“What are you smiling about?” Pansy asks, raising her eyebrow. They were in the library, only a month into the eighth year and already buried in 8-scrolls-of-parchment essays in every subject from charms to defence. Draco brought his attention back to his half written sentence on the importance of Grindylows for magical sea life, avoiding Pansy’s curious eyes. “I wasn’t smiling Pansy, I don’t know what you’re on about,” he responded. Pansy rolled her eyes and went back to writing her own paper, deciding Draco was truly hopeless. Draco was very thankful for this because he didn’t think he could resist speaking his mind yet again. He dipped his quill in ink and placed the tip on the paper, determined to finish his work. Minutes later, his thoughts wandered again, to scruffy black hair, emerald green eyes behind long, thick eyelashes, curved biceps under fitted Gryffindor robes-“Draco? Draco!” Pansy was waving in his face with one hand and shoving his arm with the other. Draco looked down at the splotch of ink his quill had made and said, “Yes, Pansy, I’m just a little distracted today, it’s fine.” “If you don’t tell me what this is about, I’ll figure it out myself,” she threatened. Draco sighed, dropping his quill and running his hands through his white-blond hair. “Fine, I’ll tell you. It’s about a boy,” Draco said, and Pansy squealed, jumping excitedly in her seat. “Well, who is it Draco?” She asked, resting her chin in her palm. What was he thinking? There’s no way he could tell Pansy about this, she’d kill him. “No one special, don’t get excited Pans. It’s just a crush, it’ll pass,” he responded, resigned, packing his books away for the day. Pansy rolled her eyes at him and said, “It certainly seems like more than a crush, Draco. But alright, keep it to yourself if you want” They both stuffed their books into their bags and made their way to the dorms.
Draco always tried to stay out of his dorm room as much as he could, only staying back if necessary. Since the eighth year had started, they each had been assigned new roommates from different houses, most people wary about the idea. But McGonagall had insisted, so they went along with it. Of course, with Draco’s luck, he’d been paired with the one person he spent most of his childhood plotting against. He slid through the dorm’s door in an attempt to keep quiet in case Potter was asleep but stopped in his tracks when he saw the boy sitting at his desk, scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Draco silently made his way to the en suite and came out moments later in joggers and a t-shirt, Potter switching off his desk lamp and going into the en suite himself. The moment he found out he’d be rooming with the chosen one, he’d gone on a shopping spree to get Muggle clothes. He absolutely detested them but he knew if he wore silk pyjamas in the same room as Potter he’d get mocked endlessly. It was also always a plus to see Potter stare at him in confusion every time he noticed Draco wearing Muggle clothes. He crawled into his bed, waiting for Potter to fall asleep and then drifting off to the sound of the boy’s relaxed breaths.
“Sod off Malfoy! I woke up earlier than you, I clearly need to get ready before you!” Potter screamed in frustration. “Well, I’m sorry you aren’t being treated like a king around here anymore, must be a strange feeling having someone argue with you instead of bow at your feet!” Draco spat, shoving Potter away from in front of him. “I swear to Merlin, Malfoy if you get in there right now I-“ Potter’s voice cut off as Draco slammed the en suite door in his face. They both had early morning Quidditch practice to get to but Potter wasn’t willing to wait a few minutes for Draco to get ready. He heard Potter sigh in anger and stomp off towards his bed, away from the en suite door. Draco hurriedly showered and put on his Quidditch robes, silently hoping Potter wouldn’t start shouting at him again. He braced himself and slid out the door only to see Potter had already left. Seems like Malfoy won this round.
Draco was a snobbish Pureblood wizard, and he knew it. He liked things being kept neat and tidy, in their place. Of course, Potter being who he was ruined that as well. Draco’s side of the room was immaculate, bedsheets tucked in to the last corner, books piled up in alphabetical order, robes neatly folded in his trunk. Potter’s side of the room was… well… disastrous. And it ticked Draco off more than it should’ve. All it took was Draco charming Potter’s desk clean and they were arguing yet again. “Can’t you just leave it alone? I don’t touch your side of the room, what’s your problem Malfoy?” Potter asked, clearly infuriated. “I’m sorry I can’t live in a garbage dump, Potter! You should be thanking me, I did you a favour!” Draco responded, confused and angry. Potter simply stopped in his tracks, breathed in deeply with his eyes closed till his anger subsided and then said, “I appreciate it Malfoy, but I’d rather you don’t touch my stuff,” Draco stood in silence, brows furrowed in confusion at Potter’s sudden calm response. Draco nodded stiffly and walked back to his bed, wondering what had gotten into his roommate.
