Chapter Text
Draco:
Draco ran a hand through his messed-up hair. He looked at the potion in his hand before taking a dose. He sealed the flask before slipping it into the pouch at his waist. The potion was starting to burn his throat. He threw his head back and forced it down. No, he’d rather endure the burn than the dreams.
He never expected to return to Hogwarts after the war. Heck, he hadn’t expected to survive the war, never mind be acquitted of his crimes and then return to Hogwarts. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened during his trial, but he had heard that Harry had testified in his favor. Harry had been the only reason his mother, Narcissa, hadn’t ended up in Azkaban with his father. He had prevented Draco from the same fate. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful.
Draco lived everyday in fear. Fear of his past, of his mistakes. Fear of his peers and what they thought of him, and most of all, fear of those dreams. He’d always been good at potions, so one night, he spent his sleep-time in the library, scouring the shelves for a fix. And he’d found it. In the bottle. A potion bottle that is. It was the opposite of Dreamless Sleep. It kept him awake. And he had been taking it religiously every since.
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Harry:
He couldn’t sleep. He was too alone. He hadn’t slept in a room alone since the bedroom at the Dursleys. And even then, he had Hedwig. Now he had no one. He had come back to Hogwarts after the war because he still wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life. Sure, everyone expected him to be an Auror, but he didn’t know if that is what he really wanted out of life. In the long run, he figured he’d had enough adventure and enough danger to last a lifetime. In reality, it had lasted a lifetime. So here he was. An 8th year student. Hermoine was here as well, but she was often too busy with her studies to sit and listen to his complaining. Ron had joined the Aurors and was currently in training. So few 8th years had returned that the tower set aside for their dorms each had individual rooms. No they weren’t big, but he was alone nonetheless.
And that brought him back to the original problem. He couldn’t sleep. For the first time in his life, he didn’t even have Voldemort in his head to keep him company. He was completely alone with his own demons, and Merlin knows he couldn’t deal with them. So, he got up. He paced for about an hour before giving up on the thought of sleep. He looked around the small room for his book before realizing he had left it by the chair he’d occupied earlier that day in the lounge. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Guess he would be taking a short field trip.
He left his room and walked down the hallway to the stairs that led to the small common area. It wasn’t as nice as the Gryffindor commons but he was almost glad of that. No house colors to feel pride for, no competition. Just students living and doing their best to survive their last school year. None of the 8th year students had been separated. They were all together in the East Tower. Professor McGonagall had decided that they needed the support system. And as headmaster, the East Tower had been Magically changed to house the students.
He wasn’t watching where he was going, too caught up in his thoughts and his direction to really pay attention and nearly ran over the blond standing in front of the fireplace.
“Ah, Draco.” He shifted back and pushed up his glasses.
“Potter,” Came the curt reply. “What are you doing here at 4 am.”
Harry shook his head and pointed to his book resting open on a side table, “I came to get my book.”
Draco glanced at the book and then looked up into Harry’s eyes. Harry was shocked at how awful he looked. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week, but that wasn’t possible right?
“Draco? Are you ok?” The concern slipped out before he could catch himself. He could see the surprise on the other man’s face. The open emotion clouded into confusion and then stubbornness.
“I’m fine Potter. Take your book and leave.” The blond turned back towards the fire and lost his focus in the blaring flame.
“Oh, ok.” Harry didn’t really know how to respond to that. He stepped around the boy leaning on the mantel of the fireplace and retrieved his book. He looked up at the slim figure Draco made in the firelight and felt his heart skip.
He hadn’t expected that and his hand came up to rest over his heart. He looked down at the floor under his feet and scowled in confusion. Where had that reaction come from? One moment all he can think about his how lonely and scared he is, and the next, his heart is leaping at the image of the man in front of him. None other than Draco Malfoy.
“Potter?” He looked up right into the face of a very confused Draco Malfoy.
“Got heartburn Potter?” It came out sarcastic and almost mocking, but there was an undertone of something else in that comment. Harry shook his head and proceeded to take a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace. It was warm, and he couldn’t think of a better place to sit and read his book, and ponder on his new feelings than the couch from where he could watch the interest of said feelings without being caught.
