Moonlight streamed through the window, painting the cozy room in a soft, ethereal glow. That was the one good thing about living on the Eighth floor; it made one feel as though the boundless sky was within reach.
Draco leaned against the headboard and watched idly as dust motes danced and twirled in the faint light cast by the fading embers of the fireplace. A soft sigh brought his attention back to the comforting warmth pressed against his leg. Draco glanced down; the taut lines of his face softening. He brought his hand up to brush a lock of jet-black hair off of the sleeping boy's face, exposing fine features and that famous scar. Draco gently traced it, marveling at how such a small thing—a thin, jagged line—could define the life of one boy, forcibly molding him, pushing him down a path he had no other choice but to follow. It was a symbol of Harry's sacrifice, noble and selfless.
Draco continued to tenderly stroke Harry's hair, smiling as the other boy pressed his face against Draco's hip, murmuring something unintelligible. Draco shifted his gaze to his own mark, where it hid in plain sight, disguised by a deceptively beautiful tattoo. Much like Harry, he also couldn't escape the permanent brand that marred his skin. It defined who he was; forever reminding him of his arrogance, his mistakes, his fear, and all the wrong decisions he had made. It was a symbol of his cowardice.
They were two sides of the same coin.
Draco sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back. He was bone-weary but sleep had continued to evade him.
One week left.
He hasn't had a good night's rest since his visit to his mother. A scant few hours here and there was all he could manage. Dark bruises now coloured the pale skin underneath his eyes. He had barely recovered from his mercifully short stay in Azkaban when the School Year had started, but now he looked no better than he did back in Sixth Year. Perhaps, even worse. Glamour Charms had been the only thing that kept Harry and his friends blissfully ignorant.
Draco had spoken not a single word of his forthcoming exile. He had diligently kept to his usual routine. Harry, though, had surprisingly picked up on a few things. Hanging around Hermione had certainly done wonders for his perceptual skills. Or perhaps it was just because he knew Draco too well. With great effort, Draco had reassured Harry that it was nothing more than the usual shit that they'd had to deal with. Things had, after all, escalated rather spectacularly the past few days. And to his relief, Harry had seemed to accept this reasoning and hadn't questioned him again.
Over the course of the week, Draco rarely found himself alone. One of his friends was constantly with him. Even the Gryffindors seemed to be in on it. It was like guard duty and they did it by shifts. Draco wasn't entirely sure if it annoyed him, amused him, or if it warmed the cockles of his heart. Perhaps, all of the above. Draco knew they did it for Harry's peace of mind. Since Harry couldn't physically be with Draco during the day, his friends assumed the responsibility of keeping Draco safe. Bloody noble Gryffindors.
Despite his silence though, Draco knew he had to tell someone. Somebody who would be there for Harry once Draco was gone; who would keep Harry in line once the reason for Draco's abrupt departure came to light. Draco didn't doubt that his reckless Gryffindor would more than likely end up doing something incredibly stupid.
There was only one such person in Draco's mind: Hermione Granger.
She would no doubt manage to keep Harry from doing something he would undoubtedly regret. Draco would need to speak with her in private. It was time to prepare himself for the inevitable. He had put everything off long enough. The fragile bubble of security Harry had built around them would soon burst and none of them could stop the coming tide. It would sweep through them and destroy everything.
Draco opened his eyes and gingerly inched towards the edge of the bed. With a disgruntled little huff, Harry tightened his arm around Draco's waist, grazing his lips against the blond's hipbone.
"Where you goin'?" Came the sleepy mumble.
Draco shifted, leaning down to whisper into Harry's ear, "Loo." He carded his fingers through Harry's thick, glossy mane, pressing soft kisses onto his cheek. "Go back to sleep."
"...'Kay..." Harry murmured, loosening his hold on the blond's waist.
Draco slipped off the bed and stood, gazing down at Harry as he slept. He looked so peaceful; the fine lines of tension on his face had eased. Harry looked much younger like this, so unlike the boy who had been forced to grow up too fast in order to save the rest of the world.
Draco wondered if he looked just as innocent as Harry did in his sleep; if he looked just as untainted. He hoped he did.
Draco crouched beside the bed, shivering as the encroaching cold licked at his naked skin. He reached out and softly ran his fingertips along Harry's jaw; his eyes tracing every single detail of Harry's face.
"Harry..." Draco whispered. He received no response, but he didn't seem to mind. "I love you, you know?" He breathed, nearly inaudible; moisture pooling in murky, gray eyes. "And I hope you could forgive me..."
Draco lowered his head, tears spilling down his gaunt cheeks.
* * *
On the third week of December, Hogwarts was abuzz with infectious holiday cheer. Couples could be found snogging in numerous alcoves, underneath mistletoes. Enormous wreaths and sparkling tinsel adorned every inch of the castle; even the places that were still in the midst of being rebuilt. It was entirely overdone. The effort made it abundantly clear just how hard people were trying to get past the horrors of the War.
The appalling size of the Christmas tree seemed to be double what it had been in the previous years, if that was at all possible. Staring at it now, where it towered majestically behind the staff table, Draco was sure he'd never seen anything so—Draco frowned. He couldn't even find the appropriate word to describe it.
Draco flinched when he felt a pointy elbow dig into his ribcage. Wrenching his dazed stare from the massive Tree, he arched an eyebrow at the culprit—Pansy.
