Nightmares (HP) (Drarry)

nine: a truce

Harry picked at the scab on his hand. The words carved both into his heart and into his hand, I must not be unprepared now sat with company, his hand a crowded place. I must not act childish, for when Harry laughed at Ron's dis toward Umbridge (Ron got points taken away but didn't get detention and Harry's beginning to believe these carvings are more personal than anticipated.) I must not be distracted, earned for his frequent moments of zoning out. It wasn't like he could help it. It was the most unfair of his scars, he had decided.

All there on one hand, but a secret nonetheless. Carefully hidden with a robe sleeve, extended a bit by magic to conceal each cut. He swallowed his odd, and perhaps misplaced, shame, and fought to stay present.

He needed to be focused then, more than ever. But, as always, it was turning out easier said than done.

He was waiting for Malfoy to meet him at the Astronomy Tower. He had written a letter the day before to the blonde git to meet him there for a "talk." (Oh, how poetic he was in wondering, as graceful as a murdered bird.) He had no idea if Malfoy would arrive, but with his recent avoidance of being a total asshole to Harry, Harry allowed himself to hope.

Harry waited another twenty minutes before he became convinced Malfoy wasn't coming, and just as he made to leave, Malfoy entered the Astronomy Tower. Fashionably late, as always.

"Potter," he greeted, but his voice held no bite. Harry noticed he never met his eyes; Draco's gaze set fixed on his hidden hand. Did he even realize he was doing that? Harry didn't know. "You requested a talk?"

Harry shook his head, letting Malfoy's voice ground him into the moment. "I'll just skip to the chase, then? I want to hold– erm, touch your hand everyday." He cursed himself for the slip-up.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, a smirk making it's way onto his face. "How odd." There was the undertone that he wanted to say how queer as well but didn't.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair (Malfoy's eyes following the gesture.) "I don't know if I've been cursed or something, but if I touch your hand I don't get nightmares that night. I'm desperate enough to ask you, of all people, to strike a deal with me, so take that as a sign I'm not joking."

Malfoy's voice is softer now: "Nightmares? You get them often?"

Harry shrugged.

Malfoy digested the information. "Alright," he said after a moment. "I'll let you play out your gay fantasy in exchange for one thing."

Harry didn't have enough energy to correct him. "And what's that?"

Malfoy smiled, finally raising his eyes to met Harry's, and held his hand out to shake. It reminded him vividly of first year– a prejudice young boy and a clueless one, the moment Harry sealed the divide between them.

"A truce."

Harry shakes his hand.