course, he had heard him that night, he had been sobbing outside of his room. The entire lower half of the castle probably knew.

Draco was stirring again, standing up and refastening his cloak. Harry crawled carefully out from under the desk, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wasn’t letting Draco out of his sight. He followed Draco to the door, slipping out just seconds before it began to close. Draco looked up and down the hall, pulled his hood up, and muttered a disillusionment spell.

Harry could still hear the slight scuff of Malfoy’s shoes against the stone, following it as best he could. They exited the castle. The rain had let up some, but there was still a light drizzle. Within moments, a white wolf appeared on the grass twenty paces in front of Harry. He stretched his legs before beginning a light trot towards the woods, seemingly unaware of Harry.

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, bunching it haphazardly and stuffing it into his pocket.

“Wait!” he called before he could stop himself.

The wolf’s gait faltered as it turned to look back at Harry.

“I need to talk to you,” he yelled chasing after it.

It stopped, looking at Harry with bewilderment.

Harry ran until he caught up with the wolf.

“I can’t believe it,” he coughed, out of breath, before falling to his knees.

Run, you idiot, Draco told himself, but Harry’s voice held him fastened to where he stood.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry coughed, falling to his knees. “I can’t believe it.”

Draco stood still, unsure of what Harry was referring to.

“You’re a fucking animagus,” Harry laughed, still out of breath. “I knew you were bloody fucking brilliant, but this is really impressive. The only thing more impressive is that you’re—” Harry seemed to stop himself.

He studied Draco momentarily, his eyes locking with his own, making Draco feel a bit naked.

“You’re really him, aren’t you?”

Draco didn’t respond. He didn’t know who Harry thought he was, but he wasn’t about blow his cover.

Harry swallowed.

“Draco,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “Draco, you’re alive.”

Draco’s vision began fading at the edges, sinking intoplete darkness. The last thing he remembered was the grass rapidly approaching his face.

He was beautiful. God, he was beautiful.

Harry felt like a creep, sitting at the edge of his bed and staring at him like this, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the other boy’s face. He tried to write it off by making the excuse that he never thought he would see this face, in the flesh, again and that was why he couldn’t look away, but that excuse only lasted about three minutes. No, he couldn’t look away because he was looking at the singular most beautiful person he had ever seen and that person had somehow managed to go and be even more beautiful.

And he was alive. Harry knew he should be angry that he was lied to, that he was made to feel like the world was crumbling beneath him for no reason at all, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He was just so relieved. Each rise and fall of Draco’s chest made the pain that had taken residence in his own dissipate a little.

He reached out and brushed Draco’s hair away from his face, not letting his hand linger on the other boy’s face like it so desperately wanted to.

Draco began to stir.

Draco awoke on his bed. It had just been another dream, thank Merlin.

He stretched his arms, feeling satisfied at the pop in his spine as he did so.

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake.”

Draco’s eyes rocketed open, only to fall upon Harry Potter, sitting at the edge of his bed in the Slytherin dungeons.

“You passed out and then you became human again, and you’re too tall to cover with the Invisibility Cloak entirely, so I had to levitate you down here with your feet sticking out. Luckily, no one was there to see,” Harry rambled a bit.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” was all Draco could bring himself to say.

“Thanks, Harry. You’re very wee for not leaving you on the grass in the rain for anyone to see, Malfoy,” Harry said.

“McGonagall will kill me now that you know.”

“Well, being killed doesn’t appear to be all that bad,” Harry said, not without a hint of bitterness.

“Potter, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would bother you.”

“It did.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Draco repeated, sitting up. A silence hung heavy between them. “It felt like the only option.”

“How?”

“The trial may have gone well, had I gone, but the whole world hated me. Still does. Even if I was exonerated, I couldn’t live with the staring and the whispering. I couldn’t live knowing no one really ave me,” Draco explained.

“I ave you.”

“I know.”

Harry fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

“We don’t have to tell her,” he said, finally, his eyes meeting Draco’s.

“That you know? No, I suppose we don’t. I could just obliviate you and we could carry on like—”

“No!” Harry interjected quickly.

“No?”

“I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

“Potter.”

“I—” Harry broke eye contact, settling on the bedding in front of him. “I need to remember you, like this. I need to know you’re okay. What happened to you—what I thought happened to you—it made me sick.”

Draco sighed, pulling his legs to his chest. His eyes stung.

“The war was over. The war was over and somehow we both survived and the thought of that, for reasons I couldn’t understand, or maybe just didn’t want to understand, made me relieved. I never thought I would be glad that you would live another day to make me feel like an absolute idiot. But then…Then you were gone and I conveniently figured out why I was so relieved we had both survived the moment you were taken away from us. From me,” Harry spoke so quickly, Draco could hardly be sure of what he was hearing.

