isn’t upset.

He decides that this isn’t really stuff to think about while being a fawn he transforms back which properly terrifies the animals who scatter away, taking most of the delicious strawberries with them. He tries not to dwell on that fact. There are other things to think about.

He lays down on the grass, staring up at the sky that is slowly turning dark and starry. It is late. It’s late and Malfoy petted him. It was so soft that Harry had barely felt it. But it happened and it felt nice. Malfoy petting him felt really quite nice. Malfoy’s hand was warm and he petted him in a place that felt like the perfect place to pet someone.

The thought makes him flush, then he thinks Malfoy hand feeding him strawberries and that just… Merlin, what is wrong with him? He can’t think those things about Malfoy. It’s Malfoy. So what if he’s nice in an endearing, sweet sort of way to the animals? So what if he looks like a forest fae? So what if he acts like a bloody Disney princess? It is still Malfoy.

And what was Malfoy on about, saying that Madam Pomfrey will be mad at him. Why would she be mad at him? Why, and forgive him if he sounds rude, would Madam Pomfrey care about Malfoy? Really, hasn’t she got enough on her plate? What is so important about Malfoy?

Malfoy had said something about tomorrow. What is happening tomorrow? It’s November fourth. Does that mean anything? Today is Sirius’ birthday, but he doesn’t think Malfoy cares about that sort of thing. Is it someone else’s birthday tomorrow? Is it Malfoy? No, he doesn’t think.

He could just… go there, to the hospital wing. He’s got an invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s map. He can figure this out himself. And this isn't an obsession. He isn’t obsessed. He’s concerned and confused and curious, that’s all. Not obsessed. Never obsessed.

~

Harry has been standing in the hospital wing for what feels like hundred hours. In reality it was just five, and Malfoy hasn't shown up. It’s not that he has anything better to do. Going to sleep would result in nightmares and he really doesn’t have the energy for nightmares. Not now.

Maybe he’s acting a bit obsessed. Maybe waiting five hours for someone is a bit mad. Maybe he should give up and just go and try to get some sleep. The sun is beginning to rise and Harry is yawning every second, leaning on a cabinet and sitting on the floor.

Yeah, he should probably call it quits. And even if he didn’t, what did he expect to find? Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey having a passionate love affair? Ugh. Gross. Why did he even think of that? He shakes his head to get rid of the image and pushes himself upwards, freezing when he hears the door opening.

“Yes, yes, there you go.” Madam Pomfrey says softly. He turns around slowly, careful to not make any sound. Malfoy is leaning on Madam Pomfrey, one hand around her shoulder, a blanket covering him, hair falling on his sweaty face. He looks exhausted and dead on his feet and it seems as though Madam Pomfrey is carrying his entire weight. “Just a little more. Come on.”

Malfoy doesn’t respond, just drags his legs behind as Madam Pomfrey leads him to a bed. The second he’s close enough, he falls on the bed with a thump, burying his head in the pillow. Harry walks closer, inspecting Malfoy’s long, loose hair, spreading out across the bed.

Malfoy moves slightly then makes a sharp hissing sound that Harry thinks means he’s in pain. He groans and mumbles something into the pillow. Harry can’t hear what. Madam Pomfrey walks to her potion cabinet, ruffling through it with quick precision.

“It hurts.” Malfoy mumbles, this time not into the pillow.

“I know.” Madam Pomfrey says, walking back to him, handing him a small vial. “Drink.” She orders. When Malfoy doesn’t move she huffs. “If you do not drink this, you will-”

“Fine.” Malfoy mutters, his right hand reaching for the vial. “This is abuse.” He tells no one in particular.

Madam Pomfrey’s lips quirk and Harry can tell she’s fighting not to smile. “Abuse, is it, Mr. Malfoy? How so?”

“Animal abuse.” He says and drinks the vial, immediately dropping his head back on the pillow once he finished drinking it. “Cruel and awful.” He continues, words slurring slightly. “Did I tell you…” he begins then stops for a considerable amount of time. Has he fallen asleep? Did he forget what he was going to say?

“Did I tell you about Leander?” Malfoy finally asks. Harry freezes.

“Leander?” Madam Pomfrey echoes. “No, I don’t think you have. Who’s Leander, Draco? Another animal friend of yours?”

Malfoy nods. “Fawn.” He says. “Sweet, frightened little thing. I found him tangled in a bush so I helped him and he came by again. I think Apollo’s jealous of him.” He tells her. “Cause,” he pauses for a second. “Cause I gave Leander some strawberries. The good kind. And I think Apollo’s jealous of that.”

“They are good strawberries.” Madam Pomfrey hums, waving her wand around Malfoy.

“They really are.” He agrees and they lapse into silence. Madam Pomfrey continues her wand waving, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly in consternation. Malfoy’s breathing is calm and regular, which seems to calm Madam Pomfrey immensely. Then she turns to her potion cabinet, most likely to fetch another vial for Malfoy.

Harry stares at Malfoy’s silhouette, his white hair shining in the candle light. He still doesn’t know what’s going on. Malfoy is hurt, clearly. But where? How did he get hurt? Was Madam Pomfrey with him? Did she knowingly let him get hurt? That doesn’t sound like her.

And is Malfoy friends with Madam Pomfrey? They seem chummy. Is Malfoy here a lot? That’s alarming to think, isn’t it? But they are close somehow. If Malfoy had told her about those animals, they must be close, right? Or maybe Harry’s overthinking it and Madam Pomfrey is just indulging Malfoy because he’s hurt.

Harry takes a step closer to Malfoy. His right hand is falling off the bed, swinging slightly in the air, his left hand is under his head and the rest of his body is covered by two blankets. He isn’t wearing anything, or well, he isn’t wearing a shirt, which is odd. Harry can’t see whether he’s wearing trousers or not. He doesn’t really want to know.

Malfoy looks up from the pillow directly at Harry. He can’t see him. He can’t. Harry knows he can’t. He knows it. But still, Malfoy is staring right at him, right at his eyes, as if he knows it’s not just him and Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. As if he can sense Harry’s presence.

“Did my mother write?” Malfoy asks after what feels like an eternity of staring right at Harry.

Madam Pomfrey remains quiet for a moment, walking back to Malfoy, handing him another vial. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Draco.”

“It’s fine.” He says, though he doesn’t sound like he believes himself. Malfoy rolls around in the bed, completely burying himself underneath the covers, only his hair peeking out. Harry exhales weakly, glad to finally not have Malfoy looking directly at him. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sure she’ll write.”

Malfoy laughs. A cold, humorless laugh. “Yes, I’m certain that it’s so hard to write.” He mutters bitterly. “I am certain that the only reason she isn’t writing to me is because she is so very busy.”

“Go to sleep, Draco.”

“I’m not tired.” Draco says childishly, yawning immediately after. He turns and lays on his back, rubbing his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey hum.  “I didn’t say you’re tired,” she tells him. “I told you to go to sleep.”

Malfoy doesn’t respond, simply yawning and rubbing his eyes again, turning once again on the bed, closing his eyes and burying his face in the pillow. Slowly Harry can see Malfoy’s breathing calming, turning slow and regular, his lips parting slightly, eyebrows unfurrowing.

The soft morning sun begins to rise and Harry just now notices how late it really is. He should go back to his room to try and get some sleep. He won’t learn anything now that Malfoy is asleep. He hasn’t learned anything now. If anything, this whole ordeal simply raises more questions.

He could go to Malfoy tomorrow. As a fawn, of course. See if he can notice something. A bruise or maybe a wound, something that might tell Harry why exactly Malfoy was in the hospital wing. If only he could ask. But alas, fawns can’t talk and Malfoy won’t talk with Harry.

He sighs and walks past Madam Pomfrey, keeping a tight hold on his cloak. He walks slowly, dragging his feet, looking out the window at the sunrise. It’s pretty. Gentle orange and soft yellow colouring the sky. He thinks, if he wasn’t so exhausted he’d appreciate it more.

He walks inside the eighth year common room, quietly climbing up to his dorm, carefully pushing the door open, making sure he isn’t heard. He shuffles to his bed, shoving the invisibility cloak under his bed. Then he falls on his bed, takes off his glasses and closes his eyes, dozing off to the sound of Ron’s snores.

~

“Hello.”

Malfoy’s voice comes from behind. Harry had wondered why Malfoy wasn’t in his usual spot, surrounded by those animals. But it seems, or well sounds as though he’s simply just late. He slowly turns around towards Malfoy. None of the other animals are here so it’s mostly likely him he was speaking to.

Malfoy looks bad. He looks as if he hasn’t slept even though Harry knows he has. He’s mostly leaning on a tree, eyes a bit unfocused and skin pale and damp. His hair is tied up in a lazy bun, a lot of his hair is just falling on his face, in his eyes. All in all, he looks like he should still be in bed.

“Sorry I’m late. Were you waiting?” Malfoy asks, walking to his usual spot and sitting down, leaning on the tree. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought any food, but we could just sit here, if you wish.”

Harry tentatively takes a step towards him.

Malfoy smiles softly. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.” He whispers, wrapping his robes tighter around himself, bringing his knees to his chest. His eyes flutter close and it seems as though he might fall asleep right then and there. Harry takes another step forwards, stepping on some leaves.

Malfoy blinks awake from the sound, rubbing his eyes lazily. He yawns, offering Harry a tired smile. Harry inspects Malfoy. There’s no way Madam Pomfrey had let him leave in this state, so he either escaped or lied his way out. Either way, he should definitely not be out of the hospital wing.

“You know,” Malfoy says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. It’s a shame, you’re sweet. And I think Artemis likes you, which is rare.” He yawns and stretches. “I don’t think I can stay long. There’s only so much time Madam Pomfrey will believe I was just using the loo.”

Ah, so Madam Pomfrey didn’t let him go, that makes a lot more sense. Malfoy closes his eyes and yawns, letting his head fall on the tree trunk and his shoulders sag. He blindly reaches towards Harry, but Harry’s too far away and Malfoy’s hand is too short and neither of them are leaning closer to the other.

“Last night,” Malfoy begins, unprompted. “Was particularly difficult.” He says. “They say it gets worse as you get older but I can’t very well vouch for that, can I?” He sighs and groans weakly.  “What karma, hm? I suppose it’s well deserved. Years of being the absolute worst has finally caught up to me.”

Harry doesn’t respond, simply staring at Malfoy awkwardly. How is a night difficult? Nightmares? Is it even considered night? Malfoy had returned to the hospital wing at around five in the morning, perhaps even later. That’s not night. Also, he could just say nightmares. Saying a difficult night sounds odd.

And what sort of karma is Malfoy talking about? Not having all the power anymore? That’s hardly karma. Is there anything else Harry isn’t aware of? Someone playing God? Malfoy isn’t in Azkaban. He has a wand. He’s back in Hogwarts. That’s barely any karma.

“I ought to go.” Malfoy says, dragging himself up. “I’ll be back tomorrow with food. Though I’ll have to study. I’ve an exam soon. I hope you don’t mind.” He begins walking away. “Goodbye.”

~

Harry shoves everything inside his bag and jumps up to his feet. Hermione huffs and judges his untidiness. But he doesn’t care. They walk out the classroom, Ron and Hermione walking hand in hand. Ron complains about the ungodly amount of homework they have.

They walk towards the Great Hall slowly, not a care in the world. It’s nice, not having to worry about some dark sort of magic creeping around, waiting to strike him down and kill him. The most he has to worry about are grades and N.E.W.T.s and even that doesn’t concern him that badly.

He smiles awkwardly at some younger students. They don’t bother him as badly as they did at the beginning of the year, which is nice. But he is still bothered. Hermione says that eventually it will pass, that eventually people will calm down. Harry doesn’t know if he believes her.

