Chapter Text
"There we are." Draco sighed, taking a seat in the empty train compartment.
He'd just boarded the train at the Garre du Nord, after hugging his mother goodbye on the platform. The two of them had taken an international Port-key from London to Paris earlier. It was the same routine they had every year on September first, when school started again. Now, he was on his way to his third year at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
"At least it's better than Malfoy Manor." Draco reasoned with himself, though he wasn't so sure about that.
Was it better? Draco cocked his head, gaze flicking to the window where the busy streets of Paris rushed past in a blur or light and colour.
He'd spent the summer at home with his parents—just like he had every year since he'd started at Beauxbatons. And just like every year before, he spent most of his time completely alone.
He'd tried his best to keep himself busy and entertained. There was no shortage of activities he dabbled in: reading, practising piano, exercising. Of course, these were all things he could do by himself. However, he'd even gotten creative with activities that were typically performed with two or more people; He tried one-man Quidditch, one-man boardgames, one-man duelling, one man-everything, really.
And it was fine. Draco was completely fine—he didn't need anyone. It was just that, sometimes things got a bit… boring.
Occasionally, his mother or one of the House Elves would indulge him and play a game with him. Those moments were always the best. Draco's energy levels would somehow triple, leaving him bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. However, they were also always short-lived, the house elves would need to move on with their chores after a few minutes and even his mother would be distracted by a guest, or a letter, or—worst of all—his father.
As thrilling as these occasional indulgences were, they weren't as fulfilling as the company of his peers would've been. There was a time, before his eleventh birthday—before his parents decided to enrol him at Beauxbatons—when he had friends his own age. But they all attended Hogwarts now, and they hadn't been around the Manor in years. Nor had Draco seen them since.
Not that Draco was lonely or anything. No, of course not—Draco was completely fine.
Draco's eyes glanced over the empty compartment. Low noises from the corridor and adjacent compartments filtered in, there were chattering friend-groups everywhere. Yet no one sat with him, or spoke to him, or even looked at him.
Draco ignored it, turning back to the window.
"Would you look at that," Draco murmured to himself, "we're almost there already."
Draco was surprised to see that the train was already nearing the mountainous region of southern France. He must have been so lost in thought that he hadn't even noticed the changing landscape outside the window he'd been staring at through. Tucked away behind the snowy mountaintops in the distance, lay the campus of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
When the train rolled into the Beauxbatons station a few moments later, the students started to disembark. Draco watched as the platform outside his window filled with hundreds of students, all wearing the standard, light blue coloured robes. He didn't join them. Instead, he stayed seated in the compartment until the platform had almost completely emptied.
When he finally exited the train, there were only a handful of seventh year students still chatting while making their way towards the carriages. Lingering back, Draco waited until the seventh years had all boarded onto a unicorn-drawn carriage, before he followed.
"Good evening, gorgeous." Draco petted both the unicorns of the last remaining carriage, retrieving some sugar-cubes from his pocket and holding them up for the majestic creatures. "Thank you for waiting for me."
One of the few things that Draco actually liked about this school were the unicorns. They had a pure and serene presence that Draco found quite enchanting. He always made sure to spend a little more time with them during the trips to and from the train station.
After a short, bumpy ride though the thick forest that surrounded Beauxbatons, Draco petted them again, saying farewell this time. The unicorns immediately turned towards their caretaker, who was herding them to the side, back into the forest.
Draco turned towards the school. He'd read about Hogwarts, which was one huge castle, containing classrooms, dormitories, common-rooms and even the Great Hall. Beauxbatons was nothing like that, instead it had more of an extravagant campus layout.
Draco'd been dropped off in front of the main building—a huge, palace-like structure that held almost all the classrooms as well as the Main Hall, where the Opening Feast would begin shortly. He looked up at the huge archway under which the double doors were wide open, inviting students inside to have chat and catch up with each other before the Feast begun. Draco didn't go in. He turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.
"No point going in there yet." Draco said under his breath as he stepped over the lawn, crossing the square.
The unicorn-drawn carriages stopped in the Beauxbatons Square, right in front of the main building—also known as The Palace. Three other buildings surrounding The Palace: three Victorian-style houses that held the dormitories, called Pavilions. The Pavilion to the right of the Palace housed the first and second years, the one to the left housed the sixth and seventh years.
