avian-tardis - Tumblr blog

avian-tardis · 3 years ago

Text

What is Right and What is Easy

Chapter 7: Human

-----

TW: PTSD, Self-harm, Survivor's guilt, Self-hatred

-----

Harry'd been right about the Great Hall. Not ten minutes after Draco woke, McGonagall appeared in the common room with noticeably purple hands to paste a notice on the door.

All students are to keep clear of the Great Hall and surrounding corridors until advised otherwise by a member of the Hogwarts staff. Students who fail to comply will lose house points and should report to the Hospital Wing promptly.

Signed Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress

Nobody knew exactly what this notice meant until one of the first years accepted a dare to disobey the posting and enter the corridor.

The small Gryffindor girl proceeded slowly, cautiously. It wasn't until she was halfway down that a portion of the wall high above her opened up, let out a piercing shriek, and shot a ball of bright purple slime straight onto the poor girl's head.

The girl ran back to the spectating students as fast as her legs could carry her, screaming and dodging more slime the whole way.

An eighth year Ravenclaw boy, looking tired, performed a cleaning spell over the girl. The slime disappeared quickly; the stains, however, did not. Everywhere the slime had touched her, the girl's skin, hair, clothing, and even her bag had turned a startling shade of purple.

Some of the students sniggered. A group of muggleborns whispered their consensus that she looked rather reminiscent of Violet Beauregard, post-faulty chewing gum.

The now brightly colored first year was led to the Hospital Wing by the same tired-looking Ravenclaw and placed in a seat alongside the twenty-or-so students who hadn't been warned in time.

By midday, word had gotten around the school that the teachers'd had absolutely no luck in removing the stains, and had found that anything the students touched began to slowly turn purple as well.

Peeves refused to tell anyone anything about how he'd done it, and so at some point after lunch, someone had set the Bloody Baron chasing after him. Every few minutes, they could be heard screaming at each other down the halls as the Baron found wherever it was Peeves was hiding.

Draco didn't understand how Harry could possibly have known. He clearly hadn't had anything to do with it - he was with him for almost half the night, anyway. Draco decided he ought to put it out of his mind for now. God knows he already had enough strange interactions with Potter buzzing about in his head as it was.

The chatter in the halls regarding the morning's events had begun to give him a headache, so Draco took a book and stole some snacks from the kitchens before heading out onto the grounds and settling under a tree beside the lake.

Though the peace and quiet were exactly what he'd been seeking, Draco had underestimated the temperature. It had looked quite sunny from inside, and there wasn't much wind. But still, they were nearing the end of November, and Draco's cloak was doing little to keep out the chill.

Draco stayed where he was for almost an hour; mostly out of stubbornness, like when your mum tells you to bring a jacket and you don't, so then you have to pretend you aren't freezing so as not to prove her right. Typical of a Slytherin, really. Hidden under the stubbornness was a small voice insisting that he deserved to stay out in the cold, to sit there shivering until his hands turned blue. Draco told it to piss off.

It was nearly dinnertime when Draco reached the castle, stomping up the snow-dusted steps and trying not to look frozen. He headed straight for the showers, knowing it would be the quickest way to warm up, though he never liked the idea of showering during the day. Oh, well.

When Draco returned to the dormitories for a fresh set of clothes - he really should've grabbed them before but he was apparently too cold to think clearly - a new message was hanging on the door.

Thanks to the hard work of your professors and the persuasion skills of the Bloody Baron, the Great Hall and surrounding corridors have been cleared of Peeves' hex. This means that students may congregate in the Great Hall for dinner as usual. Thank you for your patience and cooperation.

Signed Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress

Draco chuckled. 'The persuasion skills of the Bloody Baron' was an interesting way to put it. He then turned and hurried to his dorm, the thought of dinner making his stomach rumble hungrily.

-----

Peeves had yet to give up any information on how to remove the purple stains from the students, and, as everything they touched turned purple as well, the affected students would be dining in the Hospital Wing.

It made the gaps at the house tables even more noticeable, but Harry tried to push that thought away as soon as it came. Instead, he laughed along with Ron at the sight of the staff table, every member of which had purple skin up to their elbows. It seemed everyone had taken a shot at removing some of the stains. Harry that noticed some of the more advanced seventh and eighth years sported the same symptom; they'd probably had a go as well.

That suspicion was confirmed when Hermione arrived at the table, forearms stained bright purple and looking rather put-out.

"No luck, then, Mione?"

Hermione huffed and plopped down at her seat next to Ron.

"S'pose that's your answer then."

Hermione groaned in frustration, "I just don't understand! We've tried everything! I tried everything I could think of for two hours, and nothing!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Seamus said, "If even McGonagall's having trouble, you know it's not an easy fix."

Hermione sighed, nodding ever so slightly.

Their conversation drifted between topics throughout the meal. Harry was fairly engaged with the rest of them, although he did find his gaze drifting over to Malfoy's table a few times. A few times, he found Malfoy's gaze drifting right back.

Weird, Harry found himself thinking. Cause they weren't glaring at each other. They weren't even eyeing each other suspiciously; they were just… looking. Yep. Definitely weird.

-----

By the next morning, the stains had turned from just purple to purple, blue, and pink, and had started to shimmer. The poor students were beginning to look very much like a toddler's finger painting. Classes were cancelled for the day, as the teachers were focused on solving this problem, and… well. No one was taking them very seriously with colorful, sparkly hands anyway.

By the end of the day, the stains were every color of the rainbow and had started glowing. They had also, the students complained, become unbearably itchy.

McGonagall herself had now ordered the Bloody Baron to capture and detain Peeves until he told them how to fix it.

This finally happened at around 1 a.m. the next day, and McGonagall decided to cancel all classes for the third day in a row so that the teachers and the now normally-hued students could recover from the exhaustion and stress of it all.

Taking advantage of this, almost the entirety of the students third year and older planned a trip to Hogsmeade. McGonagall, who normally would have insisted they plan it ahead of time and get a specified number of adult chaperones, was simply too tired and stressed to bother and allowed the Head Boy and Girl to act as chaperones.

It was warmer today, the sun having come out from behind the clouds and effectively warmed the ground and the air.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the others purchased some food and drink at the Three Broomsticks, then laid a blanket down in the meadow (fit with a drying and warming charm, of course) and began a little picnic.

Dean and Seamus kept trading food, stealing from each other's plates until it was unclear who'd had which meal in the first place. Luna was closely inspecting Ginny's chips, convinced that she'd seen a nargle go into the bowl and wanting to find it before Ginny accidentally ate it. Hermione was leaning her head on Ron's shoulder and reading a thick, old book - which Harry was fairly certain was not in english - while Ron handed her bits of his food every few minutes.

All in all, Harry felt like a bit of a seventh wheel. Upon finishing his food, he decided he ought to go find someone who perhaps wouldn't be quite so focused on their best friend or significant other.

He found Neville helping out in the town greenhouse and hovered around there for a while, but eventually wandered out, leaving Neville to converse with an old witch about different species of some therapeutic herb.

Eventually Harry found himself sitting in the snow on the edge of town, tracing shapes at his feet and staring absently at the shrieking shack in the distance.

"Shopping for your new dream home?" A familiar voice rang out behind him, a rather more unfamiliar joking tone coloring it.

"I don't know, seems a bit grand for me, doesn't it, Malfoy?"

"Emphasis on dream, Potter."

There was a silence as Malfoy approached, lowering himself onto the snow next to Harry with a sigh.

Then, "Hang on. You didn't know I was here that day. It was just Ron and Hermione you said that to, about the shack."

Malfoy snorted, "Oh, please, Potter. I was attacked by an invisible force after terrorizing your friends. You were notably missing. I was scared at the time, but it didn't take long to figure out it was you."

Harry gave a noncommittal hum in response.

They sat like that, in silence, for a few minutes more. Harry didn't know what to say, or even if he should speak. Sitting next to Malfoy without trying to kill each other was still not something he was used to. He found himself wondering if it ever would be.

It was strange, this new relationship between them. They didn't hate each other. They didn't even seem to dislike each other anymore, really. But they didn't like each other. They weren't friends.

And speaking of which.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked cautiously.

"What?"

"I mean…" Harry glanced at Malfoy out the corner of his eye, "Your friends are in the village, aren't they? Why are you sitting in the snow here with me?"

Malfoy sighed and leaned back onto his elbows, tilting his head to look at the sky.

"I guess I just felt like… I don't know. Something."

"You don't have to say, I guess. I was just curious."

"Mmm. Thanks."

Harry looked down at Malfoy's face. It was strange, but Harry'd always thought Malfoy's face looked not quite human, like he was part rodent. He didn't think that now. Malfoy just looked like Malfoy. Tired, maybe. Stressed, certainly. Disheveled in what would've been an uncharacteristic manner last year, but now just seemed casual.

