Unmasked

After Harry woke the next morning, Draco insisted he go for the day—he’d be fine. After protest, Harry finally agreed. He returned to Gryffindor tower, showered, changed his clothes, and took a walk with Ron and Hermione. They spent most of that day together, the three of them, wandering, talking, and eventually, Hermione dragged them to the library to do copious amounts of homework. By the time Harry returned to the hospital wing that evening, Draco had been released. Madam Pomfrey had given him pain potions and mostly healed his ribs. Harry sighed, knowing that Draco probably wouldn’t come out of his dorm all weekend.

Harry was right in his assumption. No one saw Draco until he showed up to potions class on Monday morning, sitting wordlessly at the table with his groupmates. He kept his head down, concealment doing a poor job of stopping the circulation of his story—from what Lucius had done to him. His eyes are puffy, and Harry noticed as Draco laid his hands on the table, that he’d been biting his nails. They were down past the tips of his fingers, jagged, the raw flesh the only proof they were ever there at all.

Stormy grey eyes remained focused on the potion as Seamus handed him the ingredients he’d been chopping. Harry and Ron exchanged looks as Ron passed him the next ingredient, and they both then looked at Draco with concern. The silence was too loud.

“What colour is your potion, Draco? I think ours is the wrong colour,” said Harry.

Draco didn’t look up as he spoke, just kept stirring. “Purple.”

“How many times do we stir it counterclockwise?”

“Twice.” His voice was steady but soft.

“Can you take a look at ours?”

Draco rose slightly from his chair, peeked over the side of the cauldron, then sat back down. “It’s fine.”

Harry huffed to himself. Ron poked him in the arm and Harry leaned closer to him. He whispered, “Don’t push it, mate. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”

“You’re bad at whispering, Ron,” said Draco. Seamus snorted at that, almost slicing his thumb with his knife. Draco glanced sideways at him, making sure he didn’t cut his thumb off, then returned to the task at hand.

Harry, who was also chuckling, smirked at Ron with a shrug of his shoulders. Ron made a face, then swatted Harry’s arm with his textbook. “Hermione’s rubbing off on you,” Harry remarked.

“She is not!”

“Whatever you say.”

As Ron was about to smack him with the book again, Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Blaise had come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, mate,” he said lowly. “I’m real sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have left ya in the Three Broomsticks. But I’m uh… here for you if you need me.” With that, he removed his hand and carried on to his desk.

The other boys watched as Draco nodded stiffly, his hands gripping the desk. Harry, Ron, and Seamus exchanged looks as Draco stared holes into the wood beneath his hands. After a few seconds he reopened his eyes, took a deep breath, and refocused on the potion. They decided to carry on as if nothing had happened.

Harry glanced behind him over his shoulder to where Hermione sat, laughing with the girls at her table as her and Pansy worked on their potion. It seemed as if they were around halfway done, as purple sparks were jumping up from inside it.  He smiled at the pair, glad that they had become good friends so quickly. It was odd, at first, but then again, so was his friendship with Draco. Friendship? Was that even the right word anymore?

Harry gazed around lazily while he waited for Ron to finish weighing and chopping their boomslang skin. Neville and Blaise were chatting across the table from each other a few yards away. Crabbe and Goyle were looming over a cauldron that was bubbling with a lumpy, green substance. Harry cringed, wondering for the thousandth time how they even got into this class. Seamus was at the same stage as Ron. Draco’s deft fingers spun a quill over a piece of parchment, enchanted doodles sprawling over the page. His white-blond hair falling into his eyes made Harry flinch, a movement that made him wonder if he was about to reach out and push it away from the other boy’s eyes.

Draco glanced up, catching Harry watching him. They stared at each other curiously, before Seamus distracted Draco by handing him the skins. Harry’s gaze shot to the floor, his face burning. What was going on with him?

Harry added the boomslang skin when Ron handed it to him, stirring three times counter clockwise this time, and then clockwise twice. He added the next two ingredients before stirring once more, a flowery scent emitting from the cauldron. He grinned—it smelled like Lilies.

In front of him, two strong hands came down around the back of Draco’s neck and he gasped. Harry’s head shot up to see Crabbe standing behind the blond Slytherin, who’s face held utter terror. His pale hands were prying at Crabbe’s, and although they weren’t choking him, Draco was heaving for air. The bulky Slytherin leaned down to mutter something in Draco’s ear which Harry didn’t quite catch. The other boy squirmed; teeth gritted as he tried to throw Crabbe off. Crabbe released him, laughing as he left, over as quick as it had started.