Draco marched right across the lawn, past the huge fountain in the middle, towards the largest of the three Pavilions. As a third year, Draco had moved to a new Pavilion, the biggest one that housed the third, fourth, and fifth year's dormitories.
Luckily, the doors were already opened, so Draco walked right into the small, marble-floored entrance hall. He quickly located his room on the map. The third years were on the ground floor, so Draco entered the common room through the double doors right in front of him. The third-year common room looked almost exactly the same as the second-year common room. Not that Draco would know what it looked like exactly. He never actually sat in there—only ever passing through, sneaking glances while his classmates hung out together in there.
Draco stopped for a moment, taking in the empty common room. There was a huge U-shaped sofa in the middle, facing the window on the other side. Cosy reading chairs lined the wall on the left side, a filled bookshelf behind them. On the other side of the room, one long table stood next to the window, creating a well lit study space for the students. Smaller circular tables and chairs were strewn all over the space, perfect for small study-groups or groups of friends playing a card game.
Draco thought it looked quite inviting—homey, even while completely empty. Though, he knew he wouldn't be sitting here during the coming year. For the same reason that he didn't sit in the common room last year, or the year before that, and for the same reason why he didn't enter the Main Hall immediately like everyone else.
"There is no point," Draco shrugged as he turned around.
Shaking his head, he walked down the hall, looking for the door that displayed his name.
"It's not like anyone would talk to me. Better to just stick to my bedroom until dinner is served. That's what I always do, no reason to change anything now."
A jolt of pleased satisfaction shot through his body as he realized that he'd been assigned the dormitory at the very end of the boys' corridor, which meant that he'd have windows on two walls instead of the standard one. It was he best room in the entire building.
Entering the dormitory, he immediately noticed that the room was much bigger than the one he had last year. A sizeable bed, big enough for three people, with about a thousand pillows stood on the left side of the room. Directly next to it stood a giant armoire that even Draco wouldn't be able fill with the many—many—clothes he'd brought to school with him. The two walls on the other side held a huge window each, letting in a ton of sunlight and showcasing a perfect view over the fountain in the courtyard.
Draco smirked as he walked around the large space, trailing his fingers over the empty desk by the window.
"This is just perfect!" he exclaimed out loud, gazing out the window.
This was already shaping up to be Draco's best year at Beauxbatons yet. Who cared if all of his classmates hated him? Who cared if Draco was lonely (which he absolutely wasn't, by the way). None of that mattered, because Draco was assigned the good room—the best room.
Absolutely nothing could spoil his day now. And, maybe—with some miracle—he could stretch his luck throughout the rest of the school year.
Satisfied and more hopeful than he'd been in a long time, Draco started unpacking his trunks that were already placed next to his bed. He was smiling from ear to ear, when suddenly, he felt it—
The smile melted off of his face as a cold feeling crept up his body. It had been such a pleasant summer day, the sun was shining through the windows just a second ago. But now, Draco stood in darkness, a faint greenish light emanating in the distance, almost reminiscent of emergency lightning. Time seemed to slow, and it had become so cold, so quickly, that Draco was left shivering, his breath visible in the dim lightning.
Before Draco could understand what was happening, a black shadowy figure appeared in front of him. Frozen in place—by fear, or something else—Draco watched the black, hooded figure. It appeared to be smoking at the edges as it approached him.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his entire body, settling in his chest. It felt like a cold hand had reached inside his chest and pulled at his heart, all the while, some deeper part of himself felt like it was pulling back as hard as it could—trying to keep that part of him intact.
The last thing Draco remembered was hearing a woman scream. The type of blood curdling scream one only let out if they were dying. Then the darkness took over completely.
When Draco opened his eyes, it was to an unfamiliar scene. He was disoriented for about five seconds before realizing that he was lying on the ground between his bed and wardrobe.
His hands flew to his head the moment he sat up. He must have hit it when he blacked out. He'd never felt anything like this, a splitting pressure behind his eyes that pulsed with every heartbeat. And there was something else too: a burning sensation deep in his chest that he couldn't quite place. Had he somehow fallen on his chest as well?
