CHROMA | drarry

g. baby steps

Two souls laid panting next to each other, chests heaving and wands loosely gripped on the base of their own individual palms. They were sprawled on the soft, carpeted floor. Draco's back ached softly, silently craving that the floor surface he was laying on was his bed instead. He was exhausted.

It's been one week and precisely one day since they had established their discreet arrangement throughout the blinds of dawn, and Harry was more or less punctual about their meetings. He always made sure to clock in at the exact time of their agreement, and over this past week, he has never been late nor cancelled a session.

As he was always diligent with his attendance, exhaustion too was always present with him. Harry had now prominent dark circles under his eyes, it certainly doesn't look as ghastly as Draco's, having little to no sleep for almost as long as his studentship in Hogwarts. But Harry wasn't all that acquainted with exhaustion, Draco was.

Not that Draco would really be the perfect judge for Harry's exhaustion meter, he's fought the Dark Lord all his life.

Soon enough he felt the all-too familiar guilt weighing down his stomach, the same conflict battling his mind, he was selfish, bringing down other people onto a pit of exhaustion in sake of keeping merely Draco's appearance.

Since the first time Harry assured him that he was more than alright to help Draco, he tried to swallow down the guilt and assured himself that Harry was fully consenting to this activity. But Draco just couldn't help but feel as if he was a liability every time he saw the dark bags under the latter's eyes, and that his selfish needs was the one that caused it.

As if sensing his distress, Harry's mouth marred into a frown and tilted his head to his left, "You alright?"

"I'm alright."

"You sure?" The teasing tone was back.

Instead of replying, he closed his eyes, flashes of younger him and his father casting spells before various events. Draco knew his father didn't mean any harm, back then young children with rare and special abilities tend to be viewed as a threat to society, as they were still children, and therefore, deemed not mature enough to control their inheritance, and afraid that they might go out of control and have sporadic outbursts with their powers.

By the Ministry, it was the law that children of certain abilities be reported to them, and to undergo a special training until they were 11 years old. It was like a pre-school before Hogwarts or any wizarding school of choice that the child may want to proceed to.

Lucius Malfoy rebelled against the law and contradicted the Ministry's rulings and kept his son's abilities hidden away in the dark. Saying that, before Hogwarts, Draco deserved to have his split share of childhood and freedom, not to be taken away to some special training.

Although now the straining law has been taken down and dropped around when Draco was in his second year at Hogwarts, he still couldn't help but feel wary about showcasing his abilities to the world. How will the others react when they find out that his blood isn't as pure as it seems? And that his foolish preaching about blood purity in the past that he caught on from his father when he was younger turned out to be merely hypocritical declamations? He couldn't handle the shame, and clung tightly onto his pride.

It was nice to know that he was cared by his father, beneath all that overly cold mask and stiff countenances, Draco knew, beneath, his father was at least caring about his well being.

"When are we going to Andromeda's?" The now-blond veered the question. Teddy had been in the back of his mind since Harry had invited him to go meet them, it was comforting to know that he had a relative of the same abilities. He wasn't alone.