Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
- 23
- 24
- 25
A/N: SO. MUCH. FLUFF! Be prepared!
Also, I feel like I have to add: at one point in this chapter, Harry says something which may seem like it's disregarding the reality of an abusive situation. Please don't hate me for it; I don't stand by such sentiments and, really, neither does Harry.
Enjoy!

Chapter 23: So Imperfectly Perfect
Draco stared numbly at the flickering flames spluttering in the Slytherin common room fireplace. They had died down markedly in the hours he had spent motionless before them, unmoving since secreting himself in the dungeons. At seven o'clock they would be magically invigorated again, he knew, but for now the fringe of deep red crackled just faintly.
The room was empty, even though it was not yet six o'clock. It took Draco a moment to realise why. Of course, dinner. The usually swarm would descend at five-thirty, leaving the dormitories a ghost town in their wake. Draco was glad for the resulting silence. It gave him headspace to think.
It was better than Pansy's incessant nagging, anyway. She had been a whirlwind of questions since that morning. Since…
He cringed at the memory, hearing once more the wavering cry, seeing the face paled to a deathly pallor and eyes spread wide behind his glasses. Harry never shouted, never lost his temper. Was never angry with Draco. And yet…
What the hell have I done?
Groaning, Draco thumped his head back on the back of the sofa, closing his eyes and touching his fingers to his brow. He was thankful that the common room was empty too in that it meant no one could see him commit such an act so disconsolate. Not that he particularly cared at the moment. Since his parents… since the incident, he had only recalled some of his prior commitment to societal expectations. They seemed remarkably less important now.
Which was probably a good thing, really, for had he been as severely dismayed by public displays of emotion, half of the students of Hogwarts bearing witness to his argument with Harry would have floored him. As it was, he had simply stared at the stairwell, in the direction of Harry's flight and bathing in the magic whiplash of something. He'd barely noticed the curious faces peering through the doors of the Great Hall. It was only when Blaise and Pansy, followed closely by Hermione, Neville and Ron, sidled across the emptiness of the Entrance Hall that he even noticed he had an audience.
"Draco? Where's Harry?"
It was Hermione's voice, he noted distantly, but he didn't turn to acknowledge her question. Didn't open his mouth to reply. He simply stared at the path of Harry's disappearance. His anger, his frustration, had died and been replaced by a thick numbness as though he'd been wrapped in a woolen cloud. A stifling, overheated woolen cloud.
Hermione didn't seem to need a reply, however. From his periphery, he saw her follow the trail of his eyes and up the stairs. A moment later, she was striding along Harry's footsteps. Neville and Ron shared a glance before following in her wake.
When they had disappeared up the distant stairwell, Pansy slowly and deliberately planted herself in Draco's immediate vision. Though she effectively cut off his line of sight to the shadow of Harry's retreat, Draco couldn't tear his eyes away.
"Draco, what happened?"
Her voice was low, yet there was an urgency to it that finally drew Draco's attention. Blinking rapidly, he met his friend's worried gaze. A glance over her shoulder to Blaise showed his other friend staring pointedly at the crowd of curious onlookers at the doors to the Great Hall. Half of them ducked their heads abashedly. The other half, however, did not.
Draco swallowed. He tried to speak, but couldn't. Pansy, seemingly understanding his muteness, met Blaise's eyes over Draco's shoulder and jerked her head in the opposite direction to that which the Gryffindors had taken. As a pair, they ushered Draco into the nearest empty classroom.
As soon as Blaise closed the door, Pansy whirled towards Draco. "What in Morgana's name were you thinking?!"
Her voice was whip-crack sharp, almost painful to his ears. Draco winced, easing himself into a lean against the nearest desk. Pansy always invoked Morgana when she was especially angered. It didn't bode well for his pride or his back, both of which would likely receive a thorough flaying. Not that he didn't deserve it at least partially. He swallowed again, an attempt to rid his tongue of its dryness. It didn't help.
Pansy didn't seem to care. She had begun a tirade. "Of all the things to say. Everyone knows you don't talk about Harry's family. Everyone. And you went and yelled it across the Entrance Hall as though it were the next big story for the Daily Prophet. Do you have any idea how stupid you are?"
She seemed to honestly be awaiting an answer. Draco sighed heavily, wiping a hand across his forehead, and managed a croak. "I… I do. I was really stupid."
"Yes. You were."
"I shouldn't have said what I said –"
"No, you shouldn't."
"I was just so angry. I wish I could take it back."
"Well, you can't." Pansy folded her arms across her chest, her face a blank, cool mask that was more intimidating than any scowl could ever be. She had progressed far from the sneers of teenager-hood and was rapidly becoming a force to be reckoned with as a young woman. She'll go far in the political world, Draco thought absently, before pulling his mind from the passing thought. The numbness had begun to defrost, leaving an ominous horror in its wake.
