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Chapter Text

Hand in Glove

Harry wondered how it managed to snow every year without fail at Hogwarts. For the first eleven years of his life, a white Christmas was just a fantasy.

Hogwarts however, seemed charmed to snow every year.

It was ironic, he thought, as he slipped down the stone steps of the Entrance Hall that he had so often wished for a snow day so that he didn't have to go to school. At Hogwarts, everything was business as usual. Stupid wizards.

He opened the huge wooden door to the entrance hall just wide enough for his skinny body to slip through. It took all of his weight and he leant against it to make sure it closed again. There was a very loud 'thump' as it clicked back into place. He'd probably woken the whole castle. Great.

It was still dark outside. If he looked up, he could still see stars sat in the dark lilac-grey sky. Clouds drifted like veils across the waning moon. If Harry stood here and looked up, would he be able to see the stars disappear one by one? Like sparklers burning out on bonfire night.

He had woken up early and couldn't get back to sleep. The cuts on his hand had been bothering him, and then there was Ron's sleep-talking and Neville's snoring and the whispers coming from Dean and Seamus' corner of the room.1 So, he had slipped on his school robe and snuck out of the dormitory. It was bizarre that they were all together for Christmas, and he found himself irked by it. He treasured those times when him, Ron and sometimes Neville basically had the whole common room to themselves and could do whatever they wanted.

Then again, Harry supposed, a lot of things irked him nowadays.

His scar gave a twinge of pain in agreement to this point. He gritted his teeth and picked up the pace. He wanted to crush the snow under his boots. He pressed his feet down as hard as he could with every step, but it was too deep for him to reach the ground.

He picked up the pace, trying again and again to step right through it. Step right through all the pain in his head and his hand and his mind. If he could just make it through to the paving below – to the grass below – then – then he would be free. It would free him. He'd see things clearly. Everyone would.

He slipped.

He had made it to the small hill before the Black Lake, even though he hadn't been paying attention. His foot had slipped on the sudden ditch and flew out from beneath him, taking the rest of his body with him as though he was being pulled by a ghost. He landed on his back with his robes spread around him. The snow swiftly began to melt through his cloak and pyjama bottoms.

There was a snort from somewhere above him.

Harry's heart skipped a beat before he realised that most of the things that tried to kill him did not snort at him. Voldemort laughed, but didn't snicker quite like that. So he turned with an excuse on his tongue for Ron-

And found himself staring up at Draco Malfoy.

"Had a nice trip, Potter?"

He was just an outline against the lightening sky, but the silhouette was unmistakable. Harry had been glaring at Draco for five years, why shouldn't he know the boy's outline as clearly as Ron or Hermione's?

"Almost as good as the Hogwarts express," he snapped. "Did mummy not let you go home for Christmas this year?"

There was a pause.

"Bit of a wordy comeback, don't you think?" Draco asked. He was smirking, but there wasn't that malevolent glint in his eye. "Need a hand?"

Harry was still sprawled in the snow.

"I'm surprised you'd deign to touch me," he said.

"I wore gloves," Draco said with a small shrug, before holding out a hand.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy above him. Surely, this was some sort of trick. Surely, when he took Draco's hand, he would pull it away and leave him face-planting in the snow. Draco Malfoy was not nice to Harry Potter. He didn't offer Harry Potter hands up.

But the sneaky glint his eye held so often was still missing. His mouth was a set line.

So Harry clasped his hand in Draco's, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Draco was surprisingly strong, considering how thin he was and how pale he looked. His eyes seemed even darker than usual and his hair was messy, stands falling over his forehead. One sat right over his eye, trembling slightly in some faint wind.

"What are you staring at, Potter?"

Harry snapped his gaze away, looking instead over the great frozen lake.

"Nothing," he muttered. Then realised he probably should have gone with something more along the lines of 'your ugly face,' because that was what he normally did. They normally traded insults at least three times a day. He didn't feel like it now. He must have hit his head – a hand up wasn't worth forgetting five years of solid hatred.

"What are you doing out here?" Draco asked suddenly. Harry gave him a quick sideways glance and found Draco watching him intently. Almost suspiciously, with his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. "Running away?"

"I could ask you the same," Harry said, returning to watching the brush sway on the edge of the lake. "Do you always lurk around in the middle of the night waiting for people to fall over?"

"We Slytherins take it in turns," Draco said. "It's part of our secret subject – 'how to be an evil wizard.'"

Harry gave a dry laugh.

There was a pause. That was a joke. Draco Malfoy had made a joke to Harry Potter and it hadn't been mean.

They were out here. Alone, Harry supposed. So what would be the harm in being a little honest? If Draco laughed at him, he could laugh straight back.

"I couldn't sleep," Harry said.

"And your friends let you go out – alone?" Draco's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"I didn't tell them. Haven't been telling them. They've been…getting on my nerves to be honest."

"Finally, you see it too," Draco said with a small scoff.

"Everything's been pissing me off," Harry said, then noticed the wrinkle of Draco's nose. "What?"

"Do you really have to sound so much like a muggle, Potter?"

"Lived with 'em long enough."

"And yet you still worship Dumbledore. Even when he dumps you there."

Harry blinked and turned to Draco. He stared back, one eyebrow ever so slightly quirked as if waiting for a challenge. A retort or an argument.

Harry couldn't give one. Not today. Not this year.

"I can't remember the last time I spoke to him, honestly," he said.

"Now you know how the rest of us feel," Draco said. He sighed as he finally turned back to the lake with the smallest of smiles. "You're the only one Dumbledore speaks to. The rest of us are just students. But you…you're the chosen one."

The snark was just sneaking back into his voice, but it had none of its usual venom. Harry would never believe Draco was jealous – not with the way he despised Dumbledore – but there was something of a ruefulness in his tone that he hadn't heard before. In fact, he had rarely heard Draco speak normally.

"So, is that what's got you 'pissed?'" Draco asked.

Harry shrugged, burying his mouth in the collar of his robe.

"Dunno," he said. He paused. "Scar, I think."

"Everything revolves around that scar," Draco spat.

"It's a link to Voldemort, right? Since he's come back, I guess it's picking up some stuff. Like a radio," Harry said. It was easier when Draco was spitting at him. Then it was back to normal. He could just say what he liked, let it out and they could exchange verbal jabs in the morning.

"A radio?" Draco echoed.

"You can't be-" but when Harry turned, Draco was looking at him with steady, earnest eyes. Almost interested, if Draco could be interested in anything other than being a total prick. "Wizards have radios. Ron has one. You listen to – music and stuff."

"I guess we weren't allowed one," Draco said, as though that was a complete explanation. "Probably too muggle for my mother."

"Must be a quiet house."

"Manor."

"Oh, of course."

That pause returned. Pregnant and uncomfortable.

"So, what are you doing out here, Malfoy?"

"Thinking."

"Plotting?"

"Thinking about – never mind," Draco turned to leave.

Harry reached out and caught his elbow without thinking, tightening his grip as Draco tried to shake him off.

"I've opened up to you about all my crazy Potter, 'the boy who lived,' problems," he said to the back of Draco's head. His heart was pounding. "It's your turn."

"I was thinking about if," Draco swallowed, only half-turning back. His Adam's apple bobbed in the light. He had ducked his head so that Harry could only see the shadow of his mouth moving up and down. The occasional flash of teeth. "If he was back – what it would mean for me. My family."

"You know he's back – your dad was there!" Harry said. He tried to tug Draco around to face him but he remained stubbornly in place.

"My father wouldn't tell me anything about it," Draco hissed. "Barely said a word to me all summer. Dumped me here as quickly as he could!"

"I would've thought he'd have you following in his footsteps," Harry snapped, trying again to jerk Draco around. Did he really think that was believable? Did he really think he could fob him off with such a stupid lie?

"I'm nothing like my father!"

Draco turned and jerked his arm so quickly out of Harry's grip that Harry reeled a couple of steps back, as though he had been punched. Draco stood, his lips curled as he glared at him. A black figure against the pale snow all around him.

"I am not my father," Draco repeated. "You think I want," he swallowed again. "Him back? I don't want war – I don't want killing and darkness and shadows – I don't want to be part of my parent's mess. To have them using forbidden curses and murdering people and working with him!"

"B-but when the Chamber of Secrets was open, you-"

"I was twelve, Potter! I was twelve and wanted to be cool and mess with you!"

Harry stared. The wind whipped at his cheeks to reinforce the slap of Draco's words. His chest felt tight He could barely breathe.

"I don't want to kill someone," Draco said. His voice was small. A mouse's protest. And that's what it would be. Harry didn't imagine Lucius Malfoy was someone you would say no to. If he wanted Draco to be a Death Eater, then Draco would be. What would be his alternative? If he wasn't murdered or tortured, he'd have nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

At least Harry could run. He could run with Sirius.

"Maybe you won't have to," he said. "Maybe I'm just crazy, yeah?"

He had no idea why he was trying to comfort Draco Malfoy.

"Don't be thick, Potter, we both know you're not actually crazy."

It was a sort of white flag. A parley. They both returned to staring at the Black Lake. It had frozen over and gleamed menacingly in the dawn light. The vague, dark shape of the Giant Squid could be seen floating under the surface. Waiting. Watching.

"That may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Harry muttered.

"Don't get used to it."

Harry looked at Draco sideways once more and tried to force a smile.

"I won't tell if you don't?"

Draco blinked at him. He frowned slightly, his eyebrows making a small, sharp crease in between his eyes, then he gave a long exhale, his breath making a cloud of fog in front of his face. Then, finally, he smiled.

"Deal."

Harry gave a nod. Just to secure it. He couldn't imagine being dragged into the wrong side of a war. To see his loved one's fight for a cause he couldn't quite get behind. To see them doing unspeakable things to other people and still have to look them in the eye. Still have to find a way to love them, because they were family. To agree with them to stay safe. To stay alive. And be forced into joining them because of the costs. Would he be brave enough to say no? In theory, he was. In theory he saw himself standing up to these imaginary evil parents and making some cool retort when he got tortured or killed. (Because what's the difference in torturing a stranger and torturing your son?) But in reality, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to look his father in the eye and say 'no.' That was terrifying. Much more terrifying than being the boy who lived. It was much scarier than being on the right side.

"Guess we both got dragged into this, huh?" he muttered.

The silence stretched out and he began to seriously wonder if Draco was going to leave again.

"Yeah," came the answer. "Glad I didn't get a dumb scar, though."

"I'll give you one now, if you like," Harry said, raising a fist. "Stand still?"

Draco laughed. Actually laughed, not his usual snigger. A happy, if short laugh. More of a bark, really.

And Harry was grinning at him.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter having a bit of banter. That was an unbelievable headline. Maybe if the Prophet published that, Voldemort's return wouldn't seem so far-fetched.

But then the moment was ruined. Because Harry winced.

He'd stretched the cuts on his hand when making a fist and the icy wind had stabbed straight into it. His grin turned into a grimace and he relaxed his hand to try to sooth the screaming pain.

"What's wrong?" Draco was asking, but his voice sounded far away, and Harry was gritting his teeth too hard to answer. "Potter?"

"Nothing," Harry said through clenched jaws.

Draco was frowning at his hand, his mouth just open in confusion. Harry tried to shove it into his pocket – back where it belonged, but Draco caught his wrist as easily as a cat catches a bird.

He scowled at Draco and tried to pull away. He was held fast.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Draco pressed, his bony fingers digging into Harry's thin wrist.

He set his jaw as he shook his head determinedly, his hair flicking against his glasses.

But Draco – Draco – was somehow as strong as him, and pulled his hand over to read the words engraved into his skin. They seemed bright red against the snow. 'I must not tell lies.'

"What the," Draco's thin eyebrows met in the middle as he stared at the sentence. "Merlin's teeth! Potter, what have you done to yourself?"

"I didn't do it!" Harry snapped. The wind was still whipping against the cuts. A bead of red traced down his tan wrist. It paused as it reached Draco's gloved finger, as though hesitant to continue. "Shit, Malfoy, I don't-"

"Then who, in God's name?" Draco's face looked as though it was on fire. His dark eyes smouldered and steamed, his mouth twisted into a dragon's grimace.

Understanding dawned across his face. It suddenly unravelled and smoothed out like a spring. His fingers relaxed as he uncoiled.

"Umbridge," he breathed.

"Umbridge." Harry said.

Draco's hand was still around his wrist, though his grip had relaxed. He would almost be holding Harry's hand, it was that gentle. And his hand was so warm. It seemed so smooth with his glove on.

And Draco was still staring at him with horror on his face.

"Haven't you told your old pal?" he asked. His eyebrows were pressed together as though he was worried. Draco Malfoy did not worry about Harry Potter.

"I told you, I haven't spoken to him in months," Harry said. "I don't want to bother him with something stupid."

"Something stupid?!" Draco repeated incredulously. "You've been maimed by a member of staff and you don't think that's important enough to tell him?!"

"It's really not a big deal."

"Bon Sang– you have letters in your – that's going to scar," Draco said. He examined Harry's hand again, taking it in both of his. "That's definitely going to scar."

"Then I'll have two dumb scars and you'll still be perfect. Now stop looking at it."

He tried to pull his hand away again, but Draco held fast, frowning at the cuts intently. He traced a thumb across the letters at a snail's pace, as though he could smooth them away. They looked all the angrier afterwards, and Harry gave another impatient tug. His face was burning and his chest felt tight. He couldn't stand Draco looking at them like that. He just wanted to hide them. The way he always did.

"I have some murtlap essence in my room, come on," Draco started to tug Harry along behind him.

"No, Malfoy – stop!" Harry planted his feet in the ground and found his voice growing louder. "Stop! Fucking hell, Malfoy – let. Go. Of. Me!"

He was bellowing now and had finally managed to pull his wrist free. He screamed in Draco's face. Mostly words that began with 'f'. The white-hot flames that had been burning inside him all year were back, in his chest and face and head. He was so angry that Draco's stupid face became a blur in the white.

But Draco wasn't yelling back. He was standing there quite calmly. His frostiness made the flames die down and Harry was left there, panting as he waited for Draco to shout or slap him or something.

"Are you quite done, Potter?" he asked. That one eyebrow was raised again and there was the ghost of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

Harry opened his mouth to yell again. But the anger had retreated. There was only a throbbing inside him. Draco wasn't scared of him. Not like Ron or Hermione, who scurried away and left him to stew in his own misery. Draco was waiting for him to calm down.

"Here," Draco pulled one of his gloves off with his teeth. Without breaking his gaze, he took Harry's hand once more and begun to pull the black glove onto it. Harry stood there numbly, watching Draco gently ease his unrelenting fingers into it. "A perfect fit. That'll keep the chill out. Now, are you going to come with me or are you going to start screaming like a little girl again?"

Harry hung his head. He felt like a scolded dog.

"I'll come," he muttered. He felt suddenly powerless. Draco wasn't fazed by him. He didn't care if Harry Potter was angry or upset. He just cared that a kid in his year was bleeding and hurt. That didn't seem a very Draco Malfoy thing to do. Draco Malfoy didn't care about other people.

Or maybe he just didn't care about Harry Potter.

Draco was leading him by the hand, he realised as they began to cross the courtyard. He had taken Harry's fingers in his and squeezed them gently with his own bony ones.

The snow was tinted gold by the rising sun and the stones of the castle looked more like sandstone than its usual stormy grey. The windows glinted at Harry as he peered through his messy curls up at it. There was something more welcoming about it than usual. As though it was smiling down at them like a mother would her children.

They slipped into the Entrance hall quietly, and Draco pushed the door until it was almost closed. Only a small whistle of the wind revealed that it wasn't. A small act of rebellion. Their footsteps echoed in the hollow hall as they crossed over to the entrance to the dungeons.

Draco was peered around corners as they headed down to the Slytherin Common Room.

"Scared your Slytherin friends will kick you out if you bring Harry Potter home?" Harry asked. He couldn't quite bring the edge to his voice.

"They would," Draco said, glancing back at him. "Most of them have gone home. Everyone in my dormitory, so try not to worry yourself."

His teeth flashed in the green-yellow light of the dungeons, giving him a wolfish appearance. Even the twinkle in his eye was back. He stopped and dropped Harry's hand as they stood in front of just another stone wall. It must have been the one the Slytherin dungeon was behind.

"Don't listen," he said, before stepping closer.

Harry didn't mention he'd already been here. As Draco had said, he had been twelve. That was all in the past. He tried not to hear the whispered password.

He tried not to think about Draco whispering to him like that.

The two stepped into the Common Room. It was dark, lit only by the Black Lake. It was just as gloomy and moody as the last time Harry had been here, only now there wasn't even a fire in the grate. Just smoking ashes.

Harry followed Draco up to the boy's dormitory. It was practically a mirror of their own, only green instead of red. Draco pointed to a bed, and Harry sat obediently on it, cradling his gloved hand as it begged for attention. He watched Draco search in the trunk at the end of the bed before he brought up a rag and a bottle.

He recognised the murtlap essence and slipped off the glove so that Draco could press the damp rag against the angry cuts. It was cooling, he had to admit. Much more than when Hermione was doing it.

"You really think I'm perfect?" Draco asked, a half smile on his face. In the dark, he looked like a spectre. A vampire.

"What?"

"Out there – you said you'd have two dumb scars, but I'd remain perfect."

"I – I just meant…"

His words died on his tongue. He just stared at Draco. At the dark rings under his eyes. They weren't unattractive.

Draco gave a small snort and his ghost of a smile widened.

"I'm not going to hold this on for you," he said, letting go of the rag. "You're not a princess, Potter."

It almost slithered of Harry's hand before he caught it and pressed it back onto the collection of cuts. His face was burning. Why had he let Draco Malfoy, of all people, hold his hand all the way up here? Like they were-?

"Do you also give your gloves to your girlfriend?" he asked. His thoughts seemed muddled.

"Don't have one," Draco said. "No girl who would follow me around could compare to 'the Chosen One."

What did that mean? Harry didn't do that. Did he? He frowned at Draco, though it felt more of a pout.

"You hate me, Malfoy."

"I do not," Draco said. He turned away so that Harry could only see the outline of his nose in the dark. "If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you."

"So, if you don't hate me…"

Draco sighed.

"Honestly, Potter, it astounds me how you manage to solve so many riddles."

Harry blinked and looked down at his hand. His head felt like it was full of cotton wool. This conversation, this whole event seemed more like a very odd dream. It was almost as though they were friends and almost as though Draco had just…confessed to him? Maybe it was Voldemort messing with his head. Humanising the enemy.

But he was here. The pain was real. And Draco Malfoy was sat on the end of the pain, glancing periodically at Harry's hand. His eyes flickered to his face once. Meet his eyes. There was a tiny glint in his eye. Like a star. If Harry kept watching, would the star fizzle out, like a sparkler on Bonfire night?

Draco Malfoy did not hate Harry Potter. But Harry wasn't ready to admit just how Draco felt about him. Or how he felt about Draco.

What did he feel about Draco? The burning hatred had lessened in the last two years. When faced with 'He Who Must Not be Named,' a schoolboy bully was hardly a threat. And now that he had actually thought about Draco's position he found himself sympathising with him.

But that was ridiculous. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor couldn't be friends.

Why not? A nagging voice in his head asked. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff's were. They were friends with everyone, regardless of house.

It did seem a little silly, now that Harry thought about it, to get all worked up about school houses.

Dark wizards came out of Slytherin.

"Did you know the only house that hasn't ever produced a dark wizard is Hufflepuff?" Draco asked into the silence. It didn't seem sudden. Just natural. As though they were two friends just hanging out.

"I didn't," Harry admitted. "Were you hoping for Hufflepuff?"

"Could you imagine?" Draco was actually grinning. It still looked like a smirk, but he was grinning. "My father would-"

He stopped suddenly. And his face fell. He went silent.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. He wasn't sure what else he could say. "Maybe he'll…"

He trailed off.

The sun slowly rose as they sat in companionable silence. The sliver of windows at the very tops of the walls begun to shine, flooding the room with light. It was like waking up very slowly on a Sunday morning. Reality was coming back and Harry found he didn't want it to. He wanted to stay here with this phantom vampire Draco Malfoy. The Draco Malfoy that he wanted to be friends with.

"You'd better go," Draco said, with a yawn. He was leant against the bed post. If he stretched out his legs they would lay across Harry's lap. Why did he want to know how that felt? "The others will be going to breakfast soon. Can't have a stray cat down here."

"Yeah," Harry said, slowly getting to his feet. It felt as though he had been a statue moulded to the spot. He handed the rag back to Draco. "Thanks."

"Keep it," Draco pushed it back to Harry. He looked even paler in the light, as though he was just going to fade away. "I wouldn't want an old rag that Potter had contaminated. You'll infect me with all your unexplainable specialness."

Harry smiled.

"Does that mean I can keep your glove too?"

Draco's eyes flickered to it in Harry's hand. He bit his bottom lip for a second, before he waved it off as though he didn't care.

"It's a perfect fit, isn't it?"

So Harry left the Slytherin Common Room, sure that Draco had dropped off before he had even left the room.

At breakfast, he caught Draco's eye. It was like he had been jinxed. His face suddenly burnt and he spat out his pumpkin juice, choking on it as Ron clapped him on the back.

Draco only smirked, an un-gloved hand pressed to his mouth.

Chapter Text

 The Gryffindor Common Room was unusually busy for the Christmas break, and it irked Harry that he and Hermione had been pushed over to the seat near the window by some seventh years grumbling about their NEWTS. ("As if we don't have important exams too!" Hermione snapped. They laughed, and said OWLs were nothing in comparison.)

Harry hated this table. The wind howled so strongly against the pane that the glass might as well have just not been there. It was cramped and cold and Hermione made the worst study mate he could think of. She was eager, sure, but she got a lot more done than Harry. She also seemed to have a lot more work to do, which worried him, because they were practically in all the same classes.

Besides which, he just couldn't concentrate. Between the noise, the periodical pain in his various wounds and the events of the other day, it was just impossible. His mind just kept returning to the same image of Draco, sat at the end of the bed and glaring into the darkness. 'If I hated you Potter, I would just ignore you.' He seemed to get paler every time Harry remembered it, as though he was turning into a ghost to haunt him. He was haunting Harry.

Did Draco Malfoy consider him a friend in his own way? He did seem to show affection by being spiteful. Did he want to be friends? Were they friends, now that they had secrets? Or did he want something else? What would that something else be?

"Where did that come from?"

Hermione's voice cut across his thoughts. She pointed to the black, velvet glove sat next to Harry's History of Magic textbook. She was frowning as it, as though it was a dead animal leaving a smell.

"Where did what come from?" Harry bluffed.

"The glove."

"What glove?"

"That glove."

"Dunno what you're about," Harry said, flipping his textbook over to cover it. Maybe Hermione was part parrot, and she wouldn't remember it if she couldn't see it.

"Harry," Hermione put on her 'mum' tone of voice and raised a stern eyebrow.

"It's my glove," Harry said. He flipped a page in the book as though that would let them move on to a new conversation.

"You don't own gloves."

"Who doesn't own gloves?" Ron appeared at the table, still wrapped in his dressing gown and in need of a shower. He huddled on one of the poufs and glowered down at the jumble of parchment on the table as though personally insulted at the presence of homework.

"Harry. Harry, show him the glove," Hermione said.

Harry sat there, feeling as though he was disobeying a teacher. He just stared at them. He couldn't show them the glove. He would just have to stand his ground until they moved on with the conversation.

"Why do you only have one, anyway?"

"Michael Jackson only wears one glove."

"You're not Michael Jackson."

"Who's Michael Jackson?" Ron glanced from Harry to Hermione, as though he was watching a tennis match.

It was time to put his mood swings to good use. Harry threw his arms dramatically up in the air and gave a loud sigh.

"I can't concentrate with you going on about Michael Jackson, Hermione!" he cried, shoving his homework (and the glove) into his bag and standing as moodily as he could. "I'm going to the library – where it's quiet."

With that, he stomped across the room, pausing to look gloomily over his shoulder for good measure, before crawling out of the secret passage.

He got halfway down the corridor before he paused. He didn't want to do work. If he wasn't sat with Hermione, he didn't have to do work. He could go wherever he wanted.

He could go to the dungeons.

Harry frowned at the intrusive thought, picking up a slow pace once more. Gryffindors didn't go into the dungeons. Gryffindor's didn't visit Slytherins. Harry Potter did not visit Draco Malfoy. Besides which, there was no guarantee Draco would be there. It would be awkward if he was hanging around the Slytherin Common Room and some other Slytherin came out instead.

His foot hung over a newly created abyss as the staircase began to move with a loud rumble. He wavered on the edge before he grabbed the bannister and pulled himself back to safety.

"Potter's losing his marbles," someone mumbled behind him. He was starting to agree with them. What kind of a Harry Potter was thinking about Draco Malfoy so much?

As the new staircase slid into place, he carried on, still unsure of where he was going or what he was trying to accomplish. Walking past the portraits didn't help much either. They were all of pale people and pale people made him think of Draco bloody Malfoy.

He tightened his grip on the wand in his pocket and gritted his teeth. Surely, he had more important things to worry about. Like Voldemort and saving the world and Dumbledore's Army. Not the glove in his pocket. Not about whether it smelt like Draco. Not about what Draco smelt like. He shook his head to try to clear the thoughts.

"Alright, Potter? Getting rid of the voices?"

He looked up. It was Blaise Zabini. Of course, it was. A little gaggle of Slytherins. Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and – and Draco Malfoy. Harry's stomach gave an odd flip, like he was nervous. Draco was staring at him with those dark eyes. His eyebrows knitted together. Harry couldn't tell if it was from concern or irritation.

His retort died on his tongue as he met Draco's eyes. He told himself it was because they weren't worth it. It wasn't worth getting into a fight about.

"He's just thick," Pansy said. She was glancing at Draco, as though she was elbowing him to add to the onslaught of insults. A pair of second years had stopped to watch the exchange.

Harry had to say something. And fast.

"Piss off."

Yeah. That would show them.

The edges of Draco's mouth tilted upwards.

Harry's throat was dry and he felt his cheeks warming, so he stuck his head down and carried on, ignoring Pansy's shrill laughter at his pathetic response. He didn't pay attention to it or where he was going. It was just like at breakfast yesterday. Draco must have been hexing him. There was no other way around it. It was the only reasonable explanation to what had been happening to him. It must have been some remembering jinx or something. Just so Draco could bug him more than usual.

…More than usual. Now that he thought about it, his first three years at Hogwarts had been very much occupied by Draco Malfoy. He spent an awful lot of time thinking about what Draco was up to, how to stop Draco's plans, if Draco was the heir of Slytherin. Last year he'd been so preoccupied with the Triwizard challenges that he hadn't concentrated on him. Quidditch had been cancelled too, so he hadn't see much of Draco. But then Draco had spent the good course of the year taunting him. Draco did spend an awful lot of time pestering him, actually. More than in a just 'we don't like each other way.' He'd gone out of his way to be the Slytherin Seeker. His father had paid for it. Was that just rivalry? He was so dramatic that Harry wouldn't have put it past him if it was simply that.

And yet he had said, 'if I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you.'

He swallowed, and it hurt his throat, but he still couldn't quite grasp an explanation. It was as though it was lurking at the edges of his mind, unable to be reached. He pushed open the door in front of him and sighed.

It was echoed with a dozen little hoots. He looked up, blinking, and found himself in the Owlery. He hadn't even realised he'd walked there. But here were all these owls, staring down at him haughtily. Even Hedwig seemed to be raising an eyebrow.

He sighed again, slipping on a gauntlet and holding out his arm for her to perch on. She stayed where she was, as though she could sense he was a house traitor. Was he a house traitor? Was that even a thing? Did anyone actually care about the houses?

"I think I'm having a mental breakdown," Harry told her. "Tell me I'm overthinking all this, Hedwig."

She gave him a slow blink. Then, as though it was a great effort, gave a flutter of her wings and flew down from her perch. She landed with much more weight than usual, almost knocking Harry's arm away. She peered at him again, her amber eyes glistening, then gave an affectionate nip of a stray curl.

That made him smile. Birds were easier to deal with. He could always tell what Hedwig wanted.

He petted her, letting his fingers sink into her white plumage. She was always so soft, but underneath all that fluff he knew she was anything but. The long, curved claws gripping his wrist so tightly were the proof of that.

There was a scuffle from outside. Hedwig turned her head and gave the intruder an annoyed glance, before taking off again, kicking Harry's arm harder than was necessary, before setting herself on her perch once more.

The door creaked open.

"Well, look at that. The cat amongst the pigeons."

The voice made Harry pause. It made that nervous feeling in his stomach returned. He half-wished he was wrong as he turned to see Draco Malfoy slipping in through the doorway. Then again, he was glad he was right.

"Uh, what?"

In the drama of the moment, he had forgotten what Draco had even said.

"Because you're a Gryffindor? A lion, so a cat – amongst owls – or – birds?" he said, as though he was talking to a child.

"Oh, very witty," Harry muttered. He remembered Draco had said it before, that he was a 'stray cat.' "So, what, are you stalking me now?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I need to send a letter, that's all," Draco said. He came to a stop opposite Harry and fixed him with a heavy stare. Then he held out his hand. "Hand me the glove."

"What?"

Harry didn't want to give the glove back. He had bled on it. It was his now.

"The raptor glove."

Oh.

"There's another one by the door."

"And you've already got that one out. I'll just use that one, if you're quite done?"

Draco's hand didn't waver and neither did his gaze. He just stared.

Harry slipped the falcon glove off, trying to hide his face with his hair as he handed it over to Draco.

Draco didn't move.

Harry glanced up at him from under the rim of his glasses and through the tangle of messy hair.

"Well? Return the favour, Potter."

Draco's tone was softer than before. It reminded Harry of crawling under something and his stomach did that strange twinge again. It was like those words were just meant for him.

Of course, they were just meant for him. They were the only two people here.

"Piss off," he said, but he started to slip the glove onto Draco's wrist anyway. Draco's hand moved to accommodate him, as though it was a snake itself. If that was the cost of keeping him quiet about the previous night, then so be it. If it was the only he could balance the two of them out and move on, then fine. Good, even. He wanted to be done with Draco Malfoy and gloves.

"Really, Potter, you need to expand your vocabulary," Draco said as Harry knotted the strings in a messy bow.

Harry glared up at him to find Draco barely smirking once again. Just the corners of his mouth. A cat who's got the cream.

"You need to extend your world view," he said, stepping back quickly. Hedwig was fixing him with that raised eyebrow stare again. How could an owl do that, anyway?

Draco barked a laugh, raising his arm. His eagle owl came straight away, almost scuffing Harry's head with the edge of its wing.

"It's not funny, I heard you say," Harry stopped himself and just mumbled the 'm' word instead. "Yesterday."

"If those muggles you live with always called a spoon a fork, would you call it a fork too?" he asked, seemingly half to himself, as he tied a scroll to the owl's legs.

"Well, I suppose so."

"So, there you go," he lifted his arm to help the owl take off and they stood watching it's retreating silhouette.

"But you knew it was wrong when you said it to Hermione in second year."

"Are you really going to bring up all the silly things I did when I was twelve? I can name some pretty stupid things you've done and that would only be from last year."

Harry paused.

"So why keep saying it then?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"No. You Gryffindors are all so high and mighty and accepting, aren't you? 'No matter who you are you have a place in our house.' And Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are the same. Well, it's not like that in Slytherin. If you don't fit in in Slytherin, you might as well be a muggle."

"I never thought you'd be one for peer pressure."

Draco didn't reply. The silence stretched on and Harry suddenly wanted to fill it. To keep talking. He wasn't quite ready to say goodbye yet.

"Was that letter to your dad?"

"My mother," Draco said. His eyes flickered to Harry's and he ran a hand through his hair, even though it was as perfectly slicked back as usual. How did he manage to look so flawless all the time? "How's your hand?"

"Oh. It's, well, it's okay."

"Show me."

"No," Harry stuffed it in his pocket immediately.

"If it's healed then you don't have anything to hide, do you?"

"I'm not going to show it to you just because you order me to."

