I Met Sarah In The Bathroom ⋆˚꩜｡
Draco Malfoy x Male! Reader (Reverse Comfort)
aka: you found Draco before Harry did.
TW/CW: DEREALIZATION, PARENTAL ABUSE/NEGLECT, IMPOSTER SYNDROME, DEPRESSION/INTENSE PARANOIA, PANIC ATTACK, SELF HARM
(Y/N means your name // L/N means last name!)
this y/n has a predetermined house! (Ravenclaw)
Draco’s deep rooted trauma was SEVERELY overlooked by poorly written character development and the plot of the movies, I want to do it justice.
Everyone in the castle knew who Draco Malfoy was. He made sure of it. Any and every chance he got, he would make sure all attention was on him. He yearned to be the center of the room.
The weight of truly becoming part of Voldemort’s Army was crushing down on Draco’s shoulders hard. He adverted eye contact with a quivering lip all day, mere seconds away from breaking under pressure.
As he walks into the great hall, his eyes are quick to land on Potter’s back. Potter can’t see him like this. He’ll never let it go. He already knows too much.
The paranoia runs rampant in Draco’s already frazzled mind, and with wide eyes he very quickly darts out of the great hall. He blows past multiple groups of students, speed walking down the corridors towards the prefects bathroom.
The moment Draco is inside, he claws his vest off, yanking it over his head and tossing it at the sinks in front of him. He hunches over one of the sinks, clenching his hands on the porcelain. His head hangs low, shoulders shaking as the deeply bottled sobs finally rush through him.
Draco can barely breathe at this point, his eyes are wide and he’s trembling, like a lost, scared fawn.
Footsteps thud in the corridor, echoing through the vast and empty space. The sound makes its way to Draco’s ears, his head shooting up to stare into the mirror with bloodshot and teary eyes, hoping and praying whoever is out there doesn’t turn inside the lavatory.
It was late. Well, late for a school night at Hogwarts. Around 8 pm. You were simply doing your rounds as a prefect. Scanning the halls for any lingering students, specifically the pranksters and the rule breakers.
Though, you don’t really care about them. You’d much rather get this done quickly, and return to your dorm to get in some cram studying.
Your attention is pulled at the sound of violent sobs coming from the prefect bathroom. It wasn’t uncommon to find female students crying in the bathroom, this corridor was nicknamed the “Break-Up Corridor” for a reason.
With a deep sigh, and the mental preparation to deal with a depressed, heartbroken girl, you turn into the bathroom. As you enter, you deadpan ahead.
Much to your surprise, through the mirror, you lock eyes with one of your fellow prefects.
The absolute last thing you expected to see, was a tear stained Draco Malfoy, staring at you with shaking eyes and a trembling body.
He was drenched in sweat, his icy blond hair matted to his forehead. His breaths came out sharp and shaky, as if he was struggling to breathe.
The second he saw you, he froze. Like a deer in headlights. You could feel your own breath catch in your throat, your entire body running cold, your arm hair standing on end.
Of course you were scared of Draco Malfoy. What sensible person wasn’t? He went out of his way to torment people, and you wanted to stay clear of whatever list he had.
But. In this very moment. Draco Malfoy seemed more scared of you, than you are of him.
Neither of you dare to move, like a stalemate between duelers. With a shaky exhale, Draco yanks his eyes off you in the mirror, his head hanging down to the sink.
‘God fucking damn it.’ His brain screams. This was the last thing he wanted. Draco ran off to avoid being seen. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Crying like an inconsolable child.
It was pathetic. He was pathetic.
He knew he’d have to do this since the day he could store knowledge in his brain. Draco knew his destiny. As much as he wanted to dispute it, as much as he wanted to run off and leave dark magic behind, to just be a normal wizard. He couldn’t.
No mater how hard his heart screamed at him, begged him to stop. He couldn’t. Something inside of him wouldn’t let him let down his father.
Draco had almost forgotten about the other prefect in the lavatory until the sound of footsteps begins to echo through the stone walls once more. Draco’s head shoots up to look through the mirror again, and he’s greeted by a significantly closer sight. The man from before stood just a few meters behind him, and was still walking forward.
Draco felt his stomach drop. All he could do was assume the worst. Assume that this guy is going to scream at him for being out past curfew, give him detention. Hell, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if he just started beating his ass. He deserves it. He knows he does.
Draco’s eyes snap shut, an attempt to brace for what could be the worst. Despite his fears, he’s met with a large, but soft and gentle hand on his shoulder.
The warmth of another’s touch felt foreign to Draco. Something he had been unknowingly longing for. Yes of course his mother hugged him, Narsissa was a lovely woman. But Lucius? Oh, Draco was lucky if his father laid a hand on him even to punish him. It was always the cane.
Draco’s eyes slowly peal open, glancing up at the man.
