Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The weeks crept on at Hogwarts and before you knew it, quidditch season was upon them. Harry was filled with new excitement at the prospect of having an uninterrupted quidditch season. He was sure to help Gryffindor fly to the top and secure the cup. He and Ginny were co-captains this year, and tryouts had gone brilliant. Ron even made the team again! Another great thing about quidditch is that it was something Harry and Draco actually had in common, which served to diffuse much of the tension between the new roommates. The two boys would wake up together and get ready for practice, trudging through morning dew on the pitch. Draco had even lent Harry his broom polish, and in return Harry had given him some tips on broom stabilization.
It was after a particularly fun scrimmage that the two Seekers had a profound moment. They were in their room, changing out of their sweaty uniforms when Harry again noticed the silvery scars lining Draco’s chest. In the spirit of their new-founded familiarity with each other (friendship was still a strong word) he decided to ask Draco about it.
“Malfoy, how’d you get those scars on your chest?” Harry forced his tone to stay conversational, but something in the air changed as soon as the words left his lips. The grey eyes looked up at him and Draco’s face turned tense and cold. Harry thought he was going to get ignored, but to his surprise Draco opened his mouth to speak.
“My house was broken into over the Summer. Crazed half-bloods who hated my parents. Said they were fans of the Order of the Phoenix and I should rot. One moment they were screaming and the next their wands were out, pointed right at my chest. It was some sort of spell I’d never heard of.” Draco paused and Harry saw his face contort in pain, making his sharp features more vicious. “Something similar to sectumsempra.” It was a kill shot. Draco stared harshly at the floor, unwilling to meet Harry’s gaze.
On the inside, Harry’s stomach lurched. Sectumsempra was the spell he cruelly used on Draco their sixth year. It had nearly killed him. It quite literally slashed him all over. For him to suffer through something like that again – and in the name of the Order – was horrid. He knew he couldn’t take it back, but he desperately wanted to fix it. Harry walked forward, closer to his roommate. Draco stood still, statuesque. Harry stood so close that their breath, still warm from training, mingled. He heard Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath, a sound Harry knew was out of surprise. He waited for Draco look him in the eyes.
“I was wrong to use that spell.” Harry said with every ounce of sincerity. He meant it with every part of him. Draco’s face didn’t move a muscle. He continued to stare at Harry with a blank gaze. He was unreadable, like every trace of humanity was stuck under the surface. Harry dropped his gaze and left the room with his broom in his hands. He needed to be in the sky for a while.
Draco ran his hand through his tidy blonde hair as soon as Harry left the room. He could have leaned forward and kissed Potter right there. Draco sat on the edge of his bed, whole body tense. His fingers absentmindedly brushed the long scars on his chest. If these things are what end up bringing Potter to me, I guess they were worth it, he thought.
Draco had been falling in love with Harry for weeks now. All the animosity had melted away. Living with Harry showed a different side of him. He wasn’t obnoxious and pompous like Draco thought. There was so much depth to him – his nightmares, his sense of humor, his consideration for his friends. Draco was seeing it all up close. What struck him most was that Harry Potter wasn’t judgmental in the slightest. Draco noticed him looking at his scars – there was never any disgust in his gaze, just curiosity. He didn’t mind Draco’s embarrassingly expensive tastes, and in had been a while since Draco felt Harry harbored resentment for their younger years. He was damaged goods, and his broken matched Draco’s. For the first time in eight years, Harry Potter wasn’t unattainable.
Draco thought back to the night Harry had his nightmare. He had rubbed Harry’s shoulder, and cautiously moved to his back, trying to soothe him. Harry had even placed his head on Draco’s shoulder and fell asleep. Poor thing was too exhausted to lay back down himself. It hurt Draco to see Harry hurting that much. It hurt him even more to realize he had feelings for the boy, as he fell asleep in Harry’s bed. Draco tried to refuse them. He tried being mean, lasing out, and avoiding the room. But he felt off. Nobody else at Hogwarts wanted much to do with him. The pure blood families were disappointed in him, the half-bloods hated him, Snape wasn’t around to protect him anymore, and he’d even lost Crabbe and Goyle, as moronic as they were. Draco realized he couldn’t afford to be mean to Potter. If he pushed the Golden Trio away, he was really all alone. Besides, it dawned on Draco that Harry Potter might be the person he could count on to admit this secret about himself to – this attraction that had nagged Draco since Year 2, but never voiced. And then the feelings he’d been shoving down for years came back full force.