They turn a corner and Harry notices in a dark alcove, Terry Boot holding Malfoy by his arm. It seems that Terry Boot is holding Malfoy fairly tightly. That, or Malfoy is just very, very weak. They’re close and Harry can see Terry Boot’s mouth curled downward and moving.

Malfoy looks down at the ground. One of his eyes is slightly red, as though he’s been punched. Boot is holding his wand tightly in his hand, pointing it at Malfoy’s chest, sneering. Should Harry do something? Surely Malfoy can handle himself, right? He’s a fine dueller, he doesn’t need Harry. Right?

“What do you think, Harry? Harry?”

“Hm?”

“I asked what you thought about- what are you looking at?” Hermione follows his gaze and sighs. “Honestly Harry, must you obsess over Malfoy every year?”

He looks away and flushes. “I’m hardly obsessed.” He says quickly. “I just-” he looks back at Terry and Malfoy. “Hold on.”

He walks over towards the two of them, slipping out his wand and clenching it tightly. Perhaps Malfoy would yell at him for trying to help. Perhaps Hermione would say he should leave it alone, but he can’t. He can’t see someone in danger and just look away. That’s not who he is.

“Everything alright, Boot?”

Boot doesn’t let go of Malfoy, but he does jump slightly at the sudden sound behind him. He looks at Harry, offering a tense, awkward smile his way. He’s still holding his wand tightly, pointing it at Malfoy’s general direction, but nowhere specific. “Harry. Hi. What’s up?”

“What are you doing?”

“We were just chatting.”

“Were you?” Harry asks, crossing his arms. “About what?

“School.”

“Really?” He turns to Malfoy. “What about school did you talk about?”

“We were-”

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Boot.” He snaps. “I’m not stupid. Let go of him and let’s get this over with, ok?”

Boot doesn’t falter. “Why should I?”

“What’d he do to you?”

“He’s a Death-Eater!”

Unable to stop himself, Harry looks down at Malfoy’s left arm, where his mark is. Where Boot is holding him tightly. Where his sleeve is buttoned close and careful. Then he looks back up at Boot, standing up a bit straighter, making sure to use his most threatening expression.

“All convicted Death-Eaters are in Azkaban.” He tells Boot. “Last I checked, this isn’t Azkaban, and you aren’t responsible for punishing anyone.”

“Are you seriously defending him, Harry? He’s a Death-Eater!”

Malfoy huffs. “You’ve mentioned already.”

“Shut up.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m so scared of you.” He says with no emotion. “Go on then, Boot. Kill me or whatever it is you wish to do…” he pauses. “What is it you want to do? Didn’t think it through did you? Not very Ravenclaw of you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Malfoy doesn’t look deterred, smirking just slightly. “What a way with words. It’s truly captivating.” He takes advantage of Boot being distracted and pushes him away, setting his hand free. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a meeting to attend.” His eyes linger on Harry. “Potter.” He says coolly and leaves.

Boot growls and points his wand at Malfoy’s back. Harry grabs his wrist. “Don’t.”

“He’s-”

“I know what he is, Boot. But the war’s over. Doing anything to Malfoy is useless.” Harry tells him. “Leave him alone, alright?”

Boot huffs and stomps away, not agreeing but not disagreeing either. Harry takes it as a win. He gets what Boot is feeling. He really does. But hurting Malfoy won’t bring anyone back. Hurting Malfoy won’t be actual revenge. Hurting Malfoy will do nothing besides hurting Malfoy.

And it’s not just that. Malfoy had his punishment. He spent four months in Azkaban. He paid his debts. He was punished accordingly. Trying to punish him more is useless. Especially considering Malfoy doesn’t seem to fight back. Why not, Harry doesn’t know.

“The hell was that, mate?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.” He answers truthfully. “Sorry.”

“You really are obsessed with him, aren’t you?” Ron muses. “Isn’t he? ‘Minoe?” Hermione is staring at the direction of which Malfoy left, chewing her nails, her eyebrows furrowed tightly. Ron taps her shoulder. “Hermione?”

She blinks. “What? Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and help Malfoy too.” Ron begs. “It’s Malfoy.”

“He sent apology letters.” Hermione mutters weakly. Harry knows she thinks those letters are rubbish, she said so herself, but he knows she hates losing arguments even more.

“Ah! Then all is forgiven.” 

Hermione sighs. “I’m not going to help him, I just… did neither of you notice?”

“Notice what?” Harry asks. Is she talking about Malfoy walking to the forest and speaking with animals? Because Harry has certainly noticed that. But why would Hermione care about that? Malfoy isn’t harming the animals. He isn’t harming anyone. He just acts a bit weird, but nothing else, really.

“Well- did you not notice at all? Nothing?”

“Notice what Hermione?” Harry presses on.

Hermione huffs. “Never mind.” She insists. “If you haven’t noticed then there’s no reason for me to tell you.”

“Tell us what?”

“What? You got some secret on Malfoy?” Ron asks, smiling ever so slightly.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “No.” She says firmly. “I thought… I had a theory but it’s stupid. Let’s just go eat. Please.”

Ron doesn’t need to be told twice, happily walking towards the Great Hall, grabbing Hermione’s hand again. Harry follows, dragging his feet behind himself. Ron begins talking about Quidditch but Harry can’t really bring himself to talk back and be a part of the conversation.

What had Hermione meant? What had she noticed? Hermione’s smart and watchful. If she noticed something about Malfoy it must mean something. Could it be related to why he goes out to the forest? Could there be a reason for why he talks to those animals?

He could ask her. Preferably not with Ron present. He loves Ron to pieces but Malfoy isn’t his favourite topic of conversation, which is fair. So he’ll have to find a time when both he and Hermione are alone and ask her about it. Hopefully she’ll tell him what she figured out.

~

He and Hermione settle on the ground, an umbrella charm surrounding them both. He tightens his robes around himself, then hugs himself, trying to preserve a bit of body heat. Hermione brings her knees to her chest and stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

“So…”

“So?”

“Uh you said,” he hesitates. “About Malfoy. You said you noticed something. What is it?”

“Really Harry?”

“It’s just-” he thinks the best way to explain this is to tell her about going to the forest. About Malfoy and his animals. About Malfoy petting him and hand feeding him strawberries. Maybe he doesn’t have to tell her all the details about it. He could just tell her the general idea of the situation.

“A while back. I think a month, maybe a bit more. Anyway, I was in my animagus form, and I stumbled across Malfoy in the forest.” He says slowly, inspecting Hermione’s face, watching for a reaction. Her eyes turn wide and round and she gasps weakly, bringing her hand to her mouth.

“In the forbidden forest?” She asks weakly. “When was it?”

“I told you. I think like a month ago. Maybe a month and a half.”

Hermione shakes her head. “No! Time in the day, Harry.”

“Huh? Oh. I don’t know. Noon?” Why does that matter? Should it matter? He wanted to ask her about the animals and stuff. Why does the time of day matter? He supposes that if it was late at night it would have been weird for Malfoy to be there. But then it would have been weird for Harry to be there as well.

“Anyhow,” he continues. “Malfoy was like, surrounded by animals. And he talked to me. Well, not me. My animagus form. And Malfoy was totally different. He was nice to the animals and he fed them and he fed me. I mean- he gave me strawberries. He didn’t feed me. He-” he trails off. “I just… I wanted to ask if what you noticed could be related to why he's acting like that? Or is what you noticed just him going to the forest?”

Hermione chews her lip, looking down at the ground. She pulls some grass from the ground, in a desperate attempt to keep her hands busy. She doesn’t look at Harry, most likely thinking of how to phrase her words. He waits, the silence between them hanging heavy.

“How many times did you see him while in animagus form?”

“Three times.” Harry tells her. “And I uh,” he flushes slightly. “I may have known he’d be in the hospital wing so I went there under my cloak. But that’s pretty much it.”

“When was he at the hospital wing?”

He frowns. “A day after Sirius’ birthday.” He tells her. “November fourth. At night. Well, not night. Like sunrise.”

She mumbles something under her breath. Harry doesn’t understand what it is she says. Then she groans and buries her face in her hands, letting all the grass she was holding drop to the ground. Had Harry said something wrong? He supposes being at the hospital wing is odd, but this reaction doesn’t feel appropriate.

“Hermione?”

She inhales sharply and looks at Harry’s direction. “No.” She says firmly. “I won’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “He saw you in your animagus form?” She changes the subject. Harry nods. “And he doesn’t know it was you?” She asks. He nods. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

“He named me.” He tells her. “My animagus form.”

Hermione smiles at him, grateful that he let her change the subject. “What did he name you?” She asks.

“Leander.”

Hermione smiles. “It means lion of a man, did you know? Very fitting.”

“Yeah.” He hums.

“Harry,” she says softly. “Be careful, ok? N-not because Malfoy’s dangerous, of course not. I just- I- oh, Merlin. This is- this is so strange.”

“What is? Hermione, what's wrong?” 

She shakes her head. “Just be careful. Promise me that. Please.”

“I will. I promise.”

~

“Leander,” he breathes out. “Oh, what a surprise. I am sorry I did not expect you here.” Malfoy’s eyes are puffy and wet, his cheeks stained with tears and his nose red. “How lovely it is to see you, Leander.”

Harry cocks his head to the side, carefully inspecting Malfoy’s red, puffy face. He’d been crying, that much is obvious to anyone. But why? The last time Harry had seen Malfoy cry had not ended well at all. He really hopes this won’t end the same. He doesn’t think it would.

“It’s just been a- it’s been a difficult couple of months and mother- she-” he breaks off, burying his face in his hands and begins sobbing. It’s loud and heartbreaking and painful. It was almost the same as the way he cried in the bathroom, but not quite. Not completely.

This carries so much more pain. More anguish. He sobs as though the entire world is against him. He sobs as though his mother hates him. But it can’t be that. Surely it can’t. He has, though briefly, seen Mrs. Malfoy interacts with her son. She seems to love him dearly.

So why exactly is Malfoy crying? He’d mentioned his mother. Perhaps he’s worried about her? What is there to worry about? Isn’t she confined to the manor? Wasn’t that her sentence? Harry is fairly certain it was. And he knows that the manor is guarded by aurors. Whatever it may be, Malfoy’s mother is not in danger.

“Have you ever felt, Leander, that the entire world hates you?” Malfoy asks, sniffling weakly. “But it is not the same. You have done nothing to deserve it, but me. I- Leander, I am scared and I am tired and I am going insane!” He huffs. “I am speaking to woodland creatures as though I’m one of them! I- Merlin, I am one of them!”

He wipes his cheeks and groans. “I’m sorry. Look at me prattle on.” He sighs and swallows thickly. “All of this is only well deserved, I suppose.” He mutters to himself. “Madam Pomfrey says I mustn’t say things like that. She says that no one deserves such a thing. Then she cries. She cries a lot.” He looks down at the ground. “I think I remind her of someone. Her son, I believe. Though I don’t know if she has one.”

She doesn’t. Harry knows she doesn’t. So who exactly is Madam Pomfrey comparing Malfoy to? And why exactly is Malfoy so close to Madam Pomfrey? They’re close enough for him to assume Madam Pomfrey sees him as her son. That’s quite close, isn’t it? 

“Morgana, look at me. How pathetic. If father could see me now.” Malloy trails off. “Oh, never mind that. Look at you. You poor thing. I bet you’re absolutely ravenous. Circe knows I am.” He jumps to his feet, frantically wiping his cheeks. “Let us find some food, shall we?”

He turns towards the forbidden forest and begins walking. Harry doesn’t know why he follows Malloy. He could just leave and forget about this. He could just leave and let Malfoy cry his little heart out. But he does follow. Perhaps it's an obsession. Or maybe sheer curiosity. But whatever it may be, he follows.