He looked imperfect. He looked flawed.

Harry smiled.

He looked human.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3fic #ao3 #harry potter #draco malfoy #harry x draco #harry/draco #what is right and what is easy #what is right and what is easy avian-tardis #wirawie #avian-tardis

6 notes · View notes

avian-tardis · 3 years ago

Text

What is Right and What is Easy

Chapter 6: Friendly Advice

-----

TW: PTSD, Self-harm, Survivor's guilt, Self-hatred

-----

Harry was trying not to laugh. Draco was trying not to punch him. (An impressive display of self-control, I must say.)

To be fair, Harry hadn't thought the doodle would be so offensive, but the minute Draco had glanced down at Harry's paper he could practically feel his blood pressure rising. It simply could not be a coincidence that Potter had decided he was going to draw a goddamn ferret while sitting directly next to him.

"I swear, Potter, I am going to hex you into next week."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy, I didn't mean anything by it."

"Oh, sure, it was completely unintentional."

"Look, it was unconscious, I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry, you're laughing."

"I'm trying not to."

Draco smacked Harry's arm with his potions book, hard.

"Ow!"

"Fuck off, Potter."

"I haven't done anything."

Draco glared.

"You're being childish."

"You're the one who drew the damn thing!"

"Boys," Draco and Harry both turned to find Slughorn looming over them, "I suggest you start on your assignment. There is only so much time in this class, and it would not be wise to waste it."

"Of course, Professor."

Slughorn nodded and ambled off to help Seamus and a Slytherin girl, whose potions book had begun smoking.

"You really have to stop getting me in trouble, Potter."

"You really have to stop making a scene at every little thing."

Draco scoffed, "I'm just grateful I don't have to be near you in other classes."

"That has nothing to do with what I'm talking about."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Blaise, who'd leaned his chair so far back that it wasn't quite clear how he hadn't fallen yet.

"Girls, girls, you're both beautiful. Now, can you both shut up so I can concentrate, please?"

"Shove off, Zabini."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Harry smirked, "Thank you."

Blaise winked and went back to his own desk.

Harry ignored Draco's glare in favor of scanning the questions they were meant to be answering.

"The difference between monkshood and wolfsbane…" Harry started chuckling.

"What now, Potter?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Well, don't you remember, Malfoy? The difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. It's one of the first things Snape asked me first year."

"But there is no difference."

"Exactly. He asked a first year who was raised by muggles a fucking trick question on the first day. What an arse."

"Don't be rude, Potter. He saved you."

"I know he saved me. Still an arse though."

Draco started chuckling, too, "He sort of was, wasn't he?"

"Sort of is an understatement."

Draco smirked, "For you, maybe."

Harry elbowed him in the ribs and shook his head, "Okay then Golden Boy, how about you and your favoritism magnet help me answer these?"

"Oh, sure, I'm the favoritism magnet."

"Get to work, you wanker."

"Fuck off."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry was sure he could see Malfoy smiling.

-----

Harry had reverted back to his old habit of sitting up in bed and watching the Marauders Map some time in the last two months.

Tonight he'd been watching it for hours. It was getting so late that it was almost early, the moon having passed overhead and begun its descent. Still, Harry couldn't sleep. He often couldn't, these days.

His finger traced the name 'Peeves', which had been making its way slowly along the corridor outside the Great Hall for the last hour, stopping every few meters and hovering for a moment before once again making its way forward. Harry wasn't quite sure what the poltergeist could possibly be up to, but he was sure it couldn't be good. He'd just decided that it would be in his best interests to get his breakfast directly from the kitchen tomorrow when he heard a shuffling noise outside his door.

Harry paused and listened for footsteps - someone off to the bathroom, perhaps - but was met with silence. He wanted to dismiss it, but he was sure he'd heard something. His stubborn mind wouldn't let him forget it.

Unfolding the map further, Harry leaned in to see the names scrawled within his dorm. Himself, obviously. Ron, snoring loudly across from him. Neville in his bed against the back wall, and Dean and Seamus both sleeping soundly in Dean's bed across from Neville's. Harry'd been surprised the first time he'd seen Dean and Seamus' names so close together in the night, but he understood. Since the two had started sharing, Harry found that he was no longer being woken by their screams. He was glad they'd found a way to remedy the nightmares. (Oblivious Harry for the win lol.)

Having found his room on the map, Harry shifted his gaze to the hallway outside the door. He was right. There was a name waiting just on the other side of the wall.

'Draco Malfoy'. Harry heard another shuffle as Malfoy moved, taking a few steps back in the direction of his own room before stopping and turning back around again. Harry watched for several seconds as the name stayed still, hesitating.

Finally, deciding that Malfoy wasn't going to do anything himself, Harry muttered, "Mischief managed," closed the map, and padded across the room to the heavy wooden door.

He almost regretted opening the door when he saw the startled, cornered look that took over Malfoy's face. Harry put a finger to his lips and stepped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.

"Potter! How…" Malfoy cleared his throat hesitantly, breath shaky, "How did you know I was out here?"

"Heard you."

"Heard me? But… No, you couldn't have known…" Malfoy looked at him confusedly.

"I'm allowed to have secrets, Malfoy," Harry teased. Then he paused, taking in Malfoy's hunched shoulders, his shaky breath, his arms hugged close against his stomach. "What's wrong?"

"I… um," Malfoy was looking everywhere but Harry's face, throat working against words he couldn't seem to form.

"Here," Harry reached up to put his hand between Malfoy's shoulder blades and began leading him toward the common room. He could feel Malfoy's heartbeat through the thin fabric of his t-shirt; it was fast and hard, like a cornered rabbit's.

Malfoy made a noise of protest when they approached the common room, pushing back against Harry's hand.

"It's alright. It's empty, I promise. No one else is out of bed." It was true. Harry had double-checked.

Malfoy took a deep breath, seeming to consider whether or not this claim was utter bullshit, but then nodded, moving forward into the common room.

They sat sideways on a couch in front of the fireplace, facing each other. Harry took a moment to light the fire with his wand, then summoned a soft blanket and offered it to Malfoy, who wrapped it around his shoulders.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Malfoy looked up at Harry, unsure.

"It's okay if you did, you know. I get them too."

Malfoy swallowed and lowered his gaze, eyes beginning to shine with tears. After a beat, he spoke, barely a whisper, "It… it came after me. It… god, I hated that bloody snake. I just. I woke up and it was like it was still happening, and I couldn't… I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, or think, and it hurt. And then…" Malfoy shifted his grip on his blanket and pulled out his arm, pulling up his sleeve and squeezing his eyes shut as he offered it to Harry, "I didn't mean to, it just…"

Harry looked down and let out a little breath. He wrapped his fingers around Malfoy's pale wrist with one hand and drew his wand with the other.

He didn't know what to say, really. Malfoy's entire forearm was a bright, angry red, the dark mark staring angrily up at him like a storm cloud at sunrise. There were dark crescents pressed into the skin, accompanied by angry red lines criss-crossing in every direction. A few of them had begun to bleed. Harry didn't know how long Malfoy had sat there scratching, tearing desperately at his own skin with sharp fingernails, but he knew it must have been a long time.

Harry began muttering healing spells, trying to find one that would fix the irritation as well as the tears; he knew it must sting like crazy.

"I… I scratched off all the paint." Malfoy sounded like he might be crying now, and Harry kept his eyes steadily downward. He knew enough to know that Malfoy would rather suffer the cruciatus curse than to let someone see him cry.

"Oh… don't worry about that, really. We can do it again. Maybe a new design, hey? Really, don't worry about the paint."

Harry could feel Malfoy nodding, could hear him taking deep breaths, trying to settle himself. After a while, he whispered, "My dream. The… my nightmare. The snake, it - it came out of the mark and it turned… it turned into his snake, it turned into Nagini. I could hear his voice, he was laughing and… and telling her to… and then she did, and I…" Malfoy's hand started shaking and Harry could see his fingers tighten around the blanket.

"I know it's stupid, I just… I couldn't calm down and no… no one else really knows-"

"It's not stupid. Malfoy, you don't ever need to say that something like this is stupid." Harry tugged on Malfoy's arm; he needed Malfoy to look at him. "I meant what I said before. You and I never got along, everyone knows that, but it doesn't have to be like that anymore. We can be on the same side now. Malfoy, I'm not upset that you came to me, okay? I wanted you to. I made you promise, remember?"

Malfoy didn't respond. But he looked at Harry, and it seemed like he understood. Harry smoothed his thumb over Malfoy's forearm, now healed, as it slowly stopped shaking.

After several silent minutes, he let go and said quietly, "I'll go get the paint, okay? Something new, whatever you want. I'll be right back."