"Eat." She glared, nodding pointedly at Draco's untouched breakfast. "You're literally skin and bones, Draco." She cast a casual glance down the Eighth Year Table and shared a polite nod with Harry. "Potter can't even eat from worrying over you." Pansy added under her breath.
Draco picked up his fork, purposely speared a piece of potato, and took a bite. He lowered his head, looking over at Harry through his lashes. The Gryffindor was idly pushing beans around his plate; a tight frown furrowing his brow as he cast worried glances at Draco.
With a sigh, Draco picked up his tea and took a small sip; his eyes once again drifting towards the Christmas Tree.
"A bit much, isn't it?" Draco mused allowed after a moment.
Blaise raised an eyebrow and eyed the Tree. "Yes. Quite garish." He shrugged and went right back to buttering his toast.
Draco hummed distractedly, setting his teacup down; his gaze wandering over to Hermione. She was shoving books into her bag, apparently getting ready to leave. They had Advanced Arithmancy Studies next. It would be his chance to talk to her alone.
Draco stood up, slinging his rucksack onto his shoulder, ignoring his uneaten breakfast. Pansy sighed as she grabbed her own things. Blaise just looked bored as he nibbled on his toast. Harry stared at Draco's untouched plate of food, looked up, and frowned in disapproval.
Draco pointedly ignored Harry, turning his attention to Pansy instead. "Its alright, Pans. I need to chat with Hermione about our Arithmancy essay. I'll walk with her to class." And without waiting for a response, Draco sauntered towards the group of Gryffindors.
Hermione looked up and beamed, "Hi, Draco."
"Hermione." Draco smiled, nodding politely at the rest of the group, smiling just a tad bit wider when his eyes met Harry's. "I have a question about the Arithmancy essay."
"Oh! That's great! I've been meaning to discuss that with you as well." She pressed a quick kiss onto Ron's cheek, waved at her mates, and promptly dragged Draco away, already rattling off about magical equations.
They'd only just stepped out of the Great Hall when Draco placed a restraining hand on Hermione's elbow, snapping her out of her heated monologue.
"There's something else I actually need to discuss with you." Draco cleared his throat. "It would take awhile so I was hoping we could talk after class."
Hermione stopped and gave Draco a quizzical stare, eyes shrewd and searching. Taking in the tightness in Draco's jaw and the shuttered look in his eyes, Hermione frowned, suddenly worried, "Is everything alright?"
"No." Draco whispered.
"After class." Hermione nodded resolutely, placing a gentle hand on Draco's arm.
* * *
Draco sat quietly in his seat, waiting for the classroom to empty. Beside him, Hermione was still furiously writing notes on her parchment as their classmates trickled out in groups. When the door finally shut behind the last pair of students, Hermione picked up her wand and quickly cast Muffliato around them. She turned in her seat and faced Draco, giving him an encouraging smile.
Swallowing thickly, Draco knew there was no point in beating around the bush. "I'm not coming back after Winter Hols."
Hermione reeled back in surprise, staring at Draco in shock. "Have you told Harry?" She all but whispered.
Draco shook his head, "He can't know."
"What? Why?!"
"Because he will do something about it and I don't want that." Draco sighed, staring out the window.
Hermione frowned for a bit, lost in thought. It was a beat later that she grabbed Draco's arm, face writ with horror, "This past weekend, when you met with your mother, what happened?"
Draco smiled wryly, "You're indeed the brightest witch of your age."
"Draco!" Hermione shook him.
"We were summoned by the Wizengamot. And do calm down, Granger. You look like you're about to faint." Draco chided, eyeing the look of abject terror on Hermione's face. "Its not as bad as Azkaban, so do take a breath. You're turning an alarming shade of blue."
Hermione inhaled sharply, clearly fighting to calm herself. "And?"
"Given the current state of affairs in Wizarding Britain at the moment, the Wizengamot had deemed it unsafe for my mother and I to remain in England while we serve our original Sentence. So, they've changed it." Draco paused, taking a breath. He stared at Hermione, whose eyes were as wide as saucers. "Instead of Community Service, rendering free labor at the Ministry after I graduate from Hogwarts, I have been exiled."
"Oh my god." Hermione breathed.
"Five years with no contact and without setting foot on British soil."
"Harry... Harry will..." Hermione covered her mouth with a shaky hand.
"Yes." Draco sighed. "He has already done so much for me. It was his testimony that had kept my mother and I out of Azkaban. He can't know about this, Hermione. I don't want him jeopardizing himself. Besides, even with his influence, he's still powerless to overturn the Wizengamot's decision." Draco took a deep breath and continued, "You may tell him once I've left. And promise me, Hermione, that you will keep him in line."
Hermione nodded slowly, squeezing Draco's hand as they sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
"It takes a lot of courage to leave even when you know just how difficult its going to be." Hermione whispered after a moment.
Draco smiled ruefully, staring at his left forearm. "I did this to myself. I deserve all this, perhaps more." He looked up and held Hermione's steady gaze. "As I am now, I certainly don't deserve him."
Hermione bit her lip and stared out the window. There was nothing she could say. What Draco had said was true after all.
"And maybe some relationships were just never meant to be in the first place. Maybe... some of them were doomed from the very beginning." Draco murmured; his words echoing in the oppressive silence of the classroom.