“And why was that?” Draco asked, his mouth going dry. He knew the answer, had known the answer for a week now, but he wouldn’t let himself believe it until Harry said it to him directly.

Harry laughed humorlessly.

“I don’t want to say it if you’re just going to obliviate me in a few hours.”

“Answer and maybe I won’t.”

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“Maybe is as good as I can give you, Potter.”

Harry was silent for a moment, studying Draco’s face intently.

“I guess telling you now and not remembering later is better than never telling you at all.”

“I guess it is.”

“You have an idea of what I am going to say, don’t you?”

“I can only hope my idea is anywhere close.”

Harry took a deep breath and Draco braced himself, waiting for whatever Potter was about to tell him. Potter looked at him and swallowed, opening his mouth and closing it again. His gaze fell back to the bed sheets, which he took in his hands, fiddling with the fabric, then rose back to Draco.

“Bloody hell, Potter, spit it ou—”

“Maybe I never hated you,” Potter sputtered.

“Alright, maybe you didn’t, so what?” Draco said, and he could feel their conversation falling back in that old familiar pattern, seeing who could make the other feel dumber with each word.

Potter shot him a chastising glance and Draco tried to ignore the heat he felt rise to his cheeks. So maybe only he was falling back into his old ways. Potter seemed quite determined to be different.

“If your great revelation is that it turns out you don’t mind me so much, I am going to have to ask you to have better revelations from now on,” Draco continued, consciously softening his voice.

“That’s not it,” Potter insisted.

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, get on with it then,” Draco said, his eyes gravitating back towards Potter’s hands, fidgeting with the sheets. He noted that he would only have to move his own a fraction for them to be touching.

“That article,” Potter began. “The one you have saved in your book—”

“You’ve looked through that?” Draco stiffened.

“I—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” Potter stuttered. “But I wanted to say it was right.”

Draco gasped for air like a fish out of water. Harry had looked through his book. He tried to regain hisposure, but he was sure it was in vain. “Which article, Potter, I have a few saved.”

“You know which one, Malfoy. The one Ginny had done after we broke up. The article.”

“You—Potter, that’s extremely invasive,” Draco swallowed.

“Are you really going to harp on that when I’ve just told you that—”

“I’m processing, Potter,” he spat finding Harry’s eyes again. “I’ve been exiled for going on four years, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to that isn’t Minerva McGonagall in as much time, and you’re telling me you’re…that you’re…what are you telling me, Potter? You’ve not said anything.”

Harry inhaled sharply, biting off a response. His hands resuming their frantic fidget.

“I’m saying that I don’t hate you, Malfoy,” he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Thanks, Potter, thank you so fucking much. If you’re quite finished being cryptic, it’s best you leave,” Draco hissed turning on his side to face away from the other boy.

“No—”

“Go.”

“I’m not quite finished.”

“Go anyway.”

He heard the rustle of Harry’s clothing as he stood. His heart jumped to his throat as he heard the bedroom door click shut. This was his only chance, and he was letting it slip through his fingers. He rolled over, his head spinning as he stood up too fast, or maybe it was the adrenaline. He tore open the door and raced across the room, grabbing Harry’s wrist just as he reached the door to the hall. Harry stiffened at his touch but didn’t turn around.

Draco pulled gently at his arm until Harry turned to face him. Harry swallowed visibly.

The silence between them physically pained him, but none of the words flying through his mind felt right. Harry opened his mouth to say something idiotic no doubt, something ruinous, something that wouldn’t make the mess of words he had spat out before any clearer. He had to stop him.

Draco fisted his free hand in the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulled him closer, willing himself not to think about how terrible an idea it was to even make eye contact with this man for another second.

“Malfoy.”

The sound of his own name shook him from what must have been a momentary instance of insanity. He let go of Harry’s wrist, letting the hand clutching at Harry’s shirt fall to hang limply. He turned away from Harry shaking his head.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. Go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Even if I wasn’t, I don’t have a choice.”

Harry sighed.

“You might want to change the password.”

“You might want to et it,” Draco replied, without turning around.

“I don’t want to,” Harry replied. The entrance opened, seemingly more slowly than it ever had before, and still Harry was gone all too quickly.

“Idiot. You fucking idiot,” Draco murmured.

Harry hurried down the hallway back to his rooms.

“I love you, Malfoy. I love you, Draco. I love you, I’m sorry,” he whispered to himself. “See, it’s not that hard to say.”

Yet he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say it out loud, not when Draco was there to hear.

He paused in his stride, fighting the urge to go back. He couldn’t go back, he really couldn’t. He doubted Professor McGonagall was still up, but the possibility that

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