Draco's PoV

I found myself in annoyingly high spirits for the next while. I couldn't even force myself to glare at Weasley with the appropriate haughtiness as I passed him on the way out of the library in the early evening. I settled for a stoic look, because of course, Malfoys must remind those around them who's boss - regardless of one's own emotions at that point in time. 

I was almost smiling to myself more than once - unprompted.

Potter, Potter, Potter, what are you doing to me? What is this irritating disease you've inflicted upon me? It boiled deep in my bones like the moulded remnants of hope long forgotten.

It was quite unnatural. However, it seemed that way with most things associated with Potter. It was continually unnerving how much he could affect me. Damn the Golden Boy, with his oh-so-perfect body.

My good mood lasted through the taunts and whispered murmurs of those around me that had become a persistently biting mantra. Their cutting words were knives across my skin, yet they hurt a little less than usual, all because bloody Potter had graced me with a snippet of his time. How I hated these conflicting emotions. Malfoys didn't feel any more than was necessary, let alone allow others to hold influence over those feelings.

Regardless, it still took more restraint than I would have liked to force myself to stay put and absorb their scathing words. Malfoys don't run away. Malfoys don't fall to the inferior masses.

Fighting one mantra with another. I loathed that my mind flew to the strength of my surname even still.

It was more proof that I didn't deserve to be a Malfoy. I wasn't as strong as Lucius, as my mother, as any of them. I was a downright disgrace to myself and all who knew me.

The Malfoy name was all I had ever had, and even it didn't want anything to do with me.

Then again...

Potter seemed annoyingly dead-set on being friends - for reasons I couldn't quite comprehend the motive behind. That single thought, that for whatever cruel reason he'd decided to take an interest in my life, was almost comforting through the snide remarks thrown over my head.

I'd spent the remainder of the day in an extra Potions class with Blaise and Pansy, going over the expectations for the essays due throughout the week. They didn't sound overly difficult, but it wasn't the worst way to spend a Saturday afternoon, so I was more than happy to attend.

After the class, I headed up to the dorms quickly and dropped my books and bag on my bed. My heart was tight in my chest, and each breath felt as if it was wrapped in sandpaper. It seemed the drain of the day was catching up with me. Oh goody. Just in time for the first of the three Potions essays I'd selected from the offered ten. At least Potions was thought provoking. Perhaps it would serve to distract me from the rest of my pathetic thoughts.

I conjured myself a cup of tea, with no sugar and only the slightest dash of milk. It was how Aunt Bellatrix had liked her tea. It was one of the few things I'd learned from her that I hadn't blocked from my mind.

I sat for the better part of an hour reading through the specifications for the first essay and designing a thorough draft. It was on the identification of usable and expired antidotes, and which antidotes worked best for which compounds. It was interesting; more than engaging enough to keep my mind off of other matters.

The first essay was easy enough to write once I actually drew my focus to the subject. It was only once it was finished, the parchment tucked away till Monday and the other essay prompts lined up on my side table, that I let my mind wander and my body relax.

I had at least another hour until I was due to meet Pansy and Blaise. If there was one thing I'd learned over the past few years, it was how to effectively stay out of sight. I'd perfected the art at the manor, when the Dark Lord had been searching for torture subjects, but it had first become useful back when Dumbledore's death was being planned.

What a time that had been.

And just to think, I had expected that to be the worst part of the Dark Lord's return.

I interlocked my fingers across my stomach and closed my eyes, letting the agonising sense of deep-rooted hopelessness settle into my bones. It was a familiar feeling by that point, one I was fairly certain had stayed snared within me ever since I'd overheard my parents discussing my standing in the family following the day I'd decided to take the risk of coming out to them. I could still feel the hot burning embers of a dozen crucios across my skin, the beginnings of the nicks in my arms from the worrying of my nails. At the time I'd simply lain still, tears pouring down my cheeks, lacking the strength to do anything more than breathe.

I was brought back to the present by the sound of shuffling outside the dorm, and then of the door opening and footsteps scuffling through the room.

"Malfoy."

"Potter." I sighed, the manor fading around me.

He walked with all the grace of a drunken gryphon across the room and to his own bunk. There was the creak of the trunk at the base of his bed opening, then rummaging as he searched through it.

"There's no way you were writing essays on a Saturday night!" Potter exclaimed after a few blissful seconds of silence.

I cracked open one eye, seeing his shocked gesture towards the papers I'd left out. "I'll have you know I quite like Potions essays, and unlike some illiterate types such as yourself, I don't see stringing more than two syllables together to be a task." I snarked, shooting him a look of amused disdain.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He continued to shuffle through the trunk, eventually closing the lid and heading back to the door.

