Harry groaned as a stream of light escaped the flimsy curtains and glared right into his eyes. It seemed Potter or Riddle, he will always have terrible luck... He sat up in bed and clutched at his hair, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know if his parents remembered him. He didn't know if they cared. He didn't know if they were really planning to kill so many innocent muggles. He didn't know anything. Well, that's a lie, if he knew one thing for sure, it's that he's not going to let his parents kill all the muggles and muggle-borns if that was truly their purpose.
Shrugging on an overcoat he recently acquired from Madam Malkin's, Harry stepped out of the pub and walked aimlessly down the street. Diagon Alley was packed with people, one would think the streets would be empty this early in the morning, but no. Harry was about to start heading back, but fate decided to step in. He heard a whispered mention of his father, or rather, the alias he goes by now.
Harry snuck carefully behind a trashcan in the dark alley that the two men had turned into, "Did you hear, the Dark Lord has called a meeting at his muggle father's mansion. Word is, he's got a son and he's just now remembered."
The other man snorted, "How do you forget you had a son and just remember out of nowhere? That is to say, I mean no disrespect to the Dark Lord, it seems unlikely..."
"Mate, what'll I know about it? I just wanna go and leave to that new pub down by Knockturn as soon as possible. Who cares about the boss's little runt?." Comes the gruff reply.
The other man, the blonde one Harry realizes, sighs as he shook his head, "One day mate, you're going to say the wrong thing around the wrong person."
The brunette man, rolling his eyes, walks off ahead of the blonde man, not bothering to reply.
The men have moved out of earshot, but Harry doesn't care. Harry can't breathe. His father knows. He doesn't know how, but he does. He doesn't know how to feel about that. On one side, all of this could have been orchestrated by Dumbledore and separated from his father. On the other side, his father may have never wanted him to begin with. The problem is, he doesn't know which story is true and worse, he doesn't know who to trust.
Harry rushed back to his room and laid down on his bed. Everything seemed so impossible. He was walking along a twisted path that forked ahead, one path lead to certain death and the other was his salvation. Harry had no idea which path was which and yet the forked road was close approaching.
Harry felt his breath come out in increasingly short pants, his vision started to blur, his head had started to spin and when he lifted his hands in front of his eyes, he could see through the haze that they were trembling. It had been a good long while since Harry had last had a panic attack. In fact, they had become few and far between soon after he had started Hogwarts and spent more time away from his Aunt and Uncle's home in Surrey. It felt different this time though, he felt hopeless, as though there was no way he could move on from this point. He didn't know how to fix it.
He heard a dull thud, it was distant (so, so distant) and yet somehow he knew it must have come from somewhere close-by. Soon after, there was the hazy shape of a person moving along the field of his vision. More muted sounds. Harry couldn't make out what they were saying, the pounding of his heart too loud in his ears. He couldn't even make out their face. His panic seemed only to mount higher.
"P-r... Mer-n's beard! Don't cry." The person's voice was familiar, Harry thought absent-mindedly. His breathing calmed just a tad as he took note of his slowly returning hearing. He heard a door shut and soon after, a hand touched his shoulder.
"P-r. Po-r. Potter!" startled by the clarity of the stranger's voice, Harry's eyes snapped to his intruder. His intruder who may not be as much of a stranger as his panic-addled mind had initially believed.
"Draco." Harry didn't know why he said that. His mind was saying MalfoyMalfoyMalfoy and yet, that was not what left his mouth. Harry could no longer dwell on the matter as tears brimmed in his eyes yet again, despair clawing at his chest in a vicious return.
"Bloody hell Draco, what the hell are you doing?" He heard Malfoy whisper harshly to himself. The next second, strong arms were wrapped around him, his head being pushed into a warm chest and his tears were soaking into a silky smooth shirt. The grip around him was strong, yet so gentle. His embrace was firm, and yet it was also warm. Harry felt protected, he felt safe. It no longer mattered what his father's intentions were with him, as long as Harry lay in Dra–Malfoy's arms, Harry was safe.
