Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  J.K.R is God. Don't sue, I'm broke from watching the movie 7 times already. I plead temporary insanity.

Author's note
This part is mainly flashbacks. Took me ages to write it even though it's nothing much. Evil writer's block. But Elise and Krissy were the perfect muses. :) As always, this is dedicated to all at #malfoymanor who are planning a takeover at the premiere of CoS *grins* ((hugs to Krissy, Kissaki, Libby, Rube, Abaddon, Ivy, Kickflaw, Morrigan, Erin, Cassie, missmole, starkiller))

Dragons exist only in fairytales

Part 2

By Altricial

       

Hogwarts 5th Year:

Harry curled up behind a giant wooden crate and pulled off his Invisibility Cloak. Folding the silky material into a bundle somewhat resembling a pillow, he rested it against the wall and leaned back into the glowering night. He closed his eyes, shutting out the unsettling gloom that has been licking at the brim of his sanity for days on end.

He breathed in the musky air and willed himself to relax. The atmosphere smelled of melted fudge and fluffy sugar cubes, reeking of happiness robbed from him too soon. It reminded him of a time when all was well.

He had lied when he told others that all he could remember of his tragic past was a flash of sinister green. He remembered the scent of what it was like to feel safe. Chocolates and peppermint. He used to dream of two pairs of arms cradling him away from the harsh savageries of life he wasn't ready for.

But he knew they weren't just dreams; they were visions of a blissful past, of when he still had parents to call his own. Glimpses of doting green eyes and caresses of cocoa-scented auburn hair, nuzzling against his cheeks, whispering promises of love he now ached to hear. He's still too young to know of the evil that lurks beyond the innocence of a boy's mind, but that didn't stop Voldemort from hunting him down, subjecting him to a fate worse than hell.

Harry was only fourteen when he knew what it was like to have a friend die in his arms and to live with the consequences and guilt that everything happened purely because he didn't die when he was supposed to. This was his punishment for cheating Death. Only fourteen and already a murderer. When it all becomes too much to bear, he retreats to his sanctuary of candy-coated memories, right here in the cellar of Honeydukes.

That's what he had been doing every night for the past months. After a day of pretending he wasn't close to hanging himself from the Whomping Willow, Harry would wait till Ron was sound asleep before making his way down the secret tunnel behind the statues of that hunch-back witch, over the trap door and into the cellar of Honeydukes.

He couldn't remember the last time he had been granted the luxury of sleep. He tried. But whenever he closed his weary eyes, the image of Cedric's lifeless body ate him alive. Sequences of that ill-fated day would play itself over and over again in his consciousness, each time with a different end. A happy end. Where Harry would think of the innumerable ways in which he could have done something, anything, different to bring Cedric back as the rightful Hogwarts champion. But this futile mind game did nothing more than add to his self-loathe and helplessness.

So he escaped into his little sanctuary, right here among the sweet fragrance of magical candies and shadows of his parents' embrace. He would sit here, night after night, fighting for a moment's peace and hanging on to the fast-fading memories of his mother's comforting voice and minty breath, telling him everything will be all right.

Nothing will ever be right again.

But for a few hours every night, he could pretend to smile again.

A slight creek of the trap door followed by the soft ruffling of what sounded like angel wings brought Harry out from his deep lonely trance. An invisible presence aggravated the still of the night and settled itself next to Harry. Somebody was in the cellar with him. But it's okay. He knew who it was.

"You're late, Malfoy."

"Crabbe found a note from Pansy in Goyle's drawer addressed to 'Goylie Baby' with a disturbing request to 'explore her pink parts tonight'. Crabbe was quite beside himself laughing when he showed it to me. Had to wait till he finally calmed down long enough to go to bed before I could leave. Reckon he's still rolling in his sleep."

Harry half-cringed and snorted, "I really didn't need to know that."

The other boy folded his own Invisibility Cloak ('What? Surprised? There isn't much on earth that a Malfoy can't afford.') and propped himself up comfortably against the wall next to Harry, like it was the most natural thing to be in such close proximity with his nemesis, without the slightest tinge of awkwardness.

Then again, they weren't exactly enemies now, were they?

One day, about a month ago, Draco had sneaked out in the middle of the night to clear his head after receiving a particularly disheartening letter from his father when he had spotted a floating lantern and a worn map suspended peculiarly in mid-space, disappearing behind the statue of a hump-backed witch. He knew it had to be Harry. Partly because he knew there were only two people in Hogwarts who felt they were above rules, Harry Potter and himself, and mostly because he can feel Harry from a mile away.

Yes, he can feel the vibes from the other boy, almost as if his senses have been tuned to act as radar for Harry. Maybe that's an instinctive skill acquired when one spent a good part of five years just watching and anticipating another's move. More disturbingly, he knew Harry could sense his Malfoy vibes too.

It showed during Quidditch.

The shrill tension during Slytherin versus Gryffindor matches was not just because of the open animosity between the houses but also because of the breath-stopping battle of the opposing Seekers. No doubt, Harry had more than a mere knack for flying, although Draco would rather very gladly eat one of Hagrid's vicious Blast-ended Skrewts than admit that; but Draco was a brilliant flier as well. Their synchrony of skills in the air was a beauty in itself; the way they played on each other's moves, almost like they were telepathically linked in more ways than one.

The only dynamic that gave Harry the upper hand in the games was his seemingly suicidal determination in catching the snitch. Draco flew with calculated grace. Harry flew with reckless abandonment. It wasn't at all a demanding request for Harry to win the game or literally die trying. Draco, on the other hand, is too much of a Slytherin to die for a shiny ball with wings. Not surprisingly, when Draco had witnessed the hovering lantern in the ungodly hours of the night, he did what he had to do.

