Friends?
The next two weeks went by quickly.
Harry had continued receiving lessons from Draco and he could see himself making progress. He had even started subconsciously mimicking some of the behaviours of Draco and his friends — things that Harry would never have done before. Like when he'd begun to cross his legs when he sat down like Blaise did and Harry hadn't noticed he was doing so until Ron pointed it out.
He’d also started hanging out with Draco and his friends more and more during the week. So much so that Pansy asked to be his chemistry partner for the rest of the term, although Harry was pretty sure it was because she felt bad that Snape kept picking on him. At first, he wasn't so sure about working with her since he was more of Draco’s friend than hers and he felt that their personalities didn't complement each other very well, but she had helped bring his grade up to a B+ so Harry couldn't complain.
His days had also been filled with preparing him for the Malfoy Gala, which Draco didn't seem too happy about Harry attending.
“It's not that I don't want you to attend, I just wish I'd had more than a two weeks' notice,” Draco sighed when Harry asked him about it.
Harry could understand that. If he thought his two weeks had been busy, he couldn't imagine being in Draco’s shoes.
The blond had been on calls for most of the time he wasn't spending in class, and he'd even been pulled out of a few classes to answer calls from his parents. Harry had also heard Draco mention his name on the calls a couple times and it made him nervous on what conversation they were having that involved him.
Then exactly six days before the gala, Harry and Draco were pulled out of their literature class. Harry thought it was a surprise interview but it was actually the Malfoys’ personal tailor coming to take his measurements for a custom-made suit.
Harry would be lying if he said he had been completely comfortable with the entire ordeal. Other than a frilly church suit he wore to his first communion when he was eight, Harry had never worn or owned a suit before, much less a custom one that required him to stand on pedestal and have someone measure him. It was all out of his comfort zone and Harry was very ticklish.
“Can’t we just buy a suit at a department shop or something? This feels a little unnecessary,” Harry had said and Draco and the tailor both stopped to stare at him.
“Maybe if you were attending a charity event for sickly dogs,” Draco said. “This is the Malfoy Gala, Harry. You do not want to be caught in a mass-produced dinner suit. Don't worry, once Andrew here makes your suit, you'll know the difference.”
Harry didn't think he would.
Then there was the whole matter of “finding himself”. Harry didn't even know where to begin with that.
He'd talked about it with Ron and Hermione once during a free period they'd had together. He asked them the same question Draco asked him.
“Maybe. . . clever, hardworking, and diligent? I think those words fit me pretty well,” Hermione said and Ron nodded.
“Also beautiful, loving, and the best thing that's ever happened to me,” he added and Hermione smiled and kissed him.
“Ever the flatterer,” she teased and kissed him again.
Harry waited awkwardly until they were done. “What about you, Ron?” he said.
“Oh.” The redhead paused in thought. “I guess I’d describe myself as relaxed, funny, and adaptable.”
Their descriptions of themselves were pretty accurate, although Harry noticed that Hermione seemed to tie herself to her academics. He couldn't judge however, seeing as he didn't even have anything to tie himself to.
Despite being busy with the gala, Draco had managed to carve out time in his days to spend with Harry (which Harry would never admit how pleased he was about).
Harry’s favourite moment was when he and Draco spent their Wednesday evening together in Draco’s room when Blaise was at football practice. They sat on Draco's bed together and they were supposed to be doing their history assignment but Draco had suggested they take a break and they never revisited the material. They ended up talking about a lot of things, like why the houses were named after fantasy creatures—the first headmaster of Brighton had been obsessed with mythology—but Draco talked mostly about the gala and Harry wasn't really interested in all that. He wanted to know more about Draco himself.
“Hey, where'd you get those posters from?” Harry asked, motioning to the Sex Pistols poster right above the bed frame. “They're really cool.”
Draco’s face lit up at that and the conversation completely changed.
“I got that poster when my mother and I went to a shopping centre in Manchester last summer,” Draco said, pointing at it. “I have another one on my wall at home.”
“Don't take this the wrong way but aren't they very anti-establishment?” Harry said. “And you're… well, a Malfoy.”
