Unmasked

Safe for You

Sleep didn't come easily to Harry that night. He tossed and turned for hours, multiple times having to blow pieces of hair out of his eyes. Mind whirling as he studied scarlet curtains in the moonlight, scenes from previous months ran fervently behind his eyes. Harry couldn't help but wonder how, as an abuse victim himself, he had not noticed the boy suffering right in front of him. Could it have been their blind hate for each other? His own bias? Himself being wrapped up in his other problems?

Harry blinked, staring at the ceiling. Since when is Draco Malfoy's home life my problem? Harry wondered. He sighed after a moment of thought. Since the moment I saw him on that train.

Harry, through the sleeplessness, started to realize some truths. Himself and Draco were more alike than he'd thought. Also, Harry could not bring himself to hang him out to dry if this story was true, even if he was Draco Malfoy. Even though he was the boy he loathed since the age of eleven. He knew Hermione felt the same way. Childish taunting, fighting, and insults aside--Draco could be suffering. And no one, Harry thought, deserves to suffer through abuse by their own family.

Besides, Draco was right. Harry didn't know him, just as Draco didn't know Harry. They knew virtually nothing about each other. Draco didn't know about Harry's past with the Dursleys, or why he acted the way he did. Why his triggers are what they are. Harry, on the other hand, didn't know anything about Draco other than the fact that he was smart, gifted at Quidditch, and came from an arrogant pureblood family. A family, which he thought until recently, doted on him and loved him. If he had been wrong about that, what else was there to find out?

Professor McGonagall's last requests ran repeatedly through his head as well. He could still hear the concern in her voice, how she tried to suppress the crack when she mentioned what Draco might do... Harry felt a pang in his chest. He blew air into his cheeks, then let it go. He knew, without a doubt, that he was in it for the long haul. He didn't know whether it was the familiarity, his pattern of always wanting to help people, or that he actually cared (although he suspected it was the latter), but he knew that whatever it took, he would help the struggling Slytherin. He knew he couldn't be pushy, couldn't make him talk--make him trust him. But Harry hoped, really hoped that he could get through to the blond. That at some point, even if only step by step, he could open up to Harry. And Harry would be there.

**

Around two a.m., Harry huffed and flipped onto his back. His blankets lay in a heap on the floor, his pillow hanging half off of the bed. Harry rubbed his eyes, then sat up, shaking his head as his feet reached the cold floor. Two minutes later he was shuffling out of the door of the common room, invisibility cloak shielding him from view.

Harry wandered the corridors, staring at the suits of armour and the intricacies of the tapestries. Anything to avoid the inevitable tossing and turning he'd inevitably return to before too long. Silvery blurs rushed past him in his periphery, however, which ghosts they were didn't register. He didn't mind. The odd creak or whisper of a portrait were the only sounds Harry could hear.

With his mind still racing, Harry almost missed the odd sight across the corridor. He stopped in his tracks, quirking his head at the classroom door that was slightly ajar. He studied it for a moment before pacing up to it, peering through the crack. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, however, upon closer observation a figure was visible on the other side of the room, shielded from direct view by a few rows of desks. And what's more... Harry could hear them crying softly.

Harry craned his neck, but ended up opening the door silently to get a better look at the weeping student. Harry's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the short, blond locks. He surveyed him closer, pulling the door shut behind him without a sound. In the dimness, Harry could barely make them out, but they were there. Bruises covered his porcelain skin, cuts and scars interlaced with them. There were other marks as well, which Harry couldn't quite place. As he stepped forward, Draco turned his head, revealing his face. He swiped at the tears streaming down his face, features contorted in a pained grimace.

Wordlessly, Harry rushed over to the boy on the floor, who didn't seem to notice his presence. He knelt beside the Slytherin, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Watery silver eyes flicked up in shock, and widened. His breathing stuttered before he dropped his gaze, crying even harder. His shoulders heaved and he shook his head. Harry gathered the blond in his arms, who broke into full sobs in response.

"Draco," Harry sighed.

He shook his head furiously. "Don't ask," he sobbed. "Please."

Harry rubbed his back gently. "I'm not."

Draco nodded--gasped. "Thank you."

Harry smiled sadly. He'd never heard those words said to him by Draco. He'd never really even had a proper conversation with him before. But, Harry now knew his suspicions were correct. Of course, they weren't 100% confirmed. But the battered boy in his arms was all the proof he needed. Harry had said to Draco just the other day that he'd experienced abuse himself, that he could talk to him. Why else would Draco let Harry near him right now? Although the blond would likely not tell him why he was crying in an empty classroom in the middle of the night, Harry didn't need him to to be able to make, at the very least, a good guess.

The sobs slowly resided and Harry loosened his grip around the blond's waist. Draco pulled back and sat back against the wall silently, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. Harry slumped back against the wall too, not close enough to be touching, but not far away enough that they couldn't if they wanted to. They sat together in silence for a while. Draco sniffed every so often, and would swipe at his eyes with his thumb. Harry picked at stray threads on his pajama bottoms.

"I can't tell you," came the hushed voice of Draco. It was hoarse and strained.

Harry glanced over at his tear-streaked face, and the scars and bruises that littered it. "What?"

Draco looked away, avoiding his gaze. "I... just can't talk about it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay?" Draco sounded surprised.

Harry met his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Why?"

"You're not gunna press me," he pushed. "Not going to demand to know. Or taunt me. O-or-"

"Stop," said Harry, and Draco did. His eyes softened as he looked at Harry. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do. Like you said, I don't know you. And I'm not going to force that. It's that easy. I will know what you want me to know, and no more."

"I--I just can't..." He took a deep breath. "I've never... I don't.. I can't say anything..."

"Not now, or not ever?"

Draco hesitated, bringing his gaze back up. "Not now..."

"Okay."

Draco nodded. "That's all?"

"That's all. Look, I don't know exactly what's going on. But I'm not going to say anything to make it worse, either. You may not know me, but I'm not like that."

Draco nodded again. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You're scared."

"I am not."

"Draco." Silver eyes met green, and both of their faces softened. "I am not what you're afraid of. Okay? So take your time. Just know that I am safe for you, whenever." At a loss for words, Draco could only search Harry's face for any sign of insincerity. He found none. He swallowed thickly, then dropped his gaze. After a moment, Harry spoke again. "It's getting really late. We should go to bed."

Draco nodded. "Yeah. We have to be up soon."

The two boys stood from the floor and dusted off their pants. Harry watched Draco walk towards the door. He eyed that cut on the back of his neck. "G'night."

"Night." Draco reached for the door handle, then stopped and looked back. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."