Eyes of Phthalo Green - DRARRY

Chapter 8 - The Truth

Potter walked towards Draco in disbelief. He stretched his left arm in front of him, clutching a piece of parchment in his hand, knuckles white from pressure. "Who drew this?" Draco could have said much to that comment, most of it relating to the fact that that, of all things, was Potter's greatest concern. But he went with the simplest. "I did." Potter just scoffed. "You must think you're so funny, acting all shy and timid. I almost believed you, too, but this is a bridge too far!" All the other boy's kindness from the potions class was gone; he was irate, and Draco had no means of calming him. Until he had an idea. "Wait. I can prove it you, just, follow me." Before Potter could argue, Draco stepped next to him and pointed his wand at the sky. Aeris Carcerem! A shower of opalescent sparks engulfed the boys, solidifying into a bubble-like encasement around them. The charm always worked better with two people; considering his insane stress levels, it wasn't shoddy work. Potter was slightly less enthused."What the fuck is happening...?," Draco heard the Gryffindor whisper. He only sighed, "It's an air-tight charm, Potter. It won't kill you. Just walk as usual and try to avoid any sharp rocks." Draco almost looked back to see if his companion had registered any of what he'd just said, but decided to let him figure it out for himself. Resolutely, he started walking first towards the lake, then into it. The water rose along the sides of the bubble, but left it's occupants untouched. 

Walking even faster than his normal sprint, as though trying to outrun the embarrassment of being only inches away from a boy who's feelings about him were as yet unknown, Draco arrived at the floor-window in mere minutes. Silently, he lifted the latch and crept up, lowering a hand to help the other boy. Potter seemed to hesitate, but eventually accepted, crawling through the small opening. Once they were both inside, Draco ended the spell and signaled for the Gryffindor to stay silent. Only when his door was locked and a Muffliato charm cast, did he dare speak. "You started this," Draco spoke, defeat tinging his words. "You said that you thought I was hiding something, going off the smallest hint of sincerity. You opened Pandora's box, and now you're upset to find that you were right." He stopped to breathe. Draco hadn't expected to be emotional, but he was on the brink of tears. "I do hide, a lot more than you probably expected, actually. You asked for the truth, now you have it." He walked towards his bed and sat down, facing the wall of windows. The other boy followed his lead initially, yet chose to hover near the bed rather than sit. Draco contemplated the seaweed waving from behind that glass. It was best to start from where the story concerned Potter; he didn't exactly strike him as the patient type. "Do you remember the second task?" The Gryffindor nodded his assent, warily. "You tried to carry two bodies away from lake, with the help of gillyweed, because the Beauxbatons champion hadn't made the finish line. But the merpeople of the lake had been instructed to allow each competitor only one prize. One of them tried to drown you. But do you remember that she just let go of you, suddenly?" Potter looked up, surprised that Draco would know about a detail that had happened under the surface, away from the spectator's view. "That was me." 

The other boy just shook his head in disgust. "Malfoy, you're ma-" Draco cut him off, "Not Malfoy, Draco. When I'm myself, I'm Draco. I swear I'm not lying, why won't you believe me?" He was crying now, silent, but unable to stop. He knew he sounded psychotic even in vulnerability. Quite honestly, he understood the anger on the other boy's face. Potter got up and walked towards the closet. "Believe you!? Do you think I'm mentally deficient, scum? Malfoy, you're the arrogant, spoiled, manipulative, weak, son of a Death Eater with a god complex! There's probably a hundred slaves for Voldemort hiding behind these doors, waiting to blast me off the face of the Earth! In a moment of weakness, yes, I believed you, and look where that got me? About to be murdered." The Gryffindor threw the double doors open as if expecting an army to attack him. 

