Fic: Scenes from the Beginning to the End (PG13)
Author: crimson_stained
Title: Scenes from the Beginning to the End
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG13
Summary: Nobody expected Draco Malfoy to take on the tutoring of Harry Potter at the start of a new year in Hogwarts, but he does anyway… and he swears that it has nothing to do with Potter’s green eyes. Not everything can stay strictly business.
Total word count: 7,272
Original prompt request number: 76
First prompt at link
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: For sesheta_66 for a great prompt. I hope I didn’t take too many liberties with it.
Beta(s): Mary and Kristen
Scenes from the Beginning to the End
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco Malfoy can see three pairs of eyes boring into him. Slightly unnerved, he feels a slow, rolling prickle down his spine. Not that intense, spiteful glares are out of the ordinary or anything.
He turns his head slightly and briefly catches the expressions on the faces of the gawking, unmistakable trio-a combination of three consisting of a red-haired tower of freckles, a frizzy mass of hair, and Harry Potter (Draco can find no good, succinct phrase to describe Harry Potter).
Weasley (that’s the lanky ginger one) looks enraged and suspicious. Granger (that’s the one with the hair) looks confused and suspicious. Potter (that’s Harry) looks resigned and suspicious.
Three very different expressions, yet all the variations of their contorted faces involve staring at Draco.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs. He looks up at the ceiling and counts to three very quickly and very quietly. Then, he turns about ninety degrees and walk towards the company of three.
“Weasley. Granger,” he acknowledges politely. “Potter,” he leans forward just a little bit, “I look forward to working with you this year.”
They don’t say anything (maybe Potter was about to), so he just nods and then walks away. He still has that same unnerving, rolling prickle, because he knows without even turning around that they are still staring. He clenches a fist and just deals with it.
-------------
Despite the seemingly irreparable damage done during the final battle of the war at Hogwarts, the school still re-opened its doors. All students were invited back, including Draco, who had been startled but pleasantly surprised to receive the familiar looking letter bearing the Hogwarts emblem.
Students were to repeat their previous year, logic that Draco understood, but was still annoyed by. It was depressing to know that while some of his peers knew how to cast the Killing Curse, some of them didn’t know how to manage basic day-to-day spells. They were all too busy fighting a war to learn magic that would help them live normal, everyday lives. Or, he recollected, most of his peers had also been refused entry into Hogwarts the previous year.
That thought was also depressing.
It hadn’t occurred to him to be upset about such things a year ago.
Draco’s letter had mentioned that those who had been able to attend Hogwarts during the war were to help and tutor those who were behind.
At first, he was excited that he might be of use to his student peers. That he wouldn’t have to return to the wasteland that would be Slytherin House to cower behind books avoiding his classmates. That he could go back to Hogwarts and still be someone people needed.
The value of a person is dependent on what they can give to other people. At the end of the war, Draco Malfoy had nothing to give to anyone, including himself.
When September 1 rolled around, Draco had been both excited and reluctant to leave the Manor. With Father imprisoned, he didn’t want to leave his Mother alone. He thought of her by herself in that big old house with no one but the house-elves to talk to and felt a lurch of sickness.
But he couldn’t stay. He would be of no use to her if he locked himself away in the manor for the rest of his life, isolated from the rest of the world.
When he arrived at school, what he found most depressing was that Harry Potter was one of the students in need of tutoring. A boy who single-handedly won a war…but needed help with his Transfigurations?
It really depressed the hell out of him.
Such random thoughts easily upset him nowadays, and he spent the first few week of school feeling completely useless and resented. He kept to himself, ignoring his housemates and his classmates. He tried to ignore the struggling of his peers in simple spell work and immersed himself in his own studies.
The distance he pushed between him and every one else felt crushing more than liberating. He was suffocating in his own space.
Then, he decided to sign up to tutor Harry Potter.
-------------
It isn’t just Potter and his friends that stare at him ever since he volunteered to help with Potter’s studies. Everyone is staring. And all the stares involve a combination of suspicion and some other emotion.
He knows what they’re all wondering. Why? Why would Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater that cheated justice, want to help Harry Potter?
And to anyone else besides Draco, the answer might seem convoluted and complicated. To Draco, it’s very simple.
It’s atonement. And repayment of a debt.
And okay. There may have been a mere twist of complication. Draco swears it has nothing to do with Potter’s green eyes.
-------------
Today marks the start of his very first Hogwarts-officiated study session with Potter. Draco watches the clock, counting the soft ticks as the second hand moves around the face.
It has been over twenty minutes and Potter is nowhere in sight. Draco has exhausted any mental list of hypothetical excuses as to why Potter hasn’t shown up yet. Potter can’t find the room. Potter is locked in a mysterious cabinet. Potter lost his watch and doesn’t know the time.
And at almost half past seven, he admits to himself that Potter isn’t coming. No extenuating circumstance had kept Potter from coming. Potter had simply chosen not to show up.
Draco feels a rush of agitation. He grinds his teeth together until they begin to squeak. The sudden frustration he feels sinks past his stomach and straight to his toes until there’s an uncomfortable numbness in his body causing a sudden restlessness.
He needs to do something. Anything. Anything but just sit here staring at the clock. But there’s nothing to do. It’s not like he can storm Gryffindor Tower and smack Potter senseless with a textbook (although the idea is appealing).
Carding his fingers through his hair, he realizes he is helpless even when trying to help someone else.
It’s hopelessness.
-------------
Surprisingly, Potter shows up to the second study session. He doesn’t offer an explanation for his first absence, and Draco doesn’t ask.
He is annoyed by Potter’s dismissive attitude, but doesn’t say anything. He remains polite. Distant. Cool. He must remember that he did not come back to Hogwarts to instigate conflict. There is no reason to.
“Hello,” he says cordially, and moves his books aside to give Potter some space.
Potter slides silently into the empty seat, and taps his fingers idly on the desk.
Draco tries not to grind his teeth. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Potter flips open a book, and turns the pages aimlessly.
At a loss of what to say or how to start, Draco feels both awkward and hopeless again. In this quiet moment, he truly realizes the irreparable, damage of war upon his person. He blinks at this sudden epiphany and frowns down at the desk, One year ago, he would have kicked Potter in the shins and told him to fuck off. But, one year ago, he wouldn’t have even put himself in such a situation.
Potter clears his throat, “So are you going to teach me something or are you just going to waste my time?”
The flippant impatience bothers Draco, but he pushes it aside. Penitence is not supposed to be easy.
“I was just trying to think of where we ought to start. Is there a particular place?”
Potter narrows his eyes and seems to be thinking about something. He opens his book to a chapter, but closes it abruptly.
“Look, Malfoy. What the fuck are you playing at, signing up for this?”
Draco shrugs, “It’s something to do.”
“Really? Was it that boring down in the dungeons? Cut the bollocks,” Potter scoffs.
“It’s something I need to do.”
“Like what, if you help me get good marks, it’ll suddenly turn you into some Good Samaritan and make up for every shitty thing you’ve done in your lousy life?”
Draco blinks, “Something like that.”
Potter huffs, “You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy.”
“I do,” Draco replies quietly.
“Well, it’s not like you can teach me anything worth knowing anyway.”
Draco just picks up a book, “We’ll see.”
-------------
It’s very strictly just business at first.
Potter shows up. Draco regurgitates past lessons to him. Potter follows instructions and does flawless demonstrations of the spells and charms. Draco commends him on a job well done. Potter leaves with an ungrateful nod and scrape of the chair.
But, if Draco were to do a character study on Potter, he would conclude that Potter, by nature, is a curious sort. And the curious types never leave anything strictly business for long.
Potter’s questions come out of nowhere at first, and are what Draco categorizes as personal. Questions that would merit a ‘none-of-your-business’ response. Despite this, Draco answers anyway.
And he answers honestly. It feels almost like therapy, talking to Potter…an outpouring of his own thoughts that he hadn’t realized were there.
Surprisingly, when he starts asking Potter questions back, the ‘none-of-your-business’ type of questions, Potter answers them as well.
-------------
“Why did you come back to Hogwarts after the war?” Potter asks.
“There wasn’t anything else to do.”
“Right. That’s a lot of bollocks,” Potter scoffs. “Why would you want to come back here? You’ve pretty much learned all you needed to last year. And it’s not like you really have any real reason to come back.” Potter hesitates before bluntly stating, “No friends.”
“Ouch,” Draco mutters, stunned by Potter’s directness. “Well. It really beats staying at home all day.”
“It’s not like you’re doing anything here though.”
“I’m helping you aren’t I?”
“Are you? Just tutoring me on things that given enough time I could figure out on my own?”
“If you could figure it out on your own, you wouldn’t keep coming back here.”
Potter makes a quiet noise of assent at this. “So really, what does helping me do for you?”
“I thought we went over this at our first meeting,” Draco picks at his nails, not bored but wanting a distraction.
“Sort of, but again. I don’t really believe any of that.”
“Potter, it’ll be hard for us to have any kind of normal conversation if you aren’t going to believe a word I say.”
Potter smirks (Draco would like to note that this facial expression should be his trademark, not Potter's). “It’s hard for us to have any kind of normal conversation anyway, don’t you think?”
“Seems like you’re trying to right now though, doesn’t it?”