What had he done?
He had breached the one topic that they were never supposed to discuss. Pansy was right. It went without saying that Harry's past was a taboo subject. And Draco of all people knew exactly why.
Pansy apparently rightly took his silence for self-reflection. Harrumphing in satisfaction, she took a step closer to Draco. "You need to go and find him. And you need to apologise."
Coolness spread through Draco's gut. Apologise? He never rightly apologized for anything. Not really. It was something that Draco knew to be a personal flaw, one he'd once seen as a benefit to his character but had since reassessed in terms of advantageousness, but he simply did not do it. And on top of that, the thought of confronting Harry… It sent chills down his spine.
"Pansy, I don't think –"
"Oh, you bloody well will, Draco Malfoy, if I have to drag you by the ear." And from the expression on Pansy's face, about ten degrees colder again than it had been, Draco believed her.
He swallowed past the continuing dryness in his throat. "But what could I say?"
Apparently satisfied that he was accepting the inevitable, Pansy took a step backwards. Draco was grateful for the distance. It seemed less likely that she would be able to eat him alive. Or at least not in one bite. "For starters, go and find him. You've never had a fight before so we don't know how he'll respond. For all we know, Harry could go on a killing rampage."
Blaise snorted from where he'd been all but forgotten beside the door. "In what universe would Harry ever go on a killing rampage?"
"Quiet, you." Pansy shushed him with a wave of her hand before tucking it back to fold at her chest. She didn't even spare Blaise a glance. "Go and find him, and confess that you're a foolhardy idiot who speaks before he thinks. That you didn't mean to hurt him and that you're simply jealous."
"Jealous?" Draco blinked at her, uncomprehending.
Blaise snickered, drawing Draco's eyes. "Are you serious? You can't be so oblivious."
"I said quiet, you." Pansy glared at him fiercely enough to make him cringe, cowed. It was almost laughable to consider how besotted they really where with one another and how well they actually worked as a couple. Thoughts of their relationship evaporated from Draco's mind a moment later, however, when Pansy turned her attention back towards him. "Yes, jealous. Obviously, you feel that meeting someone who may become important to him will take Harry away from you."
Draco didn't realise his jaw had dropped open until he noticed Pansy staring pointedly at his chin. He clicked it shut with a snap. "I don't know what you heard from within the Great Hall, but that –"
"Is entirely accurate, actually." Blaise stepped up behind Pansy, dropping his chin onto her head. It was a sign of how far the pair had come that she only cast him another half-hearted glare. "We could hear everything pretty well, actually. 'What about me? Am I not good enough for you?'"
"I never said-"
"Yes, Draco, you did." Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, somehow managing to stare down her nose even though she stood a full head shorter "And it's true. You'd know it too, if you actually thought about it."
So Draco did. At length, and under the watchful eye of Pansy and Blaise. Inevitably, the conclusions he reached were in favour of his friends' reasoning. Jealous? He'd never really been jealous before. Rarely even envious. What he wanted his parents generally gave him. He'd only come to recognise in recent years that such constant supplementing of his desires probably made him a bit spoilt. A bit.
But jealous? He'd never really had cause to be jealous of anyone before. The concept was rather foreign to him. But then, the feeling that coiled like a wound spring in his chest was equally foreign. It was very possible. Even probable.
I really am jealous?
He didn't realise he'd spoken aloud until Blaise sighed in relief. "Ah, he's seen the light!"
Pansy nodded, shaking Blaise's head from her crown as she did so. "So, now you know what to do about it?"
Draco didn't really know. He didn't have a clue of how to approach jealousy. He did know that he should follow Pansy's other suggestion, however. Nodding to himself, hesitantly at first then with increased vigor, he pushed off the desk and started towards the door. It didn't quite have time to swing shut to silence Blaise's words: "remind me again how they aren't together yet?"
At another time, he would have started back towards his two best friends and heatedly denied any suppositions on their parts. But in that moment he had a runaway to track down. He began his search.
Only to find, three hours later, that when Harry wanted to be hidden he was bloody well good at it. He'd missed his morning classes, and skipped lunch in aimless wandering, to no avail. It was only nearly an hour after classes had concluded at the end of the day, when a panting Neville raced up to him with a hideously ragged piece of folded parchment clutched in his hand, that he made any headway at all
"Where the hell have you been all day? You never sit still long enough for someone to find you!" Neville panted heavily, chest heaving and glared at the Slytherin.
Draco, strung to his wits end, glared back with equal fervor. "I've been looking all over the castle. Where do you think I've been?"
"Well, you could have asked me. Ron, Hermione and I found Harry this morning."
Draco could have torn his hair out in frustration. "What? Where?"
