Draco steals a Notebook (accidentally)
It's hard to always have to deal with emotions and people and just things, and the more Draco realised that, the less he wanted to move. He quite literally did not see the point of getting up in the morning only to go back to bed at night. Was this what he’d worked so hard to achieve? Fought so hard to survive? And here he was; with trouble making eye contact, non stop trembling that even got on his nerves, and nightmares he swore were out to get him. Draco sighed aloud, getting out of his bed and making his way to his canvas, a cup of warm coffee appearing on the stool next to him. Draco gratefully took the pale blue mug that seemed slightly chipped on the side and let the ceramic warm up his hands. He enjoyed the little things in life now, like that mug that had survived the war; damaged just like everyone else.
Pansy had worked fast on publishing his last painting of the basement, saying that people didn’t need to forget what happened but they needed to be aware of their trauma and sometimes where there is the most pain is where people find the most tranquillity. Draco thought that to be sad but he understood in a way how something so horrible can become normal and how pain can become all there is. Pain numbed everything else and Draco didn't feel sad or broken when he felt pain, he felt relief because physical pain is always easier than the emotional. Nonetheless, Pansy had somehow managed to get the piece published and it was without a doubt already being sold to the highest bidder. He never kept a single coin of that money, he didn’t want it but instead helped orphanages rebuild and donated the rest to various non-profit organisations.
Draco looked up from his canvas not even being aware that he’d painted the ugly chains that had kept him captive for so long. If only he could have gotten out and helped Lucas before it was too late. Guilt ate up at him and in a flash of anger Draco pushed the canvas aside, paint falling on its face and colours seeped through the chains leaving a splash of colour in the midst of throbbing agony. Slowly Draco fell to his knees, a harsh sob stolen from him as he finally broke down for the first time in a long time.
/
“You’re telling me you don’t find this absolutely heartbreaking?” Hermione questioned shaking the newspaper in front of Neville's face. They still weren't on good terms because of the fight he’d had with them the week prior. Both Hermione and Ron were angry that Harry saw some good in Malfoy and he’d started looking out for him much to their annoyance. The painting of the anonymous artist had been called “Golden hues of truth” and somehow that was exactly what it was. The sunlight illuminating a death that could only have caused pain and distress by the manner it was left there; blood spilled and dried as though it ran as clear as water.
“I do but I don’t,” Neville rebuked Hermione's argument of it being so devastatingly sad she didn’t see how it could do so much good. “People need to know that the trauma they went through was something others also experienced and that it's okay to talk about it and not hide.”
His response seemed to have stunned Hermione as she finally sat down and viewed the painting from another perspective. She lowly hummed in agreement and then moved on to talk about the painter's other works. Harry agreed with Neville, how he somehow felt the urge to just shout out all of his deepest troubles but he couldn’t do that because then he would be vulnerable and anyone could hurt him. Harry had started writing down all his thoughts ought they might spill out of him without his consent. His journal was filled with sentences that did not necessarily belong together but flowed nonetheless. He felt like a poet, like somehow he’d found floodgates where he could pour all his anger and not think about it twice.
They were seated in the courtyard, enjoying the warmth of the sun seeping into their skin. Harry had his back against a tree looking at everyone else who was coming and going. Draco Malfoy stepped out walking towards Pansy who was sitting a little further down than their group. He seemed so out of character, walking with his head down, eyes glued to his shoes. He’d gotten so skinny too, it worried Harry to think that he wasn't taking care of himself properly. It reminded him of when he was young and he had to sneak food from the Dursleys for him to make it through the day and most of the time they caught him. It was an understatement to say he wasn't treated well. And it's not like they forgot about him, sure neglect was a problem but the worst part of it was they knew he was there, and chose to ignore him. They made him do the chores and the cooking and then punished him for not doing it to their standards. He had lived his life skinny, frail and afraid but seeing that look on someone else, no matter who they were, struck a fiery spark of concern in him.
He could feel the stiffness of his fingers as he tried to move them in order to heat them up. He was so cold and no matter how much he tried nothing helped heat him up in the small closet space. Harry still had the bruises blooming on his sides, colouring his pale skin into a mirage of pain. He’d wished so many times for them to just accept him and love him but that was never going to happen and he knew it.
