What I'm Missing (Drarry)

Chapter One

Draco tore away the brown paper packaging carefully, discarding it on his bedsheets. He reached up and twitched the curtains for a fourth time, making sure they were closed.

He didn't want anyone to see this.

He unfolded the black fabric inside and frowned at it. So heavy and awkward – did muggles really wear this?

He lay back and kicked off his tailored suit pants, wriggling into the new, unwieldy fabric with a grunt. The zip slid smoothly closed.

Draco smirked. Maybe these muggles knew what they were talking about. The jeans fit him like a second skin.

He slipped on the black cotton t-shirt that came with it, and felt oddly relieved for the first time since returning to Hogwarts.

He pulled his robe back on - covering his clothing - pushed open the curtains, and left.

***

As Draco strode down the Hogwarts corridor, he made sure to hold his head high despite the stares and whispers. Whenever a first year scurried away from him, he made sure to sneer after them. Whenever a third year flinched, he made sure to hold their gaze.

He rolled up his left sleeve and kept walking. They could think what they liked of him. He had tried to show them that he had changed, but they hadn't even allowed him the opportunity. Before he had even spoken a word to anyone, a fight had broken out with him at the centre.

"Death Eater Scum!"

Well, he deserved that, didn't he?He lifted his chin and strode into the Great Hall. As usual, he noticed Potter staring at him; trying to catch his eye for god knows what reason. Potter had tried to stop him in the corridors too, but had so far given up after encountering only cold silence.

He sat down. Even the Slytherins moved away from him, unwilling to appear sympathetic to Voldemort's reign.

Surely these morons can see beyond that? Draco thought to himself, forcing his face to remain impassive. McGonagall trusts me – doesn't that mean anything to them?

He supposed Dumbledore had trusted him too.

It didn't really matter in the end. He only needed access to the Hogwarts library for a little longer, and then he would have what he needed. Then he'd never have to see any of them again.

***

The first time he had visited the Room of Requirement after the Fiendfyre incident, he had been astonished to see that it remained in tact. Almost like the Room had healed itself, repairing the scorched walls brick by brick.

He didn't care how it had happened; he was only pleased that it had. He sat down on the floor and piled the library books in front of him, one by one.

Away from judgemental eyes, he removed his robes, enjoying the free sensation of his new clothing.

He opened the first book to his marker and muttered the spell to himself until he felt he had it perfectly memorised. He held out his left forearm and began to cast.

It only took five minutes before he passed out from the pain.

***

The second time he tried, he lasted ten minutes until he had to throw the wand away. It clattered against the stone floor, and to his horror he found himself bursting into tears. He dropped his head into his hands and wept.

A noise made him look up, and of course it was fucking Potter.

"What the hell do you want?" he spat, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and ignoring how wet it felt.

Potter stared at him, his eyes wide as he looked from Draco to the wand on the floor and back again. His eyes fell to the blood and ink dripping from Draco's arm. He made a small noise, like understanding.

Then, very slowly, he knelt on the ground in front of Draco.

"You need to heal as you're going," he said quietly, as if afraid he would spook Draco into running away. He lifted his wand questioningly. "I can help?"

Draco stared at him. "Why would I want your help?" he finally managed to say, twisting his mouth into a sneer.

Potter's lips twitched, almost like he was about to laugh. "Because I'm really good at this," he said simply.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could say anything, Potter had Draco's wrist in his hand and was muttering an incantation under his breath.

Draco nearly snatched his arm back, but the magic flowing over his arm felt so soothing – so blessedly soft and healing – that he stopped.

"What were you drawing?" Potter asked, still in the quiet voice, like he was talking to a wounded animal.

Draco paused. It felt embarrassing to say out loud. Potter looked up at him, waiting patiently. "A dragon," he finally muttered. "I've got a picture."

Draco flipped one of the other books open to his marker and moved it in front of the brunette.

Quietly, Harry Potter began to tattoo over Draco's Dark Mark.

Draco was amazed at just how different it felt to his own attempts. He had been carving the skin into a new design; Potter was gently adjusting it, healing as he went.

His healing spells sent shivers all through Draco's body.

"I like your jeans," Potter said, a small smirk on his lips.

Draco inwardly cursed, realising belatedly that of course he wasn't wearing his robes. He supposed Potter had already seen him crying - he couldn't fall any lower.

"It's what I'm going to have to wear soon enough," he said airily.

"Why?"

Draco glared at Potter, who hadn't even looked up. "Because I'm going to leave Hogwarts and go live with muggles," he said through gritted teeth.

Potter paused for a second, though he kept his eyes on Draco's arm. "You're not going to get your NEWTS?" He resumed the spell.

"No."

"Then why come back?"

"Because at the start I intended to get them, you idiot," Draco snapped.

Potter snorted.

Draco lifted his other hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "But then... Well, it hasn't quite been the experience I had thought it would be."

"Maybe if you wore your robes open, that might change."

Draco raised one eyebrow. "Yes, because everyone is so willing to see that I've changed. They're just so happy and welcoming." He looked away, waiting for Potter to laugh. He would have laughed, in Potter's position.

Potter looked up and frowned, lowering his wand. "You haven't shown anyone that you've changed."

"No one's let me." I'm not good enough.

He waited for Potter to see through the lie, to see how impossible it was for Draco to do this. To start again, with everything that he had done. He waited for Potter to laugh in his face, and tell him how worthless he really was.

Instead, Potter looked thoughtful. With a shock, Draco realised Potter was slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth across Draco's wrist. He stiffened, unwilling to admit how nice it felt.

"Perhaps this will change their mind," Potter finally said with a smile, letting go of Draco's wrist.

Draco looked down in surprise. His lips parted, but no words escaped them. It was perfect.

"So, will you give it another chance?" Potter asked, leaning back on his hands.

Draco stared at him. After a pause, he huffed a laugh, surprising himself as well as Potter.

"Maybe," he said, looking down at his forearm, turning it around to admire the dragon from every angle. It really was exceptional. "How did you get so good at this, Potter?" he asked reluctantly.

Potter – the arsehat – smirked and stood up. "Maybe I'll show you later."