Chapter 7
The snake was an old nightmare. Draco imagined it began in second year, when his bravado covered for worry that, despite being a pure blood, the basilisk would get him. A small worry for a pampered boy. Draco never met the giant snake and it was a fear to bring out on dark nights to tease the smallest children. Precious few years later Draco did meet a snake. Nagini would watch Draco, often the smallest person in the room. The familiar fear of a giant snake monster morphed into a much more real danger. Too soon afterwards, Nagini and the Dark Lord made Malfoy Manor their home. Then Draco’s dreams highlighted specific horrors he had seen first hand. His nightmares that didn’t feature the dark lord directly often featured his snake. Draco had imagined sharp teeth puncturing him, the poison leaving him to puff up green oozes and bleed out. He imagined being swallowed whole, crushed inside the snake’s body as he suffocated and dissolved in bile. He imagined Nagini coiling around him, squeezing until Draco’s lungs were empty and bones crunched. His still fuzzy visions from the recent past were filled with images of snakes, coiling around his wrists and legs, holding him down as the Dark Lord cast unforgivables and Draco screamed.
Draco hadn’t reconciled those nightmares to waking up in the hospital to see Harry Potter, not the Dark Lord, at his side. Draco tried to remember he woke up. He’d had a whole conversation, he’d followed Potter towards safety. Only, all Draco could think of now was how he was pressed hard from all directions and the squeeze was too tight for Draco to breathe. Any moment now he’d feel his bones break under the muscles of a giant python monster, their crackling noise the only sound Draco could make as he was crushed to death.
Then Draco landed, hard. His legs immediately gave out. Someone grabbed him, but it was too dark to see. In a panic, Draco lashed out. He slapped and punched, then tripped and fell, and from the floor he kicked out instead. His foot landed on flesh and Draco heard someone’s “oof!” Draco kicked harder, hitting the person again, then swung his legs in all directions, kicking at furniture, until finally he was kicking air because he’d pushed everything else away.
Draco scrambled backwards. His back hit some other furniture, and he crawled along it until it was gone, then he scrambled back further until he found a corner to huddle in. Draco heaved air into his lungs, terrified these would be his last breaths before the snake came back and finished him off.
“Lumos!” said someone. Warm yellow light illuminated everything.
Draco lifted a hand to block some of the light, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. He was just releasing the tension of squinting when he heard a switch click and a larger overhead light came on.
He was in a homey little room with a sofa and at least one large padded chair that Draco was hiding next to. Draco could see a little kitchenette, with a coffee table crammed into it courtesy of Draco’s previous panic. Powder blue curtains hung closed over the windows. The cheery yellow throw rug was wrinkled from where Draco had crawled.
It’s not that the Dark Lord and Nagini wouldn’t be in a place like this. They definitely would, they went to these sorts of places to find their victims, who they would then brutally murder, unless the Dark Lord dragged them back to Draco’s home to even more brutally murder them. It was just that Draco was fairly certain if he allowed himself to peek over the armrest blocking the rest of the room he would find someone else all together.
Draco wanted to be the sort of person who had the courage to look. Instead, he hung his head between his knees and contemplated his continued challenges to breath. He forced deep breaths, in and out. It took an excruciating amount of time for his body to understand no threat was imminent.
Intellectually, Draco understood his panic wasn’t caused by anything real. As he focused on calm breaths, Draco could remember how he got to this strange place. He had been in the hospital with Potter, and Potter sidealonged him away. It was sudden and Draco was unprepared, but if he focused he could identify the tight, suffocating experience as the unpleasant feeling of apparition. Gods, Potter had been back on his hero complex, rescuing Draco once again. This must be the safe house Potter promised, and no one here was trying to hurt Draco.
Except, thinking of Potter did hurt quite a lot. Draco had to be able to think about him without panic before he could bring himself to sit up and face him.
There was no way to sense how much time had passed, but eventually Draco was too bone weary to breathe any more deep breaths. His frayed nerves were washed out by bone weary exhaustion. Draco ached all over, possibly from his crunched position, but just as likely from how tense he had held himself for too long, or perhaps it was the days of sleeping on hard surfaces. He yearned for a bed, or at the very least the chair he knew was next to him. It had to be better than the floor. Draco hoped he was tired enough he could sleep without dreaming, and that hope drove him to lift his head up and face whatever awaited him.
