Work Text:
The leather is cold from the fall air drifting in through the window. Harry sits, inhaling the scent of fresh rain and and the mint plants that hang outside his window.
He set the last of the papers he has to grade in front of him. He’s just convinced himself to quit gazing out the window daydreaming about a certain blonde boy - who he should most certainly not daydream about - when a small, emerald green projectile rockets through his window and bounces onto the table.
Harry stares at it, glances at the window, and decides to look closer at the dripping wet bundle on his desk.
He’s just leaned in closer, pushing his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, when the object moves. No, not moves... stretches.
It’s a dragon! A miniature green dragon, like the one he had in fourth year!
The dragon stretches further and then quickly shrinks back into himself, squawking in pain. Harry looks closer and see a thick scratch in the little wings of the creature and frowns. He’d better help this little guy.
After rummaging through his apartment for what little medical supplies he has, Harry comes back to find the dragon is gone. At first, he’s worried, but then he sees the small creature attempting to crawl under his chair and hide. He chuckles and gets on his hands and knees, lowering himself to eye-level with the dragon. He smiles, and it spits a measles attempt at fire at him before coughing.
He must’ve gotten a cold, Harry thinks. He rings Charlie, Ron’s older brother, so see what he should do.
A half hour later he’s managed to mix up an animal-safe healing draught, although he’s covered in little dragon scratches as well.
Apparently this dragon has something against him, because it makes every attempt to flee the safety of Harry’s apartment. Neville told him not to let it out, especially not in Muggle London. Why was a baby dragon in Muggle London anyway?
Getting a dragon to drink something is much harder than it sounds, by the way. This sneaky little bastard escapes Harry’s grasp multiple times before he finally grabs it by the scruff of the neck - because apparently baby dragons have those just like cats - and force most of the elixir down it’s throat.
After coughing and sputtering, the dragon looks up at Harry angrily, like it’s upset that Harry’s trying to help it. Harry looks deep into it’s gray eyes, and they seem almost... familiar? No, that can’t be right.
But Harry doesn’t get much more of a chance to look at them, because it’s eyes flutter closed and it collapses in a sleepy pile. He must’ve added too much of something and put the dragon to sleep...
Harry stands up from his desk and moves to his bed, where he lays down. He should definitely go to sleep, but he looks over at the dragon and feels bad for it. It’s injured and that crumpled position can’t possibly be comfortable.
So he rises and lifts the dragon into his arms, setting it gently onto the pillow beside him. That’s better, he thinks.
He lays down, facing the dragon, and gently pets its head before closing his eyes. He falls asleep faster than he has in a while, the soft smell of rain and peppermint lulling him to sleep. He barely had time to wonder where it’s coming from before drifting off.
•••
Draco wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and shooting pains throughout his body.
Shit , he thinks.
He really should get up and look for his healing potions, but his bed is so warm and smells so good... like wood and chocolate. He feels the warmth close securely around him and lets himself be pulled in.
And then the warmth behind him sneezes. He’s frozen in place, eyes wide open.
The warmth - presumably a body - behind him stiffens, and Draco shoots bolt upright in bed despite the pain that sears through every muscle in his body. Glancing around wildly, he realizes that he is not, in fact, in his bed. He’s in someone else’s bed. Good Merlin, what did he do last night?
He remember checking the calendar and realizing what day it was, spiraling into a panic attack, and then... *he transformed*. Shit.
He must’ve taken his animagus form and flown off somewhere and gotten lost. But why would he be in pain?
He tries to think back to his dragon memories, but they’re always foggy when he transforms back. He remembers wanting to *feel* something other than pain. He wanted a thrill.
It hits him that he pushed himself too far. He must’ve tried to go even smaller than normal. That must be why his muscles feel like they’re imploding with cold fire.
He comes back to the present when the body behind him sits up. He whips around, again ignoring the pain, and finds himself facing Harry Potter. His crush.
Obviously, the universe is out to get him.
“Potter? What the fuck?” He says, confused as all hell and trying to come up with an explanation - any explanation - for what he’s doing there.
“What did you do with my bloody dragon?” Is the response he gets, which absolutely does not help.
“Dragon? Potter, I’m in your bed, I have no clue how I got here, and you’re worried about a dragon?” He deflects.
Harry’s expression settles into confusion. “Er- true- what *are* you doing in my bed? How did you get past my wards and get into my bed without waking me up? Actually, here’s a better question: *why*?!”
Now he’s asking the right things. Sometimes it takes Harry a moment to get his head on straight. Draco hates that he finds it adorable.
