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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, James/Lily, Harry
Potter/Ginny Weasley

Characters:
Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley,
Hermione Granger, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter,
Sirius Black, Neville Longbottom
Additional Tags:
Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Boy-Who-Lived
Neville Longbottom, there's some weird stuff going
on here ngl, all will become clear i hope, but in the
meantime: Draco and Harry make a birthday card,
part 2: things become a little clearer, Curses, Top
Draco Malfoy, part 3: everything gets super sad ur
welcome!!!!

Language:
English
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Feed Your Soul and Cook Your Sausages, Bestof,
Stories I daydream about, the best hp fics with the
best slytherins, the moon surrounded by the stars
(aka the best of hp fics), i wish i can read these for
the first time again, my will to live, Best Harry Potter
Universes, THE Drarry Collection, A Collection of my
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the first time again, Drarry fics that are better than
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as family heirlooms, The Read Agains and Agains, Re-
read ALL the time
Stats:
Published: 2017-01-20 Completed: 2018-10-19
Words: 83,382 Chapters: 6/6 Comments:
1,066 Kudos: 9,534 Bookmarks: 4,984 Hits:
195,367

Dwelling
aideomai

Chapter 2
Summary:

There was another rattle -

more of a thump, this time,
and instinctively Harry
turned and looked toward
the window, then froze.
Draco Malfoy stared back at
him, blurry and indistinct
through the rain-streaked
glass, then raised a hand
and knocked again.

Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

SIXTH YEAR

Harry didn’t sleep much that summer.

He couldn’t stop dreaming about what a close call it

had been at the Ministry. It would have been so easy
for one of them to die: his mum, his dad, Sirius. Ron,
Hermione. Or him, or - the green light glowing on
Lucius Malfoy’s wand, the way Draco had thrown
himself across Harry. If Lucius hadn’t been able to
jerk his wand away in time. If Draco had moved a
split second later.

You’re dead, Draco had said, and Harry woke up

shivering.

Instead of sleeping he wandered through the house,

late at night when his parents were asleep. He read
the papers bleakly. He wrote letters. He even wrote
letters to Draco for a while, but after June went by
and nothing came back, he eventually gave up.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lily said, and for the first time she
looked like she meant it. “I know this is hard for you.”

“I don’t get why he - why he,” Harry said, and

couldn’t finish talking. His throat felt tight, awful.

“It’s hard,” James said. “It’s hard for some kids to

pick. You should - talk to Sirius,” and Harry did, a bit,
Sirius exlaining what it was like, to grow up in a
house with things expected and the sure promise that
if you did what you were told, you would be loved like
nothing else, treasured, privileged. Harry understood
it; he did. He understood it all. But he stared bleakly
at them and thought about Draco kissing him that
day in Hogsmeade, Draco’s hand tight and desperate
on his arm at the Ministry, dragging him along, out of
danger. It wasn’t fair, he thought.

He spent a lot of the summer sitting around with Ron

and Hermione and Neville, staring blankly at each
other while the news got worse and worse and worse,
trying to formulate some sort of game plan for the
year. Everything seemed hopeless. Neville looked like
he hadn’t slept in months.

And then, in Diagon Alley, he saw Draco again for the

first time - desperate and untouchable with his
mother, flinching away from Harry calling out. Harry
followed him in his father’s Invisibility Cloak and saw
him poking around Borgin and Burkes, and finally,
giving up on subtlety, he unveiled himself and caught
Draco on his way out, said, “Draco, what are you
doing,” and Draco threw him aside.

“Mother,” Draco said, not even looking at Harry,

trembling, “let’s go, please,” and Narcissa’s gaze
lingered on Harry for a moment before the two of
them swept away, arms linked tightly.

Harry went back to his own mum and was so furious

he nearly cried. “He’s up to something,” he said, “I - I
know it.”

“Harry,” his mum said, quiet, “he’s a sixteen year old

boy. I know his family has - connections we’re
concerned about, but even You-Know-Who is not so
desperate at this point that he’s recruiting teenagers-
-”

“But - you don’t understand,” Harry said, “you don’t

understand what Draco’s like about people he loves,
he’s crazy, he’ll - he’ll do anything to get his dad
back. We need to stop him! We need to send Aurors
to Malfoy Manor!”