Draco raised an eyebrow and shifted slightly. Just so Harry could see the falcon glove on his hand. He frowned and turned his face to the window instead, clenching his hand so tightly in his pocket that his nails dug into his palm.

"Potter, stop behaving like a child."

"I'm not. I don't need you checking my hand every five minutes. You're not Madame Pomfrey."

"Don't make me curse you."

"There's not a curse that makes me do what you say. Not a legal one, anyway."

"My father is a Death Eater."

The implication hung in the air. There was no doubt that Lucius Malfoy could have taught Draco the unforgivable curses.

"Fair point," Harry muttered, he turned to glare at the door instead as he thrust his arm towards Draco. He could just sense the smirk of triumph radiating from him.

Draco carefully took his wrist in one hand, tilting it so that he could see the back of Harry's hand. He was quiet for a long time and Harry became aware of how loud his breathing was. Or was it loud? He couldn't tell.

"I'll send you some more murtlap essence. Will your owl deliver it if I attach it?" he said.

Harry nodded.

"Why are you helping me, Malfoy?" he asked. The anger was returning in his chest. He could feel it building like a storm cloud.

There was a beat.

"First rule of school. It's always, always¸ us against the teachers," Draco said.

"Even when we're on different sides of a war?" Harry said. He was surprised at the venom in his voice. He expected Draco to snap. To break this façade he was putting on and show his real self. To drop this strange mask he had put on to mess with Harry Potter.

Instead he winced.

"Especially when we're on different sides of a war."

Harry's hand dropped to his side. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Malfoy's. He was just waiting for the punchline.

But there wasn't one. The moment stretched on. And Draco Malfoy was being earnest to Harry Potter.

"Come on, it stinks of merde in here," Draco said, shouldering the door open.

Harry followed, feeling somewhat numb. The tips of his fingers tingled.

"You can just say shit," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes.

The wind whipped at them as soon as they were outside and Harry ducked his head against the cold. A snow flurry had started up and it was as though tiny paper scraps were attacking him, whipping his robes around him like it was trying to snatch them away. Without thinking, he reached into his satchel and slipped the glove on to protect his hand. He just caught sight of Draco's face before he turned away and tried not to think too much about the smile he had seen. He hid the hand in his pocket.

"You don't like Umbridge either then?" Harry mustered up the question, because they were just standing there. Still. Waiting for something, he guessed, but he wasn't sure what.

"About as much as dragonpox."

Harry chuckled. Then frowned at himself. Once was bad enough, but laughing with Draco Malfoy wasn't something that happened twice.

"You really are astounding," Draco said, turning to Harry. "I know your scar probably gave you brain damage, but try and use it," he tapped Harry's forehead with the back of his hand. The left one. The one that wore the other black glove. It bounced against his mess of hair. "Why do you think I'm helping you, Potter?"

Harry didn't have an answer. Draco's hair looked like snow and there was a flake melting in his eyelash. It was surely just a kid against adult thing, right?

"To try to be on the right side without getting on the wrong side of your dad?"

Draco finally looked faintly annoyed. The way that Harry was used to Draco looking. This was it. This was when Draco would reveal his true self. Once a snake, always a snake.

Instead, he shook his head. Like he was disappointed.

Then turned and started down the steps of the owlery without a word. Harry watched the black, flailing cloak disappear into the white snow. Within minutes, he was gone completely.

"Where have you been? I searched the library three times for you!"

Harry was surprised Hermione wasn't pointing a wand at his neck.

"I went to the owlery," he said.

"What did you go to the owlery for, mate?" Ron asked. He glanced around, then leant closer. "You didn't get another letter from," he paused for effect. "Sirius?"

Harry shook his head.

"Just felt like it," he said.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, which was comical given the height difference.

"You've been acting really strange the past couple of days," Ron said, slowly. Like he was waiting for Harry to tell them something. It was like two parents waiting for their child to come out the closet.

"Have I?" Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised how easily he managed to evade questions. It wasn't exactly lying, but he wasn't going to be telling the truth anytime soon. "I guess things have been a little strange, what with a dark wizard poking around inside my brain and all."

He sounded much more bitter than he had meant to, and Ron recoiled slightly. He exchanged another worried glance with Hermione and it got under Harry's skin like a boiling needle. He rolled his eyes and stomped up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. He even threw his bag down with a satisfying thump to show his anger. Stupid Ron and Hermione with their questions and their glances and their worry. Stupid Draco Malfoy with his stupid riddles and his stupid smirk and his stupid stares.

"It's okay, it's only Harry."

He registered the words a moment later than they were said and frowned.

He hadn't realised Dean and Seamus were in here. They must have been studying together, because they were both on Dean's bed.

"So, I'm 'only Harry' now?" he asked, not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

"I just meant," Dean floundered, scratching the back of his neck and looking to Seamus for back-up.

"We just meant you're not the most observant," Seamus said, quickly. "When it comes to people, like."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry frowned. He was observant, wasn't he? He had more emotional range than Ron.

They both stared at him and he stared back.

There wasn't a book on the bed. They hadn't been reading together. Dean's hand was over Seamus, as though he could shield him from this intruder.

"Harry," Seamus said, glancing at Dean as though he couldn't believe what he was about to say. Like he was talking to the town idiot. "We went to the Yule Ball together, remember?"

Harry blinked.

"Oh."

An awkward silence filled the room.

"Well, uh, good for you guys," he said. He crossed to his bed and sat down. He went to rest his hands on his knees and that's when he remembered the glove. He slipped it off and squashed it in his fist. "Hey, um, how would you know if someone, uh, liked you?"

Dean and Seamus exchanged looks.

"You mean Cho Chang? I thought that was obvious?" Dean said.

Oh, yeah, Cho.

"No, like, someone else."

"You're the Chosen One, everyone likes you," Dean said, only slightly bitter. Seamus gave him a sympathetic look and rubbed a thumb over the back of Dean's hand.

"Well how did you know Cho liked you?"

"I didn't. She kind of just kissed me whilst crying about Cedric."

"That's rough, buddy."

"I dunno, Harry, we just kind of figured it out," Seamus said. He leant into Dean as he spoke, looking Harry up and down. "I guess if they're just, I dunno, odd around you."

Well Draco certainly was that. He was becoming human.

"I'd say if they followed you around for four years," Dean said, and he smiled at Seamus. Their heads leant towards each other slightly and Harry could see they were having a mushy moment so he turned away to give them a little more privacy.

The glove was still on his hand. He pulled it off and frowned at it.

If it wasn't really to do with Umbridge, or his father, then why was Draco suddenly so interested in him? Always so interested in him. It hadn't just been that year.

Surely Draco Malfoy wasn't interested in him in that way. Hadn't he always had a thing for Pansy? Or did Harry just assume that? He supposed it would be like assuming he fancied Hermione. He couldn't even imagine Draco liking a girl, much less kissing one. So maybe it was true and credible. Maybe Draco Malfoy fancied Harry Potter. He had followed him around for four years, after all.

Harry was on tenterhooks all evening, as though he was waiting for something. Something more than the strange revelation he had had. It wasn't even quite a revelation, it was just like he was remembering something. Like he had remembered a fact in the middle of a History of Magic exam. Something he had always quite known but never acknowledged.

He couldn't figure out why he couldn't settle. Why he had to keep going down to the common room to check some things. Or stand and stretch after reading a page of his textbook.

Then Hedwig arrived at the window. Carrying a vial of Murtlap essence.

And he remembered.

He had been waiting for Draco.

He relieved Hedwig of her package and she gazed at him until he surrendered an owl treat in response.

There was a small note wrapped around the vial, and seeing the cursive writing made Harry's heart leap.

'Figured it out yet, Potter? Sleep well.'

He could almost hear Draco's sarcastic drawl. For a moment, he even wondered if it was enchanted to read itself aloud. But that was stupid, Draco was trying to help him, not play tricks on him.

Oh no. Draco was helping him, and he was sure of that. This wasn't a trick. When did Draco Malfoy stop playing tricks on Harry Potter?

The worst thing, Harry thought, as he bathed the cuts in the essence, was that he wasn't at all sure about how he felt about Draco. The weird feelings he'd been having lately surely meant something. It wasn't even lately. He could remember those pangs of nerves from third year. He had put it down to hate or fear or nerves of confrontation, but he didn't think it was like that now.

He had no idea what it was like now.

Chapter Text

It was the first day back at classes after the Christmas break, and both Ron and Hermione were giving Harry anxious glances. He wondered if they were starting to believe he was crazy now as well as everyone else. He was starting to believe it. Maybe he did have hallucination to account for Cedric's death. He could believe that over Draco Malfoy having a crush on him.

'Don't be thick, Potter, we both know you're not actually crazy.'

Draco's glove was shoved into his bag between two books, looking haughtily offended at being treated in such a manner. He wasn't sure why he had shoved it in there. It was becoming something of a lucky mascot in the half a week he had had it.

"I hate Mondays," Ron said as they started up the staircase to History of Magic. He gave Hermione a strange look when she gave a snort of laughter, and Harry had to avoid looking her in the eye. He knew both of their thoughts had gone to Crookshanks. "What, it's true. History of Magic, Potions and then Divination and Defence Against the Dark Arts with Dumbridge?"

"Watch it, or she'll make an educational decree about calling her that," Hermione said.

"Potions might not be too bad," Harry shrugged.

They stopped chuckling and stared at him as though he had grown two heads. He didn't think he'd said it out loud.

"Potions?" Ron echoed. "With the Slytherins?"

Harry shrugged again.

"We're all students, right? Us against Snape."

"The Slytherins are with Snape, not against him."

"Sorry, Ron, I just don't think they're that much of a threat compared with, I dunno, Lord Voldemort."

They had come to a stop in front of the classroom now, and a group of third years glared at Harry as they overheard the conversation. Hermione looked uncomfortable, like she was going to break up the conversation at any moment. She looked like a mum with two children misbehaving at the store.

"No, they're only going to join him in a couple of years," Ron scoffed.

"I mean do they have a choice? Really?"

Ron stared at him as though he had grown three heads.

"Are you sure you know who isn't messing with your mind again?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed and shook his head.

Binns phased through the wall at that moment and stared solemnly at everyone until they entered. Conversation dwindled out as they slid into their seats. Ron kept glancing at Harry as he doodled on his page. They would wait until the end of the year and then binge-revise Hermione's notes. That was the way it worked.

Even if it wasn't, Harry wouldn't have been able to focus. After break, they had potions. Draco would be in potions. He would see Draco again. His stomach wiggled and writhed at the thought.

Hermione's elbow kept nudging him, and he couldn't figure out if it was on purpose or if she was just so absorbed in taking notes that she was unaware of his existence.

He supposed Draco liked him. In the way that he thought he liked Cho Chang. But Cho didn't make him make feel quite like this. He stammered and went red, but his stomach didn't feel like there were a dozen live snakes inside him.

And what if Draco didn't like him? What would he do then? He'd look like an idiot. Not that Draco would care, he'd probably just laugh it off, but Harry would have to live with the dark, red shame. Why did he care if Draco didn't like him anyway? What would it matter? They hadn't liked each other for four years anyway. But then, he supposed, he had ruled out all the other options. Draco had told him that. This was the only explanation left.

He had just spent the whole period thinking about Draco Malfoy.

They met up with Neville as they walked down to the dungeons. When your next lesson was potions, the break just meant you didn't have to skid down the stairs to try to make it in time, and could instead enjoy a leisurely stroll down there. It meant that the three were absorbed in whispering about Dumbledore's Army and that Harry could just smile, nod and actively try not to think about what would happen when they got down there. What would Draco do? Should he glare? Nod? Ignore him?

"What were you thinking of teaching us next?" Neville turned to him suddenly and every thought flew out of his head.

"Ah, um," he stammered, because they were just starting down the stairs to the dungeon now and just around that corner would by everyone waiting to go into class. "It's a surprise?"

"Good thinking," Neville said, nodding. "The less we can prepare the more realistic it will be."

Harry nodded and forced a smile to seem enthusiastic.

They turned the corner.

There were the Slytherins. Stood in a little group together.

Ron coughed, Hermione glared and Neville straightened his back. They were all acting as though they couldn't care less, and the Slytherins were doing the same. Like two rival gangs squaring each other off in the street.

Harry looked beyond Crabbe and Goyle, the trolls either side of the bridge, and met Draco's eyes. A spark seemed to rise up from his belly, as though a fire had been lit inside him.

Draco winked.

It was a 'blink and you'll miss it' movement. A slight jerk, that's all. Barely noticeable to anyone. But he had still winked.

Harry realised he was smiling and quickly pretended to cough, as they came to stop across from the Slytherins. On the opposite side of the corridor.

He heard a very quiet 'alright Potter?' as they passed and his heart felt like it was being squeezed because it wasn't mocking. It was almost banterous. Mostly friendly.

"What was that you were saying about Slytherins not being that bad?" Ron said.

"What? What do you mean, Harry?" Neville piped up.

Harry could have glared daggers at Ron.

"I just mean, well all our parents were with the Order. We're following them. What if it was the opposite? Wouldn't it be hard to say no? If your parents pressured you into following their example?"

"No."

Ron was glaring at him and it was all he could do to shrug and resist the urge to roll his eyes.

Hermione was also staring at him, her lips pursed as she glanced between him and the Slytherins. Oh, she was totally going to figure it out, Harry knew, but for now he could play ignorance.

He was, thankfully, saved by Snape sweeping out of the classroom like some Byron-esque vampire. Harry never thought he'd be relieved by the sight of Snape, of all people. His life really was becoming crazy.

They filed in under his dark gaze. Harry determinedly avoided Snape's eye as it weighed down upon his shoulders like an anvil. The occlumency lessons were just something else he didn't want to think about. It was bad enough having Voldemort poking around in his mind, but Snape was worse, if possible. His bullying was bad enough, but who knows what else he would pull out of Harry's mind? What if he found out about him and Draco? Why was there a him and Draco now?

"Hey Weasley, move over, would you?"

Harry was sure his heart stopped for a moment.

"Bog off, Malfoy," Ron crossed his arms and stood between Harry and Draco. He was so tall Harry could only see the edge of Draco's hair and his ear. "Don't you have your own cauldron?"

"We work in pairs, don't we?" Draco's voice came over Ron's shoulder. "I've decided to work over here today."

"What? None of your Death Eater friends want to work with you?"

"Ron," Harry snapped, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder and tugged him back slightly.

"What? You think so too, don't you?"

Harry looked to Draco, to try to tell him, if only with his eyes and a slight head shake, this was not the case any longer when they were interrupted.

"What is the problem here?" came the unmistakable greasy tones of Severus Snape as he lurked above them like a death omen. "Draco, Weasley, Potter?"

There was a distinct change in his voice as he said 'Weasley' and 'Potter,' as though he was talking of a contagious disease he was trying not to catch.

"I was merely trying to partner with someone else today, Professor," Draco said, smirking slightly as he put on the snotty time he used to talk to teachers. "In the interest of standing together as one school and not as four houses. As Professor Dumbledore said."

Harry stared fixedly at the floor. There was no way he'd be able to meet Snape's eye. Or Draco's.

"As the headmaster requested more school solidarity, I'll allow it," it was hard to tell if Snape approved or if he enjoyed making Harry and Ron miserable. "Maybe you'll be able to improve Potter's grades, Mr Malfoy."

There was an awful moment where Ron stood firm and Harry was sure this would end up in detention for both of them, even though he'd purposely not said a word. He had sort of hoped that Draco would win the fight. It saved him the conflict of speaking up.

Then Ron stepped past Draco and stood next to Hermione's cauldron, glaring icy daggers at Draco as he stepped behind Harry's cauldron.

Harry couldn't look at him. He just stared at the cauldron and tried not to think about how close they were standing. How he could feel Draco's body heat.

"Now that the ladies have sorted out their drama," Snape said slowly, earning a few sniggers from the opposite side of the classroom. Draco turned and gave the Slytherins a cold stare and the sniggers died down. "We can begin."

Ron kept glancing at Harry with a mixture of concern and annoyance whilst Snape wrote up the instructions on the board. It was a third year potion, the antidote to uncommon poisons. He should be able to manage with it.

"Do you really think we're all Death Eaters?" Draco murmured, pulling his ingredients out of his bag and placing them on the desk with a resounding thud. He glowered at the board and didn't look at meet his eye.

Harry's heart felt like it was being squeezed. He felt like he was being torn in two.

"No," he said. "No, well, not anymore. Just your parents."

Draco paused, his hand hovering over a jar like a pale spider.

"I suppose that's accurate," he unscrewed the lid of a jar and begun to weigh out Billywig strings, though he reached across the table to use Harry's scales. His arm stretched across them and Harry instinctively shifted, like a magnet. He desperately read the next step for an excuse to move away.

Harry busied himself by pulling out a Graphorn horn and beginning to crush it into powder.

"So, is this what we do now?" Harry asked. "We're potions partners?"

"Do you want to be partners?"

Draco glanced up at him from under brown lashes, the corners of his lips curving upwards. Harry had never noticed that Draco had brown eyelashes before. Did he want to be partners? What kind of a question was that? Did Draco mean something more? Did he not? Was Harry reading too much into things?

Most definitely.

He continued crushing, becoming more and more focused on moving the pestle in the right way as opposed to the state of the horn. Draco seemed content to let him keep doing that, managing to balance out the right amounts and stir the rapidly developing mixture by himself. He must have seen how incompetent Harry was at potions.

He decided to play it safe.

"Dunno."

Draco snorted, adding the billywig stings into the cauldron, one hand on Harry's shoulder. A large puff of smoke appeared a moment later, and Draco pulled him gently out of harm's way.

"Oh, honestly, you've ground that way too much," he said as soon as he saw the paste in Harry's mortar.

"This is how I always do it," he lied. He didn't want to admit he'd been distracted.

"Not anymore," Draco pulled out his own mortar – a white marble one - and took the pestle from Harry's hands. "This is how you do it, see?"

"Malfoy," he tried to sound intimidating. Like he knew better and didn't need to be shown how to do simple things.

"I'm just trying to help you pass your OWLs."

"Since when have you cared about my OWLs?"

"Since I started caring about your hand - how is it, by the way?"

"Since you asked yesterday?" Harry began slicing up the chizpurfle carapaces.

"Since I asked yesterday."

"About how it was yesterday."

"Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry smirked slightly. "Its three turns clockwise then two turns anti-clockwise."

Malfoy murmured a curse under his breath and looked down at the cauldron. The potion was simmering angrily. He feverishly stirred it twice backwards and it calmed down.

"Weren't you supposed to be helping me?" Harry asked, holding back a laugh.

"You keep distracting me," Draco said. He batted Harry's hands away as he dropped the chizpurfle carapaces in the cauldron. "Leave me to my work."

Harry raised his hands in surrender.

"It's all yours."

Draco glared at him for a moment, but it held no malice and Harry wondered if either of them knew they were smiling. It was almost relaxing, to make potions with Draco, like cooking with friends. He hadn't had much experience, but he imagined it would be like this: more banter and laughter than actual cooking. Would Harry and Hermione cook with him, if he asked? Would Draco?

Draco probably didn't know where his own kitchen was.

They continued brewing the potion, Harry dutifully doing what Draco said to because he did need a good grade in this class and Draco knew what he was doing. He could sense Ron staring at him, but determinedly didn't meet his eye. He wanted to ignore everyone else for just a little bit longer. To keep being in this odd little bubble.

The time flew by. Before he knew it, they were scooping up the potion into glass vials and handing it to Snape. For once, he didn't sneer or curl his lip at Harry's, so he took that as a relative success.

"You're improving already," Draco said.

"So, is this a thing now?" Harry asked. They were walking at a snail's pace back to their bags, snatching every last moment before the status quo kicked back in.

"Do you want it to be a thing?"

There was that question again.

"Dunno," Harry said. "Can you get me an 'E'?"

"Your wish is my command," Draco said, he held out a hand.

It took Harry a moment to realise, before he slipped his hand into Draco's. They shook hands. Once. Harry's dark fingers felt cold in Draco's, and he was surprised once more at how warm Draco was.

Draco pulled away and turned abruptly back to the Slytherins. Harry turned back to the Gryffindors.

The spell was broken.

"So, you and Cho?"

Ron broke the awkward silence at dinner. The subject of potions had been artfully avoided, though all the fifth years kept glancing at Harry expectantly, as though they expected him to reveal everything. The whole day had been passed in tense conversation as though it was an effort to be normal.

"Uh, yeah, Valentine's Day, I guess," Harry said. He was pushing a potato around his plate. He couldn't find himself being nervous or really caring that much. The hour of occlumency was quickly approaching and as he watched time tick by, he lost more and more of his appetite.

"You nervous?"

Harry noticed that Ginny Weasley had now turned to them and was watching him pointedly. It took him a moment to realise she wasn't talking about occlumency. He shrugged.

"It seems a long way away, if I'm honest."

But what if Draco had asked him? Would that make him nervous?

They'd probably both be hexed before they left the castle. The Houses did not mix, it seemed.

"It's a little strange, isn't it," Hermione said, and she glanced at Ginny for back-up. "That she was with Cedric and now…"

Harry shrugged hopelessly. He guessed it was strange. A year ago he would have been glad for Cho's affection, but now it just made him uncomfortable and awkward. She hadn't even mentioned the DA. What did she want from him?

"Pain unites people," Ginny murmured. Her gaze finally shifted from Harry to the table behind him. The Ravenclaws. He didn't trust himself to glance at any other tables since the pumpkin juice incident, so had made a point of sitting to face the wall. Was Draco looking at him now?

"Anyway, Hermione, can you lend me some notes?" Ron asked.

"Honestly, Ronald, does it never occur to you to make your own notes?"

An argument began and Harry took the opportunity to stir his food around more and brood about his impending doom. An hour alone with Snape trying to poke around inside his brain. There couldn't be anything worse.

"Harry, how's it going?" Seamus nudged him with an elbow and gave a small smile. Harry tried not to stare at the red mark on his neck. Not quite a cut and not quite a bruise. It was an odd place to get hurt. "How's your dilemma?"

"As confusing as ever," Harry muttered. "I mean, I thought I'd cracked it, but…"

"You can't tell them, can you?"

"No," Harry said. He was sure he'd be able to tell Draco how he felt. If he did feel like that. If he knew how he felt.

"Ahuh," Seamus very obviously didn't believe him. "So, what is it?"

"What if I'm just reading too much into it?"

"And they don't like you back?" Seamus raised an eyebrow sceptically, then shoved a whole roast potato in his mouth and spoke around it. "You're the chosen one, aren't you? Anyone would trip over themselves to date you."

"That's not what really matters to-" Harry stopped himself from saying 'Draco' just in time. "-Them."

Seamus' other eyebrow rose as he swallowed the potato.

"Then they must like you. It's the whole 'true you' nonsense, yeah?"

"Yeah, maybe," Harry said. He frowned at his gravy once more. Did Draco care about him? Did he know anything about Harry?

Seamus nudged him again.

"Cheer up, Harry, it's not the end of the world."

But it felt like it. It felt like everything he'd known since he had come to Hogwarts was unravelling. Everything he knew about Draco Malfoy was confused and muddled and he didn't dislike that. He had enjoyed Draco's company. He would enjoy being potions partners with Draco again.

He would enjoy being friends with Draco.

Why would he enjoy being friends with Draco?

And why was time passing so quickly?

It seemed like five seconds later that he was standing in the entrance hall saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione as they headed to the library.

Hermione gave him a quick, tight hug.

"Be careful, okay?" she said. "This is the one place where you should be safe. If he does anything…"

"Should be," Harry said. "It hasn't exactly lived up to that, has it?"

Hermione frowned, one eyebrow slightly raised as she looked at the floor. She looked worried, more worried than usual. And scared. Her dark eyes wavered.

"Hermione, it'll be fine. I'll be fine," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Snape can't be worse than Voldemort, can he?"

Hermione nodded, but she was grasping the strap of her bag tightly. Too tightly.

"And I'm – sorry – I've been a real prick lately. I've just been so stressed."

"It's understandable mate," Ron said, he placed one hand on Hermione's shoulder and her head titled ever so slightly towards him. Harry removed his, suddenly feeling unneeded. "Just remember we're on your side, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry forced himself to return Ron's small smile and even Hermione mustered one up. In the last few months, though, it felt more like he was fighting against them.

But as they turned away the smile dropped. They were his friends, yes. Yet Harry was sure there was a slight emphasis on 'we're' when Ron said it. Had he been hinting at he who was in Harry's thoughts so often? Probably.

Draco was on his side too, though, wasn't he?

Chapter Text

"Once more, Potter."

It had been the worst hour of Harry's life. Time and time again Snape had barged his way into his mind and he had ended up collapsed on his knees, his head stinging and spinning and just generally floating. The highest point had been the stinging curse he had never meant to fire. The lowest point had been when he had flinched away from a jar because he was sure that the slug inside had come back to life. He was becoming delusional from all this. Wouldn't The Daily Prophet be happy?

But he managed to pull himself to his feet once more, trying his best to glare at Snape from above the rim of his glasses. He had broken out in a cold sweat, and they kept slipping down his nose.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Are you ready?"

"About as ready as the other times, which is to say, no."

Before he could even finish the question, Snape had cast the spell and his memories were flashing before his eyes. Grimmauld Place. Christmas. Dementors. Draco. Draco sat at the end of his bed.

'If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you.'

Draco. Stood in the owlery.

'Especially when we're on opposite sides of the war.'

Draco. Standing over a cauldron.

'Do you want to be partners?'

There was a sudden bright light and everything dissolved. Harry opened his eyes to find the room was suddenly dazzlingly bright, but at least he was on his feet.

A moment later, he realised that the light was coming from his own wand and extinguished it with a murmur. Snape unpeeled his face from his arm, like a spider crawling out of a crack in the wall.

"Did you mean to do that, Potter?" he asked with his usual condescending hatred.

Harry hesitated.

"If I say 'yeah,' do I get to leave?" he asked. Then added the afterthought of: "Sir."

Snape stared at him a moment longer with those beetle-like eyes and Harry found he was too tired to even resist a shiver.

"I suppose its something akin to progress."

Harry nodded. As he grabbed his bag, he considered saying 'thank you,' and then realised that would be ludicrous. He was not grateful at all. There was no point lying. They were past that now. They could be truthful.

"Oh, and Potter?" Snape called. He reluctantly turned back, one hand on the door. He was so close to freedom! "Sort out whatever mess you have with Malfoy. Pining teenagers come third in things I despise."

They could be too truthful, it seemed.

Pining, he thought to himself as he started down the corridor of the dungeons. There was an echoey drip coming from somewhere that quickened his step. Pining? He was not pining. Pining implied all sorts of affection and the like that he simply did not have for Draco Malfoy. He pressed a hand to his cheek and was horrified to find his face was warm. It was impossible. That wasn't what was going on. It couldn't be what was going on.

How would he explain this to Cho?

"Potter!"

His stomach turned to ice and his eyes widened to the size of saucers as he heard the voice. He didn't even have to turn to know who it was.

He broke into a run without thinking because he couldn't. Not here, not now. He would not be able to look Draco in the eye. He wouldn't be able to speak. He wouldn't even be able to explain what he was doing here. He wouldn't want to. To admit that Snape, Severus Snape, of all people had had a peek into his love life.

He couldn't think of it as his love life. That wasn't what this was. It couldn't be what this was.

Harry managed to run all the way to the fourth floor before he had to break into a stumbling walk. That was actually an impressive distance, he told himself as he wheezed for air. He ran a hand through his hair and found it damp with sweat.

As he entered the library, the door closed with more force than he meant it to and he received a glare from Madame Pince. He stuck his head down and tried to seem inconspicuous. As always, he was unsuccessful and could feel eyes following him as he headed over to the rest of the fifth years. Everyone was buried in Umbridge's latest homework, which he supposed he'd better make a start on. He didn't much fancy a scar that said 'I must hand my homework in on time.' 'I must not tell lies' he could work with, he had imagined a dozen situations where he could say that and look really cool.

He slipped onto the bench next to Ron and half-heartedly pulled out a book. His hand was shaking. He clenched his fist and tried to even out his breathing. 'I must not think about Draco Malfoy.'

"You alright, mate?" Ron whispered. "You look…"

"You look awful!"

Hermione's voice was just too loud for Madame Pince and they received an angry 'shhh.'

"Thanks, that's what I was going for," Harry said. He tried a smile, but it felt more like a shaky grimace.

"You look pretty pale," Ron amended. He pulled a chocolate frog, headless, from his pocket and handed it over. "Take it, it'll do more good for you than me."

Harry gave the shaky grimace again and took the chocolate. His stomach felt like it was tied in too many knots to eat, but chocolate was different.

"You shouldn't eat in here," Hermione said. It wasn't a rebuke, however, but a pointed glance at Madame Pince. Harry shoved half of the remaining frog into his mouth. "I suppose it would make you feel bad, having Snape poking around into everything."

"Leaves me less time for homework as well," Harry muttered, with a nod towards Hermione's parchment.

"Oh, fine."

She pushed it across the table towards them. Harry and Ron hunched together as they used her work as a reference. Harry tried to focus on making his handwriting legible for once. It kept his mind off of, well, everything else.

It also meant that they finished more quickly, and they made it to bed just before midnight. A rarity this year.

"You seem very quiet," Ron said as Harry was trying to punch his pillow into a more comfortable shape. It wasn't like Ron to be so observant, but everyone was being surprising lately.

"Do I? I guess I just have a lot on my mind."

"Lot on everyone's minds lately."

Harry paused.

"Heard from your dad?"

"Mum said he's doing fine. He can't wait to get back to work. Keeps worrying about, uh, stuff."

"I can always help you out, if you need it?"

"I know."

Ron wasn't looking at him. There was only the slightest hint of resentment in his voice. Harry tried to change the subject from money.

"When do you think would be good for the next DA meeting?"

"Leave it a couple of days. Wait until there's less on your mind."

Harry nodded, and lay down. Getting less on his mind was going to be difficult. The occlumency lessons weren't going away, and neither was Voldemort, Dumbledore's Army, or exams. The only thing that could, potentially be dealt with, was Draco.

How on earth would he be able to deal with Draco?

The week passed in a blur. Classes were back in full and the homework was being laid on thick. It didn't help that every new class brought a new DA member asking when the next meeting would be.

"You have the galleons for a reason," Ron snapped at Hannah Abbot. "They'll tell you when."

"What he said," Harry had said with a meek smile before they slipped into their seats.

It was also only a matter of time until potions came round again on Thursday. Harry had seen glimpses of Draco in the corridor and had made an effort to keep his head down and his heartbeat under control. Every time he thought about that 'mess' he could see Snape's sneering face and hear him saying 'pining teenagers.'

"I'll share your cauldron," Harry muttered to Ron as they filed into the classroom. Ron looked relieved and Harry tried not to feel Draco staring at him. What was the look on his face? Would he be angry? Hurt? He couldn't check. Whatever happened, he couldn't check. If he looked at Draco, Draco would know he was thinking about him. Not that he was thinking about him.

He did glance across, though, as Snape was writing up the instructions on the board. Draco was frowning slightly, a sharp line appearing in between his eyes. In the dank light of the dungeons, his skin looked ghostly pale. There was a faint green light that reflected in his eyes. He seemed like a Veela.

He also glanced across whilst he was powdering the unicorn horn. A few strands of Draco's hair had come loose and hung in front of his face as he leant over his mortar. There was a sudden, sharp pain in his thumb and he realised he'd crushed it under the pestle. He was sure, however, that he imagined the snigger.

He also glanced across as he waited for the potion to brew. Draco was watching his own cauldron, the steam rising up to his face like curling fingers. What would it be like to touch Draco's face? He looked at Harry. Harry looked away.

His face burned and his heat beat unsteadily. Ron frowned at him as he stirred the potion, but he didn't say anything. He kept his head down, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling. Draco had saw him staring at him.

The rest of the lesson passed painstakingly slowly, and Harry felt almost euphoric as he handed his vial in. He picked up his satchel, ready to go, just as Snape cleared his throat.