“Ironic, isn't it?” Draco laughed. “The son of one of England’s most prominent politicians listens to Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious. I picture the disapproval on my father’s face every time I play their music.” Draco sat up at that and he looked at Harry with an amused smile. “I think it's my own little way of rebelling.”
“Rebelling, huh? You don't seem to hate how rich you are,” Harry pointed out.
“Money is just one part of the story, Harry,” Draco said. “I don't think you'd quite understand.”
Harry didn't, but he could tell this was important to Draco so Harry would have to make it important to him too. That's what good friends did, wasn't it?
“I'd like to,” Harry said, “if you don't mind.”
Draco turned his head to Harry and met his gaze. He looked surprised by Harry's remark. “Really?”
Harry nodded, not blinking.
Draco paused, seemingly at a loss for words. Harry saw the way the blond searched his eyes, looking for something familiar to him but perhaps foreign to Harry.
Then Draco’s face closed off. The remnants of their honest conversation before left his face and he broke eye contact. He pushed the fringe of his not-slicked back hair off his forehead and cleared his throat.
“I think we can go ahead and wrap up today's study meet,” he said, closing his textbook. “I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, Harry.”
As Harry left Draco’s room, he felt confused and slightly hurt. He hadn't said anything wrong, had he? He really did want to be able to understand what Draco was going through but was that even possible? They were so fundamentally different and Harry was starting to feel that more than ever.
At breakfast Thursday morning, Draco didn't invite him to sit with him and his friends. In fact, when they'd met eyes from across the hall, Draco looked away and continued talking to a blonde girl Harry didn't know the name of.
Harry didn't have much time to ponder on it because Fred and George had spotted him and called him over to their table. He sat in between the two as they cracked some jokes Harry could only half-heartedly laugh at between glancing over at Draco's table and eating his toast.
Harry thought he was doing a decent job at hiding his poor mood. At least, he did until Pansy noticed while they were working on a lab together.
“So, did Draco break your heart?” she said without even looking up at him as she wrote down their observations.
“What?”
“You’ve been moping like a lost puppy all morning,” Pansy said. “It's very distracting.”
“I haven't been—”
Pansy sighed, finally looking up at him, blowing away a stray strand of hair from her bob. “Yes, you have. You've been doing this the entire morning.” She sunk her shoulders and face and took a couple of steps towards Harry as she imitated him. “Moody is not a good look for you.” She returned to her usual stance and picked up her pen again. “And Draco's been in his own sort of mood too. He’s been all irritable and snaps at everyone. Only Daphne can calm him when he’s like this.”
Harry's mind immediately went to the blonde girl Draco had been sitting with at breakfast. “Who’s that?”
“Daphne Greengrass? She’s one of our childhood friends. Though now she spends most of her time with upperclassmen,” Pansy said. “She was always closest with Draco though. Maybe because they’re both blonde.”
Harry smiled slightly at the attempt to lift his mood. “I don’t think that’s why,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Harry. I’m pretty sure all blondes are in some sort of secret society,” she said seriously. “Draco always tells me I’m being silly but that is exactly what someone in a secret society would say to hide the fact they’re in a secret society. Us brunettes, Harry, we have to stick together.”
Harry laughed. “Sure, Pansy.”
Pansy smiled and she knocked his head with the pen. “There we are,” she said softly. “You look much handsomer with a smile on your face. Keep it on for the rest of the day, okay?”
Harry rubbed his head. “Okay,” he promised her.
Pansy also gave him a peck on the cheek at the end of the class and Harry turned a deep shade of pink as he awkwardly thanked her.
All of that had led up to Friday evening. Draco still hadn't said anything to Harry since Wednesday and it was starting to make him anxious. What had he even said that made Draco so distant all of a sudden? He just wanted to know more about his friend. There wasn't anything wrong with that, was there? Or did friendships work differently in Draco’s world as well?
Harry sighed as he collapsed onto his bed. Maybe he wasn't cut out for all of this. He'd only applied here on a whim anyway after a bad argument with Vernon and Petunia. At least there he knew it wasn't his fault they hated him. Here he just felt like a poor screw-up.
