On the day that Draco first saw Harry Potter, he was 11.
He was standing in the robe store, being measured for his 3rd pair of robes. His father’s voice rang in his head. You are a Malfoy. You must be the best, because you represent our family. Everyone else is beneath you.
So he stands there, the weight of his lineage pulling down on his shoulders. He’s only 11, but he manages to keep his chin high, keep that smirk plastered on his face. You are made of granite, he tells himself, over and over again.
He hears the door open behind him, the tinkling of the bell making him turn around slightly. There was a boy standing there, messy black hair and emerald green eyes and a scar that looks like lightning on his head. For a moment, they lock eyes, and Draco feels himself mouthing words. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
It confused Draco, how one could be so famous, and yet look so normal. Harry looked confused, one hand gripping the bottom of his T-shirt as he asks, “Um...excuse me? I need...I need new r-robes and they said to come here?”
Then the bustling came, the assistants almost bowing in their hurry to attend Harry, and Draco tore his eyes away, staring into nothingness as he tried to compose himself.
On the day he knew that Harry was his enemy, Draco was nervous.His heart pounds in his chest, sweat trickling down the back of his too-stiff robes as he stands in line. The hall was so big, candles illuminating the darkness like starlight as Draco noted the hundreds of eyes that looked up at them.
He glances over at the farthest table, the one draped in gold and crimson and lions, and his heart aches for a moment before he catches himself. He was a Slytherin, the only house he belonged in, and he forces himself to smirk, to gaze towards the silver and emerald silks at the back of the hall. For a moment, he flashes between the emerald of the table and an emerald pair of eyes, and he shrugs. There was a chance, wasn’t there? A chance for them both to be in the same house?
He shakes the thought, that familiar mask of arrogance sliding onto his face as his name is called and he strides forwards, onto the stage. He feels his heart stop as the Hat was put onto his head, but without pause, it bellows out his fate. Slytherin!
So he sits down at that table, the one of green and silver, and waits for Harry Potter to be sorted.
On the day he duelled Harry, Draco was furious.
It was second year now, him and Harry and that ridiculous dueling club that Lockheart and Snape were running. He wanted to curse Snape, turn around and bolt out the door, because why in the nine realms of hell did Snape put him with Potter?
It was always them, Draco and Harry, two sides of an ancient coin. Slytherin and Gryffindor, light and dark, the Boy who Lived and the Boy who was Damned.
He laughs at the thought, shaking it off as he turns around and stares into his enemy’s eyes and prepares to duel.
On the day he realized there was something more, Draco was injured.It started with the Hippogriff. Harry was riding it, black hair rustling in the wind, the light illuminating him from behind. Draco stood, on the hard, frozen earth, and had laughed. Because how could he not? They were enemies, the past 3 years making sure that that line was damn clear, and yet here Draco was, staring at Harry. For a moment, his eyes traced him, the hard lines and the soft edges, and he clenched his fists.
It was stupid, meaningless. It was pointless to even consider it. Draco had chosen his side, and Harry his, and nothing could change that now. They were enemies, rivals, and Draco was falling in love. He opens his hands, examining the cuts now carved into his palms, and tries to forget about Harry.
On the day that he actually talked to Harry Potter, Draco was terrified.
He was sitting in the library, behind one of the shelves, the bottle of healing potion in front of him. It sang to him, of numbness and softness and sleep, and he reaches forwards, drinking the contents. Each sip whispered of silence, each swallow another step closer to oblivion. So he sat there, drinking and drinking, anything to forget the letter.
His father had written to him, talking of marriage and happiness. Draco was only 14, still young, still whole, and he was engaged to a cousin he had never met. He takes another sip, his head spinning and his heart cracking, and he was just so damn tired.
When he hears the footsteps, Draco was too numb to do anything. He sat there, head on his lap, not even bothering to go for his wand as the person approached. He hears the footsteps stop, and he glances up, cursing, as he stares at the person he doesn’t want to see.
Harry is standing there, awkwardly shifting as he says, “Hey. Malfoy. You...you alright?” And maybe it’s the question, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s never had anyone ask him that before, but suddenly Draco is crying and Harry is awkwardly holding him, one hand wrapped around Draco’s neck. Harry smells like parchment and cool air and wood, and Draco finds himself relaxing into Harry’s arms.
