In One's Shoes

The corridors were nearly deserted as Harry aimlessly strolled the castle in the early Sunday morning and it wasn’t until he ventured past the charms classroom that he came across some other students. From a distance there was something contorted about the image; a boy was down on the floor though even in a sitting position he was almost as tall as the ones standing around him in half a circle. When he closed in on them, he made out a group of third year students pointing their wands at Goyle who looked close to petrified.

“Hey” he called out and broke into a run.

Their heads turned and for a moment they seemed caught between deciding to flee or fight but then a girl directed her wand towards him and two of the boys followed her lead. He just had time to take in the surprise that they were Hufflepuffs before he was showered with a series of hexes. They were no match to him and his shield charm easily deflected the spells, rebounding the hexes to their casters and the high pitched screams of thirteen-year-olds echoed between the stone walls as they fled down the hall. Left was Goyle, hunched on the floor, trying to shield his face from the hexes with his arms.

Harry didn’t quite know what to say. Despite being at school together since first year, they’d never talked to each other, the only time he’d heard him speak at all was in the room of requirement when he had been ready to turn Harry over to Voldemort. The boy in front of him seemed far from that person.

“It’s OK, they are gone” he said and Goyle removed his arm, looking just as surprised to see Malfoy as he would have been to see Harry.

“Are you OK?”

Goyle made a face as if he was struggling to answer the question and Harry noticed a nasty cut on his chin. He took out his wand and as he watched Goyle flinch, he remembered that he and Malfoy hadn’t spoken for the whole term. Malfoy had said Goyle was looking for some kind of revenge and by the look of it, Goyle appeared to be thinking along the same line.

“I’m just going to heal that, if it’s OK with you” he said, waiting for Goyle’s approval. The frightened look remained in his eyes but he nodded and Harry cast the spell Malfoy had taught him a few days ago. He didn’t do it with the same elegance, some blood still remained on Goyle’s chin, but the cut healed alright.

Goyle brought his fingers up to his face, feeling his skin. “Thanks” he said astonished.

Harry shrugged like he thought Malfoy would. “You might want to clean up a bit, but it shouldn’t scar.”

“Thanks” Goyle said again. He didn’t look like he was ready to move any time soon and Harry didn’t think it right to simply leave him on the floor so he sank down next to him.

He’d never considered Goyle as an individual but simply thought of him as one of Malfoy’s lackeys, making up half of the grim unity of Crabbe and Goyle and it was hard to picture who the person at his side was beyond that. Perhaps Goyle was struggling with that too because despite resembling half a giant there was something worryingly fragile about him.

If Harry had been Malfoy he would probably have found the encounter uncomfortable, but this was one of those occasions when being someone else made things easier and he simply remained on the floor, letting the moments pass, waiting for things to unfold.

“Can you heal these?” Goyle’s soft voice broke the silence and Harry watched him roll back his sleeve. His first thought was that Goyle didn’t have the dark mark, he’d wondered if he and Crabbe had followed Malfoy’s lead and joined the death eaters, but apparently not. His second was discomfort, Goyle’s arm was covered in what looked like scars from several weeks’ old hexes.

“Eum, I don’t think I can do anything when it’s already scarred” he said. Goyle nodded as if he’d expected that.

“So does this happen often” Harry asked, already knowing the answer. Goyle must have gotten the same attempted hexes Malfoy did, but whereas Malfoy was capable of defense and healing charms and would never have fallen at the wands of a group of thirteen-year-olds, Goyle would be easy prey.

He nodded again and Harry resisted his impulse to tell him to go to McGonagall, Malfoy wouldn’t have said that and even if he had, he doubted Goyle would take the advice.

“I could teach you some shield charms and anti-jinxes” he offered. It probably wouldn’t help much, he reckoned Goyle would be pants at it, but he looked so genuinely grateful that Harry felt he had made the right choice.

“You’re not angry with me?” Goyle asked astonished.

Harry stared at him. “No” he said carefully, he didn’t think Malfoy was. “Why would I be?”

Goyle shrugged. “Because of last year.”

Apart from the vision he’d had of Malfoy and the glimpses he’d got at the manor, Harry had no idea what had taken place in Malfoy’s life the previous year and knew he needed to thread carefully. Malfoy hadn’t seemed angry at Goyle though, but rather made it sound as if it was the other way around. “How do you mean?” he asked.

“You had a rough time then.”

Harry felt safe to nod, living with the dark lord couldn’t have been a picnic.

“I didn’t help you” Goyle said, picking at a scab from one of the more recent wounds on his arm.

“What could you possibly have done?” Harry wondered, remembering Dumbledore at the astronomy tower, speaking to Malfoy about hiding his family. The offer had come far too late, the cries of the death eaters closing in on them, barging through the door only seconds later. After that, Malfoy had been left on his own with no one to help.