His brows were neatly pulled together, scrunching with the top of his nose bridge as he scowls. He’s very obviously distraught by the scene.
It’s not every day you catch one of the most infamous kids in your school sobbing in the lavatory. It’s also not every day you decide to assist them. You stand with Draco in silence for a moment, your hand gently resting on his shoulder. Your thumb cautiously begins running back and forth against his collar bone.
His body tremors slowly begin to fade. His jaw stopped chattering as he quelled his tears, resorting to now staring blankly at the faucet.
In a brief moment of confidence, or stupidity, or flirtation, you snake your arm around Draco’s neck, your hand now resting on his other collar bone.
He doesn’t react heavily, that is until he turns slightly, and wordlessly collapses against you. His body folded at the weight of his emotions, and he used you, both physically and mentally, mainly physically at the moment, for support.
You quickly hook your arms under his armpits, and sling his arms over your shoulders. You’re practically hug-carrying him at this point, but it’s helping. You shift slightly and prop him against the sink, letting him support his lower half and lean on your chest for the rest.
His body trembles with occasional twitch. These seem to be the slightest bit painful, as Draco winces and hisses in pain (or discomfort?) each time.
As you stand together, Draco has fully melted into your touch. He still occasionally twitches, but he’s mostly calmed. His breathing is normal. His eyes, although extremely bloodshot, aren’t watering anymore.
With a deep and shaky exhale, he pushes off of you. He stumbles a bit walking away, but regains his composure hurriedly. Draco seemed almost.. embarrassed. His checks were flushed red, his fingers fidgeting with the bottom hem of his shirt. Most notably, he wouldn’t look you in the eye. Actually, he wouldn’t look at you period.
Just as you open your mouth to speak, to say something to break the silence that plagues the room, he storms out of the lavatory. Your jaw hangs slack a moment, before it clenches shut. You stare at the archway leading to the corridor for a few seconds. Your eyes pull down to the crumpled, damp vest sitting in the sink basin.
Now you were stuck. Do you run and chase after him? Or do you simply wait?
Waiting was the most logical answer. Chasing after him like this could only make things worse. You settle on waiting, gathering the fabric into your hands and silently walking back to the Ravenclaw commons.
You’ll just return it tomorrow, no big deal.
It was the actually the biggest deal in the world.
Draco fully intended to forget about yesterday. He was restless when he returned to his dorm. Tossing and turning, almost completely unable to sleep. He was embarrassed. He hated the fact he got… coddled by some Ravenclaw.
He didn’t know that man, and he didn’t want to. Yet.
Draco returned to his daily life, making jabs at other students, causing problems. Y’know, normal Malfoy stuff. He walked that arrogant strut of his, with his goons following in tow.
He takes his normal seat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, his posse doing the same. He carries on as normal, well, as normal as he could be. The events of last night still float around in his head.
Those events resurface as an all familiar thud of footsteps hits Draco’s ears. He recognized the melodic pattern, the timing between one foot hitting the stone before the next.
He could feel his stomach drop and he begins to feel a bit queasy. In full, the events from last night replay in his head, as if they were happening in that very moment. The same man soon glides into Draco’s vision.
He looked… different. Good different. His hair was more well maintained, his face had no creases or wrinkles. Draco blinks harshly, shaking his head a bit as his brows furrow. Why was he back?
The man, upon spotting Draco, stops walking. He turns slightly to pull a neatly folded vest from his satchel.
“You left this in the bathroom yesterday evening,” he hums out, his deep cadence piercing through the air.
It was something Draco wasn’t expecting. Neither of them spoke a word to one another during last nights events. But, as the man speaks, Draco feels his stomach twist. The voice of a man he sincerely wished stayed a stranger.
Draco lunges forward and snatches the vest from the man’s hands, clutching it in his own.
The man’s eyes shoot open a bit, before his lips fold into a line. With a deep sigh and a single nod, he turns on his heels and walks out of the Great Hall.
Truly what were you expecting? A thank you, from a Malfoy? Never.
But still, you expected at least something for returning the vest. Just an exchange of words even. Yet, you walk away unsatisfied and un-thanked.
With a soft grumble, you turn into the same corridor you met Draco in just hours before. Though, you don’t notice. In fact, you’re quite desensitized to this corridor. It’s the same one you take to and from your Potions class every single day.
Much to Snape’s dismay, you are again the first student to arrive in the room. Minutes after your arrival, the sound of the bell of the highest tower booms through the walls of the castle. The previously quiet halls are filled with the incessant chatter of students making their way to their morning classes.
As students file in, as do the conversations. Some Slytherin boys in the back of the room are plotting over who will win over a girl, Ravenclaw girls are discussing books together, a large group of mixed house students chatting about the scroll homework assigned yesterday, a girl sits and mumbles to herself as she tries to hurriedly complete said homework assignment. Though, one normally ever present voice is missing from the amalgamation of sound.