Malfoy walks in the darkness, far away so as to not be seen by anyone. He has his robe tight around him to keep him warm. It is quite cold, though in his animagus form Harry doesn't mind. Harry doesn’t recognise the path Malfoy leads him through, he doesn’t know where they’re going. But he doesn’t think it’s anything dangerous.

Rain begins to fall from the sky and Malfoy curses loudly, as he gets absolutely drenched. He begins running towards wherever it is he wanted to go. Harry matches his pace but feels it’s a tad ridiculous to run. Malfoy can just cast a simple umbrella and a drying charm. But he doesn’t. Why?

They turn a corner and Harry can spot, not too far away, a tiny little wooden shack. It’s smaller than the Shrieking Shack, and it seems much more new and held up. Harry didn’t know of the small shack’s existence but Malfoy seems very aware of where he is going.

He slams the door open and shuffles inside, keeping it open for Harry to climb inside. Harry does, waggling a bit, trying to shake off the water from his fur. Malfoy yelps as most of the water sprays his way, huffing and rolling his eyes at Harry, muttering insults under his breath.

The shack is incredibly small on the inside as well. He looks around the one room shack, inspecting the room with a watchful eye. There is a small, humble bed at the side of the room with two blankets in it. And on the other side of the room are two simple, wooden cabinets. He cannot see what’s inside.

Malfoy pulls out his wand and casts a drying charm over himself. Then he strides over to the wooden cabinets, opening a drawer and pulling out a bowl filled to the brim with berries of all kinds. There are striking red strawberries, dark and red raspberries, blueberries and such. It all looks delicious.

He puts the bowl on the ground and sits beside it. His hair is messy from the rain and his lips are slightly blue. It’s freezing in the shack. If Harry could have suggested something, he would have suggested lightning a fire, though without a hearth anywhere in sight, he highly doubts that’s possible.

“I’ve got some more food in there, but not much.” He chews his lip. “Madam Pomfrey doesn’t let me keep much food in here. Says it’s not fitting.”

So Madam Pomfrey knows about this place? Why? What is this place? He looks around the room once more. The room is fairly bare, beside the bed and two cabinets. And around all the walls Harry can see scratch marks. Giant, noticeable and all over the room.

He takes a step towards the wall to inspect the scratch marks closer. All of them seem new enough, some more so than others. Harry has seen this type of scratch mark before, he is certain he has. But where? How could scratch marks even be recognisable? What creature can make recognisable scratch marks?

“I try to cover them but it has gotten useless to try.” He sighs and crawls towards Harry, staring at the mark on the wall. “It’s very dramatic don’t you think? I think it is.” Then he pets Harry. It takes him by surprise. But Malfoy doesn’t seem to notice, simply petting Harry absentmindedly.

Malfoy scratches behind Harry’s ear and without thinking, Harry leans into the touch. It’s strange. No one pets him in his animagus form. Ron and Hermione did do it, sometimes, but it was awkward and uncertain. Malfoy isn’t awkward or uncertain in any way whatsoever.

It’s nice. Malfoy’s touch is soft and warm and not at all what he expected of Malfoy. He lays down on the floor, resting on Malfoy’s thigh. Malfoy makes a small sound of surprise, gasping weakly, raising his hands and no longer petting him. Harry peers up at him.

Malfoy smiles weakly and lays his hand back on Harry’s head, petting him gently and calmly. Malfoy’s warm, incredibly so. It’s as though he’s radiating warmth. As though he’s an animal. Of course that is a ridiculous thought but that’s the connection Harry had made in his head.

Malfoy begins humming to himself, still petting Harry as he does. Harry doesn’t recognise the song Malfoy is humming but he doesn’t mind. It’s most likely not muggle and Harry doesn’t know a lot of wizard songs. He knows some by the Weird Sisters, but the song Malfoy is humming is far too soft to be by them.

“A lullaby.” He informs Harry as though he could hear his thoughts. “Mother used to sing it for me when I was young.” Malfoy doesn’t stop petting him. “She hasn’t sung it to me in quite some time. I do miss it.” He sighs weakly. “But I’m glad you enjoy it, Leander. Someone should.”

He continues his humming, mumbling a warming charm around them both. It’s nice. Homey. Harry feels his eyes flutter close as Malfoy continues to pet him and hum. He imagines the only thing that could make this better is a bed. But it’s fine. He’ll make do with what he has.

And with that, he falls asleep.

~

“Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey huffs upon seeing him. “I suppose there cannot be a year that you avoid the infirmary, isn’t that so? Get on the bed, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Harry offers her a weak smile, tensing at the pain that shoots from his shoulder. He’d had a rather big fall from his broom and his arm fucking hurts a lot. Ron had accompanied him to the hospital wing, to make sure he wouldn't go unconscious and bleed out (somehow) in the middle of a corridor.

Ron helps him get to a bed and Harry breathes out, laying down on the soft mattress and closing his eyes. It was nice and he’s certain it would be much nicer once Madam Pomfrey heals him up and gives him some painkiller potions. Merlin, he would kill for some painkiller potions.

“Alright, mate?”

He groans. “Everything hurts.”

Ron laughs. “I’ll go call Madam Pomfrey.”

Harry nods and listens as Ron gets up to call Madam Pomphrey. He opens his eyes and looks around the hospital wing. Three beds from him, he can spot blond white hair spread messily on a pillow, pale face looking at him with a curious and tired expression.

What is Malfoy doing here yet again? He looks sickly and weak and bored. He raises an eyebrow in interest, staring directly at him. Harry swallows, staring back at him. Malfoy’s lip quirks up and he smiles. It isn’t a mean smile, at all. It looks a bit like a smile Malfoy might give Harry in his animagus form.

“Well then,” Madam Pomfrey walks to him. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?”

She begins waving her wand around him, face pinched and eyebrows furrowed. She takes Harry’s arm and forces him to move it. It hurts. He bites his lip to stop himself from crying out. She shakes her head, looking tired, as though she’s been up the entire night.

She walks away and returns, holding two glasses, one filled with water and one filled with Skele-Gro. He takes the glass with the Skele-Gro with the hand that doesn’t hurt, drinking it in one big gulp, wincing at the gross taste in his mouth. Immediately Madam Pomfrey gives him the glass with water, which he quickly drinks.

“Stay here until the evening,” she orders. “So I can watch over and make sure you don’t go and break your arm again.” He nods and Madam Pomfrey smiles, satisfied. Then she turns to Ron. “You. Leave.” 

Ron sighs. “I’ll be back with Hermione and we’ll eat dinner together… if that’s ok?” He asks carefully. Madam Pomfrey nods and walks away. Ron waves. “Bye, mate.”

He waves and watches as Ron leaves. Great, now he’s stuck in the hospital wings for four and a half hours with nothing to do. He can try to sleep but he doubts he’ll be able to fall asleep. He doesn’t want to read, nor does he have any books. So what is there to do? Stare at the ceiling?

Striking up a conversation with Madam Pomfrey is also quite fruitless. She isn’t the most chatty person. Or well, that’s not true, is it? When he saw Malfoy at the hospital wing last month, he and Madam Pomfrey had chatted quite freely, didn’t they? But maybe she only likes talking to Malfoy. And he isn’t Malfoy.

He glances at Malfoy, who is now sitting up on his bed, knees brought up, a book resting on his knees. It’s almost as though he could feel the moment Harry had looked at him. He looks away from his book and at Harry, raising an eyebrow, this time it looks more as though he’s challenging him.

“What are you doing here?” Harry decides to ask.

Malfoy smiles. It’s small, and just a bit sad. “Oh, I like it here. The smell of medicine and the lack of any colours really pulls me in.” He says. “Not to mention the scent of blood. That one’s my absolute favourite, without a doubt.”

Harry blinks. Dumbly, the first thing he really thinks to say is that he can’t smell any blood. Not even an undertone or something lingering. He sniffs but really he doesn’t notice any smell of blood. The smell of medicine is clear, yes, but the place doesn’t smell of blood.

The second thing Harry thinks to say is, Malfoy is clearly not there for his own enjoyment. It’s obvious though. Of course Malfoy is joking. But Harry can see clearly, how one of Malfoy’s arms is bandaged up to his elbow, his face is pale and gaunt and there are bags under his eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry says absentmindedly, “it’s so fun here.” Then he blinks because, did he joke with Malfoy? It’s uncanny and he isn’t really sure what to think of that at the moment. He never really imagined he’d joke with Malfoy. He’d never imagined for it to feel so natural.

Malfoy laughs humorlessly. “And what are you doing here? Got hurt trying to save someone? Was a kitten stuck in a tree?”

“Quidditch.” He answers. “You?” He asks again.

Malfoy’s smile vanishes from his face completely and Harry can tell he had said something he shouldn’t have. He wonders if he should apologise, even though he has no idea what he’d be apologising for exactly. Still the way Malfoy’s smile disappeared so quickly makes him feel unbearably guilty.

Silence falls between the two of them, heavy and tense and extremely uncomfortable. He looks down at his lap, biting the inside of his cheek, swallowing the lump in his throat. He shifts in his bed, unsure of what to say and how to break the harrowing, awful silence.

“Caught a cold.” Malfoy mumbles weakly. He doesn’t sound believable whatsoever, but Harry doesn’t say anything about it. It seems like a sore spot and Harry isn’t going to pick at that metaphorical scab. “I just… got stuck in the rain. It’s nothing, really.”

Harry glances at the bandages covering Malfoy’s arm. It’s a lame and unbelievable excuse that Malfoy clearly said just to say something, without thinking about it whatsoever. Harry recalls seeing Terry Boot threatening Malfoy. Has it happened again? Perhaps it was someone else that had attacked him.

But Harry doesn’t ask. He doesn’t mind not knowing. Everyone has their secrets, Merlin knows he does. If Malfoy wishes to keep the reason he’s here a secret, very well. Harry supposes he gets it, Malfoy doesn’t want to be seen as weak. Though it’s hard to think of Malfoy as tough, considering Harry had seen him quite literally hand feeding strawberries to bunnies.

Madam Pomfrey walks towards Malfoy. She whispers something to Malfoy that makes him look up and shake his head weakly. Whatever it is that Malfoy had said, Madam Pomfrey doesn’t seem to believe him. She huffs and walks away, shoving a vial with green potion in his hand.

“And you,” she says loudly, glaring at Harry. “Rest. Now. The both of you.” Malfoy opens his mouth to argue but Madam Pomfrey stops him before he can say anything. “No.” She says firmly. “Rest.”

She turns to Harry and he quickly lies down on the bed, closing his eyes, not eager to be yelled at as well. Madam Pomfrey doesn’t yell at him, so he supposes she’s satisfied with both him and Malfoy. He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the sound of her steps as he drifts off to sleep.

~

“Malfoy’s here.” Hermione blurts out in the middle of dinner, forkful of shepherd's pie frozen halfway to her mouth. Her eyebrows furrow and she bites the inside of her cheek, eyes lost deep in thought. Harry blinks, uncertain of what exactly he should respond to her.

He glances three beds from him where Malfoy sits, a book and a piece of parchment on his lap, a quill in his hand. He seems completely enthralled in whatever it is he’s doing. Harry doesn’t think it’s homework. He caught sight of the book’s cover and it’s not something in the school’s curriculum.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t think to ask. They haven’t spoken at all. Harry had woken up around half an hour after he fell asleep. Malfoy wasn’t asleep. Harry didn’t know if Malfoy had woken up before him or if he hadn’t slept at all. He didn’t ask. He had looked at the book that Malfoy was holding and that was it.

He had sneaked glances at Malfoy all throughout the afternoon. He isn’t sure why he had done it, but he could stop himself. He kept looking at Malfoy, at his white hair, falling on his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration ever so slightly, lips mouthing the words he as read them.

