Chapter Text
There was no denying Draco Malfoy had always been a bully. From the moment Harry started attending Hogwarts, his mind collected every bad encounter with him and alarm bells went off every time he ran into Malfoy. He remembers his sneers and snide comments during The Sorting Ceremony, or that time Hermione punched him in the face, and when he saved him from the Room of Requirement during the war, even though deep down a part of him questioned if Draco was really worth saving.
When McGonagall informed Harry that all 7th year students who wanted to complete their N.E.W.T Exams' would have to attend an 8th year, he dreaded it. Truly, he has nothing better to do with his time, but wasting away at 12 Grimmauld Place sounded much better than studying and reliving his trauma in the castle everyday. Ron seemed disappointed when he told him he was not looking forward to attending a final year at dear old Hogwarts. Hermione tried giving him a lecture on how 'we are so worried about you Harry, please come'. I guess it worked because he found himself laying in his bed in the 8th year boys dormitory on their first night back.
What Harry never expected was to see Malfoy at all for their 8th year. He had not seen him since he was a character witness at his and Narcissa's trials. Draco is a right prick, but he had seen his asshole demeanor falter many times during the war. He had been a character witness for others too, not just Draco. Mrs. Malfoy on the other hand, had quite literally saved his life. Since the trials, Lucius was locked away in Azkaban and Narcissa and Draco's locations had been kept a secret. So, he had assumed Draco would not be attending school for his own protection.
Harry struggled with sleeping and it did not help that he could hear the other 8th year students doing Merlin knows what out in the hall. He tried not to over think too much, not to over-analyze every aspect of his first day, but all that played in his mind were the dark circles under Malfoy's eyes and the lack of words coming from his mouth.
Harry woke up the next morning ready to attend his Muggle Studies class. He did not expect to walk into a room full of mostly Slytherins. Harry was actually late by four minutes. This was a really big deal, not to him anymore but to everyone else. When the door shut behind him and Professor Hyperion cleared his throat,
"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter," he smiled brightly,
Harry's cheeks grew crimson and he waited for anyone to make a remark but instead everyone turned around as he quickly walked to his seat. The only seat left being the one behind Draco. Harry had only taken muggle studies because he felt as though he never actually got to experience muggle things and at the same time it also made him feel safe. He wondered if McGonagall made this a required class for all of Slytherin because this class had never had so may green robes in it before. Hyperion asked lots of questions and Harry answered some, but the professor was growing tired of the same people answering.
"Draco, might you know the answer?" Hyperion asked. Harry leaned forward in anticipation. A couple of other Slytherin students snickered behind him. It was silent for a handful of minutes before Professor Hyperion gave up.
"On that note, let's pick back up with this on Thursday. As you all know, Wednesday's will be a sort of free day for all of you, within limits. And Draco, please stay back for a moment so I may speak with you."
Harry caught himself hanging around the classroom door waiting for Draco to come out. Maybe he needed something to obsess over. Figuring out why Malfoy was back for their final year and why he wasn't speaking felt like a good way to occupy himself. He grew tired of pretending outside of the door like a complete freak though. He turned around to walk in front of the doorway and Malfoy must have decided this was the perfect moment to walk out of class.
"Fuck," Harry muttered as they slammed into each other. Draco had dropped all of his things out on the floor and his own sketchbook fell to the floor, a few pages slipping out.
"I'm sorry, I really should watch where I'm going, I know. Don't even bother telling me." Harry apologized swiftly.
Malfoy stared at him blankly and finished picking up his own things. He picked up his sketchbook before Harry even had the chance. A rather dark page stuck out that was full of distorted charcoal landscapes and Malfoy pursed his lips, like he had something to say. Instead, he handed the disheveled book back to him and walked away.
After a full day of classes, he decided that spending time with his best friends in the library was a good way to end the day before sneaking away.
"So you think he must be mute now?" Ron loudly asks. In return he receives a handful of shushing from other students in the library.
Harry rolls his eyes, "No Ron, I don't think he's mute. I think he's choosing not to speak for some underlying reason."
"It's Malfoy for God's sake Harry, who cares!" Ron huffs.
Hermione looks at the two irritated at the unnecessary loud banter about Malfoy. "Sorry 'Mione. I know you're trying to study."
"It is quite weird. I did hear Parkinson mention they were all going out tonight. Draco must talk to her at least. Aren't they destined to be together in some weird pure-blood way?" Hermione's mention of Malfoy and Parkinson made Harry's stomach turn in a way he can't figure out how to describe.
"As much as I love studying, I think I'm done for the night." Harry sighs.
"You don't want to hang out for the night mate?" Ron questions him. Hermione brows furrow together at Harry's response, "I have some things I need to do on my own before midnight curfew."
Harry walks away from the pair. Don't get him wrong, Harry loves Ron and Hermione. But they wouldn't be happy with his new drinking habit or his melancholic drawings. They definitely wouldn't be thrilled with him apparating to Grimmauld Place for the night either. Hermione and Ron clung to each other after the war. With Hermione unable to see her parents again and Fred gone, they had become attached at the hip. Relying on their relationship for endless serotonin. They were all still close, just not like before and not how Harry had hoped they would be for their final year of school.
Harry was partially to blame for that, and he knew that. He had distanced himself after breaking things off with Ginny. Ginny who refused to speak to him still because he broke up with her only weeks after Fred's death and she found that too harsh. Everyone expected them to be together forever and while Molly Weasley still loved him, things had changed since he left her only daughter.
Harry made it back to his room and packed a bag of things. Most of his favorite art supplies were at home in his art room. Harry slept in Sirius' old room in hopes of finding some comfort there, but a spare room became the art room. Drawing had become a major outlet for Harry's sleepless nights and the nights where he did sleep and had nightmares he always keeps to himself.
Grabbing his bag he opens the door to the sound of a familiar voice. Pansy Parkinson.
"Come on, Draco. You know it will be fun. Maybe you'll meet someone. A pretty lad who will take your mind off things. What's the fun in getting high in your bed anyways?" She begged him. Harry wanted to hear Draco's voice and when he didn't he assumed they had walked away. He was still stuck on the lad part. Draco seemed like the least gay person— well other than his obvious obsession with cleanliness and hair, which Harry always chalked up to be a pure-blood thing.
He turned the corner into the hallway and runs straight into Malfoy. Parkinson looks startled and Malfoy seems to smile slightly. It was so quick, he almost didn't catch it.
"Sorry Parkinson," Harry mumbles, "we seem to keep meeting like this Malfoy. Have a good night." He kept walking past the two and Pansy stood with her mouth agape for a moment before turning back to Malfoy.
"What does he mean you keep meeting like that, Draco?"
Harry didn't wait around for his answer. Before he knew it he was standing in his art room, a glass of bourbon in his hand and charcoal in the other. The best comforts he could find.