Redemption | Drarry

009: Allure Of It All (Edited)

The headaches had started subtly-just a dull pressure at the back of his skull. Nothing unbearable, nothing that couldn't be dismissed. But as the weeks dragged on, it had worsened.

Harry was used to pain. He had lived with the ache of old injuries, the weight of exhaustion from sleepless nights, the gnawing sting of hunger when the Dursleys forgot to feed him. But this was different.

This was a constant, maddening thrum in his skull. His nerves felt raw, his body unsettled. Magic curled under his skin like a caged animal, restless and demanding, as if something was wrong.

And the worst part? There were no answers.

"Mate, you sure you're alright?" Ron had asked a few days ago, frowning as Harry rubbed at his temples for the fifth time in a single class period.

"'M fine," Harry had muttered, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He wasn't.

Hermione had been worse. More persistent. She had noticed.

"Harry," she had said in a low voice one evening in the common room, "this isn't normal. You've been distracted in class, you barely eat, and you winced when you held your wand today. That's not fine."

She had looked at him with those sharp, knowing eyes, and Harry had felt himself teetering on the edge of saying something. Anything. But what was he supposed to say?

That he felt like his body wasn't his own? That he was on edge all the time and had no idea why? That sometimes the pressure in his chest got so unbearable that it felt like he might snap.

The words had been right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue. A confession waiting to spill.

But Harry had spent too many years surviving to let his guard down so easily. So, instead of admitting anything, he'd leaned back in his chair, forced a lopsided grin, and shrugged.

"I think you're overreacting, Hermione. Maybe I just need a nap."

Hermione had not looked amused.

"You don't sleep properly," she said flatly.

"Fine. Maybe I need a snack."

"You barely eat, either."

Harry had groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "Okay, then what do you want me to say?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, clearly considering her words carefully. Then, voice quieter, she said, "I want you to tell me what's wrong."

The thing was, he didn't know what was wrong.

How was he supposed to explain something he couldn't understand himself? That for the past few weeks, his body had been betraying him in ways that made no sense? That some days, he'd be perfectly fine, only for some invisible thread to yank at his insides, making him feel sick with some unknown longing?

That he had started noticing things-smelling things-that no normal person should?

Harry clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep the easygoing expression on his face. "Nothing's wrong, Hermione."

She exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated but also worried. "Fine," she said at last. "If you're not going to talk to me about it, at least promise me you'll take care of yourself?"

That had been three days ago.

And Harry?

Well, Harry had done the exact opposite.

It had started after dinner that evening, when the constant pressure in his skull shifted.

For weeks, the headaches had felt like something was pushing against his mind, an overwhelming sensation like static in his veins. But tonight... tonight, something had changed.

The tension didn't just push-it pulled.

It wasn't pain, exactly. More like an unbearable awareness of something just beyond his reach. His skin prickled, his breath hitched, and his stomach twisted with an unfamiliar need he couldn't name.

And then-without meaning to-his eyes had flicked across the Great Hall, scanning faces without understanding why.

And then he had seen him.

Draco Malfoy, seated at the Slytherin table, looking as composed as ever. His hair was perfectly styled, his posture effortless, his expression schooled into something unreadable. But for some reason, Harry couldn't look away.

His heart stuttered. His magic roared to life, surging through his veins like fire. His throat felt dry, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he thought he was going to be sick.

The instinct to move was overwhelming. To-what? Go to Malfoy? Say something? Do something? His fork clattered against his plate, making Neville jump beside him.

"You okay, mate?"

Harry barely heard him. He was already standing, hands clenched into fists, his breath coming too fast.BHis head was a mess of static. He needed to get out.

He set his plate aside and leaned heavily on the palm of his hand. He away for merely a second, but that was enough for him to loose sight of Malfoy.

Yet, it was like he knew where to go.

Somehow, his feet had carried him here. He didn't remember leaving the Great Hall, didn't remember grabbing his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk, didn't even remember thinking about where he was going.

But now, here he was.

His breathing had evened out, but his body was still wound too tight. He pressed a hand against his chest as if that would calm the storm raging beneath his skin.

And then-just as he was about to turn back-he smelled it.

Vanilla.

And mint.

It was subtle but unmistakable, curling through the cool night air like a whisper.

Harry swallowed hard, feeling that invisible pull again, stronger than before. He hesitated for half a second before pushing the Astronomy Tower door open just enough to see inside.

Draco Malfoy sat on the ground, his normally pristine hair falling loosely around his face. The moonlight framed him in silver, softening the sharp edges of his expression. But that wasn't what caught Harry's attention.

It was the way he sat-completely at ease, fingers absentmindedly stroking the back of a small fox curled up beside him.

The fox let out a contented sound, its tail flicking as Draco gave it a scratch behind the ears. His lips twitched into the faintest smile, something soft and unguarded, and-

Harry's brain shut down.

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. The air felt different-thicker, charged with something he couldn't name.

And then, before he could even think about why, a fine, white mist curled around the edges of the room. It drifted lazily, like smoke, but it wasn't smoke. It was something else. The second it touched his skin, Harry's thoughts vanished.

Every muscle in his body relaxed, the tight coil in his chest unspooling all at once. His magic, which had been restless and anxious for weeks, settled into a calm, steady hum.

And for the first time in days, the headache stopped.

Harry exhaled slowly, feeling like he was floating. His body felt light, his limbs loose. The tension, the fear, the confusion-all of it melted away, leaving behind only the simple, and horrifying realization of his thoughts.

His lips parted, a slow bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's like his brain knew just how fucked up he was...this was.

It was a distant thought-some tiny, rational part of his brain trying to claw its way back to the surface-but he couldn't quite hold onto it.

Until he realized, both in relief and discouragment. This wasn't real, Malfoy was just up here to let off some pressure.

His allure had finally surfaced it was as much of a pain to him as it was to Harry.