Malfoy nodded and sat back into the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

Harry disappeared back into the hallway for a few minutes.

When he came back, paint set in hand, Malfoy seemed to have calmed down more and settled his breathing.

Harry pulled a small table over and settled back down on the couch, laying out his paints on the table before looking up questioningly at Malfoy.

"Oh. Um…" Malfoy's eyes flicked to the paint and then back to Harry, "I'm not really that creative. You can do whatever you want."

Harry tilted his head to the side, "Are you sure?"

Malfoy nodded and held out his arm.

The painting took longer this time. After hearing about his nightmare, Harry figured it would be best to try and cover more of the mark with his design. He started with a yellow sun, the center perfectly obscuring the skull. Next, he covered the snake's gaping mouth with a dark blue planet, making it seem almost as if the snake were attempting to swallow it. Up the snake's back, Harry painted a series of circles and filled them in to resemble the phases of the moon. Suddenly getting an idea, Harry began to paint small dots, connecting them with thin, straight lines. Slowly, a constellation took shape, shooting through the tangle of the snake's body and ending on the other side; Draco. Harry had naturally paid more attention to a handful of stars and constellations in astronomy; namely Sirius, Andromeda, Bellatrix, Regulus, Arcturus, and Draco. He found, after a while, that he didn't need reminders of what they looked like or where they sat in the sky. He easily painted the Draco constellation, barely even thinking about it. Once he'd finished with that, he doodled more planets and sun-like designs around the mark. He looked up at Malfoy to see him fully relaxed, practically asleep, his head swaying ever so slightly from side to side.

Harry sighed. Malfoy looked so peaceful, he felt bad about stopping. Unwilling to make the other boy get up just yet, Harry dampened a clean brush and began simply running it over Malfoy's skin, making invisible shapes in slow, looping patterns.

By now Harry couldn't tell whether or not Malfoy was awake. He himself was beginning to feel ridiculously sleepy, but he couldn't imagine what would happen if anyone found he and Malfoy asleep on the same couch. He'd heard enough gossip about himself to last a lifetime, and besides, he knew that Malfoy would lose it if another rumor like that were to crop up. Still, he couldn't wake him now. Not after the panic and stress he'd just experienced.

Harry carefully pulled Malfoy's sleeve back down over his forearm and tucked it underneath the blanket. Gathering his paints, he padded quietly out of the common room and back to his dorm, where he promptly collapsed into his bed and had his first good night's sleep in weeks.

-----

Draco woke the next morning to the sound of hushed voices and ruffling fabric skirting past him. Too-bright sunlight streamed through the window and rested on his eyelids, causing him to squirm and press his face into his pillow.

Except - hold on a minute, that's not his pillow.

Draco squinted, trying to see through the near-blinding sunlight to get his bearings.

It took a moment for him to realize where he was, and another to remember how he'd gotten there.

Draco heard a shushing noise and a pair of hushed footsteps made their way past him.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes in an attempt to help them adjust, he sat up and glanced around the room. A pair of ravenclaw girls were disappearing through a door and into the hall - those would be the footsteps he heard, Draco figured. The common room was otherwise empty, save for the dark-haired boy hovering quietly by the door to the dorms.

Draco groaned as he sat up further, stiffness from sleeping on the couch becoming evident as he moved.

"Potter?"

"You're awake." Harry was smiling cautiously at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Didn't want anyone to wake you," he shrugged one shoulder as he took a step closer to Draco.

"What time is it?"

"Not sure. It's still early though. Plus, it's Sunday, so most people haven't come down yet," Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up all over the place. Well, more than it already had been. Draco felt a strange urge to fix it for him.

He fixed Harry with a half-hearted glare.

"So exactly how many people have you allowed to see me sprawled across the couch like some hibernating animal?" he demanded.

"Maybe ten?" said Harry, shrugging again, "Honestly, Malfoy, there's no need to be upset. People fall asleep out here all the time."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Besides," Harry added, "You looked perfectly regal curled up on that couch."

Draco snatched the pillow he'd been laying on and threw it as hard as he could at Harry's head. Harry ducked and the pillow sailed into the wall, knocking down a mirror and cracking it.

"That's bad luck, Malfoy," Harry clucked.

"Oh, good. Like I didn't have enough already," Malfoy grumbled.

"Alright, alright. I guess you aren't a morning person," Harry walked over to the mirror and hung it back on the wall. "Reparo. See? All better. But don't go throwing any more pillows about. Next time you may not be so lucky."

Draco scoffed and easily caught the pillow as Harry tossed it back to him.

"It's too early for you to try and be funny, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to the dorms, "Noted."

Draco glared at Harry's back as he slowly stood up, making sure he was well out of sight before stretching his arms above his head and arching his back. Sleeping on a couch really doesn't do much good for one's muscles, you know.

"Oh, by the way-"

Draco jumped, turned back to the door to see Harry's endearingly annoyingly messy head of hair poking back through it.

"-I wouldn't go to the Great Hall for breakfast this morning. Get it from the kitchens, or something. Just some, er, friendly advice."

Draco glared daggers, but Harry just smiled awkwardly and turned back to the dorms - again.

Draco sighed. Friendly advice, from Harry Potter?

What was his world coming to?

-----

Here is my rough sketch of what Harry's design looks like :) I know it's probably hard to picture so here's a visual.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/11cXoajDUl-Z5Qv9lGWEtOfPYmKf49W_T/view?usp=sharing

1 note · View note

avian-tardis · 3 years ago

Text

What is Right and What is Easy

Chapter 5: Helpful

-----

TW: PTSD, Self-harm, Survivor's guilt, Self-hatred

-----

Harry met with Ginny and the others every day for the next week. He didn't say much himself, but it was good to hear other people talk about it.

They usually gathered in the Hufflepuff common room, which Harry had learned was actually hidden behind the barrels he'd passed a hundred times before. Like the Gryffindor common room, it was decorated almost entirely in their house colors and full of comfortable furniture to hang out or study on. Unlike the Gryffindor common room, it was packed full of every kind of plant imaginable, sitting on the floors and tables, balanced on the seats, hanging from the ceiling. Harry'd had to move a potted plant out of his chair the first time he went.

He asked them a bit about the painting thing, simply saying that he knew of someone who could use it and leaving it at that. One of the Hufflepuff girls had even lent him a small set of quick-drying paints and brushes, no prompting and no questions asked.

The thing that shocked Harry the most about these unofficial meetings was how many people were actually there. They ranged in age from second year all the way to eighth, boys and girls, all four houses. He listened especially carefully when the Slytherins spoke.

Though he'd come with no idea what he really planned to get out of it, he now thought the experience was something he and so many others deeply needed.

The thought crossed his mind once or twice to try and find a way to convince Malfoy to come, but he knew that was foolish. Instead, he came up with a less extreme plan.

When he walked into potions exactly a week after their almost-failed potion incident, his bag was slightly heavier than usual.

Five minutes into class, he was paired with Malfoy again, just like he'd predicted. He expected Malfoy to go right back to excluding him, after last time, but instead he acted as if nothing had happened. He pushed a bowl of dried herbs in Harry's direction for him to crush and set about his part of the potion-making.

This was good, Harry thought. Malfoy's not-terrible mood would make his plan that much less likely to blow up in his face.

The class was going surprisingly well, and Harry couldn't believe his luck when he and Malfoy finished their potion 30 minutes early.

Malfoy pulled a book out of his bag and began to open it, but paused when Harry placed a hand lightly on his wrist.

"I have an idea. I just want to try it. Can I… can I see it?"

It only took a moment for Malfoy to realize what Harry was talking about. He stared at him suspiciously for a minute before reluctantly setting his book down and pulling up the sleeve of his robe, glancing behind him as if to make sure they were still at the back of the classroom.

Harry quietly pulled a brush and a tube of green paint from his bag and started to unscrew the cap. Malfoy stared intently at Harry's hands, unsure.

Harry rolled some paint onto the brush, then took Malfoy's wrist to pull his forearm in front of him. He could see Malfoy's muscles tense, stretching against his skin. He looked up to meet his eyes, trying to discern if he was crossing any huge boundaries. Malfoy looked uncomfortable - unsurprisingly - but with nothing to suggest that he wanted Harry to stop.

He looked back down and began to paint. He started simple, carving out the shape of vines twisting their way around the skull. He smiled to himself as he noticed that the paint easily covered the mark; its magical properties couldn't seem to do much to stop it. He also noticed the tension start to leave Malfoy's arm, relaxing more as Harry continued to add more paint. Once he'd finished the vines, he pulled white and purple paints from the bag and began to paint little flowers; blooming from the skull's eye sockets, spiraling around the snake's dark body. When he felt that there were enough flowers, he glanced at the clock - ten more minutes left. He took out the blue and added little water droplets, dripping from the flower petals, resting on the skull, sliding down the snake's back.