“Dunno” Goyle shrugged. “Been nicer to you. Not done that thing in muggle class.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. When he’d met Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in the room of requirement it was obvious their dynamic had changed and that they didn’t consider Malfoy their evident leader anymore but he’d had no idea what had passed between the three of them that year. Again, he chose to remain silent, hoping for Goyle to elaborate.

Forming words seemed to be an almost painful matter to Goyle who opened and closed his mouth a few times before any sound came out. “You didn’t want to follow him” he said eventually.

“Follow who where?” Harry asked carefully.

Goyle’s eyes flanked to Harry’s left arm and he caught on. “Oh, Voldemort” he said a little to cheerfully, watching Goyle flinch. “Sorry, you know who” he corrected.

“You say the name now?” Goyle sounded impressed and terrified at the same time.

“Well, not usually but it’s a thing I’m trying out” he improvised wildly, hoping his impression of Goyle being a bit slow was correct. “But, no, I didn’t want to follow him, not in the end at least.” From what he’d seen at the manor and heard at the trial, he was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

“I wanted to” Goyle said. Harry expected him to elaborate but he didn’t and perhaps that summed up the rift between him and Malfoy.

“You don’t still want to, do you?” he asked, relieved to see Goyle shake his head with a frightened look.

“Well…” he tried. “It just took you a bit longer to figure it out, I guess.”

He leaned back against the wall, trying to look at things from the perspective of people like Malfoy and Goyle. It was somewhat surreal, imagining himself in a position where the resurrection of a murderous, noseless lunatic had seemed a good idea.

“I guess it’s all about what you are taught to believe when you grow up” he tried, struggling for words just like Goyle had. “Some of his beliefs seemed good at first, the way my parents spoke about it. Yours too I guess.”

He ran his fingers over his arm, the tail of the snake poking out underneath his sleeve. He might have grown accustomed to seeing the black ink by now but he knew it was different to Malfoy to whom the memories of taking the mark must be woven into his skin. Harry had seen him flicker his eyes at it during the term, as if to ensure it was covered by his robes. Had there been a time when he’d thought of it differently, with pride?

“It’s one thing to hear the theories and quite another to face it up close” he went on. “What I was forced to do and watch made me change my mind but by then it was too late to get out without risking mine or my parent’s lives.”

The non committal grunt Goyle made reminded Harry he was there and he looked up to meet pale brown eyes flickering, something close to shame lingering behind the irises.

“I guess you were more protected” Harry said, wondering if one could call torturing children under the supervision of teachers being protected.  

Goyle remained silent and Harry thought he might have lost him. He had a hunch Malfoy and Goyle hadn’t ever gotten into a deep discussion. “Point is, I’m not angry” he concluded and watched a shy smile break the sullen face. Now that was something he’d never seen before.

“Potter’s staring at you” Goyle told him when they sat down next to each other for lunch in the great hall hours later.

Harry looked up at the Gryffindor table and concluded that he was right. Quite a few of the Slytherins were throwing curious glances their way as well but none of them seemed as disturbed about it as Malfoy, who was wrinkling his brows in Harry’s direction.

“Oh, don’t mind him, he’s just got his wand stuck up his ass” Harry said cheerfully meeting Malfoy’s eyes across the room with a grin.

*****

Draco had no idea what Potter was playing at. Not only did he sit next to Greg at lunch and talk to him as if there weren’t deaths, unspoken apologies and months of silence between them, but he also led him into one of the empty classrooms leaving his back unprotected, which was unbelievably stupid even for Potter. Draco wondered what would happen if Greg shot an avada kedavra, would he or Potter die from that? It’d most likely be him, Potter probably couldn’t die.  

He considered following them but decided that Potter had survived a war as undesirable number one after all and should be able to handle Greg singlehandedly. He did remain in the corridor for three quarters of an hour though, restlessly pacing back and forth before both boys came out, Potter not only having all his limbs intact but looking relaxed and sweaty, his clothes more askew than usual. Next to him was Greg, equally ruffled and wearing a stupid grin on his face, not looking anything like he was planning on hexing anyone.

Draco stared at them in disbelief. Surely Potter wouldn’t? Him getting off with Blaise was one thing but Draco liked to think even Potter had some standards. On the other hand, it was Potter, who befriended houseelves and giants and walked around in socks of different colors, Potter who’d just discovered the joys of being gay, probably attempting to get as many shags in as he could while protected from public interest in Draco’s body. He grinded his teeth.

When they made it to the end of the corridor, Greg and Potter parted ways and Draco hurried after the latter.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked after having caught up with Potter and pushed him into a hidden corner. “I told you not to talk to him.”

“Actually I think you told me not to let him scream at me” Potter said.

“Then what exactly did you let him do to you?”

Potter stared at him bewildered for a few seconds before he caught on and laughed out loud. “Malfoy, come on.”

Draco didn’t respond but relaxed a bit.

“I was teaching him defense, we were dueling.”

That made even less sense than them getting off but it was admittingly less disturbing.

“You thought he was angry with you. He isn’t.” Potter smiled at him. “I fixed it.”

Draco shook his head, irritated. “You can’t just fix something like that.”