"Can I have two volunteers to tidy up the classroom?"

A chorus of quiet groans came from the Gryffindors. The Slytherins smirked over at them.

"Potter, how about you? And-"

"I'll volunteer, Professor."

Snape raised an eyebrow at Draco's voice, but didn't say anything as he swept out of the room.

Harry dropped his satchel back on the floor with a thud and watched the retreating backs of everyone going to lunch. Ron and Hermione gave him sympathetic looks over their shoulders and he shrugged.

He could still avoid Draco, he told himself. He'd been forced to tidy up enough times to know what went where, so he gathered up the borrowed ingredients and hurried to the cupboard in the back, glass jars stacked up to his chin.

For once, Harry took his time sliding the jars from his arms and onto the correct shelves. It was strangely calming to stare at the Blind-worm wriggling in its container. It was better than thinking about Draco Malfoy.

"You've been avoiding me."

Harry turned, his arms still half-full, to see Draco's silhouette in the doorway of the cupboard. His insides gave that familiar twisty feeling as they froze into place. He felt like the Blind-worm.

"I haven't," Harry lied.

"Why?"

"I wasn't really trying."

"You literally ran from me, Potter."

"Well, yeah, because I'd just had, uh, remedial potions. It was embarrassing."

"Remedial potions? Not with what I made you didn't."

Harry sighed, leaning against the shelves. He should have known that he couldn't lie to Draco. In fact, he wanted to tell the truth, just to see what someone else would say. Someone who didn't care about walking on eggshells.

"Occlumency lessons with Snape. That was why I was down here."

There was a pause.

"Occlumency?" Draco echoed.

Harry nodded, his cheeks burning.

"Bloody scar, innit?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you only recently decided that you cared about me."

"That's not true," Draco said.

"Isn't it?" Harry snapped, shoving the rest of the glass jars onto a spare shelf. "Last year you turned the whole school against me."

"It wasn't just me. I help you plenty." Draco muttered. Then raised his voice and tilted his chin upwards. "First year. I challenged you to a wizard's duel. What happened?"

"I was almost killed by a three-headed dog!"

"And what was he guarding?"

"The philosopher's…how did you know that?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair and leant against the doorway of the cupboard.

"I heard Snape muttering to himself in first year. It's a bad habit of his."

"And what, he just wandered around telling a bunch of first years about the Philosopher's stone?"

"Even he's not that ridiculous," Draco snorted. "No, he muttered in his rooms at night."

"What were you doing in his rooms at night?"

"Nothing," Draco's eyes narrowed. There was the faintest blush on his face. "I was outside. I wandered the dungeons a lot in first year. There's a lot to explore."

"What made you want to wander down here?"

"I couldn't sleep, alright? It was miserable down here."

Harry blinked. That first year had been the happiest he'd ever been. Then again, it was also the first year he wasn't sleeping in a cupboard, so there hadn't been a lot of competition. His dorm had been a considerable upgrade, but he supposed for someone like Draco, with his 'manor,' it must have been hard to say goodbye to all of that. If he'd lived with his parents, he probably would get homesick.

"I didn't know that," Harry muttered.

"You never asked."

Harry frowned. It was true, he had never asked, but it had never occurred to him to ask the person who seemed to hate him most about his life. The more Draco told him, the more he seemed like a rebel in his own house. He was just trying to fit in, it seemed, and leading the hate against Harry Potter made it easy to be popular.

"I didn't think Dumbledore would like it if I told people about the occlumency," he tried to amend himself.

"To hell with Dumbledore," Draco said. "Snape is not the best person to teach you anything about occlumency."

"He's an occlumens," Harry suggested.

Draco snorted.

"He's a Death Eater," he said. "I've never trusted him. I hardly trust my father not to kill me over Snape."

"I don't have much choice, do I?" Harry said.

"You could. If you trust me."

"What?"

"Do you trust me, Potter?"

Harry half expected Draco to hold out his hand and offer him a magic carpet ride. It wouldn't surprise him at this moment, and it would probably be more enjoyable than a flying car.

"If you've had my back all these years," Harry said, slowly. "Why not one more?"

Draco flashed a smile and took a few steps further into the cupboard. Harry swallowed and fought the urge to step backwards. He was getting the feeling of being cornered and he couldn't remember the last time he had stood this close to Draco Malfoy. But he couldn't be scared. Draco could probably smell fear.

"My mother, she's an occlumens, and a good one," he said, glancing backwards as though he was worried they would be overheard.

"But she is married to your father," Harry said gingerly. How could the wife of a Death Eater, and a probable Death Eater, be better than a known one?

"How do you think she's lived with him all these years?"

Draco's hand was resting on a shelf above Harry's head, so that his arm arced above them. It proved to be quite the distraction and Harry fought to keep breathing normally.

"You're saying your mum would teach me occlumency?" he asked. His fingers traced the top of a jar, feeling every ridge on the lid.

"Yes. She's even fooled Voldemort before, she'd be perfect," Draco said. He was leaning towards Harry now, the stray strands of hair reaching down towards him like curling fingers of smoke.

"How would she – I mean, how would I – she's not at Hogwarts…" Harry was finding it hard to think straight.

"Floo powder."

"Umbridge is watching the networks."

"How do you know?"

"That's how my godfather used to speak to me."

"Didn't know you had a godfather."

"Neither did I till recently."

"Well, we can't very well fly, it would take too long," Draco murmured to himself. He ran a hand across his jaw and glanced away from Harry as he thought. He was still very close. He suddenly clicked his fingers – the one's right by Harry's head, which made him jump – and grinned. "I have it. You still have that beast in the Forbidden Forest, right?"

"Which one?" Harry blinked. Surely, he didn't mean Aragog?

"The horse-thing that almost killed me."

"Buckbeak barely scratched you."

"Whatever. Is it still there or not?" Draco asked.

"No, he's," Harry wasn't sure whether to say the truth or not. "There are other hippogriffs, though."

"Right, we'll use one of them," Draco said. How was he still finding space to get closer to Harry without touching him? "Umbridge can't be watching the floo networks in Hogsmeade. We'll go there."

"We can't very well walk into the Three Broomsticks and use their fireplace," Harry said.

"No," Draco said slowly. "But I bet the Hog's Head gets rowdy in the evenings. No one would notice."

"This is crazy," Harry murmured. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

Harry blinked at Draco. There wasn't a light in the cupboard, so his features were bathed in shadows. His eyes were sparkling like tiny night skies.

"Your mum would really teach me?"

Draco nodded. His mouth was set in a determined line.

"When can you get away?"

There was a DA meeting tonight. There was no way he could let that secret slip.

"Tomorrow?" he whispered.

"Tomorrow then. Entrance hall. Half nine?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Good."

Draco was still very close. So close Harry could hear his breath. He tilted his chin up, his eyes for some reason dropping to Draco's mouth. His lips were slightly parted.

There was a clink as Draco moved a jar near Harry's head.

"Chizpurfle carapaces go here," he said. Harry stepped back as he rearranged the jars. "So, this occlumency business, that's what's got you avoiding me?"

"Snape saw a lot of stuff I didn't want him to."

"What, Potter, he saw us holding hands?" Draco gave a harsh bark. It sounded slightly bitter. "Are you ashamed to call me your friend?"

"It would take some explaining," Harry said.

"Potter." There was an edge to Draco's voice.

"No."

Harry surprised himself by how confident he sounded. He was even more surprised to find he meant it.

"No, I'd stand by you, Draco."

Draco turned, his usual smirk making its way onto his face.

"So, can we be partners again?"

"I – don't know what you mean when you say that," Harry stammered. He was nowhere near as good at putting up a façade as Draco and he decided it was time to give up doing so. He had to know what was going on.

"What do you want it to mean?"

"Stop messing with me, Malfoy."

"I'm 'messing' with you?"

"Do you like me?" Harry snapped, his hands clenched at his sides. He was trying to purse his lips at Draco, but it felt like more of a pout.

"Well, well, now we're getting somewhere, aren't we, Potter?" Draco stepped forward.

Harry swallowed.

"Tell you what," Draco said. "When you can keep Snape out of your mind, I'll let this conversation continue. Until then, you have a classroom to clean. Potter."

He gave another one of those wink/smirk combos that made Harry's heart feel like it was going to burst, before sauntering out of the potions cupboard.

"You – you said you'd clean too!" he cried, following Draco out. "Malfoy!"

But Draco was already closing the door. As he did so, the mop and broom fell over. With a start, Harry realised Draco had enchanted the room to self-tidy. All to be alone in a cupboard with Harry Potter.

Well, being in the closet was something Harry was becoming more and more familiar with.

He shook his head and made his exit, his heart still struggling to maintain a regular heartbeat. He was confused, annoyed and irritated at Draco, sure, but there was also an immense feeling of relief washing over him. Draco's mother would teach him occlumency. That had to be better than Snape. And Draco was still his friend. Wanted to be his friend.

And if this was just all some elaborate plan to hand him into Voldemort, then he was sure Snape would have done it already. No, he could trust Draco. It was always the kids against the adults.

"Harry."

At first, he wasn't sure if he imagined the breathy voice, but then he remembered the existence of Luna Lovegood and turned to find the Ravenclaw waving at him. She stretched out her arm well above her head as she walked towards him, the radishes in her ears swinging wildly.

"Luna," he said. "Hi."

"You look flushed, Harry," she said, loudly enough for surrounding students to hear and peer at him curiously. "Has something happened?"

"Um, nargles, I guess," Harry muttered, then realised she just could be the best person to ask. "Listen, Luna, I have a problem for you?"

"You mean a puzzle? I very much enjoy puzzles – have you heard the one about the three all powerful Gods?"

"No, actually," he said.

Luna explained it, smiling slightly to herself as though she was delighted to finally be able to share it with someone. Harry guessed it was lonely in Luna's mind. She explained the problem: of travelling to a strange planet and having to pass the trial of three Gods, but only being able to ask three questions and not knowing which word meant 'yes' and which word meant 'no.' He had to admit he was stumped by it.

"Its okay, I know I'll meet someone who can solve it one day," Luna said. "So, what's your puzzle, Harry?"

"It's just more of a question really. Say there's someone everyone doesn't trust, but you have good reason to believe they can help you, would you accept their help?"

"Of course," Luna said. "You should always trust your instincts. I do."

"But what if your instincts about this person only recently changed?"

"People change. Instincts change," Luna shrugged. Her grey eyes seemed to be staring straight into Harry's mind, and he wondered if she had guessed just who he was talking about.

"But, say that would mean hiding things from some of the people you're closest to?"

"If they're the people closest to you, they should understand," Luna said. She tilted her head to the side as she appraised him, almost smiling. "Shouldn't they?"

Oh, she totally knew. What she was saying made perfect sense and she was getting Harry to admit that to himself. She was right, if Ron and Hermione were really his friends, they would understand if he told them about Draco. Maybe. He couldn't imagine either of them would be very accommodating. Ron despised all Slytherins and Draco still called Hermione a mudblood.

"They really don't like this person," Harry said.

"But they trust you, don't they?"

"I guess."

"Then they'll trust your instincts, Harry."

"Not recently."

"Give people a chance," Luna said, placing a hand on Harry's arm and smiling. "Everything works out alright in the end. Even if it's some way you don't expect."

"That sounds more comforting than it is, Luna," he said. He didn't want to be pleasantly surprised. There wasn't room to be pleasantly surprised in the future. He had to beat Voldemort, that was all there was to it. That had to work out. If Harry didn't stand by Draco, he'd end up a Death Eater. Everything had to work out how he needed it to. If it didn't work out in the way he expected, it would spell disaster.

"The truth is never comforting," Luna said.

"Harry," Ginny appeared as they entered the Great Hall, she gave Luna a sunny smile. "Luna, you guys okay?"

Harry nodded, still trying to take in Luna's words.

"I could actually use your help with a few things," Luna said. "Are you up for a Nargle hunt later?"

"Sure," Ginny smiled until Luna drifted off to the Ravenclaw table, then elbowed Harry. "My favourite part is jinxing the Slytherins when they start shit."

Harry tried to smile but he felt hesitant. Surely, there were more jerks in the school that weren't Slytherins. Surely, some Ravenclaws were jerks too.

They slid into place next to Ron and Hermione. Ginny immediately began piling her plate up. She never failed to amaze Harry with the sheer amount she ate.

"How was tidying up with Malfoy?" Ron spat out the name.

"Um, okay, actually," Harry floundered between coming clean and keeping it secret a little longer. "He was, yeah, nice."

"Nice? Malfoy?!" Ron coughed out his pumpkin juice, earning a disgusted look from his sister.

"Yeah."

"Harry, are you sure Snape didn't get into your head?" Hermione frowned across at him.

"No, Draco got me an 'E' in potions on Monday," Harry said.

"And that's supposed to make up for all he's done and said all these years?" Ron spat.

"Well, no, but, well, people change," Harry said. "Right?"

"Not Slytherins."

"Why not?"

"Slytherins don't change. Not since the founders."

Harry frowned. They both gave him such an adamant stare that he didn't argue. He stared into his lunch and wondered if Luna was right after all. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe Ron and Hermione wouldn't change. Maybe they'd never forgive Draco. If only there was someone else he could talk to. Someone who would understand the pressure Draco was under, being a pure blood but not sharing their beliefs.

Sirius! If only he could talk to Sirius.

There must be some way. But, without floo powder, what other choice did he have?

There was the mysterious package he'd received at Christmas. Sirius had said to use it if Snape was going over the line, and Harry guessed he hadn't, yet. But if there was a chance Draco's mother would be able to help him more than Snape, it could be worth it. If Snape was opening up his mind, one more person doing so wouldn't make a difference. It could be worth the gamble. It could keep Snape from annoying him.

He sincerely hoped it wasn't a one-time communication.

Chapter Text

5

The package was still wrapped up in an old copy of the Daily Prophet. It was handily annotated by Sirius, with several choice words written over an article about Harry. He grinned to himself at the lazy scrawl, then opened it up. A mirror fell out with a note. It had been how James and Sirius had talked to each other in detention. Harry wasn’t too sure how to feel about his father getting detentions, but he supposed he’d also had his fair share. Becoming an Animagus or hunting down the Philosopher’s stone came with breaking school rules. If it saved your friends, that was the cost.

He took the mirror to the toilets and locked himself in a cubicle.

“Sirius,” he murmured to the mirror.

He waited. There was a long moment. He tapped on the glass.

A mist slowly cleared, revealing a jumble of images from the other side of the mirror as it was picked up by someone on the other end. Harry recognised the drab, fading décor of ten Grimmauld Place. Sirius’ face appeared in the mirror. He had been expecting the usual grin, but there was a concerned frown on his godfather’s face instead. He had rarely seen Sirius frown like that. It made him look old.

“Harry – that was fast. Is it really going that bad?”

“No, well, I mean, it’s not ideal, but I needed to talk to you about something,” Harry said quickly. It quelled Sirius’ fear, and he nodded, though his brow was still drawn together. “It’s about occlumency.”

“Shoot.”

“So, well,” Harry paused. It felt like he was coming out to his parents and suddenly he wanted to throw the mirror down the toilet and run away. “I’ve been talking to Malfoy recently-“

“Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

“Yeah, um, it just kind of happened. We bumped into each other outside last week and - that’s not important,” Harry felt his face warm. “He said his mother’s a good occlumens.”

“Narcissa?” Sirius raised his eyebrows. He ran a hand over his mouth, stretching out his jaw as he thought. “I imagine so. So, what? You’re going to…?”

“If we could get there, Malfoy said she could teach me instead of Snape.”

“You said Snape wasn’t that bad,” Sirius said, though it looked like he still had a bitter taste in his mouth when he said the name. “I dislike him as much as you do, Harry, but is it really necessary to walk into a Death Eater’s house? At least at Hogwarts you have-“

“Dumbledore? He doesn’t talk to me, Sirius. He doesn’t even look at me.”

“You’re safe there, Harry.”

“You really think if Voldemort wanted to get in to Hogwarts he wouldn’t find a way?” Harry fought to keep his voice down. “He has before. Right under Dumbledore’s nose.”

“Yeah, I know. But you have to admit, this sounds like a trap.”

“I don’t think Malfoy would do that,” Harry said. He reached into his pocket with his spare hand and felt the glove. “He helped me.”

“That could also be a ploy.”

“I know when Malfoy’s plotting,” Harry said. “He doesn’t do this when he wants me to do something. I just – I know this is genuine, Sirius.”

Sirius gave him a long, steady look.

“What makes you trust him?”

“I just,” Harry shrugged. “Do.”

The long, steady look continued. Sirius’ dark eyes searched over Harry’s and Harry struggled to hold his gaze. It was as though he was searching for something.

Sirius nodded.

“If you trust him, Harry, then I trust you,” he said. Harry’s heart lifted. Someone trusted him. Someone wasn’t coddling him up. Sirius was letting him make his own decisions. “Keep your wand close, though.”

“Always,” Harry said. He was grinning. He couldn’t help it.

“I,” Sirius paused, his dark eyes scanning Harry’s face as though he was at a loss for words. “Thinking of you. Let me know how it goes.”

Harry nodded. He hesitated too, the words he was sure Sirius was going to say on his tongue too. He couldn’t quite spit them out.

“Yeah. See you later.”

Sirius’s face vanished from the mirror, and Harry was left alone in bathroom stall staring at a poem of graffiti. It compared Alicia Spinnet to a nymph and had received many approving comments.

The words were still in Harry’s mouth. ‘I love you.’ Why was that such a difficult phrase to say?

He flushed the toilet, opened the stall and washed his hands. His mind was at a blank, as though he had worn himself thin from all of the questions beating at his brain. There was only his tired face in the mirror staring back at him. Sirius trusted his decision. His mind was made up.

Harry headed back upstairs slowly and sat with Ron and Hermione to finish up the homework, his mind worlds away. They were satisfied, though, by his performance. For once, he wasn’t the angry and hissing Harry that had tormented them for so long. He was just Harry.

The numbness continued as he drifted off to sleep, seemed to drift in that expanse of darkness until the morning, and then woke up and drifted through classes. Nothing seemed real. It was as though he had stepped outside his body and was watching an imposter pretending to be Harry.

An imposter who would meet Draco Malfoy tonight. Did that make him a double agent? To who? Himself? Was this how Snape felt? What if Snape was a triple agent? A quadruple agent?

Luna saw him at lunchtime the next day and pressed a bottle cork into his hand.

“You look stressed, Harry,” she said. “Look after yourself.”

“How exactly do I do that?” Harry asked.

“Do what you want to do every once in a while,” Luna leant towards him, so that Ron and Hermione couldn’t hear. “Not what everyone expects you to.”

“I think I’m working on that.”

“Good. Tell me when you’re ready.”

Actually, Harry thought he would. If he survived the night, he supposed Luna would be the perfect person to tell. She could probably keep a secret, and even if she couldn’t, not many people would trust her word. He hated himself for thinking it, but it was true. She had no prejudices. She most likely had no idea of the rivalry of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. He was bursting to release everything that had happened.

And he had found the perfect confidant. If this wasn’t all a trap.

Time passed perfectly normally. Harry checked the time regularly and found the hands on his watch progressing with their usual speed. He was just waiting. At eight, he declared he was going to have an early night and proceeded upstairs to shape some pillows into a vaguely ‘Harry’ shape.

Dean was the one who walked in on him stuffing socks desperately into a pillowcase to make his waist.

“You’re going to a lot of effort to sneak out today,” he said, perching on Seamus’ bed.

“Ron doesn’t know,” Harry explained.

“Ah. Seamus told me about your secret admirer.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘admirer,’” Harry tried to argue, but then wasn’t sure what he’d actually call Draco, so changed tack. “That was a private conversation.”

“We’re a package deal. You have to understand that your love life is a great amusement to us.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so.”

“Hot date?” Dean pressed.

“Hardly. A huge gamble.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in such a Seamus-like way, Harry shivered.

“Well, good luck with your gamble.”

“Good luck with, uh, whatever you do with Seamus.”

Harry nodded, then took up his invisibility cloak and headed out of the room. On the stairs, he slipped it over himself, wondering at how large it really was. It seemed double the size now that three people weren’t crowded under it. He wouldn’t have to worry about his feet showing or his elbow sticking out. It was the most free he had felt in a long time as he crossed the Common Room.

He would be able to eavesdrop on Ron and Hermione. Or Fred and George. They were mumbling and scribbling stuff down on parchment, one of their puking pastilles sat in front of them. He could definitely freak some people out. If he didn’t have a hot gamble. A huge date. A hot, huge gamble date.

But it was also very crowded, and he watched where he stood as he crossed to the passageway. He could definitely slide down the bannisters without anyone noticing and he was tempted to, if not for the large knot growing in his stomach. It seemed to be absorbing everything inside him, turning him into one anxious mess. This could all be a prank. Or Draco could have forgotten. He might not even be down there. What would Harry do then?

He couldn’t even think about Draco’s mum. What would he say? What would she say? How did he feel about having her in his mind? That one was actually easily answered. He didn’t know her. It seemed much more comforting to have complete stranger look in his mind than anyone else. Would she laugh at Aunt Marge’s dog chasing him up a tree?

Would Draco stay and watch? Would it be weird if he did? Would it be weird if he didn’t?

Harry bumped into a first year, who screamed and chose instead to concentrate on weaving in and out of the throng of students. Once he reached the Entrance Hall, he slipped off the cloak and lurked in the corner. A very small part of him, the part that was still focused on school, worried that Umbridge would come across him and demand to know what he was doing there.

But Draco arrived before he had to cross that bridge.

There were still a few people milling about when he appeared from the dungeons, his eyes scanning the hall until he found Harry’s. He didn’t show any sign of seeing him. He didn’t even jerk his head. He simply started swanning towards the main doors, not paying attention to the curious glances he was attracting. He had style, Harry had to admit.

Harry followed, as discreetly as he could, though he earned more confused stares than curious ones.

He slipped outside the doors after Draco and found the Hogwarts grounds a mess of indigo and black and blue. Blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness, he couldn’t spot Draco on the stairs as he stumbled down them.

Something grabbed his elbow as he reached the bottom, and he had half a mind to cry out before he heard a voice he was starting to find comforting.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Malfoy,” he said. He wasn’t sure why.

“Let’s go,” Draco said, starting across the lawn. They kept to the shadows of the castle, in case anyone was still wandering around. The silhouette of the castle stretched out like a gothic monstrosity, rising to meet the tree’s shadows, the branches reaching forward like fingers to grasp them. The bare trees set against the night sky had always reminded Harry of spider webs. Even more so now that he knew what lurked in the Forbidden Forest. He wondered how many other people knew. He wondered if Draco did. Should he tell him?

“Are you scared of spiders?” Harry asked.

“What? No, of course not,” Draco said, but he was not very convincing. “Shut up, Potter, this is a stealth mission.”

Harry snorted at the word mission, but a look from Draco kept him quiet.

It seemed like an age before they reached the treeline. Draco mumbled ‘muffliato’ to smother the sound of their feet as they walked across the edge of the forest. Even stepping beyond that first tree was a guaranteed way to lose their sense of direction.

They passed behind Hagrid’s hut and Harry couldn’t help but throw a guilty glance towards it. He could see the shape of Hagrid as the huge man made himself a cup of tea. If it was any other year, Harry would have been done there with him, safe. When was the last time he felt safe?

“Big oaf,” Draco muttered beside him.

“Hagrid is not an oaf,” Harry snapped.

“Face it, he’s only here because Dumbledore feels sorry for him.”

“He was wrongfully expelled! What else could he do?”

“How do you know it was wrongfully?” Draco’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Tom Riddle framed him for Moaning Myrtle’s death,” Harry said. “He said the same things about him. You know, maybe not all Slytherins are Death Eaters, but they sure are all jerks.”

Draco looked surprised for a moment, then looked ahead of them without saying a word to Harry. It felt like there was a prickle in the air.

“Or is that just to fit in too?” Harry pressed.

Draco didn’t respond. He looked partly like a dog who had been yelled at but partly like a cat who couldn’t care less. They continued walking in silence, and Harry wasn’t sure whether to apologize or demand an apology. It had put him on edge, as though Draco had let the mask slip for a moment. Maybe he was still the same underneath. Maybe he was walking into a trap.

But he was wearing Malfoy’s glove and the back of his hand brushed against Draco’s as they walked. Draco was changing, that was sure, and people didn’t change in just one day.

They turned inwards, almost instinctively, and started through the forest to where the hippogriff flock were.

“Hagrid said to be careful in here, the centaurs are getting arsey with students.”

“Do you always do what daddy tells you?” Draco replied. His trademark smirk was back. “The centaurs may hate you, but they tolerate me.”

“How come?”

Draco stopped and turned to Harry, who instinctively took a step back. He found himself knocking into a tree and Draco’s face very close to his.

“I can’t tell you all of my secrets when my mother’s going to be poking around in your mind, Potter.”

A nearby squawk saved Harry from having to fumble a reply. They had found the hippogriffs.

“Work your magic,” Draco said, stepping away from him.

“It’s called being polite,” Harry said, as he locked eyes with the nearest, a tawny brown one, and bowed.

It hesitated. The others were darting further into the clearing, but were giving both the boys affronted glares.

It returned the bow and chirped as Harry petted its beak. He thought of Sirius and Buckbeak, cooped up in Grimmauld place and half wished he could fly straight there and not look back. But that would be dangerous. Voldemort could discover his location at any time. He would have to learn occlumency first.

The hippogriff quickly grew attached to him and he gave Draco a pointed look.

“Bow to it,” he said.

“I’m not bowing to that thing.”

“This is why Buckbeak scratched you.”

“Mauled, you mean.”

“Malfoy, bow to the bird horse.”

Draco shot him a look of pure venom, before giving a very shot, very stiff bow. The hippogriff stared at Harry, but gave a curt nod of his head. Harry swung onto it’s back, surprised at how comfortable it felt. Like reading a bike.

“Why do you get to ride in front?” Draco asked as he approached the creature. He looked almost hesitant. If Harry’s heart had not been racing at the thought of what they were about to do, he would have laughed.

“Because it likes me better, now hurry up.”

Draco sidled onto the back, and Harry gave the Hippogriff a nudge his ankles. It began at a trot, though even that made Draco cling to Harry’s robes. He could feel Draco’s fists in the fabric and smiled to himself.

The hippogriff began to run, and within seconds had taken off in between the thick trees of the woods. They cleared the tops easily and Harry felt like laughing with exhilaration. Being up in the air, that was what made him feel alive. He grinned, his hands buried in the feathers of the hippogriff. He missed this. He missed this. He really missed this.

“That’s high enough, Potter,” Draco snapped behind him. “We only have to make it over the wall, remember.”

“Why, Malfoy, are you scared?”

Harry dug his knees into the flanks of the hippogriff and it rose even higher. The wind whipped through his hair and stung his cheeks. This was living.

“Potter!”

There was an edge to Draco’s voice. A scared edge. Harry found he liked that just as much as flying.

“It’s just like flying a broom!” he called over his shoulder. The hippogriff drifted on its wings, tilting them at a dangerous angle. Draco gave a small, high pitched sound, and suddenly his arms were tight around Harry’s chest.

“It’s not! It’s not and you know it!”

The oxygen was being pressed out of Harry’s lungs by Draco instead of exhilaration, and he curbed the hippogriff’s flight pattern. They started their descent into Hogsmeade with Draco’s hands clutching Harry’s shirt and his head pressed firmly against Harry’s back.

“We’re almost there,” Harry said, adopting a comforting tone.

Moments after he said so, the Hippogriff touched down in a back alley of Hogsmeade. It looked around sharply, then began to pick at a dumpster.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, because Draco hadn’t moved. His arms were strong and warm around Harry.

He received a slap upside his head as Draco slipped off of their mount.

“You’re a complete dick, Potter.”

He wasn’t facing him. He was glaring at the wall of the alleyway with his arms folded.

“It was just banter,” Harry said, his grin fading as he was met with stoic silence. “Malfoy? Look, I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t we have a job to do?” Draco asked abruptly and barged past Harry onto the main street of Hogsmeade. Harry gave the Hippogriff a few pats and asked it to stay where it was. It gave him a lazy look, before settling down on the pavement and hiding its head in its wing. There was a thick crowd of people pushing through the high street to the Hogs Head and they merged into the throng of people.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, taking hold of Draco’s elbow.

“For what?” Draco hardly glanced back.

Harry took that as a ‘you’re forgiven,’ and followed Draco into the Hog’s Head, trying not to stare at its gaudy sign.

“Pour l’amour de Dieu, put up your hood, you moron,” Draco hissed, tugging Harry to a table in the corner. He half-threw him onto a rickety seat as Harry obeyed. Draco’s own robes were pulled tight around his face and he leant over the table like a beggar. Harry dipped his chin and tried to follow suit.

“What are we waiting for?” he whispered.

“A fight, obviously.”

“Look, Malfoy, I should probably tell you the last time I used floo powder it didn’t work out very well.”

“So what? You want to go in together?”

“When you put it like that it sounds weird.”

“That’s because it is weird,” Draco snapped, then sighed. “I can’t wait any longer.” His wand flicked out of his pocket for a moment and he whispered a spell Harry didn’t quite catch.

The man opposite them shot out of his seat and glared around at the other customers, his wand at the ready. Draco’s wand flicked again. Another man shot up, uncontrollably tapdancing and yelling at the other man of cursing him. The first man replied in a marvellous baritone tune that it was not him. A third flick of the word and another man’s head began to swell like a balloon.

Within moments, there was chaos in the bar. Patrons threw curses at each other, creating a general chaos.

“Alright, come on, Princess,” Draco murmured as he slipped from his seat. They edged against the wall of the bar, crouching to avoid the rainbow of spells blast over their heads. It was almost like a parade. When they reached the grate of the fireplace, they carefully stepped in. It was an awkwardly tight squeeze, and Harry found himself stuck between a wall and Draco’s chest. He felt Draco’s fist against his jeans as the floo powder was fished out. Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, before he said, “Malfoy manor.”

There was a flash and the familiar sickening feeling of travelling by floo powder. Harry tried to focus on the stripes of Draco’s tie, but they blurred and merged and made him feel even worse.

As soon as the world kept whirling around him, he pushed himself out of the fireplace. He landed on a thick, tapestry-like rug with in an ungraceful flop.

“Honestly, I’ve seen five year olds travel by floo powder with more grace,” Draco said, neatly stepping over the grate.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, very cleverly, as he picked himself up from the floor.

“You’ve got ashes all over the carpet, look at you,” Draco said. He brushed at the front of Harry’s robes like a Mother Hen.

Harry pushed his hands away, his face warming.

The door opened suddenly. A woman rushed in with wide eyes, dishevelled hair and her wand raised. She must have been monitoring the grates. Her eyes – the same silver colour as Draco’s – glanced between them. As she took Draco in, she released her breath and lowered her wand.

“Draco,” she breathed. “Mon Dieu.”

Well now Harry knew where Draco got the French from. Draco’s mother swept across the room and hugged Draco tightly. He was already taller than her. He hugged her back, his eyes pinched closed. Harry felt as though he shouldn’t be there, as though he was intruding on a private moment.

“Mother,” he said. He gently took hold of her shoulders. “I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?” Narcissa said. She held Draco’s face and frowned at him, searching for any physical damage. “Is your father-”

“No. I’m fine, it’s Potter,” Draco said. He glanced towards Harry and cleared his throat. “I mean, Harry.”

Narcissa frowned and turned, taking in Harry with wide eyes.

“Harry Potter?” she repeated in a soft, bewildered voice. “You came all this way for Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” Draco met Harry’s eyes for a moment. “Listen, Snape’s teaching him occlumency.”

Narcissa raised a manicured eyebrow at Draco whilst Harry stood there and tried not to spill ash on the carpet.

“And?”

“And you know occlumency,” Draco said.

Narcissa held Draco’s gaze for a long time. There was an itch on Harry’s nose but he didn’t dare move.

“What you’re asking me to do is very dangerous,” she said slowly.

“We’re at war, mother,” Draco’s voice was barely audible. “Everything is very dangerous.”

