Draco

He’s happy.

For a moment, Draco can’t remember why, only that he had gotten the best night’s sleep that he had had in ages and there was no panic lurking in the back of throat, only the sun streaming in through the open curtains and sending yellow light scattering over his skin. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes like he’s smoothing wrinkles in an old shirt, and it’s only when he stretches out an arm to where Harry would normally be (Draco is always the first one awake) and touches nothing but the fraying edges of the worn out sheets that he remembers—about the ball, Harry’s hand in his as the cameras flashed, the look on Harry’s face as he reached out to ept the award that he thinks he only got because he was lucky enough to survive, that dance with Harry’s hands on him and his voice whispering in Draco’s ear, promising things that he knew better than to believe were going toe true.

There’s a knot forming in his stomach at the empty space that was supposed to hold Harry, but he swallows it down, forces himself to calm the anxiety that is beating in time with his pulse. He woke up early, he thinks, pushing away the covers and searching around for an old jumper to yank down over his arms. That’s all this is. Nothing more.

People get up early all the time, but not Harry, and even though that’s a little worrying, Draco is still happy as he gets a shower and cleans up the stray remnants of last night (a shoe here, a stray tie hanging over the back of the chair, a stain from where Harry spilled his cologne) before heading downstairs, which is when he hears Harry yelling and Dean trying to talk over him as he apologizes, which is when Draco starts to realize that there might be a reason Harry wasn’t in bed and that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t that good of a day after all.

“What’s the matter?” There’s a paper spread out over the kitchen table and Harry leaning back against the counter, red in the face. Dean throws an exasperated look Draco’s way, and instead of explaining, he shoves a paper into his chest and waits for him to read it.

“Oh.” Draco’s voice is small and stunned, and it takes a great deal of effort for him to push the pages away and pretend what he saw didn’t matter. “Well…” He looks at Harry, trying to gauge how he is supposed to react to this, but Harry looks the other way. “At least we look good. Got my best angle.”

Witch Weekly, which was a subsidy of the Daily Prophet, had apparently sent their own reporter to get the inside scoop of the ministry event last night, and they apparently decided to get the biggest scoop of a story they could and tell the whole wizarding world why the Great Harry Potter broke up with the beautiful war hero known as Ginny Weasley, aka, the fact that he doesn’t like witches at all. The entire cover was just a collage of the two of them, all these different pictures smashed together, and even Draco had to admit that it looked convincing in a way that was more than a little embarrassing. There’s the two of them walking in, the two of them sitting at a table holding hands, and the worst, biggest picture: the two of them on the dance floor, wrapped up in each other with no thought as to who was watching.

It was clear now how big of a mistake that was.

“I thought that with you in charge the Prophet would leave me alone.” Harry’s voice was dripping acid, and Draco calmed the panic squirming up in his stomach with the thought that it was not the idea that people thinks he is with Draco that had upset Harry, but rather the fact that people would consider his non-existent relationship with Draco was something newsworthy. “That you would report real stuff.”

“The Prophet does report real stuff, mate.” Dean turned the paper around again, and then winced as the tiny, animated picture of Harry leaned in and kissed Draco on the cheek when he came up to talk to Draco and Hermione. That one was pretty hard to argue with, too. “This isn’t the Prophet. This is a glorified gossip column.”

“A very popular gossip column,” Draco said faintly, sinking into the chair and reading all that they reported on last night’s event. He had been featured in this magazine before, but never like this. “With a ton of readers who now think we’re together.”

“You’re telling me you’re not?” Dean asked, which made things go from angry to awkward in less than a heartbeat. Harry just glowered at him, and Draco clawed at the dark mark hiding under his sleeve, wishing more than ever that he could just wash it away once and for all, even if he has to burn it away. Dean just looks from one to the other and raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. Whatever. None of my business. But listen, Harry. I can’t stop them. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Can’t you make them stop?” Harry looked tired, which was just so unfair, that he could have a night where he was allowed to be happy and have it turn into this, another reminder about how nothing in his life really belongs to him. “Tell them I’m off limits, or something?”

“You kidding?” Dean grins, and he runs a hand through his hair, sheepish but still just as arrogant as he was back in school. “I can’t do that Harry. You’re a gold mine. Those of us with a vault full of galleons have to make a living somehow, you know.”