Potter thinks about this for a second. “I guess.” There’s another hesitation before Potter goes on to ask, “So is it difficult being back here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it hard?”
Draco just stares at Potter, a bit flabbergasted. “Hard and difficult are merely synonyms. I’m still not quite sure I get what you mean.”
“You don’t talk to anyone. All you do is write letters in the Great Hall. You look like shit most of the time. And I’m sure some of the bruises you have aren’t from your own clumsy nature.”
Potter has become a bit more astute than Draco remembers. Perhaps a year of camping and tracking vicious Dark Lords might do that to a person.
“I didn’t know you paid that much attention to my person,” Draco replies. He had not been aware that Potter had been doing his own character studies on Draco.
Potter just shrugs, “I just notice more things.”
“Not enough to do in the day?” Draco murmurs sarcastically.
“Guess not. I mean, my schedule is a bit more free now that no one needs me to save the world.”
Draco can’t tell if Potter’s tone is bitter or sarcastic. Or if perhaps such a phrase is Potter’s obtuse sense of humor.
It’s the latter, because Potter finally says, “That was supposed to be funny.”
Oh. Haha. Except that Draco finds it the complete opposite of humorous. It’s a bit sad that Potter has nothing to occupy his time but stare at Draco and notice all the stupid details of Draco’s life.
Potter looks awkward all of a sudden and scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. This puts Draco at ease again, because an awkward, blundering Potter is someone he is used to.
“You never answered my question,” Potter prods.
“Yes,” Draco hisses, because he’s realized and remembered that no matter how shrewd and detail-oriented Potter may have become, Potter is still an insensitive, socially inept idiot.
“Oh. Why?” Completely inept.
“Because of all those reasons you listed! Like the fact I have no one to talk to, except for my Mother, so yes, all I do is write letters to her, since she’s the only person that can stand my presence. And I walk around looking like shit and like the living dead, because I might as well be dead for all anyone else cares. And maybe things are in a bit of a rough patch right now, because I get the piss beat out of me once in a while by the younger students. And I just let that happen. Is that enough? Is that what the type of answer you wanted to hear?”
Draco feels breathless and lightheaded for a moment, and his face feels extremely hot. Not from anger though. He isn’t sure why he feels like he’s burning from the inside out.
Potter just blinks owlishly at Draco for several seconds, before replying, “So, if its so hard, why stay?”
And then its Draco’s turn for a completely unfunny stab at humor. He shrugs, “Character-building.”
And Potter just smiles a little and leaves it at that.
-------------
“Are you happy?” Draco asks once, right after they’re done doing a particularly difficult Transfigurations spell.
“Yes,” Potter says, looking quite proud and fond about his new pet fish (which used to be an inkpot by the way).
“Not about that thing,” Draco says, jabbing a finger at the fish. “In general.”
Potter frowns, “I should think so.”
“Think?” Draco fiddles with his books. “If you were happy, don’t you think you would know?”
Potter just continues on frowning, “What do you mean happy in general then?”
“With the way things turned out. The way things are now. With yourself.”
Potter scrunches up his face, as if Draco had just demanded an answer to the meaning of life. “I’m glad that the way things turned out the way they did. That Voldemort lost the war. I’m not sure how I feel yet about the way things are now, but I’m sure they’ll be okay. And I’m pretty okay with myself.”
“But are you happy?”
Potter purses his lips, “I guess I’m not sure yet. Are you?”
Draco picks up his books and stands, “No. I mean, I’m glad too that some things are the way they are, but no. I wouldn’t say I’m happy.”
“Are you happy with yourself?” Potter pulls on the back of his robes.
“Not yet,” Draco begins to walk away.
“When will you be?”
“I’m not sure,” Draco calls back over his shoulder.
-------------
Draco is watching Potter transform various household objects into other equally inane objects. It’s quite boring. He taps his fingers listlessly on the table.
“Potter,” he stops drumming his fingers just for a moment. “What did you end up doing this summer, when the war was over?”
“Nothing really. Helped rebuild Hogwarts. Hung out with Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. Moved on.”
“Hm,” Draco starts tapping his fingers again.
“What did you do?”
Draco quirks up the corner of his mouth. “Try to move on. The rest of the world hasn’t let me yet.”
Potter sets down his wand and seems to be studying the new cushion he’s created. “Maybe you haven’t let yourself.”
“And you have already?”
“It’s not really something anyone can ever forget. But you just try not to remember and sometimes when that works, everything is okay for a little while.”
And there isn’t really anything Draco can say to argue that.
-------------
Before he began his tutoring sessions with Potter, Draco would have nightmares. Well, they weren’t really nightmares per se, since he would have them when he was awake.
They were these quick flashes of memory, or rather, garish twists of memories, that would result in horrifying moments where Draco would lose his grip on reality and find himself clutching at the rough, stone walls of various, random corridors.
And sometimes, Draco would just let himself live through each one of these flashbacks, eyes squeezed shut, reliving painful moment by moment.
The Dark Lord cackling when he tortured Professor Burbage as she twitched on invisible strings. Fenrir Greyback transforming in front of his eyes and snarling as he tore across the Malfoy parlour. The unbearable heat of the Fiendfyre flames licking his feet as he feels his sweaty palms slipping away from Potter’s. His Father crumpled in defeat, head bowed low for the first time in Draco’s life.
And oh. It hurts. Draco often feels like the wind has been knocked out of him or that someone has pulled the ground out from beneath his feet and he’s falling and it’s never going to stop.
After he began his tutoring sessions with Potter, Draco began refusing his mind to stop it wandering back towards the past. He’d see the pale white face of the Dark Lord stretching across his mind, and he’d murmur Potions ingredients under his breath. His favorite dinner foods. Places he’d like to go.
He began to concentrate on the present. Sometimes the future. And he’d make himself believe that everything is okay.
Sometimes, he’d think of Potter’s face and murmur all the spells he’d taught Potter so far.
-------------
A quick character study of Harry Potter as done by Draco Malfoy.
Linearly focused. Difficult to distract when he’s got his mind set on something. As seen when Potter is learning a new Transfigurations spell and he’s staring so hard at the object that his eyes cross and a bead of sweat appears on his forehead. Or when Potter talks to Draco and his eyes seem to be boring straight into the back of Draco’s skull. This pin-pointedness may have something to with Potter’s Snitch-catching skills.
Stubborn. May be connected with the linear focus. But, won’t let go of an idea once he’s become accustomed to it. Or obsessed with it. As seen in the past when he’s arguing with Draco or putting a fist into Draco’s nose over one silly point or another. Or seen through the almost Hufflepuffish loyalty he has towards people he’s decided he likes.
Impulsive, reckless, brash. As seen in the past with rule-breaking or hot-headed plunges into the bowels of danger. More details on this can be seen through Potter’s actions in Tri-Wizard tournament as well as Battle of Hogwarts. Potter is the sort that acts first and then thinks later.
Transparent. Potter reads like an open children’s book. His emotions are always out on the table. He talks loudly, laughs loudly, does everything quite loudly. There are rarely any secrets when it comes to Harry Potter, no matter how hard he tries. Yet, why Potter still has a mysterious appeal completely eludes Draco.
Maybe because Draco’s constantly being surprised by Potter. There just seems to be something under the surface that’s almost impossible to figure out, like an itch Draco can’t quite reach.
If there were a character study done on Draco Malfoy, it may be the complete opposite of Harry Potter’s. Except for the stubbornness, because once Draco has his mind set on something, he doesn’t ever let go either.
-------------
It strikes Draco as ironic that the more he and Potter talk to one another, the more inane their topics get. Draco is beginning to find that he can talk to Potter about anything and everything, no holds barred and if he were forced to spend the rest of his life talking solely to Harry Potter alone, he might just be able to do it.
“If you could be anywhere but here where would it be?” Draco asks one day.
“Wherever my friends are,” Potter replies, and the sappiness of it would have made Draco gag, if the response hadn’t been so sentimentally Potter. “What about you?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“Pick somewhere,” Potter says.
Draco thinks for a moment. “Somewhere with a warm coastline. A beach.”
“That’s oddly both specific and vague,” Potter chuckles.
“I just want to go somewhere where I can just go float out in the water,” Draco murmurs, willing the flush away from his cheeks.
“Why?”
“Something about it just sounds weightless and free. And it would be refreshing just to immerse myself in water.”
“Like a merman?”
“No!”
“You know, I bet you’d just burn on a beach with all that sun,” Potter chortles. He lets out a loud laugh straight out of his belly. “You’d be a peeling merman just floating out there.”
“Oh, sod off.”
But Draco feels a bit smug that he’s made Potter laugh like that.
-------------
One night, Potter seems particularly fidgety.
“Merlin, could you stop moving? You’re making me nervous,” Draco huffs.
Potter quits jiggling his leg for only a second. “It’s nice outside,” he comments.
“Can you tell from in here?” Draco looks around at the windowless room.
“Well, I bet it would be nice,” Potter looks out the door wistfully.
Draco catches this, and feels a twinge of annoyance. “If you want to leave go ahead. For all you know, it could be freezing out there. Or raining.”
Potter grins, “I don’t think so.” And it pains Draco just a bit when he sees Potter begin to pack up his books.
Potter, in his current trend, surprises Draco. “Want to come with me?”
“Outside?”
