"Hey, Draco, what are you writing?"

The Gryffindor boy's dormitory was usually quiet this time of day. Soft light filled the room with silent, dusty sunrays. Red and gold warmed the room and made it feel inviting. Somehow, Draco's own bed seemed grey in comparison. After his discussion with the talking hat, Draco had turned the curtains of his bed Slytherin green. It was meant as a reminder of who he was. Now it was a bright contrast against the rest of the room.

Harry didn't wait for an invitation as he sat down beside him on the bed. The entire mattress dipped under the weight, causing Draco to spill a bit of ink on his letter. He cursed, but ignored it otherwise.

"Just a letter to Theo."

"Oh. Do you have a plan already? Can I see?"

"No." Draco quietly lay down the quill. Potter startled and Draco let him stir a second before he diverted into a lie. "I don't have a plan. And I'm telling him that we're still brainstorming. But I thought it would be good for him to know that we're still on it."

Harry nodded. He seemed to believe him, for now, although he did have that suspicious glint about him that he used to wear back when he had thought Draco was up to no good. Which in both cases, was the truth. "It really is difficult to solve this. Would you like to go on a stroll with me? The weather is rather nice outside. And I feel like I haven't talked to you in days." His smile was almost infectious.

Draco shook his head instantly. The last he needed was to get even closer to Potter. "I'm behind on homework."

Harry frowned. "Surely that can wait for an hour?"

Draco was reminded of Neville at that moment. Draco would actually like to go with him... And he was supposed to give in sometimes. But there were still things he needed to take care of and they were running out of time. "We still don't have a plan."

"We could brainstorm on our way?" His eyes lit up with barely concealed hope.

"And be overheard?"

Harry bit his lip, somewhat disappointed. "Draco, are you alright? You seem off lately."

Draco inhaled a breath. "I'm fine. More than fine. Just stressed is all."

Harry nodded. "Even more reason to go on a stroll. Come on." Harry jumped to his feet. "You'll be able to think better once you've had some air."

"It's past 8."

"And? We still have two hours until curfew." Harry rolled his eyes and pulled at Draco's hand to get him to stand up. Draco sighed and eyed the letter with worry. He rolled it in with one hand and sealed it shut with his wand, before putting it in his nightstand.

"Fine. But if it rains -"

"Then I'll magic us an umbrella. Stop moping!"
Harry dragged him out the room. The only person they ran into was Neville, who wished them a pleasant date. Harry gave Draco a startled frown and Draco knew he would have to tell Harry about the fact that Neville knew about their relationship. And he would surely have to endure Harry's overwhelming smile for the rest of the day.

He did.

Had Draco paid more attention, he would have noticed that something was afoot. But he didn't. Alas, he didn't even know what he could have paid attention to. Maybe the lack of Gryffindor's in the common room would have given him a pointer.

'Dear Theo,

Don't worry, everything is going fine. I'm not going to tell you the specifics, in case the letter is caught, but I wanted you to let you know that things are in motion.
In case you want to report to the others, tell them that the owner of the 'Hogshead' is gone and that this will be a good place for your peers to meet.

Sincerely,
D.M.

P.S.:
I could use some of your hair'

Draco's life had turned uncharacteristically reddish. Perhaps, Draco thought, it had already begun in the manor, with all the spilled blood on aunt Bella's dearest 'flowers'. It had somehow lead him to the Gryffindor tower, to its rich red curtains and golden threads in everything that vaguely resembled a fabric.
The sunset at the lake bore similar colours and blinded Draco in its almost white orange and purple pinks.

Draco missed the silver and green light that painted flickering clouds at the Slytherin dorm ceiling. He missed feeling confident and at ease with the people around him. He missed knowing where his place in society was. He missed being a snobbish prick.
Walking the castle grounds reminded him of that. The lake more so than anything else. He used to imagine hearing the soft sound of singing nympths serenading him to sleep. But that had been a long time ago. Especially when Potter was strolling next to him, uncharacteristically quiet and hands hidden in his pockets.

He was nervous, Draco realised. It did something to Draco, knowing that he wasn't the only one who felt a little anxious around his crush. Only that Draco was also terrified of taking the reigns.

"So-" Potter disrupted the silence eventually, rightening his glasses that let his glance wander over the quiet lake. He probably thought that Draco didn't notice when he was looking at him, which happened very frequently. "How are you feeling lately?"

Draco frowned. "Fine," he answered conversationally, a little annoyed that Potter kept asking him that.

Potter bit his lip. "Is this a 'I'm doing really good because I'm happy with how my life is at the moment 'fine' or are telling me to shut up?"

Draco sighed. "It's a, for my circumstances, I am doing okay 'fine'. Also, I would appreciate it, if you didn't treat me like a patient, Potter."

Potter opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Always with the 'Potter'." He was muttering to himself, Draco doubted he was supposed to hear it.

Draco stopped and sighed again. To be fully honest, he was a nervous wreck. Potter stopped beside him underneath a small tree that rustled in the slight breeze. "Do you want an honest answer? Or something to ease your ego?"

The worry in Potter's eyes was more than evident. "The honest one, please."

Draco breathed in deeply, surprised by how the small break from his scheming gave him some reprieve after all. "It's intimate." He admitted and hated how it sounded.

Potter blushed slightly. "My surname?"

"Your first name," Draco corrected him. "I don't know if you know this, but in pureblood circles, it's uncommon to address people by their first name unless they are really, really close. I called Vincent and Gregory by their last names until our third year. And I've known them for ages. Offering your first name is like inviting someone to their family."

Potter's expression fell. "But- we're together. Shouldn't I qualify? You called me Harry when it was the child me." He hesitated. "Or do you not-"

He sounded so wounded that Draco had to interrupt him before Potter's insecurities grew even bigger. "It's not that. You call me Draco and you're allowed to call me that. It's just-" How on earth was he supposed to explain this? "I've never been with someone I actually liked." Potter flushed further and Draco cursed his own pale genes for mirroring that precisely. "And it's sort of terrifying to know how close you already are."

"I'm too close? We barely even hugged-" Potter complained.

Draco hated this. "Potter. I was cursed by my own family. The very people I was taught would know me better than anyone ever could. People that promised to love me, hurt me on purpose. They crossed boundaries that I'd already set so tight that crossing them should have been impossible. The only woman I could tolerate to be my wife asked me to give her a child, knowing she was too sick to carry on for long, leaving me feeling like it was all my fault.
Can't you understand that it's terrifying to fall in love with you?"

Potter stared at him in open surprise.

Draco averted his eyes. He'd already said too much. "I'm really doing my best." And he was. And he was struggling. And he'd appreciate it if people wouldn't give him so much shit for being able to allow so little.

"So you mean- You trust me to be close to you, but you don't trust yourself to be close to me."

Fucking hell, who had taught this man to read people so well? Actually, scratch that question. Draco knew who. He'd looked into Potter's head, seen him struggling with his uncle and aunt, their swaying moods and the impossibility of knowing when or why or what he'd done wrong. It made sense that he could read unreadable people. It had kind of been required for his survival. It was brave of him to be so defiant to his family, Draco thought. Then again, Potter was a Gryffindor.
"Yes." Draco confirmed against his better knowledge.