Potter seemed to struggle with his words. “Well, we talked a bit and cleared things up, I think. I didn’t really understand all of it, but..”

“For fuck’s sake” Draco muttered.

Potter sighed. “I don’t know how to retell everything, it’d be easier if I could show you.” He mulled things over for a while and then grinned at Draco. “Maybe we could sneak into McGonagall’s office to use the pensive.”

Draco snorted. “Because the two of us breaking into the headmistress office won’t cause any suspicions at all, not to mention trying to explain things if we are caught with our heads down each other’s memories.”

He did like the idea of the pensive though, the way it made memories come alive was probably his best shot at trying to comprehend what had passed between Potter and Greg. They had one at home, which didn’t help much, even if his parents would be willing to part with it, he didn’t think Poseidon could bare the heavy load and he strongly doubted Potter would want to nip back to the manor for a visit. He did however recall having seen one in Snape’s office once, perhaps it had been moved to the old potions quarters with the rest of his things?

It turned out he was right, tucked away behind rusty cauldrons and glass jars with unidentifiable contents, there was indeed a pensive covered in spiderwebs and dust. He cast a cleaning spell and Potter shot an aquamenti.

“I’ve never done the part where you put your memories in” Potter said. He tried the incantation, wand pointing at his temple but nothing happened.

“You need to really focus on the memory you want, visualize it for at least thirty seconds before you summon it.” Draco had done this a number of times at home, several of which involved summoning memories of Potter himself. Sometimes he did it to relive the rare moments he got one on Potter, other times he simply wanted some wanking material, not seldom did those two overlap. It had taken quite a while before he managed the spell though and it still happened that he got the wrong memories in there. He recalled one especially disappointing occasion when he’d dived in, cock throbbing eagerly, expecting a furious Potter going at him after a game of quidditch but instead there’d been Umbridge walking onto the pitch a minute later. He’d had trouble maintaining an erection for weeks after that.

He watched Potter extracting feeble silvery liquid from his hairline. Well, trust him to manage that at once he thought bitterly, staring down the basin where the memories shimmered.  

“Are you coming with?”

Potter appeared surprised by his question. “No…I thought you wanted to see it by yourself, and I should probably stand guard anyway.”

“Whatever” Draco shrugged and dived in. He was surrounded by a thick fog, like the highlands in the early morning. He decided to give it a minute before going back and telling Potter he sucked at this and just before time was up, he was flashed with himself spread out naked on his dorm bed, grabbing his cock. He stifled a snort. Potter had obviously not meant for him to see that. Oh was Draco sorry Potter hadn’t come with him, he would love to see the look on his face when he realized he’d revealed himself wanking Draco’s cock. And looking quite like he enjoyed it at that. Perhaps he could go back and make up a reason to drag him in here? Before he got round to it, the image resolved and he was facing himself in a mirror, a melancholic expression on his face. Then another mirror, him and Blaise in front of it. That one lasted only a second before he found himself in a corridor kneeling next to Greg.

Considering the first blurry images, the rest of Potter’s memory was surprisingly cohesive. Watching it was surreal, listening to Greg trying to get the words to come out of his mouth as if he was summoning them from another time. In one way he might have been, Draco hadn’t spoken to him in months and, he realized, neither had anyone else as far as he knew. He swallowed hard, his throat thick with bottled up guilt and was suddenly thankful Potter hadn’t followed him here.

It was like watching a wound mend from an imperfect healing charm, leaving an ugly scar, rough around the edges but no longer bleeding. Draco had to give it to Potter, he handled it as good as he possibly could have, though he suspected too much had broken between him and Greg over the past year for it to ever be possible to put the pieces back together. But this clumsy attempt at forgiveness was more than he thought he’d ever have.

He remained in the corridor long after Potter and Greg had left, staring into a thick fog, pondering the surprisingly adequate description of how his views had changed throughout the war, wondering if Potter had believed it to be true or if he’d simply made it up in a whim. When he finally returned he expected Potter to be long gone but he was perched on the floor, looking relieved to see Draco emerge from the pensive.

Draco pretended to straighten his robes, needing a moment to arrange his features before he could meet Potter’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” Potter asked. “Did I get all of it?”

Draco smirked. “Yes, you did” and a bit more he considered adding but didn’t. Potter had been kind to him after all.

“Was it OK then?”

Draco smiled a little at the worried tone. “Yes” he simply said. “Thank you.”

Potter smiled back and Draco made to leave, his hand on the door handle when Potter spoke again.

“What happened in muggle studies?”

Draco made a face. “A lot of things, I’m sure you’ve heard, it was in the Carrows’ trials.”

“I wasn’t at their hearings but Neville has told me some things form last year.”

His hand was still on the handle and he hesitated. He didn’t need to tell Potter anything else, it wasn’t like Greg was going to bring it up by Tuesday, he’d most likely never mention it again, but the encounter Draco had just witnessed had brought buried memories to life, aching to be let out into words. And Potter had told him about his nightmares.

