The Re-Sorting [Drarry, TW SMUT]

Shadows and Secrets.

1st POV - Harry

The moment the door clicked shut, I regretted everything. 

Draco Malfoy stood in the dimly lit hallway of Grimmauld Place, his pale face half-hidden in shadow. His presence here—inside my supposed safe place—felt wrong, like something out of a nightmare. The last time I saw him was bad. My wand was still gripped tightly in my hand, but I hadn't raised it. Not yet. 

"Are you going to hex me, Potter?" Draco’s voice was hoarse, but the smirk he attempted didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Not that I’d blame you." 

"Not yet," I muttered. "Start talking." 

Draco hesitated. He shifted slightly, glancing down at the sleeve of his robe. His fingers twitched, like he was resisting the urge to pull it back down. 

"I left," he said finally. 

I let out a bitter laugh. "No kidding." 

His jaw clenched. "I mean, I left, My father, the Death Eaters—him." His voice dropped lower on the last word, but I still heard the tremor in it. 

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to stay skeptical. "And I’m just supposed to believe that?" 

Draco exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t come here to convince you of anything. I just…" He swallowed, looking away. "I didn’t know where else to go." 

I could have laughed at the irony. Draco Malfoy—pureblooded, arrogant, cruel—seeking refuge with *me*. After everything. After the years of torment, the taunts, the fights. 

And yet… 

I kept thinking about the way he’d looked under that streetlamp. How thin he was. How his hands had trembled, just slightly. I remembered the way my own scars burned after the graveyard, after the Ministry. The quiet, gnawing fear that nothing would ever feel safe again. 

He was afraid. 
Just like I had been. 
He was like me. I, like him.

I tightened my grip on my wand. "If this is some kind of trap—" 

"It’s not," Draco said quickly. Too quickly. "If it were, I’d be dead the moment I stepped foot here. You think they’d let me leave without punishment?" 

That caught me off guard. He was right—Voldemort didn’t exactly forgive and forget. The Dark Mark on his arm was a death sentence the moment he defected. 

I exhaled slowly. "If I let you stay, you do exactly as I say. No sneaking around, no secrets. You tell me everything." 

Draco hesitated. "Everything?" 

I narrowed my eyes. "Everything." 

His gaze flickered, something unreadable behind his expression. But then he gave a short nod. "Alright." 

I should have felt relieved. Instead, all I felt was dread. 

Because Draco Malfoy was running…and it's was coming for him. And it's coming for me too.