Narcissa smiled and her eyes twinkled. Harry guessed it was pride.

“You’re sure?” she murmured, receiving a solemn, clenched jaw nod in response. Then, those grey eyes turned to Harry and any trace of that smile dropped. “I shall try to teach you. Draco,” she took one of his hands, holding it as tenderly as one would a butterfly. “Keep watch for your father. Cover your tracks. It’s better if you keep out of the room.”

“Of course,” Draco dipped his head and started out of the room. Harry had never seen him act so mild and agreeable. He must have been a different person when he was at home.

Just before he slipped out of the door, he gave Harry a loaded look. He seemed triumphant, but scared, but mocking all at the same time.

Then Harry was left alone. With Draco Malfoy’s mother.

He examined the room, it was like an old fashioned drawing room with a writing desk in the corner, a long, low glass coffee table and a huge glass cabinet loaded with thick, leather volumes. The wallpaper was decorated with china blue fleur-de-lis and he knew that before his arrival everything had been spotless.

“Um, hi, Mrs Malfoy,” Harry said. “It’s good to meet you.”

She was glancing over the ash that he had left on the magnolia carpet.

“Draco mentions you a lot,” she said, carefully. “We finally meet, Harry Potter.”

She held out a pale hand and Harry shook it, realising too late he was still wearing Draco’s glove. She made no motion that she recognised it. He noticed she didn’t say ‘it’s a pleasure,’ but could understand, under the circumstances.

“I’m not going to lie, this is a little bizarre,” he said to try and diffuse the absurdity.

“How long has Draco been bothering you?” Narcissa asked, almost dismissively, as she made her way over to the large, plush sofa. Harry lingered behind the armchair.

“He hasn’t been bothering me,” he said. “He’s actually been, well, really nice.”

He was surprised to find that it was true. He believed that.

“So, that’s it,” she leant backwards, her eyes twinkling even if her mouth was set in a harsh line.

“That’s what?” Harry blinked.

Narcissa gestured to the armchair. She moved like a nymph or a fairy and Harry felt particularly ungraceful as he fell into the seat.

“Draco is covering his tracks by asking me to teach you instead of Severus,” she said. “He does not want there to be a hint to the Dark Lord that you two are…”

She trailed off, waving a hand slightly.

“Friends,” Harry said, surprised at how confident he sounded. He rubbed his hands down his jeans. “We’re friends.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t sure what this had to do with occlumency.

“You’ve agreed to teach me,” he said, gently.

“Yes,” Narcissa spoke slowly, as though she was rolling the words in her mouth before saying them. “My feelings on the Dark Lord have changed since the last time he rose to power. Trying to kill a child,” Narcissa trailed off. Harry stayed silent. He guessed her newfound feelings came from her son and not him. “I knew your mother at school, Mr Potter. She was a very bright witch. It was a shame she was a mudblood.”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

“But it did, back then. The same way the houses mattered. No doubt you would say ‘he is nice, for a Slytherin.’”

Harry stayed silent, staring at his muddy shoes.

“What did Severus do?” Narcissa asked. Her wand hung lazily from her fingers. “When he taught you?”

“He just – cast legilimens,” Harry said. “And told me to defend myself.”

Narcissa gave a small snort.

“He’s weakening your mind,” Narcissa said. The tip of her wand moved and Harry tensed. Would she weaken his mind too? “I can teach you, but it will be a great personal risk. To me and my family. I could get killed for this, Mr Potter.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” Harry said. “There’s already too many people being dragged into this, you don’t have to-“

“I said I would,” she leant forward slightly, her gaze boring into Harry’s. “But I need you to make me a promise in return.”

Harry waited for her to elaborate.

“Promise me that you’ll protect Draco.”

Chapter Text

6

“Promise me that you’ll protect Draco,” Narcissa Malfoy asked as Harry sat in her armchair, trying not to leave ash on everything.

“Of course.”

Harry was surprised at how quickly he said it. And how much he meant it. He felt a pressure in his mind, like it was filled with smoke, before the feeling retreated.

“Did you just-“ he frowned at the woman across from him.

“I had to make sure you were telling the truth,” Narcissa gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “Alright, Mr Potter, we can begin.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He felt as though he had just passed a test and swallowed, his heart was pounding. This could still all be a trap. This was Draco’s mother.

“The mind is like a room and legilimens creates corridors,” Narcissa said. “Without protection, your room is open for anyone to wander in to.”

“Okay,” Harry said. He wanted to impress her, more than he wanted to impress most of his teachers.  “If it’s like a room, how do I make a door?”

She smiled slightly and he thought that meant he impressed her. Or at least, wasn’t completely incompetent.

“Why don’t you focus on tuning into your room for now? It’s childish but imagining it will make it easier to start off with.”

Harry hesitated, then closed his eyes. He tried his hardest to imagine he was just a mind and make a space. Just a room. He was just a room.

He felt another presence and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Narcissa was here.

‘It’s empty. That’s good.’

Harry wasn’t sure whether Narcissa was actually speaking or if she was in his mind.

“Why?”

He felt her presence smile, a bizarre and unexplainable feeling and knew he had asked it out loud.

‘You cannot read an empty mind, that’s a fundamental. I would have to ask you to empty it. Try making a door.’

Harry imagined a door leading out of his mind. A wooden one.

‘Not a very reinforced one, but it will do for the time presently. Now try to push me out.’

But how was he supposed to do that? He couldn’t open a door and usher a spirit – or a presence - out? Could he? He tried just pushing at the strange presence he was feeling. It wavered slightly, like the air in the heat of summer.

Then a memory sparked in his mind. Draco batting his hands away from the cauldron and grinning at him. He started to panic. Narcissa had to get out of his mind. He had to push her out. She didn’t need to see all that.

He opened his eyes. He was doubled over on the armchair, his glasses hanging off of his face.

“That was a good start,” Narcissa said from above him.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and his glasses back up his nose as he stared at her. For a moment, she looked just like Draco.

“You were going easy on me.”

“Of course, I was. You think you’ll get the hang of this in a day? I meditated for two months straight before anyone tried to enter my mind. We do not have that sort of time, Mr Potter, so you’re going to have to learn quickly.”

“How do I push someone out of my mind?”

“It is difficult to explain, there are not the words. It just clicks. We can only try again.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“Fine.”

Moments later he felt Narcissa’s presence again and concentrated on her not being there. He widened the door, but that only made the memories flicker through faster. Sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs. Aunt Marge inflating. Draco Malfoy leaning over him in the potions cupboard.

And then suddenly Narcissa was out of his head and he was awake and realising that his wand was pointed at her.

“I didn’t-“ he stumbled.

“Maybe you should put your wand on the floor before you hurt yourself.”

She hasn’t said that he would hurt her, and that was probably accurate. Knowing Harry’s luck, his wand would backfire. So, he dutifully obeyed, glad that there was no sound in his memories. He settled back against the armchair, feeling a cool line of sweat on his hairline already.

Narcissa was back in his mind. He felt like he was starting to pinpoint where she was.

‘You must have gotten in trouble for that, no?’

She had pulled up the memory of Aunt Marge again. Harry found himself able to push it aside like a piece of paper.

‘Only time I haven’t been, actually.’

Narcissa gave a tinkly laugh and Harry felt his stomach bubbling like he had just drunk champagne. More memories were pulled out and he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He pushed and pushed against the entity.

It slowly left.

“I didn’t think we had time for you to go easy on me,” Harry said, opening his eyes.

“I wanted you to feel like you were making progress,” Narcissa said.

Harry sighed.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go again.”

*

It was almost midnight by the time Draco knocked on the door.

“Father sent an owl. He’ll be home soon,” he said.

Harry opened his eyes, his heart fluttering at Draco’s return.

“Then you had better get going,” Narcissa stood, brushing imaginary lint from her dress. “That was good progress, Mr Potter.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered. He used both hands to peel himself up from the armchair. He felt as though he was full of lead. “You don’t have to flatter me, though, Mrs Malfoy.”

She smiled and Harry wondered if she really was part Veela.

“It was a good start,” she said.

“When should we come back?” Draco said. “We have to get Potter to the best he can be before his next lesson with Snape.”

“The mind is a muscle, mon trésor, it must be rested,” Narcissa said. She placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and gave him a small squeeze. “I wish you could come back every day.”

“I know,” Draco said thickly, taking his mother’s hand in his own. He looked pained and Harry glanced away, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment.

“You’re safer at school,” Narcissa said. “Away from-“ She took a deep breath. “Wait a couple of days,” this she directed to Harry. “Keep working on your room.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Thank you. For everything.”

Narcissa gave a sharp nod.

“Godspeed,” she murmured. She placed a hand on Draco’s cheek. “Goodbye, Draco. I’ll find a house elf to clean the mess.”

She seemed to float from the room.

“You don’t look so good,” Draco said. He cleared his throat in an effort to return to his usual snark.

“Speak for yourself,” Harry muttered, but as he started towards the fireplace with Draco, his legs started to shake. It was like he had forgotten he had a body.

“Are you alright?”

“Dizzy,” Harry said, clutching Draco’s elbow as they climbed into the grate. “Happened last time too.”

“I guess it’s a hard thing to do,” Draco said. He hadn’t thrown down the floo powder yet.

“Are you only doing this to cover your tracks?” Harry asked. Over the last few hours it seemed like Narcissa had imprinted it in his mind. Maybe she had.

“Potter,” Draco’s voice lowered. His forehead nudged Harry’s. “Really?”

“You don’t want Snape to know we’re friends.”

“I don’t want The Dark Lord to know that I’m betraying him,” Draco said. “Think about it. I’m nice easy prey for him to blackmail you with.”

“You assume I care enough about you to rescue you,” Harry said, looking over the rim of his glasses at Draco.

“Please,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re so noble you’d rescue me even if you hated me.”

They were very close, but Harry felt dizzy and dreamy and comfortable pressed against Draco in the fireplace. He liked the fact that Draco’s nose bumped against his.

The door opened.

Draco swore and threw the floo powder down, yelling “The Hog’s Head!”

The spinning began and Harry buried his face into Draco’s chest, groaning. His stomach seemed determined to leave his mouth and when they finally stopped spinning he was shaking all over.

Draco pulled his hood up for him and helped him out of the grate. The Hog’s Head was so packed that they could press through the crowd.

Harry gasped at the fresh, night air, revelling in the chill it brought to his lungs. He bent over in the nearest alley, gasping for breath.

“Please don’t be sick in the gutter like some common drunk,” Draco’s voice sounded like was talking through a tunnel.

“At least hold my hair back, would you, Malfoy?” Harry wheezed. He coughed up some spit, then leant against the brick wall, pushing a mess of dark curls out of his face. Sweat seemed to be suffocating him.

“A house elf saw us.”

“Saw us what?”

“Well, saw us, together.”

“Together?”

“Imagine how it must have looked.”

“How would it have looked?”

“Don’t play word games with me, Potter. That’s my job,” Draco snapped, but he was peering at Harry’s face nervously. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I will be once we’re back at Hogwarts,” Harry said, and managed a shaky smile, though flying was the last thing he could imagine doing. He just wanted to lie down.

“Here, lean on me,” Draco said, tugging on of Harry’s arms over his shoulders as they started down the alley to where they left the hippogriff.

Only there was no hippogriff.

They stared at the empty space. There was only a pile of droppings.

“Has he been stolen?” Harry asked. He kept glancing over the same places, sure that it would turn up sooner or later.

“More like he flew back to Hogwarts.”

“But he was our lift.”

“I know.”

“How are we going to get back?” Harry asked. He realised he wasn’t doing a very good job of looking after Draco.

“I don’t suppose you can pull that trick with the broom you did last year?” Draco asked.

“I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“I remember everything you do, Potter,” Draco turned and smirked at him. “Looks like we’re walking.”

Harry sighed as they started up the alleyway, artfully avoiding the present their mount left for them.

“Good riddance to the bird, anyway,” Draco muttered. “This is what we get for relying on a dumb animal.”

“It was your idea,” Harry said. The Hippogriff’s departure had actually cleared his head, as had the smell of its dung, but he kept his arm around Draco’s shoulders. There was something oddly comforting about it. Like they were just two friends walking home from the pub after a night out.

“Can’t you think for yourself every once in a while?”

Harry laughed. It came out louder than he thought it would, but it made Draco snigger.

It was a long walk back to the castle. But the Hogsmeade highstreet was really quite beautiful in the dark. Lights were lit in the apartments above the shops and the streetlamps cast a welcoming amber glow. Even the rain on the pavement seemed to shine.

Harry thought back on the occlumency lesson. A few hours of having someone else in his mind, probing out memories whilst he fought against it. He wondered what Narcissa thought about him. About the childhood memories that had been so humiliating to show to Snape. He had almost wanted her to comment on them. To say something. But she had been so indifferent. She had been indifferent to everything.

“Does your mum like me?” Harry asked.

“Considering I spent four years moaning about you, probably not,” Draco said, as though that would settle it.

“What about now she’s had a good old poke around my mind?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t with you, was I?”

Harry fell into wondering once again.

It seemed like the sun should be rising by the time they reached the Hogwarts gates, but Harry’s watch told him it was only one in the morning. From there, the driveway seemed to disappear quickly beneath their feet and it was no time at all before they were slipping into the entrance hall and Draco ducked out from under Harry’s arm. He stood at the doorway to the dungeons and they stared at each other expectantly, like this was a date and one of them should produce chocolates to be polite.

“So, um,” Draco cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Potter.”

“Yeah, night,” Harry said. “Thanks – for setting this up.”

“As long as I can be of some help to the mighty and powerful Chosen One,” Draco said.

Harry smirked, holding back a laugh. They were back in Hogwarts. If they were heard, it would surely be a detention.

Draco turned, but Harry found he couldn’t leave yet. There was still something that had been niggling at the back of his mind.

“Um, Malfoy. Back there, in the fireplace – were you going to kiss me?”

Malfoy turned back so that all Harry could see was the corner of a smirk and a glint in his eye.

“That depends,” he said. “Did you want me to kiss you?”

And then he was gone, just like the Hippogriff they had stolen and perhaps lost. Maybe he should feel guilty about that. Harry was left climbing up the stairs shrouded in his invisibility cloak, still slightly dizzy, and wondering if he wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy. He wondered if it would be different to kissing Cho Chang. It probably wouldn’t be worse. Draco hadn’t been crying, for one thing. What would Draco’s mouth feel like? He should probably find out, because Harry Potter needed to know everything about Draco Malfoy. That was what rivals did. And they were rivals. They had to be otherwise Harry wondering what if would be like to kiss Draco would be weird. Friends didn’t do that.

The Fat Lady gave him a disapproving glare for waking her up as he clambered inside the common room, thinking only of his bed and the magnificent lie-in he was going to have the next morning.

But as he shuffled over to the staircase, a lamp turned on. He froze, then relaxed as he remembered the invisibility cloak.

“Harry, I know you’re there,” he heard Hermione’s voice and turned to see her seated at one of the tables, a collection of bobbly hats and socks in front of her. “Ron told me you weren’t in your room and I said I’d stay up till you came in.”

Harry stayed silent.

Hermione sighed.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me, then,” she placed her knitting needles down with a resounding thud, and stood. “I just thought, after five years, after all the shared trauma, that you wouldn’t keep secrets from us. After all the secrets I keep for you and Ron, and all the trouble I’ve risked getting into for the two of you. I got turned into a cat for you.”

There were tears in her eyes, and Harry opened his mouth to say something – anything – but she was already disappearing up the stairs. He tugged off the invisibility cloak, wondering what he would have said. What he could have said. No spark of genius came to his mind.

He trudged up the stairs and lay in his bed, still fully clothed, and wondered what on earth he was doing. He didn’t want to lose Ron and Hermione. They were good friends and he loved them. But he didn’t want to lose Draco. It felt, more and more, like he had to choose one or the other.

Predictably, the next morning, he woke up late. It was almost lunchtime when he shuffled from his bed into the Common Room. At least his head felt better, he supposed.

Ron and Hermione had gotten a table by the fire, for once. Ginny was playing Ron at Wizard’s chess and Hermione was knitting with a mustard yellow wool. They almost looked like a family. Where would Harry fit in?

“Saved you a croissant,” Ron said, nodding to a plate on the table.

“You didn’t have to,” Harry said, though he still took it.

“Yeah well, that’s it, isn’t it?” Ron said.

“That’s what?”

“What friends are for.”

Hermione was pointedly not looking at him. The guilt swarmed up inside him again.

“I went out last night,” he admitted.

Ron didn’t look at him either as he took Ginny’s queen.

“Gathered that.”

“I found someone else to teach me occlumency. That’s where I was.”

“Dumbledore asked Snape to, though,” Ron said.

Ginny was pretending not to listen out of curtesy, though Harry could tell she wasn’t focusing on where to put her knight. He didn’t mind. She had been a victim of Voldemort too, she deserved to be in the know about things. Her dad had got hurt in this war, after all.

“You really think Snape’s going to help me?”

“If Dumbledore asked him to.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Merlin’s beard, Ginny, make a move already!” Ron snapped. “So, who is it?”

“Check,” Ginny said, leaning back in her armchair and giving Ron a proud smile. His head snapped back to the board in disbelief. A frown grew on his face as he studied the pieces.

“Someone,” Harry paused. Hermione was watching him with eagle eyes. “Sirius knows. They’re related.”

“So, a dark wizard then?” Hermione asked sharply. She was glaring at Harry.

“Kind of. But she’s known Voldemort for a long time and has kept him out of her mind all that time, so she must know what she’s doing.”

“And she won’t turn you in because?” Ron asked, he finally moved his king. “Check.”

“Because she’s got someone she wants to protect from him.”

“Who is she?” Hermione pressed.

“If I tell you then you’ll yell at me again,” Harry said. “Just – trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

He received two dubious looks and remembered why he was keeping all this from them.

Ginny however, admitting defeat at the hands of the ‘King of Wizards Chess,’ slipped down to sit on the carpet next to Harry, leaving Colin Creevey to get decimated by Ron instead.

“You look stressed, Harry,” she murmured, taking the poker from its holder.

“I wonder why,” he said dryly.

“Beats me,” Ginny shrugged. She poked at a curling piece of the Daily Prophet. “Maybe you should do yoga.”

Harry laughed.

“Maybe I should.”

“Or, maybe you should go for a fly,” Ginny continued. She glanced at Harry from the corner of your eye. “That always calms me down.”

“Dumbridge has locked our brooms up,” Harry said.

“You’re right. It would take a miracle to get in there now, wouldn’t it? Perhaps even a bit of magic.”

“It’s locked with magic.”

“So, unlock it.”

“With what? Alohomora? I think she’d see a first-year charm coming.”

“How about portaberto? It’s older and more powerful. Splinters the lock.”

Ginny waved the poker stick. She repeated the movement. Like she was writing the letter theta in the air. Harry nodded to show he understood and hoped Hermione hadn’t seen.

“How do you know that? I wasn’t taught that in fourth year.”

“Let’s just say it’s a hobby,” Ginny said. She smiled at Harry, her eyes shining. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

Harry knew he had to be clever in how he approached the Quidditch Pitch. If he did it in the day, he would be clearly spotted. Umbridge would be rallying for his expulsion. It had to be dark, just to make sure. So, he passed the day feverishly doing homework and glancing out the window. He tapped on the table until Hermione told him to stop, then jiggled his knee until Ron told him to stop.

It seemed like a year had gone by until he was able to sneak out of the castle, employing his trusty method from the previous night, and slip off to the Quidditch Pitch. He held his breath as he entered, half expecting an alarm to go off. Lights to blare. Something.

But no, it was still quiet. He made his way to the broom closet, his trainers squelching in the damp grass. The heels were thick with mud. He drew out his wand and took a deep breath. Hopefully Ginny was right about this.

“Portaberto.”

There was a crack before the door swung open. There sat Harrys firebolt, along with Fred and George’s brooms. He brushed a finger against the top of his broom, oh, it was so beautiful. He itched to take it in his hands. To fly on it.

But the lock was busted and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fix it. If he couldn’t and he flew the Firebolt, Umbridge would know for sure. So, instead of picking up his pride and joy, he took Fred’s broom. No doubt they were together, and could provide an alibi for each other. It might still be obvious who the culprit was, but perhaps less so.

 Within moments he was soaring through the night sky, the cold wind on his face. It seemed to cleanse him like a shower, dripping off any problems he had, any marks that stuck to him. Up here, he wasn’t Harry Potter the Chosen One with the lightning bolt scar. He was Harry. Just Harry.

Fred’s broom wasn’t as fast as the Firebolt, but after so long without flying, it was good enough. It still felt as though he had been drowning all this time but had finally learnt to breathe again. He had been saved. --*He did a loop, revelling in the feeling of the wind in his hair. On his hands. He loved the way his robes trailed behind him. Everything that had been weighing down on him melted away. For the first time in months, he felt an ease in his stomach. He felt relaxed. Up here, nothing could trouble him.

Something blurred past him and he brought the broom to a halt, glancing around at the surrounding darkness in search of his attacker.

“Practising for the ballet, Potter?”

A voice came from above him and he glanced up to see the dark shape above him. He felt like a dolphin seeing a shark.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, veering out of the way. Draco slowly floated down so that they were level with each other. He looked like a ghost; his hair and skin too pale against the blackness all around them.

Draco shrugged.

“Flying.”

“At night?”

“You’re doing the same,” Draco flew close enough to nudge Harry with his hip.

“Because I’m not allowed to,” Harry said.

“I like this new, rebellious Chosen One,” Draco smirked.

“You know, I came out here to forget about all that crap,” Harry said. He tilted his broom upwards, but Draco followed, easily keeping pace with Fred’s old broom.

“About me too?” Draco pretended to pout and Harry rolled his eyes.

“No,” he said, but started the descent back to the ground. “Though you have ruined it.”

“That’s what I do best,” Draco streaked alongside him.

Harry slid off his broom, mud squirting up his boots. He started back to the broom cupboard, tucking Fred’s broom under his arm.

Suddenly Draco was in front of him, barring the way with his broom.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To bed,” Harry tried to step around him, but the broom moved. Draco hovered so that Harry had to look up to glare at him. “Malfoy.”

“What?” Draco said. He leant down slightly, his eyes glittering. A few strands of loose hair tickled Harry’s curls. “I’m still waiting for a few answers from you.”

“Like what?” Harry said. He swallowed and tried to look at Draco’s eyes instead of Draco’s mouth. He seemed very close, hovering just out of range.

“Like if you like me.”

“I’m sure I asked you that.”

“Answer the question, Potter.”

“Didn’t you say to wait until I could keep Snape out of my mind?” Harry smirked and stepped around Draco.

Draco grabbed his arm. Tightly.

“I trust you,” he said, turning Harry so that they faced each other once more. “Mother said you’d improved at keeping people out of your mind.”

Harry stared at Draco. His heart was racing.

“Yeah,” he said.

“What?”

“Your question,” Harry said. He felt like he was on fire. “I think - yeah.”

Draco blinked.

“Alright,” he said. “Then, well, yesterday when you asked about kissing? Yes.”

Harry felt that was a cue to kiss Draco. He felt he should kiss Draco. But he just stood there, frozen, like an idiot. Maybe he had been jinxed after all.

Draco gave a soft chuckle, still hovering above Harry on the broom. Gently, oddly gently for Draco Malfoy, he took Harry’s face in his hands.

“Come here, you prat,” he muttered.

Draco Malfoy kissed Harry Potter.

And Harry Potter kissed him back.

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy stopped kissing Harry Potter.

Harry thought it hadn’t been long enough. His head felt light and his mouth tingled. When he opened his eyes, it felt as though he was waking up from a dream.

“Well then,” Draco’s voice was somewhere between a murmur and a whisper.

Harry swallowed.

“So, then.”

Draco leant forward and kissed him tenderly again. His mouth was warm against the night air and the chill felt unnatural against Harry’s lips.

“Finally found something you’re good at, Potter.”

He could feel Draco’s eyelashes against his cheek. His heart was racing.

“You too,” Harry said. Draco gave a breathy laugh as they both realised what little sense he was making.

“Come on. We should get going before you get expelled.”

“For kissing you?”

“No, you tosser, for flying,” Draco swung off of his own broom and Harry blinked, remembering the broom in his own hand. It seemed like a long time ago that he had been flying. Kissing had been a much better way to forget the burden on his shoulders.

“Oh,” Harry said, “right.”

Draco gave another breathy laugh. He seemed somewhat nervous. Harry had never known him to be nervous, but he kept glancing at him. His grey eyes kept trailing over Harry’s face, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had happened either.

They reached the broom cupboard and Harry placed Fred’s broom back in. He gave his Firebolt another longing look. And then everything went dark.

“Malfoy, open the door,” he snapped, turning, only to find himself pressed against Draco.

“I can’t,” he could hear Draco jiggling the handle half-heartedly, “the door’s stuck.”

“Stop being a dick, I busted the lock.”

“You really are a bad boy now, aren’t you?” Draco was almost purring.

“Malfoy.”

“Maybe if you kiss me again, I’ll let you go.”

Harry frowned up at him in the dark. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel Draco’s breath on his face. He leant forward, his nose bumping against Draco’s in his effort to find his mouth. They kissed again. Harry’s hands found Draco’s shoulders and he liked how they felt under his fingers. He liked how Draco’s fingers felt as they rested on his hips.

The first few kisses had been hesitant, giving each other a chance to pull away. But now that they were kissing, there was a fire in Harry’s chest. He wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy. He opened his mouth and decided they were too far away from each other. He slipped his arms around Draco’s neck and leant forward, pressing his chest against Draco’s. He seemed so solid. He could feel Draco’s hands clutching at his back.

The door creaked open where Draco had stopped holding it shut and they stumbled backwards onto the Quidditch Pitch. Draco pulled away slightly, studying Harry’s eyes.

“Harry, mate, are you out here?” a booming voice called across the grounds. Harry swore as he recognised it as Ron’s.

“What will old Weasley think of this?” Draco asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Draco, I,” Harry stopped. He didn’t want to hide this. He wanted to be able to say it didn’t matter and be brave enough to face the school as a couple. But he wasn’t, “maybe I should - I think I’d better-“

“I know,” Draco’s voice was soft, “he’d probably hex me. Go on,” he paused to kiss Harry once more, tugging him around so that Draco stood by the broom closet instead. So that Draco stood in the shadows, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Later.”

He started back across the pitch, glancing back only to see Draco still shrouded in the shadows. Watching him.

“Harry, where’ve you gotten to?” Ron bellowed once more.

Harry stepped out of the Quidditch Pitch, almost colliding into Ron. He stepped back and stared at Harry, blinking as though he was an apparition.

“Hi,” Harry said. He hoped he sounded normal, but he couldn’t quite hide the elation in his stomach from his voice.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Taking a walk,” Harry was proud of how easily the lie came from him.

“On the Quidditch pitch?”

“Yeah.”

“At night?”

“I enjoy the night air,” he was getting better at it, he was sure.

“In your school robes?”

“I can hardly change into my pyjamas to go on a walk, can I, Ron?”

“Couldn’t you have worn jeans, or something?”

Harry blinked.

“No.”

Ron stared at him.

“Are you going to come back to the Common Room?”

“Uh, sure.”

Ron gave him sideways glances as they crossed the lawn, which didn’t help, because then it just made Harry think of how Draco had been looking at him out of the corner of his eye. How Draco had seemed almost fearful. How his heart was still pounding and racing in his chest.

“Are you alright?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Harry said. “Why?”

“You seem happy.”

Harry shrugged.

“It was a good walk.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling.

“It’s good. Good that you’ve found something that makes you happy. Even if it is slightly insane.”

Harry paused. They had almost reached the steps now. Maybe he could confide in Ron, just a little. Not the whole truth, but just enough. He couldn’t keep it all inside. He was desperate to tell someone. And who else but his best friend?

“There may be another person involved.”

“Cho?” Ron grinned and slapped Harry’s back, “good on you, mate.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. He had forgotten about Cho completely. Was he cheating on here now? Had they ever been going out in the first place for him to cheat on her with?

“No, uh, not Cho,” he said.

“Who?”

“It’s a secret.”

Harry.”

“Race you to the common room,” Harry said, giving Ron’s shoulder a whack as he raced up the stairs of the entrance hall.

“Come back here, Harry!”

But he had evaded the question, he told himself, as he took the stairs three at a time. He even let Ron win, pretending to be held up as the fourth-floor staircase moved.

When he entered the Common Room, however, he was faced to face with Hermione. She looked like a mother waiting for her children to get home.

“What’s this Ron tells me about a girl?”

Oh, they didn’t even know – how was Harry going to tell them it was a boy? Was he gay? He didn’t remember a spark of realisation. He hadn’t registered it.  He guessed he was. He had kissed a boy because he wanted to and he had kissed that boy again and wanted to do it again.

“There’s no girl.”

“I just wish you’d stop lying to us, Harry,” Hermione sighed. She seemed on the verge of tears. Ron lingered behind her, his pale face like a ghost’s in the dark of the common room.

“It’s not a lie,” Harry said. He felt oddly detached from all of this, “I was with someone else. Not a girl.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. All of a sudden, she gave a half-gasp, half-sob, and tackled Harry in a tight hug. He was buried by her mess of hair, which was good, because he didn’t think he could look either of them in the eye.

“Oh, Harry, you should have told us! You shouldn’t have worried – of course we still love you. We’ll always love you, no matter what!”

Even if the boy he kissed was Draco Malfoy?

“Thanks,” Harry muttered. He hugged her back, feeling as though his arms were much too gangly and awkward.

“It’s not like we’ve been weird about Seamus and Dean, is it?” Ron said, he clapped Harry on the shoulder and Hermione drew them both into a suffocating group hug.

“Did everyone know about that?” Harry asked. He was trying to diffuse some of the awkwardness he felt. He hadn’t really planned to ‘come out.’ He hadn’t even really thought about it. It was like he had been living in a cupboard for so long that he had just kind of fell out. He didn’t feel any different and he didn’t really think of himself as gay. He just liked a boy and that was that. He hadn’t even really realised he liked Draco until that moment in the fireplace. So, he guessed he was. But the ‘no matter what,’ sounded like a ‘despite.’ He didn’t want a ‘despite.’ He wanted a ‘you expect anything to change?’ Because nothing really had, for him.

But they were trying. And they were accepting. Even if it wasn’t quite what he wanted to get off of his chest, they were accepting him.

“Come on,” Hermione said, slipping their hands together and tugging him towards the fireplace, “I still have some gingerbread left over from Christmas.”

“I thought you’d save that for the house elves,” Ron said.

“It was certainly a possibility, but this is more important.”

“I’m glad that I’m more important than house elves,” Harry muttered, collapsing into one of the armchairs. Hermione darted upstairs, leaving Harry and Ron to stew in somewhat awkward silence.

“You know, um,” Ron said. “Fred and George thought that I was,” he left a long blank for the word. “They saw Scabbers on the marauders map.”

“Oh?” Harry raised his eyebrows to feign interest.

“Yeah.”

The awkward silence stretched on. Harry wondered if the word ‘gay’ was really like ‘Voldemort.’

Hermione reappeared after what seemed like an age. She flounced into an armchair and offered a large chunk of the gingerbread to Harry.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?”

Harry pretended to be very interested in where to bite his gingerbread next. He panicked to think of a lie and shrugged instead.

“Is it someone we know?” Hermione pressed.

Harry shrugged again.

“Bloody hell, Hermione, give him a break!” Ron said, “it’s been a long day.”

Harry gave him a shaky smile by way of thanks. It had been a long day, he thought to himself as he bit into the gingerbread. His stomach still felt as though it was full of butterflies and he felt giddy. He kept replaying the kiss in his mind.

Hermione and Ron’s argument turned into a discussion about school, and Harry was able to join in. For a few hours, everything felt back to normal. He was at Hogwarts with his best friends and he was feeling happy. Everything was as it should be.

*

“I’m gay!”