“Yeah, but Neville’s a Gryffindor” he said, letting the hand fall to his side.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Potter asked, a note of indignance in his voice like Draco had expected. It made him smile, but only for a second.

“Meaning those classes were held by house, and Slytherins were considered more…receptive on the whole anti muggle act, so whatever Longbottom has told you, triple it.”

“OK” Potter said carefully behind him. Draco still kept his back turned, it made it easier to speak.

“Once they brought a muggle woman in, a lady in her sixties. I don’t know what happened to her later, probably killed her after they’d used her to practice the cruciatus curse or something.” He swallowed. “Anyway, they had her speak in front of the class, saying all sorts of crazy things about how she was planning to rid the world of magic. It was obvious she was under an imperio, even I wouldn’t have believed muggles to be that wicked. It didn’t make any sense either, they were supposed to be too ignorant to understand magic and yet they were to be considered a threat.”

Potter wasn’t speaking but Draco noticed a change in his breathing pattern.

“It’s what I told Vince and Greg, they were thick enough to fall for it of course. It turned into an argument and they accused me of going soft, of being disloyal to the dark lord. It wasn’t the first time any of them said things like that but this time Alecto overheard and confronted us.”

“What happened?” Potter stepped closer to him.

 “Greg told her what I’d said and I guess she found it disloyal too. She had them throw crucios at me.”

“Fuck.”

Draco shrugged. “Greg’s didn’t really take, I don’t know if he messed it up on purpose or if his heart wasn’t in it. Vince’s hit though. Hard.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him the way it had. It wasn’t like it was the only time he’d been tortured but there was something different when it was a childhood friend holding the wand than one of the many death eaters jeering at him. He assumed Vince had summoned years of bottled-up anger for being patronized by him into the spell. He assumed he deserved it.

There was a light touch to his shoulder, a thumb stroking his neck. It stopped quickly, the hand was withdrawn but left a lingering warmth to his skin.

“I’m sorry” Potter said. It was hard to tell if he referred to the touch or to what Draco had said.

“Why, Potter, never had your friends practice a little crucio on you?” He tried to put some sarcasm behind the words but they just came out hollow.

“That’s not what friends are for.” Even if Potter wasn’t touching him anymore, he was still close enough for Draco to feel his breath on his skin. If he’d turn around, their lips would meet. He didn’t but stared straight ahead, his eyes tracing the cracks of the wooden door while he tried hard to keep the wave of guilt and shame at bay. Then he turned the handle and walked out without another word, leaving Potter in a room enclosed with memories.

*****

Harry’s head was swimming with thoughts of Malfoy for the remainder of the afternoon. There had been a moment when he’d known Malfoy was hurting and he’d instinctively reached out. And Malfoy had let him. Although it was technically Harry’s own shoulder, it was like he could feel the tenseness and fragility he’d seen in Malfoy during their sixth year through the fabric of the Gryffindor robe. What if he’d reached out then, instead of firing spell after spell until he’d had Malfoy bleeding out in front of him, would he still be standing where he was, speaking of the cruelty of a boy who had burned to death next to him? As the questions had formed in his mind, his fingertips had heated like fiendfire. He wondered if Malfoy had felt it too.

Sitting next to Goyle at dinner was harder than it’d been at lunch. He watched Malfoy at the other end of the great hall who seemed rather distant, not taking notice of the concerned glances Ron and Hermione were throwing him. Had Harry been wrong to reach out to Goyle? Did he even deserve forgiveness? The thoughts were nagging him and he was thankful for Parkinson chatting away next to him without expecting a reply. Not until Malfoy left the table, giving a curt but friendly nod as he passed Harry and Goyle did he feel better. He smiled back and when he watched Malfoy walk out of the hall, he imagined his shoulders were a little less tense.

“What the fuck?”

He turned to Parkinson, realizing he’d been caught staring at his own ass.

“What?” he said, feigning stupidity but even Goyle seemed to have noticed the exchange between the two of them.

“Did you just say hi to Potter?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

He felt a twinge of annoyance. He and Malfoy might have hated each other passionately over the years but there was a whole war separating their old childhood indifferences. Them being on speaking terms shouldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Yeah, so what?” he shrugged. Apparently house rivalry ran strong in Slytherin because his reply had Parkinson knock her goblet of pumpkin juice over, splashing Goyle’s robe. Her lips mouthed wordlessly as if she was stuck trying to say many things at once.

“We bumped into each other at the library before, he asked me for help with one of the potions questions” he invented wildly. “It wasn’t a big deal.” He cast a scourgify at Goyle’s robe and forced himself to keep chewing the treacle tart with an expression of indifference.

“Hm.” She kept eyeing him but didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t linger in the common room but went to his dorm early with the excuse of catching up on his homework. It wasn’t a lie, he was well behind on most of his subjects yet once more he found it hard to focus.

It had been an exhausting day and while he was resting on top of the bed, staring up the ceiling, Blaise Zabini was the last thing on his mind, but there he was, leaning against Harry’s bedpost wearing nothing but boxers.

