1000 Days of Harry Potter

Day 835

Harry looks up from the potion he's preparing in Draco's lab at the back of the Apothecary, the third and final practice potion he's brewed successfully in a row, with no correction or additional direction from Draco beyond the written instructions he's following.

"Just needs to simmer for a few minutes, but I think it's done," he says with a smile.

Draco leans over to check the color, and it's the perfect shade of lavender, as he expected for the Dreamless Sleep Potion. "Perfect, Harry!"

Draco has been watching his expression throughout, quietly observing so as not to throw Harry off. The way his brow has been creased in concentration has been fascinating, but Draco decides he prefers Harry's grin, a slight blush rising in his cheeks, pride evident in his bright eyes.

"I knew you could do it," Draco adds, smiling back. "There shouldn't be anything more complicated than this on your exams."

Harry turns back to look at the potion, then glances at his watch. "Thanks, Draco. I'd better get going, Teddy will be getting out of school soon. I promised him we could go to the Burrow and help Molly bake cookies tonight."

"Right."

"Hey, speaking of Molly and the Burrow, will you and Dave be at dinner on Friday? You know you're both invited, right?"

Draco's stomach twists uncomfortably. It's been two weeks since The-Night-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, but the thought of it still stings and makes his face burn with shame. He'd tried to owl David and apologize the next day, but his letter had been returned unopened. He supposed he should just be grateful it hadn't come back with a hex attached.

"Draco? Are you okay?"

Harry's voice startles him out of his thoughts. "Er, yes, I'm fine. It'll just be me. But yeah, I'll be there."

"Oh? Does Dave have work or something?"

"No," Draco sighs. "We broke up."

"What?" Harry's eyes widen in shock, and he moves closer, looking concerned. "Why? When?"

"Couple weeks ago. I don't...I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay, but...why didn't you tell me?" Harry gives him a weak smile. "I thought we had a tradition. We always tell each other when we go through a bad break up."

"I don't know." Draco is so very tired, suddenly. "I just...I'm not proud of how it ended. I didn't want to talk about it. With anyone, not just you."

"I understand," Harry says softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "You don't have to tell me anything. But you know you can come to me, right? Anytime. I want to be there for you when you need me."

Draco moves to wrap his arms around him, and Harry squeezes him tight. "It'll be okay, Draco."

Draco wants to believe him, but he can't seem to find that kind of hope at the moment.

Not when things have ended so horribly with David, and the Daily Prophet keeps plastering the front page with photos of Harry everywhere with his current boyfriend—a strikingly handsome professional Quidditch player named Derek—including a rather racy paparazzi photo of them stumbling out of Wizarding pub last week; kissing open-mouthed, their hands wandering.

"Thanks, Harry," he forces out. "Are you bringing Derek?"

Harry pulls away and laughs sharply as he turns to gather his things. "No. Hell no. He's not exactly the type of bloke you bring home to meet your family."

"You've been together for a while," Draco presses, morbidly curious.

"It's not that kind of relationship," Harry says stiffly. "He has no interest in meeting Teddy, ever, and I wouldn't want him to anyway. It's...temporary. Mutually beneficial, for the time being."

"That doesn't seem like the kind of relationship that would make you..." Draco finishes the sentence nervously as Harry spins around and stands up, his eyes flashing dangerously. "...happy."

"What do you know about what would make me happy?" Harry says hotly, scowling at him before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

Startled by the abrupt change in mood, Draco flounders in the face of Harry's anger. "Sorry I asked," he mutters.

"It's fine," Harry snaps, letting the door swing closed behind him without another word.

"It's not," Draco says aloud to himself, "it's really not. Fuck."