Draco’s hand’s dropped from his throat, eyes boring into the desk. He was panting, quick shallow breathes. When his breath hitched, Harry was up and out of his seat, arm around Draco’s back. He relaxes into it after a moment, and Harry whispers in his ear, trying to prevent a full panic attack. “Breathe… Crabbe’s gone… it was only Crabbe… Lucius isn’t here, Draco…” The blond nods, still panting, still not able to stop the trembling which had started with the hands on his neck. “No one here is going to hurt you… he’s not here… you’re safe, Draco… it’s okay…”

Draco swallowed thickly, “I feel sick.”

Harry glanced up at Seamus, who dashed from his seat up to Hermione at the front of the room. Harry could see him pointing in their direction as Hermione stood with her wand pointed at Draco, casting a nonverbal charm when Slughorn had his back turned.

Draco visibly relaxed—his back and shoulders sagged and he rested his head in his arms on the desk. No longer nauseous, he was able to focus on his breathing instead. Harry still stood beside him, rubbing small circles into the other boy’s back.

*

Ron and Hermione, as well as Harry, had hoped that would be the only incident for the day. However, as they patrolled the halls on prefect duty that night, they could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Hermione was stiff and she walked beside Ron, his wand drawn from the pocket of his robes. The rounded corner after corner, pushing on doors that seemed ajar and whispering to each other instead of speaking in their normal voices. All night, for the last hour and a half of their patrol, something had seemed amiss. Major or not, they weren’t sure—but there was something.

Hermione turned to Ron abruptly before they turned a corner on one of the upper floors. He stared at her, brows raised as she listened. “There’s someone down there,” she whispered, drawing her own wand. Ron nodded, raising his in front of him as he skirted around the corner. There was no one there. He titled his head as he looked at her. “Don’t give me that look,” she scolded. “I swear I heard someone. It sounded like people fighting… Or, a few people shuffling around or… I don’t know, exactly. But I heard it!”

Exasperated, Ron sighed. “Okay, fine. You heard it. D’ya want to keep looking?”

She gave him a ‘duh’ look, then started down the hallway. They began walking faster the closer to the end they got, then flung themselves around the corner. “Dammit! Still nothing. Come on.” They continued until a hallway veered off to the left. Hermione swept around the corner, then jumped back, smacking into Ron.

“Ow! Bloody hell Her—”

“Shh! Look,” she whispered, pointing around the corner.

Ron peered around the corner into the darkness. He squinted momentarily, searching for what exactly he didn’t know, and then his eyes widened. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know…”

Draco sat against the wall, halfway down the hallway, partially concealed by an alcove. His head was pressed back against the wall, tears leaking out from beneath his closed eyelids. New bruises had appeared on his jaw and he had what looked to be a busted lip. They watch him for a moment, frowning—contemplating what to do. Draco swiped furiously at his eyes, but the tears didn’t stop coming. The he leaned into his knees, and buried his head. Although he was quiet, they could tell he was sobbing hard from the shaking of his back and occasional gaps for air. A few moments later he sat back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and held out his hand as an object flew into it.

Hermione’s heart lurched as she realized that the object was a razor. She wanted to go to him, but found herself rooted to the spot, only able to watch as he pressed it to his left arm with watering eyes. He glares down at it with disdain, pressing it harder into his flesh. “Just do it!” They could hear him saying to himself in a harsh tone. “You fucking coward, just do it. Control one fucking thing.” He stared at it a moment longer, before he turned his head, jaw quivering, and let it hit the floor. Hermione felt herself breathe again.

Her and Ron stared at each other. His brows were knitted together, mouth slightly open as if he wasn’t quite sure what he’d witnessed. Hermione looked away from him and rounded the corner. She tried her best to be quiet, then tentatively stepped closer to him when she was within a few feet of the alcove. “Draco,” she said, voice wavering. “Are you okay?”

Draco eyed the razor on the floor, then Hermione, and then Ron. He shook his head, a stray tear making its way down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away. “No. I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay for a long time.”

Hermione nodded, then crouched down to meet him on his level. She surveyed his face. “What happened?”

He looked away. “Crabbe and Goyle. They found me… thought it would be funny to rough me up, I guess. Caught me off guard as I was doing rounds.”

