Enemies with Benefits - A Drarry Story

Confessions

          Transfiguration had never been exciting, but it was on grey days like these that it was especially tedious. The minutes seemed to go by like hours, and Harry could have sworn that his hair was fading to grey by the time the bell rang again.

          Through the flood of students pouring out of the classroom, Harry spotted Draco. He sidled up to him and was about to whisper in his ear to meet him in their broom closet when a tap on his shoulder made him lose his focus.

          "Hey Harry," chirped Seamus. "have you heard? Black's been sighted."

          Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco's head perk up suddenly. He brushed it off. "Really? Where?" he responded with equal excitement.

          "Not too far from here," he replied. "Was a Muggle who saw him. Reckon they think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they?"

          Harry hummed in response and waited to Seamus to run up to catch up with Dean. He looked around. Ron was chatting to Hermione, who was curiously out of breath, which provided the perfect opportunity.

          In the blink of an eye, his lips brushed Draco's ear softly and he whispered into it. Then, he went back to Ron and Hermione as if nothing had happened.

. . . . .

          "Wait, so how did he escape? Doesn't Azkaban have the topmost security?" Harry asked.

          Draco scrunched his face up. "No one knows. He's the first to ever get out. Father says the Ministry is outraged—it makes them look weak."

          Harry slid down the wall to sit on the floor as Draco ran his hands through his blond hair. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

         "What?"

          "It's just..." he frowned. "Harry, I think you need to be really careful. You in particular."

          "Why me?"

          He sighed and slid down to sit across from him. "My parents never tell me anything, but I've seen the Black family tree. Sirius Black is my cousin—well, my mum's cousin, really."

          Harry's jaw dropped.

          Ignoring his dumbfounded expression, Draco continued. "I think—I think he might have something to do with the Dark Lord—with You-Know-Who. I don't know much about it, but my father... He was one of his followers. The Blacks are one of the families of the purest blood. I don't think it could be a coincidence." 

          Draco finally met his eyes, and as grey connected with green, Harry saw—even through the dim light of the broom closet—a glimmer of something in his eyes. Guilt.

          The old Draco Malfoy would never have felt guilty; about anything, really. But this piece of his soul being so openly laid out to Harry told him more than any civility or change in behavior could. Draco Malfoy really cared.

          Harry reached out for his hand and grasped it firmly. "This is not your fault, Draco. You are not your father, and you never will be. I promise I'll be careful."

          "Are you sure? Ever since that omen Trelawney gave you, I've been worried. I know she's barmy, but—"

          "But nothing. I'll be fine. I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember?"

          "Twat."