“I don’t know why I’m here, you daft walnut. I have no recollection of coming here at all. Quite frankly, I don’t really want to know why I’m here,” he lied. He very much did want to figure out what the bloody fuck happened to land him in the bed of his enemy-turned-secret-crush, but he wasn’t about to let Harry know that.
He makes a move to get out of bed, pushing the covers off his lap, but he quickly yanks them back up. For the love of Merlin, why is he *naked*?
Harry seems to have realized this as well, because his face turns a fantastic shade of Weasley red and he stumbles out of bed to his desk, where he tosses Draco a bathrobe.
Draco grimaces as he catches it. He’s got to go home and fix himself up.
He wraps the bathrobe around him, enduring the pain - he’s been though worse anyway - and stands up awkwardly.
Then he collapses.
•••
Harry watches Draco’s body his the floor like an attractive sack of potatoes. So many questions are whirling through his mind, but he pushes them away. His main focus is making sure that Draco is okay.
He rushes over to the still body and lifts his head into his lap. He doesn’t have a clue what to do.
He summons a basic healing draught and drips it between Draco’s lips, not knowing what else to do. Then he lifts the unconscious blonde onto his bed and sets him down gently.
Harry stands there for a moment, watching Draco lay in his bed. If it weren’t for the fact that he was unconscious and obviously in quite a bit of pain, he’d be rather adorable. *Stop it*, he chastises himself.
He puts an alert charm on Draco so he’ll know when he wakes up and walks to the kitchen. He feels odd.
He’s obviously concerned for Draco, but he doesn’t have an ounce of healing g experience and doesn’t really know anyone who does, aside from Draco himself. Which isn’t helpful at the moment for obvious reasons.
But on top of being worried, he’s also panicking for himself. He manages to get by teaching at the same school as Draco for two entire years without an incident, his ever-growing crush hurting him more than helping, and suddenly Draco’s in his apartment.
And he still can’t find that injured dragon.
A memory shoots through his mind from the previous night. The dragon had gentle grey eyes that looked oddly familiar... Draco’s eyes. Is Draco the dragon?
Harry laughs. That would be rather ironic, considering his name means dragon. Though, it makes sense.
But what was Draco doing flying through Muggle London?
His wand illuminates in a soft golden light on the counter and Harry rushes to his bedroom, where Draco is lying awake. He tries to sit up and falls right back down, groaning.
“Lay back.”
“Really? I hadn’t thought of that,” Draco quips weakly. His voice is hoarse and he coughs.
“How did you get hurt, Malfoy? How can I help?”
“Well, don’t you ask a lot of questions,” he tries again, with no effect.
Harry gives him a look. “I’m sirius, Malfoy. You’re obviously in a lot of pain and I don’t know an ounce about healing so tell me what you need.”
Draco begins to sigh, but he ends up in a coughing fit.
“It’s fine, I just need to get home-“ he tries to sit up again and grimaces.
“Draco bloody Malfoy, you’re not fine. You’re in no condition to travel so just let me help you! As soon as you can walk by yourself you can go home.”. Harry doesn’t want him to go home, but Malfoy obviously doesn’t want to be here. The thought that Malfoy still hates him makes his stomach churn. He hopes it doesn’t show.
After a moment, Draco concedes. “Fine. Get me some marigold essence, base liquid, and a cauldron.”
Harry frowns. “Are you going to brew it?”
“Obviously. Your potions skills are worse than your deduction skills, and that’s saying something. No way I’m letting you brew anything that’s going in my body.”
Harry gives him a look and Draco laughs. Actually laughs. granted, he coughs afterwards, but for that moment that his laughter rang through the air, Harry knew he was in deep.
“Well I’m not letting you brew it, and you’re not letting me brew it, so why don’t you just let me pop off to the market and buy the potion you need?”
Draco’s expression turns fearful. “No! I mean- no. you can’t buy what I need. If it means you don’t go to the market, you can brew it.”
His voice is shaky and he’s pale. Harry wonders why Draco would be so afraid at the thought of going to the market, but he decides that’s a problem for later. Right now, he needs to brew a potion.
•••
“No, I said mince, not dice. Good heavens, no wonder you were so bad at potions,” Draco mumbles. But there’s no bite to his words. In fact, he’s having a rather good time watching Potter flail around like a fish out of water. It’s endearing.
“There’s no difference!” Harry exclaims, and Draco laughs again. He’s been doing that a lot today.
“Yes there is. Dicing is in cubes, mincing is so small that you can’t tell what bloody shape it’s in. Start again.”
Harry has set up a makeshift table beside his bed, working on brewing so Draco can watch him. They managed to get him sitting upright, leaning against the headboard, but other than that, Draco can’t really move.
“Alright, they’re minced. What’s next?”