Draco had quickly gone from helping Potter out once by waking him up, to falling asleep in his bed, to opening up to Harry about his feelings. Even now, Harry cared about the things that happened to Draco. He had apologized for hurting him. Draco knew in that moment that he was in love with Harry Potter because Harry saw him – the scarred parts, the bruised parts, the lonely parts. And he still deemed Draco worthy. The problem was, though, that Harry was in love with Ginny Weasley, and probably wouldn’t ever speak to Draco again after they graduated.
Harry flew in loops around the castle. He was supposed to stay near the quidditch pitch, but quite frankly, he didn’t care. Flying had always been his favorite way to clear his mind, but now that he was of legal age, drinking wasn’t half bad either. Once his feet were firmly on the ground, he marched to Ron and Hermione’s room.
“Need a drink.” Ron and Hermione blinked at his demand. Ron shrugged and got up, dusting off his trousers.
“Are you sure?” Hermione asked. “What’s wrong?” Harry briefly explained some tale of how he was having a hard time adjusting. What he couldn’t bring himself to say is that he couldn’t get Draco off his mind and it was driving him crazy. He wanted to be around him. More than he wanted to be around his girlfriend, which made him feel even worse.
“I’m just going to grab some money,” Harry declared as he walked through the bathroom to his suite. Draco watched him bustling around the room collecting his things to go out. Harry looked at his roommate, and before he realized he’d said it, he invited Draco drinking with him and his friends.
The youngest Malfoy paused, mostly in shock. “Sure,” he replied, apprehensive.
“Alright then,” Harry said, and scurried through the bathroom again. He told Ron and Hermione about their guest, and only got minimal hesitation. This term Draco hadn’t been so typically horrid to be around. He and Hermione actually got on quite well. Once Draco got over the whole muggle-born thing, that was.
The four students were down at the bar soon after, enjoying the ambiance (and their mugs of alcohol). Ron got a sipping whiskey, Hermione a rum and coke, Harry a strong gin and tonic, and Draco a vodka martini, all of which were on Harry’s dime. The gang laughed at Draco’s order, calling it quite prissy. To their surprise, Draco, in an attempt to shut them up, ordered them a round of dragon’s fire. Four shot glasses of clear, bubbling liquid were soon at their disposal.
“Drink up,” Draco said, tossing it back. His face squinched up a bit, but otherwise he seemed mild mannered, and motioned for the group to take it. Harry and Hermione looked at each other, apprehensive, but enjoying the prospect of a challenge.
“Fine,” Ron said as he reached out for the glass. He smelled the drink and gagged. “That’s awful!” he groused.
“It’s quality” Draco emphasized. “Not so Irish anymore, are you, Weasley?”
“Oh, you’re going to eat your words, Malfoy.” Ron said, taking the shot. A moment after, Ron was howling, jumping up and down and Draco was hysterical. Hermione and Harry were also doubled over, laughing deeply from the belly. Once he calmed down, Ron was warning Harry and Hermione how awful it was.
“It can’t be that bad,” Hermione said. Ron gave her a look. “C’mon, Harry,” Hermione said, picking up her drink and pinching her nostrils closed. Harry laughed and picked his up as well.
“Can we have a chaser?” he asked Draco.
“Of course not,” he said and folded his arms across his chest. Harry shrugged.
“3…2…” Hermione counted, looking paler as she went. “1!” The two tossed back the drink. The taste was horrendous. It was so dry and so acidic. The putrid burn coated their throats. Hermione was gagging and Harry was trying his best not to, repeatedly swallowing the welling saliva. It felt as though smoke was pouring out of their ears. Harry could barely hear Ron and Draco laughing maniacally at them.
“She’s going to be sick!” Ron howled. Hermione had her hand clasped tight on her mouth. “Be right back!” Ron said, still grinning cheekily. He helped hoist Hermione up and led her to the bathroom, already working on scooping her hair back.