“We’re in a war, Harry,” James said, and touched

Harry’s hair to soften the blow. “There’s already been
three teams of aurors sent to Malfoy Manor. Two
wizards have been killed.”

Harry froze. He stared up at him. “I - really?”

“Skirmishes on the border, nothing that can be

pinned directly on the Malfoys,” Lily murmured. “But
the Ministry’s in a precarious position. They’re not
even uninviting Narcissa from Ministry functions yet,
it’s as though everything’s on standby. We don’t
know who’s going to emerge with power in the next
few months. All we can do is try our very best.”

“But Draco--”

“Is not a priority,” James said, shaking his head. “Not

with the Lestranges and Greyback and his crew on
the loose again -- Harry, better if you just leave him
be.”

But Harry couldn’t leave Draco be. He made plans

with Hermione, Neville, and Ron to keep an eye on
Draco once they all got to school, to make sure he
was under control, though they eyed him dubiously
and were not, Harry thought, particularly invested in
the cause. Harry stole the Maurader’s Map from
where James didn’t know Harry knew he kept it
hidden, and he packed it tightly with the Invisibility
Cloak at the bottom of his school trunk, and waited.

In the end, though, he didn’t have to wait as long as

he’d planned; when his parents dragged him out to
another Ministry Ball -- with his own achkan this time,
at least -- he’d only been in the room for a bare ten
minutes before he caught a glimpse of blond hair and
felt his whole world narrow down to the thin marble
swathe of the room that contained the two Malfoys.

“Back in a minute,” he said grimly to his mum, and

ignored her worried murmur as he shouldered his
way through the crowd.

“Draco,” he said, and Draco flinched away from him.

He looked thin and worn, deep shadows under his
eyes. His black dress robes were buttoned tight
around his chin, made him look sallow and unwell.

“Potter,” he sneered. “They’re letting just anyone in,

are they?”

Narcissa’s hand was on Draco’s shoulder; Harry

thought her fingers might be trembling. “Draco,” she
said, low, “don’t cause a scene -- let’s--”

“Yeah, Draco,” Harry said, a weird hot spike of

satisfaction in his stomach when Draco’s jaw
clenched, eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you just, er,
come with me and have a chat?”

Draco stared at him, incredulous. “What’s that

supposed to mean?” he said, and to Harry’s horror,
he could feel himself going a slow, dull red.

“Well,” said a very unwelcome voice, “isn’t this a

lovely little reunion.”

Harry looked, unwillingly, to the left, to where Rita

Skeeter was wearing emerald green robes and
clasping her hands under her chin, beaming.

“How lovely that you two boys are still such good
friends,” she said, “even with all the -- well --
unpleasantness of late! You know, that story about
the two of you when you were children was one of my
biggest ever scoops. I was promoted to the Daily
Prophet’s Premiere Party Presenter as a result of it,
you know.”

“How wonderful,” Narcissa said, in a steady voice.

“I don’t suppose -- it would be very lovely if we could

reprise it,” Rita said. “How about it, boys, just a little
waltz? There’s so many nasty rumours around, I’m
sure a Potter and Malfoy dancing would go a long way
to dispelling it--”

“Uh,” Harry said, horrified. “I don’t think I,” and then

he stopped, swallowed. A waltz with Draco, and the
press watching, and no way Draco could run away
from him. “I mean,” he said, praying he wasn’t
blushing again and glumly certain that he was,
staring at the floor, “if you want to?”

When he dared glance up, Draco was sneering. “I

think not,” he began, except as Harry watched
Narcissa’s hand tightened on Draco’s shoulder. Draco
went paler if possible, and then said, rigid, barely
moving his lips, “Fine.”

