Together
***TRIGGER WARNING*** Mentions of self-harm, nothing graphic
The war was over, right? Voldemort was dead, Hogwarts had been rebuilt, the Death Eaters were in Azkaban. The war was over, wasn’t it?
Not for Harry, who woke screaming every night with nightmares, who couldn’t go half an hour without having a PTSD episode or being overwhelmed by memories, who barely ate without feeling like he didn’t deserve it.
Not for Draco, who couldn’t leave the house without being harassed, who wrapped his left forearm in bandages to cover the scars and the Mark, who had to hide away to stop the wizarding world from sending him howlers.
Neither of them thought that they would go back to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, but after much persisting from their friends, they relented and went back. It was hard.
Draco went up on the train with Blaise, Pansy and Theo, each protecting the others. They had a carriage to themselves and everyone avoided them like Dragon Pox. Although some did throw a few hexes and scream insults. They arrived at Hogwarts and sat right at the end of the Eighth-Year table, leaving a few seats between themselves and the rest of the Eighth Year.
Harry point blank refused to travel on the Hogwarts Express. Instead, he flooed straight into McGonagall’s office and hugged her tightly, leaving his bags for the House Elves to take to his new dorm while he hid away in the library until McGonagall came to find him for the start of year feast and the Sorting, which he did not want to attend.
Ron and Hermione surrounded him protectively when he entered the Great Hall and directed him to the centre of the table. He made brief eye contact with Draco and the two nodded at each other discretely, sharing a secret smile before Harry was pulled down by Seamus and was forced to break their eye contact. Neither spoke at all throughout the Sorting or the meal, staying silent while the other houses sheered the new firsties and chattered about the new school year. Harry let his friend’s conversations wash over him while he wallowed in his thoughts and Draco looked over at Harry occasionally, trying to sort out his feelings.
About fifteen minutes before the end of the feast, Harry stood abruptly and ran out of the Hall, tears dripping down his face. Draco debated with himself for a whole thirty seconds before he stood up and ran out after Harry, ignoring the entire Eighth Year staring after him.
He could feel their eyes burning into the back of his neck, following him as he left the Hall. That feeling... He hated that feeling. The feeling of being watched. Like his father used to do... Watch him constantly. Or the Dark Lord. Their eyes boring into his head, making his hair stand on end. He shook off that feeling, refusing to let his fear overtake him as he searched for Harry... He needed to find Harry. Where would he be?
The library? No. Harry wasn’t likely to be there. The Quidditch Pitch? No. It was too cold and wet for flying, although Draco wouldn’t have put it past Harry to be out flying, so he looked out of a window that overlooked the Pitch. No Harry. Maybe the common room? Definitely not. That would become too crowded and they hadn’t been assigned rooms yet. So where would Harry be?
The Tower.
Of course! Draco used to go up to the Tower when he was upset, so maybe Harry was up there? It was worth checking.
Draco turned on his heal and ran to the Astronomy Tower, narrowly avoiding running into Mrs. Norris, bloody cat. He arrived at the Tower panting, struggling for breath. When he straightened up, he put one hand on the ladder and was about to climb up when he heard it. The sound of a knife against stone.
His heart stopped and he practically flew up the ladder in his haste to get to Harry. As he got up the ladder, he saw Harry stood leaning over the railings, sharpening a knife on the wall next to him.
“Hey,” Draco said, not daring to approach. Harry turned at the sound of a voice and his eyes met Draco’s.
“Hi,” He croaked out, “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. ‘M worried about you. You ran out of the Great Hall in tears,” Draco said, walking slowly up to Harry.
“Oh,” Harry said, before he turned his back to Draco and kept sharpening his knife. Draco watched Harry carefully as he lent his arms on the railings, wincing as he put a bit too much weight on his left arm. The sound of sharpening stopped and Draco turned to see Harry looking down at his left forearm.
“Draco... Did you...” Harry was shy as he placed his hand on Draco’s arm and Draco winced again, confirming Harry’s theory, “When?”
“This morning, once I had packed the last of my things,” Draco whispered, “I’m sorry-”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Harry said, stroking Draco’s arm gently, “Don’t be sorry.”
Draco nodded, “Pass the knife?” He held out his hand for the knife and Harry, after giving him a look of alarm, hesitantly passed the knife over, not taking his eyes off Draco. The Slytherin weighed the knife in his hands, then he lent back and threw it over the edge of the Tower.
“Blast it,” He said to Harry, who pulled out his wand and blasted the knife into oblivion. The two boys watched the nights sky, even after the knife had been fired away.
“Thank you,” Harry said after a moment, breaking the silence, “I wouldn’t have done that if you weren’t here...”
“Remember what we promised?” Draco said, turning to look at Harry, “Do you remember what we promised that night?”
“I... I do,” Harry whispered as Draco took his hands and smiled.
“Tell me what that promise was,” Draco said.
“We... Together,” Harry said, smiling slightly, “We could cry, scream, shout and heal together.”
“Yup. Together. We aren’t allowed to give up on each other or ourselves. We do it together,” Draco gently pulled Harry into him and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist as Harry buried his face in Draco’s chest and hugged him tightly. Draco stroked Harry’s hair and kissed the top of his head lightly, making Harry chuckle.
“Thank you,” The Gryffindor said again, his voice muffled as he spoke into Draco’s chest.
“Anytime. Together, remember?”
“Together.”