“Boy what are you doing?” The guttural voice of Mr. Dursley sneered in disgust. He opened the locked door of the closet and dragged him out by the scruff of his neck. Harry whimpered slightly as the bruising grip made him stumble and fall to his knees. “Such a fucking disgrace,” The man spat out throwing Harry forwards so he fell on the floor pain erupting from his sides as he drew in a quick breath. “Now make yourself useful and go make breakfast.”
Harry braced himself on the side of the wall before quickly making his way to the kitchen where he could make out the voices of Mrs. Dursley. Dreading the confrontation he was surely going to have he ducked into the kitchen and started up on cooking bacon. He moved with ease and habit knowing where everything was, he’d learnt that the faster he moved the less inclined he was to receive a blow to the head. Harry had stopped burning food a long time ago now because when food was burnt they would stick his hand on the warm stove as a lesson. He finished the eggs, bacon and toast serving them on plates in record time. Silently proud of himself he brought the plates over to the table though as he turned back to settle the third in front of Mrs. Dursley he felt Dudley's foot trip him and the plate fell forwards and straight onto her chest. Harry could feel himself cower in fear as Dudley laughed and Dursleys shouted. Before he could even understand what was happening a tight hand gripped his hair and dragged him towards the stove.
“Please don’t, I’m sorry please.” Harry felt himself cry out half hysterical. “It wasn’t my fault, I’ll clean I-I” but before Harry could get away from the towering hand and dead eyes, the pan full of warm grease and oil from the bacon was thrown onto his chest. The burning liquid wasn't easily absorbed by the ratty old T-shirt which had more holes than fabric. He felt it dripping down his arms, the burning sensation numbing out his sense of sanity as Harry only now realised the agonised screams came from his own mouth.
The rest of the day passed in a similar manner where Harry tried to escape the Dursleys' wrath and stay awake through the pain that was throbbing all over. He should be used to it, the pain, but he wasn’t. Harry was thrown into his closet at the end of the day where he could hear the tell tale sound of the door locking. Somehow that's where he could breathe the easiest, in the small cramped place that could barely hold in all of him. He had to curl up in a ball if he wanted to lay down because he was becoming too tall, much to Mrs. Dursley's disapproval. Soon the door wouldn’t close behind him when they threw him in and Harry was scared of what that would mean. Would they send him somewhere else where he would be treated in a harsher manner? Deep down Harry knew that he wasn’t being treated well but he couldn’t think that way because that would mean he was damaged and Harry can’t be damaged. He can’t just be another abused child, the Dursleys didn't want him and they were treating him as well as they could and that was enough for him.
Harry looked back up from his book noticing that the ground had wilted around him as he was preoccupied with his thoughts, not that the others had noticed. Though when he looked around his eyes made contact with Malfoy’s, noticing how he was frowning in his direction. Aware that the wilting ground had been caused by him and a slight loss of control on his powers, Harry got up and made his way back inside, not even sparing a glance at his friends who were too entranced in their conversation to notice his departure.
Harry quickly made his way over to an empty corridor and let out a shaky breath as he tried to calm his mind and take back control over himself. As he pushed himself off the wall making his way towards the kitchen he turned feeling eyes on him but found nothing at all.
/
Draco quietly made his way back outside to Pansy, noticing a notebook where Potter had been sitting a few minutes prior. He picked it up, already noticing how frayed and used it was. The notebook seemed like it had trouble holding itself together as though one breeze would make all the pages flutter away like dandelion feathers in the sky. Draco cradled in close to his chest thinking he ought to return it, and Potter probably didn’t hate him if he helped him out last time. He’d return it later in class, he told himself.
“What do you have there?” Pansy spoke in a honeyed voice as her eyes tracked the notebook close to his chest. Draco looked at the mirth in her eyes to the pointy filed nails which should be identified as a weapon and knew he was better off lying.
“A journal.” He brushed dirt off his pants as he sat down and dropped his eyes to the book once more. Pansy’s only answer was a non-committal noise as she obviously did not believe him.
“Well, I’ll be happy knowing you’re writing shit down instead of all keeping it captive in your head. That’s another kind of torture isn’t it.” She pushed her hair off her shoulder as she leant forwards a picture perfect posture of open mindnest. Pansy was a strategist and she knew how to get the information she wanted.