“We could walk around the lake or something.” Of course Potter would be the outdoorsy type. The sort that just needs to roam around with his feet on fresh cut grass, breathing crisp autumn air.
Draco hardly hesitates. “Sure.”
As they walk through the main doors, Draco feels a light, cool breeze. The sky is clear, and the moon hangs large and bright overhead un-obscured by any clouds. Potter was right. It is very nice out.
“Aren’t you just the weather expert then,” Draco says, staring up and feeling the balmy, gentle winds against his face.
“An unknown talent of mine,” Potter smiles with his eyes closed, hands in his pockets.
“Oh really? Alert the Daily Prophet then. Harry Potter can correctly estimate the quality of outdoor weather from inside castle walls. Would Mister Potter like to comment on any other obscure talents of his?”
Potter laughs, and the sound is warming. “Did you know I’m quite handy with my feet?”
“What does that even mean?” Draco snorts.
“Sometimes, instead of using my hands to do things, I’ll use my feet.” Potter says, nonchalantly, as if he isn’t revealing something completely bizarre about himself.
“For what? Like eating? Brushing your teeth? What, are you a monkey?”
“No! Just to pick objects off the floor. Or if I’m reading in bed, I’ll flip pages with my feet.”
“That’s fucking weird, Potter.”
Potter hits Draco in the arm. “What about you then…as if I even have to ask. What are your weird quirks?”
“What makes you think I have them?”
Potter scoffs. “Malfoy, you’re one of the bloody weirdest people I know. And I bet that the quirks that aren’t glaringly obvious are probably bloody strange.”
Draco rolls his eyes, but thinks anyway. He has all sorts of weird obsessions and compulsions, such as the way he liked to organize the food on his plate, or color code his books with his notes…but those were all the kind of things that would be stupid to admit out loud. So, in his typical fashion, he admits something stupider instead.
“I don’t like hugs.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t like hugs!” Draco repeated foolishly.
“What?”
“Something from when I was little. I always hated hugging my mum from the front.”
Potter snickers, “Why?”
Draco shrugs. “It was intimidating.”
Potter just stares at Draco.
“Because. Of…her chest.” Draco realizes that this admission was sounding stupider and stupider by the second.
Potter bursts out into a loud, uproarious laugh. “You didn’t hug your mum because you were scared of her knockers?”
“I wasn’t scared. It just felt strange. And I just wouldn’t do it from the front.” Draco says defensively.
Potter continues to laugh, “Not only is that bizarre, that’s also a little gay of you. To sum it up, you’re almost like a queer merman.”
It’s Draco’s turn to hit Potter in the arm. “You’re the bloody queer one. With your foot fetish and all.”
Potter kicks Draco in retaliation. “Don’t let that delicate skin of yours bruise.”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco says, but he’s smiling as he says it.
-------------
The more Potter seems to like Draco, the more Granger and Weasley seem to hate Draco. At least, that’s what their cold expressions seem to be insinuating.
Sometimes, in the hallways, Potter will nod at Draco. Sometimes, he’ll even shoot Draco a small smile, as if they’re sharing a secret. When this happens, Granger and Weasley’s lips purse in identical thin, straight lines. Weasley’s face even turns as red as his hair and Granger will grip Weasley’s obnoxiously freckled arm a bit too tight.
They never have to say anything. Draco knows all too well that actions speak louder than words.
Aside from their tutorial sessions, he and Potter see each other everyday now. They’ll go for runs around the lake. Play one-on-one Quidditch and sometimes chess or Exploding Snap. Usually, they just sit somewhere and talk.
Potter tells Draco about what happened at the end of the war right before he defeated Voldemort: about the ghosts, Draco’s mother, and dying. Draco tells Potter what happened at the end of the war right after Potter defeated Voldemort: the trials, Father’s arrest, Mother’s breakdowns.
Potter tells Draco all the silly things he gets excited over: treacle tarts, first snows, and lumpy Weasley packages on Christmas. Draco tells Potter some of his most juvenile fears: the giant squid, Hagrid, and Muggle denims (they chafe!).
The most important thing Draco realizes is that while Potter could be spending all this extra time with his friends, Potter is choosing to spend all this extra time with him instead.
For all the things in his life that he’s ever fucked up, Draco thinks that he may be starting to do some things right.
-------------
In the middle of October, Draco doesn’t receive a letter from his Mother at breakfast. He doesn’t get one at lunch. Or anytime before dinner. Not even after.
It’s the first day in his life he hasn’t heard from his Mother. The entire day, every time he saw an owl, his heart damn near fell out of his chest.
He sends a frantic letter with his Eagle Owl to the manor, but it never returns.
Not until the next morning, with a copy of the Daily Prophet. It looks harmless from first glance of the cover. The only glaringly large headlines are about the Ministry’s current legislative plans. But, then the tiny text at the very bottom, forcing Draco to turn all the way to page 26, punches Draco in the throat and gut at the same time. It’s impossible to breathe and when Draco sees the headline at the back of the paper, it takes all his effort to not vomit all over the first year sitting next to him, trying to read over his shoulder.
So much for journalism ethics and for informing the relatives of the deceased first. Narcissa Malfoy has passed away. An event notable enough to make the twenty-sixth page of the Daily Prophet.
How else would Draco have possibly ever found out?
His mouth tastes bitter with salt, and he realizes its because he’s bitten too hard on his lip and blood is beginning to seep onto his tongue.
Or maybe he’s crying. He isn’t really sure. He sets (or throws) down the Daily Prophet to leave the Great Hall.
The grief and fury coalesce together inside of him, until he thinks he might just explode. Again, he feels that burning, like a Fiendfyre tearing apart his body from the inside out. A rush of energy fills him, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s running out towards the lake, hurling rocks at that stupid, slimy squid, screaming his heart out.
He screams and he screams until his throat burns and his voice is hoarse.
By the time he collapses against the muddy banks of the lake, wet patches of dirt and grime seeping through his robes, Potter is looming over him.
“Fuck off,” Draco rasps.
Potter sits down instead. Always keen to never listen, this one.
“Don’t you say you’re sorry,” Draco says, before Potter can get a chance to say anything at all. “It’s a useless word.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Oh really? And what wonderful things were you about to say that you think could possibly fix the fact that Mother is dead?”
“Actually, I was just going to sit here until you wanted to say something.” Potter rifles around in his pocket and pulls out something small, round, and yellow. “And see if you wanted one of these.”
“Is that a bloody lemon drop?” Draco hisses. “You’re so stupid.”
Potter looks sheepish. “Dumbledore left me jars and jars of them.”
“Thanks for saving the world, here are some lemon drops?”
Potter dangles one in Draco’s face. “They really do make you feel better. I think he put some Calming Draught or Cheering Charm on them. Maybe some Muggle herbal remedies.”
Draco snatches it, if only because the yellow color of the little ball is nauseating.
“Oh,” he exhales. He lies there in silence for a little bit, just listening to the rhythmic sounds of Potter’s breathing. He feels calmer. Airier. Cleaner. “The old man must have laced these with something.”
Potter pops one in his mouth too. “Probably.”
More quiet, until Draco thinks he might have floated away somehow. He touches the ground to make sure its still there.
“I knew before I saw the article,” Draco finally says. “She didn’t write to me yesterday.”
“I saw you constantly checking for mail. Your face was permanently glued to the ceiling all day.”
“Yeah, she wrote everyday, you know?”
“I know.”
“She was lonely.” Draco rubs at his face with a muddy hand. “I shouldn’t have left her alone in the manor all by herself.”
“You had to come back though,” Potter replies.
“I know. I just wish I had been there. She shouldn’t have been left alone. Especially with Father gone.”
“You know, they wrote that she passed peacefully. In her sleep.”
Draco draws his knees to his chest. “The Prophet’s full of shit.”
“Yeah, it is.”
He murmurs quietly, “I hope she was happy when she died. I just wanted her to be proud of me.”
Potter gives Draco a look of significant and poignant feeling. “I’m sure she was. Both those things.”
Draco sighs and tucks his hands behind his head, the back of his elbow tickled by Potter’s hair. Secretly, he thinks Mother died of a broken heart. She just missed the world and the way it used to be. But, he likes to think of her dying quietly, head full of good dreams.
He won’t think of her lying stiffly, body filled with nothing but vodka and pain.
-------------
On Halloween, there is a ball. As if the misery and pain of past memories could be eradicated by gaudy decorations, trendy music, and garish costumes.
Thank god, the Irish lush Finnegan had poured straight shots of something into the unnaturally orange pumpkin juice.
“I hate this,” Draco says, tugging at his sleeves.
“Me too,” Potter replies as he waves rather expressionlessly at a random, giggling fourth year Hufflepuff.
“What are you supposed to be anyway?”
“A Quidditch player.” Potter says.
“You’re wearing your school robes.” Draco responds.
“A Quidditch playing student,” Potter deadpans. “What about you?”
Draco looks down at his own school robes. “The same.” He eyes Finnegan spiking the juice even more.
“A drunk Quidditch playing student,” he amends as he begins walking over to the refreshment table. “Let’s get smashed. We’ll get cups and drink until we vomit on the Giant Squid.”
“Alcoholic,” Potter sighs as he trails after Draco.
“Whatever, Potter. You’re the one who gets his highs off of Dumbledore’s old lemon drops.” He pours them each a drink. “Cheers to getting embarrassingly drunk at an official Hogwarts event.”
