Harry Potter and the Deal with Death

Chapter Eight

Light shone through the curtains in the Gryffindor dorms, but most of the boys were still asleep; it was Sunday, they could sleep in as long as they wanted. There were five beds total, all hung with red curtains, but one was empty. The sheets were neatly folded, curtains pulled back, and there was no trunk beneath it, so it was obviously unoccupied. The previous inhabitant was the Boy who Lived, Harry Potter, before his untimely death. There, the bed sat, something to make sure none of the Gryffindor boys would forget him anytime soon, not that they would.

Ron was the first to wake up, as he often was these days, but only lied in his bed with the curtains closed for another half hour. When he finally did get out of bed, his movements were sluggish, and he took a long while to get dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.

Ron had been suffering from depression ever since he had found out that Harry was dead. It had become increasingly difficult to get himself out of bed every morning and finding the motivation to get anything done. Every day, he plastered a fake smile on his face and prayed that no one would notice.

Today, unlike almost every day that year, Ron left Gryffindor tower to go to the Great Hall. He rarely ate in the Great Hall anymore, finding the solitude in the kitchen comforting, but Neville said some Slytherin upperclassmen were messing with him again and Ron, depressed as he was, was not about to let a fellow Gryffindor suffer if he had anything to say about it.

And so, he went down to breakfast and sat at the Gryffindor table. By the time he had made it down, it was already filling up with students sitting at their own house tables.

One person who caught his attention immediately was Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table.

His usually neat blond hair was in disarray, but he didn’t seem to mind, and he was wearing muggle clothes - he claimed to despise muggle clothes. But, most oddly, he was sitting at the very center of the table, surrounded by Slytherins of every year, and seemed to be telling a story of some kind.

What’s so odd about this? Draco was also suffering from depression, and the last few times Ron saw him in the Great Hall, he was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, not socializing with anyone. He would sometimes even join him in the kitchen. Depression doesn’t just go away overnight, especially when you were suicidal, like Draco was.

Ron would have to see what was up later. For now though, food was top priority.

He dug in to a large helping of pancakes and waffles.

***

It was 6 o’clock, and all of the Gryffindors were in the common room, except for one. Ron was on the seventh floor, pacing in front of a wall. Now, some would think he’s crazy, but there is a very good reason he’s pacing in front of this particular expanse of wall.

A door appeared, and Ron opened it and went inside. Behind the door was a small room, about the size of a living room. There were two couches - one green, one red - on opposite sides of a coffee table, with a fireplace on the far wall. Ron went and dropped himself on the red couch to wait for a certain Slytherin.

Not long after, Draco opened the door and slipped inside.

“Did you seriously colour-code the couches?” Draco asked. Ron shrugged half-heartedly.

The Slytherin sighed and sat on the green couch, opposite Ron.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"You were acting odd at breakfast today," Ron said, eying Draco's muggle clothes and disheveled hair, "Still are now, as a matter of fact. Thought you said you'd never wear muggle clothes 'til the day you died."

“W-well, I… Can’t a guy change his mind every once in a while?”

“No.” Ron deadpanned.

“You’re an arsehole.”

“Duly noted.”

Draco sighed and folded his hands in front of him. He looked anxious, like he was hiding something and didn't want to slip up and give it away. "Something… happened. Last night. But I- uh, can't talk about it..." he said.

"Why not?" Ron asked, annoyed.

"I mean, it's not my secret to share…" Draco unfolded his hands to run his fingers through his already-ruffled hair. Ron made a dissatisfied sound in the back of his throat.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s got you acting really weird.”

Draco at least had the decency to look ashamed. He dropped his head into his hands, elbows braced on his knees. He took a long, deep breath and let it back out quickly. The blond boy raised his head again with a newfound determination settled in those pale grey eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the door to the room appearing and promptly slamming open. Ron was surprised it didn’t fall off the hinges from the force.

Even more surprising though, was the boy who had slammed the door open in the first place.

Tousled black hair, vibrant green eyes, and a grin bright enough to light up a room.

Ron would know that stupid grin anywhere.

“Harry!”

That was all the warning the raven-haired boy got before his friend was slamming headfirst into him, wrapping him in what had to be the tightest hug of the century. Harry held him just as tightly, picking him up about an inch off the ground and spinning them in a circle. Ron felt a giddy laugh bubble up from his throat. He did nothing to hinder it.

Draco walked up to them and enveloped them both in a hug of his own. Neither mentioned the way his eyes looked slightly wetter than usual; it would’ve been slightly hypocritical if they had.

Soon, the three of them ended up in a pile on the floor, basking in each others’ presences, content to lay there the whole day as long as it meant they weren’t separated. Eventually though, Harry hoisted himself off the ground, extricating himself from the clutches of his friends in the process.

When Ron and Draco made no move to follow Harry’s lead, the ravenette sighed and grabbed one of each of their hands and pulled them both onto their feet.

He dragged them over to the green couch by the hands, sitting them both down before laying on top of them. Harry’s head rested in Draco’s lap, his torso in Ron’s, and his legs were kicked up on the armrest.

The three sat in a comfortable silence that rested over them like a weighted blanket until Harry finally spoke.

“So, who colour-coded the couches?”

***

Word count: 1,130

Um,,, so,, :)

I'm back! Maybe! I'm not entirely sure yet but I finished and polished up this chapter and I thought I might as well post it lmao.

Legend has it that you can see the exact moment when my writing style changes.

Well, I suppose that's it for now. See ya,

-Rain