Rita Skeeter clapped her hands. “Wonderful,” she

said, and shoved Harry in towards Draco. “Well, you
just get started and I’ll grab our photographer…
pretend we’re not even here, darlings…”

Harry took Draco’s hand clumsily. Draco snatched it

away immediately, and then, with another nervous at
his mother, plucked at Harry’s sleeve between a
thumb and forefinger as though he could hardly bear
to touch Harry properly, and drew him over to where
other people were dancing.

“I’ll get you for this, Potter,” Draco hissed, and Harry
swallowed hard.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, and tried not to jump

when Draco put his hand on Harry’s waist. “I just
wanted to talk to you--”

“I am not talking to you,” Draco snapped. “Put your

hand on my shoulder, you horrible lump.”

Harry did what he was told, and hoped his palm

wasn’t sweaty when Draco snatched that up with his
other hand. They started off, a little awkward; Harry
kept half-stumbling.

“Follow me,” Draco said, sounding frustrated. “We’re

only doing this for the cameras, you may as well
make it look good.”

Harry felt stupidly, obliquely miserable, but he tried

to do what Draco was instructing, tried to follow his
lead. He remembered a twelve year old Draco,
cheerful and enjoying himself, half-singing
instructions in Harry’s ear. Step-step-step, step-step-
step, watch my toes, Harry! Harry drew in a breath,
looked up at Draco, and said, “I’m worried about
you.”

“How good of you,” Draco said immediately, clearly

struggling to keep his face pleasant and blank. “I
hope you choke and die in your sleep.”

“Draco--”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re my best friend,” Harry said helplessly.

Draco gave him a dismissive look. “We’ve barely

spoken in a year.”

“We were fighting,” Harry said, twisting around

Draco, trying not to trip over their feet, “you drive me
mad, you -- look, that doesn’t mean I don’t, don’t
care about you!”

Draco went a slow, deliberate pink. Harry stared at

him.

“Shut up,” Draco said, voice tight and tense. “You got
my father locked up.”

“Your father tried to kill me!” Harry said, and turned

under the arm that Draco held up for him.

“Keep your voice down,” Draco hissed. “I’m only

doing this because it will make my mother look good
-- do you know how hard it was for her to maintain a
place at Ministry events--”

“My parents say that something bad is going on,”

Harry told him grimly. “That the Ministry might be
corrupted. That it’s all very uncertain right now. And
that -- that terrible things are happening at Malfoy
Manor.”

Draco laughed, harsh and cracked down the middle,

and looked for a moment desperately young.

“Draco,” Harry said, “please--”

The violins swept to an elegant close, and Draco

dropped Harry’s hand like it was a burning coal.

“Bye, Potter,” he snapped. “I’d watch your back, if I

were you,” and then he turned and swept away,
swallowed up by the crowd while Rita Skeeter cooed
and applauded.

Harry turned and went, miserable, back to his

parents.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lily said, and clasped him in a hug.

“You’re going to be okay,” James said, touching his

hair.

“Yeah,” Harry said, and tried not to think about

whether Draco would be. He spent the rest of the
summer trying, and mostly failing, not to think of
Draco at all, until he felt sick with not being able to
talk to Draco the way he wanted and was counting
down the days until Hogwarts, until the chance of
seeing Draco again. It was hard to enjoy anything. He
wasn’t even looking forward to his birthday.

---

On the 29th of July, around two-thirty in the morning,

Harry sat in his room staring tiredly at one of the
Transfigurations texts he was meant to have read in
the summer holidays. He was halfway through the
first chapter and having trouble focusing. He rubbed
his eyes, stared at the text again. He felt stupid with
it, and hopeless.

It was raining outside. Every now and then lightning

flashed across the sky, following the deep rumble of
thunder. Sometimes if Harry didn’t pay attention, he
found himself idly counting the seconds between
them, the way his mum had taught him when he was
a kid.

The thunder rattled his windowframe. Harry pushed

his glasses up the bridge of his nose, leaned in closer
to the text. The words looked like blurry ants crawling
across the page.

There was another rattle - more of a thump, this

time, and instinctively Harry turned and looked
toward the window, then froze. Draco Malfoy stared
back at him, blurry and indistinct through the rain-
streaked glass, then raised a hand and knocked
again.