He buried his head under his pillow and shut his eyes tight. He tried to think about what his life would be like if his house hadn't been attacked that night, and if his parents weren't dead. He’d probably be a normal kid and as he got older maybe people would tell him he looked like his dad, and maybe he'd know who he was, and maybe he wouldn't be so terrible at keeping friends.
There was a knock at the door and Harry was entirely prepared to ignore it when Draco's voice came through the door, “Harry.”
Harry scoffed under his pillow. Of course Draco would show up when he's at his most vulnerable.
“Harry, I know you're in there. Weasley and Granger are out on a date and you haven't any friends besides them.”
Harry wanted to be upset by the statement but Draco wasn't exactly wrong. Besides Ron, Hermione, and Draco, Harry didn't really talk to anyone comfortably enough to consider them a friend. Although after yesterday, maybe Pansy was more of a friend than he thought.
He heard the door open and close and he let out a breath and sat up to look at Draco.
“What do you want?” Harry said.
Draco gave him a look as he switched on the light. “Are you forgetting that the gala is tomorrow? If it wasn't for you, I would already be home helping my parents.”
“Right, because I'm nothing but a burden to everyone. You didn't need to come here to tell me that,” Harry muttered.
“Oh, speak up, Harry. How do you expect anyone to hear you when you mumble like that?” Draco said, sitting down next to him. “And why are your cheeks wet? Don't tell me you've been in here crying in the dark.”
Harry rolled his eyes as he wiped his cheeks. “You're a right git, you know that?” he said, making sure not to mumble.
“Yes, I've been told,” Draco said and Harry scoffed. “Now what's this about?”
“What do you mean 'what's this about’? You've been ignoring me for the last two days!” Harry exclaimed, glaring at the blond. “Did you even think of how it made me feel?”
“I've been busy, Harry. You can't expect me to give up my duties concerning the gala just to consider your feelings.”
“You've sure had plenty of time to spend with Daphne Greengrass.”
“I won't pretend to know what you mean by that but Daphne came to me for help. She has a crush on an upperclassman and was asking for my advice,” Draco explained and Harry didn't know why but he found it easier to look at Draco knowing that.
“Oh,” Harry finally met his eyes. “Then why have you been avoiding me really?”
It was Draco's turn to look away. “I suppose Daphne was helping me with that in return.” The blond stood, still not looking Harry in the eye. “The other day when you said what you did. . . It seemed as though you were becoming attached to me.”
“Attached?”
Harry noticed the way Draco’s stance changed as he balanced his weight onto both feet, tilted his chin up slightly, and looked down at Harry.
“Harry, I hope you are aware that you and I are not friends,” Draco said bluntly. “This arrangement is strictly to supplement your training. I believe I have given you the wrong idea about our relationship.”
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Draco, what are you saying? You don't think of us as friends?”
“I blame myself. I was shortsighted and allowed you to emotionally invest yourself in this relationship and now here you are crying. I apologise and will be clearer from now on.” Draco looked squarely into Harry's eyes. “We are not friends, Harry. You are only shadowing my friends and me to help perfect your image.”
Harry felt his skin hotten as Draco spoke. Really, what was Draco saying? They weren't friends? Then what had the last two weeks meant to him?
Harry stood up and forced Draco to meet his eyes. “Draco, this really isn't funny,” he said.
“It's a good thing I'm not joking then,” the blond replied. “I see no need to drag this out any longer. I've left your suit on your dresser. I'm also leaving for the manor tonight. A car should be picking you and Pansy up tomorrow so you should be arriving together in the evening.”
There wasn't a hint of emotion in Draco’s voice and that made Harry even angrier.
“Draco—”
“I'll see you tomorrow then,” Draco said. “Good night, Harry.”
Before Harry could properly process what had happened, Draco left, leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of the room.
Harry wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious enough to scream and break something. He wanted to show some sort of resistance but he could only gaze at the shut door Draco walked out of and feel like a fool. How dare he let himself believe for a short moment that he could be someone other than an outcast? No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be normal.
He would only and always ever be alone, with no one to care for or care for him.