“Because there’s nothing better to do,” Potter raises his glass and takes a big gulp.
“Right, unless you want to go have a dancing ménage-a-trois with your two friends over there.” He points to Granger and Weasley, doing a sickening mating display. “Ten galleon bet that she’ll put out tonight.”
Potter takes another huge swig of his drink. “You perverted arse. Those are my friends.”
“Who are getting extra benefits from one another.”
“You’re sick,” Potter groans and begins filling up another cup.
Three cups later, Potter has latched himself onto Draco’s arm and has started whining about the increasing temperature of the room, “Let’s just go outside.”
“You’ve said that five times now!” Draco rolls his eyes, more amused than annoyed.
“So let’s just go.”
“One more for the road,” Draco insists, pouring himself another cup.
They stumble into each other on their way out of the Great Hall, shoulders bumping, arms and legs tangling. They’re falling and laughing all over each other just to stay upright. Eventually, Potter pulls Draco flush against him.
“Just need some balance,” Potter says.
“Merlin, you’re already beginning to slur.” Draco slings an arm around Potter’s waist.
“You are too,” Potter grabs at one of Draco’s hands, pulling him in the direction of the lake.
“Oh great, we’re going towards an immense body of water. And in your state, you’re sure to drown the both of us.”
“You love the water,” Potter mumbles, teetering towards the shore.
“Do you think I can transfigure this lake into something alcoholic?” Draco wonders aloud.
“Or maybe Accio some of the pumpkin juice from the dance?” Potter suggests.
“Is that possible?” Draco asks.
“Dunno,” Potter is murmuring straight into Draco’s neck now, and its making Draco’s entire body flush.
“You’re hot,” Draco says, thinking he must be sweating just from the contact with Potter.
“Mm, you’re hot,” Potter says, nuzzling with his arms slung around Draco’s waist.
“Because you are getting your body heat all over me,” Draco groans. Yet, he’s clutching Potter just as hard, and Merlin. When did Potter’s face get so close?
There’s a tiny freckle on the right side of Potter’s nose and Draco just wants to flick his tongue out at it.
“You know,” Potter runs his fingers through Draco’s hair, and then down Draco’s back. “When you drink does it ever go straight to your cock?”
“What the hell does that mean? Vulgar fuck.” Draco swears his heart must be pounding a million times per hour.
“I just…whenever I drink, I need…” Potter grabs at Draco again, and they stumble around the muddy banks, hands all over each other trying to find some balance in the bumpy grounds.
“Potter. Stop it,” Draco hisses, but contradicts himself by pulling Potter right against him.
Apparently, Potter’s face was still incredibly close, because their lips seem to brush and while Draco mistakes this for an accident, Potter clumsily crushes their mouths together.
Draco slips his tongue into Potter’s mouth, and he swears it’s Finnegan’s stupid pumpkin juice making him act so ridiculously and irresponsibly. Yet, he can’t stop himself from entwining his legs with Potter’s and toppling them both into the ground until they’re rolling around in the reeds. He’s fisting his hands into Potter’s robes, and he’s moaning whenever he feels Potter’s knee wedged between his legs.
It’s no surprise that he’s left bewildered and panting when Potter suddenly pulls away.
“I have to go,” Potter stutters. “I’m exhausted. I need to go to bed.”
“What?” Draco is at a loss.
“I have to go!” Potter says again more vehemently and pushes away from the ground, zigzagging towards the school.
“What the fuck?” Draco slumps against the ground, feeling himself sink into the mud. If only the earth could just swallow him up.
-------------
Draco Malfoy is 90% head over heels for Harry Potter. Whenever he looks at Potter, he thinks of those chapped lips against his own and Potter’s rough hands all over him, grabbing and taking.
Yet, whenever he talks to Potter, neither of them ever mention the incident that Draco considers the pinnacle of his adult life so far. Potter pretends nothing ever happened. Draco pretends too.
“Do you even remember what happened last night?” Potter had asked as he complained about how much his head hurt.
“A little bit,” Draco had ventured.
“I don’t remember anything,” Potter had immediately said.
“I only remember drinking from that pumpkin juice bowl,” Draco had started, before Potter had nodded enthusiastically, loudly proclaiming that all he remembered from the ball was the pumpkin juice followed by his bed.
“Black out,” Potter had called it.
Draco had claimed the same, lying through his teeth.
Yet, he had walked away knowing that he was almost 100% in love with Harry Potter, and it was all for a list of completely inane reasons.
For starters, the piercing green eyes. In an otherwise drab and monochromatic world, there’s the dazzling shade of Potter’s eyes.
Next, there’s the intoxicating lure of Potter’s extreme personality. The thrill of immoderation as Potter throws himself towards life (or death, in sporadic acts of heroism). Potter’s optimistic excitement for the future even though he doesn’t even know what he’s doing anymore.
There’s Potter’s strong work ethic. How he’ll always get things done and follow through on his promises. Draco has had enough of unreliability.
It’s also all about how Potter keeps Draco guessing. Never a dull moment in the company of Harry Potter. Lately, in Draco’s company, Potter is always laughing, and his deep, echoing chuckles are contagious. Draco’s cheeks hurt from smiling all the time. And his eyes and heart hurt from watching Potter’s brilliant smile.
Potter also challenges Draco. Not just in things like Quidditch, but even in conversation as well. He keeps up with all of Draco’s subtle, insinuating remarks and humor. At the same time, he brings out Draco’s sense of competition. He’s overwhelmingly impressed by everything Potter has already done and the things Potter will do, yet being with Potter makes Draco think that he can still measure up.
This new development is all very terrifying and new. It’s as if Draco is just beginning to understand exactly how much Potter has come to mean to him.
He’ll never tell Potter any of this however. He’d rather get transfigured into a worm and pecked to death by owls than let Potter know how he really feels. Potter would run out of his life, leaving a gaping hole in Draco’s heart.
Harry Potter could be the best thing about Draco Malfoy.
-------------
It’s November in Scotland and it is cold outside. Draco tightens his scarf around his neck, and wraps his robes around him.
“It’s cold,” he states flatly.
“It’s crisp,” Potter insists.
“Cold,” Draco’s teeth chatter.
Potter takes off his own scarf and wraps it around Draco’s neck. “You know, the red and gold kind of washes out your complexion even more.”
“Well, thank you,” Draco replies, rolling his eyes.
“I can’t believe it’s almost winter now,” Potter takes a deep breath, and Draco’s lungs and throat freeze just watching Potter inhale.
“It’s only been two months since school started.”
“It feels like two incredibly long months that went by incredibly fast.”
“That makes so much sense,” Draco says sarcastically.
“You know what I’m trying to say,” Potter tugs at the end of one of Draco’s scarf, tightening the wool around his neck.
They’re standing by the lake yet again, and there’s already a flimsy film of ice over the water.
“Any outstanding moments from your last Hogwarts year so far?” Draco asks.
Potter tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Halloween Ball was really fun.”
Draco’s heart lodges into his throat for a second, and for that moment he almost can’t talk. “You don’t remember Halloween.”
“From what I remember, it was fun.” Potter clears his throat and plucks idly at the brown reeds around them.
They’re very quiet for some time.
“What about you?” Potter finally asks. “Any memorable moments for your final year at old Hogwarts?”
“Halloween was fun.” Draco says, voice cracking a little bit. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to admitting anything to Potter about his ‘feelings.’
“You don’t remember it either.” Potter says, a strange look on his face. This is one of the first times when Draco can’t read anything into Potter’s expression.
“Bits and pieces.”
“What did you end up doing after I left?” Potter asks, tone deceptively casual.
“You remember leaving?”
“We were outside.”
Draco turns to look right at Potter, heart threatening to fly out of his chest. “I thought you just remembered pumpkin juice and bed.”
“And a bit of in between,” Potter’s face is red, and Draco isn’t sure if it’s the wind or something else. “The in between is the fun part.”
Draco swallows. Potter smiles. (And bloody hell, it’s a good smile.)
Their arms are touching, and the entirety of Draco’s body is freezing cold, except for his arm. It might as well be on fire for how much his arm is suddenly burning. There’s a surge of adrenaline coursing throughout his body, and centering right there on his arm.
Potter’s mittened hand slips into Draco’s. This is also very terrifying and very new, and Draco just stands very still and very bewildered.
“Are you happy yet?” Potter asks.
“Yes,” Draco replies automatically.
“With everything?” Potter continues. “With the way things turned out. The way things are now. With yourself?”
“Yes. To all of it.” Draco says, surer of this than he’d ever been of anything else.
“Since when?”
Draco thinks for just a second. “Since now. Are you happy?”
“Yes,” Potter says, and Draco’s heart swells.
They begin walking back towards the castle, their hands still clasped together, with nothing but two layers of yarn and wool between the skin of their palms.
“Hey, Draco,” Potter begins, and Draco’s heart feels ten times too big for his body. “You remember how at the beginning of the year I told you that you could never teach me anything worth knowing?”
“I try not to remember, but yes.”
“I just wanted to tell you that you have. You know, taught me things worth knowing.”
“Oh,” Draco’s heart might just suddenly explode. “Thank you.”
Draco Malfoy knows that the value of a person is dependent on what they can give to other people. And at the beginning of November, near the end of the year, Draco Malfoy had absolutely everything to give to Harry Potter.