He looked up at Malfoy to see his eyes half closed, breathing deeply, completely relaxed. He smiled as he began to put the paint away. With five minutes remaining in class, Slughorn came around to give grades. Malfoy opened his eyes and leaned down to inspect the painting before pulling his sleeve back over it, a small smile on his face.

Once Slughorn had come and gone from their desk, Malfoy turned to look at Harry. Harry smiled and spoke immediately, as if trying to defend himself, "I'm not much of an artist. And, erm, I'm sorry for not really asking-"

"Thank you. It was… really nice. And really relaxing. And… and helpful. So thank you."

"Oh," Harry was a little taken aback; Malfoy was smiling, a real, genuine smile, and thanking him. "You're welcome."

"How… Where did you get the idea?"

"Oh, it's just something some other people are doing. I thought it might help you."

Malfoy nodded. Just before he turned to pack up, he added, "You're really not a bad artist, either. Just… you know. So you know."

"Thanks."

“Yeah. You, erm…” Malfoy cleared his throat. Harry almost laughed; Malfoy always seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say, but right now he paused and stuttered like he couldn’t collect his thoughts. It was strangely endearing. “You could do that again if you. You know. Want. It helped, I think. Anyway…”

Harry just nodded. He had never expected such an honest response, but he was happy to get it.

-----

It took way longer than Draco liked to get to the new eighth year dorms from the dungeons. He gritted his teeth as he walked past the entrance to the Slytherin common room, bitter that he couldn’t walk through the door and collapse in his old dorm room, which was now inhabited by a batch of grimy first-years. He knew why; the dorms were designed to hold seven years worth of students, not eight. That meant no room for the eighth years. He knew the password, of course — the teachers weren’t about to lock students out of their own common rooms — but he had no bed to sleep on, nowhere private to go.

Instead, he made his way across the castle, absent-mindedly running his fingers over the fabric covering his forearm. He couldn't quite figure out the feeling that had come over him as Harry was painting. It was as if he'd slipped beneath the water; sights, smells, sounds, all muffled, replaced by a pleasant weightless, floating feeling and a soothing sort of tingling up the back of his neck. It was the most at peace he'd felt in months — probably years.

Draco scoffed to himself. Of course it had to be at the hands of Harry fucking Potter. Somehow, for almost half his life now, everything seemed to revolve around that boy. He'd thought that maybe once the war ended, that could stop. He'd apparently thought wrong. At least now it wasn't in such a hostile manner. In fact, recently the other boy had seemed almost sweet.

Draco shook his head. He could accept that Potter had changed, but sweet? That was just ridiculous.

He paused in the empty hallway, slowly pulling back the sleeve of his robes to look at the vibrant colors marking his forearm. He could see the care put into the designs, the attention to detail. How could someone care so much about him? How could Potter, of all people? After everything they'd done to each other? He let a delicate finger trace over the flowers blooming from the skull. Somehow the dark ink didn't look so sinister as it had that morning. He almost started to smile, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming around the corner behind him.

He jerked his sleeve back over his arm and began walking quickly down the corridor.

"Draco!"

He couldn't decide if he was annoyed or relieved as he slowly turned to face Pansy.

"Why do you look so guilty?"

"I don't."

Pansy shot him a skeptical look but seemed to decide that it wasn't a topic worth pursuing. She fell into step beside him, muttering some song under her breath.

Draco glanced at her and chuckled.

"You have glitter in your hair."

Pansy groaned, "I know. It's been three hours since I left the Hall but the stuff is still everywhere. Those third-years weren't kidding about the Guy Fawkes thing."

"I know. Even twenty deep-cleaning spells haven't cleaned it all up."

"Enough to rival those bloody Weasley twins, that's for sure."

"They'd certainly be proud."

Pansy was silent for a minute.

"Have you done the potions essay yet?"

Draco looked up, "Had it done days ago, why?"

Pansy sighed heavily, making her bangs flutter, "I can't for the life of me find a topic. I mean, I'm a bit rubbish at potions to begin with, but this assignment… it's like it's designed to trip us up. And it really doesn't help that I'm so clearly unwelcome in the library. Even Mrs. Bloody Pince wants me out of there, I can tell."

"Well, they can't stop you from going in though."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Whatever section I head for, it's like they purposefully swarm it. Start taking all the books I might need. They're being shitty just for the sake of it."

Draco was quiet. Of course he'd been experiencing that sort of thing too, but not to that extent. It didn't make sense to him when he thought about it. Sure, Pansy had fought with the Death Eaters, and she'd never hesitated to make her pure-blood ideology known, but it wasn't as if he hadn't done the same; hadn't done worse. Why would she be on the receiving end of more extreme treatment?

"I'll… I'll lend you the books I used, I haven't returned them yet. Maybe they can help you."

Pansy nodded half-heartedly. She seemed to be about to continue their conversation when her eyes widened and she turned bright red.

Confused, Malfoy looked up to see what had earned such a reaction, but only found the Patil twins disappearing through a corridor in front of them.

Seeming to realize the not-so-subtle reaction she'd just had, Pansy looked down and cleared her throat, "Erm, well… I'd better… you know, I think I forgot my quill. Speak with you later."

Draco stared after her retreating form with one eyebrow raised.

"Weird."

He absentmindedly glanced out the window only to realize he had a perfect view of the quidditch pitch. A bittersweet feeling rose in his chest as he moved closer to the window and pressed his forehead against the cool glass pane.

He hadn't bothered to show up to tryouts earlier in the fall. He was under the (mostly correct) assumption that everyone sort of hated him; and besides, who wants a Death Eater as the leader of their quidditch team? Slytherin house was trying to salvage its reputation, not bash it even further into the ground.

Still, every time he looked out on the pitch he couldn't stop himself from regretting his decision. He'd sorely missed playing the last two years; had snuck out on the pitch at night just to remember what it felt like to be there, what it felt like to fly. Sometimes he'd felt as if it was the only thing keeping his sanity from floating away. Now that he no longer had the pressure, the expectations, the responsibility of answering to Voldemort, he could've rejoined the team. But he just couldn't make himself believe he deserved it.

Draco was brought out of his thoughts by two distant figures walking on to the pitch, brooms in hand, case being carried between them, scarlet robes flapping in the wind. He squinted, trying to make out who it was. The shorter figure had long hair which practically blended in with their robes - must be the Weasley girl, then - but the taller had shorter hair, darker. Draco caught a glimpse of sunlight bouncing off their face; glasses. Potter, then. Potter and Weasley.

Draco watched as they mounted their brooms, flying in circles around the pitch, slowly increasing in speed. After their seventh circle, they headed back to the ground and opened the case. Weasley took out a quaffle and flew towards the goal posts, while Potter seemingly released the snitch, waited for a count of ten, and then pushed off after it.

Draco sighed. Though he'd die before he admitted it, he'd always admired Potter's skill on a broom. It had come as a shock to him along with everyone else when he'd chased him and caught the remembrall on their first day of lessons; without so much as a wobble once he'd left the ground. It had made Draco angry; he'd worked so hard back home, perfecting his technique, practicing tricks and speed. And then here comes the stuck-up little boy-who-lived, who'd been raised by muggles, who'd never touched a racing broom in his life, doing it all like it was as easy as breathing.

As more time passed, though, he couldn't help but appreciate it. Once he'd begun real training, it was as if Potter was one with his broom, like he belonged in the air. Draco felt a strange pull in his stomach as he watched Potter dive for the snitch.

He sighed and shook his head. No point in thinking about things that he couldn't change. He pushed off the window and shoved his hands into his pockets, quickening his steps as he resumed his walk to the dorms.

-----

Harry laughed as the wind whipped past, tangling in his hair and pulling it wildly behind him. He felt a strange kind of elation, the sort of success he associated with catching the snitch early in a game. After everything, despite their history and their differences, Harry felt as if he and Malfoy could finally coexist peacefully, rather than their previous shaky, tension-filled truce.

What's more, Harry could tell that he'd helped. He regarded this fact with a certain disbelief. Despite what everyone said - despite what the entire world seemed to think of him - Harry had trouble seeing the ways in which he'd helped people. Hermione had once read him the quote, "You hear sounds from your enemies more prominently than those of your allies." She'd likened it to his thoughts; the way he seemed prone to listen to the negative thoughts, the guilt, the fear, the hate. She said he needed to focus, to "strain his ears", so to speak, and listen for the good.

A lot of the time, he couldn't. When he tried, he could only ever hear the voices, close his eyes and see a slideshow of faces; Cedric Diggory, Barty Crouch Sr., Sirius Black, Florean Fortescue, Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Ted Tonks, Dobby, Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, and all his other classmates who fought for their lives and lost on his behalf. Even Hedwig.