Harry had composed himself (mostly) and was gulping down his gin as a chaser. He felt the effects go right to his head. Draco was smirking at him when he looked up. “How did you stay so calm?” Harry asked.
“Aunt Bella always had it around. Was her drink of choice. Said only tough blokes could handle it, and Merlin did she want me to be a tough bloke…”
“Did she want to torture you?!” Harry asked, before realizing he had better get more respectful of the deceased.
“Maybe,” Draco said with a laugh. “She was so mean!” Harry was unsure why Draco was speaking so poorly of his dead aunt, but all that alcohol was hitting him.
“Maybe she’s where you got it from,” Harry said cautiously. Draco looked at him with a blank face. A knot tied in Harry’s stomach. He’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly.
“Don’t be,” Draco said. “You’re sort of right. The only halfway decent one was my mum and she left me, so what’s the point in standing up for that lot?” Harry was taken aback by the admission. He was starting to think Draco was more drunk that Harry initially thought. He went to sip his gin and tonic, but was met with only ice and air.
“A lager,” Harry said to the bar witch, a few yards down. She nodded at him.
“One for me as well,” Draco said. He pulled on his shirt, straightening it out and fixed his blonde hair. “I’m not sloshed, Potter,” he said when he noticed Harry’s worried look. “A martini and a shot, and I’m not even done with the martini yet. I just didn’t want to get up to bother the bar witch again.”
“Alright Malfoy,” Harry said with a smirk, “but don’t think you can keep up with me drink for drink.” Draco merely hummed his response.
Hermione and Ron came back, just then. Hermione looked sheepish and Ron looked very smug. Harry raised his bottle at the pair and took a swig. Hermione ordered a gilly water for herself and sat down.
“Feeling alright, Granger?” Malfoy asked.
“Just peachy,” Hermione said. “Not sure how much longer we’ll stay,” she said in a tight voice. And she had meant it. Ron and Hermione only stayed another half hour before Hermione demanded they go home. You can have a boy’s night and drink yourselves sick without me another time she had yelled. So, it was just Harry and Draco, who were both giggly and drunk by the time they were left alone.
“Do you hate me?” Harry said out of the blue. His drunk brain had severely lowered his inhibitions.
“Do I look like I hate you?” Draco retorted. “We’ve been schoolmates for eight years, Potter. If I’d hated you I’d’ve transferred,” he slurred.
“But you were watching me for You Know Who. You had to be there.”
“What?!” Draco said. “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t watching you for him, I was watching you ‘cause I liked watching you.” Draco said. “Don’t be such a prat!”
Harry was stunned. In his brain, Draco had always been out to get him. “No, you hate me!” Harry insisted.
“No, Harry, I don’t.” Draco said. He had put on his best sober voice, trying to make Harry believe him. Harry was focused on how calm his old nemesis could be, like a mask he fixed in place at will. “Harry, I could never have been your friend. My family hated Dumbledore, and you by proxy. Voldemort lived in my house!” he said in a much more hushed tone, “Couldn’t very well be your best mate, but if he had wanted me to go after you, you would have known. Besides, I knew Snape was a spy.” He sat up again. Harry hadn’t realized that Draco had moved so close to him. The recollection of his hot breath coming out in plumes on Harry’s skin struck him.
“Were you scared?” Harry said after a moment. He pushed his empty bottle out of the way and leaned in close, subconsciously wanting to close the gap between him and Draco.
“No,” Draco said, automatically. Harry kept looking at him, not falling for it. Draco clenched his jaw before continuing, “Yes. Everyday. Every second. Scared out of my mind. Scared my family would die, scared they’d kill me for not murdering anyone. Scared for you…” he stopped in his tracks.
“I didn’t know you cared,” Harry said.
“I didn’t know you thought I was really a monster,” Draco said back. Harry sat straight up again. Draco was looking down. “When you’re told you’re a monster, and later asked to play the part of one, I guess it makes sense that people think that’s who you become,” he explained.
“Who called you a monster?” Harry asked. Draco looked up.
