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Draco’s soul mark had never made any sense to him. “I forgave you the moment I realised you were terrified,” it read, the script looping and swirling as soul marks were.
There were two issues with this. One, no one ever forgave Draco Malfoy, because he never apologised. Two, Malfoys were never terrified. Scared? Sometimes. Terrified? Never. And even if he was, his father would kill him for showing it.
Soulmarks were fickle things. You were born with them, but they were much too squished to read as a baby. They grew as your magic grew, slowly expanding to cover as much of your skin as they needed to be legible. Usually the age of ten or eleven, but it could take longer for people who were less magically powerful.
It should have been a delight to Draco’s family that his had fully expanded at age seven, the mark of a promising wizard, but considering its contents, his parents weren’t as thrilled as they would’ve been otherwise.
A testament to their fickle nature, they didn’t display the first word your soulmate said to you, of course the universe considered that too easy. They could be something said days, months, years, decades after meeting your soulmate. But they would always be something important.
As all pure blood wizards do, he covered it with an armband the moment he was old enough to be fitted for one. They were made of magical fabric, spelled to stick to the skin and be virtually unfeelable at any given time.
He asked for his to be green, but his father insisted on a pale grey, telling Draco the armbands weren’t supposed to be something to stand out. The words were a thing of privacy, not something to be broadcast to anyone who wanted a peek.
~
Harry never knew what a soul mark was. The writing on his arm was just another thing that made him a freak. His aunt had shoved a cut up piece of Dudley’s old shirt, sewn into a sleeve to fit snugly on his wrist, into his hands and told him to put it on and never take it off when others could see him. He did as told, of course, scared of what would happen if he refused.
The earliest he could remember reading the words was four years old. Remarkably young, a thing of great celebration, but he didn’t know. No one was there to tell him. “I’m so sorry,” the words said. He didn’t know what they meant. He sometimes thought maybe it was an apology from God for taking his parents away and leaving him with his aunt and uncle. He wasn’t really religious, always left behind when it was time for church on sundays. Aunt Petunia told Uncle Vernon that surely Harry would not be welcome in the house of the lord, with what he is.
He didn’t understand. It made him sad to think whoever created him wouldn’t really love him. But he spent his nights wondering if maybe they were wrong, maybe the mark was a sign that he wasn’t some horrible mistake. Maybe he could be loved too.
Still, he kept the sleeve on at all times, except for when he was alone again in his cupboard, and he stared at it and sometimes even cried. Never when the Dursleys were home, though. He’d learnt his lesson about crying in their presence long ago.
~
Many years, a war, several almost deaths and one actual death, Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Hogwarts Great Hall for his eighth year. He was so glad to be back again, finally having a chance to be normal after his entire life of fighting.
But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t also mourning. Everywhere he looked in the castle he could swear he still saw the broken bodies of the people he’d lost. The actual castle ghosts didn't bother him so much anymore as the ghosts of everyone who could no longer be here.
As he watched the first years sorted into their houses like nothing had ever happened, he felt a twinge of guilt. He watched as students filled in the spots left by people who had left too soon, and wondered if he could’ve done something differently.
Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, Slytherin- The first Slytherin of the night, and the room was barely above silent. Harry waited for a moment for the clapping to start like it had for all the other houses. When it didn’t, he frowned. He had hoped for a normal year. Why did people feel the need to be petty about something that doesn’t matter, had never mattered.
The first year he had been here, the clapping had been just as loud for every house. And as much as he loved his own house, he doesn’t see why that should be different now. Sure, Voldemort was in Slytherin. But so was Professor Snape, Regulus Black, Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Black - Hell, bloody Merlin was a Slytherin!
So Harry began to clap. Hermione, who of course already knew there would be an issue, was already clapping. She beamed at him, and then pulled both him and Ron up by the elbows to stand up and clap. The effect rippled throughout the returning Gryffindor eighth years, and then the rest of the house. Someone whooped, and the other houses took notice.