It took them only another week before their next fight. Draco knew Potter had been trying to control his anger but that only made it easier to piss him off. It started with a snide comment about Potter’s hair and somehow within minutes it had escalated to the war. “You could’ve helped us Malfoy! You chose his side!” Potter screamed. “You think I did all of that on purpose? You think I liked using Unforgivables on people I grew up with?” Draco yelled back in disbelief. “Of course you did Malfoy, you’ve been an evil little git since I met you,” Harry growled. Draco, unfazed, spat, “If you never came to Hogwarts, the war wouldn’t have even happened, Potter!” Before Draco knew it, Potter had him pinned down on his bed, wrists in Potter’s unyielding clutches. Potter was straddling Draco and staring fiercely at him with those mesmerising emerald green eyes and he could no longer think straight. Not that anything he ever did was straight. He’d been staring at Potter’s face for so long he didn’t notice his own expression shift from one of barely concealed anger to a blushing mess. What he did notice though, was Potter’s own striking blush and jaw, fallen open. There was no way. There couldn’t be. Draco snapped back to the moment and noticed Potter’s grip on his wrists had slackened so Draco slid his hands out from under his. He shoved Potter off of him as soon as he could, not letting himself think about the hard muscles of Potter’s core where Draco placed his hands for milliseconds. He sped past Potter’s stuttering figure through the door and made his way from the Hogwarts gates to his hiding spot.
It was well past the normal curfew, the full moon hung high in the blackness. Eighth years were allowed to leave Hogwarts grounds at any time of the day by themselves with no curfew, making more than a few seventh years jealous. Draco leaned back against the rough bark of the snow-spotted tree and stared up at the sky. He was sitting alone in the middle of the night in front of a barbed wire fence, next to which was a small hut that haunted young wizards and witches. It was a strange comfort for Draco, the Shrieking Shack. It reminded him of when times were simpler and his biggest worry was to surpass Granger in his classes and surpass Potter on the Quidditch pitch. He huffed out a breath of cold air and let his heavy eyelids slide shut. When did everything become so difficult? Draco sifted through his memories like a flip book, going all the way back to his trial. Sunken eyes and frail limbs, Draco had staggered up to the stand, his hands cuffed and guards at his sides. He’d dragged his eyes across the stands around him and his eyes froze on an all too familiar face. Unmistakable scar peeking out from behind that unruly mop of hair, face schooled to look determined. He had known the boy would either be the death of him or his escape. Lucky for Draco, the Saviour was feeling particularly generous that day. He was still ashamed that Potter saw him like that, in tattered prison clothes, stripped of any pride and dignity he had before. When he returned to Hogwarts he knew he’d face the loathing eyes of students around the school and mostly kept to himself. But it was different with Potter. It always was.
Draco slid under the thin sheets of his bed, tossing from side to side till he stilled. Potter had fallen asleep hours ago, his breathing now even and steady. Draco gazed at his face, lit in the moonlight. Potter had insisted on keeping the curtains open in the night so the light filtered through the thin glass pane. He tried to close his eyes and sink into sleep but failed yet again. It was already way too late, he’d probably be up the whole night tonight. He sat up in his bed, picked up a book from his bedside table and angled himself so the moonlight hit the book. He began reading, Potter’s breathing a soothing sound to his ears. That’s why he noticed when it sped up. Out of the stillness Potter had began shivering, then flailing his limbs from side to side. Draco didn’t know what to do except attempt to quell the rising anxiety in his chest. As Potter’s breaths became shallow, Draco forced his own deep breaths out of his lungs. There were tears running from Potter’s closed eyelids now, and small whimpering sounds. “No, please, please don’t,” Potter murmured. He continued, his voice only getting louder, “Please! Don’t hurt her! Take me instead!”. Draco rose up off his bed, slowly pacing towards Potter’s, unsure of what he could do. Before he knew it, Potter’s eyelids flew open and he sat up in his bed with a start, tears still streaming down his cheeks. He looked down at his bed, wrapping his bare arms around his chest, still shaking uncontrollably. Potter let his watery eyes rise to the person standing in front of him, sympathy, pain and a deep empathy all clearly etched on his face. “Try breathing deeply. Inhale, count to five, then exhale,” Draco suggested silently, still not moving from his stance at the end of Potter’s bed. Eventually, with Potter’s eyes still on Draco, his breathing evened out and his tears dried up on his face. His hands were still shaking, though less violently, and his hair was rumpled more than usual. Draco edged towards Potter’s bed now, blaming this unusual action on the late hour, and stood next to it. Potter looked up at him again and shifted slightly to the side, letting Draco sit down on the side. He lifted his arms up in a question, “Can I?”, and Potter nodded. Draco wrapped his arms around the boy, not thinking of what a strange sequence of events he’s in. He stroked the boy’s arm with his hands and stayed there, embracing him till he stopped shaking. They stayed like that for long, minutes, hours, who knows? Draco seemed to come back to his senses before Potter did, so he awkwardly pat him on the shoulder and edged off the bed. “Thank you,” a small whisper Draco heard as he slipped into bed for the second time that night. He turned towards the wall and smiles. He thinks, he’s not the only one overwhelmed. He thinks, maybe not every day at Hogwarts will be bad if this is possible.
