Chapter Text
Draco just managed to slip out of Harry’s bed before the eighth-year Gryffindors returned to their dormitory. It was a painful separation, Harry nearly refusing to allow him to leave. He grasped Draco’s hand one last time, kissing his palm and then every one of his fingers, until Draco, laughing, managed to pull away. In the days that followed, they couldn’t stand to be apart. He almost couldn’t bring himself to care if people stared—they walked each other to their respective classes, dawdling in the corridors until the very last second; one night, at dinner, Harry strode over to the Slytherin table and sat himself right across from Draco. They discussed Thursday’s study session, keeping their expressions as neutral as possible, but Draco nearly slipped when he felt Harry’s foot brush against his.
He felt absolved, as though the build-up of shame and grief and suffering from the last four years was slowly being sloughed off his skin. When Daphne found him the morning after the party, nearly in tears and begging him to forgive her, he laughed.
“Forget it,” he said, snickering again at the look of shock on her face. “Tell me about the party. Tell me what I missed.”
Tuesday night, they met in the Room of Requirement for one of their practice sessions. By now, Harry was quite proficient at nonverbal magic. And anyway, he didn’t seem very keen on practicing—the moment the door closed behind them, Harry pushed Draco down onto the couch. He climbed into Draco’s lap and kissed him, sighing happily as Draco clasped his hands around his neck.
Reluctantly, Draco pulled away. “I need to ask you something.”
"Yeah?” Harry gave him a lopsided smile.
“Can you…” He felt himself blushing. “I don’t know how to cast a Patronus. A corporeal one. And I want to learn before the lesson on Thursday."
“What?” Harry smiled, feigning surprise. “Is Draco Malfoy asking me for help?”
He rolled his eyes. “I knew you’d be a prat.”
Harry laughed. “I’m only joking.” Turning serious, he sat back, running his hands down Draco’s chest. “Have you tried before?”
“Loads of times.” He shrugged. “You need a happy memory, right? And…I guess I don't have anything good enough.”
"Think of your mother, all the good parts of your childhood,” Harry suggested. “Think about that time you let a Dungbomb off in the Manor.”
Draco snorted. “I have. I’ve tried just about everything. I mean…I feel a bit stupid, to be honest.”
“Why?”
“It feels awful, telling you I can’t think of a happy enough memory when at least I had my parents. But you…” He trailed off.
Harry held Draco’s chin and turned his face up so that their eyes met. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to feel bad. We’ll work on it.”
Harry rose to his feet and took out his wand. “Right…a Patronus. You already know the theory, of course.” Draco nodded. “We just need to think of a happy enough memory.” Harry gave him a wry smile and said, “We could make one up now, if you like.”
Draco shook his head, smirking. “It’s like I said before—you're absolutely insatiable.”
Harry grinned at him and then looked down at his wand thoughtfully. “I’ve used a couple of different memories…my first time riding a broomstick, for example. But sometimes, it didn't even have to be a memory. I would just think of stuff that made me happy. One time, I thought about Umbridge being sacked.” Draco laughed. “Sometimes I’ve just thought about Ron and Hermione.”
"Really?” Draco blinked at him in surprise. “So…it just has to be a happy thought, then.”
Harry shrugged. “I guess so. Just…something that would make you happy.”
Before Draco could help himself, he thought of the possibility of his father going away—somewhere. Anywhere. He imagined a life without having to worry about his father. And, although it was more painful to admit, he felt a small surge of hope when he allowed himself to consider, just for a moment, a life where he wouldn’t have to worry about his mother, either. Agitated, he stood up from the sofa. “I can’t. Everything I think of…it isn’t right.”
“You’re allowed to be happy, you know.”
Draco didn’t know what to say. That sharp, crushing panic was starting to seep back in. Catching the look on his face, Harry reached out and held his hand. “Relax. It’s okay.”
“Yeah.” He tried to shake off the tension in his shoulders, but he couldn’t.