Harry hadn’t meant to yell it so loudly. He had taken Cho to one side after the DA meeting, and had tried to explain it to her, but she hadn’t listened. She just frowned at him when he said ‘I kind of like someone else,’ and then said something about Cedric and suddenly she was crying and asking ‘why she wasn’t good enough for him now? Was it because Cedric had gone?’ So, he had said it. He sort of screamed it, actually.

“Um, I’m – gay,” the word still felt strange on Harry’s tongue.

“Are you serious?” Cho demanded.

“No, he’s my Godfather,” Harry said. He was trying to make light of the conversation, but Cho’s face was bright red and she looked as though she was about to hex him.

“If you didn’t want to date me, you could have just told me!”

“It’s not like that, I swear,” Harry tried to explain, but Cho was becoming hysterical and people were starting to stare.

“If you’re gay, then why did you agree to go on a date with me?”

“It’s kind of a recent development,” Harry scratched the back of his neck. “It surprised me too.”

She gave him a final, tear-stained and furious glare, before she turned and stormed from the Room of Requirement. He heard a few snickers and decided to bury his head in his bag.

“Flying really cleared your head, huh?”

A voice, thankfully a friendly one, came from somewhere above him.

“Ginny,” he said, needlessly, as he glanced up and met her eye. “Yeah, I, uh, guess it did.”

“Did you fix the lock behind you?” she asked. She gently touched his arm to get him to start walking.

“I think,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure. He hoped Draco would cover his back.

Ginny raised an eyebrow and held the door open for him.

“Someone else helped you clear that oh-so special head, huh?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Considering you came back gay, yeah.”

“I mean, I’ve never actually dated a girl, and I only kissed Cho once. But it didn’t really count, so I guess I always was.”

“Wish I could kiss a girl,” Ginny murmured it under her breath and Harry blinked at her.

“What?”

“What?” her warm brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

“You’re…” Harry trailed off, staring at her.

“Is it not obvious?” Ginny asked, a laugh bubbling from her lips.

“I didn’t know,” Harry said. “I should know, right? I mean, you’re my best friend’s sister.”

“I would hope I’m one of your friends before that, Harry.”

“Of course. You are.”

Ginny didn’t look convinced.

“Well,” she shrugged, though he could still see a flicker of hurt behind her eyes, “now you know.”

Harry paused.

“How – how do you know? That you’re – like – definitively?”

“I think that’s a shit word,” Ginny said. “Nothing else in our lives is definitive. Why should which gender of person we choose as our romantic partners be?”

She had a light in her eyes when she said it, the kind of gleam she got when she was challenging someone to a duel. Harry didn’t question her, though he still full of questions. It was as though he had joined some new, strange club and he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to be there.

“Okay, but, um, how do you know?”

“If you’re attracted to a guy, you’re attracted to a guy. It’s really as simple as that.”

“So, you’re attracted to a girl?”

“That’s what being a lesbian entails, yes.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t ask you who you’re attracted to,” Ginny snapped, her face turning bright pink. “Though it’s obvious.”

“How is it obvious?” Harry’s heart juddered. If one person could figure it out, everyone could figure it out.

“You’ve been trading glares with a certain someone ever since I came to Hogwarts,” Ginny sniffed, though her cheeks were still rosy. “Sometimes I don’t know whether you’re going to punch each other or snog each other. I’m guessing Hermione and the dear brother of mine wouldn’t approve?”

“You know they wouldn’t.”

“I’ll keep your secret, Harry,” Ginny said. “If you tell me how you both managed to figure out the other was interested.”

“Is this to do with the girl your attracted to?”

“Perhaps. I’m thinking that even if someone as ignorant as you could land a boy, you must have some trick up your sleeve.”

“Well, I am the chosen one,” Harry said.

Ginny rolled her eyes and game him a friendly shove with her shoulder.

Ron caught up with them then, sliding his arms over both of their shoulders and grinning between them like he was from The Shining. Ginny made a quick snip and just like that it was as if the conversation never happened.

The days had passed in a blur, Harry thought, and he had scarcely seen Draco since the kiss. It had only been stolen glances in corridors, and even then Harry had to glance away quickly because his face burned. Ginny was right, it really was obvious. He was amazed how Ron and Hermione hadn’t figured it out yet.

It had been their idea to call the DA meeting, because it was the weekend and everyone needed to relax. Hermione also told Harry that it was the right thing to do, now that he didn’t want to date Cho and all that. He shouldn’t prolong it, but she also hadn’t told him what to say, which had lead to the disaster of the scene that had just occurred.

They headed back to the Common Room, though something was tight in Ron’s voice. He had been different lately. He acted as though Harry was a bomb that was about to go off, which Harry supposed was him showing that he cared, in Ron’s own way. He offered a game of Wizard’s Chess before they headed to bed, because the DA always left them on a giddy high and it was better to sit downstairs and bounce off of each other than lie in bed for hours on end.

Harry’s adrenaline high crashed halfway through the first game, around when Ron had taken both of his knights and a handful of pawns. He knew he was not going to win this and started to be needlessly reckless with the tiny men. His set was getting battered from the ruthless reign of Ron Weasley.

But Ron was smiling, which Harry hadn’t seen in a while. With all the stress over Christmas, and having to goal for the Quidditch team, he was sure Ron was suffering. Not that they ever talked about stuff like that – not even Hermione admitted when she felt stressed. It was just nice to relax for a little, and pretend that everything was normal.

Only everything wasn’t normal, Harry was reminded, as he slipped down the stairs Sunday evening. He had been able to leave his invisibility cloak behind, since Ron and Hermione knew he was headed to his secret occlumency lesson. There had been a weary look behind their eyes, but they had smiled and wished him good luck as he left. He supposed coming out of the closet did have its uses.

He would tell them, he told himself, when they were ready. He wondered if they’d ever be able to be public, then realised he was only half thinking about the occlumency lessons.

No, he doubted the school would be willing to accept Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy as dating. If that was what this was, though Harry had to admit it was hardly a romantic date.

He felt a firm grip on his arm as he made his way out of the doors and down the stairs. He recognised the long, bony fingers, and as he was pushed against the wall, found himself grinning like an idiot at the face of Draco Malfoy.

“Potter,” he greeted, before suddenly he was kissing Harry and their teeth were knocking against each other’s. “Did you have to take so long?”

“It’s good to see you too,” Harry murmured, still a little dazed from the oddly affectionate greeting.

“Don’t give me that stupid grin,” Draco said, his hand still clutching Harry’s wrist as they started around the huge bulk of the castle. “I’m angry at you.”

“What have I done?”

“For one thing, you left me alone in a broom closet.” Draco said. “Then I don’t hear anything from you. You could have sent an owl, or something.”

“You could have sent an owl too.”

Draco snorted.

“Don’t be stupid. I don’t want to look desperate.”

There was a small alcove in the stone, and whilst Harry was trying to decode what Draco had just said, he pulled a broom from it.

“We’re using this today, by the way,” he said, summoning it up to float and swinging himself carelessly onto it. “I don’t want another instance where we have to walk home.”

Harry glanced at the Nimbus 2001 floating in front of him. Draco was watching him with a half-smile on his face, with one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. He had deliberately taken up as much space as possible so that Harry would have to squeeze onto the end, no doubt pressing up against Draco.

Oh no. That couldn’t happen.

“Malfoy, you know I’ve been banned from flying?” he asked, slowly. “Considering that I never get to fly anymore, maybe I should-“

“You. Are. Not. Flying. My. Broom.” Draco said, then he tilted his chin as his smirk widened. “Anyway, you can break into that broom closet anytime you like. Now come on, I haven’t got all night.”

Harry glared at Draco, which only earnt a wider smile, before he sucked up his pride and got on the back of the broom. He was right, to avoid sitting on the tail, he had to shuffle right up against Draco so that their hips touched as Draco urged the broom upwards. He bit his cheek as he wrapped his arms around Draco.

“It’s not fun, is it?” Draco’s voice called to him.

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

There was a bark of laughter, but for some reason it put a smile on Harry’s face. He felt absurdly at ease. Draco was warm against the January air, and it wasn’t completely uncomfortable to be spooning him like this.

Harry closed his eyes, resting his cheek against Malfoy’s back and listening to the rush of the wind in his ears. He had never flown on the back of a broomstick before. There was a certain peace to it, not having to look where he was going, or worry about his speed. It didn’t have the excitement of Quidditch, but another chill was running through his chest.

The world was a mess of indigo, purples and blacks, like a Van Gogh painting. He half expected swirls to appear in the night sky, mingling with the tiny lights of Hogsmeade as they flew over the village. It looked like an oasis, a small collection of warm stoves in the middle of a bitter wasteland of war. Voldemort seemed very far away and Hogsmeade seemed untouchable.

They touched down. Harry unpeeled himself from Draco and avoided looking at the amused come triumphant grin appearing on the Slytherin’s face.

“Aw, it was like having a Princess on the back of my broom,” he said, tucking the broomstick under his arm.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Harry’s heart came back, violently trying to escape from his chest. Trust Malfoy to ruin a nice moment.

He stomped down the alleyway, trying to decide if he really did fancy Malfoy or just hated him, when Malfoy took hold of his wrist.

“Hey,” Malfoy said, his voice low and gentle as he tugged Harry back round to face him. “C’mere.”

Harry tried to keep his frown on as Malfoy kissed his forehead, his lips buried in the hair. His mouth rebelled against him.

“What was that for?” Harry asked.

“For being the grumpy sod you always are.”

Draco’s fingers slipped down his wrist and Harry found his own fingers linking against them before he was even aware of it. It was like they had practised the movement.

“You’re not wearing my glove,” Draco said as they emerged onto the street the Hog’s Head squatted on.

“I’m not,” Harry said, just as shocked. “But the cuts have mostly healed over now.”

“Try not to get any detentions now.”

“But then who will patch me up?” Harry asked, and couldn’t help a grin stretch across his face as he saw a line of pink cross Draco’s cheeks.

“Patch yourself up,” Draco muttered.

They drew up their hoods as they entered the Hog’s Head, but it was pointless. The old pub was so crowded, it was unlikely they would be spotted. They could scarcely move for the throng of people, all gossiping loudly to each other. There seemed to be a sighting of Voldemort and the pub-goers were loudly battling out whether it was true or not.

In the ruckus, they managed to get to the fireplace and floo powder their way to Malfoy Manor without so much as a batted eyelid. Though the grate was even more full now that Draco was carrying his broom with him.

When they both pushed out of the grate at the manor, they found the floor covered with an old bedsheet. It had a large ink mark in the middle of it, and several dark stains.

Narcissa was sitting quite calmly in an armchair, watching them as though it was completely normal for two fifteen-year olds to fall out of her fireplace.

“I didn’t want another mess,” she said. “Not with your father here.”

“Father’s…” Draco trailed off, his eyes wide. Harry had thought he had never seen Draco scared before, but that was often the expression he wore when Lucius was around. There was a tightness to his mouth and hands, as though he was a puppet on a string.

“It’s a Sunday,” Narcissa said. “Even he still returns for a Sunday goose.”

“You have a goose every Sunday at home?” Harry asked Draco before he had thought it through. There was something different about the manor today. Warmer. Maybe it was because he felt he knew Narcissa now.

“You don’t?” one of Draco’s eyebrows rose so far, Harry was worried it would disappear. But some of the tightness was gone, so it was worth the admission.

“I mean, the Dursley’s had a roast dinner, but I usually just had whatever leftovers were in the fridge.”

“I thought they were family,” Draco frowned.

“Not willingly.”

“Can you continue this discussion later?” Narcissa’s voice cut across them like a shard of glass. “This is now a dangerous operation.”

Nevertheless, she stood and crossed the room to give Draco a quick hug. She held his arms as she continued.

“Your father is in his study, and should hopefully stay there till late. The safest place for you to go is your room, he’d never go there. Keep your ears out, mon trésor.”

“I can’t stay?” Draco said, and there was only the slightest trace of desperation in his voice as he asked. His hands only tightened slightly on his mother’s arms.

Narcissa’s mouth twitched as she glanced at Harry.

“Not unless you want to risk getting accidentally jinxed.”

Draco gave a short, sharp sigh from his nose.

“I guess I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said, giving Harry a final glance before he left the room.

“I will try not to tire him out too much,” Narcissa said, with a knowing glint in her eye.

Harry’s face burned as she turned back to him. He couldn’t even ask her if she knew. Of course, she did, but the confirmation was too awkward. The house elf had probably told her, if she hadn’t guessed it from Harry’s mind. He was sure she hadn’t been poking around, but, well, he wasn’t very good at that sort of thing.

“Have you been practising, Mr Potter?” she asked. The tightness was in her mouth too. He could tell she wanted to stay with Draco, instead of risking her life over him. It just wasn’t fair.

“I’ve been trying to,” he admitted. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, though.”

“Whenever you need to shield your mind, you will have a lot on it,” Narcissa said. “We will do the lesson here.”

“I really don’t think my shoes are that dirty.”

Narcissa surprised him by giving a twinkling laugh.

“It’s not your shoes,” she said, “you’re not going to be sat down when you practice with Severus. You should get used to it.”

He wanted to roll his eyes and mutter ‘great,’ because he was sure he had only done so well last time because he had been sat down. But you didn’t roll your eyes at Draco’s mother. She would probably curse him into never being able to sit down again.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

8

Narcissa Malfoy had been staring at Harry for an uncomfortably long time. It had gotten so long that it would be awkward for him to ask her anything.

The Occlumency lesson had been going much the same as last time. Narcissa had repeatedly entered Harry’s mind and he had repeatedly tried to push her out. He had been getting better at it, if he did say so himself. Maybe that was why she was still staring at him. Maybe he had pushed her out too hard and hurt her, or something.

“Um, Mrs Malfoy, is something wrong?” he asked. It was awkward enough, so adding another awkward question on top of that probably wouldn’t make much difference.

“You said those Muggles are your family?” her eyes suddenly snapped back into focus, landing on Harry’s like an eagle.

“Uh, yeah. Aunt Petunia is my mother’s sister,” Harry said.

“Does,” she paused, as though she had a bitter taste in her mouth. “Professor Dumbledore know how they treat you?”

Harry shrugged, feeling his cheeks and neck prickle. He wasn’t sure. Dumbledore must have known what kind of people the Dursley’s were when he dropped Harry off. But it was for a reason. It was to protect him where no wizards would be able to find him.

“Does he know you slept in a cupboard for eleven years?”

“I mean, that’s where my Hogwarts Letter was addressed,” Harry said. He scratched absently behind his ear.

Narcissa Malfoy didn’t crack a smile. It felt as though there was lightning in the air.

“That is a cruel joke.”

“It’s really okay,” Harry said. He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. He didn’t want to talk about Dumbledore like this, as though he had done something wrong when he had been saving Harry. But there was something that made him feel uneasy now that he thought about it. Why had Dumbledore been so adamant to leave him there? “I got used to the spiders and I was right next to the boiler, so it was never cold, really.”

Narcissa didn’t return his grin. She stared at him as though he was crazy, but then, that was the way everyone had been looking at him lately.

“I do not think your mother would have approve of that,” she said, coldly. Harry was oddly flattered that she cared. Maybe she just didn’t want Draco hanging around with a boy who lived in a cupboard, it was bad enough that he was the chosen one. “You cannot go back there in the summer.”

“I don’t have anywhere else,” Harry said. It was a lie. There was Grimmauld Place, but Dumbledore would find him there. He didn’t want to hide from Dumbledore.

Narcissa remained staring at him for another uncomfortable length of time. Then there was a sudden crash from upstairs.

“We should continue with the lesson,” she said, seemingly unfazed by the noise.

Harry, however, had felt his heart jump into his chest. That must have been Lucius Malfoy, but what was he doing to create such a crash? Had he gotten angry? Was it something to do with Voldemort?

Had he found Draco?

Please don’t leave him have found Draco.

And if it was Draco making that noise? It would draw Lucius straight to him.

Images flashed up in his mind as he worried about his kind-of boyfriend upstairs just as he felt Narcissa’s mind enter his. Just as he remembered the kiss under the stars.

Her mind withdrew of its own accord and Harry opened his mouth to apologise. Then he closed it. He wasn’t sorry.

Narcissa blinked, slowly, then swallowed. Harry found it impossible to read any reaction from her.

“I’d better teach you how to cover up your thoughts, Mr Potter,” she said, a little more firmly than normal, but Harry might have been imagining that.

Harry nodded, feeling his cheeks burn.

Narcissa added the metaphor of paintings inside his brain, and they worked on that. Harry pointedly tried to think of anything but him and Draco kissing to display on it. He got pretty adept at instead remembering scenes from the Dursley’s. He kept coming back to blowing up Aunt Marge, because he could feel Narcissa smiling at that one. It was surprisingly clear in his mind and he found himself recalling it with ease, even as the tips of his fingers wondered what Draco’s hair would feel like.

She was on his side, Harry realised, and that felt odd. Adults didn’t usually join his side. Not really. They supported him, sure, they wanted to see him beat Voldemort, but no one seemed to really care that he lived with the Dursleys. No one had really cared that he lived in a cupboard. Mrs Weasley would have, he was sure, but she also would have said its what Dumbledore would have wanted. Harry didn’t think he could trust adults like that anymore. How could he trust Dumbledore?

How could he trust Narcissa? Well, he wasn’t dead yet, and she could have easily sold him out by now. Lucius had been upstairs all this time and she hadn’t sent for him. She hadn’t trapped him. As long as Draco stayed safe, he could trust her.

And maybe there was more than that. She was the only adult to say that Dumbledore had been wrong about the Dursley’s and that felt like an immense weight off of his shoulders. Someone thought it was wrong. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t his fault. There was nothing wrong with him.

He succeeded in pushing Narcissa out of his mind. He had hardly had to think about it.

‘Good,’ her voice commented, almost immediately returning. There was more resistance the next time Harry began pushing against the presence. She really had been going easy on him.

They carried on in that way for some time, Harry dividing his attention between the door and the painting and pushing against the form of Narcissa in his mind. When she finally called for him to stop, he opened his eyes tentatively, and found he was completely exhausted. He wavered where he stood.

“That is certainly an improvement from the other night,” Narcissa said. “You’d better get going, Lucius will be wondering where I am.”

“Right yeah,” Harry nodded. Getting home had made him think about being on the back of Draco’s broom again. “Thanks, again. For everything.”

Narcissa slipped out of the room, and he waited by the grate for Draco to return. He came alone, a strange look in his eyes. He seemed much more tired than when they had got here.

“I heard a crash, is everything okay?” Harry said.

“Since when do you care about me, Potter?”

“Well, I guess since I kissed you.”

Draco’s lips stretched into a smirk, but he avoided Harry’s eyes.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Let’s go home, quick.”

If Harry didn’t know better, he would have said Draco was embarrassed. The thought made him grin from ear to ear and he received a sharp elbow in the side for it.

“What if the house elves catch us again?” Harry asked as they were once again pressed together, unable to fight the smile from his face. He could understand Draco’s relentless teasing now. It was fun.

“You know, I prefer it when you’re confused and awkward,” Draco said.

Harry began to bark a laugh and received Draco’s hand pressed over his mouth. The remembrance of Lucius Malfoy upstairs sobered him. It also turned his thoughts to his second occlumency lesson, tomorrow, with Snape. Whilst he felt marginally more confident in his occlumency abilities, he didn’t think he was quite up to the task of pushing Snape from his mind.

But he had to be, he realised as he tried to memorise the shape of Draco’s mouth. There was more at stake than his pride, now. If Snape discovered them, he would feed them back to Voldemort because, despite what Dumbledore said, he would tell everything to Voldemort. If Voldemort knew that Draco was working with Harry, that they were together, well, he’d start by torturing Draco. And then-

Harry couldn’t think about it. He tightened his grip around Draco and closed his eyes. That couldn’t happen. Not when he had only just discovered how he felt.

They paused in the entrance hall, their footsteps trailing off like a forgotten tune.

“Good night, then,” Draco said. He lingered, leaning slightly towards Harry. Harry blinked, unsure why there was this long pause. Then it clicked and he hastily moved towards Draco. They bumped foreheads and their lips only grazed.

Draco’s hand rested on his cheek, keeping him still as they kissed again. Harry was reminded he liked this much better than duelling each other.

“Keep on being awkward,” Draco said.

“Good night, Malfoy,” Harry went to give Draco’s shoulder a shove, but his hand somehow lost momentum. He instead squeezed Draco’s shoulder and tried for a belated eye roll, before he headed up the stairs.

The next day passed feverishly. He kept glancing at the clock in nervous anticipation of the upcoming occlumency lesson. He seemed to check every time the minute hand clicked one step further around.

Harry wanted to fly. He thought blissfully of the broom cupboard and how easy it was to get in there last time. He wouldn’t be able to pull it off in full daylight, too many people would see and he’d be expelled for sure. But he had to relax somehow.

Double Potions was a sour reminder of the torture to await him later and as the Gryffindors waited in a huddle, he scowled down at the floor.

“Hate Mondays as well?” Ron asked beside him.

Harry shrugged. He wouldn’t have minded Double Potions, it was an excuse to see Draco for two hours without sneaking around. They wouldn’t have to meet in the dead of night or in a cupboard. But today all he could think about was whether or not he’d betray them both to Voldemort. It made it hard to concentrate on how his heart raced when he thought of sharing a cauldron again.

“I take it the other Occlumency lessons aren’t helping then?” Ron pressed.

“No, they are,” Harry said, nodding vigorously in the hope that it would make him appear more believable. “It’s just not going fast enough.”

“You can’t expect to learn it overnight,” Hermione said, conjuring a sigh from Harry that he forced himself to swallow instead.

“I don’t want to give anything away to Snape, that’s all,” Harry said. “It would be best if he didn’t know about my other teacher.”

“Well, obviously,” Ron scoffed. Then he paused and gave Harry an interested look. “What’s it to Snape? Unless he knows them?”

“Unless he knows whom?”

Snape’s voice reverberated through Harry like a discordant cord on a violin. It was as though the potions master had solidified from shadows alone and now he lurked over the three of them with his trademark glare of distaste. Harry’s mind danced around for a lie and found the perfect word to stop Snape from asking any more questions.

“The members of the Order.”

Snape’s lip curled.  Mission accomplished.

“And if you talk any louder about it, Potter, everyone will know,” he sneered, before gliding into the classroom, his robes billowing like a Dementor’s Shroud behind him.

He felt Ron lean against him in relief as they filed obediently into the classroom.

Draco took up his place next to Harry without saying a word. Harry felt a small thrill run through him.

Ron opened his mouth to object, but the lesson began too quickly for him to argue. Besides, Draco had raised one pointed eyebrow and that was enough to silence any man.

“How was my mother?” Draco murmured as they begun to prepare ingredients. Potions classes these days seemed to be copying instructions from the board and that was it.

“Angry,” Harry said. “About my housing situation.”

“The muggles? What would she know about them?”

“Well, she’s been looking into my mind, Draco. She knows about all sorts of stuff that’s happened.”

“Like what?”

Harry paused, clenching the knife he was using to chop Billywig stings off. There was a mischievous sparkle in Draco’s eye that he didn’t want to trust. Like this would be used for leverage if he revealed it. But he was also dying to tell someone else. To see if they had the same reaction. If they thought Dumbledore was out of order.

“I slept in a cupboard,” Harry said, forcing himself to hold Draco’s gaze.

Draco burst out laughing, not maliciously, one of the laughs he had when he was talking to anyone other than a Slytherin. The laugh he used when he was having fun. But it still felt as though someone had gripped Harry’s heart and was squeezing it tightly. He swallowed and looked away.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Draco stopped when he saw Harry miss the Billywig sting completely. He forced himself to hold the knife steady, but it still shook like a bee at a flower as Harry nodded. “I thought you were making a gay joke, Potter.”

“I mean, when I came back after first year, when they knew that Dumbledore knew I lived in a cupboard, I got Dudley’s second bedroom.” Harry said.

“There was always a second bedroom?” Draco asked, taking the knife from Harry’s hand and chopping the stings with practised ease.

“Yeah. For Dudley’s stuff.”

“No wonder you like House Elves so much.”

“Dobby helped me discover the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Yes. Dobby did.” Draco strung the words out dryly, but then his voice was soft. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You never asked.”

“And how would I have? Before all this?”

Harry shrugged.

“Before all what?” Ron’s face appeared at Draco’s shoulder, glancing between the two of them. Harry cleared his throat and moved his hands out from under Draco’s, feeling his cheeks burning.

“Sorry, Weasley, I didn’t think this conversation involved people like you,” Draco said, sniffing and turning back to Harry, who was having a bad, bad feeling about this.

“What do you mean people like me? Why don’t you just say it?”

“Ron, the potion,” Hermione said, feverishly stirring as their mixture began to smoke.

“Blood traitors,” Draco shrugged, de-stinging another Billywig.

“Better a blood traitor than a Death Eater,” Ron spat, throwing a handful of stings into his own cauldron. Half of them missed and the others started it fixing aggressively. “I suppose you-know-who is round yours for tea every weekend now?”

“’You-know-who,’ honestly, grow up Weasley, can’t you even say-“

“The Dark Lord, like you?”

“He who must not be named.”

“Or Voldemort,” Hermione said, running a hand through her already frizzy hair as she added murtlap juice to try to calm their bubbling potion.

“Or we could talk about something else,” Harry said. He tugged at Draco’s sleeve as inconspicuously as he could. “Like the time the Dursleys put bars on my window?”

“Why? Why are you suddenly partners anyway?” Ron demanded. His ears were bright red. “You baffle me, Harry, when you’ve hated this git for years.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And you-“ Ron rounded on Malfoy, squaring up to him. Even though he was a good head taller than Malfoy, he seemed like a lumbering fool next to Draco’s quiet, prideful stance. His chin was tilted in the way that Harry found so stomach-leaping and he watched Ron with barely concealed white-hot rage. “Why have you suddenly decided to follow him around like some kind of lapdog? Are you spying on us, is that it? Is that your mission – so that you can earn your snake and skull tattoo?”

Harry grabbed Draco’s elbow tightly in both hands, not caring who saw. Partly because he saw the muscles up Draco’s arm ripple, and partly because he felt like giving Ron a thump himself, which was absurd. He couldn’t punch his best friend. But his best friend was insulting his kind-of boyfriend and being a complete twat really – the whole potions class was watching them now.

But Draco had taken a breath. His face was pale, extremely pale and almost yellow in the light of the dungeons. When he spoke, it was in a low and dangerous tone. It reminded Harry of stepping onto very thin ice and watching it crack into spiderwebs underneath you.

“I know the apple does not fall far from the tree in your family, but you will find, Weasley, I am not my father.”

There was silence. Harry was sure even Snape was watching the proceedings now. Draco’s arm felt taught under his grip.

Ron’s face turning crimson, almost carnation pink and he seemed to swell like a balloon. Within moments, he had whipped his wand out, swishing it centimetres before Draco’s nose.

“Weasley!” Snape’s voice finally called, just as Ron bellowed out a spell.

Harry stepped forward, his fingers finding his own wand of their own accord. He had no idea how to counter, but his wrist moved for him and he found himself casting “protego!”

A silvery shield burst from his wand just as a flash of orange sprung from Ron’s. It ricocheted, bouncing against the iron of the furiously bubbling cauldron Hermione was stirring. The cauldron wobbled on its stand, then fell sideways into Harry’s cauldron as it promptly decided to explode.

Harry was knocked off of his feet and everything was a blur of colours and sounds.  There was a ringing in his ears and his back hurt. He remembered a lot of black and screaming in his ears and then a lot of bright lights that he grumbled at and shied away from. He wanted to sleep. Would everyone stop being so annoying so that he could sleep?

“Potter!” a voice from above him before he felt a sharp slap across his cheeks.

He blinked rapidly, frowning as he looked up at Malfoy.

“I’d rather sleep, thanks,” he said, his words slurring awkwardly together.

“That’s because you fainted, Potter.”

“Fainted?”

“Like a Princess.”

“What?” Harry was having a hard time linking Draco’s words back to himself. He had fainted before, yes, but not in the potions classroom.

“Alihotsy draught,” Draco said. There was still a lot of noise and smoke in the classroom. “Causes hysteria. It has a different effect on different people.”

“I knew that,” Harry said, because he absolutely did not know that.

“This is why you’re going to fail your OWLs,” Draco said, with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, up you get.”

Harry felt Draco’s hands underneath him, pulling him up so that he was pressed against something. He figured it to be a desk.

There was absolute carnage in the classroom. The ruined potions were still smoking and bubbling away. A handful of other people had fainted over their desks or onto the cold, stone floor. Most people were screaming bloody murder, red in the face. Everyone else was laughing uncontrollably.

Snape stepped into view and Harry tried not to clutch Draco, but he still felt very tired. The room seemed much darker.

“You all had best leave. Now.”

There was general relief, even if several students were sobbing as they left the classroom. Snape’s voice rang out again.

“Apart from the four who started this.”

*

They were cleaning the classroom. This was actually a light punishment, Harry supposed, considering how absolutely livid Snape was. His eyes had been like black holes, his skin as white as Nearly Headless Nick’s and his mouth trembling as he stared at them. Harry felt he was lucky to be alive, actually. It had almost seemed like Snape could cast Avada Kadava with a glance.

But no, they were just cleaning the classroom. It meant missing lunch, but at the price of his life, Harry was more than happy to scrub down the cauldrons and the floor.  They also had detention for the foreseeable future, but even that had to be better than Umbridge’s detentions, so overall Harry felt as though they had dodged several bullets. He was the only one who felt that way.

There was, however, a dangerous silence hovering over them. It simmered like a dozen pink elephants dancing in the room, which Harry had feared he would actually see. The air was ripe with tension as Ron and Hermione scrubbed at the far wall of the dungeon. He was elbows deep in a cauldron, and Draco was sulkily dragging a mop across the floor, occasionally glancing up to glare at them all.

Eventually, Harry couldn’t stand it any longer.

“You have to wring it out,” he said.

“What?” Draco’s eyes snapped to him.

“The mop.” Harry said. “Wring it out before you put it on the ground, then you don’t end up with a huge puddle.”

Draco stared at him. He looked as though he had just been slapped with a wet flannel.

“Don’t bother, Harry,” Ron muttered. “Why teach him how to clean, anyway? Its not like he’s ever going to use the knowledge again.”

“Careful Weasley, that sentence had over ten words in.”

Ron turned, his fist clenched around the rag he was holding. Hermione caught his elbow.

“Can’t the two of you give it a break?” she snapped. “It’s because of your stupid bickering we’re here in the first place.”

“Well if Harry hadn’t-“

“Since when are you Potter’s keeper?”

“Stop it!” Hermione stamped her foot. “You remember third year – when Malfoy was laughing at Hagrid? Well I’m not afraid to repeat the experience on both of you if you don’t can it and clean.”

For a short girl, she was formidable. Draco swallowed heavily and turned back to mopping. After a long, heavy glare, Ron turned back to the wall.

Harry felt like he was torn in two. He knew he should go and help them with the wall, but he also felt he should snatch the broom from Draco’s hands and teach him just how to mop like a human and not a mermaid. He sighed into the cauldron and it echoed like Moaning Myrtle around them.

It was a mistake. It drew attention to him.

“Actually, mate, you’ve been very quiet through all of this,” Ron snapped. “Why the bloody hell would you protect him?”

Harry knew his reply would change everything. Either he admitted Draco and his relationship and risk the consequences, or he lied and he wasn’t sure how many he could spin before Draco left him. He realised all this in a nano-second.

“He doesn’t have to tell you anything,” Draco cut across him before he could say anything.

“He’s my friend.”

“And he’s-“ Draco broke off, meeting Harry’s eye. They stared at each other for an absurdly long moment.

“First rule of school,” Harry said, unable to move his gaze from Draco’s. “It always us against the teachers. Right?”

Draco’s mouth curved upwards slightly.

Ron frowned, glancing between them. He knew something had changed, Harry could tell, but he couldn’t figure out what. He turned slowly back to the wall.

“Here,” Harry said, stepping forwards and taking the mop from Draco. “Let me do that.”

