𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈

I think it was Dumbledore who once told me that the truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, therefore, treat it with caution.

He also told me that I was safe at Hogwarts. So really, I don't know what I should believe from him anymore.

I have a truth, one that took me a disgusting amount of time to believe, let alone accept.

Some part of me thinks that I have always known. But in that moment, I was just beginning to realize it.

***

Christmas was approaching rapidly, professors were starting to get lazy with their lessons with the thought of the upcoming holidays.

I was fairly cheerful about it too, as I have been since I first came to Hogwarts. Christmas at Hogwarts outdid any other that you could possible imagine. Trees taller than houses, decorations more extravagant than a ballroom.

The ceiling in the Great Hall was cloudy with falling snow. The choir was practicing at the front—Let it Snow was always a favourite of mine.

Hermione and Ron were both already packed for the Burrow. They invited me of course as well, but I had other recent priorities on my mind, priorities that made me question whether or not I should leave Hogwarts.

Draco sat at the far end of the Slytherin table. Close enough for me to see him, but too far away to see if he was eating or not.

He still wasn't a hundred percent back on his feet again after his last shutdown. He might've been worse, even, with it being so close to Christmas and all.

I didn't tell Ron and Hermione the reason that I was hesitant about joining them at the Burrow, I only said that I had a lot of homework to catch up on (which made Hermione furious, saying that I should've done it sooner so I didn't have to do it over Christmas).

And sure, I wanted to go. But I still felt guilty for all the time that the Weasleys put up with me over summer, I wasn't a very good guest.

"Mr Potter," someone called.

I looked to my left to see Professor Mcgonagall striding through the doorway.

"Potter, I need you to decide whether or not you're staying for Christmas," she said sternly,
"A simple 'please Professor! don't take down the sign up sheet just yet' will not do."

"Sorry, Professor," I apologized, "I'm still deciding."

"Well, what's holding you back here?"

I looked down at my plate. "I don't know," I lied, "I just don't know where to go."

"You're not going to the Weasley's?" she asked surprised.

"No, they invited me. I just don't know if I want to bother with the long trip and all," I lied again.

She gave me a sort of nod, an unsure nod. I know that she didn't believe me, but she wouldn't believe me if I told her that I wanted to keep an eye on Draco Malfoy, either.

I looked over to him again. I wondered if it would really be such a big deal if he were by himself for two weeks, it wasn't that long. Besides, I don't think he enjoyed my company much, either, he seemed to only tolerate it.

And he wouldn't be completely alone, there was always Mcgonagall or Slughorn he could talk to, even Ophiuchus if she'd let him. Perhaps it would be a good thing, to give them time to bond?

I didn't put my name on the list.

***

"You sure you're going to be okay here by yourself?"

"Honestly, Potter. I'm not incapable of being by myself. I happen to be an adult."

"You're eighteen," I pointed out.

"Yes. The Trace is lifted at seventeen," Draco argued.

I rolled my eyes as I continued to carelessly throw all of my necessary items into my trunk. Jumpers, trousers, socks, underwear, textbooks, toothbrush, got everything? Yes.

I threw on a pair of corduroys and my Weasley jumper from last year and shoved my wand in my pocket.

"Seriously," I demanded, "If you don't want me to go, say it now, 'cause I have to be on the train in an hour."

He crossed his arms with a pointed face, but I couldn't help but notice the apprehension behind his eyes—like he was lying.

"No. Go. I'm fine here."

I sighed and heaved my trunk off the bed.

I looked at Draco, and he looked at me. We stared at each other for a long time, I wondered if my hour was up.

Finally, I held out both of my arms away from my body and towards his. His eyes moved down to them, before he stepped closer. He was slow, and careful, I think that he thought that he wasn't allowed.

So, I came to him. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, but not so tight as to hurt him. He didn't quite hug me back, more just stood there limply with his head rested on my shoulder.

"Hug me. It's okay," I whispered.

He did, if a little shakily. But I liked it.

I rubbed his upper back with care. In that moment, I despised the thought of boarding that train. I wanted to stay there, with Draco, forever. 

"You owl me," I insisted, "if you need anything. Anything at all. I won't mind."

He nodded his head, I felt his hair graze against the nape of my neck, it tickled, and I shivered a little.

"See you soon."

***

Dear Draco,

I know it's only been a day since I've been gone, but Merlin, that train ride felt longer than usual.

How are you holding up? The first day's always the worst. Being alone, that's stupid, I'm sorry. I guess you could say that I felt a little obligated to come here, from Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley, even Mcgonagall.