Soon, everyone was cheering for the little raven-haired girl who had been sorted into Slytherin. She smiled at Harry, and he smiled right back, watching her as she bounced over to the Slytherin table, where people shifted to make room for her. Harry caught sight of a tall willowy blond, clapping for the newcomer. At first he mistakes him for someone else, but when he tilts his head up, and catches Harry’s eye, there’s no doubt about it. It’s Malfoy. Harry hadn’t even thought he would return, but here he was.
Harry, already standing up and cheering for a Slytherin, decides to do something he never thought he’d do in a million years. He smiles. And Malfoy, after a beat of confusion, smiles right back (albeit shyly).
Harry clapped and cheered for everyone else sorted - into every house - before finally sitting down to enjoy his meal.
“That was good of you,” Hermione had commented as Harry filled his plate.
“All I did was clap,” he replied. “You’re the one who got everyone standing.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you’re the saviour,” she teased. “They only followed along because they saw you doing it.”
Harry turned to object, but Ron did it before he could.
“Nuh-uh,” he said, a mouth full of chicken already. “You’re a hero too now, ‘mione. They’d have listened to you too.”
Both Harry and Hermione wrinkled their noses. Some things never change, and it seemed one of them was Ron’s complete lack of table manners.
“Thanks, Ron. Close your mouth please,” was Hermione’s only answer.
Ron just shrugged.
As the meal ended and Harry walked out, following Professor Brindlemore, the new DADA professor to the new eighth year dorms (because apparently there wasn’t enough room in the regular house dorms… which made sense, but still made him a bit sad to leave Gryffindor tower behind) he felt a pang of nostalgia at the castle. He could see where the walls had been blown to bits during the battle and repaired after, and it made him wish people were that easy to fix and breathe life into again.
He rubbed his sleeve above his soul mark. It was an unconscious habit he’d had for forever. Thankfully, the mark was no longer covered by that hand me down monstrosity, no. Mrs Weasley had gifted him an adorable cuff with his initials on it, to match the other Weasley’s armbands. She’d also made Hermione one, and Hermione was flattered, but confused, so she’d asked Ron about it.
Ron had sat her down and explained the significance, and told her that while it was okay if she didn’t want to wear it - not everyone does - it was a big deal to be gifted one from another family. He told her how they could mean allegiance, love, and how they were considered high fashion too in some cases (she had borrowed a magazine from him and flipped through the pages, looking at the beautiful bands on the models arms. She had decided that she liked Mrs Weasley’s better, though).
At the idea of upsetting Mrs Weasley, and with a newfound understanding of the significance of the bands, she had slid hers on and hadn’t taken it off (except when she had to) until Mrs Weasley had gifted her a brand new one next Christmas. At the Yule ball she had worn a specially made one. It was a shimmering fabric, expensive looking and beautiful, little crystals sewn into it. She had cried when Mrs Weasley had gifted it to her, hugging her tightly.
Ron had grumbled about not receiving anything special, and Mrs Weasley had smacked him upside the head.
Harry relives the memory with a smile. Ron and Hermione had said their words to each other while they were on the run last year, and had been wearing matching armbands since Molly had finally sat down long enough to make them some. He wonders if he’d ever get a pair of matching sleeves made by Molly.
I’m so sorry . He’s heard a lot of apologies this year. And read a lot of them. But none of them had felt like a soulmates words were supposed to feel. He wonders if he’d met them yet. He’s met so many people. But maybe they were on the other side of the world, far away from him.
Mrs Weasley always said that everyone got to meet their soulmate in their lifetime, but it was up to them if they wanted to be together. Everyone would have a time when their ink turned from black to gold, but not everyone would decide they’d want to be with that person for the rest of their life. He thought it was nice to think that there would be someone out there for him. But he worried the person wouldn’t want to be with him. Or maybe he wouldn’t want to be with the person.
He often wondered what the person would be apologising for. Probably something mundane, maybe bumping into him at Diagon Alley, or dropping a drink on him at The Three Broomsticks. He sighed, as he often found himself doing when he thought about the whole soulmates topic for too long. He didn’t want to have to meet and get to know a whole new person, to fall in love with them. Why couldn’t it just be someone he already knew?