His fingers grazed over Draco’s and as Draco took the cloth from Harry’s hand, he bent his head slightly. Harry could feel Draco’s lips against the shell of his ear.

“Thanks, Potter.”

It sent tingles down his spine, and his hand felt as though it was shining as he took up duty with the mop. Draco’s voice had been a whisper that had made Harry’s heart skip a beat. He had wanted to turn around and kiss Draco, because he had discovered that was what that feeling was. His heart performed acrobatics to tell him that he wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy. That he wanted to run his hands through Draco’s hair and press himself against him and see what it felt like to have his tongue in Draco’s mouth. What Draco’s tongue felt like.

The thoughts swam around his mind and made the mopping slightly better, even if the time passed agonisingly slowly. The potion seemed to seem into every crack and seam in the brickwork and actively resist being scrubbed away. Harry repeatedly had to heat the water in the bucket to try and get every last speck from the dungeon floor, because he knew Snape would be inspecting the whole room from top to bottom.

After a while, Hermione pulled out a chocolate frog, and she and Ron shared it companionably. Harry wasn’t offered any. His stomach protested at him to apologise in order to receive food, but he forced himself to continue.

Draco had to pass behind him once, squeezing between the cauldrons. His hips nudged against Harry’s back, one hand on Harry’s waist. That was probably the highlight of the afternoon. But then it was back to class and after a rushed dinner, he was back where he had began. Standing in Snape’s classroom and wondering just how he was going to pull this off.

Snape was standing before him like some kind of Nosferatu knock-off and once again Harry wondered if it was possible to be killed with a simple look. He wondered what people would say. ‘Sure, he survived the killing curse, but not Severus Snape. No one escapes Severus Snape.’

“Care to tell me exactly what stunt you pulled today?” Snape asked, though his lips barely moved. It felt as though the room itself was speaking.

“It wasn’t me-“

“Professor.”

“Right, well, it wasn’t me. It was just stopping Ron from attacking Draco, because I didn’t want to get a detention for Ron attacking Draco.” Harry said. The lies came easily when he knew Draco depended on them. “I knew you’d blame me no matter what.”

Snape’s eyebrow quirked upwards and Harry forced himself to meet the potions master’s eye. He wasn’t lying, really, he told himself. That was all true. He was just omitting certain, crucial facts from the account.

“Do you care to test that, Potter?”

“Wh-“

But Snape was already pointing his ward and Harry felt his eyes widen as he realised what was happening. He screwed them tight bringing up the room of his mind and flinging himself against the door. He swore he could feel the rush of energy slam into it. He pushed against the wood as hard as he could, wishing he had eaten more at dinner to weigh it down. Would that even make a difference? Did his mind self weigh as much as his regular self?

But then nothing was at the door. Snape’s presence had withdrawn as swiftly as the man himself did at the end of lessons.

He opened his eyes to find himself sat on the floor, his back against a cauldron. There was a fast ensuing ache in his hands and back and butt where he had hit the flagstones.

Snape was scowling down at him, his arms crossed.

Harry blinked up at him, feigning innocence but still keeping a hand on the door knob. Just in case. He had done it – he felt a small thrill run through him. He had beaten Snape.

“You blocked me,” Snape said, slowly, as though there was a trick somewhere. He stared at Harry as if he was going to through off a disguise as declare himself as someone else.

“Did I?” Harry asked. He fought to keep the smile off of his face. He did! “I guess you’re a good teacher, after all.”

Snape’s eye twitched. Harry couldn’t tell if it was annoyance from not being able to barge straight in to Harry’s mind, or at the back handed compliment. Maybe it was both.

“You won’t see the Dark Lord raise his wand before he uses you,” Snape sneered. “On your feet and we’ll try again.”

Harry glared then, his moment of triumph gone. He got to his feet, feeling his knees shaking slightly. He faced Snape, ready at his door as Snape cast legilimens once more.

He was less successful this time. He supposed he must have taken Snape by surprise before because now he was a lot harder to keep out and burst through Harry’s defences in seconds. Harry could feel Snape’s presence, groping around in his mind for the truth of what happened today.

But what he said was the truth. He focused on the painting, on filling it with memories of him, Ron and Hermione in the common room. Of sitting by the fireplace with Ginny poking at the flames.

Nevertheless, Snape wore insistently on in his mind, scarcely relaxing his advances before attacking again at full throttle.

Well that was fine, Harry knew exactly what to show him. He blurred the memory, showing only Cho’s face as he shouted, “I’m gay!”

He felt Snape pause and took the opportunity to push him from his mind. It still felt as though the teacher was dragging his heels, watching with interest as the memory unfolded.

“If you’re gay, then why did you agree to go on a date with me?” the memory of Cho demanded.

Harry was back in the classroom, his robes sticking to him with cold sweat. A drop dribbled down the side of his face as he gathered the courage to look up at Snape.

Snape was watching him with a mixture of surprise, interest, disgust and amusement. It was an impressive combination and Harry hated that he knew the man so well as to pick out all these emotions. He really needed to spend more time with other people.

The silence dragged on. Harry wasn’t sure how they were going to continue.

“So, that’s what’s been happening with me,” he said, swaying on the balls of his feet.

Snape was still giving him that strange look. His lip began to curl in that familiar, Snape-like way.

“Get out,” he said. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, relieved that his plan worked better than he thought it would. He picked up his bag and headed to the doorway. He was free for the evening. He didn’t have to think about Snape in his mind for a whole week.

And yet there was something in the way that Snape recoiled from him as he passed that put a frown on his face. Not that he expected Snape to be sporting rainbows and protesting for gay marriage and of course he didn’t think Snape would be subtle if he was homophobic. There was just something in it that made him feel uneasy.

He didn’t say anything. His heart was pounding. What if he questioned it and Snape turned around and called him-

He wouldn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he had a quip in him for that. He didn’t want people to say stuff like that. Not to him and especially not to Draco. Maybe there had been a reason to keep this a secret. Maybe there was a reason he had turned the other eye to this for so long. For his whole life, he had been fighting for his identity – he was not just the ‘chosen one.’ He wasn’t anything special, he was ‘just Harry.’ He didn’t know if he had the strength in him to fight for his sexual identity too.

Harry was just stepping out of the door when he heard Snape mutter, “Maybe you should spend less time with your precious Godfather, Potter.”

Chapter Text

9

Harry tried to contact Sirius that night. He tried at first in the toilets and had no luck. So, he tried again under the covers of his bed, but the mirror stubbornly remained blank until his eyes began to close of their own accord. He was forced to put it away, lie in bed and wonder what exactly Snape meant when he said he should spend 'less time with his precious Godfather.'

It was an uneasy sleep and he found himself trudging up to the Owlery the next day. He half-hoped he would meet Draco on the way, because he wasn't sure what he actually wanted to send. But he knew he should send something.

Hedwig fluttered down and blinked at him. He scratched at her feathers and she preened into his hand, oblivious to all of his trivial human concerns. He sighed. Then forced himself to fish a scrap of paper out of his bag. He wrote quickly, trying not to think too much about what to write or how to write it.

'Occlumency lesson interesting. Secret safe. Miss you.'

It was a bad letter, but that was what he wanted to say. He didn't have Draco's gift with words, but he hoped that his awkward telegram would at least get a smirk out of him.

He tied it to Hedwig's leg and pressed his forehead against the top of her head, but only for a moment. Her beak was sharp and she nipped at his hair as he pulled away. He shouldn't let her anywhere near his face unless she poked an eye out or something.

Harry had just let her out the window, murmuring Draco's name to her before releasing her into the cold, January sky. Clouds swirled up like grey towers, blocking the sun at every turn. What it would be like to fly a broom through that – Harry's mouth watered at the thought.

"Hello, Harry," a dreamy voice said. Luna glided over to one of the Hogwarts owls, smiling at it demurely, but not touching it.

"Luna. Hi."

There was an awkward silence. Luna seemed content to stare at the owls without saying anything or sending any letters off. He found himself desperate for something, anything, to say. What had they talked about before? Oh yeah, that was pre-kissing-Draco.

"So, Luna," Harry said, stepping closer. "About what we were talking about last time-"

"Puzzles?"

"What? No, I meant, about someone your friends don't like helping you."

"Oh, yes. Did you tell your friends?"

"No. See that's the thing – I really don't think they'll ever be on good terms with this person. I have the detentions to prove it."

"Well yes. Change doesn't happen overnight, Harry," Luna said. "You have to give them time."

"Time is probably the one thing I don't have."

Luna looked at him, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile.

"You-know-who isn't here yet," she said. "So, you've got all the time in the world, haven't you?"

That was one way to look at it. Luna never failed to make him feel better, even if it was in the most roundabout way possible.

"I don't want this to be irreparable, though," Harry continued. That was what he was worried about. The feeling of standing at a crossroads. He couldn't lose Ron and Hermione, but he didn't think he wanted to lose Draco either. If he lost Draco, he was sure Voldemort would swoop in. He had made a promise to protect him. "I feel like I'm at a tipping point, Luna."

Luna gave him a long, look, her pale eyes seemingly unearthly. He wondered if she was some kind of sprite sent to guide him on his journey. That was ridiculous.

"He's worried too," Luna said, quietly. An owl nipped affectionately at one of her fingers. The polish on it seemed to shimmer between the colours of the rainbow. "He's worried you'll pick your friends and leave him."

"Um, who?" Harry's heart stopped beating for a moment. He felt on the verge of a panic attack. What did Luna know? And how did she know it?

"Draco."

"You – you've talked to Malfoy?"

Luna curled a string of gold behind her ear, leaning against the wall and letting one of the owls clamber onto her shoulder, its talons digging into her shoulder.

"Draco often comes and sits with me when I'm working outside," she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I sit by the lake a lot you see, to help me focus, and if I see any crumple horned snorkacks I'll be ready to record the experience. And I wanted to be friends with the squid, because no one else is and I thought he'd enjoy learning about the history of magic," she frowned here. "He actually got very angry with me, even though I'd used a spell to help him understand me. Draco stepped in then, though stupefy did seem to hurt the squid's tentacle, which I felt made about. From then on he said he'd better sit out with me, in case the squid tries to kill me again. I said he probably didn't mean to, but Draco was very insistent. He's quite clever, you know."

"Mmm," Harry nodded, equal parts baffled and jealous. Where was this kind and considerate side of Draco all the years he'd been plotting to get Harry expelled? He'd almost got killed in the Black Lake too, but Draco hadn't rushed in to save him. "And Malfoy talks about me, does he?"

"Yes. It's quite unbearable," Luna said. "But he is a great tutor in charms, so I let him complain about you if he wants."

And Draco was worried about Harry. He didn't want to lose Harry. It sent a thrill through his chest.

"I wouldn't leave him," he found himself saying. "Even if Ron and Hermione," he stopped and took a breath. He couldn't even think about that. "I wouldn't leave him."

Luna smiled and Harry had never noticed what a nice smile she had. It seemed to light up the dreary Owlery like the sun had begun to shine.

"He'll be glad to hear that."

Harry found himself smiling back. He wasn't quite sure why, because discussing his love life with Luna Lovegood was absurd and strange. It was bizarre that she talked about Draco as though he was some sort of mythical creature who could hear them now. But she did have a strange, comforting presence, like a wise-woman in a village.

They both jumped as the rotting door slammed open again, revealing a very muddy, scowling Ginny Weasley.

"Oh dear," Luna said. She still had that dreamy smile on her face. "I take it rehearsal didn't go well."

"Luna," Ginny stopped, her eyes widening. She brushed fiery locks out of her eyes and absently rubbed a hand at her muddy jeans. Wet mud sprinkled onto the floor. "No. It was shite. I suppose that's good news for Ravenclaw."

"Any news can be good news if you think of it in the right light," Luna said.

Harry frowned, because surely that wasn't right. In the mood Ginny was in, surely she'd yell at Luna for being so vague-

But no. Ginny was grinning like she couldn't stop it. She shrugged helplessly.

"I guess so," she said and there was a longer than usual pause before she continued. "Is Pigwidgeon here? I have to let mum know my score on the Transfiguration test."

They dissolved into an in-depth discussion on each question and whether or not any of them had been a trick or not. Harry tuned them out, glancing out of the window like Hedwig would be back any moment.

But then Luna was drifting out of the room without having sent a letter and Ginny was back to scowling at the tiny owl on her arm.

"Rehearsals really are crap without you, Harry," Ginny said. "You're such an idiot, getting banned."

"I'm sorry, Ginny, if I'd have known it would affect you so personally, I wouldn't have wound Dumbridge up so much."

Ginny cracked a smile, but it was short lived.

"If you can have a word with Ron – tell him not to be so bloody nervous, we might actually stand a chance."

"Ron's not exactly happy with me at the moment."

"Because of the gay thing?" Ginny's eyebrows shot up, and Harry spotted a look of fear there.

"No, not really that. It's more – I don't think he'd like who I kissed."

Ginny's lips narrowed as she studied his face.

"Well if Ron won't like your taste in guys, I don't think I'd like this bloke either."

"Would you believe me if I said he's just misunderstood?"

"That's fair," Ginny said with a short laugh. She gestured to Harry to turn around and he obeyed her. He felt her press a parchment against his back as she began to write.

'Misunderstood,' the wood echoed in his mind. Misunderstood and gay, there was something significant about that, he was sure. He remembered the way Ginny had lit up as soon as she had seen Luna. She had practically been a different person.

"Ginny," he said slowly. She made a small 'mm?' from around her quill. "Do you have a crush on Luna?"

She stopped scratching on the parchment.

"Harry, that's," she spoke as though she was somewhat amazed. "That's really observant of you."

"I'm a changed man," he said, and she gave another low chuckle.

"As a reward, you can be more wingman then."

She finished writing the letter and attached it to Pigwidgeon. Her face was flushed and there was a small smile that kept appearing on her face.

The owl flew away, and Ginny smirked at Harry, linking her arm with his. He didn't think to ask where they were going and doubted Ginny would tell him. She traipsed him back through the castle, chattering about the latest Quidditch matches. A girl in her dorm had a muggle radio, and they had tuned it into the matches with trial and error magic. She seemed able to remember every pass and tackle each of the members of the Hollyhead Harpies had committed. It made Harry's head spin slightly to hear so many names, but he grinned and nodded along. It was nice, he supposed, to have somebody like him. It made him feel like he wasn't alone.

He tried ringing Sirius again that night. He squashed himself into the window on the staircase up to the boy's dormitory, a blanket around his shoulders. Harry waited, staring at his own reflection for the longest time in the mirror before there was the familiar blur of colour.

It settled into Sirius' face. He was frowning again.

"Harry, this mirror is only meant to be for emergencies."

"I know," Harry said. "It kind of is."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. He seemed so like a disapproving father that Harry felt a clench in his gut.

But then Sirius' face broke into a smile and he gave a long, loud laugh.

"That's exactly what James would say," Sirius exclaimed, still cackling. "And he'd look just like that, as well," Harry grinned, feeling relief wash over him, as Sirius continued. "So, what's up? You're staying out of trouble, right?"

"It was just something Snape said, at the end of my occlumency lesson," Harry said. Suddenly he didn't want to ask or know anymore and words were abandoning him. "Something about being like you?"

"That could be anything, Harry. You know Snivellus hates me – any sign you're like me and he'll hate you for it too."

"He found out I was-" Harry stopped. It had become such a normal thing he forgot Sirius didn't know. The whole school knew now, Cho had made sure of that. Of course, anyone who hated him still hated him and anyone who liked him said it didn't matter, with varying shades of believability. "A lot's happened, Sirius." He wanted that to be the end of it, but Sirius was still watching him patiently with those Labrador-like eyes. "Okay, so, the first thing is that I'm pretty sure I'm gay."

Sirius blinked at him. He looked almost confused, as though he didn't understand why it was significant enough to tell him this.

"Okay."

"I kind of distracted Snape from seeing stuff about Narcissa by using that memory," Harry said, plunging into his words now because he was sure he was going to lose his nerve. "And that's when he mentioned you."

Sirius' didn't move for so long that Harry wondered if the mirror had froze. Maybe it was a faulty connection and it was on a delay. Harry could hear his heart thudding in his ears. But then Sirius blinked.

"Yeah, I can see why he would," Sirius said slowly. He leant backwards and took a long breath. "Snape was always nosy." Harry waited patiently, watching Sirius look everywhere but at him. "Harry, you have to keep this to yourself, do you understand?"

"But what's so bad about-"

"Harry." Sirius' voice had an edge to it that stopped him in his tracks. He pulled the blanket more tightly over his shoulders, and nodded. "Please understand, I wouldn't ask you to if it wasn't important. Things were different then and they could still be dangerous now." There was another long silence where Sirius' shoulders moved. "It was around the time Lily and James were dating, I guess, that Remus and I did too."

Harry felt as though he couldn't breathe, his ribcage seemed to keep expanding.

"You and Lupin?"

Sirius nodded, scratching the back of his neck and looking down.

"But now that he knows you're innocent, you could tell him, can't you?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear. There was so much that he didn't know about everyone, but since he was Ginny's wingman, why couldn't he be Sirius' too? "Now that you're out of Azkaban?"

"It's not something I've thought about for a long time, Harry," Sirius said. There was the ghost of a smile on his face, and he was looking down. "Azkaban changed things. Romance, all of that, it doesn't have a place in my life anymore. I don't think I'll have a normal life on the other end of this war – if we ever get to the end of it. Besides, I don't think Remus is interested anymore. I've seen the way he looks at Tonks when they're round."

Harry pouted resting his chin on his knees.

"There will be an end to the war, Sirius. And you deserve to be happy after it."

Sirius smiled, but it was a quick flash. A compensative smile to amuse Harry. His eyes were still hollow and sad. It seemed it was a large effort to look up.

"I'd be happy enough to finally be your Godfather, Harry."

He didn't trust his voice for a moment. Suddenly there was a pricking at his eyes and a large lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow.

"I'd want that more than anything," he whispered. "Thanks, Sirius, for being cool about all of this."

"Well," Sirius shrugged. He was speaking so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear him. "So was James."

Harry's heart was in his mouth. He longed to hear more, to know more about his father's schooldays. About Sirius' school days.

There was a sudden crash that made both him and Sirius jump away from the mirrors. Harry's fingers fumbled over the edges, almost dropping it from the ledge. He heard another loud crash from the mirror and heard Sirius swear loudly.

"I'm sorry, mate, Kreacher's throwing a hissy. Try not to use the mirror unless its super important, okay?" he spoke quickly, his eyes darting to the sides. He ducked as a teapot sailed over his head. "I'm proud of you, Harry."

That sent another trill of pride through Harry. Sirius was proud of him. Maybe he could do this, maybe it was the right thing to tell people. He clambered into bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. He was braver than Sirius, in a way, he told himself. People knew, even if he hadn't planned on telling them. Maybe this all had really changed him. He'd never cared about other people's love lives before.

There was a tap at the window. He turned, expecting to see Hedwig knocking on the window, but he froze. For a second, he thought it was a ghost. He could only see a pale form with dark eyes.

Then his eyes adjusted to the shape and he recognised Draco with a strange lurch of his stomach. Draco. Outside his window. And Harry was wearing one of Dudley's old t-shirts. Since when did he care what he wore in front of Draco?

He stumbled out of his bed, dragging half of the duvet with him as he unlatched the window. Draco was outside, on his bloody broom. The wind made his hair flop in front of his face in a way that made Harry's heart race excitedly.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Harry hissed.

"What does it look like?" Draco replied. "What light from yonder window breaks? 'Tis the east, and Juliet is the sun."

"I will close this window."

"Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon, who is sick with envy-"

Draco broke off as Harry darted forward, pressing his mouth against Draco's clumsily. It was the only thing he could think to do to get him to shut up and stop Harry from smiling. It silenced Draco for a moment, and his look of shock was quickly replaced with a large smile.

"Get in, you prick," Harry muttered, stepping away from the window.

Draco did, somehow managing to fit through the window with graceful ease. He slid his broom through and stepped over to Harry's bed to prop it up.

Harry turned to re-latch the window, his fingers numb and his heart in his mouth. What was this? Why was he so calm? This was crazy and stupid, but it sent a thrill through him.

He felt hands on his hips and his breath caught.

"I take thee at thy word," Draco whispered. "Call me but love – and I'll be new baptized."

"Malfoy," Harry whispered. "You can't be here."

"I have to be. You said you missed me."

"I changed my mind."

"And you said the occlumency lesson was interesting – what do you mean 'interesting?' Is interesting a good thing, Potter?"

Harry took a breath. He could see Draco's reflection in the glass.

"Snape knows I'm gay," he said.

"Does he know-"

"No. I showed him me telling Cho to distract him."

"Cho? Cho Chang?"

"I was going to go on a date with her on Valentines."

Draco snorted and pressed his face into Harry's neck.

"Cho Chang?" he repeated. The movement of his lips tickled Harry's neck and he had to bite back a grin.

"I don't know, she's pretty?" Harry said. "Maybe I'm bi?"

"Is she prettier than me?" Draco asked.

"No."

Draco muffled his laugh by pressing his mouth into Harry's neck, which made Harry begin to laugh.

"You shouldn't be here," he managed to whisper. "What if you get caught?"

"Well, I will if you keep talking so loud. What about the Common Room, will it be empty?"

Harry shrugged. He felt the urge to stroke Draco's hair, but he didn't think he was brave enough.

Draco took charge, slipping his arm through Harry's and leading him out of the dormitory. Harry's attention remained on how close the rest of Draco was to him. They stopped on the steps, Draco pulling Harry down to sit on the cold stone.

"So, Snape knows you're gay."

"Maybe bi. I haven't decided."

"What did he say?" Draco asked. He was fiddling with a small silver ring on his hand, and he looked shifty.

Harry shrugged again. He couldn't really say the Sirius thing.

"He was – Snape – I guess," Harry said. "He told me to get out, but that might not be about the gay thing. It might have just been because I'm better at occlumency than he thought."

"Right."

"I'm sure It'd be fine."

"No, it wouldn't, Potter. You know that," Draco murmured. He leant his shoulder against Harry, and Harry leant back. Draco was warm. His voice was barely a whisper as he continued. "Everyone already thinks I am."

"Well, Draco, you are."

"I don't want them to know that."

"Why do they think it?"

"Because of you," Draco said. He turned to meet Harry's eye and their noses were centimetres away from each other. "They say I'm obsessed with you, Potter."

"Again, you kind of are," Harry said. He smiled. "Isn't it weird that all this time we've hated each other because we didn't know about-" he trailed off. He didn't want to say love. It was too early for the 'l' word.

"Speak for yourself. I've known for a while now."

"Everyone's been okay about it, I guess," Harry said. "I mean, Collin Creevey swerved around me in the hall and Ernie gives me a death-glare whenever I see him, but the people who matter – they've been surprisingly cool about it."

"Do you really think any Slytherins would be cool about it? If it was me?" Draco asked, he turned away again, and Harry could see his jaw working. The shadows danced. "They already call you-"

Draco broke off.

"Tell me."

"You don't need to know."

"Draco. It's fine." He had noticed he had started calling him Draco sometimes. Normally when he was angry with him.

"It's the general nonsense," Draco said. "Fag and stuff."

Harry supposed it should have hurt, but he had expected it. It didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. Maybe it was because they were Slytherin and he didn't expect anything less of Slytherin. But Draco – it must be hard for Draco. To hear everyone around him trashing Harry and just have to sit there and take it and know.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"Don't be," Draco's voice was firm. Almost angry. "Like you said, they don't matter. The only person who matters is here."

Harry thought his heart stopped. There was a moment he was sure that this was the end. Draco Malfoy had succeeded in killing Harry Potter by saying a single sentence. But then the heat rushed through him and his heart was back, galloping at full speed to make up for lost time. His hand found Draco's automatically, squeezing in between his own and burying his mess of hair into the crook of Draco's neck.

Draco squeezed back, his fingers strong and pale. They didn't quite fit into Harry's, they were longer and thinner but Harry found he liked the imperfection. Maybe they shouldn't be together. Harry Potter shouldn't be friends with Draco Malfoy. But they were. And that was awesome. Screw the system, and all that.

Next to him, Draco turned slightly, his jaw digging into Henry's nest of hair. He kissed Harry's forehead in a way that made Harry grin and butterflies exploded in his stomach. He titled his head up, his nose nudging Draco. He wanted to stay here, sat on the stairs, forever. Him and his kind-of boyfriend.

"What the devil is on your shirt, Potter?" Draco whispered, but he was grinning.

"I have no idea. It's Dudley's," Harry admitted. It was some band, he guessed. The muggle world felt very far away when he was at Hogwarts and he couldn't be bothered to catch up with what was popular when he came home. He guessed these guys weren't, if Dudley had given it to him.

"Your cochon of a cousin?"

"What does that mean?"

"Pig."

"Oh. Yeah," Harry grinned. "Hagrid did once give him a pig tail."

"I'd turn him right into a cochon," Draco said. "Your Uncle too."

"What do you know about my uncle?"

"My mother sent me a letter," Draco said. Harry's grin began to drop and he pulled away. That was supposed to be private. He hated that people knew. That wasn't Harry Potter. That was some other kid that he didn't ever want to think about. "I asked. I wanted to know."

Harry wanted to say that it was none of Draco's business, that it was an invasion of privacy, but there was a kind of relief in it. Draco knew and he didn't have to tell him. He wasn't sure how he would tell him. Draco was the only one who knew the extent of Harry's childhood at Hogwarts and there was a strange comfort in that. Someone knew. Someone knew the old Harry. The Harry before the chosen one stuff. And wanted to protect him.

"Sorry," Draco said. "But I will turn them into pigs for you, if you want."

"It's okay," Harry said, but he didn't believe himself. He felt naked. Exposed.

"If it counts for anything," Draco continued. His hand was on Harry's leg. "You look adorable in that monstrosity of a shirt."

Harry blinked, his cheeks beginning to burn. Before he could say anything, Draco had grabbed the front of the huge t-shirt and was kissing Harry. He was so fierce Harry was knocked backwards and his hand grabbed Draco's shoulder to stop himself from overbalancing.

He kissed back, his mouth opening of its own accord and he found that kissing this way was even better. Draco had both hands on his t-shirt, grasping Harry as though he was air, almost pulling Harry onto his lap. This was better than talking, it was easier than talking. It made Harry forget about the stupid Dursleys and the stupid Slytherins and stupid Snape. He could only think about Draco and Draco's mouth and how much he enjoyed kissing Draco. How his heart was racing. It felt like electric was running through his veins, like there were sparks coming from his fingertips.

He wanted to stay like this. He wanted to stay intertwined on the stairs and kissing forever. No one could bother them like this. No one knew they were there. They were like ghosts and that was fine. For once, no one was looking at them.

But Harry's head did begin to feel as though it was going to float away, and Draco must have felt similarly, because he pulled away. Instead of kissing Harry like there was no tomorrow, he pressed his forehead against Harry's and held him tightly, his fingers grabbing fistfuls of fabric.

"Do you want me to stay?" he whispered.

Harry nodded. His voice was gone, like he had given it to Draco.

"Where? In your bed?"

"Just – stay up," Harry wasn't even sure he was saying the words out loud. "Let's just sit in the Common Room – and – do more of that."

Draco laughed under his breath.

"More of that suits me just fine."

He took Harry's hand, and kissed the back of it, right over 'I must not tell lies.'

It made Harry wonder why it had taken him so bloody long to get together with this boy.

Chapter Text

10

Harry’s eyelids were drooping as he leant against Draco, his head dropping onto the Slytherin’s shoulder. But his fingers and toes were numb with cold. The fire was out and neither of them had thought it was worth the risk of re-lighting it. He turned, burying his face in Draco’s crumbled shirt. A button up shirt.

“Do you ever wear t-shirts?” he murmured, seeking out Draco’s hands and clenching his fingers.

“No, Potter,” Draco replied, but his voice was low and quiet. “I’m not a heathen like you.”

“Is it a Slytherin rule?” Harry said, smiling.

Draco snorted softly.

“That - and being a homophobic jerk.”

Harry giggled. He shifted so that he was burying his face in Draco’s chest. Draco turned, putting one leg up on the sofa to cradle Harry better. He leant into him, closing his eyes. A month ago, this would have seemed crazy, but a lot had changed since then. Being with Draco like this seemed to be the only normal thing Harry had in his life. Teen romance. He wished his relationship was the only thing he had to keep secret. A normal drama for a normal kid.

No, he wasn’t thinking about all that other stuff. Not now. For now, it was just him and Draco and how warm Draco was.

“All of them?”

“No,” Draco’s fingers traced circles on Harry’s back. “Just the people I thought were my friends.”

“Maybe you need better friends.”

“Maybe I do.”

There was another long, peaceful silence.

“I should get going soon,” Draco said. Harry pretended he hadn’t, but a moment later Draco repeated himself. “It’s getting light outside and I should get going.”

“No.”

“Potter, do you really want to explain to your friends why I’m in your Common Room?”

“No. But I don’t want you to go.”

“Stop being a child,” Draco snapped. He unpeeled Harry from himself. “We see each other all the time.”

Harry frowned, pushing his glasses up so that he could actually see Draco.

“Not like this.”

Draco gave a short sharp sigh.

“There’s nothing I can do about that now,” he said. There was an underlying layer of sadness buried in there, Harry realised – then started wondering how he could read Draco’s moods so easily. “I’m on thin ice as it is.”

Harry’s gaze dropped to the sofa. It was lumpy and sagging in places, the material covered in so many bobbles, it looked like a Christmas decoration. His hands were sat over Draco’s, their fingers mingling with each other.

“Okay,” he said, finally. “You’d better go, then.”

“I’ll see you in class,” Draco said. Maybe it was some sort of apology.

Harry nodded, feeling miserable again and unsure what in particular was upsetting him now. He felt Draco kiss his forehead. He looked up and Draco cupped his face, an odd look in his eyes. He gave a tiny smile – not a smirk or a sneer, a smile. Harry was surprised to find there was yet another thing to shock him this year.

Then Draco was gone, disappearing up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory with unsettling speed, leaving Harry alone with the dying ashes in the fireplace. He sighed to himself – because of Draco and Sirius and Snape and Voldemort and everything that seemed to be pressing on his shoulders – and let himself fall forward onto the sofa. He lay facedown (or, as best he could with his glasses), and tried to imagine Draco was back in the room with him.

He awoke to the sound of shouting. For a moment, he wondered if he had dreamt Draco leaving and if everything was over. But no, when he opened his eyes, he found that the room was painfully bright, but he was alone on the sofa.

It was Ginny. She was squaring up to some fourth year Harry didn’t know the name of. He was easily twice the width and a good head taller than her, but looked decidedly nervous as she snarled at him, her wand pointed at his chest.

“If you ever even think about saying shit like that again, I’ll curse you so hard you’ll still have jelly fingers when we take our NEWTS!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the fourth year said, though his voice was trembling. “McGonagall would give you detention for months.”

“Fucking. Try. Me.” Ginny’s voice was low, more like the growl of a fox than her usual self. Danger danced in her eyes and Harry was sure a spark came from her wand.

The fourth year didn’t even last a second. He scarpered immediately, disappearing out of the portrait hole like a scared rabbit.

There was silence in the Common Room. The handful of people who were sat at the tables were avoiding Ginny’s gaze. Very slowly, they began murmuring again, pressing their heads over each other’s homework.

“What was that about?” Harry asked through a yawn.

“Nothing,” Ginny was still growling, her knuckles tight on her wand.

“Ginny.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“It was about me, wasn’t it?” Harry said, gently.

Ginny’s jaw clenched, then she deflated. A flush came across her cheeks and she tucked her wand back into her robes pocket.

“Not just you,” she muttered. “It was the principle of the thing.”

So it was a gay thing, then, Harry concluded.

Ginny took a deep breath in, then collapsed on the sofa next to him, tangling her legs with his.

“You shouldn’t sleep down here,” she said. “He was bad enough, but imagine the field day Fred and George will have if they find you down here, nice and vulnerable.”

Harry barked a laugh, but Ginny’s face still looked grim. She was pale and was clenching her sides tightly, as though she was afraid she would start shaking.