End.
Title: Scenes from the Beginning to the End
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG13
Summary: Nobody expected Draco Malfoy to take on the tutoring of Harry Potter at the start of a new year in Hogwarts, but he does anyway… and he swears that it has nothing to do with Potter’s green eyes. Not everything can stay strictly business.
Total word count: 7,272
Original prompt request number: 76
First prompt at link
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: For sesheta_66 for a great prompt. I hope I didn’t take too many liberties with it.
Beta(s): Mary and Kristen
Scenes from the Beginning to the End
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco Malfoy can see three pairs of eyes boring into him. Slightly unnerved, he feels a slow, rolling prickle down his spine. Not that intense, spiteful glares are out of the ordinary or anything.
He turns his head slightly and briefly catches the expressions on the faces of the gawking, unmistakable trio-a combination of three consisting of a red-haired tower of freckles, a frizzy mass of hair, and Harry Potter (Draco can find no good, succinct phrase to describe Harry Potter).
Weasley (that’s the lanky ginger one) looks enraged and suspicious. Granger (that’s the one with the hair) looks confused and suspicious. Potter (that’s Harry) looks resigned and suspicious.
Three very different expressions, yet all the variations of their contorted faces involve staring at Draco.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs. He looks up at the ceiling and counts to three very quickly and very quietly. Then, he turns about ninety degrees and walk towards the company of three.
“Weasley. Granger,” he acknowledges politely. “Potter,” he leans forward just a little bit, “I look forward to working with you this year.”
They don’t say anything (maybe Potter was about to), so he just nods and then walks away. He still has that same unnerving, rolling prickle, because he knows without even turning around that they are still staring. He clenches a fist and just deals with it.
-------------
Despite the seemingly irreparable damage done during the final battle of the war at Hogwarts, the school still re-opened its doors. All students were invited back, including Draco, who had been startled but pleasantly surprised to receive the familiar looking letter bearing the Hogwarts emblem.
Students were to repeat their previous year, logic that Draco understood, but was still annoyed by. It was depressing to know that while some of his peers knew how to cast the Killing Curse, some of them didn’t know how to manage basic day-to-day spells. They were all too busy fighting a war to learn magic that would help them live normal, everyday lives. Or, he recollected, most of his peers had also been refused entry into Hogwarts the previous year.
That thought was also depressing.
It hadn’t occurred to him to be upset about such things a year ago.
Draco’s letter had mentioned that those who had been able to attend Hogwarts during the war were to help and tutor those who were behind.
At first, he was excited that he might be of use to his student peers. That he wouldn’t have to return to the wasteland that would be Slytherin House to cower behind books avoiding his classmates. That he could go back to Hogwarts and still be someone people needed.
The value of a person is dependent on what they can give to other people. At the end of the war, Draco Malfoy had nothing to give to anyone, including himself.
When September 1 rolled around, Draco had been both excited and reluctant to leave the Manor. With Father imprisoned, he didn’t want to leave his Mother alone. He thought of her by herself in that big old house with no one but the house-elves to talk to and felt a lurch of sickness.
But he couldn’t stay. He would be of no use to her if he locked himself away in the manor for the rest of his life, isolated from the rest of the world.
When he arrived at school, what he found most depressing was that Harry Potter was one of the students in need of tutoring. A boy who single-handedly won a war…but needed help with his Transfigurations?
It really depressed the hell out of him.
Such random thoughts easily upset him nowadays, and he spent the first few week of school feeling completely useless and resented. He kept to himself, ignoring his housemates and his classmates. He tried to ignore the struggling of his peers in simple spell work and immersed himself in his own studies.
The distance he pushed between him and every one else felt crushing more than liberating. He was suffocating in his own space.
Then, he decided to sign up to tutor Harry Potter.
-------------
It isn’t just Potter and his friends that stare at him ever since he volunteered to help with Potter’s studies. Everyone is staring. And all the stares involve a combination of suspicion and some other emotion.
He knows what they’re all wondering. Why? Why would Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater that cheated justice, want to help Harry Potter?
And to anyone else besides Draco, the answer might seem convoluted and complicated. To Draco, it’s very simple.
It’s atonement. And repayment of a debt.
And okay. There may have been a mere twist of complication. Draco swears it has nothing to do with Potter’s green eyes.
-------------
Today marks the start of his very first Hogwarts-officiated study session with Potter. Draco watches the clock, counting the soft ticks as the second hand moves around the face.
It has been over twenty minutes and Potter is nowhere in sight. Draco has exhausted any mental list of hypothetical excuses as to why Potter hasn’t shown up yet. Potter can’t find the room. Potter is locked in a mysterious cabinet. Potter lost his watch and doesn’t know the time.
And at almost half past seven, he admits to himself that Potter isn’t coming. No extenuating circumstance had kept Potter from coming. Potter had simply chosen not to show up.
Draco feels a rush of agitation. He grinds his teeth together until they begin to squeak. The sudden frustration he feels sinks past his stomach and straight to his toes until there’s an uncomfortable numbness in his body causing a sudden restlessness.
He needs to do something. Anything. Anything but just sit here staring at the clock. But there’s nothing to do. It’s not like he can storm Gryffindor Tower and smack Potter senseless with a textbook (although the idea is appealing).
Carding his fingers through his hair, he realizes he is helpless even when trying to help someone else.
It’s hopelessness.
-------------
Surprisingly, Potter shows up to the second study session. He doesn’t offer an explanation for his first absence, and Draco doesn’t ask.
He is annoyed by Potter’s dismissive attitude, but doesn’t say anything. He remains polite. Distant. Cool. He must remember that he did not come back to Hogwarts to instigate conflict. There is no reason to.
“Hello,” he says cordially, and moves his books aside to give Potter some space.
Potter slides silently into the empty seat, and taps his fingers idly on the desk.
Draco tries not to grind his teeth. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Potter flips open a book, and turns the pages aimlessly.
At a loss of what to say or how to start, Draco feels both awkward and hopeless again. In this quiet moment, he truly realizes the irreparable, damage of war upon his person. He blinks at this sudden epiphany and frowns down at the desk, One year ago, he would have kicked Potter in the shins and told him to fuck off. But, one year ago, he wouldn’t have even put himself in such a situation.
Potter clears his throat, “So are you going to teach me something or are you just going to waste my time?”
The flippant impatience bothers Draco, but he pushes it aside. Penitence is not supposed to be easy.
“I was just trying to think of where we ought to start. Is there a particular place?”
Potter narrows his eyes and seems to be thinking about something. He opens his book to a chapter, but closes it abruptly.
“Look, Malfoy. What the fuck are you playing at, signing up for this?”
Draco shrugs, “It’s something to do.”
“Really? Was it that boring down in the dungeons? Cut the bollocks,” Potter scoffs.
“It’s something I need to do.”
“Like what, if you help me get good marks, it’ll suddenly turn you into some Good Samaritan and make up for every shitty thing you’ve done in your lousy life?”
Draco blinks, “Something like that.”
Potter huffs, “You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy.”
“I do,” Draco replies quietly.
“Well, it’s not like you can teach me anything worth knowing anyway.”
Draco just picks up a book, “We’ll see.”
-------------
It’s very strictly just business at first.
Potter shows up. Draco regurgitates past lessons to him. Potter follows instructions and does flawless demonstrations of the spells and charms. Draco commends him on a job well done. Potter leaves with an ungrateful nod and scrape of the chair.
But, if Draco were to do a character study on Potter, he would conclude that Potter, by nature, is a curious sort. And the curious types never leave anything strictly business for long.
Potter’s questions come out of nowhere at first, and are what Draco categorizes as personal. Questions that would merit a ‘none-of-your-business’ response. Despite this, Draco answers anyway.
And he answers honestly. It feels almost like therapy, talking to Potter…an outpouring of his own thoughts that he hadn’t realized were there.
Surprisingly, when he starts asking Potter questions back, the ‘none-of-your-business’ type of questions, Potter answers them as well.
-------------
“Why did you come back to Hogwarts after the war?” Potter asks.
“There wasn’t anything else to do.”
“Right. That’s a lot of bollocks,” Potter scoffs. “Why would you want to come back here? You’ve pretty much learned all you needed to last year. And it’s not like you really have any real reason to come back.” Potter hesitates before bluntly stating, “No friends.”
“Ouch,” Draco mutters, stunned by Potter’s directness. “Well. It really beats staying at home all day.”
“It’s not like you’re doing anything here though.”
“I’m helping you aren’t I?”
“Are you? Just tutoring me on things that given enough time I could figure out on my own?”
“If you could figure it out on your own, you wouldn’t keep coming back here.”
Potter makes a quiet noise of assent at this. “So really, what does helping me do for you?”
“I thought we went over this at our first meeting,” Draco picks at his nails, not bored but wanting a distraction.
“Sort of, but again. I don’t really believe any of that.”
“Potter, it’ll be hard for us to have any kind of normal conversation if you aren’t going to believe a word I say.”
Potter smirks (Draco would like to note that this facial expression should be his trademark, not Potter's). “It’s hard for us to have any kind of normal conversation anyway, don’t you think?”
“Seems like you’re trying to right now though, doesn’t it?”
Potter thinks about this for a second. “I guess.” There’s another hesitation before Potter goes on to ask, “So is it difficult being back here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it hard?”