Harry didn't how long he stayed in the older boy's arms. He didn't know how long he sobbed into his chest. He just lay there, a quivering mess, soaking poor Dra- (Malfoy!) Malfoy's shirt as he soaked in his warmth and comfort. He laid there even as his tears slowed to a trickle, his breathing steadying, his hand loosening it's tight clench at Draco's shirt. Harry didn't know how long he laid there in his contentment either.
"Feeling better?" Harry had never heard Draco be so gentle with anyone. His tone was always cold as ice paired fittingly with striking grey eyes that raged hotter than the flames of hell. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't bring his voice to work, so he settled with nodding against the Slytherin's (quite firm, Harry notes absentmindedly) chest.
Harry tried clearing his throat, "Thank you." It was barely a whisper, but in the quiet of the room, Harry knows Draco heard.
Draco's chest lifted and dropped under Harry's head - which was still laid snugly above Draco's heart. "What are you doing out here Potter?"
Too much. Too close. Too hard. There was too much that happened. It was too close to the cause of his panic. It's too hard for him to say. So Harry shoots a question in return. "What are you doing here?"
They were silent. For a solid minute, neither of them said a thing. Harry wondered if Draco was even breathing.
"I ran away." Came the blurted response.
Confused and a little startled, Harry tilts his head up to look at Draco, head still on the boy's chest (It's just for comfort, he insists, nothing more!).
"What do you mean? From where?" Harry couldn't think of a single thing Draco had to run from. Not when he is as protected as he is by the Malfoy name.
Draco heaves a long sigh, "From my family, Potter, what else?"
Harry could do nothing but fish-mouth for a response. He didn't know what to say. He didn't expect it, Draco had always been firmly on his parents side. Hell, he'd bring his parents up in every matter possible - although, Harry admits, that may in fact be proof of nothing.
"Why?" Harry wanted to know.
Draco shrugs. He bloody shrugs as if it was no big deal. But Harry could tell by his voice as he speaks, it was no more than a front. "I couldn't do it anymore. All Vo- the Dark Lord is about is death, violence, and horror. All I have been surrounded by as a child is a cold, cruel, loveless household and I've finally decided enough is enough. I deserve better and to make my own choices."
Draco's eyes stare daggers at him, almost daring him to laugh, but Harry would never - not about this. Instead, Harry smiles at Draco (a once-in-a-lifetime type of occurrence). "That's quite brave, you know? Maybe you would've done well in Slytherin."
Draco scoffs, "Shut up, Potter. I was born to be a Slytherin." Clearing his throat, he continues, "I've told you why I'm here, it's you're turn now."
Harry's eyes turn to his hands as he starts to fiddle with them. "It's a long story."
Draco huffs what must be an exasperated laugh, "I've got all the time in the world, Potter."
So Harry tells him. Much more than he meant to, mind you. He found that once he started to speak, settled in to the comfort of the older boy's arms, he couldn't bring himself to stop. He tells him everything, each detail down to his fears about Dumbledore and Voldemort. By the time Harry had finished his "little" rant, he was a little out of breath and very tired. Draco, seeming to pick up on this, puts him to sleep and offers to help him figure it out when he wakes up. So Harry drifts away in the Slytherin boy's arms (he wouldn't let the boy leave when he'd tried, Draco obliged with eye-roll and a little huff) feeling much lighter than he had felt in a long time.
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So..... I'm back? 😅
Also I'm sorry if this chapter isn't too great. It's been a while and I forgot some of what I wrote and I'm bringing this story in a whole new direction now so maybe this might not fit. Only thing I can promise is that I will work on making it make sense and go back and edit everything if needed. If you guys notice anything, it would be great if you let me know too! For those of you still here, thank you so much for sticking around! Seriously, I'm honored 🫶