I heard him pause, just before the door, "D'you fancy joining us for Exploding Snap?" He asked, then adding, "there'll be snacks and stuff too, if you're interested?"

No Potter. I want you to leave me alone.

"Potter, you alone are only occasionally tolerable. Add Weasel into the mix and I'd have more fun trying to wax a giant. Leave me be." You don't know how hard it is to be near you.

I had said I'd try accepting his "let's be friends" proposal. Calling Potter 'occasionally tolerable' was about as close to that as he would verbally get from me.

Through one half opened eye, I could see he viewed my comment in the same light. The play of emotion across his perfect features as he tried to decide whether to push the issue further was quite adorable.

"Oh come on, Malfoy! One game! What else have you got to do today?"

Stay away from you, Potter. Stop making this more difficult than it already is. Stop forcing me to drop my guard before we both regret it.

"Plenty of things, I'll have you know. None are any business of yours."

He shrugged defeatedly, "Whatever Malfoy. See you later then." The door clicked closed behind him.

If I had it my way, I'd be seeing you in my bed later. Even the thought of that made my skin crawl with a mixture of pining and disgust. Potter could have anyone he wanted, and even if he had been interested in men, I was sure to be the bottom of his list. It was nothing short of insane to imagine otherwise, I had to get that into my slow, soupish brain.

I pressed the palms of my hands to my eyes till they hurt. The more I spoke to him, the more I had realised how difficult it would be to retain my mask even slightly. All the more reason to avoid him for today. After quidditch, I'd been all too tempted to throw myself at him and offer him everything I had to offer.

Oh, wouldn't that have been grand?

Disgraced ex-deatheater Draco Malfoy rejected by Saviour of the Wizarding world. I hardly needed to offer the other students anything else to throw in my face. The looming curse of my sexuality was a matter much better kept secret.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. My head spun for a couple of seconds, multicoloured stars dancing before my eyes. It seemed dodging the Great Hall over the last day or so had caught up with me - not that it mattered much. My body had endured worse already.

A few seconds later, the dizziness cleared and I headed out of the room, ignoring the chattering conversation from across the common room, blocking out as best I could the cough-disguised sneer of "death-eater scum" from a passing Gryffindor.

I continued through the castle and out into the grounds, eventually coming to the usual meeting point at the base of a slim-trunked tree. It sat with a clear view of the lake, but beneath the shadow of larger trees and part of the castle wall nearby. Neither of my friends had arrived yet, but then, I was considerably early. I sat down at the base of the tree, letting the cool night air wash over me.

A faint burning ignited along my arms after a few minutes more; the charms peeling back once more, exposing the true damage I'd inflicted upon my skin. I inspected what little of my arms I could see in the moonlight. Had it been lighter, I might've attempted the glamour spell, but as I had to ensure nothing was missed, that would be a bad idea. The last thing I wanted was someone like Potter asking questions. He'd already found out too much. I folded my arms across my chest and let my eyes close.

I hadn't realised I was tired, until I was shaken awake by Blaise as he sat down off to my left on the grass, Pansy sitting to his other side.

"Sleeping on the grass, Draco? I hadn't realised you had lost all sanity." Despite his sarcasm, Blaise shoved a fork and a container that smelled incredible into my hands as he spoke. He didn't give an explanation for it, and neither did I offer thanks.

"If you would have happened to show up on time for once, maybe I would've been in better spirits to greet you." I replied tartly.

I opened the container, the smell of meat and spices and roasted vegetables enough to make my mouth water. My stomach growled, which I found incredibly insulting. It only proved my predictability. I stabbed the fork into the container and then slowly chewed a slice of roast potato soaked in a spiced gravy. I didn't really want to admit how much I'd needed this, how desperately I'd wanted to avoid the Great Hall.

Malfoys aren't vulnerable or weak. Malfoys don't reveal their insecurities, regardless of audience.

The sky had darkened considerably since I'd fallen asleep, now a dark purple with a very faint haze of clouds. I restrained myself from devouring the container's contents as ravenously as I wanted to. I may have been hungry, but I still retained manners.

"So what's it like sharing a room with Potter?" Pansy asked, the shit-eating grin on her face matched by Blaise's.

"It's about as insufferable as you'd expect it to be, he's-"

"Fucked him yet?" She cut me off.

I glared at her with all the venom I could muster. "How dare you Pansy! I -"

"Not answered the question," she butted in again, her voice irritatingly sing-song.

"Of course not! Why would you even ask such a thing?"

"Because we're the ones who've had to listen to you whine about pretty-boy Potter for the last 6 years!" Blaise added, producing three glasses and a bottle of dark red wine from the bag beside him. He handed the glasses out and poured each to around halfway.