He followed Harry.

When you hear temptation call
It's your heart that takes, takes the fall
(Won't you come out and play with me)

The biggest fight in the history of Hogwarts broke out right there in the cellar of Honeydukes that very night. To put it simply, Harry wasn't the least pleased to have his haven intruded by the last person he wanted to see when he was at the brink of tears. Draco didn't fancy getting shouted at when the reason why he was out wandering alone was to escape the sinking realization that try as he might, he would forever remain a disappointment to Lucius Malfoy.

Insults ensued, malicious and biting, followed by an unexpected outpour of pent-up grievances and unresolved frustrations from both ends of the embittered spectrum encasing the emotional turmoil emitting within bitter rivals. The final show down between good and evil ended on a silent but mutual understanding that life wasn't meant to be lived in black and white. It's the greys that matter. That night they knew. The Golden Boy of Gryffindor and the Prince of Slytherin weren't that different after all.

They're both broken inside, with more demons than they should bear and nowhere to hide.

And the last person, whom they had expected to seek solace in, is the only one who understands what it meant to be cursed with a fate you can't control.

Since that momentous night, both of them have been meeting here, without fail, in their secret hideout by the strike of midnight. By day, they carried on the act of antagonists simply because they understood the unspoken fact that societal demands are ruled by superficiality. The school needed them to hate each other to function and so they staged a compelling show for the benefit of others.

But by night, they met for each other.

Step by step, heart to heart
Left right left, we all fall down
Like toy soldiers
Bit by bit, torn apart
We never win but the battle rages on
For toy soldiers.

Sometimes they would talk, peeling off layers of themselves, laying raw wounds bare for the other to heal. Wounds that everyone else seemed to flinch upon sight. Other times they would just sit in companionable silence, lost in thoughts of fruitless fantasies. Night after night, two torn souls shared a little bit of themselves, quietly feeding off each other's strength to go on pretending it is all right to live in a world without hope.

"Alright there, Potter?"

"Been better, you?"

Harry watched him intently, feeling the unfamiliar yet reserved concern for and from the other boy.

"Likewise."

"Although I don't exactly remember what it means to be better."

"What's that Muggle saying? 'What can't kill you only makes you stronger?'"

"Yeah, I'm really strong, Malfoy. Hiding behind a bloody sweet shop every night, with the biggest prat to ever walk this earth no less, cowering from Voldemort. Yeah, not pathetic at all."

"It's not pathetic," Draco stated matter-of-factly. After a pause, with amusement laced in his voice, he asked, "You still think I'm the resident prat?"

"No." That came out before Harry had the time to register the question. Judging from Draco's goldfish impression, Harry wasn't the only one caught off guard by this rather interesting revelation with an appealing shock value.

"What changed?"

"Nothing. I'm just too tired to fight anymore. And I guess...I knew. I know you're human after all. Don't have to look so offended, Malfoy."

"I'm not. But I resent that. Emotions make you human but emotions make you weak. My father frowns upon such potent character flaws."

"Hate to break the news to you but Lucius is an arrogant, insufferable git. Nothing personal." Such blatant honesty was nothing new to them. It was what bonded them together with such unquestionable trust that would never have been established with anyone else in their lives. Harry turned towards Draco's impassive face, "What's it like having parents?"

"Hah. I'm not the best person to answer that, am I?" Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Your parents died for you, Potter. And you know they'd have been proud to know their son is Hogwarts’ biggest sensation. My parents wished I was never born." Too jaded to be bitter, but the resigned defeat in his laugh was heart breaking. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't. They love me. They do. Only because I'm their only son. I'm just...not enough."

"That's not true. Stop that self-pitying act. Doesn't look good on you. You've tried your best, you've always did. I'm sorry I didn't get to know you earlier." Harry's head was spinning but he couldn't stop himself from saying more than he probably should. "For what it's worth, I'm proud..." Stop, stop, stop. "To have you as...my friend."

A pregnant silence. Harry fidgeted nervously, not daring to meet Draco's eyes. Then Draco smiled. A real smile, not a trace of that sardonic sneer in sight. He smiled for Harry and that in itself meant more to Harry than he ever imagined it should.

"I worry about your sanity sometimes. Wait, make that all the time." The radiant smile didn't show signs of fading. "Thanks and...sorry. You know, for everything." He whispered just enough for Harry to hear. Because Malfoys don't say sorry. "Means a lot, Harry."

"On first name basis now, are we? It's about time," Finally mastering enough courage, Harry looked into Draco's stormy greys. The best friend he never knew he had sheepishly looked away and busied himself with a sudden interest with the hem of his designer silk pyjamas pants. "Draco."

"Harry."

It was something new but both boys quickly decided they liked the sound of it. Tearing his attention away from his clothes hem, Draco looked back up at Harry and rewarded his friend with a loop-sided goofy grin, which was promptly returned by a mega-watt beam from Harry. They shared a rare, much overdue laugh.

A rift from the past started to close up and healed itself.

"Want to see something?"

Draco pulled out his wand from his robe pocket. "Ostendo somnium." An orb of swirly translucent colours materialised out of thin air. Bigger and bigger it grew, basking the room in its poignant gamut of illumining splendour, until ghosts of images can be seen within the pool of multi-coloured depth.

"I had a dream," Draco said and looked decidedly shy, twirling his wand gently. "About you."

"Show me."

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