"Hey," said Harry softly as he settled next to Draco. "Um, Draco, it's Harry are you..." Of course he wasn't alright, what a stupid thing to ask. Harry just looked awkwardly at him for a moment or two, until he rationalised that the only thing to be done was to reach out. "Draco?" he said, resting his hand on his back. "Hey, it's okay."

Draco folded into him, letting his legs drop and pressing his dripping face into Harry's chest, slinging his arm over his waist.

Harry froze, stunned, looking down at the man who had practically fallen into his lap. He had braced himself for a fight, for Draco to tell him to sod off, but he realised maybe he was too far gone in his grief to put up any kind of resistance. He was just clinging to the first offer of kindness that had come his way.

It only took him a moment to regain his senses, before he pulled Draco closer to him and rubbed his back. "Shh, it's okay," he said again, throwing himself into his mission to comfort his former rival. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm here. It's okay."

It felt somehow natural to be there, to hold Draco like he would any of his other friends. Maybe Harry needed to be a bit more honest with himself how deep his new attachment for him really ran, how the way he'd been looking at him hadn't just been out of curiosity, or his need to defend him against those girls earlier hadn't simply been a sense of duty.

He cared about Draco. Seeing him suffering like this was causing him a lacerating pain in his chest, and he was struck by the realisation that he'd do whatever it took to make it stop.

He almost worried what on earth that meant, but he decided this moment wasn't about him, it was about Draco and quelling his anguish. Harry wasn't the best at sorting through feelings, let alone talking about them, but even he could guess this probably went further than a couple of girls not thinking he was attractive. He had obviously been struggling for a long time, all on his own these past several months, and Harry wished he'd maybe said something sooner.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, but he didn't feel the need to look at his watch. He just rubbed Draco's back and made soothing noises, biting his lip in an attempt not to let his sadness get the better of him too. Yes, Draco had done some terrible things, and he had definitely been on the wrong side of the war, but none of that seemed to justify the heart-breaking level of hurt and pain he was witnessing. This just seemed cruel.

Draco shook like he was under the onslaught of a blizzard, like a coldness had seeped so far into his bones he feared it might never leave. He choked down shallow gasps of air and made keening noises at the back of his throat. He was broken and ragged and it was all Harry could do to keep hold of him, to rest his cheek on his head and grip tightly against the soft material of his jumper. "I've got you," he mumbled again.

Harry wondered when was the last time someone had actually held him, had pulled him into a hug and made him feel worthwhile. Narcissa Malfoy, as much as Harry had come to respect her, didn't seem a touchy-feely sort of mother, not like Molly Weasley, who was always yanking one child or another close enough to plant a kiss on the top of their head.

Who else might have hugged Draco? He was always close with Pansy Parkinson; Harry remembered how he would lay his head in her lap and have her stroke his hair. She hadn't come back to Hogwarts though, the last he'd heard she'd moved to Italy with her family, so had anyone shown him affection since then, since the summer? Draco, like Harry, Ron and Hermione had not been present at all during their Seventh Year, so it might have been even longer than that that he'd been denied any real, human contact.

Harry rocked them gently back and forth. "Shh, it's okay," he said, wondering if Draco was calming at all, or if Harry was just getting used to his crying. Thinking of Pansy, he carefully trailed his fingers against the back of Draco's head, feeling the fine hairs tickling the sensitive pads. "I'm here, it's okay."

He knew what it was like not to be touched, how it felt to be shunned, to feel so wholly unloved. His childhood had been utterly devoid of the daily reminders he'd come to rely on to assure himself that he was wanted, that he was important. The Dursleys had made sure of that. How would he had coped without Hermione's hugs, Ron's playful shoves, Molly's kisses, Hagrid's pats on the back?

"I've got you."