Draco wants to jump in, demand that he stop and pull the story before the papers go out, tell him that Harry had given enough and it would have been nice if people could go as far to keep their nose out of his business as a thank you, but it’s not his friend and therefore not his place, so he stays silent.

“You think you would have gotten their facts right.” Harry pushes himself off the counter and heads down the hallway to let Dean out, Draco trailing faintly behind him. “I’m bi, not gay.”

“Right.” The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches up again, and for the first time, he looks a little sorry. “I’ll have a full retraction printed by tomorrow morning. Personal apology and all.”

Harry claps him on the shoulder, and Dean leaves, which even though Draco was dying for that to happen, it was even worse when they were left alone.

The thing about the article is that it’s showing the whole world a part of themselves that they haven’t even sat down and talked about, only danced around, like it’s a flame that’s fun to chase but would burn them if they got too close. Draco doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but it seems like neither does Harry, so they just go about their day, and the whole time that article is in the back of Draco’s mind, making him think that they really, really should talk.

And also that maybe they shouldn’t talk, because if they start talking then they were going toe to an unavoidable conclusion: that maybe the Witch Weekly lady was right, and they’re just pushing off the inevitable, and that everyone around them knows what they are both so desperately trying to get away with not talking about, because they’re afraid that one of them will want to walk away. But at this point, where they dance with each other in front of everyone and share a bed and spend most of their time with each other, maybe it’s more stupid than anything else to go on thinking that they don’t have feelings for each other.

And then what, Draco? The voice pops up again, and Draco tries to quiet it, he really does try, he hates the voice and what it says and the things it makes him think about himself, and he hates it even more because when he takes a step back to look at things objectively, it’s not like its wrong. It’s only telling the truth that everyone else is too polite to say. You go on a date and everything’s good for a day, or a week, or a month, but then you get in a fight and he remembers who you are, what you’ve done, and the next minute you find yourself in a cell in Azkaban and even worse than you started. You can’t fool yourself that anyone would have cared about you if Harry doesn’t.

Which is the truth, and also why he can’t be the person to talk about it. He can’t because he’s afraid, and because even though he loves him, even though he’s fairly sure Harry loves him back, Draco has to live with the fact that he is here and free all because of Harry, that this is a debt he will never be able to pay back, and that he should be on his knees groveling for his iveness, that he has no right to even exist. If he were to take a chance, it might be fine for a while, but a few mistakes down the road and this nice protection that Harry has given him will go up in smoke like it’s not even there. He is free with Harry’s blessing, and nothing more, and no matter what Draco had thought before or how much less threatening Azkaban is now that it lacks dementors, he cannot give up freedom now that he has a sense to know what it means.

So he reads the paper instead.

About how Harry and Ginny broke up, only to be replaced by Luna days later in the aftermath of the war. About the sentencing hearing and how Harry stood up, which started a whole other article speculating about whether they had been together before that, maybe even back at their Hogwarts days, and some kids he had never talked to wormed their way into a minute of fame to tell the press that it was definitely a possibility, which, hello, Harry almost killed him in their sixth year, and it wasn’t even on ident. Then it goes on to talk about the places they had been sighted together and how last night was their first real public announcement, and by the end of it, Draco could almost be convinced of it himself.

He wants to be convinced of it.

He wants it to be real, wants it in a way that makes him ache, and just for a moment as he closes the paper, he thinks that Azkaban cannot be worse than this.

What’s the point of playing it safe if you never learn what it feels like to burn, anyways?

They still sleep together.

Draco had been afraid they wouldn’t, and since it is one of the days that they sleep in Harry’s room, it is up to Draco to decide whether or not he will be brave enough to try. He knows that Harry will be kind about it, make an excuse about wanting to stay up late or having a head ache, but both of them will know, and Draco didn’t want to face that. He stands outside his room for a while, long enough that the ticking of his clock is starting to drive him insane, but then he shifts his weight and the boards creak under his feet and he knows that it is pointless to keep waiting, since Harry knows he is there anyways.

“Hey.” He knocks and then pushes the door the rest of the way open, hesitating in the doorway. “Do you still want to…”

He trails off, and Harry glares at him. His hair is even messier than usual. Draco, on the other hand, looks even more put together.

“Shut up.” He throws the blankets in what was probably meant to be a sign of wee but was really just angry looking. “Get over here.”

Draco doesn’t argue, just crosses the room and then crawls into bed, and then starts the routine of counting Harry’s breaths until he can fall asleep. But that doesn’t w

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