He knew it could be, since there’s not really a time limit on when your person says your words, but all the people Harry knew and liked would never say something like “I’m so sorry,” after bumping into him. It’s always a “you right mate?” Or a “gosh, I didn’t see you there, Harry!” (Usually if he’d snuck up on them using his cloak). Never an “I’m so sorry.” It sounded so formal. Eugh.
In his daydreaming, he found he had followed Professor Brindlemore all the way to the new eighth year dormitories. They were close to the library, he noted. Hermione would love that. Brindlemore told them the password - Unity - and he heard Ron ask Hermione if she had somehow chosen it. Hermione smacked him.
The common room was cosy on the inside. A beautiful fireplace with a warm fire filling the insides. Banners of all four houses were strewn about. The interior designer had worked hard to make sure the colours didn’t clash. The red, greens, yellows, and blues were complemented by purples and auburn in a way he never thought would work together. The room smelt like cinnamon and vanilla, his favourite scents, but he could hear people talking about how it smelt like strawberries. It must’ve been charmed to be a person's favourite smell. Neat.
But the best part of all was that when they were led up the stairs, they all saw they each only had to share with one other person, and their beds were double the size they had been. Ron grabbed Harry’s arm and grinned.
“I bet we’ll be together mate,” he said as he dragged Harry along.
“Uh, Ron?” Harry interjected.
“Yeah?”
“Ron, everyone is paired with someone of a different house.” He pointed to a plaque reading ‘Seamus Finnigan and Blaise Zabini’ and another, ‘Theodore Nott and Dean Thomas.’
“Oh,” Ron frowned. “Damn it.”
“It’ll be fine,” Harry assured him. “Let’s just find our rooms. We can still hang out in the commons.” Ron brightened at that.
“Yeah, alright,” he grinned, still dragging Harry along.
They found Ron’s room. ‘Ron Weasley and Terry Boot.’
“Terrys not bad,” Harry commented. Ron nodded along.
“I heard he’s good at chess,” Ron told him excitedly.
Harry frowned as Ron dragged him down the hall to find his room. He was getting a little tired of being dragged by Ron, and he was a little worried that he would be roomed with someone who he didn’t get along with. Zacharias Smith (who he had seen shove several first years onto their faces to run away during the battle of Hogwarts) or worse, Gregory Goyle. Actually, that might be better than Smith. Goyle had looked subdued at his place on the Slytherin table. Probably mourning Crabbe. Harry felt bad. He might not have gotten along with either of them, but that doesn’t mean Crabbe had to die…
“Mate…” Ron said, breaking Harry out of his thoughts.
“Hm?” Harry replied.
Ron pointed up at a plaque, his hand slow as if he didn’t want to believe it. Harry followed his hand with his eyes. ‘Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.’
“Oh,” is all he said. He didn’t really mind the idea of sharing with Malfoy. He had received an apology letter in the mail over the holidays (as had a lot of people, apparently,) and he was nice enough to smile at him over dinner. It couldn’t be that bad.
“What do you mean ‘oh’?” Ron exclaimed. “You’re in shock. You’re in shock that you have to share with Malfoy,” he monologued. “It’s okay, I’ll fix this up, I’ll go right down to McGonagall and-“
Harry put his hand up in Ron’s face. “Shh. It’s fine,” he said. That made Ron shut up… for about three seconds.
“What?” he asked, “what do you mean ‘it’s fine’?”
“I think this unity thing isn’t a horrible idea,” he told Ron.
Before Ron could reply, the very object of their conversation shoved past him into the room. Harry shrugged and followed Malfoy. “See ya later Ron!” He called, making his escape.
~
Draco’s soul mark no longer confused him. He had apologised to many, many people, in letters and in person. He had felt true fear, been terrified, and people had seen. It made sense now. But now that his soul mark no longer confused him, another thing took its place.
Harry Potter confused the hell out of Draco Malfoy. When they were kids, it was easy. They hated each other, constantly bickering. But now… First, he had rescued him from the Fiendfyre, then he had testified for him at his trials with a passion and vigour that made Draco’s heart beat fast - and latest of all, he had smiled at Draco during dinner.