The sight was absolutely mesmerising. Watching Malfoy felt so strangely compelling. He couldn’t stop himself. He had tried to stop, so as to not seem too much like a creep. He isn’t sure he succeeded, but Malfoy never looked up from his book and parchment to glance at Harry, so at least there was that.

“Yeah, so what?” Ron asks, his mouth full and his voice slightly muffled from it.

“Just… last night.” She trails off, looking down at her plate, taking a bite to fill her mouth and avoid speaking.

Harry frowns. “What about last night?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Hermione dismisses him quickly, looking quite eager to change the subject. “Wh-what are you planning for Christmas, Harry?”

Harry looks at Malfoy, then back at Hermione. “I’ll probably stay at Hogwarts and come over to the Weasleys on Christmas Eve.” He tells her. “Catch up on homework and such. You?”

“I’ll go home to my parents and Christmas Eve at the Weasleys.”

“Great.” Harry says, forcing a smile. “Can’t wait.”

~

Harry looks out the window, thick, white snow covering the ground. It’s too cold to go  outside, even in his animagus form. So he’s confined in his lonely, quiet dorm, staring at his charm book, dying of absolute boredom, desperate to do something, anything. Just not stay stuck here.

He supposes he did enough homework for now. He closes his book and shoves it away, getting up from his bed, stretching and rubbing his eyes. He knows dinner will be served in a couple of hours, but until then he needs to find a way to keep himself occupied.

He doesn’t have anyone downstairs. He’s one of the only eighth years that stayed in Hogwarts. He’s one of the only students that stayed. Well, him and Malfoy, but he’s trying not to think about Malfoy. Or why exactly he stayed in Hogwarts. Or really anything related to him.

He slowly walks down the stone stairs into the eighth year common room, eager to, if he won’t do anything, at least be near a warm fire, covering himself with knitted blankets, dozing off on a comfortable sofa, relaxing in the semi-familiar environment of the common room.

He stares at the almost completely empty space. Malfoy sits near the fireplace, curled up in a chair, a notebook and pencil in his hands, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He doesn’t look up at Harry, most likely not noticing him being there, which makes sense, Harry didn’t make his presence known.

Slowly, he sits down in front of the fireplace. He’s close enough to Malfoy to be able to see the contents of the notebook Malfoy is holding. Inside there is a sketch, really quite a good sketch of a fawn. A tiny, sweet, familiar fawn, drawn in an impressively accurate way.

Harry had only seen his animagus form in the picture Hermione had taken during the summer. The drawing seems different. Not inaccurate per se, simply different. The drawing has the spot he has on the top of his head, the two circles around his eyes that remind him of his glasses, the two giant, seemingly innocent eyes.

Malfoy raises his eyes from the notebook, glancing at Harry. He blinks, clearly surprised that Harry is there. They stare at each other for a few seconds and Harry feels (a bit ironically) like a deer caught in headlights. His cheeks heat up and he isn’t really sure why exactly.

“Th-that’s a nice drawing.” Harry says, when he finally finds the words. His tongue feels like cotton and his head feels fuzzy. Malfoy is staring at him. “Cute fawn.”

Malfoy huffs a weak laugh, looking at his drawing. “It really isn’t.”

“What?” He blurts out, feeling ridiculously offended.

He is a cute fawn. A very cute one, if he says so himself. And not only that, Malfoy seems to quite like him as a fawn, so why say he isn’t a cute fawn? Is it just to disagree with Harry? Don’t they have some sort of truce? Perhaps it’s just pure instinct for Malfoy to disagree with Harry.

“The drawing,” Malfoy tells him. “It’s really not that nice.”

Oh. He was talking about the drawing. Harry looks at the almost completely finished sketch once again. It’s a good drawing. It’s a really good drawing, a shaded and very detailed piece that Harry personally thinks captures his animagus form really quite well.

It’s a very nice drawing. Much nicer than anything Harry could ever try to draw. Has Malfoy always known to draw? He may have. It’s not something Harry would know, is it? One’s ability to draw is not really something you tend to share with someone you consider your rival.

“The shading’s all wrong.” Malfoy says. “And the ears aren’t the correct size. It really doesn’t give him justice.”

“Him?”

“The fawn.” Malfoy answers simply. “Quite a graceful animal.” He says. “Deers often are.”

Harry tries his best to suppress a smile, nodding weakly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “A very pretty animal.”

“What do you want, Potter?”

“Excuse me?”

“What is this? Why are you speaking to me?” Malfoy asks. “You haven’t spoken to me all year, then suddenly on a cold winter morning you’ve decided to, what? What is it you’ve decided exactly?” He closes the notebook. “If it’s pity you're offering, then take it someplace else, I do not need it.”

“Can’t I just be nice?” Harry replies. “Can’t we just, I don’t know, try to start over?” He isn’t sure what he’s saying or why he’s saying it, but he feels the need to defend his actions. All of his actions. The ones now, of him speaking with Malfoy and the ones of him in his animagus form, coming back to Malfoy, each and every time.

Malfoy inspects him carefully, eyes going over him, mouth pressed into a thin line. It doesn’t look like he believes Harry at all. Not even one bit. Is it really that unbelievable? Can they not be even half decent to each other? Is that seriously not an option?

“We did start over.” Malfoy says, talking to Harry as though he’s some simpleton. “Ignoring each other, that was starting over. We don’t need to pretend to be friends, Potter. We can just finish this school year and never think about each other ever again.”

Harry blinks, staring at Malfoy’s bland, ever so slightly annoyed expression. Malfoy’s… not wrong. But still, Harry can’t agree, he can only think about Malfoy’s face, smiling at him in his animagus form, petting him softly, cooing, looking so different than how he does now.

It’s just that Harry always had this picture of Malfoy in his mind. In sixth year, seeing him cry, it changed the picture, but just barely. During the war, it changed the picture, but still, not much. But now, seeing Malfoy be so… human. Not crying, or frightened, or desperate, just human.

Malfoy wasn’t threatened in any way, he was just a boy living his, albeit strange and unconventional life. He fed wild animals, and spoke with them, and drew them, and joked with Madam Pomfrey, and lived his life. And it was so humane. It was so real and candid and mundane that Harry couldn’t really look at Malfoy the same.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. I don’t want to never talk to each other.” Harry insists, crossing his arms. “I don’t want to just ignore each other forever. I don’t want to pretend like we’re just school mates. Come on Malfoy, there’s too much history for us to behave like nothing ever happened.”

Malfoy huffs. “That history is exactly why we ought to ignore each other.”

“You can try and ignore me, see how that works for you.” Harry challenges.

Malfoy remains quiet for a few seconds, then he sighs, sounding defeated, shoulders dropping. “Fine.” He mutters. “I’ll humor you, I suppose.” He turns to Harry completely, leaning back in his chair, one of his eyebrows quirking up in interest, waiting for Harry to speak. “Well?”

“What?”

“You wished to speak, Potter, did you not?”

Harry blinks. “I guess.”

“Then what is it you wish to say to me?”

“Uh,” he hesitates, looking at the closed leather notebook in Malfoy’s hands. He didn’t really expect Malfoy to agree. He expected Malfoy to continue ignoring him. He expected that their interactions would continue to be Harry in his animagus form and Malfoy completely oblivious to who he is. “I didn't know you could draw.” He finally decides on saying.

“Well… I do.”

“Did someone teach you?”

Malfoy huffs a weak laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. That would mean my-” he trails off, mouth closing quickly. “I’ve taught myself. No tutor.”

“It’s really good.” Harry says.

Malfoy’s cheeks turn pink, as he shakes his head weakly. “Hardly.” He mumbles weakly, and Harry can hear a slight satisfaction in Malfoy’s voice, a small smile he is so clearly trying to hide.

“Have you got any more?” Harry asks, pointing at the notebook.

“A few.” Malfoy replies, opening his notebook on its first page.

On the page is a drawing of the two bunnies that Malfoy likes. Artemis and Apollo. It’s a good drawing, if less detailed than the fawn drawing. The drawing is sketched fairly lazily, as though Malfoy didn’t really care how the drawing would come out, as though he didn’t think anyone would look at it.

“It’s just stuff I see,” Malfoy mutters. “I’m fairly certain I even drew you once, if I was bored enough.”

Harry brightens. “Really? Can I see?”

Malfoy flicks through the page, absentmindedly, stopping to glance at the half finished drawings. In between Harry can spot some faces of people. He sees a drawing of McGonagall, one of Luna, he sees a rough sketch of Madam Pomfrey and of Hannah Abott, Astoria and Daphne Greengrass. He notices a particularly good drawing of Neville, holding a potted plant, one of Seamus and Dean, sitting particularly close to one another, one of Hermione and Ron, leaned over a game of chess.

Then finally Malfoy stops flicking through the pages, stopping and showing Harry the contents of the notebook, his cheeks flushed red, his eyes looking desperately away from Harry, as though the mere thought of showing him the drawing is humiliating and degrading.

He inspects the image. It’s detailed. It’s good. It’s so… natural. Harry’s laughing, in the drawing. Or well, mid laughter. He is grinning from ear to ear, looking so happy it’s almost strange. He never looks this happy in pictures. Pictures never quite capture his feelings well enough.

But this drawing. He looks happy. Truly and genuinely happy. He takes the notebook from Malfoy, inspecting the drawing more carefully. It’s a full body portrait of him. Only him. No one else is around. He’s wearing his uniform, his hair messy and sticking out all over the place.

It looks like him. Which is stupid to think, because of course it looks like him, it is him. But he thinks it looks like him in a way that’s different to other things. It looks like him because he isn’t pretending. He isn’t posing or playing a role. He’s just grinning, being himself, living. Simple as that.

He has, in the past, been given drawings of himself by fans. But Harry never truly liked them. They were always wrong. His scar would be too big, his hair too short or long, his expression too serious. This drawing doesn’t have any of these faults. Not a single one.

“It’s not my best piece, but-”

“Are you kidding?” Harry blurts out. “It’s brilliant. All of them are.”

“Yeah right.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “They are. Really. I… how much?”

“What?”

“For the drawing.” Harry tells him. “How much for the drawing? Of Ron and Hermione too.” Malfoy blinks at him then laughs. Harry frowns. “Come on, how much? Uh, ten Galleons? Twenty for the both of them?”

“Merlin, are you serious?”

“Yeah, course I am.”

“Potter, I wouldn’t pay half a Sickle for this sort of thing.” Malfoy huffs, rolling his eyes. “And what would you even do with this? Hang it? You wouldn’t hang a picture of yourself… would you? That’s just embarrassing. And that’s me saying that.”

Harry shrugs, pulling out some coins from his pockets. “Well, I am known for not having any taste.” He says, counting the coins in his hands. “I believe it’s you that mainly claimed that.”

“So what? You actually want to buy this?”

“And the one of Ron and Hermione. Oh, have you got one of Ginny’s?”

Malfoy takes the notebook, inspecting the drawing. He bites his lip and sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine.” He mutters. “But let it at least be a decent drawing, not that.” He opens a new page and holds the pencil tight in his hands. “You, Granger and the youngest Weasleys, yes? Together or separate?”

“Uh, Hermione and Ron together, Ginny and Luna together and I want that drawing of me. Not a new one.” Harry replies. “Oh, and could you draw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Alright.” He says. “If that’s what you want.”

~

“Done.” Malfoy announces, pushing a piece of paper across the table and towards Harry. He looks proud and satisfied, covered in a thick, warm cloak, hair tied into an updo, eyes grey and lips pink. He smiles, crossing his arms, looking smug, as though he’d won a challenge Harry didn’t even set.