"Draco." Draco turned around to face him. "Do you remember when in first year, I told you that I could decide for myself who is of the right sort?"
How could Draco forget. He stared at Potter who reached out his hand like Draco had all those years ago. Like Potter had done the last time when he'd attempted to return Draco's wand. Potter hadn't forgotten about it either. Potter knew the significance of this gesture.
"I've decided you're worth the effort."

Draco didn't like this. He didn't like how Potter's words made him feel all warm and soft inside. He didn't like how appealing it was to just reach out and take that hand. Draco still couldn't afford to be this close to Potter. Not when he still had to win this war. For Potter, for the Slytherins for himself. Hesitantly, Draco reached out his hand. His fingers brushed over Potter's and Potter moved his hand instantly, intertwining their fingers.

Draco let him, even though his insides seemed to recoil at the touch. It was pure, unaltered fear. Draco felt raw and open once more, as if he was handing over his organs, rather than his hand. At the same time, Draco felt dizzy from the warmth of Potter's hand. He wanted to hold it, he did. But it was like his body was fighting its own war with him.
"You're a sap," Draco said quietly.

Potter laughed. "For someone who can say that he's in love with me so casually, you have strange complexes, Malfoy."

Draco didn't know why, but the use of his last name made him relax almost instantly. Somehow, he felt more eye to eye with Potter than before. "I keep telling you, I need therapy."

Potter grinned at him stupidly. "Maybe if you just relax, you'll get better on your own. You have us now. Hermione, Ron, Neville. - And me." Potter grinned at him as if that were the solution to everything.

Almost instantly, Draco's mind filled with dread. Potter couldn't actually mean that. "We don't all bounce back from traumatic events like you do, Potter."

Uncomprehending green eyes stared at him. "Well, I always had my friends. You have them too now. You can trust them."

Whatever progress had grown between them, it felt like Potter had just shattered it with a beater. "Sure." Draco said helplessly, realizing that his explanation had no effect whatsoever. Draco had thought that it was self explanatory. He'd just told Potter that he couldn't trust his family, or his old friends and he was terrified to get closer to Potter. Why would more friends, how could a boyfriend make any of this easier? It was more responsibility, it was more people to fear, more people to lose. People he needed to do right by, people he needed to work hard for. Draco had had friends he'd loved and that had cared about him. And look where that had led him.
In the entire eleven years after Voldemort's fall, Draco had lost his friends to insanity, Azkaban and execution, his family to self isolation. Potter should know that better than anyone. 'Just relax.' What bullshit advise was that?!

Draco kept his mouth shut, however and dragged Potter by the hand to move forward. He was still holding his hand and Draco's head was reeling with the simultaneous desire to hold on and to push the idiot off. In order not to upset Potter, Draco held on, even though his hand was sweating bullets. In the distance, he could see the whomping willow shaking it's leafs, perhaps at a poor bird that hadn't known it was disturbing the sentient tree.

Potter must have seen the willow too, because he conversationally pointed at it. "Did you know there is a secret passage from the tree to the shrieking shack in Hogsmead?"

Draco froze and stood still. "No." He said and felt his stomach lurch, while Potter seemed glad to finally have found a conversation starter. He began to outline to Draco how they had found the tunnel in their third year and how to immobilise the tree long enough to get inside. Then, he elaborated to the story of why the tree had been planted in Hogwarts to begin with. It was the story of a young werewolf, who in 1971 had gone to Hogwarts. The story of the marauders. A story of four boys, all of who's death Draco knew in upmost detail.

As tragic as that was, Draco was distracted by his own encounter with the shrieking shack.
He'd apparated there to get Hufflepuff's Horkrux to Dumbledore. He'd been kept out by the magical barrier when he tried to get into the castle. Draco's knees wobbled. He could have gotten in, if only he had searched the hut for that secret passage. He could have been safe in Hogwarts, instead of facing the horrors in that cave.

In the end, Potter's hand in his felt like an unsuspected comfort.

In Draco's first run through, he had never stolen anything from Professor Snape's private stack of potion supplies. This wasn't due to the fact that Snape's rooms were impossible to get into, or that they were well warded, it was just that he had never been kept out to begin with.

Previously, in his first sixth year, Draco had used Snape's private supplies to do some extra assignments and get better grades in Slughorn's class. Since Snape was his godfather, Draco had never questioned this privilege. It had been a right, given to the mighty and worthy. In hindsight, he should have known. Especially considering that Snape had left the entire thing open to subtly support Draco's attempts to murder Dumbledore. Snape had supported that for reasons Draco had not been aware of at the time but he still hadn't ever asked.
The certainty of having that access hadn't left Draco's mind in over a decade. And that was probably why he had not expected it to be closed to him now.

Which was how Draco ended up standing in the dust in front of a perfectly warded door, because in all his years at Hogwarts, Draco had never considered that Professor Snape was, at all, competent. Draco was competent at warding spells as well, but even he hadn't seen a lock this complicated before.

"Merlin, damn it." Draco muttered to himself and ran a hand through his platinum hair, unsure what to do.
He could talk to Snape. Who would then ask questions about why he would want to get inside the supply closet to begin with, which would lead to them having a fight when Draco would refuse to be honest. It didn't help that Draco had tried to poison himself last year. That would leave quite the damper on Draco's argumentation. Draco decided that asking for supplies simply wasn't an option.

The door was cold and impenetrable, even Draco couldn't warm and wiggle his way through. So breaking the lock wasn't one either.
Strange, Draco thought, how much attention one could pay to a door. Both Snape, and now him, who's eyes were trained on the dark wood and the silver handle, as if it would open of its own accord if only he stared at it hard enough.

Draco tapped the ground with his foot. Impatiently, he finally gave up. "Okay, okay, okay. How on earth do I get the snake skin now?" He ordered himself to stay calm and failed spectacularly.

And then, it was like the pin dropped and Draco's eyes widened. He covered his face with one hand. "I'm an idiot." Why was he even putting work into this? He just needed to send a letter! He was sure that THOSE guys had some polyjuice potion in store. All he needed was to disguise the whole thing as a prank.
Yeah, that should do it.
The Weasley twins would never say 'no' to a prank.

Somewhat calmer, Draco left the hallway and changed direction. Instead of the Gryffindor tower, he went the opposite direction, halted at the bottom of the stairs and paused.
The floor was cold and white and stone. And when he looked up, the stairs lead eternally into the sky. He turned his gaze back downwards where his feet innocently asked if he was actually fucking serious.

"I'm starting to think that we don't have any disabled students," Draco muttered to himself.
It was odd, considering how many students there were. Or do students magic themselves up the stairs? But magic in the hallways was forbidden... Draco rubbed at his temples. Hogwarts didn't have lifts, the teacher's timetables were such a maze that he got a headache thinking about it, crazy enough to believe that they all used time turners on main (which would explain why they all looked so much older than they ought to be), and they could heal anything, except, apparently, depression, anxiety, trauma, amnesia, a random transformation into a furry (Hermione, second year) and bad fucking eyesight! Did Harry even have bad eyesight? With how well he performed in Quidditch, Draco was beginning to think it was all a trick to give him an inferiority complex.
Anyway. If born into diseases couldn't be fixed, then how come they didn't have a fucking lift? EVERYTHING here was connected to stairs!
Draco sighed in frustration.

He'd been eating too little lately and may or may not have left out his strength potion this morning. He regretted that now.

"Who are you talking to, handsome boy?"