That would be the voice of Draco Malfoy himself. Potions was one of two classes you had with Slytherin. In other words, one of two you had with Draco. Normally, his voice is one of the loudest in the room, bouncing off walls and hitting every souls ears. But today, he was silent. Dead silent.
But he was there. You could feel it. And by “it”, you can feel his unwavering stare boring into the back of your head. It felt as though the base of your skull, right above your neck, was burning.
You don’t know why he’s staring, and you don’t necessarily want to turn around and ask. You decide to continue through potions as normal, participating in class, doing your work, asking questions.
Draco’s stare never lessens. And his voice never hits the air.
It’s not uncommon knowledge to know that Draco doesn’t really have many.. friends.
The ones he does have were handed to him. They either approached him, were family friends, or blindly followed him without question. He’s never had to make his own friends. He was never taught to. That much was evident, noting his failed attempt at befriending Potter in first year.
No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to this guy.
He wasn’t supposed to snatch the vest from him. That wasn’t part of his plan. He had it so concisely put together in his head.
He was gonna make some snarky comment about the vest, mouth out a quick thank you so his friends didn’t hear it, and catch him alone after the breakfast feast to chat.
Another failed friendship.
Draco felt like a loser. To be fair, he was kind of acting like one. Staring full intensity at the back of this guys head. The guy he still didn’t know the name of. A guy he does want to know the name of.
Draco can’t pretend anymore. He can’t pretend this man isn’t intriguing. He calmed Draco’s nerves so quickly. The same nerves Draco’s been fighting all his life. The same ones that render him incapable of logical thinking sometimes, and even cause his entire body to give out and collapse under him.
Something Draco has struggled with and hated his whole life, some stranger can fix with a single touch. No words, no bullshit advice, no sobbed through story telling, no explanation. Just.. comfort.
And truly, Draco was seeking it. He was yearning for it. He didn’t know that, but his body did. His body kept trying to pull him in the man’s direction.
Draco felt a strong, persistent, and confusing urge to be near this man. He couldn’t place why he was so inclined to. In fact, he couldn’t place a lot of things. In the last few days, Draco’s mind was so scrambled -so frazzled- that he could barely think.
His brain had almost seemingly rewired itself. From so many “faulty wires” and the traumas of his past stacking atop one another, it was finally all crumbling down. It was agonizing. Draco could almost feel himself slipping away from his own body.
Nothing felt right, and it was likely nothing would ever feel right again. In that slight moment with this unnamed Ravenclaw man, things felt.. okay.
Not a magical solution to his life’s problems, not a perfect bandaid, but a temporary, comfortable fix.
Draco’s gaze is intense, and he knows that. It’s extremely clear how uneasy the man is from the staring. Occasionally his neck would twitch, or a hand would rise to rub the base of his head, exactly where Draco held his unwavering eyes.
Snape ends the class period with a simple assignment, a few scrolls worth of study notes from their textbook as always. Though, Draco doesn’t pay much attention to this. He just waits until Snape says the students are allowed to leave, and within a few moments of the words leaving the man’s lips, Draco was fully packed up and speed-walking out of the door.
You can hear the desperation from how quickly Draco fled the room. He wanted to be alone again. Something inside of you was telling you not to let him.
You’re quick to shoot up and trail Draco out into the crowded corridors. Your footsteps are covered by the hustle and bustle of your fellow students messing about in their 15 minute down period before their next class, allowing you to trail Draco without immediately being spotted.
You end up slowly trailing him to the astronomy tower, and from the gaps in the floor, you watch him slide down a wall and hit the floor, tucking his head into his knees.
Astronomy is a night class, as it needs to be dark to see the stars clearly. This leaves the Astronomy tower one of the quietest daytime spots in the castle. Something Draco seemingly needed.
Within a few moments of crumpling to the floor, broken and choked out sobs fill the tower. They were quiet and muffled, but you could hear them clear as day. You make your way up the stairs quietly, joining Draco on the floor of the tower.
You stand in the center of the tower observing Draco for a mere 10 seconds, before slowly taking few steps forward. You crouch in-front of Draco, and very cautiously place a hand atop his knee.
Draco flinches hard, throwing his head upright to stare directly at you. Upon realizing who he’s looking at, you can visibly see cogs turn in Draco’s head. He was debating on something.
As time slowly passes, Draco’s face falls. His lips begin to quiver again, his eyes tear up, his brows pull together tightly. He was unraveling. He pulls his knees tighter to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Your stoic face falls into a deep frown as you move out of your crouch to sit on your knees in front of the boy. Your hand remains on his knee, and your eyes never leave his face.
Draco didn’t once look you directly in the eye. He couldn’t. He looked everywhere but your eyes.