Harry takes the drawing, grinning. “Brilliant.” He says, giving the rest of the money to Malfoy. “This is absolutely brilliant. Thank you!”

“Whatever.”

Harry smiles. It’s odd how badly Malfoy handles compliments. Harry had never thought that Malfoy would be so modest. Well, he isn’t really modest. Or maybe he is. Harry isn’t sure. He just knows that whenever he compliments Malfoy, he flushes red and waves him off.

He takes a bite of food. They’re sitting in the Great Hall and it is absolutely fucking freezing. He doesn’t get how it’s so cold inside, but clearly logic doesn’t matter at the moment. He wraps his hands around the cup of tea in front of him, happy for the warmth.

“What are your plans?”

“Pardon?”

“What are your plans for Christmas Eve?” Harry asks, his mouth full. “Are you just going to stay here? Won’t you get lonely? Or bored?”

Malfoy scowls. “Potter, for Circe’s sake, have some manners.” He huffs and takes the coins from the table, shoving it in his pocket. Malfoy had requested fifteen Galleons a drawing, and only twelve for the one of Harry. The prices, in Harry’s opinion were fair, and he didn’t mind paying, not bothering to ask why exactly Malfoy needed the money.

Perhaps Malfoy only wanted to take more money than Harry. He doubts Malfoy needs any money. While the Malfoy vaults were emptied after the war, the Black and Lestrange vaults remained untouched and both of them belong to Malfoy. So really, Malfoy isn’t desperate for money.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbles, mouth still full.

“That is disgusting.” Malfoy says, rolling his eyes, grimacing as Harry chews with his mouth open. “To answer your question,” he calmly begins, “I won’t be going back home for Yule. My mother and I are… things are tense. Coming back home won’t help.”

“What happened?” Harry asks, taking a swig of tea. “If that’s ok to ask.”

Malfoy gets quiet. He does that a lot, Harry noticed. They’ve been talking everyday since Harry had commissioned the drawings and it has been, surprisingly enough, entertaining. Malfoy continuously acts annoyed with Harry whenever they speak, but he never sends him away, so Harry thinks Malfoy isn’t as annoyed as he acts.

Harry has tried his best to avoid the painful topics, the ones of the war and Malfoy’s father and apparently Malfoy’s mother as well. But it seems that no matter how many topics Harry avoids, there are many topics that pain Malfoy. Why, Harry does not know, but he makes notes of which topics to avoid and he learns to avoid them.

Right now there is a list, the obvious ones- the war, it’s a shit topic for everyone, it’s a shit thing to talk about. Malfoy’s father, the man is in Azkaban and Harry can’t be sure that he won’t say something bad about him. Malfoy being a Death-Eater, that is simply wishing to fight.

Now, there are of course the less obvious topics, the one Harry has no idea why they are forbidden, but he accepts that they are. There is Malfoy’s mother, something had happened, a fight, a disagreement. Whatever it may be, it had made things between them tense and uncomfortable enough for the topic not to be discussed .

There is also the odd forbidden topic of the animals that Malfoy meets. Harry doesn’t get why Malfoy doesn’t want to speak about the animals. He doesn’t seem hurt or upset when the topic comes up, he just shakes his head, says it doesn’t matter and forcefully changes the topic to Quidditch and the likes.

And while it’s all odd, Harry finds that he doesn’t mind it. He enjoys the odd, tentative little friendship they had built. It’s strange and unexpected, or maybe it’s completely expected. Whatever it is, Harry likes it. Malfoy isn’t careful and gentle with him, and he doesn’t look at him like some sort of saviour. He’s just Malfoy. Albeit nicer and less racist, but still, Malfoy.

“Nothing has happened.” Malfoy says suddenly.

Harry blinks. “What?”

“Between mother and myself,” Malfoy tells him calmly. “Nothing had happened. Or at least nothing of your interest.”

“Oh.” Harry mumbles, remembering that they were in the middle of the conversation. “So you’re just staying here? Won’t you get lonely? What about Christmas presents? Would your mother send you any?”

Malfoy sighs, shrugging. “She might. I’d say there is a fair chance she won’t, though.” He takes a small bite of food, careful and delicate. “And I won’t be lonely, I’ve a place to go and people to be with.”

“Is it Andromeda?”

“What?” Malfoy’s eyebrows furrow. “Ah, my mother’s sister. Uh, she will be there, most likely. She said she would, at least. But it won’t be her house. Unless there’s a very odd secret kept from me.” He says calmly. Harry can’t help but smile. “What? Why are you smiling?”

“You talk so weird, you know that?”

Malfoy’s eyes widen, his expression turning outraged and offended. “How- I don’t- you-” he sputters, cheeks turning red, swinging his spoon around, before finally slamming it back on the table with force. “I do not talk weird, Potter, I speak perfectly normal.”

“That’s not true. You talk all vague and weird and old timey.”

“Old timey?” Malfoy echoes.

Harry shrugs. “Old timey.” He confirms.

“You’re odd, Potter.” Malfoy tells him for maybe the fifteenth time that day. “I do hope you know that.”

“I do,” Harry assures him, “you keep reminding me.”

~

“Oh Harry, this is beautiful, thank you!” Hermione cries loudly, wrapping her arms around him, kissing his cheeks.

He hugs her back, cheeks slightly hurting from all the smiling. They part from the hug, Hermione holding the present tightly in front of her, grinning. She turns to Ron, looking absolutely excited to share the present with Ron.

Ron inspects the picture, smiling at Harry. “This is brilliant, mate!” He says, enveloping him in a tight hug. “Where did you even get this sort of thing?”

“Commissioned it.” Harry shrugs, deciding that telling them that Draco Malfoy drew these isn’t the smartest thing to say at the moment.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smile, thrilled with their picture, same as Ginny and Luna, it seems. They all look thrilled with their presents, even more so when Harry tells them that there’s another present and that the drawings were just a spur of the moment thing.

He apologises quietly to George and Bill and Fleur for not getting them a drawing. George waves him off, shrugging and saying he really doesn't mind. Fleur shrugs and smiles and tells him that the drawing could be a birthday present for her. He promises her that it will be.

Luna looks at the drawing with a glint in her eyes, inspecting Harry carefully, as though he’s hiding a secret from her and she could read his mind and learn it. He doesn’t think she has any problem with the drawing, he thinks she’s just being her usual strange self.

“Do you like it?” He asks her.

She smiles at him. “He’s quite talented, isn’t he?”

“He?” Harry echoes.

“Draco.” Luna whispers, making sure no one else hears her. “He’s really quite talented isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “How do you know he’s talented?”

“We’re friends, Draco and I.” Luna answers calmly. “He’d shown me some of his pieces. I quite like the ones he draws of the fawn. Did he show you any? It’s a very sweet fawn, I wish I could meet it.”

“You’re friends?” Harry blurts out. “But he…” he trails off. It’s not that he doesn’t have any examples of why Luna and Malfoy shouldn’t be friends, but most of those reasons apply for Harry and Malfoy as well and if he lists all these reasons it might make him realise he can’t be friends with Malfoy. And he likes being friends with Malfoy.

“He apologised.” Luna says, voice firm and serious.

“He did, yes.” Harry agrees.

She smiles. “It’ll be good for you, I think.” Luna tells him. “Draco would be good for you. And you for him.”

“Oh?” He says, because he has no idea what else to say.

“He’ll help,” she explains, “with all the Wrackspurts in your brain. He’ll calm them down, get them to be quiet. He has that effect.” She peers at the drawing of Ron and Hermione as it’s being passed around. “It’s a very useful effect. I tell him that all the time but he never believes me.”

Harry blinks at her. Sometimes, when Harry looks at Luna as his friend and Ginny’s girlfriend he forgets just how odd Luna is. He forgets that half the time she just doesn’t make sense, and she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t try to explain herself or try to appear more normal, she just lets herself be weird.

He doesn’t know if Wrackspurts are real or if Malfoy will help with them, he doesn’t know how Malfoy and Luna became friends. He seems to not know a lot. But he doesn’t mind. It’s not that he enjoys not knowing, but he doesn’t mind. So he doesn’t know everything about Malfoy, that’s ok.

He doesn’t want to know everything about Malfoy. He knows Malfoy won’t try to hurt anyone. Malfoy just wants to get through this year and draw in his notebook and Harry is aware there’s more to it. He doesn’t know what. He doesn’t care. If Malfoy wants to share with him he will, if he won’t, he won’t.

And Harry is ok with that. He really is ok with that. Maybe it’s the fact his life isn’t in danger and that Voldemort is dead, but Harry truly doesn’t mind. Maybe it’s the fact he had an actual proper conversation with Malfoy and he knows more about him. He doesn’t know what exactly changed. 

But something changed. Something changed and Harry is alright with it. He really is alright with it.

~

“Oh joy, you returned.” A familiar drawl greets him as he enters the common room. “I was beginning to worry, I thought I’d have to send search parties. I thought I’d have to go and rescue you, to- to-” he trails off. “I’m too tired to think of any other examples. Imagine I said more.”

Harry chuckles, plopping down in front of the fire. Malfoy’s legs are curled up, a notebook open on his knees, his socked feet brushing Harry’s thigh ever so slightly. He doesn’t mind it. “Too tired or not creative enough?”

Malfoy kicks him lightly. “How did the Weasley clan like the drawings?” He asks, and though he tries to sound bored and indifferent Harry can spot the soft uncertainty underneath it all.

Harry inspects Malfoy. He had spent three days at the Burrow, returning to Hogwarts only just now. He doesn’t know when Malfoy returned. Malfoy didn’t really share his plans for Christmas. But Malfoy doesn’t seem tired or bored or desperate for entertainment, which Harry thinks means he wasn’t alone here.

Malfoy’s cheeks are slightly red from the cold, he’s wearing a blue jumper and white socks. Harry can't see his trousers, as there is a thick blanket covering his legs. His hair isn’t tied back in any way, falling down to his shoulders, wavy and shiny and incredibly soft looking.

“So?”

“What?”

“The drawings?” Malfoy urges. “What did they think?”

“They loved it.” Harry tells him.

Malfoy smiles then huffs and rolls his eyes. “Well, of course they did, I drew them.” He says. Then he turns to Harry, inspecting him carefully. “You aren’t lying to me are you? You can tell me if they didn’t like it, I can handle that. I’m not a child.”

“Not lying.” He assures him, and when Malfoy doesn’t look convinced Harry continues. “Really, they loved it. I swear.” Malfoy frowns and Harry puts his hand on his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“Very well.” Malfoy sighs. “Did you start on the Potions essay?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m utter shite at Potions,” he says. “You of all people should know that.” He peers at the notebook on Malfoy’s feet, a lazy sketch of the Whomping Willow on the paper. “I see you didn’t start either.” He mumbles. “How terribly lazy of you.” He says in his best impression of Malfoy.

“I do not sound like that.” Malfoy huffs. “And unlike you I already finished my Potions essay, thank you very much.” He closes the notebook loudly. “What I have yet to finish is my History of Magic essay. But I did start it, unlike you I suppose.”

“I’ve got my History of Magic essay, actually.” Harry says. “Hermione made me do it. Said I better get it over with.” He shrugs weakly. “But I’m stuck on the Potions essay. Don’t know how to start, how to end, or what to do.”

“You’re truly pathetic.”

“Yes, you’ve said.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Well then, I’ll help you.” He tells him. “At least then it will not be absolutely horrendous. You are welcome.”

“Thanks.” He mutters dryly.

~

“Happy new year!”

“Merlin, Potter, you’re screaming.”

Harry grins. “Come on , Malfoy, it’s New Year’s Eve, let go a little.”

“I do not need to let go, thank you very much.” Malfoy tells him. “If anyone needs to let go, it is you, you are holding that firewhiskey bottle like a lifeline.”

“Am not.”