Draco blinked. Somehow, he didn't flinch at the sound of her voice. Surprised to hear her anyway, he turned around to find no other than the mourning Myrte staring at him. It was always difficult to focus on figures that hung translucent in the air. It tempted him to just ignore her. But Draco couldn't very well ignore his only actual friend from his original sixth year. "Oh, hey, Myrte. No one. Myself, I suppose."

She frowned through her tilted glasses, her signature pigtails swinging in odd directions as if let loose from gravity. "Do I know you?"

Draco noticed his mistake and hurried to correct it. "No. But everyone knows you."

The ghost scrutinised him with a glance. "Oh, you're the gay boy everyone is talking about."

Draco raised a suspicious brow. "What makes you think that?"

She smiled at him, then opened her eyes wide and creepy before flying right up in his face to throw a cold hand right through it. "Gaydar."

"I didn't think you had one." As uncomfortable as her hand was in his head, this was really interesting. Had she known about his orientation in his first run through or had he been more obvious this time around?

Myrte drew her hand back, disappointed that it didn't affect him as she had probably intended. "I lied." She snapped her head away from him, as if insulted. "The first years mentioned a white haired boy who can't do math. There aren't many people in this castle with hair like that."

Draco let that sink in. "Oh yeah. That makes sense." He honestly wondered why she was talking to him. Didn't she usually keep away from everyone?

Myrte scoffed and Draco realised he had said the last part out loud. "I just figured that someone like you is LONELY, I was being KIND!"

Oh. Right. Just like last time. The thing they had bonded over. Self hatred, isolation, and a devastating crush on Harry Potter... Not that he had ever told her about that. She, however, had been very vocal about it. Draco had never related to someone more. "Well. I suppose that IS kind of you. I'm heading to the owlery. Would you like to come with?"

Myrte whipped her head back around. Her mouth was slightly open, which made her look a bit unhinged. Since her death, her glasses didn't sit correctly on her nose, her hair was a mess and her clothes had also seen better days. It must suck to be a ghost. Imagine you died in the moment you fell into shit. You'd never smell anything else for the rest of eternity.
That was why, in pure blood cycles, it was tradition to dress every day as if it were your last. If you fell so low as to become a ghost, 'at least be dressed properly' for it!

"You're inviting me?"

Draco didn't know why, but "yes", he was. He shrugged, then turned to face his worst foe of the semester. The motherfucking stairs. He should seriously write a complaint to Dumbledore. He climbed his way upstairs as best as he could. One step after the other, reeling in his energy to not waste it all at once. He had a rather uncomfortable day. He had missed breakfast and skipped lunch and he knew his blood sugar levels definitely weren't up for this task. The stairs to the Gryffindor tower, at least had little pleteu's that you could take a break on. The stairs to the owlery went on and on and on without mercy.
Myrte just flew beside him.
Wonderful. Apparently, you needed to be DEAD to get a lift! Draco turned snarky when he was exhausted.

"You know, you are quite strange."

Draco huffed, too focused on keeping his breathing levelled to answer that. Sure, he was just starting to climb the stairs, but that meant he needed to use his energy responsibly. After all, once he was upstairs, he'd have to go most of the way back down to get to the DADA classroom for Sirius' weird little queer gathering that Draco had managed to avoid so far. He wouldn't be able to continue avoiding it forever though, since Harry had forced that promise out of him. And Draco really didn't want to disappoint Harry just yet.

'Avada Kedavra' The afterimage of Aberforth' shocked expression popped up before his inner eye unannounced. Draco shook it off. Potter didn't need to know about that. Not yet, anyways.

Myrte ignored his need for silence and decided to engage with him anyway. "I mean, you're gay and you're a Slytherin."

"That's not mutually exclusive." Even if his pureblood parents liked to think it was. The queers were a breed that automatically belonged, in their belief, into Hufflepuff. Perhaps, Draco thought, that's why he used to be afraid that he'd be sorted there when he was eleven. Even though he hadn't known what queer was, (the word itself hadn't really been used, purebloods came up with worse insults and certainly wouldn't use one the queers originally chose for themselves), he'd been afraid that he could belong there, that he were like them.

"Yes. But I also heard you live in the Gryffindor tower. You're Draco Malfoy."

Draco sighed. "Yes, I am." He was starting to think that she'd picked up on him based on his hair, not gaydar. Nor that it was a bunch of first years who'd told her about him.

"They say you have the Dark Mark. But you're also hanging out with Harry Potter. Is that right?"

"Did you connect that just now, or were you stalking me?"

Myrte pouted for a moment. After that, her expression turned to being annoyingly amused. "Okay, fine. I knew. I saw you both holding hands at the lake!"

Draco paused on the stone step and stared at the trick step he would have to avoid. Then he turned to her. He took a deep breath, then glared at her. "Don't tell anyone."

Myrte raised both eyebrows before flying around him. "Oh, and why should I listen to you?"

Draco didn't have an answer to that. "Because you're also interested in him and can't have an affair with him if we're open and out?" Yeah, no. Not even an idiot would fall for that.

Myrte stopped, again surprised. "What?"

Had Draco said that out loud? A headache began to form in his mind and he took count of the steps he had put behind him so far. Somehow, he felt exhausted. Ten?! How had it only been ten? "I'm asking you for a favour." Draco chanced a look in her direction. "You said you're kind. A kind person would do that."

"You're twisting my words."

"I'm a Slytherin."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I think I like you." She beamed. It was... not very reassuring. "Even if it was a Slytherin who killed me. But you know, back then, we were just starting to see you guys as enemies. Heir of Slytherin and all that. I'm a Muggleborn, so no one really told me why they hated me. Besides, my own housemates were worse to me than your lot were. Well... until I was murdered. But that didn't hurt, so I suppose it could have been worse."

Draco chuckled at that. He'd always liked her morbid humour. Although, just like him, she was driven to depression. Dying a teen must be even worse than dying in mud. "Just my luck that Voldemort got his taste for torture only AFTER you died."

It then occurred to him that she was Tom Riddle's very first victim.
The thought was a startling one. Riddle's Diary which, as Draco had been explained, tried to manifest itself as a 16 year old Voldemort, must have been created around that time. Was her death just part of Riddle's experiments with Horkruxes? Draco turned his face to her one more time. His mind couldn't help but stray to Ginny Weasley. The target of his frustrations when he was twelve, his rival in love. He imagined her looking just like Myrte looked right now. He saw it clearly, almost vividly in front of his inner eye. A twelve year old ghost, because Draco hadn't managed to stop his father from handing out Voldemort's possessions to little children. Hadn't even tried to. Had even relished in the idea of her death. Ginny Weasley was a Pureblood. And yet, Voldemort would have used her, killed her, just to sustain his own pathetic life.

Draco suddenly felt very sick.
Voldemort had been 16 when he'd killed his first victim- that they knew of. Voldemort had ordered Draco to do the same. Perhaps, after all this time, he hadn't just wanted to punish Draco's parents. Maybe he hadn't completely ruled out the idea that Draco could one day become his right hand, like Draco's child self had foolishly dreamed to be.
And Draco?
He stopped to grip the handles tight. His breathing was getting more and more shallow. What was this? His chest tightening, his sight blurring? He knew this feeling. It overcame him slowly this time, overwhelming and overwriting his senses, as if every single step in front of him was a warning to turn back. Every step was a choice he'd made towards his own demise and it stretched on and on, eternally into the distant owlery. Draco made another, deliberate, step forwards.

