but i crumble completely when you cry
Draco stirs slightly next to him again, his eyes peeking open as if he’s trying not to get caught. Harry smiles at him, “Morning, sleepyhead. Your snoring is fucking loud, by the way. No wonder you have your own room.” Draco grumbles something under his breath and sits up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the brightness in the room. He’s squinting, and like everything else Draco does, Harry finds it to be the cutest thing ever.
Then, the realization hits Draco.
“Fuck, Harry, you weren’t supposed to fall asleep in here,” Draco says, and he sounds exasparated; almost as if he had finished a marathon just two seconds ago. Harry blinks at him for a moment, and then it hits him, too. Harry is a Griffyndor; Draco is a Slytherin. Harry is in the Slytherin dormitory.
Shit.
“What time is it? I don’t know where the hell my glasses went,” Harry mutters, and he feels the bed dip and then rise as Draco gets up. Harry sees Draco’s eyes widen, and his jaw falls open. Harry’s heart sinks; it’s likely late, and people are looking for them. What are they going to do? They can’t explain why they’re together; no one will believe that they suddenly decided to make up. They’re known for being rivals, and the professors will think they were fighting, or that they killed each other in a duel. They’re fucked, Harry realizes.
“Harry, it’s…six in the morning,” Draco says, biting back his own chuckle. Harry glares at him, grabs a pillow next to him, and chucks it into Draco’s chest. Draco lets out a huff of surprise, but then doubles over in laughter. Harry’s face flames, “It’s not funny,” Harry mutters, and he feels like he’s going to start crying. Harry doesn’t like it when people play tricks on him like that; his anxiety gets the best of him at the worst times. He spirals before he can process it’s a joke, and by then, it’s too late.
Harry starts to shake. He knows it’s stupid to get this worked up over a joke Draco played on him, but he’s had a shitty week and doesn’t know what to do about it. He can’t deal with jokes at his expense right now.
Harry tries his best to maintain his breathing, to keep it stable so Draco doesn’t notice. He fails, however, when tears start to form in his eyes. He sniffles, and it catches Draco’s attention immediately. Draco stops laughing, looks at Harry for a second, and then he’s at Harry’s side. Harry doesn’t know what to make of this. He just needs someone to comfort him right now, just needs an outlet. As soon as Draco is sat down next to him, Harry’s arms are around his waist, and his face is buried in Draco’s bare chest. Draco’s fingers run through his hair, and Harry relaxes.
When Harry’s breathing evens out and his sniffles get less frequent, Draco clears his throat, “What’s wrong?”
Harry doesn’t know where to start, so he says the first thing that comes to mind, “Please don’t joke around with me like that.” Draco nods as if Harry just told him the weather for the day. Harry’s heart melts, and his anxieties are forgotten as he gets lost in Draco’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t realize you didn’t like jokes like that. I won’t make them anymore, okay? If I do, you can, like, hex me,” Draco rambles, and Harry laughs. He hopes his laughs with Draco never end.
*****
Harry leaves first, under his invisibility cloak, and he convinces himself that Draco looks disappointed. He convinces himself that he saw a pink tint creep up Draco’s neck whenever they were close together; he convinces himself of a lot of things when it comes to Draco. He wishes that everything he thought he saw was real, that he actually had an effect on Draco. However, he knows that Draco is just being nice to him, for whatever reason. Draco could never have feelings for him, no matter how much Harry wants him to.
Harry hasn’t felt so comfortable around someone who wasn’t Ron or Hermoine before. Usually he’s awkward and tense around people he doesn’t know, but it’s different with Draco. Granted, he’s familiar with Draco; they’ve known each other for almost eight years by this point, although they weren’t friendly with each other. Harry can chalk it up to the fact that he’s always wanted to be friendly with Draco, even though he knows that’s not why. Around other people, if asked, he’ll say that he never wanted to be rivals with Draco.
Harry stops in the entrance to the dining hall, and his heart races in his chest. He hasn’t talked to Ron since that day, and he’s been avoiding the dining hall because he knows he’ll have no one to sit next to. He’s hungry, though, and the food smells so good; Harry's mouth waters. Harry gives the dining hall a last glance over, and then he steps into the dining hall.
He goes to where he usually sits, only to notice that Ron’s knee is up where Harry’s spot is. Anger spreads through him; he wants to say something, anything, but he’s too tired for it. He sighs, and Hermoine gives him a sympathetic look. She mouths the word ‘sorry’ to him, and Harry shrugs, then walks away. He hopes to find a spot somewhere else at the Gryffindor table. He doesn’t find a single empty spot.
Harry thinks about what he can take back to class, and then he hears his name being called from the Slytherin table. He freezes, assumes it’s not good news, and closes his eyes. Can his life get any worse?
Draco is waving him over, gesturing to a spot next to him at the Slytherin table. Harry shakes his head, mouths ‘no’ to Draco. Draco pats the spot and mouths ‘c’mon.’ Harry doesn’t think he can say no to Draco anymore when he finds himself walking over to Draco. He thinks his feet may have a mind of their own.
He plops down next to Draco, who grins at him, “Welcome to the Slytherin table, Potter.”
Harry feels a small sting at the sound of his last name; he’s gotten so used to hearing Draco call him by his first name. He quite likes the way it sounds as it rolls off of Draco’s tongue. He’ll go as far to say that it’s his favorite sound in the world. Harry makes eye contact with Draco. He sees in Draco’s eyes that Draco doesn’t like it this way either, but he can’t do much about it. Harry, despite his own feelings, understands. Draco likely doesn’t want to explain to his friends why they’re suddenly close. Harry gets it; he’s not looking forward to telling Hermoine, either.
He distantly hears the Slytherin’s around him snicker, hears Draco shush them, and then the food appears in front of them. Harry hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and he quickly reaches for the toast that’s slightly to his right. Draco reaches at the same time he does, and their hands brush together. Harry feels electricity shoot through his limbs at the contact, even though it was brief. In the corner of his eye, he sees Draco smirk, and Harry’s stomach lurches. Salazar, what is he going to do?
The food tastes amazing, as it normally does, and Harry hums when the flavor hits his tongue. When Draco glances at him, Harry thinks he sees Draco’s eyes wander down to his lips, but he doesn’t ponder on it too much. He likely has food on his lips, and he brings his hand up to wipe at his mouth. He doesn’t feel any food on his lips.
Why the fuck was Draco staring at his lips, then? Did he imagine it?
Harry surprises himself when he makes it through breakfast without having an aneurysm.