"In the astronomy tower. He wouldn't open the door to speak to us, so we eventually had to leave for class." Neville sighed, shaking his head. "He wouldn't even speak to us, mate. I think he's pretty angry still. Who'd have thought?"
Draco wasn't listening. He already spun on his heel, striding in the direction of the tallest tower.
"He's already gone, though!"
Jolting to a stop, Draco glanced over his shoulder at Neville still rooted to the spot behind him. "What? Where's he gone?"
"To Dumbledore's office." Neville shrugged, turning his gaze towards his feet as though suddenly awkward. "I guess he's going to go and meet Sirius."
Draco was frozen. That feeling – jealousy – welled within him once more, but he crushed it down. He opened his mouth to speak, yet no words spilled forth.
Neville fiddled idly with the parchment between his fingers, folding and unfolding the various layers. The parchment was so worn it didn't make a sound as it crinkled along the folds. "Look, Draco, Sirius isn't that bad. From what I know of him, from when I've met him, he's a pretty top bloke, you know?"
A scowl curled Draco's lip before he could help himself. "Even after Azkaban? Oh, jolly good." The words rung snide and cold.
Neville nodded fervently in reply, completely overlooking Draco's sarcasm. "Yeah, really. I mean, he might be a bit odd at times, but I think he's got his heart set in the right place."
Unable to withstand the feeble attempts at consolidation, Draco turned sharply from the Gryffindor and started down the corridor. Neville called something after him, but his thoughts grumbled too loudly for him to make it out.
Bloody Black. I swear, if he so much as looks at Harry the wrong way, even thinks about hurting him, I'll…
Hurting him. Draco had done that. The thought slowed his steps into a weary slump, winding down to a halt. He stared blankly at the floor of the corridor for what must have been longer than he realised, for it was only when a passer-by spoke to him that he raised his head.
"Malfoy? Do you need something?"
He thought the girl's name was Soleil. Mary Soleil, fourth year. Pretty sure, anyway; at least he thought it was her who always painted her eyelids blue. Not that he cared to be perfectly honest. She could have been a three-foot yellow-bellied gnome for all it concerned him. He simply shook his head, glancing around him – ah, he'd wandered to the Slytherin dungeons – and within moments had placed himself firmly before the common room fire and scowled away any housemates that dared sit within a five foot radius.
Thus his current status.
Now that he knew where Harry was, Draco was unsure of how to proceed. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, and throughout the afternoon he had come to realise how vitally important it was that he didn't. The possibility that he may have, somehow, irreversibly butchered their friendship with a few careless words spoken in the heat of the moment was almost too painful to consider. In such a short time, Harry had become so important to him. Draco could hardly conceive his life without him.
So caught up in his own thoughts was he that he didn't even register the gradual return of most of his housemates. The faint buzz of chatter rung in his ears mutedly, but he paid it no heed. It was only when a figure stepped directly into his blank field of vision that he blinked into awareness.
"You missed dinner. You should probably head down to the kitchens, have the house elves cook you up something." Blaise spoke with uncharacteristic quietness, almost wariness, and completely lacking of his normal jovial tone.
Draco tilted his head up towards his friend slowly. The jumble of words gradually made meaning in his head. Nodding slowly, he eased to his feet.
"And maybe go and see Harry, too." Draco paused in his step, stilled. Blaise continued as though his hadn't noticed, turning towards the fireplace. "Neville said he'd just parted with Black when we were leaving the Great Hall. I don't know how he knows, but, well." The Italian boy shrugged, turned from the fire and eased around Draco in his immobility to slip into his vacated seat. The smile he directed towards him was muted, but encouraging. It was disconcerting that Blaise of all people would be so serious.
Swallowing down a sudden assault of nervousness, Draco nodded once more and started towards the door. Younger housemates dodged neatly from his path as he moved, but he barely spared them a thought. He just caught the tail end of Blaise's "…remember to eat something!" before the door swung closed behind him.
The walk to Harry's rooms was both too long and far too short. His feet seemed to draw him on an endless route, yet quite suddenly and without realising how he'd gotten there he found himself outside the plain blackwood door with a hand raised. Not the kitchens, he realised. Of course his feet would set him on the path that left him feeling nearly frantic enough to scratch gauges into his cheeks.
In a flash of memory, he was transported back to several weeks ago – was it only weeks? – when he had been in a similar position. It seems that I'm making a habit of saying the wrong thing. And subsequently apologizing. The realization of existing precedent did nothing to dispel his uneasiness, however. If anything, it made it worse.
His knuckles rapped the door before he told them to. There was silence for a few moments – was that too long? Should he knock again? – until with the click of a lock and the squeak of the doorknob, the door swung half open.