“I won’t tell you Pans,” Draco sighed, his whole body screaming unimpressed. “Let it go.”
“Fine.” Pansy sniffed going back to examining her nails. Silently pouting at Draco for him not answering her.
“I’ll be good Pans, I promise, some things just take time.” She looked up at him and nodded once the subject officially dropped. “Either way we have to get to potions soon. Don’t you find it ridiculous, the project he’s making us do? It sounds insane and illegal.”
“We’re supposed to take it in the classroom as well?” Pansy frowned her eyebrow furrowing, changing the peaceful calm look about her into something he could recall so well from the manor. It was the face she made when she was worried. Every single time she came down to the dungeons it was with that face and her nose would be scrunched as she tried to hold back tears. He knew that look and sometimes he wished he’d never have to see it again. “Draco, are you listening to me?”
“Yea I am, I just find it ridiculous as well but I'm sure we can get McGonagall to sign the permission slip for us not to take it.” Draco laid down his head resting on Pansy’s lap and she gently started running her fingers through them. “I hope Professor Slughorn realises that Veritasium is one hell of a painful potion to go through. And I can’t even begin to understand where he got the authorization to even teach us how to brew it.” Shaking his head slightly Draco let all those thoughts slip from his mind.
/
They were back in potions and Malfoy took a seat beside him, surprising Harry out of his stupor. He gave a glance to Malfoy who only gave him a stilted look as he went back to his notebook.
“You’ve got paint on your brow.” Harry told him a smile threatening to come through the mask he was wearing.
“Oh for Salazar's sake, you have got to be bloody shitting me.” Draco whined his head smacking against the desk. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get paint out?” Harry really did laugh this time earning himself a small look of disbelief from Malfoy.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you whine like that before. Quite unbecoming for a Malfoy, no?” Harry smiled in a teasing tone leaning his head against his fist all attention towards Malfoy. Much to Harry’s surprise Malfoy only stuck out his tongue in a grimace to his comment. It sent Harry into guffaws of laughter earning attention from most of the class.
“Oi stop it, people are staring” Malfoy smacked at his arm as Harry tried to get a hold of himself. “Oh lord, I’ve broken the saviour. What happens now, do I get obliterated into a million pieces by unrelenting fans?”
“I’m no saviour.” Harry practically spat out his mood doing a 360. God he hated being called the saviour. He was just a boy who was born to die again.
“A joke, Potter.” Malfoy put up his hands in surrender. “One I will now refrain from making for your delicate sensibilities.”
Harry simply hummed in appreciation and oddly felt at peace as he let his head rest on his fist looking at Malfoy naming ingredients for the next potion.
Professor Slughorn clapped, getting the attention of the students in the room. He looked remorseful, like he’d been dragged from sleep only to teach a bunch of kids he didn't want to be teaching in the first place. “It has been brought-” Professor coughed bringing down his hands to rest on his desk “It has been brought to my attention from faculty that teaching young wizards like you how to brew Veritaserum was a highly poor decision.” The professor stood once more and walked around his desk to sit down on it. “Therefore we will not be continuing with the antidote and no one will have to take any Veritaserum. I apologise for bringing any stress to any of you, now please forget all about the potion and the steps to brew it.”
Murmurs went around the classroom most sounding relieved, a few sounding baffled that they had even learnt it in the first place as it is meant to be a highly kept secret. Only a handful sounded disappointed but the means as to which they would want to use the potion seemed dubious as well.
“Instead we will begin brewing Amortentia-” Professor Slughorn sighed in a dejected manner, his feet shuffling at the ground. “You are all eighth year students, therefore I expect a sixth year potion to be mastered. We will brew the antidote that I hadn't taught you at the time in the following class.” Slughorn finished getting up and not leaving time for questions. The clear dismissal meant students slowly got to work though talking returned at a sudden pace.
Draco noticed Harry rubbing his hands and bringing them up to his mouth to blow on them. Frowning Draco noted that it wasn’t too chilly in the classroom. “Are you cold Potter?” Draco inquired, shocking him out of his stupor.
“Fine Malfoy-” Harry dropped his hands to his lap looking around before finding Malfoy’s eyes. He curled an eyebrow at his shiver, clearly not believing him- “Alright, I'm a little cold.”
