sweetener; drarry

7; build up

TRACK 7
Baby Teeth
Flower Face

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The closet was so much bigger from the inside. It completely perplexed Harry as his eyes travelled over each individual corner of the room, relishing in the fact that his ex-arch nemesis (maybe) had just saved his life — figuratively, that is. His gaze soon landed on the posh, green chair that Draco currently sat in, one leg crossed over the other as he straightened his back — incredibly formally. The blond had chosen to spend his time reading, flicking through a thick book entitled, 'The Shining by Stephen King'.
"Isn't that a muggle book?" Harry asked, tilting his head to read the spine of the book more clearly.
"Yes, and?" Draco retorted, eyes glued to his page. Harry needn't respond, returning his gaze to the small bookshelf and scanning the titles. For every one wizarding book there must've been at least two or three muggle ones. Draco seemed to enjoy horrors, Harry knew that much.

Harry's green gaze loomed over a battered cage in the corner, covered in dust and a few dead plants scattered about it. He noticed a bag of half-eaten ferret food propped up against a bucket and some sort of small harness. 'Strange.' He thought, moving on to the books again.

Several long minutes passed before Draco spoke again,
"Are you just going to stand there with that demented expression on your face?" Harry hadn't even realised that he had been staring into space, and he especially hadn't realised that it had bothered Draco so dearly.
"I don't really know what else to do." The brunet responded, shrugging his shoulders. Malfoy snapped his book together in a tantrum and slammed it on the night table beside his chair. Harry caught Draco glowering and wincing as he rose from his seat, knees cracking stiffly as if just moving was hard enough for them. He hadn't really noticed it before, but Malfoy was really skinny.

"Are you too incompetent to read?" The blond began, signalling to the multiple books on the shelves, "too busy thinking loads of rubbish? Go on, what are you thinking about in that huge head of yours?" There was a hint of spite there, but curiosity more-so. Harry glared at Draco, slightly agitated. He raked his mind for things to say before remembering what had happened earlier the day before — which had felt like weeks ago, now.

"Oh, nothing. I was just wondering why the first thing your Boggart turned into was my corpse." Harry raised a brow, smiling inwardly at the flustered expression on Draco's face.
"I—well," Malfoy fumbled for words, clearly frustrated, "I was trying to throw it off, confuse it — you know — use my brains. Something you clearly don't have." Draco growled, "you just so happened to be the first thing I thought of." Harry smirked and knew that he had caught the blond out yet again.
"I'm the first thing that comes to mind, eh?" The brunet chirped back with mischief evident in his eyes.
"I don't know what you're inferring, Potter, but I hope you know I'm not scared of you."
"No, you're just scared of me dying."

Draco slumped back into his chair, heaving a great sigh as he rubbed his dark eyes. Although the boy was only fifteen, he had never before appeared so withered and grey. His cheeks were hollow and his lips were cracked, as if he was just surviving — not living. Harry felt a pang of guilt surge through his chest and an icy feeling of misery pooled into his guts. Opening his mouth to speak before thinking better of it, Harry edged nearer to Malfoy and sat on one of the armrests of the green chair. The blond (who was now so low down in his chair you could've mistook him for a dwarf) scowled through furrowed brows, looking as though something unpleasant had died in his mouth.
"Look, I'm sorry," Harry began, flicking his hair out of his eyes almost effortlessly, "I shouldn't have brought it up, I was just trying to have a laugh. I didn't mean to offend you." Harry James Potter had always been a polite, young man, except to those who didn't deserve his etiquette. So why on Earth was he apologising to Draco-bloody-Malfoy? Surely it should've been the other way round, Harry would've thought so too, prior to yesterday's Defence Against the Dark Art's lesson. His views had been changed, and now — in this very moment — he couldn't shake the feeling of complete, abhorrent sorrow.

Draco glared for a moment, flicking his dull, blue eyes between Harry's enticing, green ones. It felt as though he was being interrogated as Draco's cold glare searched him for clues, a single sign that this was a joke.
"Are you kidding?" The blond almost spat, pushing himself back up and intensely staring down Harry.
"Nuh-no." The brunet recoiled ever-so-slightly from Draco, grimacing at himself for stuttering.
"Then why are you apologising?"
"Because..." Why had he apologised? "Because I shouldn't have brought it up."
"I'm the one who slammed my book down in an unsolicited tantrum!" Draco's gaze faltered as the floor seemingly grew more and more interesting.
"Well, it doesn't matter." Harry smiled as genuinely as possible, just to show the latter that he truly did mean what he was saying.
"Well, it sort of does." Draco drawled, running his hands over each other like a skittish hamster.

Harry closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, fighting the urge to scowl and claw at Draco. He wanted to. He wanted to argue with Malfoy so badly, but he just couldn't bring himself to insult a victim of abuse — no matter how nasty that person may be.

"The period's almost over, then I'll be gone," Harry began, "I'll leave you alone and stop trying to fix things between us, if you'd prefer that." The brunet winced when Draco let out a sharp, high-pitched laugh.
"Fix things? Harry, do you know who you're talking to?" Grief lingered in Draco's shattered eyes before he quickly regained his despicable nature. He held his chest in a brash attempt to stifle his laughter, "you can't fix a Malfoy." And with that the bell rang, followed by a nipping hand at Harry's side.

Draco's bone-chillingly thin hand dug into Harry's waist and yanked him forwards. The door to the janitor's closet ripped wide open and the brunet was forcefully shoved out.
"See you in Charms, twat." Malfoy hissed through the gap in the door, slamming it shut with such strength the plaster around the doorframe peeled off and fluttered to the floor. Harry was utterly dumbfounded. Not only because in a matter of about five seconds he had been begrudgingly removed from the tight closet — which had reminded him so dearly of Privet Drive. No, that wasn't the only thing that had con-fuddled him.

What had confused him most was the fact that Draco-bloody-Malfoy had referred to Harry by his first name instead of his last, which was virtually unheard of.