It was dark inside; no fire lit the fireplace, and only the dim flicker of a candle or two stretched its feeble light into the corridor. Harry stood half hidden behind the door, fingers grasping the hardwood at chest height in something of a wary embrace. His head was slightly bowed, fringe loosened from his braid, and he stared at Draco with quiet regard.
He was in his jeans and jumper still, Draco realised detachedly. Harry was always one to dress down as soon as he was closeted in his room for the night. The added clue of the absent fire suggested he'd only just returned. A rumble in Draco chest as the thought – Sirius Bloody Black – rippling through his mind was quashed only with difficulty.
The silence that stretched between them was sickening. Harry didn't speak. Not that Draco expected him to. The time Harry willingly and consistently began to initiate awkward conversations, or any conversation for that matter, was the day Muggles realised pigs could fly.
Which meant it would be Draco's role to break into that awkwardness.
He cleared his throat quietly. "May I come in?"
For a moment, Draco thought Harry might actually turn him away. He didn't know what he'd do if it came to that. But after a long pause of contemplation, Harry bowed his head in a single nod and fully opened the door, pressing himself into the wall to make room for Draco's entrance. He followed as the Draco made his way into the sitting room. Funny, how despite having been there only that morning, the tension between himself and Harry suddenly made the room less familiar, less welcoming. Or perhaps that was simply the absence of the fire.
Gesturing towards the half-burnt log in the grate, Draco turned to Harry with a questioning raise of his eyebrow. Harry shrugged and nodded. His skills with elemental magic were sporadic at best. Draco hadn't seen him conjure a fire save for one instance – in that horrible Defense lesson months before – and that was hardly a conscious effort; quite literally, for Harry had not really been conscious at the time. Which was probably why it wasn't lit in the first place.
Drawing his wand, Draco muttered a near silent "Ignisio". The room flared to light in a wash of orange and no, even that light didn't serve to make him feel any more welcomed.
Harry had lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, eyes fixed upon the rug before the fireplace as though trying to count each individual thread. His face was horribly blank, nearly as expressionless as when Draco had first met him. The continued silence did nothing to help Draco's nerves; rather, it sent them haywire. He desperately wished Harry would say something, just so Draco could get a reading on what was going through his head. And how to approach the subject at hand.
After a rapid mental debate over whether to ask Harry if his welcome into the room extended to occupying the seat beside him, Draco bit down on his worries and eased himself into the seat. Harry didn't even glance in his direction.
Which meant it was up to Draco to attempt to start the conversation. He knew he shouldn't be, but it irked him that he was the one that had to try. Though, however he looked at it, their current awkwardness was his fault. Even if Harry should open up more-
No. That was wrong. He shouldn't have to. They were his secrets, his pain to try to deal with. When Harry felt comfortable enough to talk about it, he would. Until then…
"Harry, I, um…" Draco firmed his jaw and deliberately turned towards his friend. "Harry, I came to apologise."
"I know."
Those simple words, even quieter than normal, abruptly cut Draco off. His hastily compiled speech was rendered useless. "You know?"
"Yeah. And I don't think you really should. Apologise, I mean."
Unsure of how to respond, Draco fell silent. Which was difficult. When he was uncertain, it was a reflex response for him to simply let his tongue take over and by-pass his brain with the most appropriate response it deemed fit. Such a method usually worked out for the best. But for whatever reason, Draco felt that such an approach wouldn't be received quite so favourably in this instance.
Harry drew a deep breath and with what appeared to be a physical effort turned towards Draco. "What you said this morning, Draco. It hurt me." He paused, teeth clamping into his lip and his fingers drifting towards his collarbone. Draco wanted desperately to grasp those fingers, to halt them in their passage towards the self-mutilation that he'd come to recognize as being Harry's nervous response, but didn't. He was scared Harry would simply flinch from his attempt. "But… I've thought about it a lot today. Or mostly tonight, I guess. I… I overreacted."
It wasn't the direction Draco had expected their conversation to take, that was for sure. Stoic silence was far more likely, or perhaps even a revisit of the morning's anger. He winced from the unwelcome memory, thrusting it aside. His mind finally jolted into action enough to speak. "No, I don't think you- "
"I did. I overreacted. I've never been upset like that before. I've never been angry like that." Harry closed his eyes momentarily, as though flinching from the recollection. As he opened them, they met Draco's. The dancing of the fire left a yellow-white reflection on his glasses. "You took me by surprise, and I think I got scared. I've never really had to think about my past before, to really consider it, and you made me – "
"Which I shouldn't have," Draco blurted out. "Harry, I'm sorry. I was foolish, and I didn't mean what I said."
"Didn't you?" Harry sounded more curious than accusatory. "Do you want me to talk to you about my uncle? And about my past? Do you care who I spend time with, Draco?"
