Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Moonlight streamed through the window, painting the cozy room in a soft, ethereal glow. That was the one good thing about living on the Eighth floor; it made one feel as though the boundless sky was within reach.

Draco leaned against the headboard and watched idly as dust motes danced and twirled in the faint light cast by the fading embers of the fireplace. A soft sigh brought his attention back to the comforting warmth pressed against his leg. Draco glanced down; the taut lines of his face softening. He brought his hand up to brush a lock of jet-black hair off of the sleeping boy's face, exposing fine features and that famous scar. Draco gently traced it, marveling at how such a small thing—a thin, jagged line—could define the life of one boy, forcibly molding him, pushing him down a path he had no other choice but to follow. It was a symbol of Harry's sacrifice, noble and selfless.

Draco continued to tenderly stroke Harry's hair, smiling as the other boy pressed his face against Draco's hip, murmuring something unintelligible. Draco shifted his gaze to his own mark, where it hid in plain sight, disguised by a deceptively beautiful tattoo. Much like Harry, he also couldn't escape the permanent brand that marred his skin. It defined who he was; forever reminding him of his arrogance, his mistakes, his fear, and all the wrong decisions he had made. It was a symbol of his cowardice.

They were two sides of the same coin.

Draco sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back. He was bone-weary but sleep had continued to evade him.

One week left.

He hasn't had a good night's rest since his visit to his mother. A scant few hours here and there was all he could manage. Dark bruises now coloured the pale skin underneath his eyes. He had barely recovered from his mercifully short stay in Azkaban when the School Year had started, but now he looked no better than he did back in Sixth Year. Perhaps, even worse. Glamour Charms had been the only thing that kept Harry and his friends blissfully ignorant.

Draco had spoken not a single word of his forthcoming exile. He had diligently kept to his usual routine. Harry, though, had surprisingly picked up on a few things. Hanging around Hermione had certainly done wonders for his perceptual skills. Or perhaps it was just because he knew Draco too well. With great effort, Draco had reassured Harry that it was nothing more than the usual shit that they'd had to deal with. Things had, after all, escalated rather spectacularly the past few days. And to his relief, Harry had seemed to accept this reasoning and hadn't questioned him again.

Over the course of the week, Draco rarely found himself alone. One of his friends was constantly with him. Even the Gryffindors seemed to be in on it. It was like guard duty and they did it by shifts. Draco wasn't entirely sure if it annoyed him, amused him, or if it warmed the cockles of his heart. Perhaps, all of the above. Draco knew they did it for Harry's peace of mind. Since Harry couldn't physically be with Draco during the day, his friends assumed the responsibility of keeping Draco safe. Bloody noble Gryffindors.

Despite his silence though, Draco knew he had to tell someone. Somebody who would be there for Harry once Draco was gone; who would keep Harry in line once the reason for Draco's abrupt departure came to light. Draco didn't doubt that his reckless Gryffindor would more than likely end up doing something incredibly stupid.

There was only one such person in Draco's mind: Hermione Granger.

She would no doubt manage to keep Harry from doing something he would undoubtedly regret. Draco would need to speak with her in private. It was time to prepare himself for the inevitable. He had put everything off long enough. The fragile bubble of security Harry had built around them would soon burst and none of them could stop the coming tide. It would sweep through them and destroy everything.