“How are you?” he asked casually as if their argument yesterday hadn’t taken place. Perhaps that was how things usually worked between him and Malfoy. Malfoy had told Harry not to be a sap after all so he held back on his impulse to bite Zabini’s head off.

“Alright” he shrugged. “You?”

“Pretty good” Zabini said, an amused smile playing over his lips. “So…” he dropped down on the bed and Harry froze. When a hand casually came to rest on his thigh, he sat up so fast he sent his stack of books tumbling down on the floor.

“What the fuck?”

Zabini raised his eyebrows. “Something the matter?”

“Something the matter?” Harry asked angrily. “You gave me a good speech yesterday about how you didn’t want to be associated with me, and now you expect me to be OK with you crawling into my bed?”

Zabini’s surprised look told him that that was exactly what he thought. Harry didn’t care if Malfoy was fine with being treated like this. Zabini would have to wait at least two more days and then Malfoy could do whatever he wanted but Harry sure wasn’t having it. He felt disgusted with himself for ever letting Zabini touch him and when the hand was placed on his thigh again he gave it a hard shove and got out of bed. “Leave me the fuck alone” he said.

“Come on Draco, don’t be like that.”

“But it’s OK for you to be like that whenever you want and treat me like shit in front of people?”

A condescending smile played over Zabini’s lips as if he was thinking Harry was being a drama queen. Or perhaps he considered this foreplay.  

“You’re not that a great a fuck to be worth it” Harry said to wipe the smirk off his face. It kind of worked. Zabini stiffened and his eyes grew cold.

“You think you can do better then?”

Harry shrugged, he was pretty sure Malfoy could.

“You think there’s anyone out there who is prepared to fuck a death eater?”

“Ex death eater” Harry automatically corrected him.

Zabini snorted. “As if there’s a difference. Still got the mark, haven’t you?”

“You know I do, you took a pretty good look at it last morning as I recall.” Harry clasped Malfoy’s wand in his pocket, wondering if this was going to turn into a fight and how skilled Zabini was at dueling. Cursing his roommate probably went under the category of messing things up for Malfoy though and he reluctantly released the grip of the wand and folded his arms across his chest, enjoying the obvious discomfort Zabini felt at the mentioning of his fetish.

“Who do you think would have you then? Goyle? I saw you talking before. What’s up with that? Did you let him blow you?”

“No” Harry said irritated. “Leave him out of this.”

Zabini shrugged. “Not your type I guess. Who then? Potter?”

Harry stilled at the mentioning of his own name and apparently Zabini noticed, an amused grin spreading over his face. He panicked a little. Zabini must have seen him and Malfoy sneak off sometime the last few days, hell a lot of people probably had. So far his worry had been for someone to find out about the spell, though thinking back he realized that was probably not the first that would come to mind if someone saw him and Malfoy meeting in deserted classrooms and hidden alcoves.

He forced his face into a neutral expression, thinking Malfoy would have his head if he started some rumor about the two of them.

“You think Potter would ever want you? You think the savior would care for a death eater?”

Harry grinded his teeth as Zabini sneered at him, sick of people having opinions of what he should and shouldn’t want. He thought of how he’d touched himself in bed this morning, wondering what it would be like to touch Malfoy with his own hands. He thought of Malfoy’s hands in his hair. Him coming out as gay and Malfoy being surprisingly kind about the whole thing. About Malfoy confiding in him just a few hours earlier and how it had pained Harry to see him hurting.

“He cares a great deal more than you do” he let out and then bit his tongue. Good work on not starting a rumor. He felt his cheeks turn red as he was being scrutinized, feeling caught, but then Zabini let out a cold laugh.

“I’ve always chosen to look at your obsession as charmingly amusing but I think you’ve crossed the line to disillusioned.”

Harry didn’t grasp the full meaning of his words but there was no mistaking he was being insulted to his face. He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It was either that or hexing Zabini’s balls off.

He headed outside the castle again but this time the cold air wasn’t enough to calm him.

He told himself it was just Zabini being an asshole to Malfoy, he had just gotten tangled up in it because of the spell. In a few days, it’d be Malfoy’s problem and he’d never need to think twice of it again. But he would of course. He didn’t think he could stand the sight of the two of them sitting next to each other in class for the rest of the year, Zabini whispering insults into Malfoy’s ear, ignoring him outside classes just to shove his hand down his pants when the door closed behind them.

And Malfoy would, for some reason Harry couldn’t comprehend, keep letting him. Why did he? No matter how unpopular Malfoy was among his housemates, there was no reason he should have to take that. Though Zabini obviously had something Malfoy wanted. Was it more than just a way of getting off to Malfoy?

Draco, when will you admit it to yourself? He’d felt he was missing out on something Parkinson was telling him this week but suddenly it started to make sense. Malfoy was probably, despite what he’d been telling Harry, in love with the arrogant jerk.