Draco's mouth hung open for a moment. He struggled to clamp his lips shut to no avail, swallowing tightly. "I… I do care." Pansy's words reverberated in his mind. "I do want to know. I want to know more about you, not for any particular reason, but just because I want to know. And I guess I was," he squeezed his own eyes closed in a mimic of Harry's motion, "jealous at the thought that you might be more willing to share that with someone else than me."
Peeling his eyes open slowly, he met Harry's once more. The curiosity remained, embedded in thoughtfulness. "Why would you be jealous? Just because I spend time with other people doesn't mean I'd want to be friends with you any less."
"I know that." Draco heard the shortness of his words, the sharpness of his tone, but couldn't hold it back. "But I was still jealous. You didn't overreact. I did. I know I did. I think even at the time I realised I was being irrational."
"But why…?"
Draco sighed heavily. "Because I like you."
Silence rung like a resounding bell in the air. Draco peered at Harry through his lashes, watched his face shift subtly through emotions that were too obscured by shadow to properly discern. His fingers played across his collar, not scratching thankfully, but simply tapping in something of a rhythm. "I know that, Draco."
"No, I mean…" Draco clicked his tongue in frustration. "Not like a friend. More like… love?"
It was terribly embarrassing. Draco rarely became embarrassed or bashful, but in that moment he wished he could bury his head under the coffee table. He could only pray that his cheeks weren't flushing. Such a telltale sign of awkwardness would be unacceptable. He hadn't felt like this with Pansy, or that brief stint with Daphne Greengrass in fifth year that was so short and shallow as to be nearly non-existent. His feeling, even disregarding his embarrassment, were so much deeper; he almost drowned in their depths.
Harry stared at him for a moment. Surprisingly, no shock registered on his face. A small smile upturned the corners of his mouth. It looked faintly sad. "Like as a boyfriend?"
"Yes." He wasn't blushing, please don't let him be blushing. How had it come to this? He'd come to apologise, hadn't he? And it had turned into a bloody confession –
"Yeah, I know that too."
The comet-like speed of Draco's thoughts ground to a halt. "What?"
Harry shrugged, dropping his eyes to his lap. The fingers of his right hand begun to scratch idly at his neck and Draco had to lock his fingers together to prevent himself from reaching for them. "I mean, I sort of had an idea that you maybe felt… With when you kissed me, just before term started. But I thought, since then, that you probably didn't feel- "
"Wait, what? When I kissed you?"
Harry glanced up at him with large eyes, almost warily. "The night after Pansy's party. I'm assuming that's what it was."
Draco could have sunken through the chair in mortification. He knew! Harry knew, and he remembered, and dear God, he hadn't been asleep – at least not fully – because he remembered… How could the situation have gotten to such a state? He wasn't sure if he didn't prefer Harry yelling at him.
"I just figured that, maybe afterwards, since you didn't say anything… If maybe you thought it was…."
Resolutely ignoring the almost painful burning in his cheeks, Draco firmed his shoulders and pushed through his roiling thoughts. Only gradually did Harry's words filter into his ears. "What? Think what?"
The delicate picking of Harry's fingers had become a deliberate scratching. Draco fought hard to keep his stare from the faint marks he could just see above the neck of Harry's collar. "Draco, look, I understand you want to know about my past. But I'm under no allusions. It's dirty, and ugly, and… I didn't really understand for a long time my own situation. No one ever really told me about it until I was in school, and even then it always felt like they were talking about other people. With my uncle, what happened at my uncle's house…"
He trailed off, teeth worrying at his lip with an intensity equal to his scratches. Draco, breathless in listening to Harry's words, found his eyes couldn't move from Harry's fingers. He hated it, hated how they seemed to want nothing more than to rip skin from bone.
"When I came to the realization that what my uncle was doing was… was really wrong… I didn't want anyone to know. Don't want them to know. I don't want them to see that side of me, to see what happened. There were a few times when I think some people suspected that what went on at my uncle's home was different. Was wrong. There was a lady who used to live across the road… and then just before I met Dumbledore last year, before I came to Hogwarts." Harry paused, swallowing thickly as though his throat pained him. Draco couldn't blink, frozen by the words and the steady motions of Harry's fingers. "Mr. Martinoff… he seemed to honestly know. The questions he asked, they terrified me that someone would suspect, no, that they would know something. I freaked out, and my magic just sort of overflowed. I've always tried to hide it, to keep it locked away… I've tried not to really think about it…"
Dragging his gaze to Harry's face, Draco's faint breaths caught. Tears glistened in his friend's eyes, sending the reflection of yellows into small starbursts of light. He wasn't looking at Draco any more but at something to the side of his head, into the distance. Draco's own tongue seemed as stilled as his mind. He couldn't fathom what words to say; not a single one in his vast vocabulary seemed appropriate.