Draco held his head between his knees, eyes squeezed shut for a moment, until the headache subsided to a dull throbbing behind the eyes. The feeling in his chest, however, would not go away. Draco resorted to rubbing it—trying to soothe himself, more than anything—as he got back on his feet.
Immediately, he noticed that it had gotten dark outside—but, wait… hadn't it been dark before he blacked out as well? Draco felt strange, he didn't understand what the hell had happened to him. He remembered flashes of a smoky black figure, a bone chilling cold, and that scream…
He shivered as a chill went down his spine at the memory.
On second thought, Draco realized, he didn't want to know. It was probably best to forget this whole thing had happened in the first place. Surely, he'd only blacked out because he hadn't eaten anything yet. Yes, that must have been it.
Draco'd been having the best day, and he was determined to not let whatever had just happened spoil it. With his mind made up, Draco turned around, ready to walk out of his room towards the Main Hall for dinner—
But then, he froze.
On the other side of the room, there was a boy.
Draco rubbed his eyes, convinced they were playing tricks on him. But when he looked again, there he was: a black haired boy, lying in his bed, staring back at him. The boy seemed just as surprised to see Draco, as Draco was to see him, because he took off his round spectacles, blinked a few times before putting them back on his nose and frowning.
"Bonjour." Draco greeted, unsure what else to say.
"Erm, hello." the boy replied.
"Qui es-tu?" Draco asked when it became clear the boy wasn't going to say anything more.
"I'm Harry. Who are you?"
"Je m'appelle Draco."
"Draco?" the boy asked, letting the name roll over his tongue. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?"
What a bizarre conversation, Draco thought. Everyone knew him around here because of his…unfortunate reputation.
"How about we start with a more pressing question, like what are you doing in my room?"
"Erm—" the boy stuttered, looking genuinely confused. "What do you mean? Did you hit your head or something?"
"What do I mean?" Draco asked, baffled. "What do you mean—why are you inside my bedroom?"
"I think you should sit down, Madame Pomfrey will be back soon." the boy sounded genuinely concerned now.
"Madame who?" Draco grew more confused with each sentence that left this boy's mouth. "What are you talking about?"
"We're not in your room." The boy said, gesturing his hand around. "We're inside the Hogwarts Hospital Wing."
"Hogwarts? What are you on ab—"
Draco cut himself off, suddenly aware of his surroundings. Spinning on his heel, his eyes drifted over the space he was standing in. He was certainly not inside his dormitory anymore.
It was dark in this space as well, partly because the sun had set outside the windows, but the dark stone walls and floors were sure to make it appear gloomy even during the day. Alongside two walls, about half a dozen hospital beds were lined up in neat, equal rows. In the far corner by the door, a cluttered desk and cabinets overflowed with all sorts of bottles, beakers, herbs, and loose sheets of parchment.
"Is this really Hogwarts?" Draco whispered under his breath, not believing his own eyes.
He turned to peak out the window, swallowing his disappointment when he couldn't see much in the moonless darkness outside.
"Erm, yes." the boy, who must have heard him anyway, answered awkwardly. "Why did you think we were inside your bedroom?"
"Because,"Draco rolled his eyes at the boy's tone before slowly turning to face him. "I was there just a minute ag—"
For the second time in the span of a few minutes, Draco caught himself off mid sentence.
When he'd turned around, the room in front of him had shifted again. This time, back into his dormitory at Beauxbatons.
"Woah!" the boy yelped as he leaped out of the bed. "How did you do that?"
"I—I don't think I did." Draco answered, looking around perplexed.
"Is this you bedroom? It's huge!"
"This is my dormitory, yes." Draco decided to ignore the boy's excited tone, still puzzled by what was going on.
"Dormitory? All by yourself?" the boy wandered around the room, reaching the window before Draco could even formulate a proper response.
"Wow…" his voice had shifted, now filled with wonder, as he peered out the window. "What school is this, where they have huge private dormitories with a view like this?"