Malfoy takes the bottle from his hands, sniffing the drink and making a face. He puts the bottle on the table in front of him, looking at Harry with a raised brow. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Psh,” Harry huffs, rolling his eyes. “Did not. Plus it’s a holiday! I’m celebrating! Celebrate with me Malfoy. Celebrate!”

Malfoy chuckles softly, clearly amused by Harry’s antics. He has dressed up for the occasion, wearing black trousers and a puffy white shirt. His hair is braided and he has two silver earrings swinging from each of his ears. They’re very pretty. He looks very pretty.

“You are absolutely drunk.”

“Am not.” Harry shakes his head, even though he knows Malfoy’s right.

Harry had never been very good in holding his booze, now to combine that with drinking a bottle and a half (quarter maybe) of firewhiskey, and drinking completely alone, Harry can confidently say that he is completely pissed. Sloshed. Smashed. Plastered. Trashed. All those.

“Are you not happy?” Harry slurs, shuffling closer to Malfoy. “New year!”

“You are screaming in my ear.”

Harry laughs. He isn’t sure why, Malfoy didn’t say anything particularly funny, but he laughs. “Sorry.” He says, making sure to whisper. “But you aren’t happy? Why not? Smile, Malfoy. Smile.”

“You are unbearable.”

Harry grins at him, resting his head on Malfoy’s shoulder. He can feel Malfoy tense a bit but he doesn’t push Harry away, which Harry thinks is very nice of him. Malfoy is comfortable and his hair is tickling Harry’s forehead just a little bit. He doesn’t really mind it. It feels nice.

Malfoy smells good. Like strawberries and herbal tea and warm hugs. Harry buries his face in Malfoy’s shirt, sniffing in the scent. Is it cologne? He doesn’t think it’s a cologne. The herbal tea is probably a tea he drinks, and warm hugs aren’t really a smell and strawberries could just be strawberries. Merlin, he’d kill for those strawberries right about now.

“Do you have any strawberries?”

“Excuse me?”

“The good strawberries, do you have them here or do you keep them in that shack? I’d really like so- what?”

“How do you know about that?”

“About what?”

“The shack,” Malfoy says, pushing Harry away. “How do you know about the shack?”

Harry shrugs. “Why does it matter?” He mumbles, but Malfoy seems genuinely upset so maybe it does matter. “You showed it to me.”

“No, I did not.”

“Yeah, you did.” Harry says. “It’s a small shack up north, I saw it.” Malfoy stands up abruptly, face pale and panicked. Harry frowns. “I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t mind.”

“Just stop- stop talking, Potter.” Malfoy says, his voice cracking.

“Malfoy?”

“Stop.” Malfoy says again, and with that he leaves.

~

He trudges along the dark forest, the moon shining brightly. It’s beautiful, lighting the sky, full and bright. He thinks there’s something slightly symbolic about it, the moon being full so close to the beginning of the new year. He doesn't know how to describe it, he just knows it feels symbolic.

Malfoy had been avoiding him like the plague. He thinks he figured out that Harry is an animagus and is creeped out by him, which is quite unfortunate. He liked being friends with Malfoy and talking to him, but now whenever he enters a room Malfoy walks right out.

He doesn’t think Malfoy would tell anyone about him being an animagus. He hopes he won’t. He hopes that Malfoy is just creeped out a bit and upset that Harry knows about his hideout and not planning on telling anyone one of Harry’s biggest secrets. He hopes that Malfoy changed.

He’s tired. Exhausted even, but he can’t sleep. He keeps replaying that conversation in his mind, over and over again, wondering what he could have said to change the result. Is that truly it? Were he and Malfoy seriously not able to be friends for longer than a week?

He glances up at the sky. The sun will be rising soon. He hadn’t slept a wink the entire night. He should probably head back, try and rest a bit. He needs to catch up on homework as well. He needs to go back to the castle and not go to the shack. That would be creepy. He should just leave Malfoy alone.

Well, when did he do what he should do? And it’s not like Malfoy is going to be in that shack this late at night. Harry just wants to look around, that’s all. Then he won’t bother Malfoy any more. He’ll let Malfoy know his secret and Harry will know about the shack and that will be it.

He walks closer to the shack, until he can spot it against the soft morning lights, the moon slowly disappearing behind the trees. The shack looks the same as the last time Harry saw it, small, wooden and humble. He inches closer, turning back into his human form, stretching his arms.

From inside the shack he can hear a faint whimpering sound. It almost sounds like crying. The only window in the shack is closed shut which means Harry can’t peek inside. Is Malfoy there? Is he crying? Is he crying because of Harry? Is that really a reason to cry?

He mumbles a quick unlocking spell at the door, waving his wand at its general direction. The door opens fairly easily with a soft click. Harry grabs the wooden doorknob, twisting it slowly. He keeps a firm and tight hold on his wand as he opens the door.

The first thing he notices is blood. The smell, the sight, everywhere. Blood. It’s smeared on the walls, on the floor and the cabinets. For a second he’s back in moaning myrtle's bathroom, hearing the sound of water, seeing blood mix with all the water on the ground, feeling his heart hammer in his chest.

Then he spots Malfoy, laying on the ground, curled into himself, back bare and bloody. His hair is spread and messy on the ground, his breathing shallow and weak, his skin a few shades paler than normal. He’s completely naked and Harry only barely registers that.

He leaned down towards him, uncertain of what to do. Malfoy’s shoulders are shaking and he whimpers and moans as if he’s in pain. Harry wants to help, he wants so badly to mend the wounds and stop the bleeding but he can't. He doesn't know how to.

“Malfoy?” He whispers weakly, touching his shoulder. Malfoy blinks up at him, eyes tired and unfocused. Harry swallows the bile in his throat. “Draco?”

Malfoy whimpers weakly, curling deeper into himself, lower lip wobbling. He shakes his head weakly, pushing Harry away. He’s weak so it doesn’t bother Harry too much. Malfoy’s hands are stained with blood and dirt, dry blood under his nails, and dirt on his face.

“Go,” he breathes out, voice scratchy and weak. “Go away.”

“I’m not going, Draco.” Harry says firmly, taking Draco’s hand in his, holding it tight.

Draco shakes his head. “I’ll-” he exhales but he doesn’t fight, letting Harry hold his hand. “I’ll stain your clothes.”

“Stain them, I don’t care.”

Draco whimpers, his eyes filling with tears. Harry grabs the two blankets from the small bed, putting them both on Draco. He buries his face in the thick blankets, weeping and sniffling, his shoulders shaking. He’s still holding on to Harry’s hand, holding it tight.

Harry lets Draco cry, trying to remember any healing spells but anything he thinks doesn’t feel right. He isn’t a healer, he doesn’t know how to heal people. He wishes Hermione was here with him, she’d know what to do. She knows healing spells. She could help.

The door to the shack opens and Madam Pomfrey walks in. Her eyes widen when she spots Harry, then she scans the small shack and her expression turns hard and cold. She trudges over to both of them, leaning down and pulling out her wand, inspecting Draco carefully.

She pulls the blankets down to his waist, healing the wound on Draco’s back, waving her wand, whispering spells that Harry doesn’t recognise. When she is completely certain the wound won’t bleed out, finishing her healing with one last flourish of the wand, she stands up.

“Well then,” she says. “Help me carry him, if you’re here.”

Harry nods quickly, grabbing one of Draco’s arms as Madam Pomfrey does the same. One of the blankets is still on him and Harry is fairly certain that it’s on purpose. He and Madam Pomfrey both drag Draco up. He’s light, concerningly so and Harry has no problem carrying him.

He follows Madam Pomfrey as they walk through the forest, the light of dawn showing them the way. It’s cold and snow covers the ground. Draco is probably freezing, but he doesn’t complain. Is he unconscious? Did he bleed out enough to be unconscious?

He glances at Draco. He’s awake, if only barely, eyes half lidded and purple bruises under his eyes. He looks at Harry with tears in his eyes, scared and desperate. Harry had it all wrong. Draco wasn’t creeped out by Harry being an animagus. Draco was worried about his own secret.

Madam Pomfrey opens the door to the hospital wing, leading Draco to a bed. Harry lays him down on it as Madam Pomfrey goes to grab healing potions from her cabinets. He sits down on the chair next to Malfoy’s bed, looking at his blood stained hands and clothes.

“Go away.” Draco whispers. “Please, go.”

“Do you want to be alone?” Harry asks.

Draco’s eyes shine with tears and he weakly shakes his head. “No,” He admits as though it’s wrong to say, as though saying it is forbidden. “I don’t.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

“I’ll hurt you.” He whispers. “That’s what I do. I hurt people.”

“Hurt me.” Harry says, crossing his arms. “I’ve been bruised before, I don’t mind.”

“You should mind.”

Harry huffs. “When have I ever listened to what I should and shouldn’t do?”

“Never, I suppose.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “Never.”

~

The first thing he registers upon waking up is that his neck fucking hurts. He groans and stretches and reaches to massage it. He opens his eyes, the sunlight blinding him. He shields his eyes from the sun, rubbing his face and getting up from the uncomfortable wooden chair.

The hospital wing is empty, barren of Madam Pomfrey. He straightens his glasses and runs a hand through his hair. His mouth is dry and his back feels tense and cramped. He should have slept in a bed and not a chair. It fucking hurts sleeping in a chair.

He notices Draco laying on a bed, hair spread on a pillow, eyes closed and breathing calm and soft. He sits back down on the chair, inspecting Draco’s pale face, a soft blush on his cheeks. He watches his chest move up and down in a slow steady rhythm.

Last night had been… it happened. All of it. He went to the shack and Draco was there and he- he was- he is. Holy fuck. That makes so much fucking sense. How had Harry not seen it before? How had he been so blind and oblivious? How had he been so stupid?

That’s why Hermione was worried for him, and why Draco is friends with Madam Pomfrey, and why his mother and him aren’t close at the moment. All of it makes sense. He groans, burying his face in his hands, unsure of what to do now, of how to deal with this information.

Draco Malfoy is a werewolf.

Draco Malfoy is a werewolf.

Merlin, that’s… that’s really shitty. That’s like really, really shitty.

“You look like utter shit.”

Harry glances at Draco. He’s pale and he has bags under his eyes, his hair messy and unkempt and his lips are slightly blue. Harry rolls his eyes. “You don’t look so good yourself.”

Draco’s smile vanishes from his face. “Why were you there, Potter?”

“I thought- I didn’t- I wasn’t-” none of the words feel like the right thing to say. “I’m sorry, Draco, I really am.”

Draco huffs, sitting up on the bed. “No one has ever pitied me, and I do not need to be pitied now.” He says firmly. “Especially not now.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Harry promises him. “I swear.”

“And how would I know to trust you, exactly?”

Harry looks down at his hands. Madam Pomfrey had cleaned the blood, both from Harry’s hands and clothes and from Draco. She probably did that after he fell asleep. When did he even fall asleep? He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He doesn’t even remember closing his eyes. He just watches Draco breathe. That’s what he recalls doing.

“I can tell you a secret of mine. Make it even.”

“What secrets do you possibly have?”

“I’m an animagus.”

Draco laughs weakly. “Like you’ll have the patience for that.”

“No, I am, really.”

“Prove it.”

So Harry does. He doesn’t tend to transform in front of people, and definitely not in front of Draco. It’s uncomfortable and he isn’t completely sure how it looks from an outside perspective. It must look weird, right? Someone turning into an animal in front of you probably looks weird.

He glances up at Draco’s face, checking his expression. His eyes are wide and his eyebrows are almost up to his hairline. Harry changes back, standing up and making sure that Madam Pomfrey didn’t suddenly appear somewhere behind him to witness the whole thing.

“You-”  

“Yeah.”