Potter had chosen to sit on the floor, like Draco. He was just out of reach, far enough it would be hard for Draco to lash out and kick him again. One leg was folded in front of him, and the other was pulled up to his chest so he could rest an arm over his knee and lean against it. It gave Draco a direct view of Potter’s split lip and the bruise on the chin around it. When Potter saw Draco sit up he smiled warmly, stretching the cut. How could Potter be smiling when Draco had hurt him?
“Hey there,” Potter said gently. He kept his voice quiet and barely moved. Draco got the sense Potter was trying not to spook him. “It looked like that was a lot, you okay?” Draco could not remember once in his life when Potter used this tone with him before. Draco’s eyes flickered to Potter’s, then to Potter’s split lip, then back. Draco could see Potter tracking the movements. Slowly, Potter lifted a hand to his lip to touch the cut. He didn’t wince or make any noise, even though it must have hurt. Instead he smiled again at Draco. “It’s minor,” he assured. Then with a chuckle he added, “We’re wizards. Once we’re settled I can heal it and it’ll be like it never happened.”
It had happened, though. A lot had happened. Draco wondered how many things Potter planned to cover up with quick spell work and a blind eye.
“I’m worried about you right now, Malfoy. How you holding up?” Potter asked.
Draco remembered Potter said he couldn’t lie. He also remembered all the times Potter had apparently been truthful, and how he had said things so Malfoy would interpret them incorrectly. “What specifically are you worried about?” Malfoy’s voice was raspy.
Potter smiled again, as if pleased Malfoy had finally spoken. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were calm, carrying the barest warmth so they couldn’t be described as emotionless. “Worried about a lot, actually,” he said, conversationally. “Your health primarily, I suppose. We left the hospital suddenly and against healer’s orders, and you’re looking a bit peaky at the moment. Where would you say your health was at, just now?”
Draco sighed, too tired to second, or perhaps third, guess Potter’s meaning. “I feel awful,” he admitted.
Potter made a sympathetic noise. “I was hoping for better, but whatcha gonna do?” he said. “Why don’t we get you up and somewhere a bit more comfortable, yeah? You think you’re up for a glass of water?” Draco couldn’t stop staring at him as he talked. It was so gentle and encouraging, but beneath the facade there was no substance. Something about Potter’s expression was familiar.
Instead of responding Draco reached to the chair next to him and the wall on his other side and tried to leverage himself up to standing.
Potter also stood up, quickly but not suddenly, and took a step forward as if to help.
“Don’t touch me,” Draco rushed out.
Potter gracefully stopped his step and reverted back to his original distance. He held both hands open beside him, his head tilted down just a little. Draco remembered Potter doing something similar in the hospital when Draco felt threatened. He wondered if Potter had ever done this, before, but Draco couldn’t remember.
It took more effort than Draco would have thought possible, but he managed to pull himself to standing. He was shaky and sweating after, but he was up on his own. He didn’t think he could make it far so he didn’t bother trying. He just stumbled a few steps until he could sit down safely on the chair and lean back into large cushions.
Potter had watched, alert for any sign Draco would fail. At the same, each small success Draco managed was met with one of those encouraging smiles. Potter didn’t show relief when Draco settled, but he did finally take his eyes off Draco and walked over to the kitchenette to pull out a glass and fill it with water. He paused a moment, considering, then opened a drawer and pulled out another item. It looked like a bread roll in individual packaging. Potter took a moment to pull open the plastic for ease of access. He brought both items to Draco, walking around the room to provide distance. He placed the items in Draco’s reach on a small table next to the chair, without ever getting close enough to touch Draco.
As he stepped back, Draco once again caught his eyes. It was the same dull expression. Bland, even. Draco was able to place it this time. He’d seen those eyes every time they’d had polite conversation over dinner.
Potter couldn’t tell a lie, but he was lying with every fiber of his body. Draco knew Potter. He’d watched him grow from a small timid child to the bravest hero in a generation. Never, not once, would Draco ever describe him as bland. Potter’s emotion lit him up from the inside out, except for now, when he locked it away from Draco.
“No, I don’t want those,” Draco said.
Potter showed sympathy. Every movement and microexpression conveyed Potter was sincere, except there was no real feeling behind it. “Ah, you don’t need to take it if you don’t want it. I’m worried about your recovery, though. It’s been a day since you’ve eaten anything, and the healers likely didn’t have a chance to cast a full hydration spell before we left.” Potter didn’t realize it had been several days since Draco had eaten, but he didn’t correct him.