“Sprinkle them into the cauldron in a circular motion, counterclockwise. It should turn pale pink. If it doesn’t, you’ve done something wrong.”
Harry inhales, and Draco can tell that Harry’s really trying to make it right. A smile almost forms on his lips. Almost.
To his and Harry’s surprise, the potion does fade into a pale pink. In fact... it looks rather perfect.
“Are we done?”
“Yes, and you’ve managed to do it all wrong,” Draco teases.
“Really?”
He smiles. “No, idiot, it’s perfect. I’m rather impressed, actually.”
The look of relief on Harry’s face is comical.
“Alright, now pour some of it into a cup and give it to me. I’d like to not be in pain anymore, thankyouverymuch.”
Soon, Draco has a teacup full of the cool liquid sliding smoothly down his throat, filling his mouth with the soft taste of rose petals. He can already feel the potion coursing through his veins, numbing the pain and healing the cells. He sighs gratefully.
“Is it working?” Harry’s voice startles Draco out of his bliss.
“It’s working, alright. Thank you,” he says. He doesn’t even realize he’s apologized to Harry until he sees the shocked look on his face.
“Yes, I do have manners. Just because you’ve never given me a reason to use them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” he attempts to save himself. The truth is, he’s just grateful Harry is talking to him.
Teaching at the same school as the boy you’ve had a crush on since 6th year is a rather difficult task. He’s dreamt up so many ways to start up a conversation, to try again, but he never goes through with them. Always a fantasy.
But now here he is, laying in Harry’s bed, locking eyes with the black-haired boy. They hold each other’s glance for a moment and Draco’s heart race skyrockets. He forces himself to look away.
“Er- do you need anything? I can get you some food, or tea, or-“ Harry is interrupted by Draco’s stomach growling embarrassingly loudly. He blushes.
“Sounds like you’re hungry. What do you want me to make?”
“You don’t have to make me anything. I’m better now, I can go home-“ but as he moves to get out of bed he grimaces.
“You’re not better. Now tell me what you want for lunch.”
He sighs. It’s going to be a long day...
•••
“You’ve got to admit though, he did a good job. Lucy totally fell for it!” Harry says, recounting an incident between their students.
“That’s true, it was rather hilarious. You know, after her skin changed back from blue.”
They both laugh. Surprisingly, Draco is easy to talk to. Harry has envisioned many ways in which their first date could go down, and this was certainly not one of them. But he’s not complaining.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” Draco replies, grinning.
Harry rolls his eyes. “Earlier, you didn’t want me to go to the market to get your potions. Why?”
Draco’s face falls, and Harry can almost feel him putting the walls back up.
“No reason. I just... don’t like market potions. I prefer to make my own. You never know, they could be laced or poisoned.”
Harry sees right through this rather pathetic attempt at a lie and cocks his head.
“Okay, now tell me again, but this time no bs.”
Draco sighs. He looks like he’s going to brush it off, but then a look crosses his face that Harry can’t quite read.
“Mine work better. I make my own because they’re more effective than the ones in the shops.”
“Really?”
“I’ve been affected in ways many wizards have not, both mentally and physically. I find that common potions don’t have any effect on me. So I have to make my own,” he finishes rather sadly.
“That’s incredible, Draco!” The name slips out of Harry’s mouth before he can stop himself, and his heart skips a beat.
Luckily, Draco doesn’t seem to care, too lost in his mind to give it a second thought. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Why aren’t you happy? You don’t seem proud of yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
There’s a pause where Draco seems to be choosing his next words carefully.
“Every time I brew myself a potion, it reminds me of *why* I have to brew it. Because I’m not normal. Because I was... I don’t want to think about it, but more often than not I have to.”
Harry nods in understanding. It’s not really a secret that Draco‘s father abused him and let Voldemort torture him. He knows how it feels.
“But why look at it like that when you could see it differently? Think of how incredible it is that you’ve brewed potions to suit your specific needs. Imagine how many people out there don’t take well to the common potions and nothing can help them. You could though!”
Draco seems to consider this, so Harry continues.
“I mean, I know that dreamless sleep potions have no effect on me. They haven’t since fifth year. And there aren’t any potions to help PTSD, which a lot of our generation suffers from. Draco, you could help people with your potions.”
Draco looks up, for once, shyly. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course! You’ve always had a gift for potions. This is incredible. You could begin an entirely new age of healing.”
Harry reaches out, putting his hand over Draco’s. They both look down, Harry’s eyes go wide, and he yanks his hand back. Draco looks almost... disappointed? No, that can’t be right.
“I’ll... I’ll consider that,” he says, truth ringing in his voice.
