nutes.

It’s all Harry’s fault, really. He left his scarf at the table, and when Draco told him to go back and get it, that he’d be fine waiting outside in the alley, he believed him. And then when he came back out, Draco was gone, but there was the unmistakable sound of a fighting from around the corner.

There’s three of them, and then there’s Draco. It’s not even a fight, really, just a beat down, with two of the boys holding him in place and the other just wailing on him, sending punch after punch. There’s blood streaming from Draco’s nose, and a cut above his eyes, and more dribbling from lip. His coat is gone and shirt sleeve is ripped, and when they finally give him a break, Draco coughs and splutters through the pain until he can breathe again.

“What’s the matter?” The one asks, grabbing Draco by the hair and wrenching his head up, forcing him to look at him. Draco spits in his face, and the guy backhands him, making him fall to the ground. “No daddy here to save you now. Where’s your daddy, huh Draco? Tell us where he went.”

Harry doesn’t know if Draco was going to keep fighting, or if he was really going to give in, stay on the ground. He doesn’t find out, just runs down the alleyway until he gets to them, wand held out and ready to fight.

“Get away from him.” His voice is steady, but more frantic than Harry had ever heard it. He wasn’t even this panicked facing down Voldemort. (Tom Riddle.) (Damn it.) (He was just a man, treat him like one.) “You’ve got three seconds.”

“Oh yeah?” The one who was doing the punching turned around to face him, obviously expecting someone who was more easily scared. “And who’s going to make us?”

There’s not many asions in which Harry is grateful that he is who he is. This time, though, he illuminates his wand so they could see his face, and smiles when their eyes dart up to see his scar. “Harry bloody Potter, that’s who,” He says, and steps forward to give Draco a hand up, wishing he hade up with something better. “And you’re messing with my friend.”

“Your friend’s a death eater?” Harry recognized the voice. It was someone from Hogwarts, someone he probably ate lunch with, played a game of pick up Quidditch with. That’s the worst thing about all this hate, how it divides them. “Thought better of you, Potter. Thought you fought against people like him.”

“You’re wrong.” He says, not knowing what he is saying, just that Draco is bleeding and hurt and scared and Harry did not stop it. “I fought for my friends. For the people I loved. And now he’s one of them. So you should get going.”

It works, finally. Two on three are odds they are not willing to face, especially if one of those two had killed the dark lord less then six months ago. “Fine.” The guy spits at Harry’s feet. He’s just glad it isn’t his face. “But next time it’s a duel.”

Harry snorts. “Looking forward to it.”

They leave, and Draco makes a sound that Harry takes for a sob but is actually just a laugh. He’s in hysterics, right there in this dirty alley with his broken nose, and Harry doesn’t really know what to do with that, so he crouches on the ground beside him to get a better look at his face.

He clicks his tongue, because that’s what Hermione always did when they were hurt, and then uses the end of his shirt sleeve to clear away some of the blood. “It’s alright, Draco.” He wraps an arm around his shoulder and then pulls him to his feet. “We’ll get you sorted out.”

Draco

Getting beat up sucks.

It’s happening more and more often, lately, but none as bad as this one. It took Harry a half hour to patch him up, but even that wasn’t as bad as the idea that Harry had seen that, had had to rescue him from that, like some sort of damsel in distress. And even worse was the fact that Draco hadn’t even fought.

(That, he thinks, is the biggest difference between him and Harry. Harry would never stop fighting.)

“Maybe I should be an auror, after all.” Harry’s laugh is a little dry for it to be funny, but Draco still snaps his head up when he says it. “Was good at it.”

He was. He’d be a great one. “Don’t be one on my ount.”

He’s only half joking, but Harry isn’t when he reaches out and cups Draco’s face in his hand, his thump brushing over where Draco’s lip had split. “Who’s going to look out for you if I don’t?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knows that he doesn’t mean him, specifically. He means anyone who ever had been discriminated against, who had felt what it was like to be dragged to the end of a dark alley and not know if you areing out again. Themon people. Still, it makes him angry and sad all at once. “I don’t deserve it.”

Harry’s voice is only a whisper. “You do.”

Draco throws his hand off, steps away, and maybe they are not talking about protection anymore but he still does not stop. “I don’t. You’ll realize it one day.”

“Damn it.” Harry’s curse is hissed under his breath, but his next words are loud. “I don’t care, alright! I don’t care about your dad, I don’t care that you fought against me, I don’t care that you used to hate me and that I used to hate you because we were absolute cocks to each other in school, okay? None of that matters to me.” He takes a step closer. “The only thing that matters to me is this. You. Us.”

There is no us, Draco wants to sneer, but he is learning not to be cruel all the time.

“I know! You said!” He yells instead, throwing his hands in the air, because it is all so unfair, all the time. “You’re trying to save me because you don’t think I deserve it. But guess what, Potter? Obviously, some people don’t agree with you.”

“Then to Hell with them.” Harry stares at him for a long time, and then rounds the table, getting so close to Draco that he half expects another punch. “This isn’t about saving you, you git. This is about being your friend. Because I care about you, not because I want to wash away your past sins or make your the new wizarding saint, or whatever the hell you think is going on, alright? This is just you and me.”

Draco is still breathing hard and ready for another fight, but really, he’s in too much pain to stay angry. “Two mates against the world, just looking out for each other?”

When Harry turns to look back at him, Draco gets the sense that he has said something wrong, though he can’t imagine what. “Sure,” Harry says, and Draco chalks the flat tone up to being just the aftermath of the fight. “Something like that.”

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