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Draco still didn’t understand how they’d been paired together. The head of their department said it was because their magic was compatible in a way he hadn’t seen in decades, and they were the best curse-breakers in the division- it only made sense for them to be together.
Draco disagreed. Draco strongly disagreed.
But they’d been working together for a few months now and had reached some sort of an understanding. Still, understanding or not, Draco was not pleased at the prospect of having to share a bed with Potter.
They had been sent out to the middle of nowhere in fucking Wales and the curse was an obstinate fucker that took almost two weeks to undo; most of which was spent squished together trying to decipher thousand year old runes in an obscure localized dialect that even Draco could barely understand. They had spent four days refusing to talk to one another after a disagreement got out of hand over whether one line spoke of blood pouring out of every orifice of your body or of some kind of weird sex ritual. Or both.
And then, once they managed to lift the bloody curse, because the universe hated Draco and desired nothing more than his complete and total ruin, an emergency assignment had come up. They weren’t even supposed to stop home to pick up fresh clothes; an owl was supposed to deliver a portkey that would take them to the next assignment posthaste.
Seeing as they were in the middle of nowhere, the portkey was supposed to be waiting for them at the closest vestige of civilization; an inn fifty kilometers away. They had to catch a ride with a sheep farmer and Draco was forced to spend the entire drive trying to keep the one of the flock from eating his sweater.
After the torturous drive they finally arrived at the inn, only to find out that the stupid owl had gotten lost and they would have no way to leave until the next day. So there they were, stranded in the middle of nowhere in fucking Wales, and the supposed “inn” they were forced into only had one room. With one bed. And Draco smelt of sheep.
He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this.
The bed was small, uncomfortable, and shoved into the corner, but unless one of them wanted to sleep on the floor, they had no choice but to share.
They would practically have to sleep on top of one another to fit in the small bed, and Draco was not going to sleep on the inside; he had no desire to spend the entire night shoved against a wall, thank you very much.
To his surprise Potter hadn’t tried to fight it; he just took his shoes off, climbed into bed without a word, and that was that. He obviously wanted the day to be over even more than Draco if he wasn’t going to put up a fight.
Despite an obligatory discomfort at the beginning, Draco was so exhausted that he fell asleep easily enough and slept well until he was woken by a loud bang.
He went for his wand on instinct, only to realize that the noise had just been Potter slamming his hand against the wall. Potter was sitting up, knees drawn to his chest, one hand sliding against the wall, while the other was clenched in his hair and muttering a chorus of “fuck” under his breath.
“Harry?” Draco asked, turning the bedside lamp on.
He had never called Harry by his first name before, but he knew that somehow it would help ground him. He was about to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, but it was becoming more obvious that he was in the middle of a panic attack and he knew from experience that it wasn’t wise to touch someone unexpectedly in such a state.
Harry started at his voice and slowly unclenched the hand from his hair. “Malfoy?” His voice was rasping and Draco almost reached for him again.
“Yes, Harry. You’re safe; everything’s okay- do you think you can breathe with me?” Draco had dealt with enough panic attacks in the aftermath of the war to know how to deal with them. He counted his breaths aloud, watching as he mirrored him, relaxing in increments.
Once his breathing was more under control Harry pushed out of the bed, and Draco had to scramble aside to avoid being knocked onto the floor.
He placed one hand against the wall and began to walk the perimeter of the room. When he reached the window he pulled it open and stood there for a few minutes, taking measured breathes. The air outside was freezing, but Draco didn’t complain.
“What was that?” he asked after Harry finished his sweep and stood in the middle of the room uncertainly.
“I have severe claustrophobia; it manifested after the war.” He grimaced, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“It’s alright.” Draco murmured, but Harry made no move to come back to bed; he just continued to stare at the ground, lost inside himself.
After a few moments Draco spoke, pulling Harry back to himself. “I’m terrified of fire. Any flame larger than a candle makes me nervous; I can barely stand to use the Floo most days.”
Harry tilted his head, studying him. He knew that Draco was talking about the Room of Requirement and the fiendfyre, Vincent Crabbe and Harry’s eleventh hour rescue, and his candidacy seemed to help.
“The muggles I grew up with hated me because I was a wizard. Of course I didn’t know that at the time, but still. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs.”
Draco was shocked; he’d always assumed Harry had grown up coddled and adored for being the Boy Who Lived, and the revelation that it wasn’t true shook him. The words ‘I’m sorry’ came to his lips unbidden, but he managed to hold them back. He knew all too well that ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t offer any solace or comfort; it was a mockery to apologize for someone else’s cruelty.
“Why on Earth did you agree to the inside then?” Draco sighed, running a tired hand over his face.
“I didn’t think it would be a problem,” Harry mumbled, reaching up to tug on his hair. “My bed’s always in the middle of the room so I didn’t know I would react like that. I just felt the wall and thought… thought I was back in the cupboard.”
Draco was unsure what he was supposed to say to that; he’d always been total shit at comforting others. A few years ago, he probably just would have mocked Harry for his venerability. Instead of trying to find the right words that would undoubtedly sound insincere anyway, he shifted over on the bed and patted the space next to him. “Come to bed, Potter. I’ll sleep on the inside.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped and he offered Draco a strained smile; the words weren’t a magic cure that banished the demons of Harry’s past, but for now they were enough.