Nightmares (HP) (Drarry)

thirty two: just presents, this time

The pain is almost distant. That is what Harry wants to believe. It's not physical pain, the kind that never lingers or fades. His hand is healed and his body is refreshed. He has not known physical peace like this in some time.

But there is another layer of pain, one that cloaks him like snow and smothers him like water. He feels it trying to drown him constantly. He knows how to swim but he knows how to sink, too. Perhaps that is the problem. His mind aches with memories trailing him like Death's never fleeting influence.

He is free from the Dursleys. Free from Voldemort's mind probing. Those are things he has no plan to undo, and for good reason. 

And yet. And yet, these things, they -- they haunt him. He no longer has nightmares but it is often times impossible to forget the reason why he ever did in the first place. He is good at hiding it. The way it bothers him. Good at being preoccupied and distracted.

So, it's not every day. But. There are days. Days when phantom pain plagues him and he thinks I'm going to die, like he'll be found dead in the morning like Nagini.

But there are things to do, plans to push through, a government to overthrow and a Dark lord to slay. There are lives to be added to Harry's bodycount. There lies a graveyard behind his eyes, and some of them died by Harry's hand.

Draco approaches him one morning. "Let's have an off day," he says.

"Off day?" asked Harry. "We have class--"

"Fuck class," he says, and how could Harry say no to that?

They sit on the edge of the Astronomy Tower, legs swinging. "I have you a gift," says Draco. He holds out a small box, wrapped in emrald green.

"Why?" Harry asks, a small smile gracing his features. "It's not any holiday suited for gift giving." He takes the present anyway because it's only been five years since he's known affection and he does not plan on rejecting such so soon.

"None that you'd know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a Pureblood custom," says Draco, a bit condescendingly. But he looks at Harry so endearingly, and Harry can't help but ignore that. 

Harry unwraps it. Inside is a key and a small golden coin. He turns the latter over in his hands. "What's it a custom for, exactly?" he asks, idly.

"It's my take on a courting ritual."

Harry's head snaps upup. He is sure his face is red. "Courting?" he manges to spit out.

Draco sighs. "Fine, I'll put it in the Muggle way." He looks Harry in the eyes. "Harry James Potter, will you go our with me?"

And, Merlin, a no is on the tip of his tongue. He fears that this will be a repeat. That his past is destined for a do-over, that he was never given love before, and he never will be again. He almost says no, and he feels like he is all alone and ignorant to magic again. He is a simple freak who cannot even date someone properly.

He feels like this... and then pushes through it anyway. "Okay," Harry says quietly, because half the battle in infatution is allowing yourself to have it. Because he will not prove Petunia right. "I'd love to date you."

"Good," Draco says, pompus as ever. He gives Harry a kiss on the cheek. "This," he says, grabbing the key out of the box, "is the key to my personal vault. There's not much, some old diaries and such, but I'd like to share it with you. If one would let me?"

"One may," Harry says. He holds out the coin. "And this?"

"It's like the messaging coin we have for the HH, but just for us two."

"...Thank you, Draco."

"It's only natural for a boyfriend to give gifts," says Draco. "There is no need to thank me."

"Okay. Still, thank you."

Draco smiles, as if he was expecting that response.

So, it's not every day. But there are days. Days when there are threats and presents, without the threats. Days when friends become more so and when the past is not so much important as the present.