Chapter 1
“Draco?” Pansy asked quietly.
“Hmm?” Draco replied. “Pansy?”
“Yes?”
“Where d’you reckon Potter is?”
“Jesus Christ Draco, I don’t know. Go look for her if you’re so worried about precious Harriet.”
“Okay.” Draco replied absentmindedly, as he started to rise from his seat.
“What? I didn’t mean to actually do it-” Pansy began, but Draco had left Pansy behind like an afterthought.
While wandering through the hallways, Draco began to hear muffled sobbing coming from the second-floor girls' lavatory. The bathroom was infamous for its ghostly occupant (her name was Myrtle, if you were wondering), so nobody actually used it for the loo. It was doubtful anyone else would willingly be there either. Draco hesitated for a moment, then decided to check. If it was Myrtle, he’d tell her to shut up. If it was someone else… well, they might need help.
As he was turning the knob, a very obviously female voice yelled out, “G-go away…”
Wait…
Draco knew that voice.
“Potter?”
No response.
“Harriet?”
A quiet hiccup echoed from inside. “Go away Malfoy.”
Definitely Potter then.
“Potter. Why are you crying?”
“As if y-you’d care.”
He felt an odd tightening in his chest. The dismissive tone was familiar, but so was the underlying pain. He’d seen it too many times to ignore.
He began to walk closer to the stall she was in. He really did care. There was a reason he asked her to be his friend in their first year. But also… he could see why she’d turned him down.
“Harriet…”
“DON’T CALL ME THAT!”
“But… that’s your name?”
“I… I know-”
“Potter? Is that better?”
“Yes… thank you.”
“Potter. Can you open the stall?”
“No.”
“If you don’t, I’ll open it for you.” He winced as the words left his mouth. “You’re not using the loo, are you?”
“No.”
“Alright then,” Draco said, his voice softening. “I’m giving you to the count of three.”
“One…”
“Two…”
Just before he said three, the door slammed open. Harriet stood there, a mess of tangled hair—now cut short, the once long strands now messy and jagged. She seemed smaller than usual, almost fragile in a way Draco had never seen before.
“Well now you’ve seen me. You can leave now. Shoo.”
“No. Why is your hair so…”
“Wrong? Ugly? Unfeminine?” Harriet’s voice was sharp, defensive, and for a moment, Draco almost thought she was angry at him.
“I was going to say short.”
“Oh,” Harry muttered, looking away.
Draco hesitated, then stepped closer. “Why is your hair so short?” he asked again, more softly this time.
“I didn’t like it long.”
Draco furrowed his brow, “Well yeah, I figured, but why have you kept it long for five bloody years”
Harriet’s breath hitched, her eyes glistening, and for the briefest moment, Draco saw something in her eyes—something raw, something more than just the mask she wore.
“Because…” She trailed off.
“Because?” He prompted.
“Because I was forced to.”
Draco blinked, the realization dawning on him. “Forced to?” He took a careful step forward. “By who?”
But Harry shook her head, pulling her knees closer to her chest. “It doesn’t matter.”
Draco stood in silence, unsure of what to say. He felt a strange knot twist in his stomach—a mix of pity, concern, and something else he couldn’t place. The walls between them felt thinner now, and the quiet agony in Harry’s eyes said more than words ever could.
“Can I help?” he asked quietly.
Harriet didn’t answer, but Draco knew—he just had to be there for her.