Draco walked over to the window, standing next to the boy. He was a head shorter than Draco. Draco couldn't see him properly in the dark, but in such close proximity, he could make out tan skin and green eyes behind the round glasses. Following his gaze, Draco looked out the window to the courtyard, where hundreds of small, magical torches surrounded the water fountain and lawn. It made for a pretty impressive sight, Draco had to admit, but it was one he'd seen hundreds of times over the years.
Seeing the boy's wonder was nice, though. In his first year at Beauxbatons, Draco used to sneak to the higher floors of the Palace when the sun went down just so he could peer down at this exact scene. He loved how the fire would reflect in the water, making the whole courtyard appear like it was engulfed in a sea of flames. Somewhere along the line, he'd started to take it all for granted.
"This is Beauxbatons Academy for Magic in France." Draco answered.
"How can I be in France, when I was at Hogwarts just a minute ago?" the boy wondered, seemingly to himself.
Slowly, the boy raised his hand, reaching out to touch the glass window. As soon as his hand made contact with the glass, the flames disappeared. Very familiar grey eyes stared back at Draco against the dark backdrop behind the window. He blinked, realizing that he and the boy next to him where back inside the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Draco spat out, utterly confused and slightly terrified.
"I think we're… in two places at the same time." the boy said.
When Draco glanced over, he found the boy half turned, looking behind them. Following his gaze again, unease settled over him as Draco immediately understood how the boy had come to that conclusion. Behind them, Draco didn't see the neat rows of hospital beds and cold, grey walls, he'd seen earlier, instead he found his new bed—the one with the million pillows on it—inside his dormitory.
"So, you're in Scotland at Hogwarts," Draco said as he touched the glass in front of him, the fountain and sea of flames reappearing behind it.
"And you're at Beauxbatons in France." the boy finished, glancing over the Hospital Wing behind them.
Draco had so many questions. How could this even be possible? Had it something to do with his blacking out earlier? He felt like he was losing his mind—yet, at the same time, with each passing moment, he grew more and more accustomed to the feeling. As if, on some higher consciousness, being in two places at once was the most natural thing in the world.
But that was ridiculous, so he quickly expelled the thought from his mind.
More intriguing was the question of why Hogwarts? Of all places in the world, Draco could split his consciousness to—or whatever was happening here—why Hogwarts? Why the place he'd always dreamed of going to as a child? And why would he see this boy? What did he say his name was again?
"Wait—did you say your name was Harry?" Draco asked, turning on him so fast that the boy took a step back.
"Erm… yes?" He said, taking another careful step back.
"Harry Potter?" Draco asked, suspicion creeping up his neck.
"Yes…" the boy—Harry Potter, apparently—narrowed his eyes, seemingly mirroring Draco's suspicion.
Draco sighed deeply, letting his head drop in disappointment. He didn't know what he was expecting, yet he couldn't help but feel let down anyway.
"I'm seeing Harry bloody Potter at Hogwarts…" Draco pinched his nose. "I've properly lost my mind."
"Lost your mind?" Harry Potter scoffed, sounding offended. "Well, I'm seeing some bloke named Draco at bloody Beauxbatons!"
"No, no, no, no." Draco shook his head. "I'm not this bloody pathetic—I'm not seeing Hogwarts, and I'm definitely not seeing Harry Potter."
Draco closed his eyes, reaching for what little Occlumency skills he'd learned from his mother over the years. Harry Potter—or his mind's version of him, anyway—was still talking, but it faded away slowly, until he couldn't hear it anymore.
When he opened his eyes again, Draco was back in his dark dormitory—alone, and not a single hospital bed in sight.
Draco let out a sigh of relief as he fell back into his bed. He couldn't muster up the apatite for dinner. He just wanted to sleep and forget about this horrible day.
It was quite incredible, really, how cruel one's own mind could be. To show him such a vivid vision of not only his childhood dream school, but of Harry Potter—his childhood hero—was just bordering on sadistic.
Swallowing back tears, Draco closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him. With any luck, the vision was just a one off occurrence, and he'd never have to see Hogwarts or Harry Potter ever again.
Draco Malfoy was the least lucky person in the world—or at least, that's how he felt.
He'd been born into one of the most privileged positions possible: the only heir to one of the most powerful, richest, and most purblooded houses in Wizarding Britain. But privilege was not the same as luck, Draco knew that all too well.