"I don't know, even though I know what he did was wrong, I still… It's still my fault that it even happened, so- "
"What?" Finally, Draco found his voice. Tightness seized his chest in a grasp fiercer than jealousy, more powerful even than anger. He recognised it as the swollen face of the feeling he'd felt not two months before, when he'd visited Stephen Defaux's house in Paris. "Your fault? How is what that… that man did to you possibly your fault?"
Harry was shaking his head, chin trembling. "I was the one who chose to live with him. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia… I-I hated it at their house. Or I guess I hated it; it…it was really hard there, really, really... Anywhere would have been better than there. But when I was eleven and my letter came, and then Hagrid and McGonagall and Dumbledore all tried to convince me to come to Hogwarts, but Uncle Vernon said that if I refused that he'd let me live with Uncle Stephen, and I didn't know what to do, but anywhere was better than there, and if I came to Hogwarts then I'd still have to go back there, and…'
The words spilled out in a torrent of babbles, nearly incomprehensible. Before Harry could finish, the trembling of his chin spread throughout his entire body, the tears springing from his eyes. With heart-wrenching sobs that shook his entire frame, the slight boy dissolved into sobs. Not his hands that rose to cover his face nor back hunching to curl in upon himself could hide the drops that poured down his cheeks.
Draco was rendered speechless, and not only because of the overload of information that had fallen into his lap. In that moment, he couldn't have cursed himself more; for not being more supportive, for attempting to pry the smothered knowledge of his friend's past from its hidden cache. For letting those years of his childhood even happen in the first place. It was irrational, a small part of him knew, but the tearing in his chest as the sight of Harry folded in upon himself in misery spared no thought for it. Draco had seen him cry a number of times over the Christmas break, but each time he seemed horribly embarrassed by the experience and dismissed it as tiredness, quickly collecting himself once more.
Draco knew it was more than tiredness. From what he'd deduced of Harry's past from his mother's scant words, if anyone had a reason to cry it was Harry. Yet now, even worse than that, he understood. Realised that Stephen Defaux wasn't the half of it. That there was more. And that a significant proportion Harry seemed to accept as his due because he'd 'chosen it'.
The argument of the morning seemed so meaningless in the face of such a reality. Thrusting aside any lingering awkwardness, Draco reached across the chair and pulled Harry into his arms. His friend was sobbing so heavily that he shook Draco in his seat with each gasp. Pressing Harry's head into his shoulder, he wrapped tight arms around his back and crushed him in an embrace for all he was worth. Within moments the shoulder of his robes was a sodden mess. Draco found that he couldn't care less.
It didn't matter. Their argument didn't matter. The meeting with Black didn't matter. Hell, even his confession but moments before didn't matter. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear any more of Harry's past, not if it hurt him so much to tell it, to relive it. It was a foreign experience, but for the first time in his life Draco wished only to support his friend as he poured out his grief. To offer support like Harry had supported him when he was floored by his father's death, by his mother's torture.
He wanted it so badly it almost hurt.
The room warmed gradually with the steady warmth emitting from the fireplace. Or perhaps it was the warmth of their embrace. They remained in each other's arms for what could have been hours. Draco found he didn't care to spare a thought for the passing of time. He could have sat there for days if Harry needed it. Eventually, however, the sobs quieted to soft huffs and finally sniffles. Neither of them made to shift from each other's hold, however. It was simply too comfortable.
Finally, the silence was broken. Surprisingly, it was Harry who felt the need to speak first, something that Draco realized only with mild curiosity as he turned the full weight of his attention onto his friend. Harry's voice was thick, the French in his accent more pronounced in the aftermath of his tears. "I feel… dirty. Not all the time, just… a lot of the time. Mostly I can ignore it, but when people touch me…" He shifted as though struck by an itch, and Draco thought for a sad moment that he would draw away. He stilled a moment later, however. "I don't know why it is, but it's different with you. I don't feel like you're going to pull away from me stained, because I don't… think you could be stained. So when you kissed me I thought… but then you didn't say anything, and I was worried you'd hate me, that maybe you wouldn't want to even be my friend anymore- "
"Stop." Draco tightened his arms unconsciously. The warmth that had flooded through him at Harry's words, 'it's different with you', was smothered by those that followed. "You thought I didn't… like it? What, that I didn't want to kiss you again because I I thought you were dirty?"
Harry didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The heavy, resigned weight of his forehead on Draco's shoulder said it all. An upwelling of anger rippled through Draco; not at Harry, and not even at himself. He just felt angered by the situation itself. "Harry, you're not dirty."
"You don't unders-"
"No, maybe not, but as an outside observer, let me tell you this: you are not dirty." Pulling away from Harry barely a handful of inches, he slipped his hands up to grasp the sides of his head, holding it still to meet his eyes. They were wide and reddened, as red as his cheeks, and his lashes clung together in spikes that nearly brushed the lenses of his glasses, but Draco barely noticed. "The only reason I didn't say anything was because… I thought you wouldn't want me to."