“Aunt Bella. We were close when I was young but it changed when…” Draco trailed off suddenly looing serious. Harry tried to focus the blurring image before him, sensing the importance of Draco’s next sentence. “She changed how she saw me when I told her I fancied men. She was the first one I told. She hit me and told me never to say that again, that it was awful, that only horrid monsters felt that way I shut down then and there. Never told anyone else.”
Harry was angry, now. “She’s wrong,” he spat. “Wrong.” He wanted to inform Draco that he was perfect and beautiful, but the last remaining morsel of inhibition clicked into place and stopped him. Draco said nothing, so Harry flagged down the bar witch and ordered another round of those putrid shots. He thought about how Draco had just said he was gay. Did this change anything? He didn’t think so, at least not in a bad way. It actually explained a lot. Meanwhile, Draco was convincing himself that he actually had just come out (again), to none other than Harry Potter. Harry Potter was now the only living person besides Draco to know he was gay. The shots were placed in front of the boys.
“Go on,” Harry said. “Show off for me.” That was the last thing he remembered.
Much of the night was foggy, for both of the boys, but their blackout faded when they were back in their suite. Harry came-to on his bathroom floor, arms folded over the toilet seat. Draco wasn’t far away from him, sitting and leaning against the counter and holding a glass of water.
“More water?” he asked Harry. His black hair flopped over his eyes as he shook his head no. The thought of anything going down his throat made him dry heave over the toilet. In an instant Draco was rubbing Harry’s back. “It’s okay,” he said.
“When did we get here?” Harry asked. Draco blinked back at him.
“An hour or two ago? Don’t you remember?”
“No,” Harry said. “I don’t remember much after that second dragon shot.”
“We drank ourselves stupid,” Draco said with a small laugh. Harry noticed strands of that notoriously meticulous blond hair falling in his face. “We got kicked out of the bar. I threw up on the way home, and you started throwing up right outside the castle. I got Weasley to help me get you up here because you are SO difficult, and we’ve been sat here ever since.” Harry smiled tiredly.
“Did Ron go back to bed?” Harry asked. Draco nodded.
“I had to convince him I wasn’t going to throw you off the turret, first.” Harry laughed.
“You and I don’t have the best track record,” Harry said. Draco laughed bitterly. Harry liked the sound. It was like Draco wanted to laugh but didn’t want to let himself go. The reservation was endearing.
“We’re changing that.” There was no room for negotiation in Draco’s statement. The firm voice stirred something low in Harry’s gut. Harry shook his head agreeing to the sentiment too quickly, giving himself another round of the spins. He cupped his head in his hands and breathed through his nose with purpose. Draco was at his side again.
Harry looked up, peering at the blonde boy through strands of black hair. He thought about how kind Draco was. How smart. How complex. He noticed the cuffs of his sleeves were rolled up his forearms, that the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. He noticed the line of Draco’s jaw. How did he ever hate him? Harry felt butterflies in his stomach.
“I want to kiss you,” Harry said. Draco’s eyes widened.
“Potter…” he said. Harry’s gaze didn’t falter. Draco’s mind was going a thousand miles an hour.
“Never mind,” Harry said. Draco felt the pit of his stomach drop and disappointment cloud his vision. “I must smell awful,” Harry laughed.
“I don’t give a damn,” Draco said. He gripped Harry’s shirt collar and brought their faces together. It was so easy, kissing Harry Potter. It was so natural.
Harry lowered Draco down onto the cool tile and straddled him, tucking one hand into that magnificent blonde hair. Draco’s hands were firm against Harry’s skin as they kissed fiercely. If he wasn’t mistaken, he felt a certain pressure pushing against Draco’s trousers and into his abdomen. The feeling was delicious and solicited a growl from Harry’s throat. More. More. He wanted more. He could have stayed there all night, kissing Draco Malfoy on the bathroom floor if it weren’t for the residual nausea. Harry quickly pulled away to Draco’s disappointment to secure himself over the toilet again. Being apart felt like agony.
Draco moved closer to brush the black hair out of Harry’s face. Both boys were quiet. As Harry sat up to face Draco again his face was gaunt.
“Fuck,” Harry said, more to himself than anyone. “Ginny…” he muttered, and left the room.