Harry tumbled across the room. He threw the window

open and Draco and a great deal of the rain fell in,
Draco stumbling off his broom and the rain sweeping
across Harry’s bed. Harry caught Draco with an arm
around his waist and shoved the window shut, and
Draco dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder, wet
and shivering in Harry’s arms.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispered; it felt wrong

to speak aloud, somehow. “Are you okay? What’s
happened? How did you get here?”

“F-flew,” Draco said. His teeth were chattering, his

clothes heavy and sodden.

“From Wiltshire?”

Draco let out a shivery laugh and turned his face

against Harry’s neck.

“What’s happening?” Harry repeated. “What’s - are

you okay?”

“Oh, it’s so bad,” Draco said. He sounded almost

hysterically cheerful. “So, so bad. Really - not a great
summer, Potter. How’s yours been?”

“Pretty shit,” Harry said.

“I am very sure,” Draco said, still shuddering all over,

“that I could give you a run for your money.”

Harry hesitated, then said, “You’re - you’re freezing.

Come on, you’re going to get sick, let’s - let’s get you
out of these--” and turned slightly so Draco wouldn’t
see his flush.

Draco followed agreeably enough, though he didn’t

seem to understand what Harry meant when Harry
fetched him a dry long-sleeved shirt from Harry’s
drawer, just stared blankly at him. After a moment
Harry moved forward and tugged at Draco’s wet
sweater, and Draco lifted his arms, let Harry draw it
off him, and the soaking shirt underneath, and then
Harry was blinking and flushing at Draco bare-
chested and staring at him in Harry’s bedroom.

Draco had never been in Harry’s bedroom. Harry was

suddenly very conscious of the Chudley Canons
posters on his walls, the mess of it, his laundry
basket overflowing, the clothes strewn around the
floor, the handful of photos of his friends and family
pinned up in one corner. There were photos of Draco
mixed in with them all, he knew. He tried not to make
eye contact with them.

“What,” Draco said, voice low, gravelly, and Harry

looked away, embarrassed, and wrestled the
sweatshirt onto him. It was soft and worn thin, one of
Harry’s favourites, a deep navy blue. It was slightly
too big on Draco’s narrow shoulders. The moment it
was on Draco immediately dropped his nose to the
shoulder and took a deep breath.

“Is this yours?” Draco said, and Harry, flushed,

wondering, nodded. Draco stared back at him, wild-
eyed.

“You want some, uh, pyjama pants?” Harry asked,

and Draco said, “Oh, are we going to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Harry realised. “I - what do you want?

What do you need?” and Draco started shivering
again.

“I can’t go back,” he whispered, low, desperate, “I

can’t, Harry, I can’t,” and Harry grabbed Draco by the
elbows.

“No,” he said, low and intent, “no, I won’t let you, I

promise.”

“You - you gotta,” Draco said, teeth chattering.

Harry didn’t know what he meant but he would have

agreed to anything; he said, “Yes, yeah, I promise,”
and then, because Draco seemed so cold, he steered
them towards his bed, its stupid red covers, and
along the way Draco kicked off his shoes and trousers
and they both dived under the covers like a
sanctuary, curled up tight together.

Harry couldn’t remember the last time they’d been

this close. He couldn’t remember if they’d ever been
this close. He pressed his face against Draco’s hair
and held on tight.

After a long while, Draco croaked, “Water,” and Harry

reached for the glass on the bedside table and
handed it to him. Draco pushed up on one elbow and
took deep, gasping swallows from it, drained the
glass.

They lay back down again, a little distance between

each other now, heads on separate pillows and
staring at each other.

Draco licked his lips and said, “He’s trying to make

me - do something terrible.”

“Who?” Harry said, and then, eyes widening, “Oh.”

“I can’t do it,” Draco said, voice thick with terror, “I,

Harry, I can’t - but he’ll kill me otherwise, he’ll kill my
parents--”

“I won’t let him,” Harry said immediately.

Draco laughed, scornful and thin. “What are you

going to do?”