Truthfully, you didn’t like this. You wanted Draco to look at you, to acknowledge you for your help from last night. You reach your hands out slowly, and place one on either of Draco’s cheeks.
This makes him freeze, his eyes finally shooting up to lock on to yours. Then, he breaks. His face fully contorts before he starts sobbing. Violent, broken sobs course through his body, jerking his shoulders as he wept into your hands.
You didn’t know what to do, you weren’t expecting this. So, you do what any normal person would do upon caring for someone extremely upset. You shift and adjust to pull him into a hug. This one was different from yesterday’s, if you can even count it as one.
This was a proper hug, his arms wrapped tight around your torso with a face shoved into the crook of your neck as his body shakes with sobs and coughs. Your arms sit around his shoulders, one of your hands running up and down his back.
Draco kept muttering things, stuff you couldn’t quite make out. All you heard clearly was “dark mark”, and noting his father’s open allegiance to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, this isn’t shocking. Well, it is shocking, but not nearly as much as it would’ve been had you not known that information.
The two of you sit together in a strange almost silence, the only sound being your breathing and his crying. You gave up on the idea of class the moment you walked up the remaining stairs of the tower. You had other priorities.
This priority was the sobbing boy lying in your lap. You wanted to help, but you didn’t know how. You couldn’t connect with him with similar experiences, Draco almost outright refused to speak so talking it out wasn’t an option. The best and most rational idea is to simply let him cry out his emotions, and attempt to talk after it subsides.
The crying continues for a few minutes, maybe five, maybe ten. You weren’t sure, the only way of telling time in the tower was the sundial on the floor above you.
Draco’s crying ends with him lying almost limp in your lap, his weak body occasionally shaking with the weight of his emotions. The two of you sit in complete silence for a moment, before Draco shifts. He moves, an attempt to stand up and leave, the same as he did yesterday night.
You weren’t going to let it happen again. You shoot your hand out and wrap it around Draco’s wrist.
“Classes already started, no reason in going back. Sit and talk,” you hum out, your voice cracking a bit from lack of recent use. Draco visibly tenses at your words, and stares blankly at your hand around his wrist before slowly settling back down.
He still adverted eye contact, and only initiated it when you peel your hand off his wrist.
Slowly but surely, you begin to urge Draco to talk. To get all these emotions off his chest that he’s clearly been harboring for way too long. He reluctantly agrees, and starts slow and low. As he speaks, his voice grows more stern, more angry. Less sad and weak, more angry and confused.
He spoke of his father’s mistreatment of him, Voldemort’s Army, the vow, and most reluctantly of all, how Draco was expected to join the ranks of Voldemort’s Army. He refuses to look you in the face. As Draco speaks, he holds a very tight grip on his left forearm. Almost as if he wishes it would just.. pop off.
You take one of your free hands and set it atop Draco’s wrapped around his arm. His wide eyes flick up at you. You slowly pry his hand off his arm, and replace it with your own, albeit significantly lighter of a grip.
You hold his arm for a while, before tracing your hand down his arm, before pushing up his shirt sleeve slowly.
Draco was trembling at this point, he wanted to run. He wanted to stand up, rip out of the man’s grip, and run. But, he doesn’t. He snaps his eyes shut and braces for the worst.
He can feel the cool air hit his freshly exposed forearm, and his body freezes. He knows damn well what sits on his pale skin in a deep black ink.
Draco expected a series of possibilities to occur: the man to scream in terror and run, him to ridicule Draco and outcast him further, him to possibly use it as blackmail.
Draco expected anything but this. He feels one of the man’s hands gently cradle his forearm, before his other hand lightly traces the mark.
The blond’s eyes shoot open, staring down at the marked arm. A single tear ripples down his cheek. He was treating Draco’s dark mark as if it was made of glass. Something delicate and easily broken.
Something he had spent countless hours attempting to scrub off so aggressively his skin tore. Something he tried to carve out of his skin, evident by the cuts only now beginning to scar.
The way the man looked at Draco’s arm was truly the best, and also worst part. He looked almost distraught. This man, who Draco still didn’t know the name of, looked at his dark mark with such raw emotion someone could assume he had it himself.
“I hate it,” Draco croaks out. His voice soft and low, a broken and helpless whisper. He can feel his gaze intensify looking at the marked arm.
One of the man’s hands skates gracefully down Draco’s arm, and gathers around Draco’s hand, squeezing it gently. It was silent, no words spoken. But it was something Draco needed.
Support. Support from someone on the outside. Support from someone with no ties to Voldemort at all. Someone… normal. All Draco wanted to be, was normal.
Draco begins to choke up again, he bites down hard on the inside of his cheeks in an attempt to subdue the tears. Though, it was futile.
The boy had finally felt seen.
guys i’ve been working on this for a MONTH. anyway fuck jkr ☝️😝