But not now. Not in this moment. Harry felt as if he'd really, actually helped someone, with no consequences. It felt amazing.

Harry couldn't see the boy watching from the window high above him, but his thoughts were on him anyway. Harry was glad of his current progress, and hopeful for more.

Harry caught a glint of gold from the corner of his eye and dove for it.

Yes, today was shaping up to be a pretty good day.

-----

The idea for painting over the dark mark is from these two posts: -https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d7/4e/38/d74e382505d829cf1d4f203758f1461b.jpg -https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074182/chapters/24093411

0 notes

avian-tardis · 3 years ago

Text

What is Right and What is Easy

Chapter 4: Secret to Share

-----

TW: PTSD, Self-harm, Survivor's guilt, Self-hatred

-----

Harry and Draco were partnered in potions again later that week. Draco grumbled about being unable to work with his friends as Harry rolled his eyes, but secretly they were pleased. They'd come up with a good system the last time and ended up working rather well together.

Draco was less rigid with his instructions now, perhaps trusting Harry not to mess up terribly - though he continued to keep an eye on the other boy's actions.

Harry sat next to their cauldron, slowly adding two drops of troll blood to the potion every 45 seconds. He lowered his voice and turned to Malfoy, leaning toward him ever so slightly to ensure that his voice would reach his ears.

"How are you… you know… how are you doing?"

Malfoy turned to him, confusion, wariness, and some hostility battling across his features.

"How am I… what?"

"I just mean… I mean, if you needed anything, or anything was wrong, you could.. I would… oh, forget it."

Harry turned to add more blood to their potion. He could feel Malfoy's gaze piercing his back. When it didn't go away, he shifted to see Malfoy's face.

His eyes were narrowed, head tilted in thought.

"What are you playing at, Potter?"

"Nothing, Malfoy. Forget it."

"No, I want to know now. What do you want?"

"Nothing, Malfoy. Just…"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

Harry shook his head, exasperated, "I just want to know that you're alright. Okay? I can't help but feel like…"

"Like what?"

Harry turned back to the cauldron to add more drops. When he didn't turn back around, Malfoy clamped a hand around his upper arm and pulled him around to face him.

"Like what, Potter?"

Malfoy saw something shift in Harry's expression, a subtle glint to his eyes and a set to his mouth.

"Like it's my fault, Malfoy!" Harry hissed, "Like I'm responsible, like it's just sixth year all over again and you're bleeding out on the bathroom floor because I used a curse when I didn't know what it would do!"

Malfoy let go of Harry's arm.

"So I just… I just want to know that you're okay. Doesn't even really matter. You can forget I said anything now, yeah?"

Harry turned around yet again. He could hear Malfoy's breathing, could hear him swallow. He figured he could picture his face right about now; torn between laughter and anger. He realized as soon as Malfoy spoke that he was wrong.

"You…" Malfoy's voice was shaky, unsure, "You didn't know? You didn't know what the curse would do?"

Harry took a breath and shook his head, "I found it written in the margins of an old book. It just said 'For your enemies'. I don't know what I thought it would do, but it certainly wasn't that."

"Snape knew a countercurse."

"It was Snape's book."

"Snape's?"

"From when he was in school. It was in that cabinet over there," Harry waved his hand vaguely toward the back of the room, "He used it on my father - the curse, I mean. I saw when I accidentally used Legilimency on him. Didn't know it was the same curse, though. He did it silently. And I didn't even have the book at the time. But Lupin said last year that it was Snape's 'specialty'."

Malfoy’s eyebrows creased in thought. He reached up and ran his fingers unconsciously over the scar on his cheek.

"I, erm…" Harry cleared his throat, "I never apologized for that. But I am sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Thanks, I guess. Good to know you weren't actually trying to kill me."

They shared an awkward sort of smile for a moment, but that moment quickly ended when Malfoy yelled, "Potter! The potion!"

Harry turned to see that the potion had turned an alarming shade of yellow and was creeping its way over the sides of their cauldron. He frantically added more troll's blood, which helped to pull the potion back into the cauldron and dampen the color, but it was obvious that damage had been done.

Malfoy pushed Harry out of the way and began tampering, crushing extra ingredients and stirring them in an effort to salvage their potion, muttering under his breath. Eventually, the potion settled into a deep sunset color - a few shades more orange than it should have been, but closer than Harry could've gotten it.

"Fucking Potter. You just had to get distracted, didn't you? What did I say about ruining my marks?"

"Oh, shove off, Malfoy. You were just as distracted as I was."

"Yeah? And whose fault might that be?"

The two glared at each other in silence, stubborn natures warring for several moments longer than was really acceptable. Finally, Harry sighed and looked down at his hands. He muttered something that could've been 'I'm sorry' if you happened to have super-hearing, and conceded all control to Malfoy, quietly following directions until the end of the period.

When Slughorn came around to check on their potion, he gave a non-committal hum and said, "Well it's fine… well-made, would work fairly well. But not really what I would normally expect from the two of you. Something go wrong?"

Malfoy’s gaze shifted coldly in Harry’s direction, “Someone got distracted and added troll’s blood 20 seconds late.”

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

Slughorn chuckled, “Well if that’s the case, dear boy, I wouldn’t worry. Anyone who can salvage that can be considered an expert in my opinion. Outstanding," Slughorn made a mark in his book and wandered across the aisle to their neighbor's cauldron.

"There. No harm to your grades."

Malfoy huffed and nodded.

They packed up and left the dungeons in silence.

-----

"Have you seen Ginny?" Luna plopped down at the Gryffindor table and set a pile of Quibblers in front of her.

"Not since this morning," said Hermione, reaching across to take a magazine from the pile, "Passed her on the way to charms. She's always late to lunch though."

"What's she done this time?" Ron asked around a mouthful of bread.

"Nothing. Why should she have done something?"

Harry reached across Ron to take a copy of The Quibbler and began flipping through it, "So, why are you looking for her?"

"Oh, no reason, really. I just enjoy her company. I'll check the hall by the Hufflepuff dorms, I think."

"Why the Hufflepuff dorms?"

"Oh, she's been helping some of the students with various things. You know, to do with the war. Says it helps her forget about her own problems. I join in when I can."

A few glances were shared across the table, a silent, I didn't know. Did you? Not a clue.

"You know, one of the younger girls had the most brilliant of ideas," Luna continued, "For the people who want to hurt themselves."

Luna paused and began straightening her stack of magazines.

Harry spoke up, "So, erm… what was the idea, Luna?"

"Hmm?" Luna looked up, "Oh. Yes. Well, she said that whenever someone feels like hurting themselves, they should paint their arms instead. I don't know why, but people have been saying it works. I'm happy for them. Anyway," she said, pushing away from the table, "I'm going to look for Ginny. Last call for Quibblers, everyone!"

"Mmm," Dean waved his hand and mumbled a 'Thank you' once he had swallowed his food and Luna placed a magazine in front of him.

"Bye! We'll pay you at the end of the month, yeah?" Hermione asked.

Luna nodded and waved as she made her way out of the hall.

"Did you know Ginny was doing that?" Ron asked.

They all shook their heads.

"Oh, come on, none of you? Are any of you actually her friends?"

"Hey, she's your sister," Seamus replied aiming his fork pointedly at Ron's face.

"Exactly. My job is to either ignore her or tease her. Not keep track of her extracurriculars."

"Ron," Hermione cuffed him disapprovingly on the back of the head.

"Well, you know, I should be asking the questions. Why's Harry so interested in what my sister's doing?"

"She is his ex, Ron."

"Emphasis on ex."

"Oh, just shut up guys. I'm not interested because it's Ginny, I'm interested because I want to know how to help people, you know, if they need it."

"Well, you know what'll help me," Ron said, "If someone would help me with my Defense essay."

"Nice try," Harry and Hermione spoke in unison.

"How long have I been telling you, Ronald, I'll help you edit your papers, not write them."

"And you know, Ron, just because I can do the practical part of DADA doesn't mean I can write essays."

Ron whined some more, but didn't get anywhere and eventually gave up.

Harry had zoned out, interested in an article about Thestrals in The Quibbler, when he felt Seamus kick him under the table.

"What?"

"Malfoy's staring at you again."

Dean looked up and leaned forward, "Think he's got a crush?"

"Shut up, Thomas."

Dean chuckled, "It'd be like Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers. A death-eater and the Chosen One."

"Except they both die in the end."

"Alright, so then not Romeo and Juliet."

"Shut up, you guys. He's angry with me because I messed up our potion yesterday."

Hermione looked across the hall at Malfoy, "I don't know, he seems more… confused than angry."

"And I care about this why?"

"I dunno, mate," Seamus tossed a chip in Harry's direction, "You just said 'shut up' like three times in as many minutes. Makes me think you care a bit."