“Potions classrooms have to be temperature controlled in order not to upset the brewing process.” Malfoy explained, slowly taking off one of his many layers “Here, it should do the trick.” He passed his sweater to Potter.
Harry looked at him, eyes rapidly going back and forth between Malfoys extended arm and his amused expression. Slowly grabbing hold of the soft material he slipped it on and felt warmth seep back into his skin. Glad the sleeves were long enough to cover his hands he gave a small nod to Malfoy. “Thank you Malfoy.”
/
He woke to voices shouting. Not happy voices but angry ones, Harry wished one day to be woken by the calm love of a mother but he knew that would not happen. Aunt Petunia reminded him often that he was not part of her family. He had no family left and he was doomed to live alone like he was to die alone. Her voice shouting higher than usual shook Harry out of his thoughts. Before he could even blink the door to the cupboard was wrenched open and he was grabbed by the scruff of his hair and hauled forwards the strength of the arm sending him crashing into the wall.
“Where have you been, boy?” Mrs. Dursely shrieked in her grating voice that sent chills to his bones. “Where’s my breakfast, hm?” She pushed him forwards and he stumbled a little trying to regain his footing.
“I’m sorry madam but the cupboard was locked and I couldn't get out to prepare it.” Surely she’d understand Harry told himself as he scurried forwards. It's not as if he could unlock it on his own, so she ought to understand why it wasn’t prepared. Right?
“You're making excuses now, boy? What a hilarious little punk.” Wrong, he was so wrong. Aunt Petunia seethed; her breaths raged and smoke practically came out of her ears. That would be funny. Harry thought to himself, smoke coming out of one's ears. “What are you smiling at? Huh? You want to tell me why you're snickering to yourself there but you can’t make yourself bloody useful?”
And Harry was done, he was so done. She was going to kill him, he thought to himself as the rolling pin from the counter came in contact with his ribs making him scramble backwards till his back hit the wall. No, that wasn’t a wall. That was Uncle Vernon’s legs. Oh god, he really was in it now. He really was going to die but he wasn’t overly scared. Of course he was a bit but more than all he was relieved that this would finally all end. Uncle Vernon’s hand came towards him while Aunt Petunia rolled her arm backwards for another devastating blow to his sides.
Harry startled awake to Ron’s hand coming to grip his shoulder. He flinched back away from him while he took a minute to stabilise himself. He was aware that Ron was trying to talk to him but he couldn’t hear a single thing. Looking away, Harry's eyes tracked the room around him. There was a bed, he was in a bed. He could see his gryffindor red sheets pooling around him, the room became less hazy the more he looked. There were his potions textbooks on the side table. A cup of tea that was already finished beside that was a novel he’d bought a while back but had only leafed through and a small trinket Luna had gifted him meant to keep the nargles away. He could feel the sweat pooling down his back, the roughness of his shirt that was two sizes too big, his glasses crooked on his face and his hands fisted in the sheets in an attempt to calm himself. He slowly un curled his wrists and could now hear Ron’s calm but insistent voice, asking if Harry was with him. He could hear the snoring of Neville and the unrestful turning of Dean.
“Yeah, I’m with you. Sorry.” Harry smiled anxiously towards Ron as he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself once more. He was in his room and he was safe, he told himself quietly.
“Took you longer this time around,” Ron shuffled awkwardly in his spot. “Look mate, I'm sorry about the whole thing with Malfoy. I just I-” But Ron cut himself off groaning. “I feel like a dick man. I never thought the way you did. That in his own way he was trying to help, you know?”
“Yeah, I know Ron.” Harry pushed his pillow up so he could rest his back against it.
“I’m absolutely horrid at apologies, you know that.” Ron gave a little laugh shaking his head. Harry huffed out a smile but returned his attention to him, nodding at Ron to continue. “He’s a Malfoy and I had that so clear in my head that I forgot he helped us out. And now that I see it I agree with you. He did save our lives back there as much as it pains me to admit it, and I'm sure they didn’t treat him kindly if they found that out.” He looked up to Harry slowly. “Me and Hermione talked and we both agreed we were wrong and that we were open to- Oh god this pains me” Ron breathed in dramatically. “We are open to smoothing things over with him if you want to be friends with him. Ick-friends with a Malfoy, I can’t believe I just.” Ron was interrupted by Harry’s quietly shaking shoulders as he tried to keep his laughter in. “Are you laughing at me?” Ron stared at him incredulously but eyes twinkled in humour.
