Just Not Cut Out for Torture (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 8: Making Amends

...I really will stop posting every day eventually...

Draco POV

Potter propped his chin in his hands and glowered at the wall, rubbing his temples as if his head pained him. Draco, after trying a few more times to get Potter to talk, with a stony silence his only reward, stared moodily into the fire. The look on his face, when McGonagall told us we'd have to stay with the Dursleys... Merlin. Draco dropped his head into his hands. He knew that look. He was intimately familiar with it – it had greeted him in the mirror for years. He'd hoped never to see it again. He felt an overwhelming urge to rub his own temples. He'd been so sure that Potter had had the sort of childhood Draco had dreamed of: indulged, adored, every whim and wish granted. He suddenly remembered an awkward, painfully shy Potter, in Madam Malkin's, when they were eleven. He didn't know anything about the wizarding world. Draco was forced to consider that interaction in a new light. Merlin. I was an idiot. No, I am an idiot. This is my chance to make amends for my former self. He hesitated, then straightened his shoulders. Fuck it.

Draco stood, limbs suddenly stiff, and stalked over to the couch Potter was sitting on. "Potter." Potter didn't move. Draco cleared his throat, forced his voice louder. "Harry."

Potter glanced up at him, and for a moment he seemed to actually see Draco. Then Potter's eyes slid away from him again, and he resumed his blank stare. Draco fought the urge to grind his palms into his eyes. "Harry," he said again, insistently. When that got no response, he rolled his eyes heavenward, then flopped down onto the couch next to Potter.

Only, he miscalculated slightly, and flopped rather closer than he meant to. Potter squeaked as Draco landed half in his lap, eyes widening comically behind his lenses, and then they both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of robes and flailing limbs.

Draco caught his breath when he steadied himself against the floor only to find himself nose to nose with Harry. And he was definitely Harry, this close. Draco blinked, trying and failing to escape those hypnotic – and green – eyes. Merlin. How did I never notice how green his eyes are? His mouth was suddenly dry, and he licked his lips nervously. His traitorous heart skipped a beat when the tip of Harry's tongue poked out from between his lips a second later and mimicked the action. I am not attracted to Harry. Draco told himself firmly. I am not attracted to Harry. I am not – oh, fuck it. I am so attracted to Harry. Harry's eyes widened, almost as if he'd heard Draco's thoughts. They were thoughts, right? Draco suddenly panicked. I didn't say it out loud. Did I? No, surely not. Then he realized that he didn't need to. His eyes were probably betraying him. Merlin! This did not go according to plan...

After another minute of gazing, entranced, into Harry's eyes, Harry broke the moment. The git.

"Draco," he said, frowning, "any time you're ready?"

Draco panicked for a second, until he realized Harry probably meant that Draco should get off him. Not... other things. Draco sighed, in what he firmly told himself was not disappointment, but relief, and rolled to the side. When they'd straightened themselves out, with exaggerated brushing off of imaginary dirt, Harry turned to Draco.

"So," he said, raising one brow in a perfect imitation of Draco at his snootiest, "what was it you wanted so much you were willing to throw yourself into my lap to get it?"

Draco felt a blush suffuse his cheeks, and scowled automatically. Then he remembered what he'd been going to do, before the couch – it was the couch, dammit – sent him reeling into Harry. I can't call him Potter. Not after that. Whatever that was. He sighed and forced his face to relax. "I wanted," he said, with as much dignity as he could muster, "to apologize."

Harry sat down abruptly on the couch and stared at him. "Apologize."

"Yes." Draco sniffed. "I am capable of it, you know. And... you've been right all along. I was an insufferable git to you when we first met, in Madam Malkin's, and I continued that way until..." he took a steadying breath, willing his hands to stop shaking. "Until I had had enough of my parents' idiocy and threw in my lot with, well, with the boy I'd intended to throw my lot in with all along. Since we were eleven." He frowned. "No, if I'm being honest, it was earlier than that. Since my parents began regaling me with the tales of how you'd stolen Voldemort's victory and delayed our family's rise to glory."

Draco put his chin in his hand, considering. "I was probably three at the time – at least, that's when I really remember it. They probably started that very day." He shrugged. "I know I was five when I decided to throw my lot in with you – anyone who annoyed the hell out of my parents was an ally, as far as I was concerned." The grin he threw Harry was one he'd never shown anyone outside his mirror – gleeful, conspiratorial, smug. Then his shoulders slumped, as he recalled again his younger self's idiocy. "Then I met you, and it all went wrong, somehow. I'd dreamed of your friendship, you know. When you refused me... I felt all my plans and dreams crumbling. You were supposed to be my ticket out of there, and I alienated you. I didn't know what I'd done, for a long time." He shrugged. "And then it was too late. I'd somehow managed to become your enemy, and so I baited you, just to get some attention. Because I realized it was the only way I'd ever get your attention again."

Draco felt drained. He'd never said any of that out loud before. He'd never even dared think it, for fear of someone skilled in legilimency – as many of Voldemort's followers were – plucking the traitorous thoughts from his mind. His limbs suddenly refused to hold him up, and he slid bonelessly to the floor. He ended cross-legged, face buried in his hands, refusing to look at Harry's face, desperately trying to squash the stubborn hope that reared its head when Harry didn't immediately hex him. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped, then hunched his shoulders, waiting for the blow. But it never came. Instead he found himself hauled into a rough embrace. Draco closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth that he'd wanted since...since forever.

Harry reached out and tilted Draco's chin up and Draco's eyes flew open. Merlin, is he really going to... But, no, Harry just stared searchingly into his eyes for what felt like an eternity, and then nodded decisively. "I forgive you." Draco closed his eyes, savoring the words he'd dreamed of for years. Then he opened them to check that this was real. That he wasn't dreaming this time. He must have been fairly obvious about it, because when his eyes met Harry's this time, Harry grinned. A full grin, the kind that Draco had seen him give his friends, and secretly wished Harry would give him too. And now he is.

Then Harry stuck out his hand. "So, friends?"

Draco bit his lip, trying to contain his idiotic grin, then gave up and let it out anyway as he grabbed Harry's hand. "Friends."