Harry stared at him silently. His eyes flickered between Draco's searchingly. A swirl of tears pooled within them once more, but he blinked rapidly and they disappeared. "Why wouldn't I want you to?"
Sighing heavily, Draco dropped his head onto Harry's shoulder in an exchange of the positions they'd previously held. He felt his body sag into Harry, and Harry let it. They rested easily, coiled around one another as they were. Draco didn't really know how it had happened, but during the course of their swift embrace Harry had slumped half in his lap, one of Draco's legs hefted in the couch to somehow manage to wrap around him. It felt remarkably natural for such an unnatural position. "I knew about your uncle. Defaux. Or at least, I knew a little bit. And what with how you don't like people touching you…"
"But you're different."
Draco laughed harshly. "Yeah, I know that. Merlin, do I know that. But still, something like kissing?" He turned his head slightly so that he could just peer at Harry's profile from where his head still propped on his shoulder. "After what's happened to you? What that man did to you?"
Harry flinched at the reference, at perhaps a memory, but recovered with only an expression of confusion. "What has that to do with you?"
"I just meant with kissing. Or with any sort of, well, intimacy." It was coming out wrong, Draco knew, but his tongue felt heavy and unwieldy in his mouth. For once it seemed incapable of handling itself. "How could you not feel uncomfortable with that?"
The confusion on Harry's face persisted for moments longer. He sniffed slightly, brushing aside the last of his tears. A frown gradually settled upon his brow, puzzlement settling in, until suddenly comprehension dawned. "You thought I wouldn't want you to because it would be like… him?"
Draco hesitated but eventually nodded, turning to bury his head into Harry's shoulder once more. And nearly fell off the side of the seat when a hand cuffed his ear suddenly. It was gentle but he still started up abruptly, blinking into the frown of annoyance upon Harry's face. It was such an abrupt turnabout to his sorrowful expression moments before, the grief that had left Harry a trembling mess, that Draco considered he could have been another person entirely simply wearing a glamour. Harry was pretty good at those.
"Why on earth would you think that I would consider you anything like him?"
Mouth opening and closing mutely, Draco struggled once more to find his words. "It's a natural response. The only realistic response, for someone whose been through- "
"Please don't tell me what I've been through, Draco. I'm fairly sure I experienced it differently to how you obviously think." Harry held up a hand to forestall further argument and pinned Draco with a hard stare. It was uncanny, the change of character. But then, Harry had always seemed able to bounce back from just about anything with admirable speed. Draco wasn't sure how healthy it was just to dust the long minutes of heartbroken crying under the rug, but chose to overlook it for now. The force of Harry's words very well demanded it. "What, you think that being with you, that kissing you, would just make me think of him?"
Shrugging, Draco dropped his eyes to the fist Harry curled in his lap. He couldn't deny the question, because it was true. How could a victim of abuse, of rape – he nearly flinched at the thought, the first time he had acknowledged it for what it was – possibly see something even remotely intimate as being anything but repulsive?
Harry's puff of a sigh drew his attention. "You're not my uncle, Draco."
"I bloody well hope not- "
"Please stop talking." Draco did. "I mean that I doubt anything that ever happens between us could remind me of him. Because I don't think that you could ever be anything like him, even if you wanted to be."
Fighting to make sense of his thoughts, Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Even with that, I wouldn't want to push you."
"I don't see it as 'pushing me'."
"Maybe not, but even suggesting as much- "
"Would you rather I suggested it?" Harry cocked his head, regarding Draco flatly.
Swallowing, Draco licked his lips. "I can't imagine you ever initiating something like a physical relationship." It was perhaps a little blunt, but true nonetheless. Harry would never… Well, there was the hugging, but that was different. The Hero Complex thing; his mother had said so.
Harry finally seemed to deflate some of his annoyance. Raising a hand he rubbed absently at his collar. Without thought, Draco reached up and grasped his fingers, wordlessly dropped their linked fingers to his lap. Harry started at the motion confusedly, as though he hadn't realised he'd even lifted his hand, but a moment later gave a small, grateful smile nonetheless. "You're right, I probably wouldn't. I've never been particularly good with people."
"How do you mean?"
He shrugged. "It's not like I've been hated or bullied or anything. No more than the next loner, I suppose. But I was never really in the position to be receptive to friendships. When I lived with my aunt and uncle, there was my cousin who basically forced me into isolation; he didn't like it when I tried to make friends. On top of that, I moved between schools so often because they worried that if I stayed in one place for too long that people would notice I was 'different'.