Draco stared at the ceiling and didn’t reply.
After a moment of silence, Potter tried again to offer support. “You can’t be comfortable in the hospital robes. There’s a selection of clothing here, why don’t I go get you a change of clothes?”
Draco squeezed his eyes closed. “No,” he said.
Potter’s pause was longer this time. “Of course, you’re probably tired. I can turn the light off so you can get some rest?”
“You don’t get to take care of me,” Draco finally snapped. He opened his eyes and glared at the other man.
Potter actually looked taken aback. “I’m not trying-”
Draco cut him off. “You certainly are trying to do,” he waved his hands for emphasis, “something. And you assume I’m too stupid to realize it. You’ve made it quite clear I’m only a job to you, but have the decency to treat me like an actual person. I understood you thought this pretense of caring was necessary, but I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m not your,” Draco had to pause to suck in air, “lover,” another deep breath, “and whatever that leaves leftover does not require your coddling or insincere emotional support. If you’re worried I’ll die, take me back to the healers and let them deal with me. Otherwise leave me well enough alone.”
For a moment, Potter looked stunned. Then Draco blinked and Potter’s face was once again void of emotion, while simultaneously being pinched in concern. “Of course, I haven’t given you any reason to trust me, and being here with me now must be very difficult.”
Draco groaned. “Merlin’s beard, Potter, listen to yourself. It’s like I stumbled across a bogart and it’s formed into an evil Harry Potter who’s committed to bludgeoning me to death with platitudes.” Draco felt a sudden stab of self loathing for ever giving anything to this version of Potter. Then again, this wasn’t the version Draco reacted so strongly to.
Draco remembered when he first saw Potter in the coffee shop. The smirk on Potter’s face at Draco’s surprise wasn’t bland. Neither had Potter’s look been the hot day he admired Draco. Potter’s gaze held heat when he led Draco to dance, grinding their bodies together. Even when their interactions grew brittle with formality, it was always passionate when they got to bed. “Gods, I was hardly better than a fucking sex toy for you.”
There was suddenly a tension in Potter that hadn’t been there before. His jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed. “This is an unfortunate situation that neither of us wants to be in, and clearly there will be struggles seeing how your pride-”
“My pride?” Draco was nearly shouting.
Potter talked over him, “-is wounded from my recognizing how incredibly gullible you were-”
“Hippogriff shit.”
“-and my using that to take the most direct path to investigate an illegal potion being used for crimes, including murder, which we all thought maybe you would try your hand at to see if you could actually pull it off this time-”
“What the actual fuck, Potter.”
“-and while I appreciate you aren’t actively being evil, I also think it’s a bit pathetic you ever thought you stood a chance with me in the first place.”
Potter had worked himself up as he spoke, his voice raising each time Draco tried to interrupt him, until he was shouting. Draco recognized this Potter - the Potter blazing with fury and righteous indignation.
Draco’s own anger pulsed through his veins, filling Draco with whatever energy was left in him so he could engage in this conversation. “Potter, you always used to say you weren’t a hero, you didn’t want to be a hero. Now, I believe you. You resent being a hero so much that you play off the perception that you are heroic and kind to manipulate people into caring for you, and you call them pathetic when they do.” Draco choked back tears. He desperately didn’t want to cry again in front of Potter. He forced himself to continue. “I am pathetic,” Draco said. “I’ve been trapped for nearly half my life, my cage brought on by the horrible choices I made as a child. You judge me for them, everyone judges me for them, and I know in my soul that I will never escape them. This doesn’t end in me going free. I am the last death eater out of Azkaban and I’ve known every hope I’ve ever had that I’ll stay out is false and hollow.
“I never thought you were interested in me. You think I’m stupid and naive, and while I’m stupid enough to let you use me I’m not naive enough to think you could care. I was playing pretend just as much as you. Pretending to live in a world where I had a future waiting for me. Every day I wake up and play pretend, only for a few months you were there and it was a little bit sweeter.” Draco laughed, a horrible choked sound.
More memories surfaced for Draco, of every time he had considered dating Potter and settled on maybe not. In those moments, Potter had lit up. Not with happiness or lust, but with a bone deep desperation. Draco knew, now, it was desperation to complete his job, but the words Potter had said were all the ways he was alone and the hope that maybe he didn’t have to be. Neither of them had to be.
“The only reason I let you into my life is because I know, without a doubt, you are just as sad, lonely, and pathetic as me.”