The next few weeks went by without much happening, classes went by, and Draco regained his spot at the top of all his classes, mostly since Hermione wasn't there to give him a run for his money. Draco and Harry were paired up in almost every class, including potions (almost like the teachers have a bet to see when they'll come out 🤷🏼♀️). Harry was crap at potions, so Draco helped him out on more than one occasion. Draco and Harry's friendship grew as well, but both were still feeling the War's repercussions. They both had frequent nightmares. Neither of them knew how to stop the dreams.

Harry was in the dorm, trying to write Hermione and Ron about the term so far. He didn't want to come out and say that Draco was his friend because both of them would be furious. He started by talking about how Draco had changed, and Harry remembered the flowers on Draco's arms. Harry wanted to know what they were, and whenever Harry brought it up, Draco brushed it off without acknowledging it. Draco was supposedly asleep with one arm carelessly thrown over his eyes, exposing his forearm and tattoos. Harry decided to sketch a quick picture for Hermione to research. Harry began to draw, looking ever so often to Draco's arm. After about five times glancing at Draco's arm, however, Draco grumbled,

"Have you ever heard of the phrase 'let sleeping dragons lie' Harry? Let's put that one into practice, shall we?" That promptly persuaded Harry to finish his letter and send it with Draco's owl to spite him (I was in the midst of writing this, and I was about to say sent it with Hedwig, and then I remembered).

Harry was getting settled for bed when he heard rustling and muffled whimpers coming from the other bed. He tried to ignore it for a while, but he realized that friends wouldn't let friends suffer through nightmares alone. Harry carefully crept up to Draco's bed, keeping an eye on the shaking bundle of grey blankets. Harry hesitantly touched the top of the bundle, and Draco shot up, panting hard. Harry jumped back instinctively, afraid that Draco had his wand nearby. Draco woke up from his nightmare and automatically started crying and apologizing.

"Hey," Harry said, smoothing Draco's hair back and sitting at the side of the bed, "it's alright, can you tell me what happened? Was it the War? Your parents?" Draco was shaking and crying, so all he could do was nod.

"U-usually Monsieur Lapin is here with me. He's spelled to keep nightmares away. I left him at the manor before I came." Draco looked sheepish and embarrassed, which Harry had never seen before.

"Monsieur Lapin?" Harry was trying hard not to laugh, but he held it in because Draco was looking more and more like a kicked puppy by the second. "He-he's a stuffed rabbit my mother gave me when I was born, and I was taught French as my first language, therefore, Monsieur Lapin." Harry could feel his heart melting at the vision of a 3-year-old Draco, holding a small bunny by one arm.

"Well," Harry started, cautious of how this would play out, "when I had nightmares, one of the boys in my dorm would sleep in my bed with me to help me calm down. (Same as kissing the homies goodnight)" Harry wasn't sure if the Slytherins were as touchy-feely as the Gryffindors were, or if they were at that stage of friendship yet.

"That would be. . . nice, thank you." Draco was either too tired to care or was genuinely okay with it. Still, Harry wasn't going to pick apart their friendship status. As Harry got under the covers, he realized that Draco had spelled his grey comforter to be a weighted blanket.

Harry knew what he would get Draco for Christmas, but wasn't sure where to get one.

The next morning, Harry woke up 2 hours before classes started and quietly got out of bed, trying not to wake up Draco while doing so. He found a letter on his desk from Hermione. He gave Draco's owl a treat and left it to go to the owlery. Hermione's letter described how everyone was doing. George still wasn't talking and wore Fred's hand from the clock around his neck. Molly was throwing herself into cooking, cleaning, and getting the Burrow Christmas ready, even though it was only November 15th. (Can you tell I wrote this part during the Christmas season?) She and Ron were doing as fine as they could be in the Burrow.

The flowers, he found out, were a specific type called a Narcissus. Harry took a wild guess as to why Draco had Narcissus on his arms. By that time, Draco had woken up, wrapped himself in his blanket, and had placed his head on Harry's shoulder to read the letter.

"Now you know why I covered my dark mark in them, right? Because of my mom? Make fun of it if you will, Harry, get it over with." Harry was happy to note that tired morning Draco was significantly less of a git than regular Draco.

"I'm not going to make fun of you, Draco. I'm not that mean, and it's a coping mechanism. You used the remembrance of your mother to repel the trauma of The War. It's perfectly normal. I wish I could do something like that, but they always made sure not to leave marks." Draco looked genuinely concerned at that last offhanded comment.

"Who made sure to never leave marks on you?" Harry could hear the cautiousness in Draco's voice.

"The Dursleys. They cared about keeping up appearances other than anything else. They said I was at a 'School for Troubled Boys' instead of Hogwarts. They barely gave me food and treated me like a house-elf. I did the cooking, cleaning, anything they wanted. Dudley was their favorite. Made me sleep in a closet until 2nd or 3rd year for Merlin's sake." The lightness in Harry's voice frightened Draco. Harry could see it in his face. He also saw immense, boiling anger at what they had done. Harry knew his childhood was an abusive one, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it now, so he accepted it for what it was.

"That's why you were always wearing muggle clothes and why they always looked too big on you. And why Hermione wouldn't let you leave the table without eating something." Draco was contemplating every time he had seen Harry before Harry turned 18.

"It doesn't matter now. All that matters is that I take better care of myself, and I learn from my past." Harry wondered when he became such a philosophical person, and he could see that Draco was thinking the same thing.

"We should get to class before Slughorn (I almost wrote Snape) gives us detention again," Harry spoke into the thick silence in the room.

"Yeah, just let me get changed, and then we'll go," Draco mumbled and shuffled into the bathroom.

Professor Slughorn waddled into the classroom and addressed the 8th years,

"Since you are all responsible adults, we will be learning about Amortentia, also known as the love potion. We will be brewing it, but it's not in any book, so you'll be following directions from the board. This potion is never to be used on a person, for it is an extreme violation of privacy, and it is also immensely illegal."

Slughorn then started writing the instructions on the board and the students prepared their ingredients. Draco and Harry were paired together like always, but they were still ghosting around each other and trying not to rock the boat. Little did they know, the boat would eventually rock itself.

Once they added shriveled wolf skin and stirred the cauldron-like the board indicated, the potion turned bright pink, and a smoke cloud puffed out and turned into a heart in the air. Draco didn't think when he blurted out,

"disgusting! Potter, it smells like your soap. It's all I can smell, just cedar and mothballs!" Harry wasn't thinking either when he retorted,

"no, it doesn't! It smells like your stupid mint and flower perfume you always wear!"

"It's cologne, Potter, and--"

It had just hit Draco what both of them had said, and turned a bright shade of scarlet. Harry started turning red and rushed out of the room.

Everyone in the class was staring, marveling at what had just happened, even Slughorn. Everyone was silent the rest of class because Draco was glaring at everyone daring them to comment on it. When class let out, Draco knew he needed to talk to Harry, however much he didn't want to.

Just. . . Not this week. Or this month. The two boys put off talking to each other for as long as possible, awkwardly skirting around each other during the day. They still comforted each other when they had nightmares, though.