The next few days pass by uneventful. Draco snarked at Potter every chance he gets, Potter snarled back. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until one day, Draco came back to an empty dorm, sat down on his bed, and let his thoughts take over his head. He’d been overthinking again, stressing about everything. His grades were stellar, maybe even better than Granger’s. But what if that won’t stop them from changing their minds? What if the Wizengamot decides he should go rot in Azkaban with his death eater father? He pictured the chipped stone walls closing in on him again, except this time without his mother’s presence at his side. He’d only been in the cell for a few days and he’d almost gone insane. Had it not been for Narcissa, Draco would’ve lost his mind. What if this time they’d leave him alone in a cramped cell, starving and helpless? His breathing sped up and suddenly all he could hear is the blood rushing in his ears. His body was still, unmoving. He couldn’t bring himself to focus on his surroundings, his vision blurring out. Endless tears streamed down his face and he struggled to get his lungs under control. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, was he dying? Draco was faintly aware of a form moving towards him, a dull voice trying to break him out of his stupor. He felt something drop to the floor and footsteps coming towards him distantly. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, willing him to breathe. He closed his eyes and focused on that comfort. Draco felt fingers carding through his silky hair and he used the calm sensation to make himself come back to his mind. He thought of his Christmases at the manor, he thought of Quidditch matches with his friends, he thought of all the fun memories he could. He counted his breaths in French out loud, hearing his voice hoarse and unused. Slowly, he came back to himself and opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. He’s lying down flat on his bed, the window behind it thrown open. He still couldn’t bring himself to move or think more than required at the moment. Someone was still letting their fingers curl around the stray strands of his hair in front of his eyes and somehow that’s a calming action. A hand entered his vision and it confirmed the person’s identity. Potter’s stubby fingers lifted from his hair, and he felt a weight lifting off the bed. A bag, it seems, that he’d dropped on the floor, was picked up and Draco heard footsteps before the door swung shut. Well. Draco still had the impending effects of a panic attack to deal with but not before he thinks about whatever the hell that was.
Days after the boy’s “incidents”, they continued to act hostile towards each other. In the night they’re comforting and calming, in the day they’re the source of each other’s anger. Draco slid into bed one night and stared at the beige ceiling, eyes unblinking even after a whole day of studying. He turned to his side after a few minutes, deciding to stare at something more interesting. Draco’s gaze landed on Potter. He was laying on his back, his stocky arms splayed out above his head. His red and gold blanket was draped across his waist and his t-shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of the golden brown skin of his muscled torso. Draco felt his cheeks heat and rolled his eyes at himself. They were enemies, nothing could ever possibly happen. It didn’t stop Draco from dreaming though. He was shaken out of his thoughts when he saw Potter shivering and burrowing further into his bed for the third time that night. Draco sighed to himself and silently cast some warming charms over Potter’s bed. He saw him instantly relax under the charm and a dopey smile spread over his face in his sleep. Draco thought about how rare it was to see Potter like this, relaxed and off guard. He was either always faking a smile, or with his brows furrowed, or screaming his lungs out at Draco. Draco noticed he hadn’t been leaving the dorm as much, and he also noticed that the Weasel and Granger started spending much more time together the past two months. He rarely saw Potter talk when he stared at him over the dinner table in stead of eating. He brushed the thoughts off, rolled his eyes at himself for what seemed like the millionth time that night and forced his eyes shut so he’d be able to stay awake during his classes the next day.