Draco wandered up the stairs to the dormitory in a daze. He had trailed behind everyone else, wrinkling his nose when he stepped into the common room and it smelt like Potter. Of course he had somehow made it smell of his eucalyptus shampoo and some sort of ozone-y as soon as he walked in. Potter always smelt clean . It wasn’t always specific, but it was always soapy and clean. And the common room reeked of it. He sighed, realising Pansy had gone ahead to find her dorm, and he was stood like a ponce alone at the entrance to the dormitories. He walked up the stairs to the boys dorms where he could hear others chattering about who they were sharing with, and he looked at all the plaques until he found the one with his name on it. ‘Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.’ He sighed. He honestly expected something like this to happen. Thankfully it wasn’t one of those idiots who glared at him the entire way through the halls.
Unfortunately, Potter and his favourite Weasley stood blocking the entrance, fighting about something or other. Another sigh. He couldn’t be bothered to talk right now. So he simply shoved past and entered through the door. He claimed the bed closest to the left of the door, not wanting to be in view of it as soon as it opened.
Potter, evidently done with his argument with the weasel, followed him in and plopped himself on the other bed.
“So…” he started.
Draco sighed. “What.”
“How’s your mum?”
Draco blinked a little. “She’s… well, actually. Thank you for asking.”
“Of course, she did save me after all,” Harry replied.
Neither of them looked at eachother, both of them busy staring at their bed canopies.
“I think the whole wizarding world knows that by now,” Draco said back. He could practically hear the smile on Harry’s face when he responded.
“Yeah, well, it’s true, and it got the ministry off of your backs.”
“Why did you do that?” Draco asks.
“Do what?”
“Speak for us. At the trials.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
“My father let them into our home.”
“And that’s why I didn’t speak for him. I spoke for you and your mum.”
Draco thought for a while. “…thank you,” he said.
“You don’t need to thank me. I know you didn't choose that. You just wanted to protect your parents.”
“My mum,” Draco corrected.
“What?” Potter asked him.
“I wanted to protect my mum. She never… She doesn’t care about the pure blood stuff. She always knew it was nonsense. Everyone around her believed it though, so she went along with it. Her and my father… It wasn't a love marriage. It was political. He chose what he did. He chose to follow the dark lord. My mum only followed out of loyalty.”
“Oh.”
There was a long pause.
“Why are you telling me this?” Potter asked.
“Because I know you won’t tell anyone. Even if you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you. I just didn’t really like you.”
Draco bristled. “What?” He seethed. “We hated each other for years! We were arch-nemeses!”
He heard Potter snicker. “It’s not funny!” Draco insisted.
“Malfoy, my ‘arch-nemesis’ was Voldemort. You were a school bully who was a bit too invested in your craft.”
Draco huffed. “Fine. Have it your way then. Was I at least second place in your most disliked list?”
He could practically hear Potter think it over. “No, not really,” came his reply.
Draco gawked. “Who then!”
“I can think of loads of people who’d come before you. Greyback, Bellatrix, every single snatcher, Umbridge, your father, Barty Crouch Jr, Antonio Dolohov, the carrows-“
“Okay. Fair point,” Draco cut him off before he continued. “But before you met them - was I first?”
“…okay, I’ll admit you were the second person on eleven year old me’s most hated list.”
Draco smirked, the smugness radiating off him in waves. He heard Potter snicker again.
“What is it?” Draco asked.
“You’re not being very hateable right now,” Potter replied.
“I’m perfectly hateable,” Draco replied.
Potter was silent, as if waiting for Draco to amend his statement.
“…maybe I’m tired of making you hate me,” he whispered.
“…me too,” was Potter’s reply after a couple seconds.
Draco heard Potter stand up and walk towards his bed. He sat up, and Potter was towering over him.
“Let’s start over,” he said, sticking his hand out. “It's nice to meet you. My name’s Harry. Harry Potter. And you are..?”
Draco froze for a moment. His heart skipped a beat before he remembered to extend his hand to shake Potter’s. “I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy. And it’s nice to meet you too,” he said with a smile.
~
Harry flopped down on the bed a couple days later after a gruelling Potions lesson, thumbing his armband in an effort to calm himself down. Malfoy, Draco , he corrected himself, followed in and much more gracefully sat down on his own.