"Would you stop projecting, Finnigan? Some of us actually need to finish eating and do this thing called being productive."

Seamus glared in Hermione's direction.

"What do you mean projecting?" Dean asked.

Hermione shook her head, "Nothing. I'm heading to the library. Anyone care to come?"

There was a moment of silence before Seamus spoke up and said he would.

"Really, Seamus? You're going to the library now?" Dean was looking more confused by the second.

"I, um, need some extra help with my charms assignment. See you later."

Seamus got up and followed Hermione away from the table, leaning over to talk furiously into her ear.

"What's up with him?" Ron said incredulously.

"Not a clue."

"Hmm."

"Mate, the ferret's still staring."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry turned fully around in his seat and made direct eye contact with Malfoy.

What? He mouthed.

Malfoy looked away, startled, and focused his eyes on his plate.

"Merlin, what could he want?"

"Well, you know my theory."

"Shove off, Thomas."

"'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.'"

"You know what, I think you're right."

"Alright, I'm gonna go and find Neville. You two let me know when you're ready to be mature again."

Dean and Ron burst out laughing as Harry walked away.

"What makes you think I've ever been mature, mate!?"

Harry flipped them off over his shoulder.

-----

Had he really wanted to find Neville, he was almost certain he would be found in either the library or the greenhouses, but Harry didn't feel particularly like leaving the castle for the greenhouses, nor was he really interested in getting involved with whatever had made Seamus so determined to follow Hermione.

He instead began wandering the halls aimlessly, trying to see them as they were, rather than the way they had looked filled with death eaters and blood. He almost regretted leaving the Great Hall; it was harder not to think about these things when he was alone. But overall he knew that his memories of the war weren't something he should push down or ignore. Even without the overwhelming amount of people telling him so, he knew that no matter how much he wanted to, letting his feelings fester instead of dealing with them would only make things worse in the long run. He would have to be alone sometimes, so he would have to be able to handle it.

Recently Harry had been trying harder to understand his own emotions, which proved to be a lot more difficult than he expected. It was extremely important to be brutally honest with yourself, which could end up hurting a lot.

One thing he'd noticed was this; sometimes when others talked about the battle, about what they'd gone through, Harry started to get angry or annoyed. When he'd finally realized why, he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to be honest with himself about it. The truth was that he was upset with them for acting as if what they'd experienced was the worst thing anyone could fathom. Logically, he knew this anger was ridiculous, that everyone's experiences had been horrible and traumatizing and valid. But something somewhere in his subconscious was annoyed at their ignorance. It felt that Harry had experienced so much worse for far longer, that he had lost much more and had to deal with much more; that he'd witnessed more, that he'd taken part in more than anyone else had. Who else was tasked with the impossible act of killing the unkillable Voldemort? No one. Illogical as it was, Harry finally had to admit to himself that there was a part of him that felt like everyone else's trauma was small and stupid compared to his own.

It made him want to hit his head against the wall until that nonsensical, angry part of him was knocked loose. It made him feel alone and set apart from the others, like there was no one who could share in his trauma.

Harry was just passing the stairwell that would lead down toward the kitchens when Luna's voice rang in his ears.

"She's been helping some of the students with various things. You know, to do with the war."

"Hufflepuff dorms…" Harry muttered to himself.

Perhaps Ginny and her friends could help him, too. He figured it was better than wandering the castle alone, wishing he was different.

Harry turned and began to descend the stairs. He wasn't actually sure where the Hufflepuff dorms were or how people got into them, but he knew they were somewhere near the kitchens. That's where the Hufflepuffs always headed between classes and meals, anyway.

Harry wandered the halls for several minutes with nothing to show for it. Soon he could hear the echoes of voices flooding the halls, signaling the end of lunch, and had turned to head back upstairs before he heard a scuffing noise behind him. He turned to see Ginny staring concernedly at him, her hand resting gently on a stack of barrels pushed against the wall.

"Oh, hi. I, erm… I was just… you know, nevermind. I'll just…" Harry gestured down the corridor, in the general direction of the stairs, and began to make his way toward them. He paused at the sound of Ginny's voice.

"It's alright, Harry. You look… well, to be honest, Harry, you look like hell. Did something happen?"

Harry cleared his throat and turned back around to face her, "Nothing really. Just thoughts, I guess. Luna said you might be down here, like, helping people, and I thought maybe… I dunno. Nevermind. I'm sure you've got enough people to help."

Ginny gave him a small smile, "Of course I would help you, Harry. Stop being so awkward about it. I do sort of need to get to class though. I'll be coming back here after dinner though. If you want to come with. Talking… it's good for you."

"Yeah," Harry nodded and smiled back, "Thanks Gin."

"Walk me to Flitwick's?"

"Sure."

As they made their way back to the classrooms, Harry and Ginny let the conversation move to less serious topics - mainly quidditch. They joked and laughed and bickered just like they used to. The relief that Harry felt at this was almost palpable. He remembered what his break up with Cho had been like and had been terrified that the same thing would happen with Ginny. Fortunately, though, they had almost immediately gone back to being friends, and their previous feelings for one another had become something of a distant dream.

Ginny disappeared into the Charms classroom with a wave, leaving Harry by himself to walk to Transfiguration.

Hermione was already in her seat, scribbling something intently into her notebook. She looked up as Harry sat down.

"Alright, Harry?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just… I'm better."

Hermione looked at him quizzically, "You seemed annoyed at lunch. Ron said you got angry with him and Dean."

"I'm okay, Hermione. I was just annoyed with Malfoy because he blamed me for messing up our potion. And then Dean and Ron wouldn't stop talking about him. That's all."

"Hmm."

Hermione went back to writing. Harry leaned over to see what she was so focused on, but she quickly covered it with her hand.

"Oh, come on 'Mione."

"Not my secret to share, Harry. Sorry."

Harry paused for a second. Then, "Does this secret happen to belong to… I don't know… a certain short Irish friend of ours?"

Hermione glared.

"Alright, nevermind, sorry. New topic."

Hermione closed her notebook, "Alright, new topic."

"What do you think of that thing Luna said? About painting your arm?"

Hermione's eyebrows creased in concern, "Why? You have been wanting to-"

"No, no, I've… not me. It's for… I'm just curious if it would help someone."

"Who?"

"Well, that's not really my secret to share."

"I see," she thought for a moment, "Well, I can certainly see why it would work. I think that it's one of those things that's different for everyone. It will work for a lot of people, but it's never guaranteed. They just have to try it and see."

Harry fiddled with his quill.

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

They let their conversation end as Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and began her lesson.

0 notes

avian-tardis · 3 years ago

Text

What is Right and What is Easy

Chapter 3: Same Kind of Different

-----

TW: PTSD, Self-harm, Survivor's guilt, Self-hatred

-----

The first Hogsmeade visit of the year occurred later than usual, a couple of days into November.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went first to Honeydukes, then brought their purchases to The Three Broomsticks to warm up with some butterbeer.

"Unusually cold today," Hermione said, "Must be below 5°."

"Yeah. Nice and warm in here though," Harry replied.

"Did you see Dean and Seamus? I think they assumed it would be warmer," she said, gesturing out the window at the pair, huddled together and shivering. They were moving towards the Three Broomsticks so slowly it was almost comical.

"It's colder than 5°," Ron said quietly.

"Well, I would say that with the wind…" Hermione trailed off as she turned to look at Ron, "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer. He stared at his hands, where he was fiddling was a small can, one of his purchases from Honeydukes. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other.

"It was Fred's idea, you know. Candy in a Can. I heard them talking about it one night. George said it was utterly ridiculous, which is what made it perfect. Guess he sold the formula though. If Honeydukes has it."

Oh.

Hermione took Ron's hand and laid her head on his shoulder. Harry placed his hand on his back. They didn't say anything, but they didn't need to.

Ron sniffed, "I just miss him, you know? I always insisted that he was an… an annoying nuisance, but now that he's gone…"

Hermione squeezed his hand, "I know."

Ron nodded. They sat in silence for several minutes, until Dean and Seamus finally made their way through the door, shivering and stomping their frozen feet. Ron managed a weak laugh as the two made their way toward the table. He spared a stronger one at Dean's chattering teeth when he said, "S-s-s-spare a few s-sips of bu-butterbeer? We're fr-r-reezing."

"Buy your own, mate," Ron said, heaviness beginning to fade from his voice, "I need every drop I've got."

Hermione chuckled, "They've got the fire going, you two can sit by it and I'll order your butterbeer."

"You're truly a saint, Hermione," Seamus said as he took Dean's hand and moved toward the fire crackling in the corner.

She turned back to Ron, "Be right back, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Harry watched Ron's hands fidgeting on the table, drawing shapes on the wood and tapping his nails.