On the day they met for the tenth time, it was midnight.He didn’t know how the meetings happened exactly. It was after the conversation in the library, where one thing lead to another, and soon they were meeting up in secret, just to talk.
He paces up and down the corridor, in front of that wall, thinking the same phrase over again. I want to see Harry, I wan’t to see Harry, I want to see Harry.On the third time, a highly polished door appeared, embedded in the wall. Draco doesn’t hesitate, seizing the handle and yanking the door open.It looked like an old tea shop inside, a cluster of wooden tables and chairs, candles illuminating the room. Harry was there, feet up on the table, and as Draco walks in, he smiles. “Hey, Draco.”
Draco wasn’t sure when he became Draco, and not Malfoy. The sound of his name being spoken by Harry sends a pleasant shiver through him, and he pulls out a chair, sliding into it. “Harry.”
And they talk and talk, about dead parents and muggles and silver-edged canes, and when they finally exit, it’s 4:00 in the morning.
On the day Draco realized he loved Harry, he was watching the Tri-Wizard tournament.
They were standing there, watching the Maze and the Champions, the cool air biting at their faces. Draco was lounging, pretending that he didn’t care, pretending that he didn’t give a damn whether Harry won or not. He sips his Butterbeer, eyes lazily scanning over the hedges below him.
The wand sparks came after 15 minutes.
A huge pillar of them, red and gold and white shooting into the air. All around him, people were muttering, wondering who the coward was. Draco shrugs, trying not to show his worry as he scans the maze again, because goddamn it, it better not be Harry who was hurt. He shrugs, takes another sip of the Butterbeer, anything to dull the fluttering in his stomach.
Then the scream happened.
A high pitched scream, echoing over the fields. It was the sound of someone getting tortured, someone getting hit with Crucio. Draco was standing, the bottle in pieces around his feet. He didn’t give a damn though, his heart pounding, as he watched. Please not be Harry, please not be Harry.
The muttering ceased, and Draco feels the breath whoosh out of him as he sees Fleur being carried away. Relief flows into his blood, as he collapses on the chair. It was interesting, he thinks, that he felt so strongly about someone that even the Tri Wizard Tournament scared the crap out of him. A word flashes in his head, but he ignores it, shakes it quickly, focusing instead on the maze.
It’s almost 30 minutes before he sees the figures approaching the center. Even from this far away, he can see Harry, limping, and his throat tightens. Cedric is there too, and Draco watches as they both close their hands on the cup.
And he’s never known terror, not like this, as he sees the two of them being whisked away, a blur of yellow and red. Draco is frozen, panic surging through his body, as all around him the screaming starts. He can’t do anything, can’t move, can only stand and stare at the place where the boy he loved disappeared.
On the day he kissed Harry for the first time, they were outside.
They had gone behind the greenhouses, walking through the cold air. Draco was talking, spinning a tale of silences and marble and a cold home. “It’s hard. Just...” He exhales. “You’re locked in. There’s no other way to put it. You’re locked in and you’re screaming, because all you want to do is escape, and you can’t say anything, because you have to be perfect all the fucking time.”
Harry nods, his voice soft. “I know. I know, Draco.” He reached up, brushes a stray strand of hair from Draco’s face. “It’s a prophecy. You try to live, try to escape, but you can’t. Because everything, everything, rests on you.”
Draco laughs, his voice bitter. “But that’s just the thing, right? I can’t complain. Because I’m not marked for death, I’m just slowly killing myself inside trying not to fall apart and I know that there’s something wrong with me and I have to hide it -“
Harry’s voice is firm. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Draco shakes his head. “Isn’t there?”
Harry grabs his arm, staring at Draco. Draco looks back, into the deep green eyes of his supposed enemy as Harry breathes, “No. There’s not.”
And then Harry’s leaning forwards, and Draco’s leaning forwards, and they are kissing so hard that Draco goes blind. The rain pours down on top of them, plastering Draco’s hair to his face, and he runs his hands along Harry’s back, pulling him closer, and God, he’s wanted to do this for so damn long and now they finally are together after 5 years. He can’t move, can’t talk, can’t do anything but breathe Harry in and kiss him harder as they stand there beneath the stars.
Part 2: https://the-elvish-shadowhunter.tumblr.com/post/180473477419/decided-to-make-a-part-two-because-a-few-people
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