Chapter 4
Harry would be lying if he said that this wasn’t his goal.
Draco laid gracefully on top of his chest, hair billowed out around him like a halo and Harry really wanted to run his fingers through it. He’s objectively beautiful. Moving on from his odd urges, Harry casts a quick tempus and realizes it's nearly four in the morning, he sighs contentedly.
Seeing as there was not much to do, and he wouldn’t dare wake Draco, he attempted to get coffee brewing; he hadn't had a cup yesterday and it wouldn’t do to go yet another day without it.
Maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising to find that Draco didn’t have a coffee maker, nonetheless, he decided to attempt to brew a cup anyway. It was difficult, the main challenges being he couldn’t see what he was doing from the bedroom under Draco, thus having to fumble blindly around the kitchen with his magic, and he had to make modifications to spells he had picked up from Hermione (who, at fifteen, was so sure there was no way they’d let her run for minister and decided archeology sounded like fun, if only she had known) to strain the coffee.
Once it was finished, he placed a stasis charm on it and allowed himself to fall asleep.
***
When Draco woke up, the smell of coffee was thick in the air.
Draco crawled carefully out of the warm circle of Harry's arms, careful not to wake him. Harry, however unconscious he may be, seemed to find this unacceptable and tightened his arms around Draco's waist. Draco sighed, waiting until his grip loosened once more before resuming his attempt to investigate.
The counter was a mess. Coffee grounds, expensive ones, were all over the counter, there were two lumpy cups of- Draco put the cup to his face and smelled it, an attempt at coffee, and everything was just left on the counter. Draco sighed and got to work cleaning everything up.
Really it was thoughtful, making Draco a cup of his, and it really pains him to call it this, ‘coffee’.
A shiver wracks his body. Draco knew for a fact that the chill that had suddenly taken over the room was not Hogwarts heating charms malfunctioning.
Walking swiftly back to his bedroom, he finds the frigid temperature becomes worse. So bad, in fact, that frost was gathering on Harry's eyelashes. This level of accidental magic was impressive, but also terrifying.
After Draco tried to put a warming charm on the entire room, but to no avail, he attempted to shake Harry awake but only had the chance to note the icy temperature before he passed out.
~~~
He did not wake up, instead ending up in Harry's nightmare. A younger Harry, maybe six or so, huddled himself in the corner of a cupboard, cowering from something Draco couldn’t quite make out more than a fuzzy black shape.
Deciding he needed to end the nightmare, he approached the boy, but the younger Harry just startled backward and shook his head fervently, pointing to the now visible dementor.
Draco had never been able to cast a patronus, it had always been a sort of sore point for him, but in that moment, likely with some help from the dreamscape, he casts a patronus without hesitation.
A swan bursts from his wand, pushing the dementor back until it disappears.
The dream doesn’t end immediately.
“How old are you Harry?”
It takes the boy a moment to answer, “Eight.”
Draco can’t hide his horror. Harry was tiny, like really, truly tiny. He looked like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.
Once he had regained his composure, he asked, “And where are we?”
“The cupboard under the stairs.” He says looking around like it should be obvious, and as easily as that, it becomes obvious, the doors slightly askew looking out into a dimly lit hallway and the divots on the ceiling where the stairs are above.
“Now why are we in the cupboard under the stairs?”
“Where else would we be?” A thin blanket showed up in the corner and a slightly pulled-up floor board beside it as if it explained a thing.
Draco hums thoughtfully, “Well, why don’t we leave?”
“Where would we go?” Harry asks, fiddling with a sleeve that seemed four times too big for him.
“Why not Hogwarts?” Draco sticks his hand out, imploring the small boy to grab on, and the moment Harry takes him up, he’s jolted into consciousness.
***
When Harry wakes up he can feel the lingering cold air swarming him and a layer of goosebumps make themselves known.
He looks up to find Draco staring at him. Harry laughs stiffly.
“Let's get coffee, remind me to introduce you to a coffee maker.”
Harry starts to stand up but Draco launches himself at him, burying his nose into Harry's hair and squeezing him tightly. Harry tenses, but quickly allows it to seep out of him with Draco's arms.
“Harry, what was that,” Draco said, so quiet it could’ve been a whisper.
“Accidental magic, sorry,” Harry says, chin resting on Draco's shoulder.
Draco swats him on the arm, “No shit, the dream Harry.”
Harry has no idea how to answer that.
“It was… bad,” He settled on, “But it could’ve been worse.”
Harry thinks about Quirrell, when he realized that he still couldn’t trust adults. He thinks about Cedric's death, and how no one believed him. He thinks about the septumscura and all of the blood.
“It could’ve been worse,” He repeats, before pulling out of Draco's embrace and heading towards the coffee on the counter.
Draco sends him one last pitying look before dropping the issue and staring warily, “You left a horrendous mess.”
“Well I couldn’t exactly see what I was doing, could I?” Harry said, glad to have the lighter topic, “We oughta go to breakfast soon,”
Harry waves the stasis charm away and takes a swig of the coffee, “Oh, that is God-awful,”
“That was expensive coffee, Harry.” Draco says grimacing at his own sip and prodding him in the ribs with his thumb, “You better drink every drop.”
Harry stares into his cup, “Can we at least take it to the Great Hall?”
“Not until you’re dressed,”
“Fantastic.”
Harry leaves his drink on the counter and rushes to the floo. Bursting through into his own room he quickly dresses, this time in slacks and a white button-up, he wonders about what Draco's reaction will be to adhering to the dress code.
He reckons absolutely nothing.
Back in Dracos room, he’s already mostly dressed, showing a sliver of pale skin on his chest as he buttoned his last button.
Draco doesn’t even speak, just slides his wand into his holster, reminding Harry that he still has yet to find his own.
When Harry's footsteps don’t follow, he turns around dramatically, the purple robes floating mystically around him before falling down perfectly, Harry briefly wonders if he has them charmed to float like that.
Draco pauses completely.
“You look…” He looks Harry up and down and Harry feels the need to avert his eyes, “Better than usual.
For a moment it looked as if he were going to say something else but he spun dramatically once again and headed towards the great hall.