This sort of thing happened often. Ron's grief came in short bursts, erupting out of him suddenly and then retreating just as fast. The woman who had spoken in the Great Hall during the first week of classes had said something about how grief fluctuates. Harry hadn't understood what she meant at first, but the more time passed, the more he understood. Sometimes he could push the memories of those he'd lost far back in his mind. The pain would fade to a dull pulse, and he could move through his days. He could even smile, even laugh, even have fun. But sometimes at night, or when he was by himself, the grief would swim up from the depths of his mind, and the pain would begin to feel like piercing knives. The same thing seemed to happen to Ron, although his episodes lasted for a considerably less amount of time.

"Oh, fantastic."

Harry looked up from Ron's hands to see what he was talking about now. His eyes met Malfoy's almost instantly, as he, Pansy, and Blaise walked through the door.

"It's fine," Harry said, looking away, "They haven't bothered us all year, have they?"

"Sure, but you can't teach an old dog new tricks. They'll start again soon enough. Why else would Malfoy be staring like that?"

"Honestly, Ron, I don't think they will. They seem different now. The war changed them just like the rest of us."

Ron scoffed, "Yeah, sure. Well, I suppose you've a right to your opinion."

"And what opinion is that?" Hermione said lightly as she approached.

"Harry thinks that Malfoy and his friends changed, just like the rest of us. I think that's rubbish."

"Ah. Well, agree to disagree."

"So you agree with him?"

"It's a simple fact, Ron. The war affected everyone, no matter what side they were on. And besides, we've seen proof. Have you seen Malfoy and his friends starting any trouble lately?"

Ron shook his head, "I think you two are wrong."

"Well, like Hermione said, agree to disagree." Harry paused, "Did you hear what that pair of first-years are planning for Guy Fawkes Day?"

"Yes, actually I did. I think it'll be a disaster. They're asking for trouble," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Well, I think it's brilliant," Ron said, imitating Hermione's tone. She smacked his shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"After the things we pulled in our first year, I'd say they'll be perfectly below the bar for trouble," Harry remarked.

Ron and Hermione both chuckled and nodded, "Well you've got a point there."

”We’ll have to make sure we’re there to see it,” Harry said.

Ron voiced his agreement while Hermione simply sighed.

A woman approached holding two butterbeers and handed them to Hermione.

"Thank you," she said with a smile.

Hermione turned back to Dean and Seamus and gestured for them to come over and join them at the table.

Harry found himself looking in Malfoy's direction. He and his friends sat quietly, talking with their heads bowed, bodies closed off from the rest of the room. Before, Harry might've thought that was suspicious. That they were plotting something, that he needed to find out what it was. Now they just looked like they were protecting themselves, doing their best to blend into the background. He sighed, beginning to wonder just how often that might've been true in previous years, when Harry had assumed hostility where maybe there wasn't any.

-----

Draco watched Dean and Seamus make their way across the restaurant out of the corner of his eye. He was listening vaguely to Pansy and Blaise's conversation about whether Quirrel, Barty Crouch, or Umbridge - they’d somehow decided Carrow didn’t count - had been the most "evil" of their DADA professors. Blaise argued that as Quirrel had literally had You-Know-Who whispering in his ear all year, it had to be him. Pansy held her position that the Dark Lord was not the definition of evil, so in fact, the worst professor had been Umbridge, although she'd never actually been a death eater. Draco scoffed to himself at this claim; Pansy seemed to have forgotten entirely about the way she and many other Slytherins, including Draco, had worshiped their fifth-year professor and the chaos she'd wrought.

Looking back, Draco didn't see how he could so passionately support the woman. His father had - likely still did - but the only thing Draco had liked about her was her torment of Gryffindors and their allies. Was that really enough reason? Her cruelty was really the only excuse he needed to follow her blindly?

What an idiot.

"Draco. Draco?"

Draco looked up to find Pansy staring at him.

"What?"

"I said Potter's been looking at you for like 2 minutes now. God, pay attention."

"Potter?" Draco looked back toward the other table, eyebrows creasing in confusion.

Pansy was right. Potter was looking straight at their table, but his eyes stayed fixed in place, glazed over. Draco shook his head and turned back to his friends.

"He's not looking at us. He's completely zoned out."

Pansy huffed, looking irritated, as if Draco was a child that couldn't manage to grasp whatever it was she was teaching him.

"Can't believe he hasn't done anything to us yet," Blaise remarked.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked.

"I mean, he came after us before, in school, when he didn't have much reason. Now he's got plenty of reasons. Everyone else hates us, he has no reason to keep to himself, really. Same goes for all his arrogant friends."

"Mmm," Pansy nodded.

"I know it sounds weird…" Draco started, "but I think he feels bad for us."

"What makes you say that?" Pansy said, bewildered.

"You've seen him pass us in the hallways, right? He won't even meet our eyes. Sort of looks ashamed."

Pansy snorted, "Alright, well, good. He should be ashamed."

Draco made himself chuckle along with the other two, but he couldn't help but think about the way Potter had looked when he caught him in the restroom. The horror, the fear, the guilt in his eyes. The desperation as he healed him, as he pleaded with Draco to promise. He saw the cautious worry whenever Potter checked on his mark. He saw him in potions, his determination to help, frustration evident but with a distinct lack of hatred. He remembered the confused looking smile that flickered across his face as he left the dungeons.

Potter wasn't what he'd thought. Not what his friends thought. He had been, once. Draco knew that Potter used to be exactly what they thought. But he'd changed. Draco had been surprised the first time he thought that. Potter wasn't capable of change. But the more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. It was ignorant to think that anybody came out of the war the same as they were when they entered it. He hadn't wanted to believe that he may actually be able to relate to this boy that he had hated so much. But sometime in the last two weeks, he'd given in. Facts were facts. Evidence was evidence. Potter changed. Draco changed. Everyone changed.

Things on the surface seemed so similar, but it was being proved to Draco over and over again that everything had changed. The same kind of different. It scared him. But maybe it also gave him just a little bit of hope.

6 notes · View notes

avian-tardis · 3 years ago

Text

What is Right and What is Easy

Chapter 2: Not Hating

-----

TW: PTSD, Self-harm, Survivor's guilt, Self-hatred

-----

The next few weeks continued on like normal. Harry, Ron, and Hermoine spent most of that time together, studying in the library, relaxing in the 8th year common room, and spending time on the grounds. Malfoy could almost always be found in a quiet corner alongside Blaise and Pansy Parkinson. Since the beginning of the year, Harry had noticed the lack of Slytherins following Malfoy around like loyal fans. More often than not, Malfoy's group was reduced to three. They were quieter than before, no longer vying for attention or laughs from their peers. Though Malfoy seemed surprisingly more content with the peace and lack of attention, it didn't stop Harry from feeling bad when they walked through the halls with their heads down, avoiding eye contact with the other houses.

Something about his encounter with Malfoy had heightened Harry's empathy even further than before. He was even more aware of the shame and neglect that the Slytherins experienced, not only now but before. Every day, more memories flooded his mind, times over the past seven years that Slytherins had been pushed away or hated for no reason other than their emerald green robes. First years who had done nothing were spat on by other first-years who'd never met them. He began to feel more and more guilty. Harry tried to shove these thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing on what he could control.

What he could control was ensuring promises would be kept. A week after the night in the bathroom, he ran across Malfoy passing through an empty corridor. He almost walked right past, ignoring him, but stopped himself. He turned and called for Malfoy to stop. He could see the other boy hesitate, considering whether to listen. Eventually, he turned, a careful mask of neutrality drawn over his face. Harry approached him carefully, waiting for Malfoy to leave or stop him. But he didn't. Malfoy's eyes flicked down to Harry's hand, reaching towards him. He took a measured breath before transferring his books to his right arm and pulling up his sleeve.

Harry gingerly wrapped his fingers around Malfoy's wrist and brought his forearm closer, carefully inspecting it for any marks which had been absent the week before. It wasn't that he didn't trust Malfoy's ability to keep his promise. It was more to reassure himself than anything else. He felt responsible, in more ways than one, for Malfoy's Dark Mark and what he had been doing to it. Thankfully, the mark was still intact, only scarred by the faint pink marks left over from the wounds which Harry had healed before.

Harry wordlessly pulled Malfoy's sleeve back over his arm, nodded, and strode back down the corridor toward his original destination.

He began to do this every time he found himself alone with Malfoy. Short, silent checks to ensure that he was keeping his promise. He worried, at first, that he was upsetting Malfoy, that he would lash out and something bad would happen. But he slowly realized that Malfoy didn't resent them. In fact, he seemed relieved whenever Harry did them. What he didn't know was the reason; that though Malfoy couldn't quite understand why, Harry's determination to check in on him made him feel secure, like someone was watching his back.

