The Summer That Changed Everything ⤘ DRARRY

E I G H T E E N

(TW: Brief mention of harrassment.)
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One week had passed. Draco hated every day of it. He hated the Dursley's, more specifically Dudley, than all the others. He hated them for being the people they were. He hated them for expecting Harry to get up in the morning and make breakfast then clean up after their messes.

Draco knew what he had to do, he just didn't know how to do it. He would stay up late, trying to think of ways to help Harry out of this place. It's not like he wanted to sleep, anyway. Every time he allowed himself to drift, Dudley appeared in his mind. Feeling him. Whispering to him.

Draco would shudder every time he passed him in the house. He hated the pain Dudley caused him. He knew this wasn't right, he knew he should say something. But he refused. This would only put Harry into even more danger.

Harry.

He was actually starting to get better. Scarring was beginning to form on his wrists and on some of his cuts. He was starting to thrive again. But he was putting himself back into the same pattern the Dursleys forced him into.

Draco often scolded him for it. Especially when the family wasn't around and Harry wasn't using the spare time to rest. He needed it, his body was still healing.

Draco had given up the bed and slept on the floor. It wasn't the luxury he had back at the Manor, but it was better than nothing. He never complained, ever.

So now, at three in the morning, Draco sits on the floor, staring down at the picture of himself and his mother. His journal sat next to him on the floor, wide open.

He was running low on sleep and the mental ability to keep it all in. Everything was just now starting to hit him, and he wished for nothing more than to be in his mother's embrace.

That's it!

Draco could take Harry to the Manor! That's... the home of a Deatheater. If You-Know-Who were to find out, Harry would be a goner. That was the last thing Draco needed on his conscience. To know that it was his fault Harry Potter died.

Draco mentally scratched that idea off the list. He looked over at his journal, then at Harry. He looked adorable as he slept. He was laying on his back, his eyes closed.

Even while he slept, his hair was still a glorious mess. His lips were parted slightly, and the shadows of the full moon was cast gracefully on his face.

He had one hand resting on his stomach while the other dangled of the side of the bed. The thought of walking over and taking his hand crossed Draco's mind, but he didn't want to risk waking him.

Draco looked back at the picture of his mother. Her smile shined, just like it always did. Well, before fourth year, anyway. He had kept the photograph in his pocket all week, it was the only thing- other than Harry being metaphorically back from the dead- that brought him comfort.

A whimper echoed through the room.

Draco ignored it, passing it on as a noise someone would make in their sleep. Another whimper shook through the room, and Draco looked up, Harry had made his way into the fetal position, his knees brought to his chest and his hands covering his ears slightly.

Harry let out another whimper, this time louder. Draco placed his photograph down on his journal. He stood looking at Harry curiously. Was it a nightmare? Draco's felt his eyes widen slightly when Harry's breath quickened, and his whimpers sounded like they were being caused by pain.

He quickly walked towards Harry, shaking him awake. When Harry shot up, Draco took a small step back.

"Harry?"