"Shove off, Blaise. It's no more taxing than Pansy's obsession with that know-it-all Granger." I swirled the wine in my glass and took a sip. It was sharp yet sweet, as if it had been aged for a while.

Pansy raised her glass, "If nothing else, at least I'll admit I bring Granger up a lot. It took you far too long to even admit you fancied Potter. Over a handshake, Draco, a handshake."

It took me a lot of restraint to refrain from throwing my wine over her face, or configuring her into something more fitting of such comments - perhaps a corn-snake.

"Oh please, Pansy. As if you haven't fancied the robes off of Granger since she outsmarted you in Third year History of Magic." Blaise filled his glass again, leaning back to gleam at Pansy.

I was thankful for the diversion, but unfortunately it was short-lived.

"Still didn't pretend she was my - what was it you used to call Potter? Your 'arch-nemesis'?"

Blaise burst into laughter, "I'd forgot about that! Buckbeak goes for his arm, but still, Potter is the worst possible threat you faced?"

I swallowed the remains of my wine, fuming quietly, "I won't take this, I hate you both."

"Kinda like how you hate Potter then, yes?"

As much as both Pansy and Blaise do have a knack for irritating me, I ended up staying out with them until the early hours of the morning.

I crept back up to the seventh year dorms and slid into the room I shared with Potter. I could hear him breathing as I closed the door softly behind me; quick and short and sharp. It didn't sound like he was asleep.

I hurried into the bathroom to reapply the glamour spell to my forearms. I winced as I pulled the sleeve back, seeing the fresher marks from the stress of the day. I didn't give myself much time to stare at the scars. If Potter was awake, he could be at the door in a second, he could see the scars, the mark, the patchwork quilt of mottled skin that was my arm. I applied the spell quickly, watching as the glittering light faded, leaving pale, airbrushed skin in its place.

Feigning control and perfection is better than letting loose suggestions of weakness in emotion. Lucius' sneering words prickled like rose thorns across my mind. It was another line from the Malfoy mantra. It was one of his most used, said whenever I'd seemed upset or near tears. I stared myself down in the bathroom mirror, seeing for a second my father reflected back at me in my gaunt, stone expression. Weakness holds no place in the house of Malfoy.

There was a thud from outside the bathroom, followed closely by a rapid shuffling. I jumped at the sound, broken from my reverie momentarily.

"Lumos." I murmured to myself, opening the bathroom door to see what was going on.

There was further shuffling, from over somewhere near Potter's bed. I held my wand up, which allowed me to see that his bed was empty. Where is he then?

No sooner had the thought registered in my brain than the answer came to me in the form of what sounded like the terrified breathing of a post-marathon sprinter, punctured with sharp inhales.

Potter, presumably, but where?

I hurried over to the side of his bunk, realising as I neared that he'd fallen out of bed and was tossing and turning on the floor.

His muscles were taut with terror, movements quick and defensive as he turned one way and then the other on the floor, smacking his arms off of the cabinet next to his bunk.

He was muttering to himself, mumbling between fractured gasps. I couldn't make out a word he was saying.

It was then that my brain caught up with what was going on. You're watching Potter struggle, while you, scum of the earth Draco Malfoy, wave a light over his fear. Pathetic.

I rushed over to him, realising as I did so that I had little idea how to approach something like this. I'd dealt with more than my fair share of nightmares, but what was to be done when it was someone else? When it was Potter?

"Potter, wake up!" I hissed, standing over him now while he continued to thrash and mutter. The words didn't have much effect on him. He smacked his head off of the cabinet, knocking his glasses off onto the floor behind it. "Shit."

I tossed my still-lit wand onto his bunk and knelt down next to him, grabbing his arms to stop him hitting anything else, "Harry!" I half spoke-half shouted,  keeping a tight grip of his quivering muscles.

His eyes sputtered open, and with a yell of shock he sat up and shoved himself away from me, till his back hit the side of his bunk. He seemed unable to catch a breath, eyes wide and wild with fear, adrenaline maybe.

My heart thundered in my chest, realising how close I'd just been to his face. This wasn't the time to think about such things.

I sat forwards and grabbed his hands, tightly, and spoke straight to his eyes. "Harry, you are awake. You are safe, you were having a nightmare, it was not real. Merlin's beard, take a fucking deep breath."

I spoke as smoothly as I could, feeling his hands shaking in mine, watching as he blinked, scanned the room like a Niffler in a bank vault; unable to focus on any one thing, suspicious of and intrigued by everything he could see. His eyes landed on me, and he inhaled, then exhaled slowly, the trembling in his arms yet to cease.