Harry took him into his arms. “It doesn’t have to be some big, elaborate memory, you know? I bet if I just thought of kissing you, I could produce a Patronus. Easily.”
“You’re so soppy, Potter,” Draco sneered.
"It’s you who brings it out in me,” he insisted. “Go on. Just try it. I’m right here.”
Draco drew out his wand, steeling himself. He glanced over at Harry, who gave him an encouraging smile. “Expecto Patronum!” As he had come to expect, a silvery cloud shot from the tip of his wand.
“Alright. Try again.”
Draco could feel himself getting frustrated. He had practiced conjuring a Patronus a hundred times already. At the hopeful look on Harry’s face, he pushed down his irritation. He thought back to the moment a few nights ago when Harry had kissed him on his bed. “Expecto Patronum!” The clouds were less wispy, he thought.
“You’ll get there.” Harry grasped his shoulder. “You’ll get there.”
***
Draco had finally started to sleep at night. There were still nightmares, of course. Some were clearer than others. He often dreamed about the Manor: scenes of his parents fighting, the Death Eaters duelling, the Dark Lord’s cruel eyes. Other times, his dreams were hazy, blurred, filled with screams and terrible gasps of pain that he couldn’t quite identify. And yet, despite these nightmares, Draco still managed to sleep for a few hours. It was a first for him. He was furious, then, when someone shook him awake.
“What? Harry?” Draco sat up in his bed, heart racing. It was so dark that he couldn’t make out the figure hovering over him.
“What? Why the hell would Harry Potter be in here?” His heart sunk—it was Pansy.
“What do you want?” he hissed. “You’ll wake everyone up.”
“Then keep your voice down!”
"Get out of here!”
“No!” she whispered fiercely, grabbing his wrist. “I need you to come with me. Now.”
“What for?”
“Just follow me!”
Draco wanted to push her away and fall back asleep, but he was terrified that her shrill whispers would wake up the others. Exasperated, he threw back the sheets, stuffed his slippers onto his feet, and then climbed out of bed.
“Hurry up!”
“I can’t just go out in my nightclothes,” Draco said, scandalized. He tip-toed over to the wardrobe and pulled the door open as quietly as he could manage. The door gave a sharp creak and he froze as someone—Nott, he suspected—coughed. After waiting a few moments, he reached in, fumbled through his robes, and found a cloak. He thought of the vial, locked safely away, but he knew that opening his trunk would definitely wake the others. As he grabbed Pansy’s elbow and led her out of the dormitory, he hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.
"Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?” Draco demanded as they made it safely to the common room.
“I will, I will,” Pansy said, hurrying across the room. “Just come with me.”
“We’re going out?” he asked, stopping short. “It’s…” He checked his wristwatch. “Pansy, it’s four in the morning.”
“I’m aware of what time it is!” she snapped. “Would you please just come with me?”
Draco scowled at her and gave an irritable huff, but he followed her all the same. The dungeons were freezing. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked miserably, wrapping his cloak tighter around his frame.
“I’m fine.” Looking over, Draco realized that Pansy was dressed in her everyday robes.
“Were you not sleeping?” he asked. She rolled her eyes and refused to respond.
Finally, they stopped in front of the Potions classroom. Pansy tapped the door once, muttered something Draco couldn’t hear, and then pushed her way through. Instantly, a bitter smell hit him. The room was filled with thick, green smoke. Covering his mouth and nose with his cloak, Draco took a cautious step forward. As he looked around, he noticed several upturned cauldrons on the floor.
“What happened?” he asked.
Pansy threw herself into a chair. “I’ve stuffed everything up.”
“Alright.” Knowing he needed to proceed with caution, Draco followed her into the room. “I’m sure…I’m sure it isn’t that bad.”