"Avada Kedavra!"
He saw Harry's corpse, limp and bloody in Hagrid's arms, eyes directed at the sky, lifeless. That's not how that went. Not really. But it might yet happen.
He saw Dumbledore's wide eyes directed at him in pity, yet void of life as he fell. Knowing that Draco would fail, as everyone had known he would fail. Everyone except Draco.
He saw Snape's closed eyes before him, tears dried on his cheeks, as poison bled from a wound on his neck. A snake bite, venom that would never allow your blood to dry, black against the pale skin of his godfather.

No, no no. This wasn't real. He made another step.

Voldemort, right in front of him, towering above him, trying to Crucio him. The order to cut himself to open the bloody cave. The lake, stretching before him, almost eternally. He'd had a chance, then, to pull Voldemort down with him. He'd simply been too much of a coward to do it. The clear water taunted him as Draco was too powerless to move.
'Coward,' Draco's mind told him. 'You should have died down there.'

Aberforth' shock when Draco cast the spell at him, green light.

Green emeralds.
"Do you want me to tell you, when I ...", Harry hesitated. "when I fell in love with you?"

It began and ended with Potter. Because why wouldn't his mind remind him of what it cost him to love the chosen one? Remind him that he'd deliberately chosen to try and break Potter's very reason to love him back? Potter loved him because he'd lowered his wand when he was supposed to commit murder. If Draco had to kill Dumbledore in this life, he would not hesitate. He would do it. And then, everything would end. Draco didn't even know what would end, just that it would be his doom.

The breath was stuck in Draco's lungs as he heaved against the stone floor. When had he vomited? Why was his shoulder so cold? Why was he crying? Why was he kneeling on the floor? How long had he been here?

"Slytherin boy?" Myrte's voice sounded frightened and Draco was suddenly reminded of how YOUNG she had been when she had died. Dead people no longer aged. She was a child and had no idea who Draco really was. And Draco was watching as people like her, children just as young, lost and died for a war that wasn't theirs. "What's going on? What is wrong with you?"

Draco was running out of time.

Draco tried to breathe. As well as he could, he gathered himself and counted his in- and exhales. It took him a while, his concentration breaking him almost. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine!"

Draco closed his eyes, embarrassed. He should have known this would happen eventually. The cave memory was new, but not unexpected. Potter's confession even less so. "You're right, I'm not." He gathered himself as well as he could, sat down on the next step and leaned against the stone wall beside it to rest his eyes. With a silent spell, he cleaned the vomit off himself and the wall, lest Filch would find and scold him. "I'm tired." And he was. His stomach rumbled and squeezed tight where he sat.
Draco lowered his gaze to the ghost hand on his shoulder. Oh... that certainly explained the icy feeling he'd felt earlier. For once, he welcomed it. It was distracting.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Myrte said like she'd suddenly aged beyond her years.

Draco twitched a smile. "Not now, sorry." He felt sweaty all over. He should have gone to sleep when he had the chance, rather than plan to end this war overnight.

"Should I get someone to help? You're paler than me."

"No." Draco couldn't help it. He laughed. He was so exhausted. He'd love to just stay here and sleep. Instead, he magicked up a quill and a pen. In a sloppy style which he would later regret, he wrote down the order for the Weasley store. Once he was upstairs, he wouldn't be able to formulate any words anymore, he knew. He wrote down the address, even though he knew Hedwig would know where to fly with just the names on the envelope. Then, he gathered himself up and took one step after another, regardless of how heavy he was breathing.

Step by step.
Breath by breath.

"Can't you do that tomorrow?"

"No." And Draco really couldn't. At least, it didn't feel like he could.

It took literal hours for him to drag himself up to the owlery. Myrte accompanied him, uncharacteristically silent, as he reached for Hedwig. The owl recognised him. As he explained to her what he was asking her to do, she looked even more like she was pitying him than the afterimage of Professor Dumbledore that was still haunting Draco. It only reminded Draco of the fact that Hedwig was another soul he needed to save and protect in this war. Potter had lost her. Draco couldn't let Potter lose anymore loved ones.

The owl nibbled on his fingers, as he gave her some treats that the owlery collected in a small box at the entrance. It was hacked all over from several desperate beaks. When she finally spread her wings, Draco was ready to collapse on the shit covered floor and just sleep there. His mind was reeling with memories, murders and phantom pain. His vision swam and he could feel his heart racing, his ears deafening and his head buzzing.

Then, someone entered the owlerly.

Draco fainted before he had the chance to noticed him.

...

"He's simulating for sure."

"Shut up!"

Draco's eyes blinked open. Where was he?
Green. The sheets beneath him were warm and dry. He clutched the blanket closer to himself, trying to hide. Green... green, just like the walls at the manor! Draco's heart stopped for a second. No no no no NO!!!
Draco sat up, eyes wide as he kicked the sheets off and searched for his wand. Alarm made his hands twitch, when he tapped at nothing. In a panic, he reached out again and found something that felt vaguely like a wand. He raised the object at his attackers. It seemed to be three of them. but his vision was too blurry to make out who they were. "Get the fuck away from me!" He was breathing hard. He didn't know where he was. He was meant to wake at the Gryffindor tower, why was he here? They would kill him for sure! He couldn't die yet! He had to kill the snake!

"Draco -" The sound of that voice was shocked, as if they weren't expecting Draco to be so upset. Draco didn't know why, but her voice was comforting. "You realise that's a pen?"

"He's nuts." One of the male voices said and Draco directed the wand/pen at the man. A PEN, at the manor?

Yeah, no, that didn't add up. Irritated, Draco put a hand to his forming headache. He was incredibly thirsty.
Green- thirst- cave - lake.
Wait- that sounded like -
"Where the fuck am I?" The other boy raised both hands and as Draco blinked, the boy's outlines sharpened into Theo's. Slowly, he started to remember what had happened before he had passed out. They must have found him there. 'How embarrassing.'

"The Slytherin dorms." Theo remained calm as he reached out a hand and forced Draco's own to lower. "I'm Theo, remember? It's only us. You, me, Zabini and Pansy. You're safe!"

What a stupid answer was that? Draco knew them, he didn't need to be told. Actually, the problem was that he DID need to be told.
Still, Draco felt his own breath catch and noticed how uneven it was. "I'm still in Hogwarts." He slightly relaxed. Looking around, his surroundings began to make sense. Green... as in the Slytherin banners, not the manor and not Regulus' room. The sheets of a bed that used to be his own two years ago, preserved for him, as if he'd been missed. Like Regulus' room. The reflections of the green lake painted soft waves against the ceiling.

Theo nodded, eyes widening slowly. "Yes."

"Yeah, duh. Where did you think you were?" The snappy voice made Draco raise the pen at the person who uttered it, alarm and adrenaline drowning out any reasonbale thought his addled brain could have processed. "Jeez, calm down!" The boy chuckled nervously. "The hell is wrong with you?" It was Zabini, Draco realised a second too late.

Pansy shoved herself between him and Draco, glaring at the former, before quietly pulling the pen from Draco's grasp. Like a child, Draco let her lead him to sit down. Her presence, her voice, the way she reached out were calming. "Draco, look at me. I'm here."

