(993 words)
Draco didn't like to think of himself as a coward but he knew, in truth, that was what he was. He also knew that it was far better to hide than to fight an already lost battle and, as soon as he heard the group of sixth-formers laughing menacingly around the corner, he knew it was better to remove himself from view and not tempt them into another painful bullying session.
Thankfully, Hogwarts was equipped with many cleaning cupboards, though Draco was beginning to wonder why they were so numerous. Still, he opened the conveniently nearby door and slipped inside, letting it click quietly behind him, to wait until the danger had passed.
He slid to the floor in the darkness, curling up tightly, his hand shakily running through his blond hair as he heard the gang pass. He didn't dare cast a 'Lumos' for fear that any light seeping under the door might be detected. He could imagine being beaten and shoved back in the cupboard and not being found for days.
He tried to calm his breathing, feeling panic rising at the thoughts.
Then he felt something touch his arm in the darkness.
He screamed in a most high-pitched and undignified manner but a hand quickly covered his mouth.
'Shhh!' came a recognisable whisper. 'Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?'
'Po''er?' he tried to say against the hand, then he swiped it away. 'Shit!' His heart was beating manically.
They fell silent, listening for any noise outside in the corridor.
'I don't think they heard us. I think they've gone,' Draco sighed.
'More likely we've moved...'
'You're not making sense,' Draco snapped, still trying to calm his frayed nerves. Typical of the Golden fucking-idiotic Boy.
'The cupboard seems to move about, depending on where it's needed. It's never taken me with it before, that I know of; I've just found it when I need it. Kind of like the Room of Requirement. And it never lets me out until the coast is clear.'
'Oh!' That made more made sense than having a multitude of cleaning cupboards on every floor of the castle. 'What the fuck are you needing the cupboard for?' Draco asked.
An uncomfortable silence filled the darkness and he heard, rather than felt, Potter shrink away from him. Draco retrieved his wand and cast a soft 'Lumos'.
His mouth fell open.
'Potter?'
There was a stack of books in the corner, and a plate of treacle tarts and a glass of juice, and a quilt and cushions, which Potter was sitting on. He was blushing, his head turned away as he worried his lower lip with his teeth. The soft light caught the edges of his glasses and his normally vibrant green eyes appeared dull. He looked incredibly vulnerable despite having folded his arms defensively.
'I feel safe here...' Potter shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant, then clamped his mouth shut as if he'd said too much.
An awful thought occurred. 'If the rumours are true, surely this is the last place you'd want to be...'
Potter wouldn't look at him.
'Potter?' Draco said softly. It was like trying to coax an injured animal into trusting him. He supposed the analogy might be closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. Why should Potter trust him after their history? And was Potter more damaged by the war than he let on? He didn't try to fill the silence. But nor did he move. Draco just remained sitting still, hugging his knees, as if trying to show Potter that he wasn't about to use the situation to his advantage. Merlin, they were both as bad as each other: broken and sitting in a fucking broom cupboard!
Eventually Potter spoke, his voice distant and slightly heartbreaking, if Draco was willing to admit that to himself. 'The rumours are true. My relatives used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs if I angered them. It was where I slept too.' He paused. 'Even Ron and Mione don't know the full details of my life before Hogwarts.' He fell into a contemplative silence and Draco was consumed with the desire to know more. He waited, in case Potter opened up any further.
'Funnily enough, my cupboard became a sort of safe-haven. It protected me too. I guess that's why I come here now.' Potter sighed heavily.
When Draco thought about it, there were times when Potter seemed to disappear and no one could find him (mostly Weasley and Granger or the Weaslette). He felt slightly smug at having found out the answer, he also knew that he'd never tell anyone, especially them. It was delightful to know that he knew something about Potter that his bestfriends and girlfriend didn't and that he could keep it from them. This was his secret.
Then a sort of horror came over Draco. 'Who do you need protecting from?'
Potter let out a bark of derision. 'More of a what,' he said. He paused and then said quietly into the soft light of cupboard, 'do you ever get nightmares, Malfoy? From the war. Or feel panicked? Or just want to escape your thoughts?'
Draco wanted to sneer but, Merlin, he understood. He simply nodded.
'That's when I come here,' Potter said. 'It makes me feel safe.' He shrugged at Draco's silent question. 'The cupboard provided the cushions and books and brings me fresh food. I like the cosy space.'
'Oh,' Draco said weakly. Then mentally shook himself. 'So, what does it take for the cupboard to produce another serving of food?'
Potter didn't answer but a plate of Draco's favourite pecan-nut pastries and a bowl of green apples popped into being along with another glass and a jug of cloudy lemonade.
They both smiled tentatively.
'What are you reading?' Draco asked, edging a bit closer to the cushions and picking up the book that was bent open at the spine.
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