The room was deathly silent. Neither boy breathed for a long time; frozen in place. Draco's closet was still in disorder from that morning when he'd unpacked all his drawings to find the one to give Potter. Years of scribbled vanitas, portraits, paintings, potion recipes, bad poems, and used palettes lay scattered. Shelves intended for cuff links and ties held jars of dried monkshood and yew. Green-glass bottles of turpentine were stacked six deep, and entire drawers were dedicated to paints alone. Programs from operas and plays from over the years were stacked, meticulously catalogued. A small lacquer box lay open, filled with dozens of silver rings, glinting accusations. In the full-length mirror, Potter's reflection dropped his hand from the doorknob, eyes wide with comprehension. A boy in a green hoodie stepped past him, fidgeting with a metal talon affixed to his nail. The talon fell away, and the boy walked forward to tuck it back into the velvet of the lacquer box. His white hair shifted in front of his eyes as he turned, grey eyes boring into the cause of the reflection. 

"Enjoying your proof?" His tone was quiet but racked with bitterness. "I was going to show you, but I suppose you're used to immediate gratification. You don't need to believe me. You can forget that I exist. You can still go save the world. Untarnished, like all the other heroes. But now you know that you were right. I do hide. I hide my art. I hide my potions. I hide everything I love. I hide my entire character, do you understand? I live half a life. I live through a mask made up of everybody's expectations because if I took it off for even a minute they would kill me. But who listens when I scream in my sleep that I would rather die than put it on again? Who would mourn the arrogant, spoiled, manipulative, weak, son of a Death Eater? Who would care? You know now that whatever you saw over that cup of coffee was real. You can rest assured that everything I said I smelt in that cauldron was true. You can go back to sleeping peacefully, knowing that you have all the ingredients to ruin my life under your belt. But I still don't regret saving yours." 

Draco wiped his eyes with his sleeve, begging for a reaction. Something, anything, that wasn't Potter's stock still form. Finally he got it. Potter walked towards him, resolute, yet not menacing. "If you had shown me "Draco" all those years ago in Madame Malkin's, I would have accepted your friendship." Then, he reached forward and took the Slytherin's hand, engulfed in tear-stained cotton, and shook it, not letting go, even after the motion was done. "Hey. I'm Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you." It was all too much for Draco. Here he was, cheek to cheek with a boy who had insulted him only minutes ago. A boy who was the saviour of the wizarding world, and perhaps now a friend? 

----

They spent hours together that night. Draco showed Potter, no, Harry, his favorite drawings and bashfully replicated arias from his favorite operas. The latter, in turn, recounted funny things his godfather had told him and acted out dramatic Quidditch moves he'd mastered over the summer. Harry confessed to infiltrating the Slytherin common room in second year; Draco confessed to knowing it was him all along. "I've known him five years and never before or since has Goyle ever said something as intelligent as 'reading'," he had related, laughing. They reminisced about Madame Hooch's unfortunate hair choices, glossing over the subject of Neville's remembrall. For the first time in a very long time, Draco was happy. It was almost too good to be true. 

The time for parting came too soon for Draco. The boys agreed to meet again the next week, but even a paltry seven days seemed and eon to him. He knew that, like all his other secrets, these meetings would disappear behind the doors of his closet. To the eyes of the world he would remain Malfoy, but at least Harry knew the truth. Draco had known there was something different about his feelings in general, but they had found their anchor among the messy black curls, the innocent green eyes. Impulsive as he was in all his misguided Gryffindor glory, there was something about when the golden boy had taken his hand that made the Slytherin whole. They were as different as their hair, as their heritage. They were as opposite as fire and ice, but opposites attract. This newfound secret had potential to become his downfall, but Draco didn't care. He had cared enough about stupid fears for one day. That night, beneath the waters of the Black Lake, a boy fell asleep, a vial of Dreamless Sleep, untouched, beside his bed.

AN: How are you, my lovelies? I thought I'd dole out some fluff before the true heartrending begins, so make sure to enjoy it while it lasts! (And believe me, it's not gonna last long.) Posting these chapters after a literal year of hiatus feels so great, so please make sure to comment, vote, and just overall give some love to these chapters. Or don't, I'm not going to force you. Anyways, please try to stay hydrated, eat, sleep, and medicate. Also: today's self-care tip. Look at plants. Might just be me but that always cheers me up. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's just me. I'm going to sign off now... Love you all, 

-Ophelia