POST WAR: HOW I CARE (Drarry)
“You really shouldn’t have said that,” a voice spoke from behind him, pulling him away from the darkest depths of his mind.
Draco blinked the thoughts away and focused on what was in front of him instead. He leaned over the parapet and gazed at the courtyard below him. He watched students slowly exit the yard and step into the castle. The sky had begun to dim.
Draco licked his lips and sighed, “I had to do something.”
“No,” a gentle voice tore across the room and broke the eerie silence. Then the sound of soft tapping on wood - footsteps. “Not really.”
Draco didn’t move, but he shifted his gaze from the dark and empty sky to a pair of piercing green eyes. He shook his head and sighed, the edges of his lips twitched upward as if to form the faintest smile. So very faint one could barely notice. But Harry did. Harry always does.
“Why do you always do that?” Harry asked. Draco shuffled his feet, stepped back a few inches, and shifted his weight to his arms which he propped on top the parapet. He tilted his head to the side for a better look at Harry. “Do what?”
“Defend me,” Harry leaned his back against the barrier and slung a lazy arm along it. “Even when you don’t have to.”
Draco rolled his eyes and smiled good naturedly. “Don’t flatter yourself too much. I’m perfectly aware of the fact that I don’t have to.” He looked away frowned. “And I don’t always do that,” he added as an afterthought.
“Yes, but why do it at all?” Harry prompted, but Draco didn’t speak. It frustrated Harry.
“Yesterday, some fifth years called you a murderer,” Harry’s lip twitched as he said this, voice hushed it was barely heard. “Then there was an article on the paper calling you a traitor weeks before that. And someone called you a… a coward just this morning.”
Draco smiled, bemused. “Well, I’m very much aware of all the different and occasionally colorful names that have been thrown at me for the past few months now, Potter, but I appreciate the reminder.”
“It’s Harry,” Harry corrected. They were friends now. They shook on it a few months ago in the corridors, and Draco had agreed to finally step away from the last name basis and call each other through their first names. He’s still getting the hang of it, but he’s trying. The snide remarks and the banter, however, were a different story. Draco thoroughly enjoyed them and so did Harry. Although none of then would ever admit it. They didn’t have to. They just knew.
“And you didn’t answer my question,” Harry heaved, a bit agitated. “All of that and you say nothing. Not a word. You don’t even stop to stare. So what makes me any different? Why defend me when you don’t even defend yourself?” Harry huffed. He ran his fingers through his hair and spoke again, although this time, his voice is softer, “It’s curious. Don’t you think?”
Draco laughed, and it’s the first real laugh Harry’s heard in weeks. His muscles relaxed at the wonderful sound and he eyed Draco with utmost curiosity. “What?”
“It’s not really that curious, no,” Draco smiled. “I don’t fight back when it’s me because I honestly don’t care what they think, so it’s perfectly okay. They don’t know what I’ve been through,” Draco fixed his gaze back to the dimly lit sky. Stars were beginning to show. “They don’t know all the horrors I’ve seen. All the pain I’ve suffered. All the trauma I carry.”
Harry didn’t speak, but he was listening. Draco took that as a sign to go on. “And I’ve had my fair share of mistakes. Loads in fact,” he chuckled. “So it’s not like I’m actually innocent.”
“It’s still not fair,” Harry prodded.
Draco’s eyes fell back to Harry’s and it stayed there. “No, it’s not,” he agreed. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Draco was pained and Harry saw that. He often saw that, and it always pricked his chest. But it burned him when Draco finally broke down one night and he felt it. It was dark and cold that night, their only comfort being each other. Harry had held his hand and Draco gripped it. He gripped it so tight as his shoulders shook. And they stayed there, in the tower, like that. Like two lost boys. Broken boys. And Harry didn’t let go of his hand, even when they both fell asleep.
Draco stood to shift his position and leaned one side to the barrier, facing Harry. “You see, Potter-” Harry gave him a stern look and Draco rolled his eyes before correcting himself. “Harry,” he let his name drawl for emphasis and Harry gave an approving nod, smiling.
“I’m not fond of fighting other people’s battles for them. I have enough on my plate as it is. So it really falls on you how you choose to deal with your own pain,” he licked his lips. Sighed. “But I refuse to just stand there and watch people ridicule you because of me. My battles are mine and mine alone. You shouldn’t have anything to do with it.”
“I don’t mind,” Harry interjected. And he meant it.
“Of course you don’t,” Draco scoffed. “But I do,” he looks deep into Harry’s eyes. “I do.” Harry sighed, wanting to insist that it really didn’t matter. But he didn’t because he knew that Draco couldn’t be swayed. So he just nodded his head instead.
Harry bumped his shoulders against Draco’s and they both shared a smile.
Just like that, without any need for words, Draco knew it was Harry’s way of saying I care about you, too.