I'd said what I had wanted to hear whenever I'd come out of a nightmare, drenched in sweat and shivering from a mixture of fear and shock and adrenaline. It was more difficult than one might expect; determining the difference between real and fake, especially when the images from the past seem so vividly realistic in one's own mind.

"Are you... are you sure it's not a nightmare? Could've sworn you called me 'Harry'." He teased, a slight smile wavering over his lips, overtaken quickly by his trembling.

"Clearly you're hard of hearing even in sleep, as if you'll ever be referred to by anything other than 'Potter' by me." I replied, surprising myself with the complete lack of my usual natural grit. I released his hands, dropped my own to my sides.

He folded his arms over his knees, buried his head in his arms, still shaking.

"Are you alright, Potter?" It was an idiotic question.

He raised his head and leaned his chin on his arms. His eyes were dark, from a mixture of fatigue and the after effects of the dream, I imagine. "Yeah Malfoy, I'm alright. Sorry if I woke you up. I'll be okay in a minute, go back to sleep." An idiotic answer - not that I would expect any less than heroism from the Golden Boy.

I narrowed my eyes slightly at him. It was almost sad to watch as he tried and failed to adjust his breathing to sound regular. There was a resolution in his eyes I'd seen before - the last time I'd seen him before the war. It was a look of defiance, which was not even remotely applicable now.

"Fine." I stood up, and reached over behind him to grab my wand. I forced myself not to look at him, much as I wanted to know if he was watching me.

I went back to my own bunk, and pulled a small pot out from a slightly larger velvet bag next to my suitcase. Amongst other things, I filled the pot with water I kept in the bag and boiled it quickly with my wand. A couple of minutes later, I headed back over to the oh-so-strong and independent Golden Boy with two cups, saucers, spoons, and a teapot.

I placed the teapot, saucers, and spoons on the floor between us and sat down across from him again. "Take this, Potter. It will help." I handed him a cup. "It's chamomile tea, something an uncultured gnat such as yourself will unlikely know anything about. You'll just have to trust myself, the expert, in that it is very helpful for recovery from sleep-related events." I explained haughtily.

"You say 'experts', you mean 'posh pricks'." He took a sip from the cup, the ghostly white of his cheeks pinkening with the heat from the cup.

"Whatever Potter, you are very lucky I didn't poison it."

We sat in an oddly comfortable silence for a while, less than five feet between us. I couldn't help myself from stealing glances at him, for once with real reason, rather than pathetically miserable longing as usually seemed to be the explanation.

He looked exhausted, though I would have expected as much. I didn't need to ask to see that he had been reliving something terrible. It was something I was all too familiar with. I hadn't realised Perfect Potter experienced such similar things.

I reheated the teapot and refilled my cup. As I'd leaned forwards, Potter had tensed, as if expecting me to do something. It was something else I recognised in myself. I decided it was better left unmentioned. He had helped me before. This was repaying the favour.

"You don't need to stay awake with me, Malfoy, really. I don't think I'll be going back to sleep. Please, don't let me keep you up." He spoke kindly yet neutrally, that slight smile on his face. Never had something looked so fake in my eyes before. It wasn't a warm smile, it was a cover.

I raised the cup to my lips, and drank slowly, then lowered it to the floor. It may have been the wine from earlier in the night that made me feel confident, but at that moment I didn't really care.

I stood up again, brushed my robes off, and retrieved my wand from his bed. "You are not keeping me up, Potter. Sleep is never an easy task for me. There's no use in wallowing like a half-drowned flobberworm next to your bunk, you'll only end up feeling like shit. Let's go."

"Go where?" Potter finished the rest of his tea and fumbled for his glasses around the cabinet. He found them, only after lighting his own wand, and stumbled to his feet.

"Does it matter?"

He blinked at me with that usual look of stupidly attractive confusion. "I was going to try and sleep."

"Are you tired?"

"No but-..."

"You were the one that decided being friends was a good idea, yes?"

"Yeah but Malfoy-..."

"Precisely. Grab your cloak." I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me, fuelled by wine and excitement, and that Merlin-awful fluttering ray of insufferable hope that Potter alighted in me. It was a far from tasteful combination, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so alive.

I opened the door to our room slowly, then once Potter was next to me, crept out into the dorm room. After a quick shove of the dorm door, we were out in the darkness of the castle, only the dim light from my wand to lead the way.

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Hi readers! Hope you like this latest chapter!
Again, it has been a while, but I'm sure you were all expecting that by this point 😅
I've been hit by inspiration recently, I won't make any promises, but we'll see how it goes.

Let me know your thoughts, and thank you all so much for reading!