“Why would Crabbe and Goyle be up here?”

“Looking for me, I guess,” he shrugged.

Ron cleared his throat. “Is there anything we can do?”

He hesitates before answering, staring at the floor, before glancing up at Ron hopefully. “Can I talk to Harry?”

Ron smiled. “Yeah. Of course.” He reached out his hand from Draco to take, clapping him on the back as he reached his feet.

Hermione squeezed his arm as he dusted himself off. He deflated as they both stared at him. “I hate this.”

She frowned. “I know.”

A few moments later they arrived at the portrait hole, stepping through as soon as Ron spoke the password. Once inside, he jogged up the stairs to wake Harry. Hermione stood with Draco near the centre of the room. She looked at him warily. “I… er… I saw the razor.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

She paused, searching his face. “How much have you thought about it?” He didn’t answer. “It won’t help, you know.”

He laughed dryly. “I don’t know what will, anymore.”

She frowned, opening her mouth to comment as Harry appeared on the stairs. He took in the appearance of the Slytherin. The bruises, the tear tracks on his cheeks, the busted lip… He clenched his jaw as a pang hit him once again, square in the chest. Once off the stairs, he walked straight to Draco and embraced him. Taken aback, but pleased, Draco returned the embrace. Harry took a deep breath and asked what was on his mind before letting go. “Who hit you?”

“Crabbe and Goyle.”

Harry huffed as he let go of Draco. “Those bastards.” He turned his attention back to Draco, looking at the bruises on his face. “I’m glad you’re here, but… why are you here exactly?”

Draco scratched the back of his neck. “I needed someone… I wanted to talk to you, mainly.”

“Okay,” said Harry, guiding him over to the couches near the fire.

“G’night, mate!” Ron called, throwing him a wet cloth that Harry assumed was for Draco’s bloody lip.

“Goodnight, Harry. Draco,” said Hermione.

“Goodnight.”

Harry brought the cloth up to Draco’s face, and he watched as Harry pressed it to his lip. He winced as it snags some dried blood, and Harry tried to distract him. “What did you want to talk about?”

Harry retracted the bloody cloth, allowing Draco to speak as he soaked it again with his wand. “I wanted to tell you about what happens at home. Completely.”

Harry paused, the cloth hanging in midair. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

Draco brought the cloth in Harry’s hand to his lip, mumbling, “Yes.” He waited for Harry to be done cleaning the blood from his face before he began again. “It started when I was little, probably six or seven. Maybe eight. I don’t remember exactly. A lot of stuff from my childhood is blurry. I’m not sure if that’s because it was so long ago or because my brain was trying to block it out. Well… you saw the other day, how he likes to beat me. And taunt me. You heard what he said?”

Harry swallowed, looking him straight in the eyes. “Of course. It was awful.”

Draco shrugged. “I wish I could just be used to it. As much as people say I shouldn’t be… it feels like I should be. I happened so often that I should just expect it. Well… I guess I do. That’s why I always flinch when people touch me and that kind of thing, you know? I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Harry nodded. “You probably also noticed, that I didn’t used to show it. When we first met I was a slimy, arrogant little greaseball. I was trying to please my Father, partially. And the other part of it was that I was raised to believe in those values. But that’s not right, and it’s not how it is. And back then, when I started to realize that, I didn’t know better against speaking up. As so, I got punished. I was so angry, all the time. For a while, I swore that’s all I could feel on the inside. But I was able to hide it… not let it show on the outside.”

“What happened?”

Draco paused, dropping his gaze. “After the Triwizard tournament… we knew He was back. And my Father, well… you know… the influence that had on him was horrible. He was crueler than ever. And he knew I wanted no part of it. Neither me, nor my Mum. It was just another reason to punish me. It’s been hell. And it’s only been getting worse.” He gulped, pausing again. “He shames and humiliates me whenever he can, using whatever or whoever he can. And I feel powerless to stop it. He tries curses and hexes on me. I never know what’s coming, because it’s all nonverbal. Sometimes it’s physically being beaten, other times it’s by magic… Incarcerous is one of his favourites. He relishes in having me tied to a chair in a room with a silencing charm so my Mum can’t hear me. And if I scream, it gets worse. But I can’t help it! What does he expect, me to hum happily while he’s beating me to a pulp? I don’t understand!”

