The Re-Sorting [Drarry, TW SMUT]

Bloody Bonds.

HELLO THIS IS WHERE I CAME BACK AFTER A LONG BREAK SO MY WRITING IS DEFINITELY DIFFERENT OKAY THANK YOUUUU

3rd POV

Draco sat on the floor of his room, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. His arm throbbed, both from the fresh Dark Mark and the words he had carved into his skin. The letters stood out angrily, red and raw against his pale forearm. He swallowed hard, blinking away the burning sensation behind his eyes.

He couldn’t stay here. Not with his father’s piercing glares. Not with Voldemort’s lingering touches and quiet promises of purpose. He needed to leave.

A knock at the door made him flinch. “Draco?” It was Pansy. Her voice was hesitant, softer than usual. “I’m coming in.”

The door creaked open, and Pansy stepped inside, closing it quickly behind her. She took one look at Draco—his hunched posture, the way he clutched his arm—and her eyes darkened. Without a word, she sat beside him and reached for his wrist. This wasn't the first time.

“Let me see.”

He hesitated before slowly pulling back his sleeve, exposing both the Dark Mark and the fresh cuts. Pansy inhaled sharply.

“Oh, Draco,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said hollowly, refusing to meet her gaze. “Nothing matters.”

Pansy pressed her lips together and pulled out her wand. “Hold still.” She muttered a quiet healing spell, watching as the cuts began to close, leaving only faint scars behind.

“You don’t have to stay here,” she said after a long silence.

Draco let out a bitter laugh. “And where would I go, Pans? There’s nowhere for me.”

She hesitated before speaking again. “Potter left his relatives.”

Draco stiffened. “What?”

“Blaise told me. He showed up at the Weasleys’, then disappeared again. He's not with those Muggle bastards anymore, or the Weaselbee'."

Draco’s heart pounded. He thought of the way Harry had looked on the train, exhausted, distant. He thought of the way he’d refused to talk about his summer, the way he always flinched at the mention of home.

“Where is he now?” Draco asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pansy shrugged. “Sirus'. The place he took us before. Grimmauld Place. He's reminiscing. And looking for a place from You-Know-Who."

Something stirred inside Draco. He looked down at the Dark Mark on his arm, then back at Pansy.

“I need to get out of here.”

Pansy smirked, mischief flickering in her eyes. “Then let’s make a plan.”

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1st POV - Harry

Grimmauld Place was suffocating.

Even though I was free from the Dursleys, free from their cruelty, I still felt trapped. The house was too quiet. Too empty. Too filled with ghosts of people who weren’t here anymore.

Sirius’ letter still sat on my nightstand. I had read it so many times the parchment was starting to crinkle at the edges. He had made plans for me. A room. A life. A future. And now he was gone.

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. I needed air. Hedwig had been nagging me to go outside, it was dangerous, but for once, I decided to listen.

I stepped out onto the front steps, letting the cool air hit my face. My breath came out in little puffs, mixing with the night. The street was mostly empty, save for a figure standing beneath a flickering streetlamp.

At first, I thought I was imagining things. But then the figure took a hesitant step forward, into the dim glow of the lamp.

Blond hair. Pale skin. A familiar face.

Draco Malfoy.

My heart stopped.

Draco looked... different. His usually pristine clothes were wrinkled, his hair slightly out of place. He looked thinner, almost sickly. But what stood out the most was his expression—he looked lost.

“I need your help,” he said, voice unsteady.

I stared at him, trying to process his words. Malfoy. Standing outside my house. Asking for my help.

This had to be a dream.

But then I saw his arm, the way he was clutching it. His sleeve had slipped just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the mark beneath. The Dark Mark.

My stomach twisted.

“What did you do?” I asked, my voice barely above a breath.

Draco’s jaw clenched. He looked away. “I didn’t have a choice.”

A long silence stretched between us. I knew what he meant.

I should turn him away. I should. He was now the enemy. A Death Eater. Everything I had been raised to fight against. A danger to me and everything I loved. Draco. Loved.

But I saw it, the shell of who he used to be, who we used to be—the slight tremble in his hands, the way his eyes darted around like he was expecting someone to drag him back at any second. The hope that we would cradle each other once more.

He was afraid.

I exhaled slowly. “Come inside.”

Draco’s head snapped up, his grey eyes widening. “What?”

“Come inside,” I repeated. “Before someone sees you.”

For a moment, he looked like he might refuse. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he stepped forward.

I shut the door behind him, locking it with a quiet click.

Whatever this was, whatever happened next… I had a feeling my life would never be the same again.