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Draco:
Since when did Harry Potter call him Draco?
Since when had Harry Potter gotten that haircut?
Since when had Harry Potter read?
Since when had Harry Potter talk to him?
Since when?
Questions swirled through his head as the man walked past him to retrieve his book. He stared into the flames and tried to avoid watching him walk. He heard a small gasp and looked up only to see Potter standing with his hand over his heart with a look of intense pain on his face. Was he hurt?
“Got heartburn Potter?” The quip came out almost before he could stop it. The man looked up at him and shook his head, letting his hand drop to his side before retreating out of Draco’s vision. Draco heard him settle on one of the couches in the commons and figured he wouldn’t be alone anymore for the rest of the evening. He considered leaving, but decided against it. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him. It felt weird, like he was being scrutinized. Watched under a microscope. He couldn’t help but wonder what those eyes would look like staring into the fire.
He hoped that Harry wasn’t in pain. He had looked like such torment was happening. But then had denied that anything was wrong. And he wasn’t exactly in a place that he could pry into the inner workings of a man that he had tormented for years. Fact was, he didn’t understand why he cared so much. How had his thoughts changed so fast? One moment, all he could think about was how lonely and scared he was, and the next, his heart is jumping at the thought that Harry could be hurting. What was wrong with him.
He shifted his arm on the mantel and leaned his head against his hand. He had spent the last few nights in the same position. Standing there for hours. The portrait above the fireplace was a portly man in a suit of armor. Draco could tell portly man didn’t approve of his nightly habits, but what could he do, he wasn’t causing any problems. There was no rule that students had to sleep. He wasn’t leaving the common room, and he certainly wasn’t causing any problems.
He just stood there. Staring into the fire for hours. Sure, it probably wasn’t good for his eyes, but when he was left alone with his demons, this was the only thing that stopped him from simply ending it all. But now, all he could think of was the brunet man sitting behind him somewhere. His heart ached. Why of all people, did he have to start longing for Harry Potter.
He looked up at the knight in the painting, “Tea please?” The question came out soft and understated. The portly man smiled widely and nodded before rushing out of his painting. The first night Draco had spent by the fire, the man had introduced himself as Sir. Plentefarious, but had said Draco could call him Sir. Plenty. He had also stated that his best friend was a painting in the kitchens. When Draco has voiced his desire for tea, Sir. Plenty had rushed to the kitchens to ask the house elves for him. And since then, all Draco had to do was ask. Plenty didn’t mind running around, and the boy was always so polite.
It was at that moment that Draco realized that Harry was indeed still behind him. He should have asked for some tea for him as well. He shifted and turned so he could look for the man only to be caught in those eyes. The firelight shone in them and they were staring right at him. Or through him. His breath caught in his throat. He had caught Harry staring at him. But, how could he be mad when those eyes. Those EYES. They were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Staring at him as if he were the sun and Harry had lived in eternal winter.
Draco’s voice cracked, “Do you want some tea?” A slight flush was rising up his body.
Harry liked his bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth for a moment before nodding, “Yeah” it came out as almost a whisper. Draco’s eyes widened and he forced himself to look away. Damn, he could stare into those eyes for the rest of his life. He heard a sharp pop and then a small falsetto voice.
“Master Draco, your tea!” The cheerful elf held a tray with a full tea set. He smiled at her and gestured to the coffee table set between him and Harry. “Please Dimsy, on the table.”
She smiled at him, “Of course sir, do you need anything else?” Draco shook his head, “No, thank you Dimsy, I should be done at the same time as usual.” The house elf nodded and apparated back to the kitchens.
Harry stared up at him like he had grown a second head. “Yes Potter?” Harry’s cheeks blushed red. Oh, that was a sight he could get used too.
“Ah, nothing. I just didn’t realize you knew the castle elves so well.”
Draco smiled softly, “Dimsy is a special elf. She is the only one that isn’t afraid of me.”
Harry nodded, “That makes sense.” He chuckled slightly before looking back up at Draco and immediately realizing he had made a mistake. The small smile that had graced Draco’s face was long gone, replaced with a cold mask.
“Draco, I just meant… agh, I don’t know what I meant. I’m sorry.” Draco ran his hand through his hair before kneeling in front of the table.