“That’s the thing with abuse. It’s not always something you can understand…”

Draco nodded, looking back up at Harry. “It’s really fucked me up in the head, Harry. I feel… not right. I’m always sad now… more than I used to be. Sure, I get a laugh sometimes or I feel okay for a few hours, but sad is like my-my default! I feel, inside, like I’m always tipping back in a chair, about to fall. All the time. And then, on top of that, I get these panic attacks. And flash backs… and they’re terrifying. I-I can’t breathe and sometimes I can’t see properly, and everything feels like it’s burning… and I don’t even know why sometimes! It just happens! And I hate it! I hate myself for it! Do you know how frustrating it is to be crying half the time or never know when you’re gunna wind up heaving for air on the floor outside of a classroom in the middle of class? I don’t know what to do, Harry…”

Harry bit his lip, staring into Draco’s silver eyes. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? Or is there more?” Draco stared back, fear present in his eyes. “I’m here for you. And I’m not going to use this to hurt you, okay?” Draco dropped his gaze, bouncing his leg, arms crossed across his chest. “You can tell me what’s happened to you… what he’s done to you… and I will be here. And I will listen.”

“I can’t trust people, Harry! It’s so hard!”

“Listen, whatever you thought was our rivalry, or whatever relationship we had before… throw that away. It’s out the window, now. Gone. I am here for you, right here and right now, in the middle of the night because you need me. And I’m not going to take this and run, Draco. I promise.”

Draco nodded, sighing. The, as if it had burning in his mind, he burst out, “Why aren’t you forcing me to tell you everything? Why are you so patient and listening to me? Why can I ask you questions?”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, but he put his face back to its original soft demeanor. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me. I just want you to know I’m here, ready to listen. I’m patient because there is no reason not to be, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to ask me questions.”

Draco searched his eyes in bewilderment. “I… I-I don’t understand…”

“That’s okay. I didn’t use to understand either. I still have trouble with it sometimes.” The two boys were silent for a few minutes, comfortable in each other’s presence. Draco continued to bounce his leg, biting what was left of his nails. Harry put a hand on his knee, bringing Draco’s gaze up to meet his own. “Why do you do that?”

Draco sighed, nodding to himself. “Harry, how much do you know about mental illness? You lived with muggles, right?”

Harry furrowed his brows. “Yeah, I did. I mean, I know some, but not as much as some other people. Why? Is there something you want to tell me?”

Draco took a deep breathing, running a hand through his hair. “At the end of fourth year, I told Se—Snape about what was going on. He, er… he took me to a muggle doctor in London. I was terrified. I’ve never been to muggle London, or been around so many people without magic. And I mean, I was always scared to begin with anyway. But he took me there, they did some tests with me and we talked… and they gave me a diagnosis. I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Depression, and Panic Disorder.”

“Did they give you anything for it? Or any options for things that would help?”

He nodded. “They gave me medication… I can’t remember what it was called. Snape got it for me and I was taking it for a while. It wasn’t a lot, and it didn’t get rid of it, but it took the edge off. It helped me manage it. But then my Father found out. He ripped the open bottle from my hand when he walked in on me taking them at home and confiscated the rest…”

Shock and disgust crossed Harrys face, contorting is expression. “That’s… that’s not okay… Draco, I’m so sorry… How long have you been without them?”

“Two years… That’s why it’s gotten so hard for me to control. With the increased abuse and the pressure from Vol—you know… I just couldn’t really hide it anymore. It was so hard, even just in first term… And then Pansy took of my concealment and the rest, well, you know the rest…”

“I’m really sorry that this happened to you. I-I had no idea.”

Draco yawned, squinting at Harry as he rubbed his eye. “Thank you for listening to me, Harry. I really need to talk about it. To finally tell someone everything.”

“Anytime. I’m here for you, whenever you need it.” He closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Draco in a tight hug. Draco hugged back, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. “You can stay here for the night, if you’d like. You probably don’t fancy seeing Crabbe and Goyle again…”

“Heh, no. I’ll stay. Thank you, Harry.”

“Of course.”

Draco curled up on the couch as Harry said goodnight, then went to sit at a table by the window and do some of his reading for charms. He summoned his textbook and did some reading until Draco finally fell asleep a half-hour later. Harry smiled over at his sleeping form, and, before heading up to bed, he draped a blanket over him.

He grinned as he headed up the stairs. Draco finally opened up to him. And he knew one thing for certain: he was becoming damn protective over that boy.