“You’re the- it’s you. You’re the fucking- you bastard!” Draco yells, glaring at Harry. “Were you stalking me, is that it? Did you think I was up to some Death-Eater stuff? Is that it?”

“What? No.” Harry says quickly. “I stumbled upon you in the forest and then I just… well, you were nice and I don’t know,” he feels his cheeks grow hot as he babbles. “I didn’t mean to spy- I- I didn’t spy. I just- listen, I’m sorry, I am, and I really won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

Draco doesn’t look convinced, his hands crossed and his expression cold. He inspects Harry with a guarded look. “You just decided to walk around the forest? Get fresh air and, what? Stick with the first person that feeds you?”

“It was good food.” Harry mumbles, shrugging.

“You’re mental, Potter.” Draco says, laying back down on the bed. “But I suppose you can stay… for now.”

“For now.” Harry echoes and grins.

~

“This is torture.” Ron says firmly. “Honestly, this shouldn’t be allowed.” He plops down with a groan. “Potions, the minute we return. Bloody awful.”

Harry sits down beside him, dropping his bag on the ground. He doesn’t mind Potions so much, to be completely honest. He doesn’t enjoy it but it’s not as awful as it used to be. Plus, he has his Potions essay completely finished and Draco had assured him that he will get top marks with it. Harry believes him.

Students filter inside the classroom, one by one. He notices when Draco walks inside, glancing at Harry for a moment, his lip twitching upwards. Harry can’t help but smile at him, watch him as he walks to the back of the classroom, sitting down in front of a table.

“Well, did you? Harry?”

He blinks. “What?”

“The essay, Harry,” Hermione says. “Did you do it?”

“Oh, yeah!” He grins, pulling out the four pieces of parchments from his bag. “Finished it completely. And not only that, I did all of it, all of my homework.”

Hermione smiles. “That’s good, Harry. I’m proud of you.”

Ron taps his shoulder. “Let me copy?” He whispers softly, making sure Hermione doesn’t hear him.

Harry nods, pushing the parchment closer to Ron, watching as he pulls out his own pieces of parchments and a quill, scribbling furiously, in a desperate panic. Hermione notices them, rolling her eyes and huffing, mumbling something about incompetence and how they won’t really study this way.

Slughorn walks inside the room, the chatter growing quiet until it stops completely. Slughorn begins his lecture, explaining the type of potion they will be making and such. He asks who knows something, Harry doesn’t listen to the question. Hermione answers the question and earns Gryffindor five points.

Harry opens the book at the page Slughorn instructs everyone to open, inspecting the words on the page, looking at the ingredients, at the swirly letters written in ink and the photo of how the potion is meant to look and what colour it should have at the end.

“If everyone will please divide into groups of two.” Slughorn requests.

Chairs scrape as students walks around the classroom, towards whoever it is they want to make the potion with. He scans the classroom, checking if there is anyone that doesn’t have a second. Harry knows that Ron and Hermione will be with each other. He doesn’t mind it. He just needs to find someone else.

In the back of the classroom he notices Draco, still sitting alone, head bowed down, hair covering his face. No one seems to be going towards his direction, in fact people seem to avoid the general area near him completely. But that means he is free, and that no one will bother Harry.

He walks to him, taking his bag from the floor, dragging it behind himself, sitting down in the stool beside him. Draco blinks at him, eyebrows furrowing. He looks around the room, then back at Harry, rubbing his eyes as though it would make him disappear. Expectedly, it doesn’t.

“What are you doing?”

“Slughorn said to divide into groups of two.” Harry tells him. “One,” he points at Draco, “two.” He points at himself.

“Yes, I know how to count, I am not an imbecile.” Draco snaps, keeping his voice quiet, barely above a whisper. “Potter, people are looking.”

And Draco is right because people are looking, they’re looking with curious expression, upset and angry expression and in Hermione’s case a pinched expression and pursed lips. But Harry is used to people looking. People always look, the only thing you can do about it is ignore them.

“Yeah, so what?”

“This isn’t… we aren’t… I mean, are we?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, friends, I suppose.” He clenches his fists. “We aren’t though, right? We’re friendly acquaintances, nothing more, and definitely not now in front of everyone… right?”

Harry shrugs. “Why not friends? I’d say friends.”

“Are you saying that just because…” he trails off, taking even quieter, looking around slightly panicked. “That night? Because if it is because of that I will shove that friendship so deep into your arse you will vomit it back up.”

Harry huffs a laugh. “It’s not that, I like talking to you. You’re nice.”

“Nice.” He echoes.

“You’re entertaining.” Harry calmly says. “And you’re nice to animals.”

Draco flushes. “Do not say that.” He insists. “Do not remind me you saw me like that. In fact, you didn’t see me like that. I do not like animals. I hate them all. I want them dead.” He looks away from Harry, preparing the table for work

“Even Artemis?”

Draco’s lip twitches upwards. “Artemis may live.” He says. “Apollo is on thin ice.”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, quickly covering his mouth. Slughorn frowns at his direction but doesn’t actually say anything or take any points. Slughorn never takes any points from Harry and while Harry absolutely hates the special treatment, it is sort of nice sometimes.

“What about Odysseus?”

“Oh, he can die.” Draco decides. “He bit me far too many times.” He sighs, opening the book to the page of the potion. “Go and get the ingredients.”

“Why me?”

“Do you know how to prepare a cauldron?”

Harry shakes his head and walks to the cupboard where all the ingredients are. He measures everything, still not completely used to the gross texture of slugs and leeches and bugs. He finishes pouring crushed bug juice into a cup when Hermiome stomps in front of him.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing, Harry?”

“Hoping I got all the right ingredients?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She says, exasperated. “What are you doing with Malfoy?”

Harry shrugs. “He was free.”

“Harry,” she whispers. “I just… he’s- I don’t know if you should-”

He bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at where Draco is sitting, preparing a cauldron. He won’t hear them, that’s for certain. He looks back at Hermione. “You know, right? That’s the thing you didn’t want to tell me, isn’t it?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Draco’s furry little problem.”

Hermione’s quiet for a moment. “You figured it out?”

“Sort of.” Harry says. “He won’t- he’s cool now. Really. I like talking to him.”

Hermione purses her lips, her expression turning complicated and slightly sour. He wasn’t exactly eager to tell her or Ron about being friends with Draco, but he wasn’t planning on keeping it secret. He knows their history. He was there during most of that history. And he knows that Draco changed.

He won’t force Hermione or Ron to hang out with Draco. He is fairly certain Draco wouldn’t want to hang out with them either. But he won’t stop hanging out around Draco. He won’t stop just because everyone came back. He likes it. He likes talking to Draco and being around him and he won’t stop.

“It’s Draco now?” She asks.

“Yeah, mature, aren’t I?”

Hermione smiles. “Is that why your Potions essay was so good? Because he did it for you?”

“He didn’t do anything, he helped me do it.” Harry tells her. “He said that if he does it for me I won’t learn anything at all.”

“He’s right.” She says.

Harry nods, inspecting her face. “Are you mad?”

“I’m…” she glances at Draco, then back at Harry. “No, Harry, I’m not mad.” She assures him. “Now, go back and make the potion.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Harry walks back to Draco spreading all the ingredients on the table. Draco huffs, muttering something about incompetence and begins setting the ingredients in an organised manner. Harry tries to help him, but all it earns him is a smack on his fingers. He doesn’t try after.

Then Draco orders him to cut the beetles, which Harry does, quite well, if he says so himself. Draco handles the more complicated parts of the potion, like the timing, and the stirring and the actual making of the potion. Harry doesn’t mind not doing much, and mostly handing him whatever he requests.

They’ve gotten to the part of making the potion where Harry truly doesn’t have anything to do. So he watches Draco. It’s not to learn how to make the potion or to study potion making, he’s just bored and it’s like watching really boring t.v. Like a cooking show.

Draco’s face is pinched in concentration, he bites his lower lip and his eyebrows are furrowed. His hair continually falls into his face and he continuously tucks it behind his ear, focus unwavering, completely enthralled in making and stirring the now lavender potion.

His hair shines in the candlelight, almost completely white. His skin is pale and fair, lips pink and fingers long and slender. Harry knows, from that night in the shack, that Draco has a pretty nasty scar right above his buttock. He knows there are more scars but he doesn’t remember where. He wants to know where.

When Draco orders him to bring the glass vials, Harry quickly obeys, holding it upright as Draco pours the now green (what are they even making?) potion inside the vial. Draco puts a cork on it and holds up the vial proudly, looking smug and satisfied with himself.

“Hand it over.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because Slugy there despises me and he won’t grade me appropriately.” Draco tells him, pushing the vial in his hands. “But he loves you, and he’d give you an O if you handed over plain dung.”

Harry rolls his eyes and turns towards the front of the classroom, giving the vial to Slughorn who beams and compliments Harry on his fine potion making. Harry shrugs, turning away, trying not to think about how Draco was completely right about what he said.

“So?”

“He says I’m a very fine potioneer indeed.”

“Ha!” Draco says, unimpressed. “Very fine stalker, is what you are. You creep.” He puts his books back in his bag. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be off.” He hands Harry his book back. “Madam Pomfrey is worried about my leg or some nonsense as such. I’m fine, no need to follow me.” 

Harry takes the book from Draco’s hand. “Alright.” He says. “But you’ll be fine, yeah?”

“I’ll be perfectly fine. She’s just worried about my hip, for some reason.” Draco shrugs. “She does that sometimes, worrying about me for no real reason.” He gets up from the stool. “You go back to your Gryffindors. Weasley there is staring me down as though I’m his prey.”

“Ok, well,” he isn’t sure what to say, “uh, feel well, I guess. Take care and such.” Harry waves weakly. “Bye.”

~

Draco is sitting beneath a tree, leaning against it, a small raccoon curled up in his lap. He’s petting the raccoon with one hand and with his other hand he pets Apollo. His head is adorned with flowers of all sorts. Harry knows for a fact Draco can name all of those flowers.

Harry comes out from behind the bushes, this time none of his legs getting caught in the shrub and thorns. He steps on the snowy ground. It’s cold but Harry doesn’t mind too much as most of his fur keeps the cold at bay. Not completely, he definitely won’t refuse a blanket, but he isn’t freezing.

Draco looks up from the raccoon. “Aw, hello there you-” his smile vanishes from his face. “You.” He says in a cold tone. “Change. Right now. It’s creepy and it feels like stalking.”

Harry changes back, the cold suddenly hitting him full blast. “Merlin,” he breathes out, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself, “it’s bloody freezing outside, how are you not dying?”

“I actually dressed for the season.” Draco tells him. He did in fact dress for winter, wearing a black coat with fur lining, cheeks pink from the cold. “Come here, a warming spell will do you good.”

“I can do my own warming spells.” Harry mutters but he does go up to Draco, plopping down beside him.

Draco waves his wand and Harry feels a wave of warmth wash over him. The magic feels nice and familiar, like sitting with a blanket in front of an open fire. He smiles, absentmindedly petting the raccoon, whatever his name may be, Harry doesn’t remember it.

“Have you got any of those strawberries?”

“Seriously, Potter?”

Harry shrugs. “Good food is good food.” He says. “Come on, I know you have some to give the animals.” He lets Artemis jump in his lap. “Cause you love these animals. Ya big softie.”

Draco huffs. “I do not. Shut up.”

“I’ll shut up for some strawberries?”

Draco rolls his eyes and fishes out a small box with strawberries, throwing it at Harry who catches it, popping one of the strawberries in his mouth. It tastes so good, fresh and sweet and with just the perfect amount of tang. He licks his lips, savouring the taste.

“Where do you even get these?”