After what seemed like a day where all his brain cells had been worked to their last use, Draco slumped down onto his desk chair, letting his book bag drop to the floor next to him. Draco looked like a mess, and he knew it. His usually gelled back, blond hair was ruffled and dropping down to his eyebrows. His silver-green tie knot was loose and his sweatshirt sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows. He didn’t even bother looking in the mirror to know he had dark circles under his eyes, his eyes themselves red and heavy-lidded. Draco hadn’t eaten a full meal for days. He’d usually go to the kitchens after the meals in the great hall so he could eat by himself, but now with all the N.E.W.Ts preparations he just didn’t have the time. He let his head drop down to his desk, hitting the wood surface with a thump. He missed Goyle and Blaise. Ever since he’d gotten back to Hogwarts, everyone treated him like a death eater, which he was, but not out of his own will. None of them understood the pain he went through, the helplessness and striking pain he felt when the snake tattoo was etched across his forearm. Only Pansy had been there for him but she didn’t know what it was like to be roped into Voldemort’s schemes like Goyle did. She didn’t understand Draco’s frustration and anxiety like Blaise did. They’d both been shipped off to magic boarding schools far from Hogwarts after the war whereas Draco and Pansy opted to stay here with their families. Draco pushes his intruding thoughts away and pushed himself up off his desk, forcing his body towards his bed without even bothering to change his clothes. He slumped down onto the soft covers, but before he could drift off, something caught his eye. He twisted his head to the side and saw a plate piled with food lying on his bedside table. He picked it up and placed it on his lap, allowing himself to think for a second. He didn’t really need to think that long did he? Of course he knew who it was. The boy had been staring at Draco for one second too long at every meal, peering down at Draco’s near empty plate across the great hall every meal. Potter must’ve gotten him some food from the kitchen. He smiled a small, rare smile and tucked into his food, thinking maybe he wasn’t really all that alone here.
Draco runs his hand through his hair, gripping at the roots to keep himself from getting angry again. He’s sitting cross legged on his four poster bed, counting his breaths trying to remain calm. He looks over at the other boy sitting on the bed a foot away from his, also clearly fuming. They both got into yet another fight, the words being skipped altogether in favour of throwing fists. Draco blinked and felt his eye starting to swell faster. It helped to look at the blood on the corner of Potter’s mouth but the momentary glee ceased seconds later. “I am greatly disappointed in the both of you. I expected this childish feud to have ended after you both came back to Hogwarts as adults, but it seems you are yet the immature little children you were before.” McGonnagal said firmly, her eyes intensely making contact with each of theirs after each sentence. Draco knew he shouldn’t be so reckless. He’d been allowed to go to Hogwarts, which is much more freedom than he’d expected to have. He couldn’t let it all wash down the drain because of a stupid fight. He brought his eyes up to her fierce gaze and broke the silence. “I am truly sorry Headmistress. I admit it got out of hand this time and I assure you it won’t happen again,” he said, hoping McGonnagal would believe his sincere words. Her stare softened momentarily on him and she nodded firmly, raising an eyebrow at Potter before she spoke again. “If it’d make it easier for you boys to keep the violence at bay, I could set up wards around both of your beds,” She suggested, her tone slightly amused. Draco’s mind flashed back to his panic attack, his fear that if someone didn’t help him it’d get worse but then Potter calmed him down. They both instantly shook their heads, Potter responding hurriedly, “No Headmistress, please don’t. I promise it won’t happen again. Just... Don’t put up the wards?” Beneath her mask of professionalism, a peek of confusion flashed over her face and she replied, “Well alright gentlemen. I’ll have my eye on you both.” She strode out of the room, both the boys visibly relaxing, no longer under her scrutinising stare. They glanced at each other briefly, the anger replaced with another feeling. One of deep confusion, one deep in their hearts, one that they both thought they couldn’t feel about each other.
