Labels || Drarry One-Shots

Trade Hexes for Words

Harry had quietly followed Draco through what seemed like half the castle after the sixteen year old Slytherin fled from the Great Hall. Draco would occasionally glance behind him, and Harry would quickly hide before cautiously resuming his travels.

After many more twists and turns down the hallways of the castle, Draco ducked into... Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The ghost who enjoyed clogging the pipes promptly flew from one of the many unoccupied stalls and stood by him, muttering words Harry couldn't hear all that well from his position out in the hallway.

Hesitantly, he inched his way farther into the bathroom, and furrowed his brow in shock when he realized that Draco was... Draco was crying. Myrtle was feebly attempting to console the boy, and forgot for a split moment that she couldn't touch him without sending the sensation of being dunked into an ice bath to course through his veins.

"I can't do it! I can't!" Draco was gripping one of the sinks so tightly that his already pale skin whitened around his knuckles. His head was hung low, and his normally gelled hair was sticking out in white-blonde tufts.

Harry cringed as Draco let out a gut wrenching sob, repeating he couldn't do it and that he would be killed for failing to follow through with the unknown act.

Harry's mind raced with possibility, and he was absolutely sure now that he was correct in assuming Draco had been plotting something. He was deep in thought, and didn't realize that Draco had raised his head to peer into the mercilessly cracked mirror.

"P-Potter?!" Draco shouted, his attempt at a sneer shattered by the dismal sound of his voice.

"It was you, wasn't it? You tried to pass off the cursed necklace, didn't you?!" Harry felt anger rush through him like a bullet.

The pair stood in silence for a few moments, and Draco's hand slid from the basin as he spun to face Harry. Harry, wand already in hand, assumed Draco had made a move to hex or curse Harry, so he raised his wand to point at the general area around Draco's face.

Draco, however, fell to the floor, head in his hands and shoulders shaking violently as he sobbed. His shirt was wrinkled and untucked; his legs were curled up underneath him; he was bent forward so far that his forehead nearly scraped the mildewy tiles that made up the bathroom floor. His cries echoed against the bathroom walls, and Myrtle wailed, falling next to the boy and furthering her attempts to console him.

Harry was, to say the least, stunned. He had never known Draco to be capable of feeling anything so strongly besides for hatred. To see him so broken scared Harry, to be honest. He made no move to help the boy, but he made no move to leave, either. Instead, he stood and watched the scene before him from the slightly shadowy corner he had backed into.

Draco's sobs eventually softened to whimpers and cries, but he had remained in his curled position on the floor. Myrtle had long since flown into the toilet pipes, and Harry could faintly hear her agonizing moans.

Harry had contemplated running many times within the last ten minutes, but couldn't find it within himself to abandon Draco, despite the utmost malice that was usually so strong between them.

It took a moment, but Harry shuffled reluctantly over towards Draco's crumpled form, and after a split decision, he dropped onto his knees and placed a comforting hand on Draco's back; Draco flinched. Harry cleared his throat and awkwardly patted Draco, who began to tremble fiercely again. "No, don't- don't start crying aga--"

Draco let out a sob, but stayed silent afterwards.

The sudden realization hit Harry like a bludgeor: Draco was a human being, a child, with feelings and dreams, though he did well to hide them. Draco was not some evil machine, he was a teenager who was brought up in a cold home, brought up with twisted values, and was now discovering his childhood has been based on lies and laced with racism and hatred. Draco was human, and Harry felt disgusted that, though he knew it, it never once crossed his mind.

"Draco." Harry whispered and retracted his hand from the boy's back to fall into his own lap. "Sit up."

Draco took a shuddering breath, and then another one. He removed his shaking hands from his face and straightened, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. His eyes were still shut tightly, and his lips were pressed into a trembling line.

The pair sat quietly for a short while before Harry whispered into the silence, "Draco, I'm so sorry."

Draco's silver eyes snapped open and fell to his lap. The whites of his eyes were pink and raw from crying, and the purple-y bags under his eyes jumped out, causing his normally pointed and refined facial features to appear grotesque.

"Draco?" Harry asked, keeping his voice soft. Harry gently lifted a hand and touched his fingertips to Draco's bent knee.

Draco's lip trembled slightly as he muttered, "I don't need your help."

Harry felt a pang of hurt, but he made a point not to move from his place close to Draco. "Draco, what's going on?"

Draco's breathing became ragged once more, and he fell, exhausted, onto Harry's lap, his face pressed firmly against Harry's legs as tears spilled from his eyes.

Harry was, once again, bewildered by Draco's actions, but decided that this was not the correct time to ponder them. Instead, he grazed a thumb over Draco's cheek, smearing a tear in the process. He continued to stroke Draco's face as he wept, and eventually his idle left hand began to play with the strands of Draco's hair, working to comb them back into their usual places.

The bell signifying lunch's end sounded, temporarily drowning Draco's cries, and hundreds of feet could be heard shuffling quickly throughout the hallways as their owners headed towards their class or dormitory. When the castle was quiet again, so was Draco, who shifted his head.

Harry, just realizing the intimacy of the current situation, ceased his thumb strokes and lifted his hand. A third shock came to Harry when Draco raised his own hand and used it to press Harry's hand back against his, Draco's, cheek.

Harry felt a heat rise to his face, so he cleared his throat. "Draco, what's going on?" He whispered gently, his voice reverberating against the walls. "Are you... One of them?"

In a sudden flash of movement, Draco had released himself from Harry's grasp and was now face-to-face with the dumbfounded Gryffindor, who, surprisingly, still had his hand on Draco's cheek. Silent tears cascading down his cheeks, chin, and onto Harry's already tear soaked lap as Draco curtly nodded yes.

"Oh no, Draco," Harry breathed, and raised his unoccupied hand to cup the other side of Draco's face, "Why did you do it?"

"He was... he was going to k-kill my mom! I can't let him kill my mom!" Draco screamed. He tried to stand, to move away from Harry, to run and run far away, but instead was pulled tightly against Harry. Without thinking, he buried his face in Harry's neck and took labored breaths, the weight of his burdens exhausting him.

Harry moved his arms to hug Draco around his waist, bringing him even closer and into what would have been the awkward position of being curled on his lap, had this been literally any other situation.

"I'm so sorry." Harry repeated into Draco's still messy hair. Harry's green eyes were gazing at the bathroom door. He didn't know why he had followed Draco, nor why he hadn't fled upon being discovered, nor why he was now breathing in Draco's soothing scent. Those, he thought, were feelings to battle with at a later date, because now he was holding the boy who made all the wrong choices.

Harry hoped he could aid Draco into committing the right one.