Malfoy’s love life was none of his business and there was no reason the realization should make the cold winter air feel like liquid fire in his lungs. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs. When it hadn’t slowed down ten minutes later, he headed for the owlery.

*****

Longbottom’s bed was empty, as it was most of the time. Draco had learned he was sneaking into one of the Hufflepuff girls’ room most nights. It clashed horribly with the image of the awkward kid he’d bullied over the years, but then again, Longbottom wasn’t who he used to be. Neither was Draco. And neither was Potter he assumed.

“Right there mate?”

Draco had hoped for an evening in solitude and wished Weasley had followed Longbottom’s example and sneaked off somewhere with Granger, but here he was, in his bed, glancing at Draco with a look of equal hesitance and determination that he’d come to recognize in Potter’s friends by now.  Weasley was in talking mood. Draco sighed, at least Granger wasn’t there.

“I’m fine” he said in a vain hope that it would suffice but Weasley sat up, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall, facing Draco.

“It’s just, you’ve seemed a bit distracted the past few days and we, I mean I, got a bit worried.”

“Hm” Draco let out.

“I don’t want to push you, but you know, if you want to talk...”

Poor Weasley was probably on a mission set by Granger. Draco stifled an impulse to tell him off, Potter wouldn’t do that. On the other hand, he didn’t appear willing to talk to his friends either but seemed to apply the same strategy he did with his girlfriend, meaning Draco should probably excuse himself and go to hide in the bathroom until Weasley had fallen asleep. He wouldn’t have minded, though Potter had helped him fix things with Greg earlier. Draco’s dept to him was already far beyond outline yet he knew that if there was something he could do for Potter, however small, he probably should.  

He sat up on the bed, determined, facing the redheaded git. “Look, I’ve had a few things on my mind lately but none of them are about” - he braced himself - “V-voldemort taking control of my mind.” Weasley flinched, if it was because of the name or the harsh tone was hard to tell.

Draco wasn’t feeling too good himself. It was the first time he’d spoken the name of the dark lord and it made him want to puke, but apart from that nothing happened. He was still alive and mostly well in Potter’s bed and Weasley was still sitting opposite him, eyeing him carefully.

He forced himself to speak softer. “I’m not saying that I don’t have things to deal with after the war, everyone has, but I’m not about to break from it either. It’s hard when I’m not allowed to move on though.”

Weasley’s expression turned into one of surprise.

“I don’t mean that I simply wish to forget everything about it.” He struggled to put what he’d learned from being Potter into words. “But I don’t want to think about it every waking minute either and when people keep treating me like I’m the savior, it makes it hard not to.” He swallowed. “And when you and Gr..Hermione worry, it’s sort of the same thing.”

Weasley looked down on his hands. “I didn’t think about it that way, honestly mate, I just want you to feel better.”

Draco nodded “I do, most of the time.” He was guessing of course.

They sat in silence for a while and Draco wondered if it’d be OK to pick up the book he’d been longing to read and close his bed curtains.

“So what about the other stuff?” Obviously not.

“What stuff?”

“You said there’d been some things on your mind lately.”

Oh that. The stuff where Potter had been cursed to change appearances with his school nemesis, gone around kissing said nemesis ex girlfriend, not to mention getting off with Blaise and getting into a fight with him in the same day in a melodramatic performance worthy of Draco.

“Nothing special, just school stuff” he said with a shrug.

For a moment it looked like Weasley would drop it and he was just about to grab for his book.

“Is it about Ginny?”

Weasley pushed the ginger fringe out of his face and Draco pondered the depth of the weirdness of dating your best friend’s sibling. A few days ago, he might have enjoyed inventing some kinky fetish, just to see the look on Weasley’s face, like Ginny wanting to spank Potter with her broom and calling him Ronald while he was naked. He had to bite his lip hard until his eyes watered not to go off in a fit of laughter.

Weasley obviously mistook this for tears and looked extremely uncomfortable. Apparently he wasn’t accustomed to Potter crying in front of him, which was a relief.

“Look, I know you two haven’t been good together for a while, and I know she can be a bit intense, but if you…”

Draco groaned into his hands. “This is too weird” he muttered.

Weasley laughed. “Yeah, tell me about it. Never thought I’d be giving advice to someone about how to break up with my little sister.”

Draco’s jaw fell. “You want me to break up with her?”

“Of course I don’t, but you’re obviously not happy together and if you don’t want to be with her in the long run, the sooner you break it off, the better.”

Well, Draco obviously knew that, it was Potter who didn’t. “What makes you think I don’t want to be with her?” he asked instead, though it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Weasley and Granger who’d been mapping Potter’s actions all term had come to that conclusion.

Weasley twisted a tread from his blankets around his finger, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Well, it’s obvious you’ve been avoiding her and I’m guessing you’re doing that thing you do when you don’t want to disappoint people and instead of confronting them you just steel yourself, waiting for the moment to be over.”

Well, that was a pretty accurate description of Potter, Draco thought. “Did Hermione tell you that?”