“How do you take your tea Potter.” He didn’t look up. The brunet had practically stabbed him with that comment. His heart ached worse. He was screwed. Now he was lonely, scared, and practically heartbroken all at the same time.
His hands shook as he poured the tea into the cups provided. He gave a small nod when Harry, no, Potter, replied.
“Uh, I like it sweet. So, plenty of sugar and cream please.”
He wished he had it in him to comment. Of course, Harry liked his tea sweet. The man was practically starved for sweet. Personally, he liked his tea bitter. He liked the bite, and the weird aftertaste. He handed the cup over to the man sitting in front of him, a small hope that he had made it right, and then poured his own.
He stood up and turned back to the fireplace and chose to forget his heart and lost himself in the fire once again.
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Harry:
Wow.
He was a royal fuck up.
How had he managed to offend him so badly?
He took a sip of the cup of tea. Damn. It was perfect. He’d never had a better cup of tea. Of course.
He looked up at the silent man standing in front of him. Of course, Draco would be sensitive about it. The last few years had been hell for him, just as much as it had been for Harry.
Maybe even more so.
Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes. Wait what? He was crying? He brushed his hand across his face and wiped away the tears falling down his cheeks. He felt his nose start to get stuffy and he did everything in his power to not sniff. He knew that if he made a noise Draco would know exactly what was going on. And he didn’t need that. He didn’t want pity.
He wiped his face a few more times before managing to get his emotions back in check. He turned back to the book in his hand, knowing that he would never be able to concentrate.
“Its ok you know.” Draco’s voice was soft.
Harry looked up at him.
Draco turned around caught his eye. He looked solemn.
“I know people are afraid of me. I know what I did.” Draco clasped his hands, “I did what I felt I had to do to survive.” Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Draco continued.
“People look at me like I’m going to whip around and hit them with an unforgivable. That’s my life now.” He let out a small sigh.
“Everything I’ve done, especially to you, I deserve to be hated. I deserve to feel the pain. I…” His voice broke. He wiped his face and let out a forced chuckle. “Don’t worry Potter, if you're wondering, I didn’t poison your tea.” Draco looked at the floor, almost in shame. He was trying to make light of the situation, but Harry wasn’t going to stand for it.
“No.” Draco looked up. Harry stood and put his book down. Carefully holding his cup of tea. He walked around the coffee table and stood face to face with the blond.
“No Draco, it isn’t ok.” Harry fidgeted with the cup in his hands.
“Draco, I. No. You are an amazing person. You are dedicated and strong. You inspired me to be better. To push myself harder. You don’t deserve pain. You don’t deserve to be hated.” He sighed and shifted a bit closer to Draco.
“In all of my life, I have only truly regretted one thing. And that one thing, was not taking your hand that day. I messed up. I caused you pain. I turned you away.” Harry’s voice dropped “All I can do is hope, that maybe one day, maybe, you will be able to forgive me.” Harry looked up into Draco’s eyes. The calm grey stared back at him with so much hope. “And you know what, this tea is the best I’ve ever had.”
“Draco, I..” He shut his mouth. Something in those eyes had changed. The pain was back.
“Draco… are you sure you’re ok?” Concern flooded his senses and he took a step closer.
Draco took a step back and turned so his back was facing Harry. His arms came up and hugged around himself.
Harry felt his arm reaching out to touch him when he heard the watery response.
“Since, since when do you call me Draco.” It was harsh and cold.
Harry’s hand flinched back and he opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a sharp pop.
Dimsy had returned for the tea.
Noticing the cold atmosphere, she silently retrieved the tray from the table, and Harry handed over his still full cup. She gave a short bow and then left them.
Harry stepped back. He leaned over the table and retrieved his book. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly 6 am. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Goodnight Dra-.” He caught himself. “Malfoy.” The word tasted bitter in his mouth and he turned and practically ran from the room.
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Draco:
He had done it.
He had chased Harry away. Harry hadn’t even attempted to answer his question. Just whispered a response full of such remorse and then ran. When he had first turned around, he could almost have sworn that Harry was crying. But that would be ridiculous wouldn’t it? Why would Harry be crying?
And since when did he call him Harry?