“Dracooooooooooo,” he whined.
“What is it, Potter?” Draco replied
“Harry,” he corrected.
Draco sighed. “What is it, Harry?”
“I think Professor Slughorn is disappointed in me.”
“You think too much.”
“I suck at potions.”
Draco walked over to him and sat on his bed.
“Why do you find it hard to brew?”
“I dunno… I put the ingredients in, but my magic says it feels wrong, even though I’m following the instructions, and then it goes wrong.”
Draco hummed. “Has anyone ever told you brewing is different for everyone? Potions instructions are standardised to hopefully work for the widest audience possible. But some people get better results following their instincts than they would from following the instructions. That’s how I’ve stayed ahead of Granger all these years.”
“You don’t follow the instructions?”
Draco shook his head. “Sev… Professor Snape tutored me when I was little. He taught me how to change the recipe to suit my magic and to lean into my instincts. That’s why he was such a good teacher.”
“I didn’t appreciate him until too late,” Harry replied.
“He went knowing you knew the truth.”
“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said. Draco nodded. “No, seriously. For the potions thing and the Snape thing.
“If you want, I can tutor you sometime?” Draco offered.
Harry lit up. No way Draco was offering to tutor him in potions. “Really? You’d do that?”
“I owe you anyways.”
“You saved my life.”
“Details, details.”
Harry laughed, and the smile on Draco’s face made him beam back.
~
Draco regretted his decision to tutor Harry when Harry actually started to get good at potions. Really good. He was no Severus Snape, and he wasn’t quite at Draco’s level yet, but he could tell it was getting there. Salazar forbid there be a day where Harry bloody Potter can out potion him.
“I regret this,” he said as Harry handed him another perfect hiccoughing solution. They couldn’t practice the more dangerous potions, seeing as they weren’t in classes but considering three years ago Harry would have miserably failed at this stupid potion, him creating a medical quality solution for the fourth time in a row was making Draco a mix of proud and annoyed.
“You literally offered to teach me,” Harry replied.
“I didn’t expect it to work , okay?” He whined.
“Hey, at least madam Pomfrey has been in a good mood since she’s found a supply of potions appearing for her every week?” Harry tried.
“Why would I care? I never get injured anyways.”
Harry gave him a reprimanding look. “Because it’s a nice thing to do, Draco.”
Draco sighed. “Fine. Okay. Yes, it’s good that she’s been happy.” He dramatically threw his arm over his face, his armband catching the light and sending flashes straight into Harry’s eyes.
“Eugh, put that disco ball away,” Harry said as he sat next to him after cleaning the potion.
“You’re just mad your armband isn’t sparkly,” Draco replied. His mum had gotten him a sparkly mint green one as soon as the war ended. Exactly like the one he was never allowed to have as a child.
“Nuh uh,” Harry said. “Mrs Weasley made mine.”
He shoves the garish red thing in Draco’s face. “Shove off!” Draco yelped as it assaulted his senses.
Harry snorted as he put the classroom back as it was before they used it. “Just hurry up, you ponce.”
“Arsehole.” He followed Harry out anyways.
The next day at potions, he watched as Harry received ten points to Gryffindor for a perfect Amortentia potion. Granger’s was good, but Harry had beat her out. The only person in the class who had a better potion was Draco (he received fifteen house points and an invitation to the slug club).
He heard Hermione nagging Harry about ‘cheating again’ and smiled. He had been wrong about her. She was genuinely a great girl, and had helped Harry through a tonne of stuff. She had even accepted his apology without a second thought, as well as insisted he called her by her first name, stating that she’d “seen how Harry warmed up to him,” and that if Harry liked him he “must be an alright person now.”
She’d even gotten Weasley to like him. A feat he didn’t know could be accomplished.
He bounded up to them. “What’s this about Harry cheating?” He asked nosily.
“Harry’s potions are too good again. Like when he was cheating off of that book in sixth year,” she answered without skipping a beat.
Draco raised his eyes at Harry. “Oh?” He asked.
“It was Snape's old book. And I wasn’t cheating, I was just following his instructions in the margins!”