Draco takes one from the box, biting half of it. It stains his lips a dark red and Harry tries not to think about Draco’s lips. “Madam Pomfrey’s garden.” He answers simply, finishing the strawberry with another bite.

“She has a garden?”

“Mhm,” Draco hums. “A really pretty garden as well, with a bunch of flowers and fruits and vegetables.” He says, eyes far away, as though he’s fantasising about the garden right now. “Merlin, it’s beautiful, truly. Sometimes, you can just lie down on the grass and close your eyes and it’s just… it’s like all your problems melt away.”

“You’ve been to Madam Pomfrey’s garden?”

 Draco shrugs. “Stayed with her after the war because mum… she wasn’t all too thrilled about the whole, you know, uh, well, you know.”

“Werewolf thing?”

“Yeah, that.” Draco nods. “Anyhow, it was the full moon after the battle and I was in one of the quarantined rooms for the… you know what, at the ministry. I think Madam Pomfrey was volunteering there, and she saw me and kind of just took me to her home.”

Harry blinks, taking another strawberry. “Did she really?”

“I think I remind her of someone.” Draco admits in a quiet voice. “Her son if she has one. And I told you that already, didn’t I?”

Harry shrugs. “She doesn’t have a son.” He tells him quietly. “I think,” he says, “I think you remind her of Remus.”

“Professor Lupin?” Draco blurts out. “What? Just because he’s a… because he’s like me?”

Harry shakes his head, taking another strawberry. “She cared for him a lot.” He says. “He felt like a son to her.” He looks at the red strawberry in his hand. “Sirius told me that. Merlin, that must have been forever ago.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Sirius? Yeah, every day.” He nods. “Remus as well. I miss everyone.” He blinks away the tears in his eyes. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you miss anyone? Your family?”

“Of course I miss my family.” Draco says. “I just… it’s complicated. I miss them and I’m angry at them at the same time. And I’m angry at myself and I can’t look in the mirror because I know that I became something that younger me would have hated. Something that I still sometimes hate.”

“I don’t want to live like this my entire life.” Draco whispers, bringing his knees to his chest, the raccoon running away to his side as he does. “I don’t want it to happen every single month for the rest of my life. I don’t want scars. I don’t want to bleed. I don’t want to be defined by this. I don’t want this. It hurts.”

Harry takes Draco’s hand, squeezing it softly. Draco makes a small weak whimper sound, burying his head in his knees, squeezing Harry’s hand tightly. He begins crying weakly, the sound is only slightly muffled but Harry can make out what the sound means.

“I can be there with you.”

Draco sniffles, blinking up at him, his eyes are red, and his cheeks and eyelashes are wet, his eyebrows furrow. “Be there with me?” He echoes, voice thick and sad.

“In the shack, the next full moon.” Harry explains.

Draco laughs humourlessly. “I know you don’t listen at lessons, Potter, but even you must know that won’t be possible.” He says blandly. “I’d kill you, or turn you. Both are shitty options.” He sighs, taking his hand back. “Pity me from afar.”

“I can go in my animagus form,” Harry tells him, “you won’t attack me then, you’d think I’m an animal and you won’t attack me.” He explains. “That’s what my dad and his friends did with Remus, and it worked, he didn’t attack them and it helped Remus.”

Draco chews his lip. “Does it really work?” He asks in a timid voice. “Because I don’t want to risk it, Potter, I don't want blood on my hands, definitely not the bloody Golden Boy’s blood.”

“It works.” Harry promises. “I swear.”

“Alright.” Draco mumbles quietly. “Alright, come and be there. But if it starts to go south, leave. I don’t want you to try and save me and risk your life or getting bit in the process, you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Draco says. “Can’t wait.”

~

Harry watches from behind the bushes as Madam Pomfrey walks out of the shack, locking it behind her, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. She looks tired and sad, bags under her eyes and shoulders slumped. He waits for her to leave completely, making sure she won’t see him.

He opens the door with a spell, slipping inside the shack. Draco looks up at him, pointing at the door. Harry locks it back up, sitting on the ground beside Draco. The shack doesn’t look too different from the last time he saw it, only less covered in blood.

Draco looks anxious, chewing his lip, eyebrows furrowed, pulling on his hair. He keeps glancing at Harry and then at the closed window, as though he’d suddenly transform and kill him. Harry knows it won’t happen, he isn’t worried. But judging by the expression on Draco’s face, Harry knows trying to comfort him won’t work.

“Draco-”

“It’s starting.” He says, voice panicked and scared. “Change. Change right now.”

Harry nods, changing as Draco requested. Draco watches him as he does, lower lip wobbling. Moonlight shines through the cracks of the window and Draco inhales sharply, sniffling and turning away from Harry so, Harry assumes, he won’t be able to see his face.

He doesn’t really know what he should expect, or how it should look. He doesn’t remember much about Remus transformation, he didn’t really pay attention to it at the time, but he knows it doesn’t happen immediately, he knows it isn’t like a switch flipped.

Draco moans in pain, wrapping his hands around himself, jaw clenching. He keels over, his shoulders sticking out, the sound of bones cracking echoing in the empty space. Draco lets out another pained sound, panting desperately, his chest dropping and rising.

Fur sprouts from Draco’s back, his arms turning longer, twisting in unnatural ways. He yells out, his eyes losing their humanity, turning completely blue and animalistic. His nose gets longer, turning into a snout, teeth getting sharper, fur covering his face and body.

Then it’s done and instead of Draco in front of him is a white haired wolf, panting, growling, glaring at Harry. He bares his teeth, showing sharp fangs, most likely trying to threaten Harry. It doesn’t work. Harry doesn’t feel threatened, and not because he knows it’s Draco, it’s because he’s so… small.

Harry remembers Remus’ wolf form, this big, violent thing, scarred and scary. Draco doesn’t look like that whatsoever. His fur is white, his body small and curled into itself, as though he’s scared. The wolf blinks at him when he notices Harry isn’t threatened, looking confused.

The wolf sniffs him, taking a careful step closer to Harry, cocking his head to the side. He seems to have sensed Harry isn’t dangerous, his tail swinging from side to side, excited to not be alone for once. He takes another step towards Harry, nudging him slightly with his snout.

Harry glances at the door. Sirius had told him that they used to roam the forest with Remus back in their school days, but he thinks now is a bit too soon. He thinks maybe in a month or two they could venture outside of the shack, and then go from there.

He looks back at the wolf, his blue eyes staring back at him. Harry sits beside the wolf, waiting for him to decide what to do. The wolf inspects Harry for a moment until finally deciding to sit next to Harry, resting his head on Harry’s body, keeping their bodies close.

Harry doesn’t mind it, the wolf is a nice source of warmth and he really isn’t that heavy. He blinks sleepily at Harry, looking almost bored with him, waiting for him to do something impressive. Harry doesn’t do anything but the wolf doesn’t seem to be upset, simply closing his eyes and resting.

And internally, Harry smiles.

~

“Draco, Draco, wake up.”

Draco blinks at him, hair messy and unkempt, eyes unfocused and tired. “What?”

“It’s morning,” Harry tells him. “I gotta go.”

Draco shakes his head, wrapping the blanket Harry brought him tighter, burying his face in Harry’s chest. Then he looks up at Harry, squinting at him. “You’re not dead.” He mumbles. “It worked.”

“It worked.” Harry nods.

Draco sits up, keeping himself covered with the blanket, expression unreadable. He seems to be in shock, but in his eyes are a million different emotions that Harry can’t even begin to try and decipher. The silence between them is thick and heavy and Harry is too scared to break it.

Is Draco upset? Harry hopes he isn’t. Is he embarrassed, maybe? That could be. Draco is the type to get embarrassed quickly, maybe that’s what this is. Maybe he is embarrassed that Harry saw him transforming. Or maybe it’s the position he woke up in, practically draped across Harry, though Harry himself didn’t mind.

“This can’t happen again.” Draco says suddenly.

“Why not?”

“I can’t get used to this.” He answers. “There are only five more full moons in the school year, I don’t want to get used to this, I need to be realistic.” He brings his knees to his chest. “As nice as this may be, I can’t get used to easy, uneventful full moons. It’s a false sense of security.”

Harry frowns. “Why does it matter? You’re saying it as though the school year will end and we’ll never talk again.”

“Because we won’t, Potter. Be realistic.”

Harry takes Draco’s hand. “I am realistic.” He insists. “I wasn’t suggesting it as a one time thing, I wasn’t suggesting it only for the school year. Draco, I,” he cups Draco’s cheeks with his hands, forcing Draco to look at him, “I won’t let you go through that alone ever again.”

“Potter,” Draco breathes out, grey eyes wide and glowing. He swallows weakly. “I won’t get better,” he tells him, “I’m stuck like this, for life, and it’ll only get worse.”

“I know.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“I know.”

Draco leans closer to him, letting their lips touch. He’s warm and his lips are soft and his kiss is gentle, as though he’s afraid to harm Harry. But Harry isn’t afraid, for the first time in his life, he is completely and totally certain in what he is doing, not a doubt in his mind.

He pulls Draco closer, kissing him deeper, feeling Draco’s smooth skin under his fingers, reaching to touch his silky hair. Draco holds him tight, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, the blanket that covered him falling to the floor, completely forgotten.

“Was it scary? Was I scary?" He whispers.

"No." Harry says firmly, then he kisses him again, holding him tight. "You were beautiful."

~ epilogue ~

Harry gets up from his chair, stretching out his back rubbing his eyes, doing his best to stifle a yawn. He looks down at the messy table, parchments and quills strewn about, with no real reason or sense. He picks up the small box, walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Done?”

Draco looks up from the canvas up at him, his hair is wrapped in a lazy bun, paint smeared in his clothes and face. He smiles at Harry, then he looks back at the canvas with a serious expression, standing up from his stool, stretching with a loud groan.

“I think it just might be.” Draco answers. “Do you think they’d like it?”

Harry can’t help but smile, looking at the canvas in front of him. The painting is still but Harry almost feels as though he’s there, a warm spring day, Ron and Hermione facing each other, sniffling and smiling, Hermione dressed in a white dress and Ron in a red tux, saying vows, making promises.

“They’d love it, Draco.” Harry promises him, walking up to him, kissing him.

Draco smiles, cupping Harry’s right cheek. “You’ve got paint on you.”

“I’ve got paint on me?” Harry huffs.

“I am allowed to have paint on me, Harry, I am an artist.” Draco tells him, wiping the paint away from Harry’s cheek. “You on the other hand,” he says, “are never allowed to be dirty.”

“Never?”

“Well, excuse me, but all the healers I’ve met are completely spotless.”

Harry laughs. “Poppy has a garden, that’s not clean.”

“Poppy gets a pass.”

“Why does she get a pass and not me?” Harry asks, scandalised.

Draco raises an eyebrow, smirking. He kisses Harry and walks off without answering his question, wiping off the paint off his own face. He pulls off his dirty apron, throwing it blindly at the side of the room, washing the brushes clean, eyebrows furrowing the way they always do when he concentrates.

He looks ethereal in the sunshine, hair glowing, eyes shining. Sure, he has bags under his eyes, and he’s wearing his work clothes which more often than not are in a state of complete and total mess, but still, Draco looks amazing, as though he stepped out from one of his paintings.

“You’re staring.” Draco tells him. “Creepy bastard.”

Harry grins. “Can you get ready, please?” He asks. “I’ve been waiting for you for eternity.”

“Yes yes, alright.” Draco huffs. “I'll go and get ready for your special surprise.” He says in a mocking voice. “How good is this surprise anyway?”

Harry rolls at him, watching as Draco stops in the door frame, crossing his arms, looking extremely skeptical. Harry reaches to his pocket, carefully touching the box with the ring inside, smiling at Draco who leans on the door frame. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for Harry to answer.

“Pretty good, I’d say.”