So, of course, it was wishful thinking that he'd have any luck with the boy inside his head. And frankly, Draco was an idiot for believing it in the first place.
As soon as Draco awoke the next morning, he could feel the other presence there—lingering somewhere beneath his chest. Then, as he brushed his teeth, there he was, staring back at him in the mirror. Green eyes widened in surprise before fully registering what they were seeing in the reflection. Then, ever so slowly, his lips curled up into a smirk—the bloody bastard was smirking at Draco in the mirror.
Draco pulled so hard on his Occlumency walls that he nearly split his own mind into two from the sheer force. Still, it wasn't enough. Draco kept seeing the black mess of a birds nest everywhere around the school for the next several days.
He'd be enjoying his breakfast, lunch or dinner—sitting all by himself, as usual—when the boy would just appear across from him. Or he'd be rushing through The Palace, on his way to his next class, when all of a sudden, he'd find himself surrounded by ancient stone walls, dozens of students dressed in black robes and colourful ties surrounding him.
Seemingly, none of the other Hogwarts students could see him. Nor could his own classmates see Potter whenever he appeared. Draco wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a curse. At least this way his classmates wouldn't have another reason to ostracise him. Though, even if only Draco could see him, Potter's appearances didn't exactly go unnoticed by his peers.
Especially not when they happened during class, of all times.
During one of these instances, Draco sat behind his desk in his Magical History class, trying to keep his eyes open while Madame Delacroix rattled on about La Révolution Magique de 1789. One moment, the image of his boring teacher was fading behind his drooping eyes, and the next the image had disappeared completely. It felt like his whole body snapped awake all at once, his pulse jumping for no reason he could name. Wind blew through his hair, cold air grazed his cheeks. Draco sat up straight immediately, eyes widening, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
It seemed like he was… flying.
All Draco could see in the distance were lush green mountains, blue, cloudy skies behind them. Looking down, he finally understood what was happening: Draco sat on the back of some sort of winged creature as it soared over a giant lake. Instinctively, his hands clutched tightly around the waist of a figure in front of him. Draco didn't need to think twice about who it was. Potter was whooping and laughing like a fool in front of him, his arms stretched out wide, as if he was the one flying instead of the creature beneath them.
Suddenly, Potter's noise stopped and he turned his head, seemingly becoming aware of Draco's presence.
"Hello Draco." He said, a huge smile splitting his face.
Draco immediately pulled his hands back from around him, but strangely, it didn't feel normal. It was almost like he wasn't actually touching Potter at all. Frowning, Draco examined his hands, trying to make sense of what was happening. But he was quickly distracted when Potter spoke again.
"Look over there." he said, nodding towards something in the distance.
Draco looked up, following Potter's line of sight. His breath caught in his chest when he saw it: in the distance, between the green hills, he could see a huge castle. The lake beneath them stretched all the way to the foot of the hills on which the structure stood. The low, late evening sun reflected on its surface, casting a golden glow over the entire view. It looked… magnificent. And exactly how Draco had always pictured it.
"So, that is Hogwarts…" Draco breathed, the awe in his voice obvious to even his own ears.
But, just as suddenly as it had begun, the vision ended with the jarring sound of his teacher's voice.
"No, mister Malfoy, this is Beauxbatons Academy—are we too boring for you? I'm sure I can find an assignment or two to make your time here more challenging."
Back in his classroom, Madame Delacroix's thin eyebrows were the first thing Draco saw—they stood at a terrifyingly stern angle.
"No, pardon me Madame Delacroix." Draco shook his head.
She gave him one last glare before going back to teaching her class. Draco could feel the stares and pointing fingers of his classmates behind him for the rest of the day. Great. This is exactly what he needed: more reasons for his classmates to think he was a weirdo—as if they didn't dislike him enough.
The worst part about his green-eyed problem, however, was that it never stopped talking. Whenever Potter appeared, the questions started immediately—even when the other boy appeared to be in class, he would lower his voice and fire them off one after another. What is France like? Does it rain there? It has already rained three times here in Scotland, but everything looks so dry over there. Do you play Quidditch? Will you be trying out for your house team? Do you even have houses at Beauxbatons?