“Slughorn asked me to brew some Skele-Gro, for the Hospital Wing,” she said, gesturing towards the cauldrons. “Blaise has been horrible. I can’t stand working with him anymore. I told him to just leave it to me, that I could manage. But I've been so bogged down with homework that I ran out of time. So I told myself I would do it tonight, and then no one would be around to bother me, you know? And it was going alright, until…” She gave a sharp wail. “I don’t know what's happened!”
“Alright, alright,” he muttered, terrified in the face of her tears. “What’s the last thing you did before...it went wrong?”
She shrugged, sniffling. “I can’t remember. I think I added the ingredients in the wrong order. Or maybe I heated up the cauldrons too quickly. I’ve been getting a lot better at brewing Potions so I figured, you know, I would do a few batches at once.”
“And when is this due?”
“Noon today,” she squeaked fearfully.
Draco gave a dull sigh. “Brilliant.” He approached the cauldrons cautiously. “Where’s the potion?”
“It all went up in smoke!” she cried. “The cauldrons just burst, and there was smoke everywhere! I could hardly even breathe.”
Draco took out his wand and, slowing tracing a pattern, started to suck the fumes out of the air. “Have you got the recipe?”
“Here.” She pulled a folded piece of parchment from within her cloak and passed it to him. As Draco held his wand aloft with one hand, he used the other to set the parchment down onto the desk and spread it open. After a moment, he said, “This isn’t too difficult. How much do you need?”
“About three cauldrons’ worth.”
"Yeah. Alright.” The smoke was mostly gone. Finally, his eyes had stopped burning, and he felt as though he could breathe again. “Why don’t you get to work on the beetles, and I’ll shred up the cabbage.”
Pansy made a face. “Oh, can’t you do the beetles?” she whined. “They creep me out.”
“Fine.” As Pansy headed into the store cupboard, Draco levitated the cauldrons back up onto the table. He was re-reading the recipe when Pansy came out, arms full of ingredients.
“I think there’s just enough puffer-fish,” she said. “So we’ll have to be careful.”
“We will be.”
Draco set to work counting out scarab beetles while Pansy sharpened her knife. “I diced it quite fine, before,” she said. “You think that’s alright?”
He shrugged. “Just do a rough chop.”
They worked in silence for a while, Draco trying to suppress his yawns as he crushed the beetles with a pestle. His thoughts drifted to Harry, who surely must still be asleep in his bed…his bed, where he had kissed Draco senseless. Mortified, Draco realized that he was getting hard. Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat and said conversationally, “I don’t know why you’re so upset. Slughorn’s not that bad.”
“Can you imagine the look on Blaise’s face if he found out?” she said irritably. Draco hummed in agreement; she had a point. “And anyway…” Pansy hesitated, glancing up at him. In a wobbly voice, she said, “Slughorn is doing me a bit of a favour over the holidays. And I didn’t want to spoil everything.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
Lips pursed, Pansy became very absorbed in slicing the last few bits of cabbage. Finally, she said, “You remember I told you about St. Mungo’s? And how you can get a job brewing remedies for the patients there?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I didn’t have the grades to sit my N.E.W.T.s in Potions,” she said. “But I told Slughorn what I was thinking. And he knows a few people on the Board of Directors.”
Draco scoffed. “Of course he does.”
“I was so excited…finally, I have some options, you know? And then I go and ruin everything.”
"I can’t see why you’re being so dramatic,” he said, grounding up the last of the beetles. “You made a mistake. It happens.”
“I just don’t want to waste the opportunity,” she said in a small voice.
“You won’t. We’ll have this done in no time,” he said bracingly. “How does that puffer-fish need to be cut?”
As far as potions went, Skele-Gro was quite simple to prepare. They filled the cauldrons with tepid water, and then Draco instructed Pansy to gently slide the ingredients off the cutting board and into each cauldron as he stirred clockwise. She was about to bring them to the boil when Draco stopped her—“No, look, you need to wait ten minutes.”
“That must be what I did wrong,” she moaned. “God, I’m so stupid.”