“I’m sorry, it’s just your face when you said-” Harry cut himself short laughs bubbling out of him and soon both found themselves holding their stomachs as they laughed, tears making their way to their eyes. When they finally regained their breaths Harry went on, “ For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I've just had trouble controlling my temper recently and I didn't mean to take it out on you.”
Ron nodded and smiled sadly “I’ve noticed, I meant to talk to you about it but I just don’t know how. Are you okay? Like for real, you know I'm here for you right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Just a few bumps in the road.” Harry shrugged. Ron knew what his nightmares reassembled like and that's probably why he tried to wake him up. He knew that sometimes Harry was more in his bubble but he didn’t know why. Harry had made him promise not to ask questions about it unless Harry decided to talk about it first.
“You know I noticed you in class with Malfoy today and I think that it’s the first time that I've seen you smile for real.” Ron took a breath getting up from where he was sitting. “And as much as I hate the git, I’m thankful you’ve found someone.” With that Ron gave Harry one last smile before he made his way back over to his own bed to go back to sleep.
Harry wasn’t able to go back to sleep after Ron had left, probably from the nightmare and what he’d said about Malfoy he wasn’t sure. To be honest he didn’t feel safe anymore. He knew that people had died in Hogwarts and that brought on so much guilt. Everywhere he saw one life he could have saved but he was unable to. If only he’d acted sooner, been stronger. He wasn’t good enough and as much as people treated him like a hero, he knew there was no such thing and most of all it wasn’t him.
/
Draco once in the comfort of his room crashes into the couch with an undignified hop. He crawls under the throw blanket and turns on the soft music playing in the background. Searching for something to do his mind goes back to the potions class. He thought it would be hell being partnered up with Potter but honestly it was the most comforting thing that had been happening to him recently. Potter would still get his knickers in a twist when he made some jokes which made Draco’s day. He didn’t talk to people much anymore, not only because he would end up hexed if he tried but because he had nothing to say, he didn’t have any motivation to keep going and trying to climb back up the social ladder like his parents wanted him to. But with Potter it was easy, the conversation wasn’t strained and he found himself laughing more than not when in his presence. It felt reassuring to know that there was some human left in him, that he could still laugh. It would’ve made Lucas happy.
Only remembering the curious notebook he’d meant to return beforehand he got up to reach for it, stopping to make himself the comfort of a warm tea. He grabbed it and slowly made his way to his bed where he hid himself under the covers seeking heat and the gentle coax of heavy blankets that somehow gave the best illusion of safety. The notebook was damaged to such a degree that it seemed unrelenting to open for a read. However with gentle hands Draco pried the book open and started reading.
“After such horrors,
Your eyes will need some time
to adjust to the overwhelming light.
After such horrors,
Your eyes are much too unreliable
to hold the unimaginable sight of peace.”
“I will find it for you.
I will march,
I will sweat and
I will make you see the love you deserve.”
Draco smiled softly wondering if it really had been Harry Potter to write such words. It sounded like things Luna would say but he recognized the hand writing and deep down he knew that it did in fact belong to him. It felt wrong to read, as though this was a diary but Draco couldn’t stop himself.
“I wish my soul would let me
leave the confines of my mind
and fly me to a place
where mankind cannot reach,
cannot ruin.”
“I get it now,
I was born to die like I was raised to die
Yet I can’t help but ask; can I do it one more time?
Let the universe decide;
I'd like to know what I was living for.”
“I wish for the warmth of another's touch,
the hold of another’s trust.”
“Keep your chin up,
the battle’s not won.
Your mind fights the dissonance.
Surrender your blood to the war
and you will win.”
“I push it out of my mind
long enough to call it courage.
Please don’t let me remember.
I don’t want to remember.
Put it out of my mind.”
Draco’s fingers trembled around the words as he not only saw the pain of the words but felt them. Though they brought reassurance that he wasn’t alone, Draco wished he could hold the writer in his arms until the pain went away. As Draco gently closed the book, small words from the margin jumped out at him.
“How rare and beautiful,
It is to even exist.”