“Potter! Potter!!”

Draco knew he was too frantic as he crossed Potter’s living room, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want another minute to go by with Potter being self-destructive.

“Potter!”

Where the bloody hell was he? Was he not at home? Draco barged into the kitchen, only to find it empty. He stomped back into the hallway, frowning at the bathroom door. It was ajar, but the room was dark. That only left…his bedroom.

Without hesitation, Draco began banging against the door.

“Potter!”

Letting his impatience get the better of him, he threw it open and marched inside.

“What—What—Draco?”

“Potter.” Draco gave his disheveled hair and droopy eyes a disapproving look. “What are you doing in bed? It’s the middle of the day.”

Potter seemed doubtful if he was really awake. He shook his head several times, until he seemed convinced Draco was really standing in his bedroom. “Mind your own business,” he said, defensively. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

“If you didn’t want me here, you would have put the wards back up.”

“You made it pretty clear—Ugh, you know what, no.” Draco’s heart sank at the tortured expression on his face. “If you came here for another fight, so you can use me—”

“I’m sorry,” Draco blurted. Even though he had used those two words more in the last four years than ever before in his life, they still felt foreign on his tongue. He watched carefully as Potter’s face went blank.

“You—What?” He straightened himself, one hand slowly closing into a fist on the duvet. “What exactly are you sorry for?”

“I—” Draco had no idea where to begin. It was more than obvious Potter had trouble talking about it. He had told Draco so much about himself, about his thoughts and fears, but he had never mentioned what Luna had told him. “I had no idea what you were going through,” he said quietly.

The effect these words had on Potter was instantaneous. Apprehension clouded his features as his muscles visibly clenched. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone wary.

“Don’t get mad,” Draco said, raising his hands. “She didn’t want to tell me at first. She said you’re the one I should be talking—”

“She, who?”

“Luna.”

Potter stilled. “What did she tell you?”

Draco could see the unease in his eyes. He suspected Potter didn’t realise how much Luna knew, how she and the rest of his friends had put the pieces together; but he seemed to be contemplating the possibility they might have caught on. It obviously terrified him.

“Can I sit down?” Draco asked, pointing at a spot beside Potter. He seemed reluctant but slowly moved aside to make some room. As Draco walked up to him, Potter’s expression hardened. He avoided his gaze, hugging his knees close to his chest.

“This isn’t an intervention,” Draco said, carefully sitting down. “I just want to talk. I never would have said those things to you if I had known…” He broke off, unsure of how to phrase it. What Luna had told him sounded plausible but he wanted to hear it from Potter. “I genuinely thought—I thought it was about the Dark Mark. Or about you…not really wanting me.” It took so much to say these words out loud. They were easily yelled in a fight. But now that he knew Potter was battling different demons, he was more inclined to show Potter his own insecurities.

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Potter murmured, staring at his knees. “Well, it’s got everything to do with you, but that—” He sighed. “I just—I hate that I feel this way, but…I can’t do anything about it.”

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t want to—”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. But how am I supposed to understand if you don’t tell me?” Potter’s features twisted into something tortured. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything, Draco added, “I need to know, Potter. Otherwise, we really are done.”

It sounded harsher than he had meant it. What he had wanted to say was that they wouldn’t stand a chance if they weren’tpletely honest with each other. The thought horrified him, but he didn’t want Potter to go on like this and he knew as soon as Potter would open up, he’d expect the same from him. It wasn’t something Draco was particularly looking forward to, but he was willing to try.

“That’s not fair,” Potter murmured, his face set in a stubborn scowl.

“None of this is fair,” Draco retorted. “Look, you told me you were worried about disappointing people, but et about that. You shouldn’t care about what other people think.”

“I know that,” Potter muttered. “But…I care about what you think.”

Draco paused. This kind of sentimentality wasn’t exactly something he was used to. And while he mentally admitted he felt the same way about Potter, he couldn’t shake the crushing sense of responsibility Potter had just burdened him with. So…what now? This was getting them nowhere. Draco wondered how far he could go without hurting Potter unnecessarily. He always acted so strong and confident, but he had shown Draco glimpses of his vulnerable side and if that wasn’t an indication he trusted Draco, what was?

“So…” Draco brushed the duvet with his fingertips, searching for the right words. “Luna showed me…the magazines.”

He instantly knew he didn’t need to explain any further. The look on Potter’s face said everything.

“She knows,” he whispered, resignation ringing loudly in his voice.

“Yeah. She’s worried about you.” Tentatively, he put his hand on Potter’s knees. “I’m worried about you.”

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Potter looked up, his eyes full of defensiveness.

“I know it’s not normal,” he said. “I know I’m a freak.”

