Lavender

His mother never hugged him, she didn't know how to, his father had that rage all fathers did, loud and terrible, it had a way of slipping into the cracks in the wall and wrapping around the boy, so in a way emptiness is all that raised Draco Malfoy. 

He was seventeen in front of around fifty wizards and witches looking down from their noses as though they’d like nothing better than to do away with him for good. 

“I am not like my family,” he said through clenched teeth, and no one believed him. 

And so he moved around place to place looking for work, stayed in inns and did what he could. He wondered for a split second what his father would say if he saw the noble name besmirched this way. It was a good thing dead people didn’t have opinions.

He was utterly and completely miserable, though quite a little too proud to admit it right up until he received a letter from a certain Harry Potter. 

Can we talk? It said.

Draco considered refusing, he didn’t exactly owe him anything now, except he did. 

When? He sent back with the snowy white owl, resigned to his fate.

Tomorrow, my place- seven in the evening?

The dot under the question mark was pressed into hard enough to leave a minuscule hole in the brittle parchment. 

The next day Draco wears a gray robe that he personally finds very pleasant how ever threadbare it were, thankyouverymuch. 

At exactly seven he apparates to the muggle building he has been made aware Harry lives in. The browning stones leading up to the apartment weren’t the most inviting but Draco being the extremely accommodating person he is does nothing more than jutting his chin out in distaste. 

He was told to talk into a buzzing thing by a tall woman when he tried unsuccessfully to force the door open, she seemed almost nice sparing her hair could pass off as a dead rat, Draco thought to himself while climbing up a flight of stairs.

He knocks hard, three times, on the brown door which announced ‘Barney Weasley’ on it in large golden letters, the door however wasn’t opened by a red head in ratty clothes but a dark skinned man in yellow, a lightning scar embellishing his forehead barely visible under the haystack that was his hair. 

“Potter,” he acknowledges. 

“Malfoy,” the man says, opening the door wider so Draco could get in.

“Why’d you want to talk to me?”

“You don’t beat around the bush, huh?” Harry is met with silence as Draco hangs his cloak by the door. 

“I need a flat-mate.” Harry sighs, plopping himself on the stained sofa. 

“And you thought your best shot was to ask me?”

“Okay well there’s more.”

“Can’t wait.” Draco sits down delicately next to Harry .

“I might have told this person we’re dating.”

“...” 

“The person might have been Rita Skeeter.”

“Uh huh” Draco drawls, leaning back upon the sofa. “And I shagged Mcgonagal.”

“Would you want that?” Harry asks, grimacing.

“No it was a jo- weren’t we talking about how you’re in love with me?”

“I’m not in - Christ you’re impossible. “You just need to pretend.”

“I don’t want to pretend like i’m gay for fuck’s sake.” Draco scowls, “Because i’m not” he adds for good measure.

“Hear me out.” Harry says, raising his hand as though in surrender. “I don’t want to fight and you know what? We’re old enough to not be assholes to each other, we’ve been through shit, haven't we?”

“That doesn't mean I'm gonna shag you Potter.” Draco almost snarls, venom lacing his voice. 

“Okay if I wanted a fuck I’d get a much better one.”

“You wanted my help, no?”

“Fine.” Harry gets up from the sofa defeatedly and walks to the kitchen. “Fancy a brew?”

“Tea is fine.”

Harry puts the kettle on and summons a box of tea bags from a higher shelf. “So Skeeter asked me if I have a girlfriend, right? And I don’t, obviously-”

“Mate, what's your point?” Draco interrupts, rather rudely, “I’d just ring my mum if I wanted the entire gossip wouldn't I?”

“Right.” Harry says, clearly straining to remain civil here, “I might’ve told I have a boyfriend instead because it’s fucking ninteen-ninety eight and if people can’t see that it’s ok to be gay I really don’t-”

“You’re rambling again.” 

“Fuck would you just bloody hear me out?!” Harry says, slamming down the cuppa he was holding upon the coffee table. A little bit of the tea splashes out, staining the wood. 

“Damn okay Potter, go off I guess.” Draco says, startled. 

“Thank you .” Harry spits out pointedly. “I need a boyfriend who's either you or like if you have a twin that’d do too.” He takes a sip from his own mug of bitter - smelling coffee and gently sets the cup down. 

“And you thought I'd be ok with that?” Draco follows his motion, keeping his cup down. 

“Well I hoped ”

“You tore my chest open two years back.”

“Malfoy get the fuck over it, we were sixteen, we've been through a bloody war.” He sighs, “And you almost killed like two of my best mates.”

“I didn’t want to!”

“Oh that makes it so much better.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure if you just apologised -”

“Okay what do you want me to do?”

“Fake date me like in public.”

“Why me?”

“I panicked.”

“Okay is that it?”

“And like moveinwithme.”

“Why on god’s good earth would I do that?”

“To sell the bloody story.”

“Why do you even need to? Just tell them you were fucking weasley.”

“He’s in with Hermione.”

“Weaslette then.”

“She’s shagging Dean Thomas.”

“Oh, word?”

“Yeah it was this huge thing last ye- not the fucking point.” Harry takes a deep breath, picks up his coffee mug again and takes a sip. He closes his eyes and counts till five under his breath. “Move in with me, it’s just for a month.”

“We’re breaking up in a month?” Malfoy asked, eyebrow quirked in a feeble attempt at humour, “Is there someone else Harry?” He feigns a betrayed expression, clasping Harry’s hand in his own, “How could you?”

“Oh bugger off.” Harry laughs, throwing Draco’s arm away from himself. “You’re in?”

“Honestly I don't think I have an option.”

“You’re going to have your own room and everything.” Harry hurriedly explains as though afraid he’d change his mind. “And you can bring home people if you want, just like make sure it's not too public because Skeeter’s a hound.”

“Ok cheers mate.” Draco drains the last of his tea and moves towards the door.

“And Malfoy?”

“Mhm?”

“Thanks.”

And Draco is still smiling when he pushes open the door to his room in the inn, right up until the mirror decides to comment on his hair (“that pale?! I know this great guy-” “-silencio” )