drarry oneshots

chapter 1

Harry's head was pounding. He had only just finished his Potions essay, and he could already see the sun beginning to rise. Worried, he looked at the grandfather clock next to the fire. 4:48 a.m; he'd definitely lost track of time, as the last time he remembered seeing on the clock was somewhere around 11 p.m. Hermione would be waking up in just under an hour, interrogating him about why he didn't finish his work sooner. Instead of pondering on his upcoming lecture, he decided to actually prepare for the day - seeing as he knew that if he fell asleep now, he'd wake up late and too groggy to function. It was Sunday, but he didn't want to mess up his sleep pattern for the next week by waking up mid-afternoon.

After packing away his leftover parchment, ink, and quill, he went up to the boys' dormitory to retrieve his shower bag. It took him longer than usual because his eyes were struggling to stay open, but he managed. After getting his shower bag, he went back downstairs, left through the portrait hole, and headed for the Prefect bathroom. That was one of the only benefits of being a Prefect, besides the heightened status and improved future job applications. He was happy that no one else would be there, so he could relax and calm down from the previous week of stress. He had also picked up his charmed radio out of habit (it was a gift from Arthur after he'd experimented with it, so it could play muggle songs). It was one of the only things that was important to him anymore, which was quite sad seeing as it was, well, a radio.

He reached the bathroom after what seemed like hours trapped inside his own mind. He hung his shower bag inside one of the shower cubicles, on the hook, and took a fluffy white towel from the cupboard before hanging it over the shower wall. He'd placed the radio on the ledge of the bath so that he could still hear it, but it wouldn't disturb anyone else. The pyjamas he had just taken off were folded next to it, since there was nowhere else to put them. Finally, he played a song on the radio, and stepped into the shower. The hot water melted his tensed up muscles as it cascaded down his body. His hair stuck to his face; he pushed it to the side and closed his eyes. The music put him into a tranquil state, he almost felt like he was floating. His mind left this world and imagined what he could only believe to be perfection. An easy life. One without constant hastle and pain. Without a greasy-haired teacher constantly screaming down his ear, and instead, with his parent sending him letters every week asking what he'd done during that past week. The answer would never change: lessons; homework; quidditch, but he'd still look forward to the owl dropping that parchment in front of him.

Harry hadn't noticed the single tear that had left his eye and travelled down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away and focused on the music. It sounded familiar to him, but he couldn't quite identify it - he knew the words, but not the name. The words resonated with him, as if someone had taken his hidden thoughts and played them on a guitar.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps outside of the door. Harry put his hand over his mouth, which was obviously pointless but felt like the right thing to do. The person entered, shut the door, and stopped in their tracks. Without hesitation, they let out a low whimper, like that of an injured animal. It put pain in Harry's heart, like the two had an immediate understanding of true despair. They then did the same as Harry had done before: shower bag on hook; towel over wall; stepped in shower. It was only then that they realised what they had seen: folded up pyjamas and a radio. They recognised the radio, they had seen it in a student's hand. They knew exactly who it belonged to, but they'll be damned if the boy who lived was actually awake before the birds. With no regret whatsoever, the voice whispered out:

"Harry?" Harry recognised the voice, but he wasn't sure what to do. Respond? Ignore it? Continue their everlasting mockery of one another. No, definitely not that. The pain they were feeling, that was no joke. Instead, he responded, in what was possibly the most foolish tone ever.

"Malfoy?" Harry quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, and heard the other do the same. Unlike Harry, Malfoy stepped out of the shower. His steps were coming closer towards Harry, but whether they posed threat or comfort he did not know.

As the steps stopped right outside of Harry's shower cubicle, he drew back the curtain and was met with a sorry sight. His hair was messy; standing on end in some places and slicked down in others. His eyes were red and puffy, and had dark circles beneath them. He was standing with a slouched position, in contrary to his usual strut of confidence and awareness.

"Please." Malfoy whispered, his voice hoarse and dry. They both acted without thinking. Within seconds, a head with bleach blonde hair was resting on Harry's chest, despite Harry being the shorter of the two. Their hands were snaked around each other, searching for comfort which they immediately found. The two boys found themselves at ease, despite their history. They were simply able to enjoy this moment, and - even just for a moment - forget everything that stood behind them.