Saving Myself || A Drarry Story

LIII: Under the Tree

Care of Magical Creatures was a class that Harry usually paid attention in, but what with Ron hissing slurs and vulgar words behind him to Hermione, he couldn't concentrate.

Hagrid was announcing a special guest and showed his excitement animated the childlike wonder he felt for these creatures.

Draco, who was standing off to the edge with Blaise and Theo, watched as Ronald Weasley shoved Harry's shoulder roughly. Harry catapulted himself onto the redhead, having to be held back by Hagrid, who growled, "Potter, get to the Headmaster's office."

But another voice, a jaunty, yet slow voice said from behind the great beast of a man, "Oh, Hagrid. I don't think that will be necessary. Why doesn't he help me hand out the Pygmy Puffs?"

Harry's jaw dropped and he gawked unapologetically at the slim but tall man with sandy blonde hair and a boyish smile across his face. "You're, you're---"

"Newt Scamander, " he said with a small wave. "I assume none of you have read my books, although I hardly blame you. They're a bit wordy, if I say."

Harry said proudly, puffing his chest out, "I've read them! Every single one!"

Mister Scamander smiled even more, asking Harry, "Would you care to help me, then?"

Harry nodded vigorously, stepping from the group of students and towards the man who wrote the books that Harry so loved. He had always imagined this moment, of him cracking a witty joke, of Mister Scamander laughing and telling him, What a smart lad, you are. Care to join me for a game of chess? I'll go easy on you, Harry.

As he helped hand students a Pygmy Puff, small, pink and purple creatures that squeaked and squealed whenever Harry touched them, his excitement faded. One Pygmy Puff even went so far as to bite him.

Harry, when finished, saw that Newt Scamander was holding the last Puff out for him, but he ignored it and shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the tree he settled under so often. When he finished the assignment without the use of the Pygmy Puff, he gave it to Hagrid.

His mind was wandering, and he didn't notice when a person sat next to him, only catching his attention when they said, "You know, I sat under this very tree often when I went to school here." Harry didn't look over as Mister Scamander continued, "Once, I sat under here for so long, so lost in thought, that when I looked up, it was nearly dark."

Harry scratched the back of his hand as he said, "I don't like people much."

"I didn't either, " Harry turned his head, seeing the aged man holding a purple Pygmy Puff, stroking the fur softly. Mister Scamander asked, "Do you enjoy magical creatures?"

Harry nodded. "But they don't enjoy me."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"They always bite. Or squeal. Or try to get away as if they can't stand me."

Mister Scamander gently moved Harry's fingers so that they were flat, setting the Pygmy Puff in them. When it squealed and Harry tried to give it back, he told the boy, "Stroke her fur. She likes that, "

Harry did so, feeling a vibration on his hand and a slight purring sound coming from the Puff. Harry felt himself smiling as Mister Scamander asked him, "Is there a particular creature you like most?"

"Hippogriffs, " Harry answered immediately. "They're so . . .majestic."

"Is that blonde boy a friend of yours?"

Harry looked over to Draco, who had just put his head down, trying to focus on the small, fluffy creature in his hand. "Something of that sort, " he replied. "Bit more than that."

"Oh, " Mister Scamander said. "A bit or a lot?"

"A lot, "

He nodded as he told Harry kindly, "Well, Mister Potter, I really did enjoy speaking with you. I do hope you'll be in touch?"

"Sure, "

He smiled. "Would you consider yourself a good writer? Artist? Musician?"

"I can draw a bit. I write well enough. I can't play a tune---"

"Can you hold one?"

"Sorta."

The man smiled and Harry smiled as well as the bell rang with Newt Scamander telling him, "Keep in touch with me."

וווווווווווווו×

That night, Harry lay on his back atop his covers, tossing a little rubber ball into the air and catching it as Draco's quill scratched against his parchment. When the blonde boy set the quill down and slouched and massaged the back of his neck with one hand, Harry, in his silent way, stood and came towards him.

Draco felt his small, nimble hands slide down his back and up his neck, making him groan as Harry rubbed his sore neck with his fingertips. "Bit harder. C'mon, now."

Harry did so, licking his lips in a hungry fashion as Draco groaned again. It felt good, just to be here with Harry, the soreness in his neck vanishing at Harry's touch.

"You can stop if you want, " Draco told him. "And come sit with me."

Harry grinned sheepishly, laughing when Draco tickled him a bit, making him squirm. Draco chuckled against Harry's lip, tongue begging for entrance that Harry gave instantly. Draco's hands found themselves on Harry's thighs, making the smaller boy's breath catch in a way that made Draco wrap his arms around him tightly, lifting him off the ground and onto their bed, which had originally been Harry's.

Harry wiggled out of his shirt beneath Draco, who's knees were on either side of Harry's hips. Lightly, as if not to disturb him, Draco's fingers trailed on the ugly, yet beautiful, scar on Harry's left forearm. "Don't--"

"Shh, " Draco whispered, bringing the arm up to kiss softly. His other hand went to Harry's chest, tapping his sternum as he said, "I love it. Reminds me that you're human, these scars do."

"They're disgusting."

"They're wonderful, " Draco clarified, "just like you, Harry Potter."

Harry sat up under Draco, looking up at him curiously as he asked slowly, "Are you sure? They certainly aren't attractive or nice or---"

"They're wonderful, "

Harry swallowed and continued to look up at Draco in a disturbing silence as he put his shirt back on, lying down and gazing at the wall, lost in his thoughts. He could feel Draco's arms around him, reminding him of where he was.

But he wasn't sure if this was right.

How could he be with Draco, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Loved Him as he stood there; he was short with glasses and just a few freckles. He had a slight dimple, a permanent furrow between his eyebrows, an ugly-as-can-be scar on his arm.

He was difficult and it was as if he didn't exist completely, just a body floating around, crashing into people with such a force that broke bones, a quick tongue and an almost nonexistent smile.

There was nothing he could say to change that. Who was he, Harry James Potter, to call himself Saint Malfoy's boyfriend, partner, lover?

Draco fell asleep long before Harry's mind stopped reeling, and it was nearly dawn when Harry closed his emerald eyes, but he didn't sleep a wink.

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