Draco would try his best to ignore it, but the black-haired menace was relentless. As soon as Draco appeared in Scotland, or Potter appeared in France, his mouth would open and not stop until Draco managed to put his Occlumency walls back up.
Now, in no way, shape, or form, was Draco an expert in Occlumency. However, even if he had been an expert, he wouldn't have been able to block Potter out completely. No one probably could. Occlumency wasn't meant to be used indefinitely—even magic has it's limits, after all.
So, while Draco had gotten rather good at blocking Potter once he'd shown up, there was nothing he could do about stopping him from showing up in the first place. He couldn't have his walls up at all times—though he'd certainly tried. He simply didn't have the energy for it. However, he didn't have the patience to deal with being haunted by Harry Potter forever.
So, naturally, his breaking point came less than a week after the visions had started.
Draco was hunched over a desk in the library. Dozens of students from all years surrounded him in small clusters at other tables, though Draco sat alone, as always. Suddenly, he felt a strange mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling inside his chest. Strange. Although, the amount of homework his professors had given out in only the first week was quite anxiety-enduing, there was nothing even remotely exciting about it.
Frowning, Draco looked up.
He was no longer in the vast, marble-floored Beauxbatons' library. Instead he stood inside a classroom, the stone walls and floors gave his location away before he even properly saw the black haired boy next to him.
As soon as Potter noticed him, his lips slit into a smile again. Draco noticed that all the students were standing in line before a wardrobe. A man in a raggedy old looking suit and scars on his face stood in front of it.
"You're up, Harry." the man—presumably, their professor—called out. "Remember the spell: Riddikulus."
At the front of the line, Potter stepped in front of the wardrobe. Intrigued, Draco moved up right next to him. Potter nodded at his teacher once, shot Draco a cheeky wink—clearly saying watch this—before focussing and pointing his wand at the wardrobe.
Draco didn't even have time to roll his eyes at the idiot's attitude before the wardrobe door flung open violently and a black-robed, smokey figure flew out towards them.
Potter fell back, hitting the ground hard. And—judging by the sharp pain in his backside, seconds later—so did Draco.
He found himself on the floor of the library looking up at the desk he'd been sitting at. Apparently, he'd fallen out of his chair, and—oh dear Merlin, had he screamed? All the students around him looked down on his with startled expressions on their faces. Some were laughing, most whispered in the ears of their friends.
Draco felt his cheeks burn with utter embarrassment as he scrambled to his feet, gathering all his belongings in his arms and bolting out of the library entirely.
"That's it—I've bloody had enough of this." He mumbled, fuming, as he rushed out of the Palace.
"Draco!" Potter appeared next to him as he crossed the lawn to the Pavilion housing his dormitory.
Draco ignored him, making his way into the Pavilion, past the common room and into his dormitory. He tried to block Potter out completely, but he couldn't. Too angry to focus properly.
"I'm so sorry." Potter rattled on the entire time, following him. "I had no idea that the Boggart would turn into a Dementor for me."
"A Dementor?" Draco asked, turning around and acknowledging him for the first time after the door closed behind him. "That's what that thing was?"
Potter nodded. "I was attacked by one on the Hogwarts express on the first day of term—I guess it made more of an impact on me tha—"
"You were attacked on the first of September?" Draco cut him off.
"Did you black out afterwards?" he asked after Potter nodded again.
"Yeah—how did you know?"
Draco had recognized the black-robed creature that had come out of the wardrobe earlier. It was the same thing that he'd seen before he'd blacked out on the first day back at school. He hadn't know it was a Dementor, however. Nor had he known that Potter'd been attacked by one.
Over the past few days, Draco's mind had often spun circles around itself, wondering what was happening to him. He'd considered several possibilities, including that he might've actually been seeing Harry Potter in his mind. But, in all honesty, it seemed more plausible that Draco was just losing his mind in this school.
But if Potter had been attacked by the same creature that Draco'd seen before he passed out, and the visions of Potter had started right afterwards, then maybe this was real? Maybe he was really seeing Harry Potter…
But still, that didn't make any sense. What could possibly connect the two of them together?