Draco just stares at Potter, a bit flabbergasted. “Hard and difficult are merely synonyms. I’m still not quite sure I get what you mean.”
“You don’t talk to anyone. All you do is write letters in the Great Hall. You look like shit most of the time. And I’m sure some of the bruises you have aren’t from your own clumsy nature.”
Potter has become a bit more astute than Draco remembers. Perhaps a year of camping and tracking vicious Dark Lords might do that to a person.
“I didn’t know you paid that much attention to my person,” Draco replies. He had not been aware that Potter had been doing his own character studies on Draco.
Potter just shrugs, “I just notice more things.”
“Not enough to do in the day?” Draco murmurs sarcastically.
“Guess not. I mean, my schedule is a bit more free now that no one needs me to save the world.”
Draco can’t tell if Potter’s tone is bitter or sarcastic. Or if perhaps such a phrase is Potter’s obtuse sense of humor.
It’s the latter, because Potter finally says, “That was supposed to be funny.”
Oh. Haha. Except that Draco finds it the complete opposite of humorous. It’s a bit sad that Potter has nothing to occupy his time but stare at Draco and notice all the stupid details of Draco’s life.
Potter looks awkward all of a sudden and scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. This puts Draco at ease again, because an awkward, blundering Potter is someone he is used to.
“You never answered my question,” Potter prods.
“Yes,” Draco hisses, because he’s realized and remembered that no matter how shrewd and detail-oriented Potter may have become, Potter is still an insensitive, socially inept idiot.
“Oh. Why?” Completely inept.
“Because of all those reasons you listed! Like the fact I have no one to talk to, except for my Mother, so yes, all I do is write letters to her, since she’s the only person that can stand my presence. And I walk around looking like shit and like the living dead, because I might as well be dead for all anyone else cares. And maybe things are in a bit of a rough patch right now, because I get the piss beat out of me once in a while by the younger students. And I just let that happen. Is that enough? Is that what the type of answer you wanted to hear?”
Draco feels breathless and lightheaded for a moment, and his face feels extremely hot. Not from anger though. He isn’t sure why he feels like he’s burning from the inside out.
Potter just blinks owlishly at Draco for several seconds, before replying, “So, if its so hard, why stay?”
And then its Draco’s turn for a completely unfunny stab at humor. He shrugs, “Character-building.”
And Potter just smiles a little and leaves it at that.
-------------
“Are you happy?” Draco asks once, right after they’re done doing a particularly difficult Transfigurations spell.
“Yes,” Potter says, looking quite proud and fond about his new pet fish (which used to be an inkpot by the way).
“Not about that thing,” Draco says, jabbing a finger at the fish. “In general.”
Potter frowns, “I should think so.”
“Think?” Draco fiddles with his books. “If you were happy, don’t you think you would know?”
Potter just continues on frowning, “What do you mean happy in general then?”
“With the way things turned out. The way things are now. With yourself.”
Potter scrunches up his face, as if Draco had just demanded an answer to the meaning of life. “I’m glad that the way things turned out the way they did. That Voldemort lost the war. I’m not sure how I feel yet about the way things are now, but I’m sure they’ll be okay. And I’m pretty okay with myself.”
“But are you happy?”
Potter purses his lips, “I guess I’m not sure yet. Are you?”
Draco picks up his books and stands, “No. I mean, I’m glad too that some things are the way they are, but no. I wouldn’t say I’m happy.”
“Are you happy with yourself?” Potter pulls on the back of his robes.
“Not yet,” Draco begins to walk away.
“When will you be?”
“I’m not sure,” Draco calls back over his shoulder.
-------------
Draco is watching Potter transform various household objects into other equally inane objects. It’s quite boring. He taps his fingers listlessly on the table.
“Potter,” he stops drumming his fingers just for a moment. “What did you end up doing this summer, when the war was over?”
“Nothing really. Helped rebuild Hogwarts. Hung out with Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. Moved on.”
“Hm,” Draco starts tapping his fingers again.
“What did you do?”
Draco quirks up the corner of his mouth. “Try to move on. The rest of the world hasn’t let me yet.”
Potter sets down his wand and seems to be studying the new cushion he’s created. “Maybe you haven’t let yourself.”
“And you have already?”
“It’s not really something anyone can ever forget. But you just try not to remember and sometimes when that works, everything is okay for a little while.”
And there isn’t really anything Draco can say to argue that.
-------------
Before he began his tutoring sessions with Potter, Draco would have nightmares. Well, they weren’t really nightmares per se, since he would have them when he was awake.
They were these quick flashes of memory, or rather, garish twists of memories, that would result in horrifying moments where Draco would lose his grip on reality and find himself clutching at the rough, stone walls of various, random corridors.
And sometimes, Draco would just let himself live through each one of these flashbacks, eyes squeezed shut, reliving painful moment by moment.
The Dark Lord cackling when he tortured Professor Burbage as she twitched on invisible strings. Fenrir Greyback transforming in front of his eyes and snarling as he tore across the Malfoy parlour. The unbearable heat of the Fiendfyre flames licking his feet as he feels his sweaty palms slipping away from Potter’s. His Father crumpled in defeat, head bowed low for the first time in Draco’s life.
And oh. It hurts. Draco often feels like the wind has been knocked out of him or that someone has pulled the ground out from beneath his feet and he’s falling and it’s never going to stop.
After he began his tutoring sessions with Potter, Draco began refusing his mind to stop it wandering back towards the past. He’d see the pale white face of the Dark Lord stretching across his mind, and he’d murmur Potions ingredients under his breath. His favorite dinner foods. Places he’d like to go.
He began to concentrate on the present. Sometimes the future. And he’d make himself believe that everything is okay.
Sometimes, he’d think of Potter’s face and murmur all the spells he’d taught Potter so far.
-------------
A quick character study of Harry Potter as done by Draco Malfoy.
Linearly focused. Difficult to distract when he’s got his mind set on something. As seen when Potter is learning a new Transfigurations spell and he’s staring so hard at the object that his eyes cross and a bead of sweat appears on his forehead. Or when Potter talks to Draco and his eyes seem to be boring straight into the back of Draco’s skull. This pin-pointedness may have something to with Potter’s Snitch-catching skills.
Stubborn. May be connected with the linear focus. But, won’t let go of an idea once he’s become accustomed to it. Or obsessed with it. As seen in the past when he’s arguing with Draco or putting a fist into Draco’s nose over one silly point or another. Or seen through the almost Hufflepuffish loyalty he has towards people he’s decided he likes.
Impulsive, reckless, brash. As seen in the past with rule-breaking or hot-headed plunges into the bowels of danger. More details on this can be seen through Potter’s actions in Tri-Wizard tournament as well as Battle of Hogwarts. Potter is the sort that acts first and then thinks later.
Transparent. Potter reads like an open children’s book. His emotions are always out on the table. He talks loudly, laughs loudly, does everything quite loudly. There are rarely any secrets when it comes to Harry Potter, no matter how hard he tries. Yet, why Potter still has a mysterious appeal completely eludes Draco.
Maybe because Draco’s constantly being surprised by Potter. There just seems to be something under the surface that’s almost impossible to figure out, like an itch Draco can’t quite reach.
If there were a character study done on Draco Malfoy, it may be the complete opposite of Harry Potter’s. Except for the stubbornness, because once Draco has his mind set on something, he doesn’t ever let go either.
-------------
It strikes Draco as ironic that the more he and Potter talk to one another, the more inane their topics get. Draco is beginning to find that he can talk to Potter about anything and everything, no holds barred and if he were forced to spend the rest of his life talking solely to Harry Potter alone, he might just be able to do it.
“If you could be anywhere but here where would it be?” Draco asks one day.
“Wherever my friends are,” Potter replies, and the sappiness of it would have made Draco gag, if the response hadn’t been so sentimentally Potter. “What about you?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“Pick somewhere,” Potter says.
Draco thinks for a moment. “Somewhere with a warm coastline. A beach.”
“That’s oddly both specific and vague,” Potter chuckles.
“I just want to go somewhere where I can just go float out in the water,” Draco murmurs, willing the flush away from his cheeks.
“Why?”
“Something about it just sounds weightless and free. And it would be refreshing just to immerse myself in water.”
“Like a merman?”
“No!”
“You know, I bet you’d just burn on a beach with all that sun,” Potter chortles. He lets out a loud laugh straight out of his belly. “You’d be a peeling merman just floating out there.”
“Oh, sod off.”
But Draco feels a bit smug that he’s made Potter laugh like that.
-------------
One night, Potter seems particularly fidgety.
“Merlin, could you stop moving? You’re making me nervous,” Draco huffs.
Potter quits jiggling his leg for only a second. “It’s nice outside,” he comments.
“Can you tell from in here?” Draco looks around at the windowless room.
“Well, I bet it would be nice,” Potter looks out the door wistfully.
Draco catches this, and feels a twinge of annoyance. “If you want to leave go ahead. For all you know, it could be freezing out there. Or raining.”
Potter grins, “I don’t think so.” And it pains Draco just a bit when he sees Potter begin to pack up his books.
Potter, in his current trend, surprises Draco. “Want to come with me?”
“Outside?”
“We could walk around the lake or something.” Of course Potter would be the outdoorsy type. The sort that just needs to roam around with his feet on fresh cut grass, breathing crisp autumn air.