Draco couldn’t handle it anymore. Ever since their fistfight they’d both been ignoring each other. Actively staying out of each other’s ways except this time their motives were less to piss each other off and more to avoid the awkwardness. Every time he came to the dorm, Potter wouldn’t be there. If he was so insistent on keeping the wards down then why was he behaving so odd? Draco sighed aloud and went back to writing his essay. The sound of quill scratching on parchment soothed his ears. He was sitting against a tall tree on the Hogwarts grounds, close enough to the Forbidden Forest that no one would disturb him and close enough to the dorms so he wouldn’t have to take a long walk when it became dark. The grass pricked his skin and there would be flies as the evening approached but it was worth it if he got some time away from his roommate. Draco was writing about the Patronus spell and so, naturally, his mind drifted to Potter. Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, he heard a group of voices chattering in the background, and then an unmistakable laugh of a Gryffindor ringing out in the air. He turned slightly to peek behind the tree and saw none other than Potter with the Weasel and Granger. They both looked as jolly as could be but Potter seemed put off, much as he did recently. They both cast him worried glances every few seconds but they seemed to pass unnoticed. Potter’s gaze lifted from the autumn leaves covering the ground and roamed around the nature around him. Just as Draco began to worry they’d see him, Potter’s eyes landed on his and he smiled a soft little smile. Just as quick and sudden it had appeared, Potter’s smile disappeared, his face shuttered shut once again. What was going on?
Draco plopped down on the corner of the table at the great hall the morning later, exhausted and sleep deprived. The N.E.W.T preparations never seemed to end and Draco was being strung out. He’d come to the great hall early, as usual, because he liked to avoid any social interaction as much as he could. Usually people would ignore him and those who didn’t would give him looks that’d convince him he’d be dead by lunchtime. Draco couldn’t eat breakfast on his own since he had classes throughout the morning so he decided to ask the house elves for a slightly early breakfast since the day he came to Hogwarts for his eighth year. A timid little house elf edged towards the table and snapped her fingers, a plate with eggs and toast materialising at Draco’s spot on the table. He smiled gratefully at the elf before she scurried away and pulled out a book from his book bag, glad to get some time to do his own reading rather than school mandated reading. He charmed his book to float in front of him and flip pages with a flick of his hand and got to eating. Deeply immersed in the tattered pages in front of his eyes, he hardly even noticed a figure sit down across the great hall, gazing at him expectantly. Draco finished the last of his eggs and finally tore his eyes away from the book. He stuffed it into his book bag and as he slung it over his shoulder his eye caught on a person staring at him. “What’re you doing here?” Draco asked, sounding more accusatory than he meant to. Potter, perplexed, replied, “Getting an early breakfast today.”
Draco looked at his face again, taking in the details. Similar dark circles under striking green eyes, hair mussed more than usual, eyes puffy and tired. Seems like he wasn’t the only one having a tough time. Draco cocked his head to one side, contemplating whether to argue or to not, deciding against it at the last second. He nodded and made his way out of the great hall, wondering when things got so civil between them.
“I don’t like this,” Potter says from behind him. Draco rises from his chair, brows furrowed in confusion. “Care to elaborate, Potter?” Draco asks, too tired for much condescension to slip into his voice. Potter sighed and said, “This. Us. Like this.”
A tiny bit of hope blossomed in Draco’s head before he crushed it with his own words, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean”
“I mean, we’re not like this. You’re supposed to argue with me. You’re supposed to walk around school with your gang of Slytherin friends and make fun of me all the time. You’re supposed to argue with me and fight with me. Why aren’t you?” Potter asked, rushed and frustrated. Draco replied simply, “I’m tired. I don’t care enough to antagonise you anymore. Besides, if anything I’d think you’d be relieved.”
“What? Why? Because you don’t talk to me at all now? Because I can’t even get you to argue with me anymore let alone have an entire conversation?” Potter sputtered, anger only increasing. Draco was more confused than ever but maintained his calm composure. “I don’t know what you want from me, Potter.”
“More, Draco, More!” Potter huffed, striding towards Draco. They’re inches away from each other now, their breaths loud and heavy in the silence. “This is all I can give you.” Draco whispers. “I need more, Draco. Please,” Potter says quietly. Draco just can’t take it anymore, he’s been holding back and he can’t anymore so he lets go. He closes his eyes and moves in towards Potter’s face and presses their lips together. No room for hesitation, no room for doubts. He kisses him hard and deep and it’s all Draco ever imagined. Potter melts against his lips and presses back, seemingly satisfied with Draco’s response. Before he can think anything but ohmyohshitohwow, Draco is being pushed down onto his bed by callused hands and suddenly he thinks he’s got it all wrong. Until he looks up at Potter’s face on top of him. His face splits out into a rare grin and he asks, “This too much for you, Potter?”
Potter smiles the sappiest smile back and responds, “Not enough,” leaning back down to kiss Draco again.