Is there anything you need? Anything I can do? I ask because I know that you won't.

Please write back, even if it's short. Even if it's just a blank piece of parchment, just so I know that you read this.

Merry Christmas Eve,
Harry

***

Dear Draco,

You didn't write back. Did Pigwidgeon make it? He's young, but not that unreliable.

Will you tell me how you are? I know you don't like it, but I worry.

Funny, how times change like that.

The package with this letter is a jumper. Mrs Weasley made it, I hope you don't mind. Well, technically, she made me two, but I figured you wouldn't want the one with the giant 'H' on the front.

You're a tea person, I threw a couple bags in there. Mrs Weasley made them, too.

Everything's fine here, in case you were wondering, not that you'd care. George is a little happier with all the Christmas cheer. Ginny's still a little bitter towards me, but it's okay. I kinda deserve it. She'll be sorry to you eventually, I know she will.

Write back. Seriously.

Merry Christmas,
Harry

***

Dear Draco,

Draco Malfoy. When I get back there, I swear I'm going to take every one of your quills and replace them with mine, because I know that mine work.

Or, you could just suck it up and scribble a few words, even a picture, I know you like to draw. Draw what you're doing, what you're feeling, I don't care.

Does the jumper fit? I think it should, you may be taller, but you're a stick. Plus, Mrs Weasley might have made it slightly bigger than she did last year, she keeps expecting me to grow.

Has anyone else written to you? Your mom? Blaise? Theodore? Goyle? I know you don't really speak with them anymore, and Goyle doesn't really strike me as the kind to send heartfelt Christmas letters, but have they?

Your aunt came by with Teddy yesterday. I finally got to meet him. He's so little, and you'll love this, but he kept turning his hair from turquoise to platinum blond! He can sort of walk, but not well, he kind of just wobbled around the Burrow.

It hit me hard, seeing the little guy in person. He's kind of in the same predicament I was, just with a loving guardian. I cried after they left. I don't really do that much—cry—but I couldn't hold it back. Mr Weasley happily asked if I was smoking "the good stuff" after he saw my red eyes. He doesn't know much about muggles—especially drugs.

Write me. Right when you get this. If you don't, I'll never light my candle again.

Sincerely,
Harry

***

Potter,

You're even pushier in writing. Yes, I got your letters. Yes, I got your jumper. It fits nicely.

I'm fine. Surprise, surprise. But really, what did you expect from me? A foot long letter about all my feelings and tear stains smudging the ink?

No, no one else had written me. You are the only one. I can't imagine how fucking powerful that must make you feel.

The Slytherins and I are no longer on speaking terms, but you knew that. My mother is locked away in their giant hell-hole with my father,
I didn't expect a letter from her.

But please, no matter how heroic you feel, don't send me anymore letters. If you send letters then I have to respond. And it hurts.

My wrist is aching from trying to keep it fucking still. Before you ask, yes, I tried the other hand.  No, I'm not trying my feet.

Yours,
D

***

I read through Draco's letter again on the train ride back to Hogwarts. He sounded angry. But maybe he was just frustrated like he said,—with his hand.

Ron fell asleep next to me within the first hour, Hermione held a confused scowl as she read Inferno.

Draco said that I shouldn't have expected a letter with tear stains smudging the ink, but there were some little droplets on the parchment. Maybe he just wrote it outside? When it was snowing?

I hope it's just that.

***

Seeing the common room after what felt like so long was a breath of fresh air. Ophiuchus had greeted my with her upmost cheer, which I had done my best to return.

The door to Draco and I's dorm was even more inviting.

I stepped into the room. The first thing I saw was the little drawing on my bed. It was scratchy but artistic. It was of my bed, empty.

The second thing I saw was Draco, sitting by the window. He turned to me when the door creaked.

The third thing I saw was Draco scrambling out of his chair and running towards me.

For a moment, I thought that he was going to punch me. Or strangle me. Or shove me to the ground and never let me get up.

But when I felt his arms throw themselves around me, I couldn't help but return the favour.

His face was pressed into my neck. He felt so cold. I felt his hair on my skin, his nose, his lips. He was breathing heavily, and when I felt the wetness, I knew he was crying.

I shushed him. I whispered in his ear. I rubbed his back and played with his hair.

No matter what I did to distract myself, I couldn't get rid of the persisting little voice in my head.

It was then, that I knew the truth: It was never that I didn't support Draco.