Sitting on the edge of his bed, Draco sat perfectly still, staring unseeingly at the window in the Slytherin dormitory that was directly opposite the foot of his bed. The water beyond the window pane was dark, murky and calm, and the reeds visible at the bottom of the stone window frame were almost perfectly still, eerily suspended in the water, tendrils reaching out to nothingness.
Draco felt the same; mentally suspended in nothingness. After his initial shock, terror and subsequent flight from the library and away from Potter, his mind had shut down and gone blank. He didn't know what to do, what to think about, how to feel. He just wanted to stay perfectly still, hoping the world would continue to turn and pass him by, without him having to deal with what had just happened.
Malfoy, talk to me.
He blinked, ignoring the pleading voice in his head. Potter had been requesting to talk to him ever since Draco had run away, every sentence becoming more agitated and frustrated. Draco had ignored him every time, the panic gripping his heart tightening like a vice with every word from Harry.
He wasn't angry.
He was terrified.
He hadn't meant to doze off, hadn't meant to have of dream of that sort in the middle of the fucking library, with Potter nearby. If he was at all angry, he was angry at himself for putting himself in that situation. He knew Potter had access to his dreams. Fuck, he supposed that it was inevitably anyway; Potter probably would have seen his dream even if he'd been the other side of the castle.
Come on. You've left your stuff, at least come and get it.
Shame and fear crawled their way up Draco's spine and he swallowed thickly. No way was he going to be going back to the library to have Potter challenge him about what he'd just seen. No way was he going to let Finnegan take the piss out of him, to go back whilst everyone laughed at him.
His eyes burned and he rubbed at them crossly. He didn't want to cry over this, it was just so stupid. He couldn't help it, and Merlin knew he'd tried. He made an effort to move and kicked his shoes off, letting them fall to the floor with despondent thuds, and then turned around to crawl onto his bed. He curled up in the centre on his side, reaching up to pull a pillow down under his head.
He wasn't going cry. He wasn't. He was eighteen and had survived a war, so wasn't going to cry about something as trivial as Potter finding out that he was- that he- well, that he wasn't normal.
"Fuck," he whispered, his voice thick and catching in his throat. He'd done so well to keep this hidden from everyone but his closest friends, tried so hard to be the Malfoy heir he should have been. Being the dutiful heir didn't involve being- being the way he was. Or at least, didn't involve the rest of the world finding out that he'd been pretending all this time.
And now Potter knew. And Potter would make fun of him and scorn him and call him names and laugh at him and refuse to be his friend anymore.
Draco clenched his eyes tightly shut and curled his body up tighter, curling his hands into fists beneath his chin.
Malfoy, please talk to me.
He didn't move.
The door to the Gryffindor dormitory crashed open, banging against the stone wall behind it. Ron looked up, startled, as Harry stumbled through the door, tripping up the last step, his arms laden with belongings.
"Where the hell have you been?" he asked, dropping Flying With The Cannons. "And why have you got two bags?"
"Malfoy's," Harry panted, dropping both bags and the rest of the things onto his bed.