“We’ll stop him, we’ll protect you,” Harry said. “Me

and my parents and the Order and Dumbledore--”

“Merlin.” Draco shuddered, and Harry moved forward

instinctively, plastered himself over Draco the way
he’d dreamed of. Draco twitched and then lay still,
almost panting against the mattress. Harry was hot
and frantic all over.

“Do you trust me?” he demanded. “Are you - are you

gonna stay?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, “yes, yes, yeah.”

“Are you - will your mum be safe?”

“I told them I was going to - to Pansy’s,” Draco said.

“She’ll cover for me, a couple of days--”

“Okay,” Harry said. He pushed Draco’s hair roughly

aside, kissed his cheek. He felt stupid and clumsy but
he wanted to touch Draco, wanted to get his hands all
over him. “Okay. Fine. Good. Then I can tell my
parents and the Order and--”

“Not now,” Draco said, “not, not - don’t leave me,”

and Harry pressed tighter to him.

“No,” he said. “No, I won’t, not ever,” and they held

onto each other in the shivering lamplight of Harry’s
room for as long as they could, awake, vigilent, until
Harry’s whole head was heavy with sleep and he
couldn’t remember the breath between falling asleep
and the next.

---

He slept late the next morning for the first time all
summer. When he woke it was not to the panicked,
stretched thin feeling he was used to but something
heavy, content, warm. He felt solid and happy,
weighed down, and slowly he realised that was
because Draco was pressed up close behind him,
Draco’s breath puffing against the back of Harry’s
neck, Draco’s arm hugged possessively around
Harry’s chest, Draco’s leg slung over Harry’s hip.
Harry felt hot and flushed and sure that this was what
he wanted, all he needed, even without opening his
eyes; he pressed back against Draco, felt Draco’s hips
twitch against him, heard Draco’s low grumble of
pleasure and exhaustion.

Harry groped around for Draco’s hand, tucked in

against Harry’s chest. He raised it blindly to his
mouth, set his lips against Draco’s knuckles.

In the doorway, someone cleared their throat, and

Harry’s eyes blinked open.

“Harry,” his mum said, low, leaning in the doorway,

“do you want to come and talk to us for a minute?”

Harry felt abruptly certain that he was dying and hell

was waiting to swallow him up, but when after a
moment nothing happened he cleared his throat and
whispered, “Sure,” and gently eased himself out of
Draco’s grip. Draco whined but didn’t wake up.
Awkward with his mum still watching him, Harry gave
Draco a pillow, which he clung onto with a tiny frown.

“Um,” he said, standing in front of his mum and

blushing, and she sighed and jerked her head and led
him out into the dining room, where his dad, looking
supremely amused, was making them all cups of tea.

“Er,” Harry said, and gratefully took the cup he was

handed.

“Well,” Lily said. “I’m assuming that the Draco Malfoy

in your bed right now is the same Draco Malfoy
you’ve been insisting we should direct all the
Ministry’s attention towards capturing all summer?”

“I - for his own good, I wanted that,” Harry said

lamely. “And now he, er--”

“Now he’s shown up for a cuddle he’s incapable of

evil?”

“James,” Lily said sternly, and James turned away for

a moment, shoulders shaking. When he turned back
with a firmly straight face, Harry glared at him, and
James started laughing again.

“Dad,” Harry said, folding his arms.

“Sorry, sorry,” James said.

“He’s really upset!”

“I know,” James said. “I mean, I’m sure he is.”

“I need your help,” Harry said.

“And we’re here to help, sweetheart,” Lily said. “You

should have come to us last night.”

“Er,” Harry said. “Well, it was really late. And he was

all - all upset--”

“Right,” James said, and laughed again, then looked

abruptly serious. “All right. Do you know what’s
happening?”

Harry shook his head. “I think - I think You-Know-

Who’s forcing him to do something really awful. To - I
think it must be about Hogwarts, or else why would
he want a schoolboy to help him?”

Lily and James exchanged a grave look. “Probably

punishing Lucius too,” his mum murmured, “for the
Ministry.”

Harry frowned. “Punishing him how?”