Weasley grinned again. “Yeah, but I kind of notice it too, at least after she pointed it out.”

Draco rolled his eyes. The discussion came to a halt and he wondered it was over, thinking longingly of burying himself in his novel, being surrounded by the words of a highly accomplished fourteenth century writer instead of those of a pubertal, freckled git, talking about Potter’s failed relationship with his sister. Maybe if he accioed the book Weasley would take the hint.

“Besides, if you want to get off with some other girl eventually, you need to be smooth and break things off with her well before that. Not that I’m one to talk, remember when I was going out with Lavender…”

Vividly, Draco thought. Not even the burden of plotting the headmaster’s assassination had made him miss out on Weasley and Brown eating each other’s faces in just about every corner of the school.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting off with any girls soon” he said vaguely, hoping to plant a seed in Weasley’s limited mind, simplifying things for Potter when he eventually chose to come out of the closet, when he was in his eighties or something.

“Oh” Weasley’s jaw fell. Draco swore inwardly when he realized he hadn’t so much opened the door ajar as kicked Potter out of the closet head first. His first impulse was to deny it but Weasley was nodding to himself, not looking appalled at all but rather like this wasn’t exactly breaking news. He and Granger probably discussed Potter’s emotional life at lengths and he assumed they would have come up with that theory at some point.

“OK then” he simply said.  

Draco snorted. “OK then?”

Weasley smiled sheepishly. “What am I supposed to say. I don’t mind obviously. It’s not a big deal.”

Draco stared at his hands. Potter’s hands, with Umbridge’s words carved into the skin and nails bitten down. He thought of Potter mending his friendship with Greg and in return Draco had gone and fucked everything up.

“Please don’t tell anyone” he said, echoing Potter’s words from the day before.

“Goes without saying, mate.” Then Weasley’s brows wrinkled. “Except Hermione, right?”

Draco considered telling him to keep his fat mouth shut, which would probably make Weasley implode, and as much as that would solve the problem with Draco accidentally outing Potter, Granger could probably smell a secret from miles and would be on to him like a leech until he was forced to repeat this uncomfortable talk with her. “Fine” he muttered. “You can tell her.” They were practically the same person anyway.

“Great” Weasley grinned. “So has something happened, I mean is there some guy you’re seeing or what?”

“Not really” he said, thinking he should at least have the decency not to out Potter’s affair with Blaise. Weasley kept watching him hesitantly as if he was plucking up the courage to pose a question about gay sex and he groaned inwardly, he’d already gone through that with Pansy. Although it wasn’t so much a matter of plucking up the courage on her part as interrogating him for an hour straight about his preferences. He’d been bored with sex even before he’d gotten a chance to try it.

“What…” Weasley began.

“No there isn’t always a top and a bottom” Draco replied in a bored voice. Though Potter would obviously be a top. He reached for his book to send a message that the discussion was over.

 “Top of what?” Weasley sounded even more confused than usual.

Draco shook his head. “Never mind. What then?”

“Well, what about Malfoy?”

Draco lost hold of the book which tumbled down onto the floor with a loud thud. “What?”

Weasley grinned at his reaction. “Just seemed like something was going on between the two of you this week.”

“No, absolutely not” he said. Potter would be angry enough at him for telling Weasley he was gay, if he’d thought Draco had put a rumor about the two of them out there, he wouldn’t just hex him to pieces but incendio his remains and feed it to a blast ended skrewt and that was not a dignified way to go. “He’s a death eater” he added to put extra weight behind his words.

“Ex death eater” Weasley corrected. “And didn’t you just say you wanted to move on after the war?”

“Yeah, well…there are some limits” he muttered.

Weasley shrugged. “If you say so” and to Draco’s surprise he dropped the subject and picked up a magazine, grin still on his face. Draco picked up the book from the floor, though he found it very hard to focus on what he was reading.

“Eum, are you sure there isn’t anything going on between you and Malfoy?” Weasley asked ten minutes later, his voice amused.

“Yes” he said impatiently “why?”

“Well, that’s his owl, isn’t it?”

Draco looked up, and sure enough, there was Poseidon, pecking at the window.  He shot out of bed, ignoring Weasley’s smirk and snatched the letter from the owl’s beak. The message was short, Need to talk, usual place, which he took that to mean the bathroom.

Not until he was halfway there did he realize he’d left the note on Potter’s bedside table in plain view for Weasley to read.

Potter had managed to fit himself on the surface next to the sink, his legs drawn up and his head resting on his knees. He looked up when Draco entered the room. At the sight of his face, Draco  stopped in his tracks, thinking there could only be one thing that could have made him look that miserable; Potter must have revealed his identity.

Well, at least Draco hadn’t been the one responsible for the worst fuck up today. Outing Potter to Weasley was nothing compared to the hell this would put Draco through. He swallowed and took a few tentative steps forwards until he was standing opposite the sink, wondering how long he had before he was put behind bars. “So, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice dry.