Draco hardly hesitates. “Sure.”
As they walk through the main doors, Draco feels a light, cool breeze. The sky is clear, and the moon hangs large and bright overhead un-obscured by any clouds. Potter was right. It is very nice out.
“Aren’t you just the weather expert then,” Draco says, staring up and feeling the balmy, gentle winds against his face.
“An unknown talent of mine,” Potter smiles with his eyes closed, hands in his pockets.
“Oh really? Alert the Daily Prophet then. Harry Potter can correctly estimate the quality of outdoor weather from inside castle walls. Would Mister Potter like to comment on any other obscure talents of his?”
Potter laughs, and the sound is warming. “Did you know I’m quite handy with my feet?”
“What does that even mean?” Draco snorts.
“Sometimes, instead of using my hands to do things, I’ll use my feet.” Potter says, nonchalantly, as if he isn’t revealing something completely bizarre about himself.
“For what? Like eating? Brushing your teeth? What, are you a monkey?”
“No! Just to pick objects off the floor. Or if I’m reading in bed, I’ll flip pages with my feet.”
“That’s fucking weird, Potter.”
Potter hits Draco in the arm. “What about you then…as if I even have to ask. What are your weird quirks?”
“What makes you think I have them?”
Potter scoffs. “Malfoy, you’re one of the bloody weirdest people I know. And I bet that the quirks that aren’t glaringly obvious are probably bloody strange.”
Draco rolls his eyes, but thinks anyway. He has all sorts of weird obsessions and compulsions, such as the way he liked to organize the food on his plate, or color code his books with his notes…but those were all the kind of things that would be stupid to admit out loud. So, in his typical fashion, he admits something stupider instead.
“I don’t like hugs.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t like hugs!” Draco repeated foolishly.
“What?”
“Something from when I was little. I always hated hugging my mum from the front.”
Potter snickers, “Why?”
Draco shrugs. “It was intimidating.”
Potter just stares at Draco.
“Because. Of…her chest.” Draco realizes that this admission was sounding stupider and stupider by the second.
Potter bursts out into a loud, uproarious laugh. “You didn’t hug your mum because you were scared of her knockers?”
“I wasn’t scared. It just felt strange. And I just wouldn’t do it from the front.” Draco says defensively.
Potter continues to laugh, “Not only is that bizarre, that’s also a little gay of you. To sum it up, you’re almost like a queer merman.”
It’s Draco’s turn to hit Potter in the arm. “You’re the bloody queer one. With your foot fetish and all.”
Potter kicks Draco in retaliation. “Don’t let that delicate skin of yours bruise.”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco says, but he’s smiling as he says it.
-------------
The more Potter seems to like Draco, the more Granger and Weasley seem to hate Draco. At least, that’s what their cold expressions seem to be insinuating.
Sometimes, in the hallways, Potter will nod at Draco. Sometimes, he’ll even shoot Draco a small smile, as if they’re sharing a secret. When this happens, Granger and Weasley’s lips purse in identical thin, straight lines. Weasley’s face even turns as red as his hair and Granger will grip Weasley’s obnoxiously freckled arm a bit too tight.
They never have to say anything. Draco knows all too well that actions speak louder than words.
Aside from their tutorial sessions, he and Potter see each other everyday now. They’ll go for runs around the lake. Play one-on-one Quidditch and sometimes chess or Exploding Snap. Usually, they just sit somewhere and talk.
Potter tells Draco about what happened at the end of the war right before he defeated Voldemort: about the ghosts, Draco’s mother, and dying. Draco tells Potter what happened at the end of the war right after Potter defeated Voldemort: the trials, Father’s arrest, Mother’s breakdowns.
Potter tells Draco all the silly things he gets excited over: treacle tarts, first snows, and lumpy Weasley packages on Christmas. Draco tells Potter some of his most juvenile fears: the giant squid, Hagrid, and Muggle denims (they chafe!).
The most important thing Draco realizes is that while Potter could be spending all this extra time with his friends, Potter is choosing to spend all this extra time with him instead.
For all the things in his life that he’s ever fucked up, Draco thinks that he may be starting to do some things right.
-------------
In the middle of October, Draco doesn’t receive a letter from his Mother at breakfast. He doesn’t get one at lunch. Or anytime before dinner. Not even after.
It’s the first day in his life he hasn’t heard from his Mother. The entire day, every time he saw an owl, his heart damn near fell out of his chest.
He sends a frantic letter with his Eagle Owl to the manor, but it never returns.
Not until the next morning, with a copy of the Daily Prophet. It looks harmless from first glance of the cover. The only glaringly large headlines are about the Ministry’s current legislative plans. But, then the tiny text at the very bottom, forcing Draco to turn all the way to page 26, punches Draco in the throat and gut at the same time. It’s impossible to breathe and when Draco sees the headline at the back of the paper, it takes all his effort to not vomit all over the first year sitting next to him, trying to read over his shoulder.
So much for journalism ethics and for informing the relatives of the deceased first. Narcissa Malfoy has passed away. An event notable enough to make the twenty-sixth page of the Daily Prophet.
How else would Draco have possibly ever found out?
His mouth tastes bitter with salt, and he realizes its because he’s bitten too hard on his lip and blood is beginning to seep onto his tongue.
Or maybe he’s crying. He isn’t really sure. He sets (or throws) down the Daily Prophet to leave the Great Hall.
The grief and fury coalesce together inside of him, until he thinks he might just explode. Again, he feels that burning, like a Fiendfyre tearing apart his body from the inside out. A rush of energy fills him, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s running out towards the lake, hurling rocks at that stupid, slimy squid, screaming his heart out.
He screams and he screams until his throat burns and his voice is hoarse.
By the time he collapses against the muddy banks of the lake, wet patches of dirt and grime seeping through his robes, Potter is looming over him.
“Fuck off,” Draco rasps.
Potter sits down instead. Always keen to never listen, this one.
“Don’t you say you’re sorry,” Draco says, before Potter can get a chance to say anything at all. “It’s a useless word.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Oh really? And what wonderful things were you about to say that you think could possibly fix the fact that Mother is dead?”
“Actually, I was just going to sit here until you wanted to say something.” Potter rifles around in his pocket and pulls out something small, round, and yellow. “And see if you wanted one of these.”
“Is that a bloody lemon drop?” Draco hisses. “You’re so stupid.”
Potter looks sheepish. “Dumbledore left me jars and jars of them.”
“Thanks for saving the world, here are some lemon drops?”
Potter dangles one in Draco’s face. “They really do make you feel better. I think he put some Calming Draught or Cheering Charm on them. Maybe some Muggle herbal remedies.”
Draco snatches it, if only because the yellow color of the little ball is nauseating.
“Oh,” he exhales. He lies there in silence for a little bit, just listening to the rhythmic sounds of Potter’s breathing. He feels calmer. Airier. Cleaner. “The old man must have laced these with something.”
Potter pops one in his mouth too. “Probably.”
More quiet, until Draco thinks he might have floated away somehow. He touches the ground to make sure its still there.
“I knew before I saw the article,” Draco finally says. “She didn’t write to me yesterday.”
“I saw you constantly checking for mail. Your face was permanently glued to the ceiling all day.”
“Yeah, she wrote everyday, you know?”
“I know.”
“She was lonely.” Draco rubs at his face with a muddy hand. “I shouldn’t have left her alone in the manor all by herself.”
“You had to come back though,” Potter replies.
“I know. I just wish I had been there. She shouldn’t have been left alone. Especially with Father gone.”
“You know, they wrote that she passed peacefully. In her sleep.”
Draco draws his knees to his chest. “The Prophet’s full of shit.”
“Yeah, it is.”
He murmurs quietly, “I hope she was happy when she died. I just wanted her to be proud of me.”
Potter gives Draco a look of significant and poignant feeling. “I’m sure she was. Both those things.”
Draco sighs and tucks his hands behind his head, the back of his elbow tickled by Potter’s hair. Secretly, he thinks Mother died of a broken heart. She just missed the world and the way it used to be. But, he likes to think of her dying quietly, head full of good dreams.
He won’t think of her lying stiffly, body filled with nothing but vodka and pain.
-------------
On Halloween, there is a ball. As if the misery and pain of past memories could be eradicated by gaudy decorations, trendy music, and garish costumes.
Thank god, the Irish lush Finnegan had poured straight shots of something into the unnaturally orange pumpkin juice.
“I hate this,” Draco says, tugging at his sleeves.
“Me too,” Potter replies as he waves rather expressionlessly at a random, giggling fourth year Hufflepuff.
“What are you supposed to be anyway?”
“A Quidditch player.” Potter says.
“You’re wearing your school robes.” Draco responds.
“A Quidditch playing student,” Potter deadpans. “What about you?”
Draco looks down at his own school robes. “The same.” He eyes Finnegan spiking the juice even more.
“A drunk Quidditch playing student,” he amends as he begins walking over to the refreshment table. “Let’s get smashed. We’ll get cups and drink until we vomit on the Giant Squid.”
“Alcoholic,” Potter sighs as he trails after Draco.
“Whatever, Potter. You’re the one who gets his highs off of Dumbledore’s old lemon drops.” He pours them each a drink. “Cheers to getting embarrassingly drunk at an official Hogwarts event.”