“By setting Draco up for - well,” Lily said, even as

cold horror rushed over Harry.

“For - what,” Harry said, low. “Azkaban? Or - or--”

“The important thing is he came here,” James said,

voice warm. “And so we can help him. I think you’d
better go wake him up, Harry, and see what he can
tell us. We’ll make sure he and his mother are both
safe.”

“Right,” Harry said, and put his cup of tea down. “And
- and you’ll both be nice to him.”

Lily and James exchanged looks. “Of course,” Lily

said.

“‘Cos you haven’t, before--”

“We understand that things are different now,” James

said. He hesitated, then added, “Harry. Before you
wake him up, is there anything else you want to tell
us?”

“What?” Harry said, uncomprehending.

Lily smiled gently at him and said, “About Draco. And

you. And--”

“Oh my god,” Harry said, feeling his cheeks heat.

“No.”

“No, there’s nothing, or no, you don’t want to tell us,”

James said. “Because I got to tell you, bud, when
strange boys show up to sleep in your bed, and you
two looked pretty cosy--”

“Dad!”

“It’s absolutely fine, Harry,” Lily said smoothly. “You

know we couldn’t care less. But it’d be nice to know if
you were bringing a boyfriend home--”

“I’m going to die,” Harry said. “I’m going to die, and

I’m glad, because then I won’t be having this
conversation anymore.”

James started to laugh again. “Yes or no, champ,” he

said, “and then you can escape--”

“No!” Harry shouted. “No, okay, Draco’s my best

mate, and we’re not dating, and we’ve only even
kissed that one time!”

“I’m sorry,” a cool, horrified drawl came, “I seem to

have walked into some sort of nightmare. I’ll be on
my way.”

Harry swung around, face burning, and saw Draco

standing all sleep-rumpled in the doorway, wearing
Harry’s shirt and a pair of Harry’s sweatpants and two
pink spots of colour high in his cheeks.

“Um,” Harry said. “Hi.”

“Draco,” Lily said. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?

Come sit down and have some tea.”

“Oh,” Draco said, looking baffled.

“Heard you’re in a spot of bother, mate,” James said

gently. “Come have a cup of tea and some breakfast
and we can talk about it.”

“Oh,” Draco repeated, going very pale, and he looked

at Harry quickly. Harry, still furiously embarrassed,
stepped in against Draco’s side, standing just behind
him, shadowing him over to the table where Draco
sat down like a prickly mountain lion, not sure yet
whether it should run or attack.

Harry put a cup of tea in front of him, and Lily set

down some crumpets. Draco looked startled.

“There,” she said. “Now, why don’t you tell us

everything?”

---

Everything seemed to happen very fast then: Draco

poured out a long and awful story about how Malfoy
Manor was overrun with Death Eaters and
werewolves and crazy relatives, how he and his
mother had spent the summer sure they were going
to be killed for Lucius’s failure, and then when the
Dark Lord did summon him at first it had felt like a
relief, to be given something else, a task, a way to
atone and save his family, only after that the
creeping doubt had come in, and the fear, because
how could Draco, how could any seventeen year old
boy, kill Dumbledore--

Harry felt stricken with horror, but his parents were

calm: “Yes,” James said, “I think we’d better get
Dumbledore here,” and he sent some Owls and
promised Draco that Draco’s mother would be safe -
and actually, after that the kitchen got very crowded,
because a lot of the Order arrived and Dumbledore
himself, who said that Draco had done the right thing
and that he was very heartened, and then, in the
middle of it all, Narcissa Malfoy was brought in, pale
and anxious.

“Mother,” Draco said, looking a bit wild about the

eyes - he went over to her and then hovered, as
though unsure about whether he was allowed. “I’m -
Mum, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know what to do--”

“Draco,” she said, voice cool and untouchable, “you

have done exactly the right thing,” and then she was
hugging him, his face pressed to her shoulder,
something so private and terrible about it that they
all looked away.

“Of course we will keep you safe,” Dumbledore said.

“Narcissa, there are many safe houses I can offer to
you,” but Narcissa shook her head.