Draco turned to his former best friend and he noticed that her face was ashen. He remembered her older face too well, although it hadn't been that much older. Crazed from hatred and the desire to prove herself. He remembered her shouting nonsense in her trials. She'd killed herself two years later in her cell in Azkaban.
His eyes traveled over her face to find the source for her concern, but knew ultimately, that HE was the source. It took him a moment to connect those thoughts, when he felt the mattress dip beside him.
She and Theo sat down next to him and Theo rubbed his shoulders with a free hand. His hand was warm in contrast to Myrte's.

Only Zabini remained standing, arms dangling loosely beside his frame and his mouth open in a mix between disbelief and horror. "Seriously, what the fuck happened to you?" He reminded Draco a bit of Ron Weasley in that moment.

Relief flooded Draco's system. Then, the tears fell before Draco could stop them, surprising even himself. They fell into his lap, as he stared at his uniform trousers, eyes wide open and unfocused. He could have said anything at that moment, but he settled on reminding himself of his goal. Because he WASN'T at the manor. Which meant he was safe, but it also meant that he was far away from reaching it. "I need to kill the snake." And the snake was not dead because Draco had failed. He hadn't been fast enough, hadn't distracted Voldemort long enough, and while he was sleeping here, people were being tortured. People were dying.

"Draco -"

"Zabini, leave him."

"Theo, he's turning MAD!"

"Well, at least you know now that he's not faking it."

If anything, Zabini's eyes widened further as he took Draco in. Draco couldn't see himself, but knew he was a mess. Pale, starved, albeit not as bad as before, plus, just awoken from a nightmare. It was not a look he didn't know. He was the mirror image of his boggart.

"Draco... you need to stop." That was Theo's voice. "I know, you've been working to find a way to stop the Dark Lord -" Draco twitched at that title, used only by followers of the man. 'If only he had said 'Voldemort''. "But it's not going to work, not if you're working yourself to the ground."

Draco turned to him. "I have a plan."

Something odd settled in Theo's twisted expression. "I read the letter you sent me, Draco. And I don't think I like your plan."

Two heads turned his way. Draco's was not one of them. He trusted Theo, but his words didn't reach him. "It's a good idea. Aberforth has agreed to help. All you need is polyjuice. I already ordered some. Once I lured the Death Eaters into the room of requirements, I will get rid of them, disguised as you, then disguise myself as one of them. After that, I'll infiltrate Voldemort's base and kill the snake, and then -"

"Draco!" Theo made him stop and Draco looked up at him. He went still at the horrified look he was faced with. "Draco, I'm not okay with you MURDERING PEOPLE!"

Draco didn't understand. He'd said nothing about murder. Except, Theo was exactly right. That was his whole plan. "You're not the one doing it. You'll be safe, I'll do it. I've done it before, disguised AS you, so he won't -"

"DRACO!"
Draco felt the slap seconds after he heard it. Confused, he raised a hand to his cheek. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Theo was quivering, tears in his eyes. When Draco turned to Zabini, he found the boy stepping back. Draco didn't understand that look. Why was he scared? They were Slytherins. They were future Death Eaters no less. A little murder shouldn't phase them. He looked at Pansy and found the girl covering her mouth.

Theo stared at him, heavy puffs of breath coming from his mouth. "You're OUT, Draco! I asked for your help so NO ONE has to die anymore! Not to kill Death Eaters and... and... anyone!!!"

Draco blinked. "You think this war can be won without anyone dying? Are you dumb?"

Theo's eyes widened further. He raised his hand again, then put it down instead of hitting Draco again. "You're out." He repeated his words slowly but surely. "I don't want your help anymore."

Now it was Draco who was in shock. "You don't... but you'll die if I don't -"

"Stop." Theo was pale and his hands shaking. "Just... stop." One of his hands found the Dark Mark on Theo's left arm and Draco found himself transfixed on the movement. "I'll find another way. Shit, Draco... The entire time... last year... is this what you've been doing? Killing people? In order to find these weird Horkrux things? Do you even know how to destroy the snake once you infiltrate Malfoy manor?"

Draco remained silent. "I'll figure it out." 'Or die trying.' he finished his own thought. Theo had a point though. The snake wasn't something he could just sneak into the castle and hand over to Dumbledore like he had with the other Horkruxes.

"No. No, you're not. You've done more than enough, Draco. Stop."

"But -"

This time, it was Zabini who shouted at him. "For SALAZAR'S Snake, Draco, shut the fuck up! Aren't you listening? You're fucking MESSED UP!"

"And I WILL BE UNTIL HE'S DEAD!" The volume had caused Draco to raise his voice as well. He had jumped to his feet. His eyes must be wild, because Zabini flinched back.

Silence settled over the broken friendship. Draco was heaving again, until Pansy quietly pushed him to sit back down. Out of all his friends, Draco had always found it easiest to listen to her. That is, if he'd done it at all.

Zabini then crouched down before him to face Draco properly. His eyes held a fire that had Draco captivated. "Last year, you abandoned us. You must have had a reason. What happens in the future? What happens to us that you rather live in an abandoned closet than look us in the eye?"

Draco was tempted to keep quiet, but he was also reminded that these people used to be his friends. More tears gathere mercilessly in his eyes. These children had followed the same principles as him. They believed the same lies, hurt the same people, if not more. They were him, and out of everything he'd ever done, his worst legacy.
"You'll join him if I don't stop this." His voice was a broken whisper and another tear dropped.

Zabini's eyes widened slightly. "Never."

Draco's couldn't expect them to understand, but he couldn't NOT say anything, knowing how WRONG this was. All fascists thought they were above this when they really weren't. So, as frustrated as he was, he blurted it out: "You will. You will, because I'm a bad example, you'll follow in my footsteps and do as he says and you will try to lead the Slytherins to fight on his side and you'll use your seventh year to torture other students and you'll enjoy it!" Draco said this in a single breath, voice dropping heavily in his guilt, shame and fear.
It put them to silence for just a second before he continued.
"And you'll all die in hellfire or by the hand of other students or teachers, or get hurt, or land in Azkaban, kill yourself or get kissed by dementors, and only I and my family will be spared because in the last fucking minute, we'll show what cowards we've been all along and abandon every single one of you!"
Draco's eyes were spilling uncontrollably now. Draco got the feeling that it was venom all along. He had never talked about this, not even with Harry. Harry knew everything, so sharing didn't seem necessary. He had managed to ignore those feelings, the betrayal, the hurt, the neglect that he cast on them when he turned away last year. What he couldn't ignore was the fear that he had doomed them to repeat those mistakes.
Draco's eyes burned and he'd never hated himself more than he did at this very moment, as he confessed his worst crime in five simple words:
"And I led you there."

He had never seen Zabini cry, but before him crouched a boy, eyes as teary as his own. "Draco, what the fuck."

Draco's lips were quivering, his croaked whisper a mess. How could he ever forget? He had turned back in time only to protect the ones who made the right choices in the war and deserved to live. If he'd had a spine, he should have come back for them. More so than anyone else. If he had ignored it before, it hit him now like a train. His shoulders were shaking, but he couldn't even sob. He felt dehydration mix to his exhaustion. Knowing there was no way he could save them... that's what had truly broken and changed him.
Who had he been fighting for?
All this time... he'd been trying to protect everyone. The people that died the good death. The people who chose the right side. As he looked up, he saw the eyes of the people he'd loved. The people he doomed.

Suddenly, there were thin arms wrapped around his torso, and two more followed from the other side. Finally, Zabini grabbed his wrists to keep them steady.