They sit in silence for a moment, still trying to comprehend what Harry had done. What was thinking? He can’t just hold Draco’s hand, that’s incredibly weird.
“Potter- er- Harry?” Draco says quietly.
Harry turns to face him, little fireworks starting in his chest at Draco saying his first name.
“Yeah?”
“You can put your hand back,” he mumbles.
Harry blanks, and then realizes what he’s saying. Tentatively, and confusedly, he reaches out and covers Draco’s hand with his own. They sit like this for a little bit, both leaning back against Harry’s headboard.
At first, it’s terrifying and awkward. But then they relax, and Draco flips his hand over so that their fingers lace together.
Harry can’t stop his mind focusing on how their hands feel together, wondering if this is a dream. But Draco’s head falls gently on Harry’s shoulder, and he realizes the blonde boy has fallen asleep.
Harry beams and shifts so that Draco and him are cuddling for the second time that day.
•••
The first thing Draco thinks when he wakes up is that he can feel his body again, and breathing isn’t a struggle. He lifts his head off of Harry’s shoulder and glances outside. It’s dark.
“Mmmm... Draco, are you awake?”. Harry asks sleepily.
“Yeah. Sorry for falling asleep, the potion must’ve made me tired.”
“It’s okay. Are you er- feeling better?”
Draco feels his fingers laced between Harry’s and makes the executive decision to lie.
“A little bit, but everything hurts still. I don’t know if I can walk.”
“That’s okay. You can stay here tonight. I’ll make us some dinner and then we can sleep together.”
Harry makes to get out of bed and realizes what he said. “No! I mean- I mean you can sleep and I’ll sleep. At the same time. But we’re not- not sleeping together-“ he rambled.
Draco thinks it’s rather adorable, and must still be sleepy, for he says, “I’m too sore to sleep with you, Harry. But maybe next time.”
Harry’s face burns red and Draco grins.
A few minutes later, they’re sitting in Harry’s bed with bowls of cereal. Nothing else sounded good to Draco, and Harry seemed happy to not have to cook.
“So, tomorrow’s Sunday. Do you have anywhere you need to be? Because I can take you and make sure you’re okay, if you need it,” Harry suggests.
“No, luckily I have no plans for tomorrow. Even if I did, I think I’d have to cancel. I hurt too much.” He feels bad for lying to Harry about not feeling better, but he really doesn’t want this time to end. It’s too perfect, too fragile to risk breaking.
“That’s alright. We can sleep in, and tomorrow I’ll make you another potion.”
“Okay.”
They finish their food in silence, and Draco yawns.
“Erm- should I sleep in here? Or on the couch? I’m fine with sharing a bed but I can move if you’d like.”
Harry chuckles, blushing slightly. “You already woke up in my bed once, so I think we’ve crossed that line. You can sleep here with me.”
Draco’s heart soars. “Okay.”
That’s how Draco ends up being the little spoon for the second time that day, letting Harry’s smell of wood and magic engulf him.
He thinks about how perfect this moment is. He’s warm, he’s comfortable, he’s in the arms of the boy he has a crush on - let’s be honest, the boy he loves - and he’s *happy*. He’s truly happy.
He realizes that tomorrow it’ll have to end, and he doesn’t want that. He’s got to confess.
“Harry-“ he starts, at the same time that the dark-haired boy says “Draco-“
“Sorry, er- you first.”
“No! I interrupted you, you go.”
Draco inhales deeply. “Alright.” He realizes he doesn’t have a clue what he needs to say.
“Harry, I’m not good at erm- at emotions. So if this sounds weird, sorry. But I... you smell good!”
He feels Harry giggle. “What?”
“You just... you smell good and you’re warm and beautiful and sweet and it’s easy to talk to you and open up to you and I don’t feel this way with anyone else.” Draco’s usually eloquent demeanor has flown out the window, leaving behind the blushing bastard that is Draco Malfoy.
But what Harry says surprises Draco.
“You smell good too. You make it easy for me to talk, and I like having you in my arms. I didn’t know it before, but my amortentia... it smells like you, Draco.”
Draco is stunned. He rolls around to face Harry, as he continues. “I like you. I think I probably love you, but that’s scary so we’re not going to go there yet. But, erm... if you like me too, which it sounds like you do, I’d be pretty happy.”
Draco’s heart soars, and he can’t believe his luck. He doesn’t know how to respond, so he just brushes his lips against Harry’s and smiles.
“And I know you’re the dragon, goofball. I expect you to tell me about that at some point,” Harry mumbles into his mouth.
“Okay.”
They stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and kissing softly and innocently. When Draco falls asleep, he knows he safe, and he knows the nightmares won’t come, because he’s with Harry.