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The night is cold.
Not biting, not freezing. Just… cold. Like the house he was forced into upon his parent's death.
Harry Potter stands at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, fingers gripped tightly onto the stone railing, resulting in his knuckles turning white. His eyes are cast down, looking down to the courtyard below, wishing for something he should like, a dark desire he knows he should be feeling. His robes are blown back slightly by the wind, which feels like it is pulling him in. The only sound besides the distant rustling trees and his own shallow breaths is the wind.
He's not crying. He hasn't cried in years, not since Sirius died. He doesn't think he even knows how to anymore.
"I thought you would be up here…," a familiar voice cuts through the air, smooth, sharp, and undeniably Malfoy. "You dramatic idiot."
Harry doesn't flinch. He Doesn't turn. He Doesn't even take in a breath of air.
"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy."
"Tough," Draco says, footsteps approaching. "You don't get to decide that tonight."
Something in his tone is different. Less drawl, more steel. Still smooth, still arrogant, but something else entirely. Harry closes his eyes.
"Leave me alone…." Harry's voice as he speaks is but a quiet, faint whisper.
"I don't think I will."
Draco moves next to him, not too close. Just enough to be felt. Present. Steady.
… possibly even comforting.
"I don't want to do this anymore," Harry says, voice hoarse. "I don't think I can."
"What?" Draco's voice is quieter now. "The war? The Boy Savior crap? Or just… all of it?"
Harry swallows, taking a steady breath. "All of it."
Draco doesn't answer right away. The wind picks up slightly, catching at his blond hair, which he hasn't cut since Voldemort died when the war ended. He looks up at the stars like he's gathering something unspoken from them.
"I've been watching you," Draco finally says.
Harry lets out a dry, bitter laugh probably the the first real laugh he's had in months. "Creepy."
Draco doesn't deny it. "You walk through the castle like it owes you something. Like everyone owes you something. Like you're about to break, but you're daring them to let you."
Harry doesn't respond.
Draco exhales. "You think I haven't noticed how your hands shake after Defense class? Or how you disappear every time someone try to talk to you?"
Harry stiffens.
He doesn't know whether to lash out or break down. He's too tired for either.
"You think people don't notice, Potter," Draco continues, voice softer now. "But we do. I do. I've always noticed you."
Harry laughs again, bitter and hollow. "Right. Because you've always cared."
Draco hesitates. "I didn't know how to."
The confession hangs between them like a fragile thread.
Harry turns his face slightly, just enough to glimpse Draco out of the corner of his eye. "Why are you here?"
"Because I saw you leave the Great Hall with that look again," Draco replies, blunt and vulnerable in a way Harry's never heard from him. "The same one you had before the final battle. The one where it felt like… you were already gone."
Harry flinches.
"I wasn't going to—" he starts, but the words die on his tongue.
Draco doesn't make him finish. "I know. But I couldn't risk it."
Silence again. Heavy. Loaded.
"You ever feel like you're a ghost?" Harry asks suddenly. "Like everyone can see you, but no one actually sees you?"
Draco nods, and for a moment, there's no Slytherin and no Gryffindor. No war. Just two boys on a tower who were never taught how to heal.
"yea… All the time," Draco admits. "I think we survived the war but haven't started actually living again yet."
Harry bites his lip. "I don't think we ever will either."
The wind pushes again, this time softer, almost cradling.
Draco steps a little closer now. His shoulder brushes Harry's. Neither of them moves away.
"I don't know what you need," Draco says. "But I want to try."
Harry turns to look at him fully, green eyes haunted and searching. "Why?"
"Because I see you," Draco says. "The real you. Not the Chosen One. Not the savior of the wizarding world. Not the tragic orphan. Just Harry."
Something inside Harry cracks. It's not violent. Not dramatic. Just a quiet breaking of something long frozen.
He doesn't fall. Not in the way he thought he might. Instead, he leans—slowly, cautiously—to the side , into Draco, forehead pressing against his shoulder.
And Draco lets him.
He wraps an arm around Harry's back, grounding him with a steadiness he didn't know he had. There's no lecture. No pity. Just presence. Warmth. A heartbeat against his own.
They stay like that for a long time.
Until Harry murmurs, almost inaudible, "Don't leave me alone."
Draco tightens his hold. "i swear, Not ever, not even if you beg."