"Then after that, in Paris," Harry shrugged again. "People always look at the new kid like a shiny new toy, but after a while the excitement dies down and you just turn into another piece of furniture. Just… there. I don't know, maybe I do drive people away. Maybe I'm just unapproachable. I can't imagine I'm that easy to talk to a lot of the time." He smiled ruefully, a smile that fell moments later into a frown. "To be honest, I don't even know why anyone at Hogwarts would want to be my friend. I don't even know why you are."
Staring down at their clasped hands, Draco stroked a finger over the knuckles of each of Harry's fingers. He knew why; both his desire to be around Harry simply to be around him as well as his mother's explanation. His thoughts seeped absently through his lips. "Mother said something about that. That your magic was probably unconsciously reaching out to people and drawing them to you. That it wouldn't effect Muggles because they're not sensitive enough to recognise it." He snorted derisively. Foolish Muggles. How much they missed.
"It's… magical?"
It was the horror in Harry's near whisper that caused Draco to look up and meet his gaze. The pain suddenly writ across his face immediately alerted him to the error of his words. "No! No, I mean, yes, the magic drew people to you but- "
"So I'm forcing people to like me?" Harry looked positively mortified. His shoulder hunched up nearly to his ears and his face was wrinkled into an image of hurt. In a spasm he tried to jerk his hand from Draco's.
Draco locked his fingers tightly. "No. That is not what I meant. Just listen to me." He caught and held Harry's eyes, blown even wide once more in the midst of his horror, and held them as firmly as he held his hand. "My mother explained it to me. That your magic, it's not making people like you. It's simply drawing you to the attention of fellow magic-users. Sort of like a beacon is how I understand it. And people that respond to it, they're just as likely to be your enemy as your friend."
The tension in Harry's shoulders held for a moment longer before gradually easing. His brow remained furrowed, however, his expression wary. "Are you sure? How would you know that? How does something like that even happen?"
Shrugging one shoulder, Draco loosened his iron hold on Harry's fingers. "Just like any accidental magic, I suppose. And how does anyone know anything about magic? I guess it's happened before."
"But how do you know?"
"Mother knows about everything. I trust what she says. Don't you?"
Once more, the bluntness was probably a little harsh, but Draco didn't care. Besides it was short and to the point and Harry usually responded well to both approaches. It appeared he did this time too, for after a pause for consideration he nodded slowly. "Al…right. I suppose."
"Don't take your friendships so lightly, Harry," Draco murmured, hearing his mother's words as his own. "They're real, and something so real can't be fabricated with magic. Only cheap copies are built like that."
The small, wavering smile that spread across Harry's face was like the first rays of sunshine through a cloudy sky. He dropped his chin, but not to hide his expression as he usually did. Draco watched as he deliberately cupped their interlocked fingers in his remaining hand. "Thanks, Draco."
It was a spur of the moment thought, but Draco felt that, for whatever reason, now was the right time to voice it. "Harry, you know I really do love you." And because it was true: "I think I always will."
There was no embarrassment this time. Somewhere over the course of the last half-hour, Draco seemed to have grown past such feelings of immaturity. What could possibly have been so embarrassing about speaking the honest truth?
Harry raised his eyes slowly. The stare he gave Draco was blank at first, before it slowly began to morph into one of wonder and disbelief. "You mean actual love?"
Nodding forcibly, Draco leant forward slightly until their foreheads just softly touched. The slight coolness to Harry's face felt almost damp to the touch. "I really do. I love everything about you, even when you annoy me." He smirked at the soft snort Harry gave in reply. "I do. Really. Because if it's you who does them, then they're not as annoying even by half." His smile widened. "And just so you know, when I kissed you, I really meant it. And if given the choice, I'd do it again in a heartbeat, even if it meant that it would only ever be that one time." The words spilled forth fluidly, without a hitch. With the same ease that he so often found himself with words.
The wonder and surprise on Harry's face was simply beautiful to behold. It made light of Draco's words before, when he had so easily accepted his confession, but Draco didn't care. Right now, it seemed that he was entirely aware of the full meaning of Draco's statement. Taking an audible breath, he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, a smile so wide, wider and brighter than any Draco had ever seen before, lit up his face.
"I love you too. Always."
There was no hesitation. Perhaps he should have asked; it would have been right, given the circumstances. Harry had just been crying on Draco's shoulder over his memories, the abuse of his past, and was likely emotionally exhausted and in no fit state to properly receive such an outpouring of emotions.
But Draco couldn't help himself. Leaning forwards, with measured haste, he cupped Harry's face in his hands and gently eased their lips together. It was a kiss of softness, of tenderness, of nervous affection, but with all the sincerity he could muster.
And when Harry responded in kind, the world could have fallen of its axis for all he knew. He would not have cared a wit.
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The Masks of Real Heroes