Drarry oneshots because WHY NOT

Wind In My Hair

It was over. Everything. The castle was damaged, limp bodies clad in school uniforms and black masks lined the stone floors. In the great hall, people celebrated and cried and laughed. He was dead.

Draco let his parents go. Maybe they'd be sent to Azkaban--especially his father--but he figured it was inevitable. He had felt the dread that came from the dementors, and he shivered at the thought of being in their presence again. Would the Wizengamot send him there, too?

He sat alone, in the nearest classroom he could find. He had returned the wand he was carrying to his mother, and Potter still had his wand--the wand that killed the Dark Lord. What if his wand was now used to Potter? He didn't want to have to face Ollivander, after being held hostage in his own home. Draco stared out the window. He could see the Quidditch pitch from where he sat, though more than half of the spectator towers had been burned down. His heart ached, and he cried into his hands. Hogwarts was, though he never said it out loud, his home. The Manor was cold--full of dark magic that buzzed through the air. His father's boots against the floors of the corridors made him uneasy, and his mother's heels brought the same feeling.

Hogwarts was always warm. Even in the Slytherin dorms, deep in the dungeons with the windows showing the depths of the black lake, Draco sunk into the warmth every time he returned. He preferred his green four-poster bed over his black queen-sized one at the Manor.

Draco supposed he was weak. He hid behind his magic, which had been manifesting ever since he was three. His father trained him to never use physical violence unless absolutely necessary, as that's what a true pureblood did. Draco learned that magic was his right--that others weren't worthy. Of course, by the time he was fifteen, he didn't really believe that anymore. He was weak--there were books about muggle wars in the Hogwarts library, and he reveled in their technology. Muggles, without magic, fought with vigor and strength. He couldn't even make it out of the fiendfyre by himself.

The fiendfyre. Draco couldn't bear to think about it, and it had only just happened a few hours ago. A lot had happened since then, but this stuck in his mind. Crabbe was dead because of his own curse, and while he was angry with him, guilt overtook him as he was the one who brought him to the room of requirement in the first place.

He thought he was alone. The clouds started parting in the sky, and Draco could see his own reflection in the window. Footsteps could be heard behind him, but he didn't turn around.

"Malfoy," Potter said. Draco closed his eyes.

"...I'll leave soon, I just--"

"No," Potter said, "Don't leave,"

Draco turned around to see Potter with his arm stretched out. He was holding his wand.

"I can't just take it, Potter, it belongs to you. You disarmed me."

Potter's eyes filled with understanding.

"I see, well, disarm me with this-" he reached into his jacket and pulled out the elder wand.

"I--Potter, you really trust me with this?" Draco didn't take it, just stared in disbelief.

"You saved my life, I trust you," Harry replied. He smiled, and Draco noticed how tired he really looked.

Draco ended up disarming him, feeling temporarily drunk with the power of the elder wand. His wand flew out of Potter's hand, landing harshly on the floor. He didn't get it right away, instead he looked at Potter's face, which looked mildly pleased.

They didn't stay long--Potter suggested that they take a walk around the castle. Draco, hesitant to go because of all the prying eyes of students that feared him and loved Potter, refused at first. Potter then took out some kind of cloak, draped it over the two of them, and declared that they were invisible. Potter whispered directions from under the cloak as they passed dozens of people--none of which looked their way.

He led him to the Gryffindor tower, somewhere Draco had never been. The painting that was once blocking the way to the common room was ripped off the wall, exposing the entrance. They walked through, and Draco was in a daze--he was so close to Potter, and they weren't trying to rip each other's hair out. Potter smelled vaguely of sweat and dirt, and Draco wondered briefly if he had showered in the past week. Given how he had been on the run for almost a year, he figured that was unlikely.

They ended up in Potter's dorm, and they were alone. Removing the cloak, Draco noticed how the Gryffindor dorms were identical to the Slytherin ones, excluding the colour scheme. Potter sat on one of the beds, clearly exhausted.

"Malfoy," Potter said, his eyes fierce. Draco was almost scared of him. "A lot of bad things have happened today, but I don't want to remember the bad things."

Draco said nothing. He waited for Potter to finish whatever it was he was trying to say.

"I don't want any more days to look back on and only have bad things to recall. I want to think of today and smile. I don't want to think of all the people suffering down there. I've thought of things like that for far too long.

Maybe I could make this day better, and I was thinking this right after I killed him. Of course I was happy--my life will never be normal, but I guess it'll be nice that he won't be trying to kill me all the time, either. I don't want to think about him, at all. Ever."

"Get to the point, Potter. I'm very tired, and we don't have all day. Spit it out like the Gryffindor you are!"

"What I'm trying to say is..." Potter trailed off, but then he stood up so abruptly that Draco physically took a step back. A part of him was afraid that Potter would hit him.

But he didn't. Potter got close and pulled his shoulders towards him. His green eyes burned into the back of his retinas, and Draco didn't think of anything as Potter crushed his lips against his. It was so fast, almost violent, and Draco couldn't move.

Potter didn't pull away very far--perhaps just an inch--but Draco found his breath again. He wanted to scream, to yell at Potter for waiting so long. He wanted to punch him. If this had happened sooner, maybe Draco wouldn't have been forced to do so many bad things. But he also understood. Potter was just as afraid as he was--maybe even more so. So he didn't scream, and he didn't punch Potter.

"I'm so tired," Draco said instead. Potter walked over to the bed and kicked his shoes off.

Hogwarts four poster beds were not created to fit two people, but they made it work. Potter ended up with his jacket on the floor, and Draco removed his blazer. They didn't say anything, but Potter ran his hands through his hair.

If he could stay here forever, if they could forget the world, maybe that would be alright.

Potters hands in his hair felt like the wind flying past his face when he was on his broom. He kissed him again.

"Draco," Potter said--but it was more than that. More than his name.

Draco fell asleep with Harry's arms around him. He didn't even care that he was wearing jeans in bed.