“He doesn’t matter,” Harry said. He nudged Ginny with his foot, and kept nudging her until she turned to him, a scowl on her face. “None of them matter. Not to Ginny Weasley.”

She gave him a small, only slightly shaky smile.

“Of course not,” she said, her voice soft.

There was a pause.

“You know,” Harry said, carefully. “Luna sits down at the lake and does her work. If you wanted to accidentally bump into her today.”

“Thanks,” Ginny said, with little conviction.

It had rattled her, whatever that guy had said. That bothered Harry more than the fact he said something. Nobody could do this to Ginny. His Ginny. His invincible, ruthless, cut-throat Ginny.

He probably should have told Cho something else. Any other excuse. It didn’t bother him – whispers and pointing followed him through Hogwarts already. Being gay on top of being mad didn’t seem to make much difference. But he couldn’t stand his friends getting hurt because of it. They didn’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve any of this.

Ginny stood and muttered something about going to lessons. He gave her hand a squeeze, but she pulled away quickly, scooping up her bag and heading out with her head down.

He couldn’t rise to it, he knew that – he’d end up with detention from Umbridge. But he couldn’t let it slide either. Harry was still mulling it over when Hermione appeared from the girl’s dormitory.

“Harry, you should really get dressed, we’ll have to go down to breakfast soon.”

“What about Pride badges?”

Hermione blinked. She stared down at him, in his pyjamas, alone on the sofa, with a look of intense concentration on his face.

“What?”

“The S.P.E.W badges. We could do Pride ones, yeah?”

“I suppose,” Hermione said. She sat down gingerly. “I’m not sure it would be such a great idea at the moment, Harry. There’s a lot of tension.”

“There’s always a lot of tension – it’s Hogwarts.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and smiled as if to say ‘ain’t that the truth.’

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “But I can’t make any promises. The S.P.E.W badges weren’t exactly bestsellers.” Harry nodded absently. There was a pause before Hermione added. “Merlin’s beard, Harry, get dressed.”

He was jumpy in the corridors that day. He wanted to see Draco, but he didn’t want to see Draco. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to see Draco, because he did.

But he didn’t.

“We’re due a DA meeting, aren’t we?” Ron said nudged Harry’s shoulder as they made their way to Care of Magical Creatures. “Have you thought about it?”

“Not really,” Harry said.

“I could help, if you like. Fred and George have given me plenty of curses over the years to teach.”

“Yeah, that could help,” Harry said. He couldn’t resist a grin. “We could always turn Voldemort’s teddy into a spider. That’d freak him out.”

“Shut up!”

But Ron was grinning too. Hermione rolled her eyes and instead went over to join Lavender Brown. Harry kept grinning until he finally spotted the blonde head he had been searching for and avoiding all day. The smile slipped.

Draco was standing at the edge of the huddle around Hagrid’s hut with a Slytherin boy. The rest of the Slytherin’s were standing together, in front of them, laughing obnoxiously from time to time. Many of them kept glancing back at Draco, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at this Slytherin boy. A Slytherin boy with dark hair. Harry had dark hair. But boy was making Draco chuckle – not the sarcastic chuckle he reserved for Harry Potter – no, it looked like Draco was genuinely having a good time.

“You okay, mate?”

Harry blinked. He realised he had been biting his lip and desperately tried to rearrange his face, without looking desperate, into indifference.

“Usual stress,” he said.

But Ron had spotted Draco too.

“What is it with you two?” he pressed. “Why are you suddenly potions partners?”

“It just – kind of happened.”

“Is he spying on you?”

“No. No, he’s not.”

“That’s exactly what he’d say if he was spying on you,” Ron said. He frowned at the frosted ground. “And definitely what he’d tell you to say if he was, to stop you from telling anyone.”

“Thanks for your concern, Ron,” Harry said, patting Ron’s shoulder as they joined the rest of the huddle. “But Draco’s as good as told me he wants nothing to do with all that. He’s a good bloke, really.”

Ron didn’t look convinced. Harry supposed that was also what Draco would say if he was spying on him. But if he was spying on Harry, why would he kiss him? That couldn’t be one of Voldemort’s requirements.

But he still felt weird as he glanced over at Draco. Had he done something wrong? Was Draco bored of him? He seemed to have moved on to another dark haired wizard.

Hagrid’s huge figure came bounding out of the Forbidden Forest, sporting a fresh bruise above his eye.

“Honestly, what is he doing in there?” Ron muttered. Harry gave an absentminded ‘hmm,’ as he glanced back over at this mysterious Slytherin.

He wasn’t really mysterious. He’d been in their classes from First Year, but Harry had never really looked at him before. He hadn’t realised that he had bright blue eyes and a face like James Dean. No wonder Draco was interested in this guy, especially in comparison to Harry’s skinny, scrawny self. He looked down at his boots, the edges flapping off because he hadn’t brought a new pair in Diagon Alley. He was a mess.

But then Draco was sidling up next to him, with the guy in tow. He stood next to Harry, and Harry glanced across eagerly. He felt like a puppy when it’s owner returns home.

Draco’s grey eyes were fixed on Hagrid, watching him lazily.

Just as Harry felt his heart sinking like a rock, he felt Draco’s hands reach out and clasp his. It wasn’t a perfect link like usual, two of Draco’s fingers were between Harry’s pointer and middle, but he found that he liked that. And Draco liked him. He wasn’t going to be replaced by James Dean.

“Alright, Potter?” Draco whispered.

“Alright, Malfoy?” Harry replied, squeezing Draco’s fingers slightly. He received a tiny smile and squeeze in return.

Harry was dying to ask Malfoy what was going on. He could barely focus on Hagrid when there was this imposter next to him. He wondered if something had happened when Draco had returned this morning.

Ron was staring fixedly from him to Draco, but he wasn’t saying anything. There was a general unsteadiness in their row as Hagrid continued to talk about Redcaps. He pulled a large sheet from the lumpy object sat by his hut to reveal a large cage full of short, green, angry creatures. They looked like a cross between very ugly children and pugs, rattling at the bars of the cage and screaming at the students like primary school children. They were dressed in rags and Harry realised with a shudder that the ominous dark stains on them were not chocolate.

“Red caps,” Hagrid said proudly, gesturing a huge hand towards them. “They agreed to come ‘ere and let you draw ‘em. I thought it’d go nicely with your Bowtruckle drawin’ – for revision and that.”

Harry thought that the Red Caps looked like they’d done anything but agree to be here, but then he didn’t know a lot about Red Caps. Maybe spitting at students was how they said ‘hello.’

Either way, everyone kept a wide berth as the stood around the cage, cautiously pulling out parchment and quills, wondering how best to draw the child-demons.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me use your back as an easel, Potter?” Draco asked. He had let go of Harry’s hand and was fishing in his bag for his eagle feather quill. Of course Draco used an eagle feather, but Harry supposed it could have been worse – it could have been a swan.

“Not bloody likely,” Harry said.

Draco smiled. Ron scowled. Harry felt a thrill because finally Draco was looking at him, instead of that Slytherin boy.

But then he turned back.

“This is Nott, by the way,” Draco said. “I figure you only know the names of Gryffindors, not us lowly Slytherins.”

Nott. Harry recognised the name, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place it. He must have heard it in the five years of being the same class. In fact, he did feel a little bad that he didn’t even know the guy’s name, but he had had other stuff on his mind. It was hard to remember the names of your classmates when every year without fail you had to avoid being killed in various ways.

“I know,” he said, anyway. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Nott gave him a dazzling grin. Harry supposed it was better than ‘you look like a real yo-yo.’ “You’re…oh, don’t tell me, I know this,” he pretended to be thinking for one more moment, before he grinned. “It’s – Harry Potter, right?”

“Yeah.”

Harry had to admit, the guy was kind of funny. And cute. No wonder Draco was replacing him with this guy. He was sure they would be much less talk of war and madness. He was probably a better kisser than Harry too.

“Are you doing okay?” Nott asked Harry, pulling a large roll of parchment from his backpack. “My dad reads the Prophet, so-“ he flushed bright red suddenly, and added. “I don’t, though – I’ve been avoiding it for months now.”

Why? Harry wanted to ask. Why did this Slytherin boy care what the Prophet were writing about him.

“Yeah – it’s, uh, I don’t really care.”

Nott raised a dark eyebrow a margin, looking oddly like Draco for a second.

“I know it’s not true,” Nott continued.

“Know?” Harry echoed, but then he remembered where he had heard the name. The graveyard. Voldemort. Nott had been the name of one of the death eaters.

The awkward pause that stretched out after Harry’s question lasted a split second before Draco grabbed Harry’s elbow, pulling him in front of him and resting a role of parchment on his back.

“Stay still,” Draco said.

“Oh, would it be easier if I crouched?” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It would actually, but it probably wouldn’t help your image at the moment.”

Harry’s face suddenly felt hot and he wished Nott wasn’t here all over again. Or Ron for that matter, who’s glare had turned into a scowl.

“Here, Harry, you can lean on me,” he said, defensively, stepping in front of Harry. He had obviously meant it as a gesture of friendship, showing Draco that Harry had plenty of friends to play the part of table for him. Harry still felt awkward, though, as he smoothed out his parchment on Ron’s back. It didn’t help that Ron was such a beanpole that Harry had to lean around him to get a glance of the Redcaps.

Nott was smiling bemusedly at them, apparently ready to move on from Harry’s tactless comment.

“I love Care of Magical Creatures,” he said. Of course he did, Harry thought. He probably loved all of the lessons at Hogwarts. “Hagrid invited me for tea the other day. I said I’d think about it, because I wasn’t sure what it would be like to be honest. I’m good at chatting to people my own age – but I don’t know how I’d keep it up with a teacher. You’re friends with him, aren’t you, Potter? Any tips?”

“Don’t eat the rock cakes,” Harry said, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Nott grinned back at him, and Harry wondered why had the urge to tell him to eat the rock cakes. He didn’t want this guy to break one of his perfect, white teeth – did he?

“Hagrid’ll do most of the talking,” Ron said warily. He seemed unsure whether to trust this new Slytherin or not. He wasn’t necessarily a friend, but he wasn’t an outright foe like some of the others. Harry could understand the confusion.

“I do know the names of other people in our class, by the way,” Harry muttered to Draco.

“Name a Slytherin girl in our year.”

“Millicent Bullstrode.”

“Yeah? Another one.”

Harry was silent. He didn’t actually know anyone else. He knew the members of the DA, but there were no Slytherins in there. He wasn’t sure if anyone had asked or not.

“Well, okay, maybe I only know the names of the ones who heckle me.” Harry said.

“Which is why you tar us all with the same brush,” Draco muttered.

Nott was chuckling, crouched on the floor so that he had a better view of the Red Caps.

“What’s so funny?” Draco demanded.

“Aside from the fact you three look like a boyband?” Nott asked. “You two. Do you always bicker like an old married couple?”

Draco was quiet. Harry wondered if he was blushing, because he sure was. Would it be that obvious to everyone? Maybe they shouldn’t talk to each other in class, if everyone was going to realise that quickly.

“They’re more like a couple of dogs,” Ron muttered. “Do you two ever let it up? It’s bad enough you’re hanging around us, Malfoy, but do you have to be so annoying all the time?”

Draco’s quill traced down Harry’s spine and he had to stop himself from squirming.

“Malfoy’s on a cleanse,” Nott said. “He’s getting rid of the toxic people in his life.”

“And I’ll be getting rid of you too, if you don’t keep stuff to yourself.”

“I’m proud of you, Draco,” Harry said. “I like that you’re finding nice Slytherins to hang out with.”

Nott grinned at him. It was an alarmingly bright and alarmingly charming grin. Harry almost went back on his words. It was better when Draco hung out with boys that looked like trolls. At least Harry knew he was better looking than Crabbe or Goyle.

“Yeah,” Nott almost sighed the word. His voice was softer as he looked at Harry with big, dark eyes. Honestly, Harry thought, they belonged on a cow, not a boy. “Harry, I’m sorry, I wasn’t in the room when they – if I’d have known I would have-“

“What, Nott? You struggle to cast a first year jinx.”

“It wasn’t cool, you said that, Malfoy.”

“It wasn’t cool, but that’s the way it is. Better just to leave them alone.”

it was Draco’s turn to receive the eyebrow of judgement. Harry decided to stoop to his ink pot, which made Draco stoop behind him. It was like a bizarre cross of the conga and the Mexican wave.

Hagrid choose that moment to come over and clap Ron on the shoulder with a loud “alrigh’ there, boys?”

Ron couldn’t help it, he buckled under the weight.

All three of them ended up in a collapsed heap on the floor, much to Nott’s amusement.

*

“So, who’s this ‘Nott,’ guy?” Harry said, the moment he spotted Draco lurking outside the castle as they headed to his occlumency lesson. Because that’s what Draco did. He could never stand anywhere – he lurked. He had stepped towards Harry, his arm raised as though he was going to come in for a kiss, but Harry had firmly stood his ground, crossing his arms and frowning.

“A guy I’ve shared a dormitory with since I was eleven,” Draco said. “Why?”

“Oh, is that all? You’ve only shared a dormitory?” Harry pressed. “So why is he suddenly your best friend now?”

“Sang Dieu, Potter. I don’t get worked up about you and Weasley sharing a dormitory. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is he’s smashed puberty to pieces with a hammer.”

“What?” Draco spluttered. Then spluttered with laughter, his eyes creased up as he grinned at Harry. His teeth looked like fangs in the dark. “You’re not jealous, are you, Potter?”

“No,” Harry said, automatically. But maybe he was. That was stupid, though. The chosen one didn’t get jealous.

“Christ, you are,” Draco said, stepping forward. “That’s adorable.”

“I am not jealous,” Harry repeated. “I just – you’ve never mentioned this guy before.”

“Well we weren’t friends before.”

He had a point, but Harry was hardly going to admit that. Instead he pursed his lips and glared over at the lake, not looking at Draco. Certainly not looking at him when he felt hands on his face. Slowly, Draco eased him around to meet his eyes.

“You have nothing to worry about, Potter,” Draco said. He used that soft voice that Harry hoped was only reserved for him. “I’ve been chasing you for years, haven’t I?”

Harry didn’t reply. He watched Draco, feeling like a rabbit, ready to run at any moment before the trap was sprung on him.

“He’s a lot cooler than me,” Harry said. He raised a hand hesitantly, hovering over Draco’s.

“A lot cooler than Harry Potter?” Draco was almost whispering now, and his face was basically a blur. “Almost everyone is. Lucky for you, I prefer a loser.”

Harry didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended, but before he had time to choose, Draco was kissing him again. And kissing. And kissing. The trap had been sprung, but Harry decided it was better to stay there, his face cradled by those warm hands.

There was a sound in the entrance hall, and suddenly Draco was mounting his broom and tugging Harry up behind him.

They were in the sky seconds later, leaving Hogwarts as a constellation of lights behind them. The clouds were low in the sky, melting into their robes like candyfloss.

“Knott, Theo, he also felt homesick first year,” Draco said. “He’d stay up with me and we’d tell each other stories, about our homes and stuff. That was the first time I realised that not everyone had a house elf.”

“Theo?” Harry echoed. He felt oddly detached from the conversation. His mind was still on the ground, kissing Draco Malfoy and not caring about some boy called Nott.

“Yes, Potter. That’s his name. Theodore Nott.”

There was a pause.

“Did I mess it up today – asking about the Prophet?”

“Probably not. Most people know each other’s parents if they’re…” Draco trailed off, as though the name itself would bring the Dark Mark sparking into the sky.

“Sorry,” Harry said anyway.

They continued through the sky. Harry felt acutely aware of his hands on Draco’s hips.

He was going to have to tell Ron and Hermione soon, he knew that. They hadn’t pressed him about it, but he was sure Hermione was going to piece it together soon. He wanted to be the one to tell them before they figured it out. Surely it was best to tell them, to avoid the whole ‘why didn’t you tell us?’ argument. Either way, they weren’t going to be happy.

Though Ron had seemed okay with Nott in Care of Magical Creatures today. Maybe if they got to know Draco a little better they would –

It was stupid. Harry knew that was mostly a fantasy. Luna was wrong, it would take a miracle to change their minds. Being a Gryffindor seemed to go hand in hand with being stubborn.

Everything had changed so quickly and yet it had only been a couple of weeks before this all started. If he hadn’t of taken that walk, would any of this had happened? Probably not. He’d be suffering through occlumency lessons with Snape and hissing at Draco whenever he say him in the hallway. It was a ludicrous thought to him now.

But it had been a couple of weeks. It wasn’t even February yet, but Christmas felt like it was years ago.

It was quiet in the Hog’s Head when they stepped in. The quietest it had been all month. Draco cropped Harry’s hand as they glanced around at the empty tables and chairs and Harry knew he was reaching for his wand. A sole fly buzzed between the murky glasses, the hum of it’s wings echoing around the empty room.

“We’re closed,” a gruff voice came from behind the bar and a long, thin man appeared with an equally long, thin scraggly beard. He glared at them from behind his smeared spectacles.

“You were open at this time last week,” Draco said, danger rising in his voice. Harry braced himself for an inevitable ‘my father will hear about this.’

“And now we’re closed.”

Silence.

“We can try The Three Broomsticks,” he said. If he had been with Ron and Hermione, he would have been the one snapping and standing his ground. But Draco had a wand, and Harry would rather avoid a duel with a much more experienced wizard tonight.

“If you think you can sneak yourselves past Madame Rosmerta, be my guest.”

“We’re not sneaking anywhere.” Draco snapped. “We’re just looking for a drink.”

There was a loud ‘chnk’ as the barman placed a glass on the bar in front of him. It made the fly stop buzzing for a moment, watching them from the wall. Although he was hunched over the bar, Harry felt this man was more powerful than both of them combined.

“I know you two. I’ve seen you in here, real regular, about three times a week and you never buy a drink. But I know what you do. You’re interested in that.”

He pointed a curled finger to the fireplace in the corner. They were caught. And if the seedy reputation of the pub was anything to go by, they weren’t going to escape this lightly. They’d both be cursed before the night was out.

Unless Harry came up with something fast.

“Okay, look – I don’t like to play this card often,” Harry said, pulling the hood of his cloak back. He felt Draco grip his arm but ignored him as he pushed his fringe backwards. “But I’m Harry Potter, and we need to use your fireplace for classified business.”

“You love to play that card,” Draco whispered behind him.

The man looked at them both, and for a terrible moment Harry thought he was going to say that he couldn’t care less who they were or what they were doing.

But then the man burst out into a scraggly bark of a laugh.

Harry glanced at Draco, who seemed as confused as he was, but also vexed. It seemed like an age before the laughter dropped, the man grinning at the two of them.

“Is it official Order business, Mr Potter? Or are you just slinking away for some private time?”

“Order business?” Draco’s voice was close to Harry’s ear. He realised the gravity of what had just been said. Draco hadn’t known about the Order. If Harry didn’t tell him, it would show that he didn’t trust Draco with the knowledge. If Harry did tell him – well, he wasn’t sure he trusted Draco. It would be too easy to a Death Eater to get information out of him, whether Draco wanted to or not.

Just like that – this Barman, who supposedly knew about the Order – had sewn tension into this friendship – boyfreindship, whatever. Harry might easily lose all of his friends by not telling them stuff.

“Kind of,” he said. He’d avoid the topic for know and if they got out of this unscathed, he would decide what to do then. “The Order don’t know about it, but its important, trust me.”

The man raised his eyebrows, a disbelieving smile crossing his face. It made Harry’s anger spark up again.

“Who are you anyway? You’re not supposed to know about the Order!”

“I’m in the Order of the Phoenix. We’ll keep it at that.”

The man was just as cryptic and irritating as Dumbledore could be.

“This is important.” Harry repeated.

“Well, I could be persuaded to keep my mouth shut,” the barman said. He lazily swiped an already filthy rag around one of the glasses, glancing up at them with a satisfied smile on his face. “If you do something for me.”

So now they were being blackmailed too. Harry couldn’t believe his luck.

Just one more secret to add to the list.

Chapter Text

“What do you want us to do?” Harry said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco hissed in his ear. “We aren’t doing anything this étrange says.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Harry turned back to the scruffy old man. He had his arms crossed and the smallest smile on his face. “What do you want?”

“Just some part time work,” the man said. “You pitch in a couple hours a week, I’ll let you use my floo network.”

“Fine.”

“No.”

They had spoken at the same time. Draco was glaring at Harry, his arms folded.

“We are not doing work,” he hissed. “Not for this-“

“It’s not a big deal, we can just-“

“No.”

“Its just a quick job,” Harry pressed.

Draco shook his head, scowling now. He was set, Harry knew, and there was nothing he could do to change his mind. Slytherins were just as stubborn as Gryffindors, he supposed.

“Oh, to be young,” said the barman. “And feel the pain of a first love’s tiff.”

“Who even are you?” Harry demanded. He wasn’t sure if it was his own temper or Draco’s rubbing off on him. “How do you know about the Order?”

“Oh yes, the Order of the Phoenix,” Draco muttered. “Care to fill me in, Potter?”

His voice was dipping with such venom that it made Harry wince.

“Look, Draco – we weren’t friends then.”

“We’re friends now.”

“There wasn’t really an ideal time to mention it.”

“How about now?”

“If you’re quite done?” the barman’s rough voice interrupted the two of them. Draco sighed, hhis eyebrows pinched together. “I am a member of the Order, young man. Aberforth Dumbledore.”

 “Dumbledore?!” Harry repeated incredulously. He was sure there was some mistake. Surely Dumbledore couldn’t be related to this man? But it wasn’t exactly a common name, and in the wizarding world names were important.

“Oh, I’ve heard of you. Draco said. “You were the man with the goats, correct?”

“A misunderstanding,” the man, Aberforth said, but Harry made a mental note to squeeze the story out of Draco later. “That doesn’t matter, what matters is our deal. A couple hours barkeeping a week and in exchange you get my fireplace and my silence.”

“Who cares if that vieux fou knows what you’re doing?” Draco hissed.

Harry could see his point. A part of him wanted to spite Dumbeldore – to have a few secrets of his own that he didn’t have to tell him about. To show that he could manage by himself. He had the DA, he was capable of training wizards. And he was capable of training himself.

But he also knew that Dumbledore wouldn’t approve of either. He would say that Narcissa couldn’t be trusted and he could totally stop Harry from sneaking out. No, it was best to keep this secret for now. Dumbledore didn’t need to know and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll put in enough hours for both of us.”

Aberforth smiled. It was hard to read, but he mostly seemed amused.

“Good.”

“Great,” Draco snarled. “Well, if that’s settled, we have somewhere to be.”

He grabbed Harry’s sleeve and tugged him over to the fireplace.

“Happy travels,” Aberforth said with a sarcastic wave.

“You’re an idiot, agreeing to that,” Draco said as they were spinning through the vortex of twisted fireplaces.

“Just trust me, it would be best if Dumbledore didn’t know about this.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. His face was stony and serious. He didn’t have to say anything.

“I trust you and your mum, okay? But he’s not-“

“Just another bigoted Gryffindor, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“We should all just be Hufflepuff,” Draco muttered as they finally came to a standstill. Harry was perfecting the art of staying upright when they landed, and the constant trips were starting to help with the travel sickness. But he wasn’t about to tell Draco that.

Narcissa was ready for them, as always. And for the next few hours Harry worked on showing her what he wanted her to see. He was probably meant to focus on pushing her out of his mind, but he figured it would be just plain awkward if she saw him and Draco’s relationship.

He was becoming somewhat deft at it. Just over half of the time, he was successful in his attempts, whilst the other half of the time Narcissa gave way. It meant he was significantly less tired by the time they were finished. But it was better, much better, than it had been two weeks ago.

Harry was still worried about Snape. He had gotten lucky last time, he knew, because he had shocked him, but next time wouldn’t be so simple. He had to get good and occlumency, really good, and fast.

It was laughable, he thought, that he was more worried of Snape than or Voldemort looking into his mind.

Yet, that was just as dangerous. If Voldemort poked around there and found out how close he was to Draco – it would take one question to put Draco in his clutches. A simple ‘bring your son along to our next meeting.’ Lucius wouldn’t even hesitate. He’d never suspect Voldemort wanted to see Draco because he was dating Harry Potter.

The thought nagged at him as they headed back, a full moon pressing down on his back. It felt like Narcissa, glaring at him for making her son so unsafe.

Harry didn’t have to wonder what he’d do if Voldemort got his hands on Draco. He’d be there in a heartbeat, pliable in his enemy’s hands. He’d experienced the Cruciatus curse firsthand, and if Draco had to go through that-

Or worse, what about Imperio? Would he be able to strike Draco down? He didn’t think so. Not anymore.

But he also knew he’d have no success in trying to get Draco to stay safe and out of the way. If anything, it would have the opposite effect.

There was another way, he supposed. Draco could train. He was missing out on Defence Against the Dark Arts as well. And maybe by including Slytherins, Harry could prove to Ron and Hermione that they weren’t all that bad. It would be two birds with one stone.

“Draco, I have to tell you something,” he said, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder. But Draco was tense under him. He felt like rock.

“Damn right, you do.”

Harry blinked. Then he remembered. The Order. Right.

“I need to tell you two things.”

“Just how many secrets do you keep from me, Potter?”

“These were – when do you suppose I told you, Draco? I like kissing you and I don’t want to ruin it by talking about the war and crap.”

Draco softened.

“I suppose you have a point there.”

“Dumbledore set up the Order,” Harry said quickly, because this wasn’t really that important, not compared to the DA. “It was a thing the first time round, too. It’s a group of wizards who fight against Voldemort. That’s it. It’s all super-secret.” Draco didn’t respond. It wasn’t enough. “Draco, they won’t even tell me what they’re doing. They kept it from me all Summer and they’re still treating me like a kid.”

“That sounds awful,” Draco said. “Being kept out of things.”

“I’d love to be kept out of things – but there’s a scar on my head that keeps me firmly in things.”

“Yeah, because you’re the only kid this effects, Potter. Just you.”

Draco veered the broom sharply down so that Harry was thrown against him. Dirt flew up around them with the force of the impact like a flurry of black snow. Draco’s shoulders moved heavily up and down as he sat there, under Harry’s grip. There wasn’t silence, there was the sound of birds and the wind.

Harry realised, it was late, he knew.

“Is your father…?” he trailed off. It was an absurd question to ask his kind-of-boyfriend.

“He sent me a letter,” Draco said, as though he was deliberating over every word. “He said work was going slowly but well. That something big was coming up that would really set the department off.” It didn’t take a genius to guess that Lucius Malfoy wasn’t talking about pay rises in the Ministry of Magic. “He also said,” Draco paused, drawing a sharp breath as though it was painful. “I would be able to join him soon.”

“I assume ‘soon,’ isn’t when you graduate,” Harry said. There was no response. “What did you – what did you say?”

“I said I would be happy to,” Draco said. “I couldn’t very well say no, I’m with Harry bloody Potter.”

That was fair enough Harry supposed.

“Who knows what he’d say if he knew about a part time job in a bar.”

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Harry said. “It’ll probably look great on a c.v. No one else will have a part time job on there.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

Harry slid off the broom, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“I’m just trying to look on the Brightside,” he said.

Draco stood from the broom turning to Harry. For a moment, his eyes were grey and dark, then the storm passed and he pressed Harry to his chest, resting his chin on the top of Harry’s head.

“You’re such a dork.”

Harry’s heart thudded in his mouth.

“But I’m your dork, right?”

“Oui,” Draco murmured. He pulled away and before Harry could react, pressed a quick kiss against his mouth.

Oh, he was making this really hard. Was it deliberate? The guilt felt like it was reaching a boiling point. Harry swallowed.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said. “We’ve been – we’ve formed a group for Defence Against the Dark Arts. It’s a secret.”

Draco’s eyebrows flew together.

“Who’s teaching you?”

“No one,” Harry said. He licked his lips. “I mean, no one’s teaching me, because I’m the teacher.”

A smirk crossed Draco’s lips and he covered his mouth to cover the chuckle.

“I didn’t want to!” Harry protested. “But, I’m actually okay at it, believe it or not.”

“I bet,” Draco said, but the smile dropped. “So, why are you telling me?”

“I told you about the Order. I thought maybe you’d be interested?”

“I don’t think your Gryffindor’s will approve.”

Harry winced. He made it sound like a bad word.

“Maybe not, but, Draco,” he took a deep breath, reaching out for Draco’s hands. They were cold in the night air, one still curled around the broomstick, like he had been turned to stone. “I want you to. Just in case anything – anything happens.”

“I’m more than capable of protecting myself,” Draco said, wrapping himself back around Harry like a blanket.

“Please,” Harry’s voice was muffled in Draco’s robes.

Draco made a small noise of agreement, before his mouth was pressed against Harry’s again. He was sure Draco was doing it on purpose, to make him forget about it. But Harry was determined not to.

He had to tell Ron and Hermione.

*

He had to tell Ron and Hermione, and yet, he was still a coward. Instead, he lurked around the Great Hall until he saw Theodore Nott appear.

“Hey,” he said, with an awkward half wave. “Nott.”

“Harry, right?” Nott replied with that oh-so charming smile. It was the same joke as last time. At least Harry was funnier than him.

“Right,” Harry tried to grin. Suddenly he was wondering whether or not to trust him. He had only really met him once, after all. “Look, what do you think of Umbridge?”

Nott was silent for a moment, glancing around himself as they entered the Great Hall.

“I’d prefer Mad-eye,” he said. “He was mental, I know, but at least he taught us stuff. Important stuff. I’d rather know how to break the Imperius curse than read a book, you know?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Harry said. There was a sudden heavy weight to his words. He knew all too well that fear, but he couldn’t imagine fearing his father to be the one to do it. “I miss him too.”

“Yeah, well,” Nott shrugged. He took a step backwards, pointing a thumb at the Slytherin table behind him.

“What do you really think of her though?” Harry pressed.

“Look, Potter, I-“ Nott broke off, running a hand through his hair and breaking the gel. “Umbridge is a ministry approved teacher.”

Harry spotted what he was doing. He was being diplomatic.

“But not a good one.”

“She’s teaching us how to pass our OWLs.”

“But she’s not a good teacher.”

Nott stepped back to Harry, so close so that their shoes just nudged each other. His dark eyebrows were pressed together.

“What are you trying to do?” he demanded. He was quiet, but dangerous, like a cobra.

“I just want your opinion,” Harry said.

“I gave it you.”

“Your real opinion.”

“Yeah, where she can hear me call her a fat cow? No thanks.”

“Harry!”

Ginny was suddenly sliding an arm around his shoulders a lopsided grin on her face. It looked slightly strained.

“This guy’s not bothering you, is he?” she asked.

“No,” Harry said. “I’m – I’m bothering him, actually.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking down to the colour of Nott’s tie.

“He’s right,” Nott said, with just the slightest edge of ice to his voice.

“And already spoken for,” Ginny said, with a wink.

“I gathered,” Nott said, smiling back. He probably could melt anyone. He’d be perfect for easing everyone into the idea of including Slytherins.

“Ginny,” Harry hissed.

“I’m just nudging you to the door of the closet, Harry,” she said, her eyes glittering.

“After you.”

This was the girl who had been shaken up yesterday by whatever that fourth year had said to her. He felt safe with her next to him, ready to jinx anyone who looked at him funny. When Fred and George asked for Harry to try their Skiving Snackboxes to see if they ‘worked differently on people like him,’ she had silenced them with a disgusted look.

Now she was chuckling with Nott and exposing the biggest secret Harry had had in a long time.

Though it was hardly a gamble. Maybe Draco had told Nott, or maybe he saw them holding hands in Care of Magical Creatures. Either way, he had already known. And Ginny wasn’t blabbing to everyone.

“Look, I wanted to know if I could trust you,” Harry said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “There’s a group of us that don’t like Umbridge-“

“So the majority of the school?”

“We meet up and rules get broken,” Harry continued. Ginny’s hand tightened into a fist next to his head. It felt like he had his own guard dog.