"Because…" Draco hesitated, unsure of what he was saying. "I think I was there that day."
"You were there? On the train—how?"
"The same way I'm here now…" Draco answered, looking around the red and gold circular dormitory.
"Why don't I remember seeing you then?" Potter asked, eyeing his own four-poster bed, then glancing over at Draco's thousand-pillow one.
"I don't know." Draco answered, recalling the memories of that day. "All I remember is feeling this bone chilling cold, and there was this scream…"
"Scream? Like a woman's scream?" Potter asked, his eyes bulging, sounding almost desperate. "You heard it as well?"
"I—I did." Draco said hesitantly at his reaction.
"I think… I think that was my mum."
"You think you heard your dead mother's scream?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sucking his bottom lip in, Potter nodded. His eyes locked onto his feet. Draco was about to comment on how ridiculous that statement was, but the sight of Potter stopped him. The boy looked so utterly pathetic like this. His glassy eyes glued to the floor, shoulders slumped. All he needed was his ears to droop to complete the image of a kicked puppy. The mere sight of him made something deep inside of him loosen. He couldn't bring himself to say anything mean.
"Why would I hear her though?" He settled for eventually.
"Dunno" Potter shrugged, looking up at Draco. "Probably the same reason why we can see each other now."
The two of them locked eyes, staring at each other in silence.
He hadn't even been back at school for a full week, and Draco already felt a bone deep exhaustion. How was it possible for him to see, hear, and talk to Harry bloody Potter? Was this even real? Surely, not. Maybe Draco needed to check himself into the infirmary, or write to his mother and tell her that he'd lost his mind.
"Are you real?" Potter asked suddenly.
His eyes had been searching Draco's face the whole time, while Draco's searched his. He must have been wondering the exact some things as Draco.
"Let's find out." Draco said eventually.
Sighing deeply, he stepped past Potter towards his desk by the window.
"How?" Potter asked, rushing to look over Draco shoulder as he hunched over the desk. "What are you doing?"
Draco grabbed a piece of parchment, scribbled a few words down on it and neatly folded it. Grabbing an envelope, he wrote down Potter's name, Hogwarts as the delivery address on the front, as well his own return address on the back, before shoving the piece of parchment inside it. He might be crazy, but if he actually was losing his mind, it would be better to find out sooner rather than later.
"Sending you a letter." Draco held up the envelope. "If you're real, you'll receive this. And if you're not—" he shrugged, masking his very real nerves about this possibility, "—then the real Harry Potter will be very confused about a cryptic letter from a stranger."
"So if I receive it…" Potter trailed off, swallowing. "Then you're real."
Potter looked Draco up and down. His green eyes held something so raw—desperation, maybe, or longing—that Draco could swear he felt it inside his own chest.
Uncomfortable, Draco chose to ignore it. He wasn't ready to wonder why the other boy looked at him that way—or to ask himself how he felt about it all. The priority, for now, was to find out whether he'd lost his mind or not. He could worry about the rest afterwards.
Trying to take it one step at a time, Draco tied the envelope around the claw of Achilles—his Eagle Owl—and sent it off through the window.
Two days later, the letter arrived.
Draco sat at the third-year table in the Main Hall, having breakfast alone. He ate his french toast and sipped his tea in silence while all the other students surrounding him chatted away with their friends. He wasn't even bothered by it anymore, he'd grown used to the isolation at this point.
All of a sudden, he heard the flapping of wings and a very familiar screeching sound. It was unmistakably Achilles, the same sounds that accompanied the letters he'd receive from his mother every month. Except, the sound hadn't come from anywhere in the Main Hall.
Looking up, Draco saw that Achilles had made it inside the stone walls of Hogwarts, delivering the mail along with the other owls during breakfast. The bird circled over the Gryffindor table before dropping the envelope and taking off again.
Potter's eyes immediately locked onto Draco's. Briefly, they flickered to the envelope on top of his breakfast plate before locking back on to Draco.
Draco felt his heartbeat speed up, disbelieving. He lowered his teacup, no interest in drinking his tea anymore. The students surrounding them, in both France and Scotland, kept chatting on, unaware of what was happening between Draco and Potter. Draco could barely hear them either, a ringing had started in his ear the moment the letter dropped.