Potter took his time to stretch his legs and stand up, his eyes were carefully avoiding Draco’s. “Please don’t sleep with Zabini” he said quietly.

It was the last thing Draco had expected to hear. “I’m not sleeping with him” he said, which technically was true.

“Whatever it is you’re doing with him, please don’t.”

Draco studied him, carefully, letting it sink in that he wasn’t going to be wearing Potter’s face for all eternity but that something else clearly was wrong. “OK” he said slowly. “I won’t.”

Potter looked surprised when he agreed without argument but nodded in relief and edged his neck a little so that he was staring at his own reflection instead of looking at Draco.

Draco followed his gaze. The sight was painfully familiar, sending echos from two years ago when he’d seen that abject face reflected countless of times in that very mirror, the bathroom being the only place where he’d allowed his features to fall. He took a step forward and reached out a tentative hand, touching Potter’s arm lightly. “Did Blaise hurt you? He can be rough sometimes, but he’s never forced himself upon me.”

Potter shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that. We just argued. He’s such a dick to you.”

Draco sighed. “He is, but it’s not like I don’t have myself to blame. The things I did in the war…”

“I don’t recall Zabini standing up to Voldemort” Potter said angrily.

Draco shrugged. “He didn’t join him either, he just kept his head down until it blew over.”

 “That’s not really any better.”

“Tell that to the Wizengamot” Draco muttered.

“I kind of did” Potter said and Draco drew a sharp breath. It was the first time they had mentioned Potter speaking for him at his trial, probably being the reason he was standing here instead of rotting away in Azkaban.

“I know” Draco said, finding it hard to get the words out. “Thanks.” He noticed his hand was still resting on Potter’s arm and quickly withdrew it.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up” Potter said and drew his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture Draco had watched countless of times over the years but where the messy black curls usually gave him the appealing look of just having been shagged, the blond hair only turned frizzy, suggesting he was somewhat of a nutcase who’d never come across a mirror.

“And I shouldn’t have fought with Zabini, or let him touch me in the first place, I had no right to do that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fuck up your life, of course you can sleep with him if you want to, he’d probably let you, I just…” Potter spoke fast, his breathing getting out of control and the whizzing sound from his lungs was familiar to Draco too, speaking of an approaching panic attack  Without thinking about it, he put his arms around Potter, which effectively shut him up.

“Just breath, alright. No harm done. You’re doing fine. He’ll never know it was you.” He carefully stroked Potter’s back the way his mother used to and eventually the breaths slowed down and Potter stilled in his arms.

“You’re worth more than him” he mumbled into Draco’s neck.

“Really?” he asked and for some reason the surprise in his voice made Potter smile.

“Yes, really.”

Draco didn’t know how it happened but suddenly their lips were pressed together and there was a tongue in his mouth. His own tongue he thought, which was a whole new level of weird, but since it was his tongue in Potter’s mouth no matter how one thought about it, he decided it was quite alright and responded to the kiss. He shouldn’t though, Potter was confused and miserable, and apparently close to going round the bend if he was deliberately kissing Draco. But it was Potter, kissing him, another part of him argued, and it felt bloody fantastic.

Potter, confused and miserable, his mind unhelpfully added, and in a relationship with Ginevra Weasley at that. Draco reluctantly pulled away, every pore in his body protesting at the missed contact.

“This is a bad idea” he mumbled and Potter quickly stepped away from him as if he’d been burned.

“Fuck, sorry” he said, sounding close to panic again and backed towards the door, his hair standing even more on edge. Draco reached out and grabbed his hand to prevent him from running away.

“It’s OK, don’t worry about it. It’s all fine. Just one more day of this and you’ll be back to yourself.”

“Yeah” Potter muttered, not seeming any happier about the prospect. Draco bit his tongue, thinking guiltily about what Potter would be coming back to, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger having a thousand gay questions, though with Potter already close to breaking point, this wasn’t the moment to tell him.

“Why don’t you go for a walk” he said instead. “The trail round the lake is pretty nice. I usually do a lap when I’ve had a fight with Blaise, two when it’s been a particularly a bad one.”

Potter let out a miserable laugh. “Two it is then.”

*****

Harry did what Malfoy told him and circled the lake. It didn’t help much, on his third lap he was still dwelling in embarrassment. He’d kissed Draco Malfoy. Who had clearly not wanted to be kissed. He tried to tell himself it was OK, Malfoy had been decent about it. Harry only had to endure one more day of this, then he would get his cloak back and could hide under it for the rest of the year, never having to face Malfoy again.

There had been a moment when Malfoy had kissed him back though and it hadn’t been anything like he’d expected it to be, it should have been rough and forced, more teeth than tongue but instead it’d been warm and tender. For a moment he’d felt blissful. Then Malfoy had broken away, perhaps realizing it was Harry and not Zabini he was kissing. Or perhaps he had only kissed him back out of pity.

Mortified, he went back to the castle and sneaked into bed, happy that Zabini’s bed curtains were closed.