“…you mean the same instructions he had on the board for five years?”
Harry flushed. “I didn’t know they were his instructions, and they were much easier to follow when they weren’t being snarky!”
Draco snickered. “Hm, maybe I didn’t need to help you with potions. I could’ve just thrown a book at you and told you to follow your instincts.”
Hermione whirled around, pointing a finger at him. “So that’s why he’s been getting better! You’ve been tutoring him! Why haven’t you offered to tutor me!”
“Um- I didn’t know you’d want-“
“Well, now you do. Tell me when and where it’s happening next time, and I’m bringing Ron.”
Draco froze, and then laughed. “Okay, okay, Godric it’s like you’ll die if you miss out on a single opportunity to learn. I’ll let you know next time.”
She smiled and left to her dorm, leaving Harry and Draco alone again.
“She means well,” Harry said.
“I know,” Draco replied. “I like her. I’m glad she’s happy. Her and the weasel make a good pair, loathe as I am to admit it.”
“Stop calling him that,” Harry pouted.
“Never.”
~
Harry climbed up the stairs to the astronomy tower. When Draco hadn’t returned to the dorm that night, he had grown concerned. He pulled out the marauders map as a last ditch attempt to find Draco, and when he had seen his dot at the astronomy tower, he had rushed over, fearing the worst.
He heard muffled sobs before he saw the person making them. He stepped onto the platform and looked around. He spotted Draco sitting on the edge of the platform, his arms over the bottom rail and his legs dangling over the edge.
“Draco?” He whispered. Draco startled, and for a horrible second Harry thought he’d topple over the ledge. Thankfully, he didn’t, just shooting up a couple centimetres before landing safely.
“Harry?” He heard a voice whisper back, sounding upset and a little shook.
He quickly made his way over and sat next to Draco. He thumbed at his armband, the nervous habit coming back to bite him again.
Draco tried to speak again but just devolved into sobbing.
Harry threw an arm around him. And then his other. And then he was hugging Draco Malfoy. If he told eleven year old him this, eleven year old him would have laughed in his face and told him to shove it.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked Draco.
“It’s- it’s all my fault- everything-“
Harry frowned, confused.
“I- it’s my fault he’s dead- my fault they got into the castle- I- I-“
“Hey, Draco, it’s over, that’s done, you were just a terrified kid-“
“I’m sorry-“ Draco gasped.
“Don’t be-“
“I’m so sorry-“
Harry froze for a moment, his mouth opened in an ‘o’ of shock as he felt the skin beneath his armband tingle.
He was pushed back into action by Draco’s muffled sob into his shoulder.
“Draco,” he said. “ Draco.”
Harry pushed Draco away just enough to see his face. Looking into his eyes, with the most sincerity he had ever felt in his entire life , he said “I forgave you the moment I realised you were terrified.”
He ignored the way Draco froze.
“I forgave you the moment I realised that wasn’t you . I forgave you when I realised you were just a boy. And if that wasn’t enough, I triple forgave you when you came into my life again at the start of the year and made it better. Okay?”
Draco pulled his armband off, too shocked for words. The black inked script had turned gold and Harry read it for the first time. He recognised the words that had come out of his mouth moments earlier, but he wasn’t really surprised.
He pulled off his own armband and showed Draco his also newly golden words.
And then three things happened in quick succession. One, Draco looked up at him with so much affection he thought he was hallucinating. Two, Draco’s hands were on his face and they were pulling him in and- Three. Draco was kissing him. And Merlin, it felt like he could finally breathe. Like he was no longer on borrowed air.
Draco pulled back, looking terrified. And Harry never wanted him to look that way again.
He reeled him back in and this time, Harry was the one who kissed Draco.
“Godric, I can’t believe we spent so long fighting,” he gasped out between desperate kisses.
“Me neither,” gasped Draco, tears still rolling down his face.
Harry frowned. “Hey, don’t cry,” he said.
“Happy tears,” Draco choked out, and pulled Harry in for another kiss.
And if Hermione found them that way the next morning, worried about where they were, she left quietly and didn’t tell anyone.