Then, in one fluid motion, Potter picked up the envelope and gathered his schoolbag before rushing out of the Great Hall. One of his friends called after him, but Potter replied with a quick excuse of having forgotten something in his dormitory. Draco did exactly the same, except no one called after him, because—well… no one cared.
Draco had just made it outside the Palace, when he found Potter stood still, the letter already in his hands, torn out of its envelope. All the Beauxbatons students were having breakfast inside the Main Hall right now, but still, Draco went around the corner of the Palace, just in case someone wandered off. Everyone already found him strange, he didn't need to be seen talking to himself.
Potter had apparently had a similar idea. He'd hidden himself inside a broom cupboard, probably not far away from the Great Hall either.
"Get out of my head." Potter read, his voice soft and almost… endearing.
He held the note up to Draco. Unbelievably, there it was in Potter's hand: the note he'd scribbled down two days ago in his own neat, loopy handwriting.
Even since Potter had first shown up, Draco had experienced strange mixtures of emotions that felt most foreign in his own chest. Right now was no different, he felt excited and hopeful, yet at the same time terrified and anxious.
Draco searched for the proper thing to say, but like always, Potter beat him to it.
"I suppose you're real after all, Draco—" Potter cut himself off.
His smile dropped instantly as his eyes scanned over the envelope where Draco had written his return address, as well as his name—his full name.
"Malfoy?" Potter asked, a hint of betrayal in his voice. "You're Draco Malfoy?"
"Yes?" Draco answered, uneasiness spreading through his chest.
"Any relation to Lucius Malfoy?"
"You know my father?" Draco wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Why?"
"Oh, he only tried to kill me last year!"
Draco's mouth fell open in disbelieve, but Potter continued before he could form a single word.
"What is his plan now, huh?" he asked, his voice rising with anger. "He couldn't get Voldemort to posses me last year, so he tries again with his own son?"
"He—what?" Draco stammered "The Dark Lord tried to posses you?"
"Don't call him that!" Potter screamed, pulling his wand out of his robe and instantly pointing it at Draco.
Draco instinctively raised his hands. He grew more confused with every new thing that came out of Potter's mouth. What the in the seven hells was he even talking about?
Realizing that Potter wasn't even in the same country, and therefore, probably couldn't hurt him, Draco lowered his hands before he spoke.
"What are you talking about?" He asked, his voice still surprisingly calm.
"Don't pretend you don't know!" Potter yelled again. "Undo this connection now!"
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"The same way you've been shutting me out all the time during the past week."
Potter still pointed his wand at Draco, his jaw tight and eyes narrowed. That combined with the accusations of… Draco didn't even know what Potter had been accusing him of exactly—heinous crimes by the sound of it—It all made Draco's blood biol in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. It made something inside him come alive.
"That was Occlumency, you bloody moron." Draco spit back.
If Potter was taken aback, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, a light seemed to ignite behind those round glasses, perfectly mirroring the fire Draco felt come to life in his own chest.
He was about to unleash a string of unholy profanities on the speccy git—when a voice spoke behind him.
"Draco, are you alright?"
Startled, Draco turned around, the fire inside him burning out instantly.
"Fleur, what are you doing here?"
Draco was vaguely aware of Potter exiting the broom cupboard, still fuming. Disappointment flooded his chest, he'd wanted to let loose on Potter. He'd been holding his tongue for such a long time, it would have been nice to let his frustration out.
"I heard yelling and came to take a look. Were you talking to yourself?"
"No, I was just…" Draco stepped around her, searching for an excuse, "going to my dormitory."
"Your Pavilion is that way." She grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him towards her. "Is everything all right?"
"Cousin, please," Draco pleaded, tears already prickling behind his eyes. "I just want to be alone."
She released him, and Draco ran to his dormitory, refusing to let his tears fall.
This was so stupid. He'd already been rejected by his entire school — why would one more person make any difference? Even if that person was Harry Potter, the boy he'd idolized since he was small.
No, he decided. He wasn't hurt by the rejection, not at all. He'd been fine before Harry Potter, and he would be fine after.
Draco was completely fine.