“You’re fine.” Draco checked his wristwatch. “We’ll wait until six-thirty-five, then.”
“Is that the time?” she gasped, horrified. “I’m sorry, Draco. You must be exhausted.”
“Not really.”
As they waited, Pansy pulled her hair into a neat plait. “So how was the party, then?” she asked.
Draco felt a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He needed to get a hold of himself. “Oh, fine,” he said idly, pretending to look into the cauldrons to avoid her gaze. “I only went for Daphne, you know.”
“Oh, God. Her and Thomas. Was it awful?”
“What? No.” Draco looked over at her, confused. “Why?”
“They were all over each other at the Three Broomsticks,” she said, face twisting with disgust. “She didn’t even warn us, either. He met us there and next thing you know, they’re snogging right in front of us.”
Draco tried to tell himself that Pansy was only commenting on their public display of affection. Acting as though he couldn’t hear her, he started to tidy up their workspace.
“Did you know his siblings are all Muggles?” she went on. “I understand why they let them in. Honestly, I do. But they’re just so different, you know? It’s not fair to them, really. They weren’t raised like us. They don’t understand our world.”
Bristling, he muttered, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“I don’t dislike him,” she said quickly. “But it’s…weird. What can they honestly have in common?”
“It’s not like they’re getting married tomorrow.”
“I know that! I know. It’s just…weird.”
Although Draco didn't want to fight with her, he couldn’t help but snap, “It’s not really your business, anyway.”
“What?” she asked him, stricken. “I-I know that. I’m just…saying.”
“Well, let it go. There’s nothing wrong with Dean Thomas.”
“Are you…?” She scowled. “Are you alright?"
“Fine,” he growled, scrubbing aggressively at a spot on the worktable.
“All I’m saying is that there are so few pure-bloods left,” she sighed. “And Daphne’s one of them. Her parents will be furious if they find out.”
“And who cares, Pansy?” he nearly shouted. He threw down his rag in disgust. “Who really gives a fuck? Her parents will be angry, so what? She’s of age, isn’t she? Let them be angry.”
“I think you’re tired,” Pansy said tersely. “You should go back to bed.”
Fuming, he replied, “I’m not tired. I’m fed up with all this.” Realizing that he could just clean the spot with a Scouring Charm, Draco took out his wand, but he was too shaken to manage it. It terrified him to be fighting with Pansy like this—he hated conflict, hated arguments, hated disagreeing with one of his only friends. But now that he had started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “You think anyone really cares about the Sacred Twenty-Eight?”
“Lots of people do!” she shot back.
"Well, they shouldn’t.”
“Your parents will!”
“And my parents are a couple of idiots,” he said shortly. “None of that shit matters anymore. It never did.”
“You are unbelievable,” she spat. “You’ve spent years going on about Mudbloods. It’s all you’d ever talk about. You practically forced me to agree with you, to see things your way. And now you act like you’re so much better than all of us.”
“I was wrong. At least I can admit it.”
"This is so stupid. I don’t know why we’re arguing.” Draco said nothing. “We’re just curious, that’s all. We were surprised. Alright? It’s going to take us a bit of time to get used it. Theo, he—”
“Don’t you bring him up,” Draco warned her. “You can tell he still believes in all of it.”
“You’ve got the Mark!” she shouted, jumping to her feet and pointing to his arm. “You were a Death Eater, weren’t you? And Theo never was!”
“That—I—”
“No! You can’t! You can’t just fucking forget who you were, Draco. Who you are. I know you’re trying to distance yourself from everything, to give yourself some sort of chance at a half-decent job, but you’re a hypocrite. You’re a liar.”
They glared at each other. With a terse tap of his wand, Draco finally Scoured the spot off the wooden table. He checked his wristwatch. “It’s been ten minutes. Bring it to a boil, simmer for twenty minutes, and then take it off the heat. Here.” He shoved the recipe into her hands and stormed out of the classroom, the shocked look on her face haunting him long after he crawled back into bed.