Merlin, how Draco had missed them. He had never gotten to know them like this. Compassionate, open and willing to listen. Draco had known them from a higher position, as their leader, as the one they looked up to, not someone they'd wished to protect. Perhaps, deep down, he had always been turning away from them. The walls he'd build up in his childhood had kept him from seeing these people for who they were underneath.

They didn't ask more questions. None of them did. Not about his past, about his deeds, about what else could become of them. They kept quiet and let him cry. There was no judgment there, only their warm presence. It was the kind that Draco didn't think he deserved. It was the kind he had never known he'd craved. Because they met him with an understanding that the heroes simply couldn't fathom.

The heroes weren't Slytherins, weren't Death Eater material, hadn't been used like this. They didn't understand the pressure of expectant families. They didn't have to follow the same traditions and didn't have to fight for their own value. Their future hadn't been carved out for them and wasn't inevitable.
Here, between his very first friends, Draco had found what the Hogwart's houses were meant to be. A family. A home.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Draco was home. The moment it sunk in, Draco fully broke down.

Draco returned that night to the Gryffindor tower with Zabini accompanying him. The reason was simple: Potter was a goddamn worrywart and if Draco didn't return to the Gryffindor tower, the man would probably gather his DA-members and infiltrate the ministry again, or something like that. Otherwise, Draco would have liked to remain in the Slytherin dorms with his friends. Although he knew that it would only put Theo in danger...

But he wasn't supposed to worry about that anymore, was he?! It felt jarring, knowing that.

Draco remembered a second too late that Harry could have just looked at his map to find him.

Apart from the safety issues, Draco wasn't supposed to stay with the Slytherins. Dumbledore's order. Draco wished things were different. He wished he could stay with them like in the old days. Forget for just a second that they were all dead or done for. He wished that he could, for just a second, be that careless child again.

About three thirds up the stairs, Draco was finally too exhausted from the whole day to keep going, so he demanded a break where he'd sit down on the blasted chairs.

Zabini stopped complaining right that second. "Are you having another attack? Gosh damn it, Draco, I have no idea how to deal with those. Should I call someone?"

Draco chuckled humourlessly. "I'm not having an attack, you idiot. I'm just tired." He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples.

Zabini stepped from one foot to the other. "Is it because you're old?"

Draco snorted, feeling like he could fall asleep any second. "No, it's not because I'm old! This body is as old as yours. I just haven't recovered yet."

Zabini bit his lip, then sat down beside him, hesitantly. "Recovered from what?"

Draco smiled painfully.

Zabini shifted again. "I mean... I get the whole accidentally poisoning yourself thing now... I guess. And the... the panic attacks too. But how come you're so... frail?"

Draco sighed, shame filling him once again. "Zabini-"

The reason Zabini was the one bringing him back was solely so no one would suspect that Draco was hanging out with Theo again. Zabini had always been prone to do his own thing, so this would look much less suspicious than Pansy, let alone Theo accompanying him.
"Yeah yeah, Sorry, forget about it." The boy frowned, clearly distressed. He seemed uncomfortable around Draco and he couldn't really be blamed for that.

Draco hesitated, then decided that he might as well tell him. Zabini was still, deep down, Draco's friend. As broken as their friendship was at the moment, he deserved the truth. "Food makes me feel sick. Most of the time." Draco paused, watching Zabini tense. "The panic attacks tear on my emotions and my energy, so they leave me pretty much ready to pass out whenever they are over. I am dehydrated. I have a bit of a headache and my nightmares keep me awake at night. And that's what kept me 'frail' before I served Voldemort." Draco waited for Zabini to react, but the boy didn't. Was it weird? The whole thing he was trying to explain? Zabini had expressed before that he was skeptical about Draco's experiences. Listing them like that didn't make them any more believable, did it? "But I could take stairs before that. He made me drink some poisoned water that made me hallucinate... stuff. And left me even more dehydrated. I guess I'm lucky that I was too weak to move, or else I would have drunk the lake water... which was invested with Inferi." Draco then noticed that Zabini couldn't possibly understand where he was going with that. "Erm... that's a long story. He brought me to a lake after I betrayed him. So... Anyways, that water was meant to kill me. It's... still somewhat in my system, I suppose."

Zabini remained awfully quiet.

"I'm taking that you believe me?" Draco couldn't quite hide the hope in his croaking voice.

Zabini looked back up, miserable. His eyes were still a bit red and puffy from earlier. But now something else was in them. A sense of regret and empathetic pain radiated of him. He didn't say anything and Draco was kind of glad for it. They sat there, waiting for Draco to regain the feeling in his legs. This time, when they got up, Zabini remained silent as he lead Draco up the last few steps.

At the painting of the 'fat lady', Draco turned around to say goodbye, but Zabini was already tapping down the stairs. He didn't wait for Draco's 'thank you' or for anyone to find him at the doorstep. Maybe, Draco had ruined it with him.

Draco sighed before waving at the disgruntled woman who always greeted him with distrust. 'Arcturus'
She let him in. There was something painted in her eyes that looked almost like Zabini's earlier expression. Draco supposed it was the password. After Sirius had returned to Hogwarts, he'd been indulging in the weirdest of conversations with the most random of people- or portraits. Draco suspected that her newest password had something to do with that.
Maybe she had somewhat listened in to his and Zabini's conversation. She was a painting after all and the castle was full of her kind. They all lived between the frames and watched and talked. Maybe she knew everything that had happened today. Perhaps that's why she let him in, for once without protest.

The room was nearly empty, only Harry was pacing in the awfully reddish room and Ron was chilling in the corner, reading some Quidditch book. Once Harry's face turned to him, he lit up and stopped pacing. It took mere seconds before Draco found himself wrapped in a hug. "Merlin, Draco, where the heck have you been?" Harry's voice was as worried as Draco had expected. The question, however, sounded rather ridiculous, considering the parchment that lay open on the table in front of the hearth.

"I was with Theo and the others." Draco mumbled into Harry's shoulder. "I'm fine."

Harry pushed him away to deeply stare into his eyes. "You look dead on your feet."

Draco grumbled. "I could do with a drink and a bath, I suppose."

Harry's worry lines smoothed out slightly. "Well, lucky you, mister I'm-skipping-multiple-meals-a-day, because we saved some food for you."

Draco was too exhausted to argue, so he let Harry set him down at the table and fix him some sandwiches and pumpkin juice. (Potter loved pumpkin juice.)

"Harry is right, you know? You look like shit." Ron said this without even looking up.

"Thank you, Ronald." Draco twitched a smile. They weren't Slytherins, but they were good people. He guessed that even if he would never fully be one of them... it was actually quite nice to have them around.

Draco slowly came to the conclusion that people really didn't want him to save the world. Aberforth, Dumbledore, Theo... they all shunned him out the moment he made progress. Let's not get started on Potter. All Harry seemed to care about these days were walks at the lake, carefully holding hands here and there, and making sure Draco was never on his own. He seemed to have completely forgotten that he was the savior of the fucking wizarding world!

Potter couldn't possibly be more obvious. Even though, and Draco got flustered just thinking about it, they hadn't even kissed. They barely hugged. Their relationship was purer than some relationships in elementary schools. It was odd... it put him a bit on edge, but the pace was just right for Draco, so he didn't want it to change it just yet.
It wasn't like anyone was trying to dig any deeper into it.

