Saving Myself || A Drarry Story

L: Harry's Secret

Harry wiped at his face, listening to Draco make soothing sounds in his ear. "Draco, " he asked, "remember when I told you that my sister got sick?"

Draco said, "Yeah, why?"

Harry disconnected himself from Draco, pressing his back against the wall. He wiped his face again, confessing, "I lied. She never got sick."

Draco touched his arm but was hurt when Harry shrank away from him. "Harry?"

With a shake of his head, Harry turned away. "I lied, " he repeated. "I lied."

"Harry, " Draco pleaded softly. "Tell me what happened, "

Harry sniffled, scratching the back of his hand, breaking the skin until it bled. "It was all my fault, man." Harry whimpered before Draco tried touching him again. With an annoyed groan, Harry shrugged him off.

"I was eight, and she was six, " Harry told him, looking down in shame.

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Harry was eight, and she was six, just a year after his father had found out about him liking blokes. In his room, away from the prying eyes of his father, Harry was lying on his stomach atop his bed.

He was pretending to read a book that his father had given him, but he was really looking at a Muggle magazine filled with models that the tiny Harry marvelled at. They weren't lewd or inappropriate, but he knew his father would still say they were.

He, as a child, liked to look at the models and how they seemed so professional. He smiled as he looked at them, not really understanding what he was doing, but he knew it was wrong.

Since his magazine was taking up every ounce of his attention, every ounce of his attention deficit hyperactivity, he didn't hear his door open. He didn't hear his younger sister walk in and look over his shoulder, frowning at what he was gazing at.

"Daddy said not to do that anymore."

The younger Harry started, clutching the flimsy, waxy paper to his chest, his heart pounding. "You can't tell, Nathalie!"

She laughed at her brother's worry, saying, "You're going to get in trouble!"

"Don't you dare!" Harry shouted. Even then, he got angry easier that his sister, making her laugh and poke fun at him.

She was the devil, in Harry's opinion. With her dark red hair and hazel eyes, Nathalie Potter was a pretty kid. Harry thought so as well, but he would never have admitted it.

Harry threw the magazine down as Nathalie ran out of his room, cackling like the little which she was. "I'm telling Daddy!" she sang, "I'm telling Dad!"

"Nathalie, don't you dare!" he yelled after her, chasing her down the long corridor. When she got to the top of the stair landings, Harry caught up with her, saying in a slow, dangerous voice, "Take another step. Do it."

She grinned and started to make her way down the long, spiral stairs.

She wants to get me in trouble, Harry thought as he stepped toward her. She wants Father to hit me.

Harry, seeing red, put his hands out as his sister turned around, her hazel eyes wide and her mouth open in a silent scream.

Harry shoved her. And Nathalie Jane Potter fell down the stairs, hitting her head several times as she descended. Harry stood with his arms still outstretched, his hands shaking as he watched silently as his sister tumbled down the stairs, her body going limp halfway down.

With a shaky breath, an eight-year-old Harry saw the large dent in his sister's head. He watched and listened as she groaned his name, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. He watched as she struggled to keep her eyes open and her chest rattled with heavy breaths.

He watched as his mother ran from where she was, screaming and sobbing as his father tried doing everything he could with his wand.

And, when the light faded from Nathalie's eyes and his mother let out a blood-curdling wail, Harry went back to his room, shutting his door and leaning against it.

He took a deep breath. One. Two. Three.

And he went back to his bed, flipping through the magazine as if nothing had happened.

As if an eight-year-old hadn't killed his sister. As if he couldn't hear Mum screaming and wailing downstairs. As if nothing had happened.

When Draco looked down at Harry, he was silently crying, his body seemingly acting on its own accord.

"I killed her, " Harry finished quietly, not turning his head to face Draco.

Draco told him, "You were a kid. Kids get angry, love."

Harry faced him fiercely, saying, "Kids don't murder their sisters."

Murder, Draco repeated in his mind. The very word sent a shiver up his spine. Should Harry really be held responsible for an accident? He was a child, was he not?

"It was an accident, " Draco repeated quietly. "A freak accident."

Harry turned and, almost instantly turned to face Draco again. Was it the way the bed seemed to shift just a bit that made him look? Was it the way Draco's breath seemed to rattle in his chest? Or was it the way he made a soft whooo sound between his teeth?

But, when Harry did look back, Draco was wiping at his stormy blue eyes. For a moment, Harry was shocked; the blonde boy had never cried openly with or near him. He was the one comforting Harry. He was the strong one, always helping Harry no matter what they did.

In a flash, his mind wandered to Draco's sly, euphoric grin and the ghost of some warm, nauseatingly sweet feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mind wandered to when Draco's arm we're on either side of his head, his hands in his hair and his lips catching Harry's ear as he whispered, Let me help you.

"Draco---" Harry started, but he couldn't figure out what to say. He didn't know how to comfort somebody. "Draco . . ." he tried again, ". . .Draco, I'm not sure what to say."

"Say you aren't guilty, " Draco whispered, salty tears rushing down his skin. "Say it and I'll believe you."

Harry swallowed. "I don't think I can."

"It wasn't your fault, " Draco whispered, watching as Harry internally struggled.

"I'm . . .I'm not guilty?" Harry asked in a housed voice. "I'm not to be held responsible for what happened?"

Draco shook his head. "You were a kid. Kids make mistakes. Kids hurt people. Kids---"

"Don't kill people, " Harry finished quietly.

"---can't be responsible for the wrong they did before they know what they're doing."

Harry was quiet for a moment before reaching out and brushing Draco's tears away, telling him, "I can't. I'll always feel like this. There's no changing it. But, " he said, "but I feel better with you. Like I . . .like I can't do anything wrong. Like I'm not a freak---"

Draco pressed his body against Harry's, whispering, "Don't call yourself that. Don't you dare, Harry Potter."

Harry sighed against the solidity of Draco's body, not quite knowing what to do, but doing something all the same. He kissed Draco, his lips searching, fleeting for just a bit of contact from Draco's.

He loved Draco. He loved Harry. What more could they say?

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