It wasn't until the week before Halloween that anything different happened. Harry and Malfoy had passed each other in an otherwise empty bathroom and stopped for one of their checks. Harry chuckled at the ink stains on Malfoy's fingers, smudged from hastily copying notes in one class or another. The old Malfoy, the one from before the war, wouldn't have been caught dead with stained fingers. Now he didn't seem to care. Harry couldn't help but think that it made the other boy seem more genuine, less like a cold caricature, and more like a human being. He moved up to Malfoy's arm, to his dark mark, and ran his fingers over his flesh, checking for marks and bumps that would indicate tampering. He was about to let go when he heard the creak of the door behind him.

He and Malfoy jumped apart, turning to meet the eyes of a scared-looking fourth year in Hufflepuff robes. The fourth-year didn't last long under the gazes of two of the most well-known eighth years in the school, and spun around, fleeing the bathroom as quickly as possible.

Malfoy's expression grew dark.

"Well, now you've done it, Potter. Couldn't trust me to keep a stupid promise, and now that kid is going to tell the school who knows what."

Harry looked incredulous, "What's the problem, Malfoy? Some Hufflepuff saw me looking at your arm. It's hardly a crisis."

Malfoy scoffed, "Maybe not for you. Potter, the Golden Gryffindor. They'll probably find a way to praise you for it. But in case you hadn't noticed," his voice dropped to a low hiss, "I'm a Slytherin. I'm the one who tried to kill Dumbledore, and whose parents were in… in You-Know-Who's inner circle. I'm the one that everyone despises. So you try and tell me that being found alone with the fucking Chosen One isn't going to affect me. I dare you."

Harry stared at his shoes, face beginning to burn as his anger subsided. Of course Malfoy was angry. As much as he wished it wasn't, everything that Malfoy had said was true.

Harry shook his head and sighed. "Maybe he won't say anything."

Malfoy let out a cold laugh and brushed past Harry out of the restroom, "Likely story."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy's back. All he was doing was trying to help. Couldn't Malfoy just try to appreciate that?

No, he thought, since when have Malfoy and I appreciated anything about each other? Harry wondered when his expectations for Malfoy had gone up that high.

-----

As it turns out, Harry was wrong. The fourth-year didn't mean to start rumours, but he couldn't resist telling his friends about the Boy Who Lived and the Death Eater jumping apart in an empty restroom. And then, of course, his friends had other people who they simply had to tell. By the time the information had spread to the rest of the school, most people found it laughable - who would believe that ridiculous and obvious lie? But the school knew all the same.

Every time they passed, Malfoy gave Harry a scathing look, silently warning him; Stay away. Talk to me and you'll regret it. Harry's guilt in seemingly having failed to keep his promise was outweighed by his resentment over Malfoy's audacity to blame him. It was Malfoy who had been found mutilating his arm. It was Malfoy who had allowed Harry to check on him. Harry was just trying to be a decent person… Was this what he got for it?

It made him think back to Mrs. Figg, to her beloved stray cats who would let you get close enough to feed them, but after they'd eaten they'd turn around and scratch you. She'd always defended them, insisting that it was only because they had been scared and that, if properly loved and taken care of, they could become the sweetest creatures on the planet. Harry was always too busy tending to his throbbing scratch marks to listen to her.

Hermoine and Ron of course heard the rumour. They both said, "Of course we don't believe it," and they laughed it off. But Harry caught Hermoine shooting him a curious look more than a few times.

You know you're a terrible liar, Harry, her voice echoed in his mind.

The only person who didn't seem to have an opinion was Luna Lovegood. The day before Halloween, she and Harry were sitting quietly in the library when she said in a soft voice, "Have you realized most of the school can see Thestrals now? I've been thinking about it. They were quite shocked when they got to the carriages in September."

Harry looked at her and thought for a moment.

"I suppose it hadn't occurred to me, no."

"Hmm."

Harry thought perhaps that was the entirety of the conversation, but she spoke up again after a few beats.

"How long d'you suppose Malfoy's been able to see them?"

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, Malfoy."

"Why him?”

“Well, he's been through a lot, hasn't he? Voldemort and the Death Eaters were in his house. I'm sure he saw awful things."

Harry hesitated.

"Is it true? About Malfoy? And you? Some people think it's ridiculous, others believe it, but I'd like to hear the truth from you."

Harry gave her a soft smile, "I appreciate that, Luna." That was one of the best things about her; she valued the truth over anything else. It didn't matter what you'd done as long as you were honest with her. Harry couldn't lie to her. And besides, Luna was the most trustworthy person he knew.

"I… yes, I was in the restroom with Malfoy. I've been… I've been trying to help him with something. Or, I was. I can't really tell you what, it's not my secret to tell."

"I understand. Why do you say 'was' like that?"

"He won't talk to me anymore. Thinks it'll make things worse for him and the other Slytherins. He's blaming me for getting seen in the restroom, as if he had nothing to do with it."

Luna tilted her head, "He sounds scared to me, Harry."

Harry didn't reply, but Luna felt that he had understood what she said. Satisfied, she went back to studying.

-----

Fourteen. That's the number of times Harry rewrote the note. In the end, he gave up on complex sentences, and the paper that Draco found tucked under his pillow the next night simply read, I'm sorry.

When Harry found that same note folded into one of his jumpers in the morning, What's that meant to change? Was scrawled hastily on the backside.

I was wrong. I suppose that's all I needed to say.

When Harry and Malfoy's eyes met across the Great Hall, Malfoy gave a small nod and went back to his food.

Though they no longer did checks, the two stopped glaring at each other in the hall. They each thought perhaps they could live out the rest of the year like that, in silence.

That is until Professor Slughorn decided to pair them together in Potions.

-----

"Of all the clichés," Malfoy muttered as he set his books on the table next to Harry. The first 30 minutes of the class was spent receiving instructions on the making of the Antidote to Veritaserum. When they turned their attention to making it themselves, Malfoy seemed to have decided that it was his job to complete the assignment and Harry's job to watch.

"I actually can brew potions, you know, Malfoy."

"Oh, please. The only time you ever got good marks in this class was when you were cheating."

"I wasn't cheating."

"Whatever you say, Potter. Pass me the crushed seashells, would you?"

Harry refused, "You've got to let me help with the potion, Malfoy, part of our grade is participation."

"You are participating. You're handing me the seashells." Malfoy's hand darted out to snatch the bowl from Harry.

“You know that doesn’t count. You’re being ridiculous.”

"I've got perfect marks in this class, Potter, you're not ruining that with your bad potion-making skills."

Harry huffed and slouched in his chair. After a few minutes, he sat back up.

"Come on, Malfoy. You can tell me exactly what to do, I don't care, but I've got to do something."

"... fine. You can mince the murtlap tentacle."

"Thank you."

Harry grabbed a knife and pulled the tray toward him. Right before he pressed the knife down, he felt Malfoy grab his wrist.

"They must be exactly a centimeter wide. Make sure they're even."

"Yeah, I got it." Harry pulled his wrist from Malfoy's grasp and began carefully slicing.

Once he'd finished with the tentacles, Malfoy had him exsanguinate a snail (disgusting), peel bark from a willow branch, and stir the potion for at least 20 minutes. He felt ridiculous the whole time, like a child who couldn't do anything but follow instructions. But at least he wasn't sitting on his arse or doing the whole thing. He did his best to be grateful for being able to help.

At the end of the class period, Professor Slughorn drifted around the room, squeezing droplets of a yellowish liquid into the students' cauldrons. When mixed with the liquid, the potions would change color. Slughorn explained that the closer the potion was to sky blue, the better marks the students received. Most potions turned out more green than blue, with a few purple and some navy here and there. Seamus Finnigan, who had never really lost his innate ability to make things explode, received a groan and a suggestion for tutoring when his spewed bright red smoke into his partner's face.

Harry and Malfoy's potion, while a little darker than it was meant to be, was the closest in the class, earning them top marks.

"Good job, Malfoy," Harry said quietly as they packed up their books.

"Thank you," Malfoy replied, "I suppose… you did a good job too. Not bad, at least."

"Thanks… I think."

They remained silent while they finished cleaning up. The conversation had been awkward and uncomfortable, but Harry at least hadn't hated it. He couldn't think of another time in either of their lives Harry and Malfoy had complemented one another. Even in Madame Malkins' shop all those years ago, before they knew each other, their short conversation had been rather tense and standoffish. Harry hadn't realized how exhausting it was, hating Malfoy. Painful as their few civil conversations had been, he came out of them feeling better than any other time in the last seven years.

He didn't like Malfoy. He just liked not hating him.

#drarry #fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3fic #ao3 #harry potter #draco malfoy #what is right and what is easy #what is right and what is easy avian-tardis #wirawie #angst #harry/draco #harry x draco #avian-tardis #drarry fic #drarry fanfic

4 notes · View notes