Anyway, that same invisible force that had kept him from making progress, had also kept him from Sirius' queer club. Which is, if you think about it, also fascinating. That's what Draco was thinking, until the day that their Defence against the Dark Arts course got invaded. By one of the greyest forces Draco could have imagined.

Sirius Black was tired and annoyed and hid exactly 0% of his emotions, when no other than Rita Skeeter barged into the classroom with her feather, quill and parchment flying and scribbling away after her. "Sirius Black, convicted murderer of 12 muggles and his best friend, returns to Hogwarts. Is he redeemed? Had he been wrongly arrested? ..." She babbled upon taking in far more attention than she deserved.

No one was, however, more annoyed than Harry Potter himself at the surprise visit. Him, and perhaps Hermione Granger who was no better at hiding her emotions. Her quill snapped between her fingers. "Of course he was wrongly arrested!," said Harry, sitting on the table beside Draco. Alledgedly so he could talk with both Neville and Ron about their charms homework. Draco had decided to attempt to draw today. It reminded him of the paper crane he'd made in third grade and the memory made him smile. (He had made a full on GIF and no one ever told him!)

"Ah. Harry Potter. How great it is to see you." The blonde woman who had likely taken her aesthetic inspiration from a 20s housewife magazine turned to him, completely losing focus on the task. "Say, how does it feel, having the murderer of your parents teach you in defence against the Dark Arts? Sad? Angry? Terrified?"

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Ronald Weasley turned to her, as irritated as ever. "I thought you learned your lesson not to spread lies! What are you even doing here? Who let you in? This is a school!"

Rita Skeeter smiled, as she leaned over the table to look him directly in the eyes. "Oh, my poor, poor boy. Professor Dumbledore let me in. The media is DYING to hear how Professor Black is making himself as a teacher in Hogwarts and the ministry insisted that I investigate. To ease the mind of the masses, of course."

"And you do that by coming in, your story already made up, as you ask his students private questions in class? I feel more comfortable with Professor Black in the room than with your 'investigation'." Ronald's words had the class silently agree. Draco blinked and looked around. He couldn't help but notice that the comments came from Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. And now that he paid attention, weren't the colours a bit more mixed than usual? He blinked. Steven Blake (Slytherin) sat next to Dean Seamus, leaning over a book together. What on earth -? When had THAT happened? And how the fuck had he not noticed?

Skeeter scrunched her nose before putting her smile back on. "Of course not. You may proceed with you lesson, Professor." The title dripped from her mouth like an insult.

Sirius sat on the table in front, framed by his motorcycle in the back, a little bit of oil on his face as per usual, as he suddenly beamed at her. "Well, if she's here to present my redemption, then why not?" He waved his wand and magicked up a nice puffy chair for her. Rita Skeeter blinked for a moment, before raising a brow. Hesitantly, she sat down on the chair, cautious, as if there were bugs inside that she needed to be wary off.

Draco mused that there were probably more flees in Sirius' hair than on that chair. Although, he thought, there was one giant bug sitting directly on it that she should be wary off.

Sirius jumped from the table and clapped his hands together. "Well, I do hope you could all gather some battle experiences during our paintball fight -"

"Excuse me... you had your students battle each other?" Rita Skeeter just spoke up, distracting the part time furry for a second.

Sirius seemed irritated. "Eh, yes. This IS a defence class."

The woman scrunched her nose again as her quill scribbled away. She didn't narrate what it wrote.

Sirius blinked and it reminded Draco a bit of Umbridge's investigations last year. An endeavor that had completely gone over Draco's head because he couldn't have cared less. "Well, anyway. Today, I want you all to get yourself a partner. We're practicing some easy shielding spells. I want no more than 'stupor' attacks when you face each other, is that clear? Once I know what level you're on, we're gonna start working on silent spells..."

"Excuse me again." Rita Skeeter interrupted, though this time she at least waited for Sirius to pause. "Last year, Professor Umbridge made it very clear that the use of dangerous spells aren't the best practice for students to learn by. What are your takes on this method?"

At least she wasn't talking like Umbridge's idea of teaching was a 'good' one. Sirius took a moment to process the second interruption of the day. "Well, I think her method's can hardly be considered 'practice' now, right?"

The students decided that Sirius' instructions had been clear enough before the interruption and so went and got themselves partners for spell training. Draco looked around curiously, wondering if his observation from before would prove him right and...
It did.
While Theo and Zabini obviously paired up together, as did Vincent and Gregory, Pansy Parkinson marched towards a whole different table and came to a halt in front of Hermione Granger. "Granger-," she began, startling her. "Can we be partners?"

Hermione looked up, eyes wide. "With me?"

Pansy nodded. "You're the smartest person in our year. Except for maybe Draco, but he sucks at teaching." She even threw in a kind smile. An honest one. One that could even fool Draco himself. He watched with wide eyes as Hermione agreed with an eager beam in her eyes.

"But don't you dare hold back! I prefer a challenge!"

Pleased, Pansy smiled. "I should hope so! We are from different houses, after all."

They weren't the only ones. Seamus teamed up with Steven. Dean Thomans teamed up with a Slytherin girl who Draco couldn't quite recognise. It had been years since he had actually been hanging around with Slytherins, so his memory blank didn't surprise him al that much. What did surprise him, was the almost amicable chatter between them.

When Harry paired with Neville, Draco turned around with wide eyes, having half expected Harry to automatically pick him as a partner. Instead, Draco found himself facing a red haired boy with freckles reaching a hand out. "As they said. I always wanted to challenge you too. Besides, I've been wanting to punch you for years. Even if you're hanging with us now." Ronald's tone was challenging but friendly and Draco shook his hand nervously.

It was in this chaos that Skeeter went silent mid word. "What's that?"

Sirius blinked. "Hmm?"

"It's been years since I went to Hogwarts, but is this normal? I was under the impression that Slytherins and Gryffindors don't... mix?"

Sirius scratched his head (perhaps because of the flees). "I don't know. Just happened. The same happened with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. I suppose being allowed to shoot paint at each other helped them sort out some of their more hostile emotions. Oh yeah, and then there is the Queer Club I started. It's a small group so far, but I have people there from every house... Well... I mean, Draco is our only Slytherin and he hasn't shown up yet, but -"

"Your what club?" The journalist couldn't have looked any more speechless.

Sirius stared at her. "Well... Hogwarts has always been separating people into categories, so I figured it was about time to celebrate some diversity. I'm gay and never felt represented here, so I decided to be the representation."

"And you're telling me, Draco Malfoy - the Malfoy heir is gay?"
Draco turned his head to her. She looked at him, eyebrow raised but somewhat calm, so Draco ignored her. Wild that there were still people who didn't know.
"His parents are Death Eaters! Death Eaters are homophobic!"

Draco snorted. Ron gave him a curious look, so Draco whispered to him, knowing they were all eavesdropping. "Voldemort himself said it was fine as long as I don't practice it. So yeah, they are... but not more than Hogwarts has been since he was a student."

"Oh." Ron smiled awkwardly. "That's... yeah. That's not very nice. I suppose that's not very nice for asexual people either right?"

Draco stared at him.

Ronald flushed. "Ah. Not me. I was talking about my brother Charlie. He's always been more invested with Dragons than humans. Apparently it's a theme or something. He only came out to me shortly before he left to Rumania. And only to me and Bill. He wasn't sure how mom would react, so he never brought it up and the twins can be.. a tough crowd. Not that they'd be upset, they'd just make a whole thing of it and Charlie hated that. And Perce is a bit too stuck up to understand the point... yeah... I guess my father always suspected, but that's it."