“Because there’s nothing better to do,” Potter raises his glass and takes a big gulp.
“Right, unless you want to go have a dancing ménage-a-trois with your two friends over there.” He points to Granger and Weasley, doing a sickening mating display. “Ten galleon bet that she’ll put out tonight.”
Potter takes another huge swig of his drink. “You perverted arse. Those are my friends.”
“Who are getting extra benefits from one another.”
“You’re sick,” Potter groans and begins filling up another cup.
Three cups later, Potter has latched himself onto Draco’s arm and has started whining about the increasing temperature of the room, “Let’s just go outside.”
“You’ve said that five times now!” Draco rolls his eyes, more amused than annoyed.
“So let’s just go.”
“One more for the road,” Draco insists, pouring himself another cup.
They stumble into each other on their way out of the Great Hall, shoulders bumping, arms and legs tangling. They’re falling and laughing all over each other just to stay upright. Eventually, Potter pulls Draco flush against him.
“Just need some balance,” Potter says.
“Merlin, you’re already beginning to slur.” Draco slings an arm around Potter’s waist.
“You are too,” Potter grabs at one of Draco’s hands, pulling him in the direction of the lake.
“Oh great, we’re going towards an immense body of water. And in your state, you’re sure to drown the both of us.”
“You love the water,” Potter mumbles, teetering towards the shore.
“Do you think I can transfigure this lake into something alcoholic?” Draco wonders aloud.
“Or maybe Accio some of the pumpkin juice from the dance?” Potter suggests.
“Is that possible?” Draco asks.
“Dunno,” Potter is murmuring straight into Draco’s neck now, and its making Draco’s entire body flush.
“You’re hot,” Draco says, thinking he must be sweating just from the contact with Potter.
“Mm, you’re hot,” Potter says, nuzzling with his arms slung around Draco’s waist.
“Because you are getting your body heat all over me,” Draco groans. Yet, he’s clutching Potter just as hard, and Merlin. When did Potter’s face get so close?
There’s a tiny freckle on the right side of Potter’s nose and Draco just wants to flick his tongue out at it.
“You know,” Potter runs his fingers through Draco’s hair, and then down Draco’s back. “When you drink does it ever go straight to your cock?”
“What the hell does that mean? Vulgar fuck.” Draco swears his heart must be pounding a million times per hour.
“I just…whenever I drink, I need…” Potter grabs at Draco again, and they stumble around the muddy banks, hands all over each other trying to find some balance in the bumpy grounds.
“Potter. Stop it,” Draco hisses, but contradicts himself by pulling Potter right against him.
Apparently, Potter’s face was still incredibly close, because their lips seem to brush and while Draco mistakes this for an accident, Potter clumsily crushes their mouths together.
Draco slips his tongue into Potter’s mouth, and he swears it’s Finnegan’s stupid pumpkin juice making him act so ridiculously and irresponsibly. Yet, he can’t stop himself from entwining his legs with Potter’s and toppling them both into the ground until they’re rolling around in the reeds. He’s fisting his hands into Potter’s robes, and he’s moaning whenever he feels Potter’s knee wedged between his legs.
It’s no surprise that he’s left bewildered and panting when Potter suddenly pulls away.
“I have to go,” Potter stutters. “I’m exhausted. I need to go to bed.”
“What?” Draco is at a loss.
“I have to go!” Potter says again more vehemently and pushes away from the ground, zigzagging towards the school.
“What the fuck?” Draco slumps against the ground, feeling himself sink into the mud. If only the earth could just swallow him up.
-------------
Draco Malfoy is 90% head over heels for Harry Potter. Whenever he looks at Potter, he thinks of those chapped lips against his own and Potter’s rough hands all over him, grabbing and taking.
Yet, whenever he talks to Potter, neither of them ever mention the incident that Draco considers the pinnacle of his adult life so far. Potter pretends nothing ever happened. Draco pretends too.
“Do you even remember what happened last night?” Potter had asked as he complained about how much his head hurt.
“A little bit,” Draco had ventured.
“I don’t remember anything,” Potter had immediately said.
“I only remember drinking from that pumpkin juice bowl,” Draco had started, before Potter had nodded enthusiastically, loudly proclaiming that all he remembered from the ball was the pumpkin juice followed by his bed.
“Black out,” Potter had called it.
Draco had claimed the same, lying through his teeth.
Yet, he had walked away knowing that he was almost 100% in love with Harry Potter, and it was all for a list of completely inane reasons.
For starters, the piercing green eyes. In an otherwise drab and monochromatic world, there’s the dazzling shade of Potter’s eyes.
Next, there’s the intoxicating lure of Potter’s extreme personality. The thrill of immoderation as Potter throws himself towards life (or death, in sporadic acts of heroism). Potter’s optimistic excitement for the future even though he doesn’t even know what he’s doing anymore.
There’s Potter’s strong work ethic. How he’ll always get things done and follow through on his promises. Draco has had enough of unreliability.
It’s also all about how Potter keeps Draco guessing. Never a dull moment in the company of Harry Potter. Lately, in Draco’s company, Potter is always laughing, and his deep, echoing chuckles are contagious. Draco’s cheeks hurt from smiling all the time. And his eyes and heart hurt from watching Potter’s brilliant smile.
Potter also challenges Draco. Not just in things like Quidditch, but even in conversation as well. He keeps up with all of Draco’s subtle, insinuating remarks and humor. At the same time, he brings out Draco’s sense of competition. He’s overwhelmingly impressed by everything Potter has already done and the things Potter will do, yet being with Potter makes Draco think that he can still measure up.
This new development is all very terrifying and new. It’s as if Draco is just beginning to understand exactly how much Potter has come to mean to him.
He’ll never tell Potter any of this however. He’d rather get transfigured into a worm and pecked to death by owls than let Potter know how he really feels. Potter would run out of his life, leaving a gaping hole in Draco’s heart.
Harry Potter could be the best thing about Draco Malfoy.
-------------
It’s November in Scotland and it is cold outside. Draco tightens his scarf around his neck, and wraps his robes around him.
“It’s cold,” he states flatly.
“It’s crisp,” Potter insists.
“Cold,” Draco’s teeth chatter.
Potter takes off his own scarf and wraps it around Draco’s neck. “You know, the red and gold kind of washes out your complexion even more.”
“Well, thank you,” Draco replies, rolling his eyes.
“I can’t believe it’s almost winter now,” Potter takes a deep breath, and Draco’s lungs and throat freeze just watching Potter inhale.
“It’s only been two months since school started.”
“It feels like two incredibly long months that went by incredibly fast.”
“That makes so much sense,” Draco says sarcastically.
“You know what I’m trying to say,” Potter tugs at the end of one of Draco’s scarf, tightening the wool around his neck.
They’re standing by the lake yet again, and there’s already a flimsy film of ice over the water.
“Any outstanding moments from your last Hogwarts year so far?” Draco asks.
Potter tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Halloween Ball was really fun.”
Draco’s heart lodges into his throat for a second, and for that moment he almost can’t talk. “You don’t remember Halloween.”
“From what I remember, it was fun.” Potter clears his throat and plucks idly at the brown reeds around them.
They’re very quiet for some time.
“What about you?” Potter finally asks. “Any memorable moments for your final year at old Hogwarts?”
“Halloween was fun.” Draco says, voice cracking a little bit. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to admitting anything to Potter about his ‘feelings.’
“You don’t remember it either.” Potter says, a strange look on his face. This is one of the first times when Draco can’t read anything into Potter’s expression.
“Bits and pieces.”
“What did you end up doing after I left?” Potter asks, tone deceptively casual.
“You remember leaving?”
“We were outside.”
Draco turns to look right at Potter, heart threatening to fly out of his chest. “I thought you just remembered pumpkin juice and bed.”
“And a bit of in between,” Potter’s face is red, and Draco isn’t sure if it’s the wind or something else. “The in between is the fun part.”
Draco swallows. Potter smiles. (And bloody hell, it’s a good smile.)
Their arms are touching, and the entirety of Draco’s body is freezing cold, except for his arm. It might as well be on fire for how much his arm is suddenly burning. There’s a surge of adrenaline coursing throughout his body, and centering right there on his arm.
Potter’s mittened hand slips into Draco’s. This is also very terrifying and very new, and Draco just stands very still and very bewildered.
“Are you happy yet?” Potter asks.
“Yes,” Draco replies automatically.
“With everything?” Potter continues. “With the way things turned out. The way things are now. With yourself?”
“Yes. To all of it.” Draco says, surer of this than he’d ever been of anything else.
“Since when?”
Draco thinks for just a second. “Since now. Are you happy?”
“Yes,” Potter says, and Draco’s heart swells.
They begin walking back towards the castle, their hands still clasped together, with nothing but two layers of yarn and wool between the skin of their palms.
“Hey, Draco,” Potter begins, and Draco’s heart feels ten times too big for his body. “You remember how at the beginning of the year I told you that you could never teach me anything worth knowing?”
“I try not to remember, but yes.”
“I just wanted to tell you that you have. You know, taught me things worth knowing.”
“Oh,” Draco’s heart might just suddenly explode. “Thank you.”
Draco Malfoy knows that the value of a person is dependent on what they can give to other people. And at the beginning of November, near the end of the year, Draco Malfoy had absolutely everything to give to Harry Potter.
End.