None of this makes sense. It doesn’t fit. They don’t fit. They aren’t supposed to.
They wear different colors, preach different values, and follow different codes. In the halls, on the quidditch pitch, and out in the world, they are nothing but rivals.
Enemies who will, someday soon, stand on opposite sides of a battlefield.
And yet.
Harry’s gone through his life this far with nothing. Even Hogwarts- a place he belongs in and has forged lifelong friendships at- has not filled the void he feels within himself.
He thinks there's something deeply wrong with him. Late at night, he wonders if Voldemort put it there, or if he was just born like this. Empty. Conflicted. Wrong. Wrong all over.
But not with Malfoy. Not to Malfoy.
He's always seen Harry’s faults. He seems to be the only one that has. Harry thinks- no he knows- that's why he felt drawn to him in the first place. Because Malfoy sees everything wrong with Harry, and he isn’t afraid of it.
Perhaps being with Malfoy is another thing that is wrong with Harry. Everyone would surely think so.
This war that's brewing outside of Hogwarts is tearing everyone apart. Allegiances have been forged, enemies have been made, and Harry has to be at the center of it. The symbol of hope. The hero on the front page.
The prophecy states that he is the boy who lived. That position can’t be filled if he’s not up for it. He’s fifteen years old for Merlin's sake, and no adult has stepped in yet to say that just because he’s capable, doesn’t mean he should.
Not to mention the prophecy is very specific. Born at the end of July to two parents who escaped Voldemort 3 times is a slim demographic. Voldemort had two options, and Harry was the chosen.
And Malfoy? Well, it’s simple. He’s a Malfoy.
The Malfoy family, along with twenty-seven equally pureblood families, are the reason why the Dark Lord rose to power.
It is not just because they provided a platform for him to preach and recruit. The Malfoys, across centuries, have been at the forefront of every dark magic uprising and anti-muggle agenda.
They are born just like everyone else, with just as much magic in their blood, but bigotry, hatred, and blind dedication to tradition are injected into their veins and cannot be siphoned out.
This is Draco Malfoys fate. He is destined to be an agent of darkness. A puppet in the Dark Lords games. He has no choice. And if he dies because of it? Well, at least he will have left a legacy that will honor the family.
Simultaneously, they are being pulled in opposite directions. No matter how far they reach towards each other, they will not stretch. No matter how desperately they search, there are no other options.
And yet, they have met in this abandoned shed every Wednesday and Friday at 9:00 for 5 months.
They have held each other, kissed, fumbled, exchanged gifts, and made promises that this will last. It won’t. It never could. But they live the fantasy anyways, because this is the only thing that makes Harry feel alive, and he knows- because he has told him- Draco feels the same.
At first, they met in the night because it was dark. Limited vision meant limited awareness. If Draco couldn’t see Harry's eyes, maybe he wouldn’t lose himself in them. If Harry couldn’t see Draco’s face, maybe he wouldn’t feel guilty for never wanting to look away. And yet, they did all of that anyways.
Now Harry doesn’t need the light to see Draco. He knows everything. Everything about Draco that indicates what he thinks and what he knows and what he feels. Everything down to the way he breathes.
Maybe it was always meant to be this between them, and that's why they traded insults and threw punches in the early days. This thing between them- rivalry, conflict, chemistry, and love- could only belong to them. There is no one, and there never will be anyone, who can get under Harry Potter's skin and leave a permanent mark the way Draco Malfoy has.
It’s worth it, to withdraw from friends and close the rest of the world out for this.
Realistically, they only have a few more months before reality sets in, and the demands of their positions in this fight take precedence.
There will be no more secret rendezvous. No evidence that this ever happened. Who they are to each other now will be nothing but a memory for Harry to replay endlessly, just like he does with feelings of joy with his parents, laughter with Ron and Hermione, and warmth within the arms of Sirius.
That's the thing about people who are destined to belong to each other; it always ends in tragedy.
This war is their tragedy but, until it’s on their doorstep and they are called to the front lines, they will savor their time in the shadows.
As Harry dons the invisibility cloak and tiptoes out of the dormitory, he tries not to wonder how many more times he will do this. Ten? Five? Just the one?
He won't think about it. He can't. It might kill him before Voldemort has the chance.
So he walks the route instead, staying silent without even trying.
He loves the castle at night. Moonlight is pouring through the windows, casting reflections on the freshly waxed floors, and illuminating patches of color in the paintings on the walls, and Harry is at peace for the first time in days.
Darkness and silence remind him of the years inside the cupboard. Maybe it's wrong to find it comforting, but Harry figures there are so few comforts in his life, so he's allowed to embrace the ones that do exist.
As he makes gradual steps down the winding staircases, glimpses of moments with Draco pass through his mind. He's always waiting for Harry when he arrives in the shed, usually pretending to be doing something so it won't look like he's been waiting impatiently for ten minutes.
On one memorable occasion, Draco brought along his broom and a jar of wax polisher to occupy himself as he waited for Harry, and wouldn't let Harry talk to him until he'd finished the task.
Once he was done though, his mask of inattention disappeared, and he fell into Harry's arms.
Everything about Draco fascinates Harry, but it's the part of Draco he hides within himself that excites Harry the most.
The rest of the world sees the heir to the Malfoy fortune. A son held to the highest expectations so he will one day take over the family business of deceit and corruption.
But, behind closed doors, Harry Potter sees the real Draco Malfoy. The Draco Malfoy who prefers poetry to history, who has a permanent clench in his jaw from the stress of his studies, who laughs at crude jokes, and carries bread crumbs in his pockets to scatter on the ground for birds to feed from.
Nobody knows this Draco Malfoy because it is dangerous to be anyone other than the person his father expects him to be.
One of Harry's many sorrows is that, when this ends, Draco will wish to hide that part of himself away without Harry to share it with.
Harry, nonetheless, will find a way to preserve the Draco he has come to know and love. If, after this war, they both survive and find a way back to each other, Harry will help Draco learn all the parts of himself he was forced to sacrifice. Maybe Draco can do the same for him.
It's been ten minutes since Harry left the common room. Seven more until he can see Draco. He rounds the corner in the corridor and walks across the courtyard through the gateway. He tiptoes down the stairs, even though there's a light coating of snow on them to muffle the sound, which nobody is around to hear.
This shed that they've been using is thought to be retired storage space for Professor Sprout's supplies. It's so old that Professor Sprout's predecessor was more likely to have used it than her.
It's not hard to find. Everybody knows where it is, less than a hundred meters from the greenhouse, but nobody uses it except them, especially not at this hour.
There's a specific way to open the door so it doesn't break off its hinges. You have to grip the handle carefully, push it in, twist it, and then immediately stabilize the door with your other hand. Harry does this now and cringes at the creaking and screeching the door makes in response to the motion.
The best way to pull it open is slowly, which makes the anticipation of seeing Draco build within Harry.
Draco's right on the other side of the door and can hear everything, but, of course, he won't come help Harry make his way inside.
Harry powers through, as he always does, and achieves another victory against the broken door. He takes two steps inside, rips his invisibility cloak off his body, and adjusts his glasses to the bridge of his nose. And then there he is, standing in the middle of the small space, with a grin on his beautiful face, and everything falls into place.
"Hey, Potter."
"Hi, Malfoy."