Draco huffed out a breath. "Oh yeah, okay, that makes more sense."

"But that's why I'm also joining the club. Sirius said allies were allowed. Though he does want to keep some days just for the Queers. Wait... didn't Sirius just out you?"

Draco startled at the last part. "Oh that... no. I'm out. Everyone knows by now. I told the first years. I'm not going to hide it."

"Oh good." Ronald chuckled. "I just thought it might be weird if the press spreads the information."

"I think, if the most interesting thing they can write about is my sexuality, then we live in a time of peace and don't actually need to worry about a thing. Unless, of course, they frame it as gays being evil. Since the only rep they have are me and Black."

Ronald nodded, then turned his head to find... Potter, apparently. Harry had listened in and turned his head to Skeeter. He must have decided to immediately redeem Draco's point. "Harry Potter is the vice president, by the way. And bisexual."

Skeeter couldn't have looked more confused.

Draco ignored her and turned to Harry instead. "You're vice president?"

"Obviously."

"Who is president then?"

There was a pause. Harry hesitated, then apparently decided to fuck it. "I suppose you'd already know. You were her therapist last year. When Sirius announced he was searching for someone to lead us, she volunteered. By the way, are you still in contact with Cho? I don't think she's handling it too well, to be honest. Joining the club forced her to out herself and that hasn't been received well. She could need some support, I think."

Draco paused. "Oh." Of course he had known about Cho. "Who isn't receiving it well? The Ravenclaws? I thought they were meant to be the smart ones? It's not like this is a new thing."

Harry shrugged. "Some guys in her term are bullying her for it. I think it's a couple of Hufflepuffs."

"I see." Draco sighed. Then perked up. "Hold on, Hufflepuffs? Aren't they meant to be like... the inclusive ones?"

Harry sighed. "Bigots are everywhere, Draco."

They barely noticed when Skeeter moved closer, taking notes. "Are you talking about Mrs. Chang? Would you care to elaborate?"

Harry frowned at her. "I'm not going to out her to you."

She decided to rephrase her question and pushed her glasses higher up her nose. "Since when has Mrs. Chang been a lesbian?"

Draco raised his wand and silently casted an invisible wall between them, in which he shoved her away at a small distance. "Can you believe that?" Draco said, exasperated. "She could at least assume Chang was like bi or something. She WAS dating Cedric!"

"And me."

"What?"

"She dated me too, remember?"

"Semantics." Draco waved it off.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Draco. Since we're on the topic and all that," he shifted almost nervously in his position, "did you know that we're hosting a queer ball on Christmas? It was Cho's idea. I think she really likes balls." He grinned at him.

Draco pointedly ignored the pun there, but failed when he tried not to mirror that expression. "Got a date yet?"

Harry blinked, eyes gleaming at the challenge. "Don't know. Depends if you want to go."

"Does it?" Draco quirked a brow. "To a formal ball, which my father would love, with loads of rainbows, which my father would HATE, with the guy I killed last year? Let me think about it..."

It was at this point that Draco noticed that the rest of the class was watching them and no one was doing the assignment. It was the same moment that Sirius chimed in. "Are you fucking KIDDING ME?"

Yeah, they were really terrible at hiding it. Harry went flush red but defensive. "What? Like YOU'RE one to talk!"

"Right in front of my class!"

Draco and Harry exchanged a glance, and then must have channeled Fred and George's spirit, because they chorused: "Right in front of my salad!" Followed immediately by "jinx", of which Draco was a second faster. "Hah, you owe me a soda!," Draco grinned. Potter rolled his eyes with quiet affection but clapped Draco on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

"What salad?" Rita Skeeter seemed confused, and if that didn't mark her as an oblivious heterosexual, then Draco would lose faith in humanity. "What is happening?"

"I'm too old for this." Sirius was grinning despite himself. "Can you please focus on your assignments?"

"Yes, Sir." They chorused again before snorting at each other.

Draco turned to Ronald who was fixing him with an almost horrified glance. Draco raised a brow. "I take it this means you'll want to attack first?"

"Yes please," Ronald said and raised his wand.

After DADA, the rumour spread that Draco and Harry were flirting and perhaps even dating.
Draco just wondered what went on in the heads of these people. First if all, they seemed to have nothing better to do than speculate on his love life, and secondly, they dared to be LATE.
Draco had been 100% sure that everyone around them had caught on on at least HIS side on the pining since last year. Draco had been flirting, or fake flirting with Potter since the train ride! And then he'd told Potter to his face that they were a good match, right in the middle of the Gryffindor common room!
Either they had collective amnesia, or they were just that ignorant.

So, when Draco sat on his bed that evening, while Harry talked with Ron and Neville about their homework, Draco spoke up. "I think we should just tell them."

Harry turned around slowly, ripped from the conversation and not quite sure what Draco was saying. "Hmm?"

Truth be told, Draco wasn't ready. Still wasn't. Probably never would be. He dreaded the very idea of anyone knowing the depth of his feelings. But their entire relationship wasn't about what Draco wanted. It was what Potter deserved. And Potter didn't deserve to be a secret. "Our main concern was that Voldemort or the Death Eaters would abuse this knowledge and torture us. But the fact is that Voldemort knew about my feelings for you anyway and only told me to keep it in my pants. He will find other ways to torture us. And he'll torture us both anyway."

Harry seemed to need a moment to catch on to what Draco was talking about but it slowly dawned on him what this was about. "He really said that?"

"Not literally, no." Draco paused. "What I'm saying is... I think at this point he'd use us against each other anyway. And I think I've kind of gotten used to ... it." He hadn't. But since when did Draco respect his own boundaries?

Harry blinked. "Wait... are you saying...?"

Draco nodded.

"Wait, what's happening?" Ronald seemed mildly confused. "Are you too planning something weird?"

"No, we're just dating, Ronald." Draco rolled his eyes. At the same moment Harry's disbelieving eyes widened into a wide beam. It was soft of blinding. Draco didn't know whether to relax or feel sick.

"Geez, no need to be sarcastic, Draco." Ron fumed while Neville chuckled in the background. Irritated, Ron turned to him, a frown on his face. "What?"

Neville shook his head. "They are actually dating, Ron."

Ron blinked for a moment. Then: "WHAT?! Since fucking WHEN? I thought Harry was married?!"

Harry grimaced. "It's complicated." But his grin betrayed him. The grin, and the flush, and the gleam in his eyes that made Draco roll his own. It almost looked like he wanted to kiss Draco, but quickly cleared his throat, probably deciding that their first kiss shouldn't happen around witnesses. ('Thank goodness.')

Draco let himself fall backwards on the bed and wondered why this made him feel both closer to home, and more distant than ever. Single, not single, straight or hetero, (like in Cho's case:) cis or trans, Slytherin or Gryffindor. They were just words but they carried such a strong meaning that they could alter your perception of who you were. Draco didn't know who he was when he was with Potter. He wasn't sure whether to fear that Draco.

Home is where the heart is, they say.
Draco's heart was broken and the shards had been distributed to the people he held most dear. Draco had yet to figure out which one of those parts he found worth saving. When he looked at Potter's happy smile, he doubted that this one's edges weren't a tad bit too sharp to hold so close to his soul.