“Potter,” Draco said, trying to stay calm. “You’re so many things, but you’re not a freak.” At that, Potter huffed and turned away again. Draco had no idea what to say. He tried to put himself in Potter’s shoes, tried to imagine how agonising it must be for him. “Potter, please,” he said, beseechingly, “tell me. Just tell me what happened that night at the Manor.”

“I thought Luna already told you everything,” Potter said, stubbornly.

“Don’t be mad at her. She was only trying to help. Besides, if it wasn’t for her, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” Slowly, Draco let his hand glide down and curled his fingers around Potter’s forearm. “And hearing theories from Luna isn’t the same as you telling me what happened. I want to know what you were thinking when…we were together.”

Potter looked torn. It took several moments until he finally spoke. “I really like you, Draco,” he whispered.

Whatever Draco had expected, it certainly hadn’t been this. He tried to tune out the sudden whooshing in his ears and concentrate on Potter’s raspy voice instead.

“It’s almost like…when I’m around you, things don’t feel as bad.”

Draco was grateful Potter paused after that. That was a lot to take in.

“I—I thought—” He felt the muscles in Potter’s arm clench. “I thought I would be okay with—I thought I could—”

“Could what?” Draco said softly. Potter only shook his head. “What are you so afraid of? What could be so bad you can’t tell me?”

“I—I kept thinking—”

Seeing Potter struggling like this made Draco want to punch someone; Potter’s Muggle relatives, those awful reporters—he would hex them all if they’d ever crossed paths.

“What were you thinking?” he said quietly, hoping it would encourage Potter to finally say it.

“How could someone as beautiful as you—”

Draco froze. Potter wasn’t going to say what Draco thought he was going to say, right? Because if he did, Draco would have to shout at him. Again. Knowing that Potter would immediately close off if he did that, he tried to stay calm and wait for Potter to continue. When he did, his voice was barely a whisper.

“How could someone as beautiful as you want to be with someone…someone like me.”

Potter couldn’t be serious. But obviously, he was.

“Potter,” Draco said, carefully shifting closer. “Potter, look at me.” He placed a hand on his cheek, marvelling at the feeling of Potter’s beard against his palm. “Please?” Hesitantly, Potter lifted his head. The look on his face broke Draco’s heart. “You know that’s nonsense, right?” he whispered, looking squarely into Potter’s eyes. “You’re eous.”

“No, I’m n—”

“How can you be so unaware of the effect you have on people?” He let out a shuddering breath. “On me.”

He felt Potter shiver beneath his touch. He seemed surprised but also sceptical. What could Draco say to make him feel better? He had absolutely no clue. But maybe words weren’t the right thing to go by here.

“Potter,” he said softly, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “Take off your jumper.”

“What?” Potter didn’t just look surprised, he looked panicked.

Draco leaned closer. “Do you trust me?”

Potter didn’t answer, his expression turning more painful. Draco let out a sigh before he pressed their foreheads together.

“Are you really that stupid?”

Potter scowled at him but said nothing.

“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Draco muttered.

“I’m not making you do any—” He fell silent when Draco pulled away, removed his hand from his cheek and got up. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Draco started unbuttoning his shirt.

“What—What are you doing?”

“Listen carefully, Potter, because I’m only going to say this once.” He peeled the shirt off of himself and threw it on the floor. “You understand?”

Potter stared at him, wide-eyed. It took a few seconds before he slowly nodded. Draco took a deep breath. He had never felt more vulnerable in his life. Not only was he, quite literally, exposing himself to Potter, he was about to expose what he had so desperately been trying to hide. But he had a feeling it was now or never.

He sat down on the bed, facing Potter, but before he could say anything, Potter let out a dreadful gasp, his eyes fixed on Draco’s chest.

“Draco, this—this—Fuck!” He threw back the duvet and jumped out of bed as though he had just been bitten by an Acromantula. One hand was clamped over his mouth, his eyes full of horror. “I did this to you,” he whispered.

Shit! Draco hadn’t really thought this through, had he? Of course Potter would blame himself for this.

“Potter. Potter!”

He didn’t seem to be listening. His mind seemed to be somewhere else. Draco got up, taking a step closer to him.

“Potter!”

He was shaking his head furiously. He looked like he was about to be sick. Draco gritted his teeth. Potter would be the death of him. Seriously, how much more of himself was Draco supposed to expose? Ugh!

“Harry,” Draco said quietly. Potter stilled. His eyes finally focused on Draco. e here.” He stretched out his hand. “Please.”

It took an agonisingly long time until Potter put his trembling hand in Draco’s. He let himself be tugged back to the bed where they both sat down.

“I’m not trying to torture you,” Draco said softly, squeezing Potter’s hand. “I just want you to realise—Hey.” He put a finger under Potter’s chin, unwilling to let him avoid his gaze. “Do you know how ironic this is? I’m the one with all the flaws.” His face twisted in disgust at his own words. “I’m the one…who doesn’t d

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