Nott blinked at him.

“You’re asking me to join you?” he said, like it was ridiculous and incredulous. It was ridiculous and incredulous.

“We need all the help we can get,” Harry shrugged.

“Did you ask Malfoy?”

“Yeah, he said no.”

“Of course he did,” Nott said, with a smirk. “Alright, Potter, I’ll give it a go. When and where?”

“I’ll let you know,” Ginny said. “Come on, Harry, before Ron steals all the good food.”

He gave the same awkward wave to Nott as he was dragged off, and received a bemused smile and shrug in return.

“What are you playing at?” Ginny asked. “They’ll see this as bringing the enemy into our refuge, you know.”

“Maybe its time they grow up,” Harry said. “If he’s on our side, he’s on our side. What does it matter what house he’s in?”

Ginny raised her eyebrows and sighed. She gave a shrug, before she finally released Harry and slumped onto the bench. He dithered for a moment, loading up his plate. He had to think of something to say. This subject was too heavy. Every conversation he had seemed heavy now.

“Did you see Luna?”

“Yeah,” Ginny shrugged. “She hugged me goodbye. Is that gay?”

“Of course you’d ask him,” some second year said, and his friend next to him burst into giggles.

Harry rolled his eyes. It had been happening more and more. The sly remarks from the Gryffindors as well as Slytherins. Even a few Ravenclaws had muttered as he had walked past. It was a different atmosphere than he’d had before. They had been scared of him in his second year, and plain up angry with him last year, but now it felt like he was a different species.

He felt like a different species. Ron and Hermione did it too. They acted much more careful around him, as though they were going to say or do something offensive. He just wanted to grab them and scream “I’m still me!” But they were trying. He didn’t want to nitpick them too much when he was going to throw Slytherins into their lives.

They held a DA meeting the next day. Ginny had graciously collected Nott from the Dungeons to escort him to the Room of Requirement. Hopefully he’d have his own galleon by the end of the session. If everything went well.

The two of them had walked in last. Harry was pretty sure Ginny had waited deliberately, just for dramatic effect.

People didn’t notice straight away. They were talking in twos and threes, waiting for the lesson to begin, and only glanced towards Ginny as she entered. Nott looked nervous, his hair half-flopping over his forehead where the gel had begun to wear off, but he still smiled when he saw Harry.

“Nice set up you’ve got here, Potter,” he said, though the charming smile was shaky.

Ron glanced over at the sound of the voice. His eyes widened comically, his mouth snapping open and shut. That attracted Hermione’s attention. She frowned at Ron, then glanced over to Harry and Nott. The frown deepened.

Nott was still smiling, ignoring everyone’s glances across at him, but it looked forced.

“Harry,” Hermione stepped over to him. There was a similarly forced smile on her face. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Theodore Nott,” Nott said. He held a pale hand out to Hermione, who looked shocked that he spoke up for himself.

She nodded and shook his hand as briefly as possible, then turned back to Harry.

“He’s a Slytherin,” she said. It was a patronising tone, as though she was telling Harry that Nott couldn’t possibly join the DA because he was a troll.

“Yes,” Harry said. He said it was nonchalantly as he could.

“I’m in your Care of Magical Creatures,” Nott said. “And your potions. And Arithmancy. It’s Hermione Granger, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hermione stretched it out into two syllables.

Everyone was watching them in silence. Someone coughed and got ‘sssh’ed.

“So, what exactly are you doing here?” Nott turned back to Harry. He gave half of a carefree laugh but it died in his throat. This was a mistake. This was an awful mistake. He should have made Draco come. Then at least it would be two Slytherins together.

“Well, since Umbridge won’t teach us Defence Against the Dark Arts, we-“

“Harry,” Hermione cut across him. “He could very well tell her.”

“He’s standing right there, Hermione. He can hear you.”

“I can,” Nott said. “To both actually. But anyone here could tell Umbridge what you’re doing. What’s the difference?”

“There is none,” Ginny said it. “The colour of a tie, Hermione.”

“Do you always spend this much time talking?” Nott asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

“Nott’s right. It doesn’t matter who’s in the DA, we just need to get to work,” Harry said. The rest of the students gathered around, but a sentence in to what he was going to teach, the murmuring begun.

“Are we sure we can trust a…”

“What’s a Slytherin doing here?”

“He’s a spy. No doubt about it.”

And many others to that effect. Nott barely blinked, keeping his eyes fixed on Harry’s, his hands in his pockets. He looked indifferent, even bored, though his eyes bored into Harry’s. He was great at nonverbally saying ‘I told you so.’

“Don’t you think you’re being petty?” Harry snapped over the crowd. A dozen faces turned to him, with varying degrees of anger and mistrust. “It’s a house, not a contagious disease.”

“What if it is?” it was Ernie. Of course it was Ernie. Fucking Ernie. “You let him in here, Potter, and he’ll be spreading his propaganda all over the place.”

“Bull-“

“You think He Who Must Not Be Named didn’t ruin my life too?” Nott cut across Ginny’s furious murmuring. “He tore my family apart. What’s the worst that happened to you?”

There was silence. Nott hadn’t raised his voice. It was a steady, firm question. Ernie’s face went white as a sheet – so white his lips looked blue.

“I think you should leave,” Ernie’s voice shook. He looked as though he was shaking himself, like a chihuahua.

“No.”

It was a small voice. Just as shaky. What was important was that it didn’t come from Harry or Nott or Ginny. Instead the group parted like curtains and Neville Longbottom took a small step forward.

“If his family’s been affected by the war too, that’s a good enough reason to let him join.”

“Neville’s right.” Ginny said firmly.

“Well I’m not staying if you’re letting Slytherins in,” Ernie sneered.

Then turned and stalked out of the Room of Requirement before Harry could make sense of it.

There was a strange silence filled the room. The crackling of the torches sounded like static.

More people walked out. Dean and Lavender and Michael Corner. Colin and Justin. Marietta Edgecombe took hold of Cho’s arm, leading her out. She glanced back at Harry, her face hardened.

Hermione glanced at Harry. She wet her lips, looking him up and down.

“I need to think about this,” she said.

Then walked out too, her shoes echoing on the stone floor. She seemed to be taking a part of Harry with her. Ripping out an organ or two with every step. He couldn’t believe her. After all these years, all the time they’d spent together, and she could just walk out. Like that. As though she was leaving Divination.

Most people followed her. Soon there was only a handful of them left standing together. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Nott, Nevile and Zacharias Smith.

“Well,” Nott said. “Do you do anything here, or what?”

He was being so brave. He was acting like none of this affected him. But his face was pale, almost as pale as Ernie’s had been.

So Harry tried to be brave. He bumbled through a minute of talking about Expecto Patronum, before realising it wasn’t worth the time and resorted to overseeing duels instead. That would probably be more useful than talking about Dementors. They practised throwing spells at each other and keeping their protegos strong. Nott was rusty for the first ten minutes, clearly unused to duelling after six months, but he quickly found his own firing spells at Ginny.

Harry’s mind wandered away from the class too frequently. What was going to happen now? Half of the DA had left. Were they ever coming back? What if they told? If they said something to the wrong person, regardless of house, it would all be over. He couldn’t imagine what Umbridge would do if she found out? ‘I must not start a club to fight against Voldemort’ seemed a little long to fit on his hand. He’d probably be expelled.

If he was, he guessed he’d head to Grimmauld Place. Maybe he’d be allowed to help. He wouldn’t be able to practice magic out of school for a while, but surely Sirius had a solution for that. Or Dumbledore. Dumbledore would have to stay on his side. This time, he would need to be.

Or he could head to the Malfoy’s. The place must be huge enough for him to avoid Lucius Malfoy for weeks. Or would that be awkward? Just him and Draco’s mother and the unspoken thing sat like a plump elephant between them.

He was promptly knocked backwards, landing with a thump on the floor.

Neville grinned from above him.

“Good shot,” Harry said. He didn’t mention that he’d been neck-deep in an ‘if I get expelled plan,’ and that was why he had been neglecting his shield. “Look, Neville, thanks for sticking up for Nott.”

“Its nothing,” Neville shrugged, scratching the back of his neck with his wand. “I’d want someone to do the same for me.”

“Yeah, but, you-“ Harry broke off, feeling suddenly awkward. He hadn’t mentioned St Mungos to Neville, but they both knew. It was another unspoken thing. ‘You have more reason than anyone to hate Voldemort.’ He hadn’t had his parents taken away, but they weren’t there either.

“I think,” Neville said, carefully. “If my parents could, they’d say not to blame kids for their parents’ mistakes.”

He was wise, Harry thought. Everyone thought he should be in Hufflepuff, but maybe Neville belonged in Ravenclaw. Maybe Harry should stop thinking in terms of houses. He wasn’t sure how.

They ended early. It felt like they were dragging it out. They probably should have given up when everyone left, Harry thought.

“Sorry, it’s usually,” Harry said to Nott as they headed out.

“I get it,” Nott said. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not though,” Harry said.

Nott shrugged. He headed off down the corridor. Harry wondered if he should have walked the guy back to the dungeons, just to make sure no one would leap out and curse him.

“There you are,” a voice said to his left.

Hermione appeared out of thin air, her hair frazzled.

“What are you doing with my invisibility cloak?!” Harry demanded. He ripped it from her hands.

“Making sure no one betrays us,” Hermione snapped right back. “I’ve been following them all and putting a curse on them if they speak about the DA. Did you think about that?”

“I thought about it,” Harry said.

“You didn’t do anything about it!”

“Give me half a blooming chance!”

“Well while you were messing around with your Slytherins, I was doing something.”

Harry swore at her then. It was on impulse. What he said when Dursley was annoying him. He had never said it to Hermione. Her eyes narrowed and she shut her mouth tight, as though she was trying not to cry.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Fine, Harry.”

“Hermione,” he started.

“I know you’re under a lot of pressure,” she said. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, but I just don’t get it. Are you trying to replace us? We are you hanging around them all of a sudden?”

It was time to tell them. Harry knew it was time to tell them.

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t make the words come out.

Hermione waited, scanning his face. Then she sighed. She ran a hand through her already dry hair, tucking it behind her ear. For a moment, she shook her head again.

Then she started down the corridor, linking her arm through Ron’s.

“Wait, Hermione,” Harry managed to find his voice. “You were saying – about meeting at The Three Broomsticks? On the next Hogsmede trip?”

She stopped. She didn’t turn around. Ron did, glancing from Harry to Hermione. He hated to be left out.

“I’ll tell you. I’ll be able to tell you everything then. I promise.”

She didn’t say anything, but Harry knew she had agreed to it. Even if she hadn’t, he’d do it. He’d bring Draco. He’d tell them. He had to. That wasn’t the scary part.

The scary part was that he had to ask Draco on a date.

Chapter Text

Harry had been trying to ask Draco all week, but he hadn't been able to find the time. Of course, there was time. There was the time it took to fly to Hogsmede, the hour they had spent begrudgingly wiping down tables for Dumbledore's brother, who Harry had started to think was more insane than Dumbledore himself. But, Harry had gone on a cleaning spree when he saw the state of the bar and had ruthlessly attacked every surface with a dishcloth and soap. He trusted his own hands over magic. After all, he’d had enough experience cleaning up after the Dursley’s, who would probably have a heart attack if they saw the sticky pools of beer and vomit that cloaked the pub. Whilst Harry was on his tirade, Draco had picked up a few glasses with as little of his hand as possible, then turned on the charm and chatted away carelessly to some of the patrons. Aberforth had watched them unnervingly, and Harry wondered if he’d keep his promise.

Flying back would have been the perfect time to ask Draco out on Valentine’s Day. But Harry was mad at him for not doing any work, plus he ached all over now that the adrenaline from seeing a filthy place was gone. To make things worse, Draco slipped back to the Gryffindor common room and had kissed Harry’s neck until he stopped being mad. Harry had gotten his own back my smashing Draco at Wizard’s Chess.

Potions class would have been a good time too. Only Nott had teamed up with Draco and he had Ron spent the entire lesson messing around. It had taken every ounce of Harry’s energy to just make sure the potion was passable. Snape had still curled his lip.

Literally any time but the day before the Hogsmede trip would have been a good time.

Draco had slipped up to the window again, quoting more Shakespeare that Harry couldn't wrap his head around, but that made him blush furiously. It was becoming a habit and as terrified as Harry was that they would get caught, he was also starting to rely on it. If he stayed up with Draco, he didn’t have to sleep and as sleeping was getting harder and harder, it was a helpful coping mechanism. He hadn’t woken up screaming Cedric’s name in a while, at least.

Now, they were stretched out on the sofa. The embers in the fire place glowed only slightly and there was hardly a moon out tonight. It was basically pitch black.

His head was on Draco's shoulders. One of Draco's arms was wrapped around him and he had laced his fingers in Draco's hand. They sat in silence a lot, because honestly Harry thought a normal conversation with Draco Malfoy would just be too weird. It was weird enough kind-of dating him, but being friends as well? Too bizarre.

They didn’t need to talk, Harry had discovered. Draco got what he was going through and he understod what Draco was going through and talking about it just made things worse. It was better just to relax against each other and pretend the rest of the world was asleep.

But he did need to ask Draco about the Hogsmede trip. He had made a promise and Hermione hadn’t spoken to him since he had made it. He wasn’t going to trade Hermione for Draco. He was going to keep things the same as they had always been. Just with Draco.

So, he forced himself to push the words out.

"It's Valentine's tomorrow," he muttered.

"I know," Draco said. "And I know that your friends have barely been speaking to you. I figured it wouldn't be wise if we spent the day together."

"Probably not," Harry said. "But I'd like it if we did."

There was a moment's silence. Harry’s heart felt like it was in his tongue, making it swell against the roof of his mouth. Maybe he had an allergic reaction to dates.

“People would find out.”

“So? I can’t get much lower.”

There was another pause.

"What, were you going to tell them or something?"

Harry wiggled himself free, twisting to face Draco, even though he was just a silhouette in the dark.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

"You aren't hard to read, Potter."

"I said I'd meet Hermione in the Three Broomsticks," Harry said, tripping over his words. "I want you to come with me."

"Oh, you want me to?" Draco purred.

"I'd appreciate it," Harry corrected himself.

"I want doesn't get," Draco's mouth was pressed against the hollow of Harry's jaw, his hands pressed against Harry's waist. He was finding it hard to think straight.

"I'm not going to beg you to," Harry said. His fingers found Draco's hair and he ran a hand through it. He hoped it would mess it up a bit. Draco deserved to have his hair messed up.

"I'd love to hear you beg," Draco murmured. His hands tightened on Harry's hips and Harry's stomach turned to jelly. "Beg to me, Potter."

"Okay, how about this," Harry tightened his fingers in Draco's hair, leaning forward so that his lips were pressed against the shell of Draco's ear. He felt prickly and even Dursley’s oversized top felt too tight. But there was no way he would ever beg Draco Malfoy. "Come with me to the Three Broomsticks, or I'll jinx you, Draco Malfoy."

Draco's fingers flexed, pulling Harry's body closer to his own.

"I like that," Draco murmured, burying his mouth in Harry's.

Suddenly Harry was forgetting what they were talking about because there was his tongue and Draco's tongue and this was a lot better than parseltongue. He wondered if he was spontaneously combusting when Draco unpeeled himself from the sofa and crossed to the window once more. His hair fell in front of his face and his face tingled like he had pins and needles, but at least Draco also looked like he had walked through a hedge. How did he manage to make it work though?

"I'll see you on Valentine's, Potter," Draco smirked with a wink. His eyes looked like moonlight against the dark morning sky.

Harry nodded, dimly registering that today was Valentine's day, but mainly how attractive Draco really was and how he had never really noticed it. He watched the silhouette of his kind-of boyfriend disappear into the slate grey of the morning sky, then let himself fall backwards. His head felt dizzy, like he was going to bed drunk. So, he closed his eyes and let the world spin out of existence as he grabbed a couple of hours sleep.

He woke up to find Ginny sat at his feet like a guard dog. She was sat with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

She glanced at him, her green eyes bright.

"You look a mess," she said, then took a breath as she leant back on her hands. "I thought someone might try something today, so I'm here to stop them."

"Oh," Harry pulled himself up and wiped his mouth self-consciously. He felt as though someone had written 'Draco was here' on him. "Right."

"So, what's wrong with your bed?" Ginny asked, stretching her woolly socked feet across the carpet so that they faced the fireplace.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, running a hand through his hair.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in it then?”

“The sofa is more comfortable.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“It has more lumps than Auntie Muriel’s custard.”

Harry paused.

“I like Auntie Muriel’s custard. It has character.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. He hadn’t fooled her from the start.

"If they're being-"

"No. They're fine," Harry said. He leant forward. "A snake came in last night."

"Ah," Ginny cracked open a grin, leaning back. "Pre-Valentine make-out?"

Harry shrugged. He couldn't stop grinning.

"I'm telling Ron and Hermione today," he said.

"Dang. It's serious enough for him to meet the parents?" Ginny raised her eyebrows, then nudged Harry with her toes. "I wish you luck."

"You too," Harry said, without thinking, then stumbled to make a correction. "With Luna, I mean."

Ginny flushed, frowned and turned away. Her voice had dropped to a mutter and Harry's grin widened.

And then he realized what he'd said and began panicking all over again. It was Valentine's day. And he was going to spend it with Draco Malfoy. And tell his two best friends he was dating the son of a Death Eater.

He'd rather go through the Triwizard tournament all over again.               

Harry also wasn't sure exactly what to do about Draco. He didn't think the Slytherin's would be impressed if they strode out of the castle holding hands. No one would. He wondered which house would incapacitate them first. But how we're they going to meet? Would he have to wait in Hogsmede? Would he see him in the Entrance Hall? Would they have to pretend not to see each other and then meet later?

There seemed to be an awkward bubble of silence following Harry through the corridor as he headed downstairs. Most of the DA were shooting him dirty, offended or angry glances that he was getting very skilled in ignoring.

At least he still had Ron. Ron was the one who had yawned loudly when he came down the stairs in the morning, patted Harry on the back and said, "you alright, mate?" He wasn’t even sure Ron noticed he wasn’t in his bed most nights. Or maybe he did and just didn’t want to say anything. It was hard to tell with Ron – he seemed to always know what questions not to ask.

He had stayed stubbornly by Harry's side the last few days, deflecting the glares from the DA members and making a large effort to make Harry laugh. Most of his jokes were subpar at best, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

"I can't believe you get on with Nott," Harry said as they headed down the staircases. His stomach was in a hundred devil tongue knots, but he acted like it didn't bother him. Like everything was completely normal.

"Why?"

"Because you're so anti-Slytherin."

"Well, I was always told they were a right load of prats, and that's how they acted. Nott’s, like, the only one who doesn’t, and everyone acts like prats towards him. It's just all backwards," Ron said. "Did you know his parents split because of the war? His mum went on the run from his dad. He crucio to force her to stay with him. But she made home better than Hogwarts. He’s dead worried for her now. He's got more reason to be terrified of Voldemort than Ernie bloody McMillan."

"Yeah," Harry wished he'd been paying more attention, but he could only focus on the growing dread in his stomach. “That’s really tough.”

They started down the stairs in the entrance hall and Harry scanned the crowd of students waiting to go to Hogsmede. He felt like Cinderella searching for a Prince, but this Prince Charming was nowhere to be seen. Why did he even want a Prince Charming?

And how could Draco fit into that role?

Someone made a remark as he and Ron pushed through to where the fifth years were standing. Apparently, the idea of him and Ron dating was hilarious. He rolled his eyes, but Ron went bright red as sniggers followed them like a bad smell.

"Go and find a first year to pick on," a voice said to the fifth year Slytherins who were snickering. Nott slid an arm around Ron's shoulders. "And Ron would be a catch even if they were dating."

Even Ron's ears turned crimson. Harry laughed and Nott shook his hand in greeting.

“You should see him in his dress robes,” Harry said.

Ron glared, Nott raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry I missed the Yule Ball,” he said, but then became serious. "Anyone had any second thoughts?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged as if that would make things better.

Ron and Nott filed into the line in front of him, rattling off about the latest Quidditch matches, with Nott’s arm still around his shoulders.

A hand slid into the back pocket of Harry's jeans. He jumped out of his skin, ready to punch whoever-

Draco was standing next to him, his side matching up to Harry's as he leant his weight against him.

"Happy Valentine's, Potter," he said, leaning forward, so that his mouth rested on Harry's ear.

"Hey," Harry muttered. His heart was racing. Anyone could see this. What was Draco playing at?

"I see you dressed up for the occasion," Draco continued, his hand still firmly on Harry's behind and therefore rendering Harry incapable of thought.

"These are my best jeans," Harry said, defensively, glancing down at himself. He'd chosen a white t-shirt in the hopes of looking smart and had taken care in doing his hair for once. He guessed he still looked a wreck. But Draco looked immaculate in a dark button up that made him look like a model.

"Then I'm taking you shopping," Draco said and Harry's heart did a strange squirm. He was no fan of shopping and no fan of people buying things for him, but the offer - the offer turned him to jelly. "Nott tells me you've recruited him into your mini-Order."

"Yeah."

"How did they take that?"

"They didn't like it."

"What a surprise. I would have hexed them."

"No," Harry turned to Draco and found that they were nose to nose. "No hexing people, Draco."

He just laughed, which made Ron turn and raise an eyebrow. His eyes flickered to Draco and he looked confused, but Nott was talking about the Chudley Cannons and he was absolutely obliged to turn back to debate his point.

They passed through the door and headed down the path to Hogsmede. As the crowd thinned into a queue, Draco slipped his hand from Harry's pocket, but kept brushing the back of his hand across Harry's. Did he know what he did to Harry’s insides when he did stuff like that?

Harry desperately searched for something to say. He and Draco didn't really do light chats. Their chats were heavy and loaded with riddles that Harry couldn't find the answer for. They had nothing in common. He didn’t even like Draco a month ago.

"How is Mrs Malfoy?" he managed to ask.

Draco gave a bark of laughter.

"What's next? The weather?" he asked, but shrugged and added. "She's fine. She likes you."

"Really?"

"She thinks you're a nice boy. Very polite for someone raised by muggles."

Harry wasn't sure whether that was an insult or not.

"I like your mum," Harry said. "She's cool."

"She's alright," Draco said. He gave him a sideways glance. "You so suck up to her."

"I do not."

"You're not a polite boy, Harry Potter."

"I am. Just not to you."

Draco snorted, but he was smiling.

"Does she know?"

"Know what?"

"That we're..." Harry gestured off. Boyfriends? Could they say boyfriends? Were they boyfriends? It seemed too ordinary a word for Harry's life.

"No," Draco said. "Unless you told her?"

"I've tried not to."

"I don't know if she'd mind. She’s probably guessed I’m as straight as a protractor."

"But she likes me, right?"

"As my friend. But you're not a pureblood," Draco said, but he was smiling. "I bet you can't even dance the Vietnemese Waltz."

"And you can?"

"Naturally."

Harry laughed, but Draco was serious. Harry had only started thinking about slow dancing last year and his memory of it was sweaty and awkward. He had been sweaty and awkward. He wondered how Draco's Yule Ball partner had felt. Probably like a Princess, being swept away in his arms.

Did Harry want to feel like a Princess?

He didn't want to think about it, and they were nearing the Three Broomsticks. Instead of thinking about Draco holding his waist and leading, he took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he was going to say to Hermione.

Nott and Ron turned into Honeydukes. Now that the Hogwarts students had diluted into the town, they were receiving less and less odd glances. Just two Hogwarts students. No one would even know they were in different houses.

He paused in the doorway.

Draco nudged Harry with his shoulder.

"Ready?" he murmured.

"No," Harry paused. "Are you okay with this?"

"No," Draco said. He slipped his hand into Harry's. "What are we waiting for?"

They stepped into the pub. No one was looking at them, but Harry was waiting for someone to say something. Someone had to say something.

His eyes scanned the crowded bar and he spotted Hermione waving at him from one of the tables. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and when she saw Draco at his side, her face dropped. It was like a storm cloud passed over her.

"What's he doing here?" she demanded as they came within earshot.

"Surprise," Draco said dryly, fastening a smirk to his face.

Hermione looked about to explode when a voice interrupted.

"Hello Draco."

It was then Harry noticed the other two people sat at the table with Hermione. Luna Lovegood and Rita Skeeter. He froze. This wasn't the plan. He couldn't do this in front of these people. He had accidently outed himself to the school, but he didn’t plan to do it with the prophet.

Draco seemed just as perplexed.

"Luna," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Hermione asked me to come," Luna said, as though she was summoned just like that. "But I'm glad you're here too. You make me feel safe."

He would have laughed if it had been different circumstances. Harry didn't feel safe with Draco. He felt reckless and stupid and crazy. That was why he liked it – he was starting to crave the adrenaline.

"Luna, how do you-" Hermione cut herself off, looking either furious or baffled.

"Draco is very good at potions. He’s going to help me befriend the mermaids."

"I'm so glad I was invited to this little high school drama," Rita Skeeter finally said, raising a thin eyebrow. She looked like a shadow of herself.

"You can't moan at me for bringing Draco when you brought her," Harry said. "She doesn't even go here!"

"I have a plan," Hermione said. She narrowed her eyes. "Since when do you call Malfoy by his first name?"

Harry didn't have a retort. Draco did.

"It's wonderful to know that some things may change, but you stay your arrogant muggleborn self, Granger," Draco said. He turned to Harry. "Note my choice of wording."

"Yeah, thanks, your very kind," Harry muttered under his breath.

"For Flamel's sake, sit down," Rita flicked a few manicured fingers towards the empty seats. Harry felt Draco's hand brush his shoulder as they both slid down onto the scrubbed wooden chairs. Hermione was still glaring daggers. "And tell me all the gossip, Harry."

"That is not what you're here for," Hermione snapped. "The plan was that you would interview Harry about what really happened in the graveyard to combat the Prophet's propaganda against us."

"And who's going to publish that?" Rita's eyebrow hiked further.

"The Quibbler," Hermione gestured proudly to Luna.

Draco cleared his throat, but Rita burst out laughing.

"No."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Harry said.

"No. You will write this, Rita. I still have that jar."

Rita shivered, then looking like she just sucked a lemon, agreed.

"Fine. I'll write your cute little article for the Quibbler. But tell me, Harry, who is this handsome stranger you brought with you?”

Her like green quill had whizzed from her bag and was staring at Harry with a familiar uncomfortable intensity.

"If we're going to do this I need a butterbeer," Harry said. "And we're sticking to last year. In the Graveyard. Nothing else."

"I'll get it," Draco said, his fingers traced Harry's back as he stood. "It is Valentine's, after all."

Harry found himself struggling to keep a smile from his face. Hermione was still livid.

"Honestly Harry," she didn't even wait until Draco was out of earshot. "He ruins everything now. Why did you bring him?"

"There's no way I'm telling you with that thing present," Harry gestured to the Quick Notes Quill, which seemed to exchange a look with Rita.

"Interesting," she murmured.

"Please tell me this is part of a plan to infiltrate Voldemort's most trusted," Hermione said, running her hand over her face.

"No. That would be clever," Harry said. "You do the clever things."

Luna pulled out a magazine, held it sideways, and began to read.

"You said you would tell me what was happening."

"Yes. Because I thought it would be just you. Not the whole world."

"The Quibbler doesn't reach Wales, much less the world," Rita murmured, sounding like a snake trying to hypnotize him into talking.

"You're not being fair."

"No. You're not being fair. I don't care what the Ministry are printing about me. It's all words and they'll eat them soon enough. I don't want to talk about the graveyard, Hermione. I see it enough in my nightmares."

"Are you sure these dreams are just dreams?" Rita batted her eyelashes at him.

"I don't know!" Harry knew he shouldn't be snapping and falling for her bait, but his temper was at boiling point. He could feel it swelling inside him. "Voldemort is trying to get in my head and I don't have a clue anymore."

"Don't write that," Hermione snapped as Rita's pen zoomed across the page.

"Harry just admitted he's going crazy."

"He didn't. He saw Voldemort."

"He did," Draco placed a large flagon of Butterbeer on the table and slid next to Harry.

"And I suppose you were there?" Rita’s raised her eyebrow at Draco instead, her red lips curving into a condescending smile.

"My father was," Draco said.

"I bet you were too," Hermione spat. "Your whole family are Death Eaters."

"My mother’s not. I'm not," Draco looked almost bored. Even Harry was finding this a tiresome argument.

"Yeah? Show us your arm, then."

"You don't have to do anything," Harry said, but his stomach squeezed itself. What if Draco was?

He couldn't be.

Draco shrugged and rolled up his shirt sleeve. His skin was smooth and clear like ivory. Harry felt the urge to kiss it and had to settle for clenching his fists instead.

"But your father is a Death Eater?" Rita Skeeter leant forward, her eyes glistening.

"I can attest to Harry's story," Draco said. He glanced at Harry, but his expression was unreadable. “But I want to remain anonymous.”

He started talking. It wasn't hard to cast his mind back to the disaster that was the third event of the Triwizard tournament. It was easy to remember the angel statue and the knife and the silver hand in the moonlight.

It was hard to describe Cedric's death. Harry could see his eyes floating in front of him. They looked like glass.

Draco's hand covered his under the table. He spoke frankly what his father had told him about that night. He said it with such indifference that Harry wondered if he cared at all.

Hermione watched like an eagle throughout it all. When the article was drafted up and Luna left with Rita, she sat in stony silence.

"Don't look at me like that, Granger," Draco said. "Sacre deiu, I just helped you."

"Yes. Why?"

"Valentine's is a mysterious day," Draco said. "I had a change of heart," he paused and glanced at Harry, a smirk toying his lips. "Someone stole my heart and now I don't know what side I'm on."

Harry felt himself flush and he ducked his head, hoping his hair would hide him, but it was significantly less bird's nest like today and he was still horribly exposed.

"What nonsense are you going on about?" Hermione snapped.

"Love. Haven't experienced it, Granger?"

Harry felt as though his heart had stopped. Love. That was the first time Draco had said that word.

"Love?" he squeaked.

Draco fixed grey eyes on Harry's.

"Love."

He wanted to hit pause. To keep looking into Draco's eyes and not have to respond to anything else. Draco loved him.

Did he love Draco?

"You can not be serious."

Hermione smashed the moment into pieces, using each word as a verbal hammer. Harry was forced to look back at her.

"Surprise," he said, though his voice sounded weak and warbly. "Draco gave me a case of the gay."

He thought Draco had cursed her. She didn't move, her mouth slightly open and her eyes dark fire. The silence stretched on.

Harry reached for Draco's fingers, his heart pounding in every inch of him. It was all going wrong. He had ruined everything. Everything was smashed to pieces. Hermione couldn't accept this. She wouldn't. He didn't know what to do.

What could he do?

"Sorry I'm late," Ron's voice came across the static that was the pub ambience. " What did I miss?"

It felt easier to say it the second time round.

"Draco was the guy I was with. Am with."

Ron was standing behind him. He couldn't see his facial expression. There was a beat and then-

“What?"

He sounded more confused than anything. He slid into the seat next to Hermione and looked between the two of them, his face white.

"Is this a joke?"

Harry shook his head. His mouth was dry, useless now that it had said that precious snippet of information.

Ron's eyebrows slowly floated back down, drawing tightly together.

"Okay," he drew the word out for longer than humanly possible. "But - but what about Nott?"

"What?" Harry's voice was a croak.

"I thought you liked Nott. I thought Draco was your wingman or something."

"Why the hell would I wingman for Potter?" Draco asked. “I like Potter.”

"But he likes Nott."

"I don't like Nott, Ron."

"So why did he join the DA?"

"Because I said no, would probably be cursed by you lot and Potter's trying to make me feel better about being hated by an entire house."

Ron opened his mouth and closed it a few times. Then he frowned and rested his chin in his hand, staring at the table like he was trying to figure out a particularly hard suduko.

"That's what you're worried about?" Hermione's voice was approaching shrill. "Which Slytherin Harry has been seeing behind our backs."

"And why do you think I did that, Hermione?" Harry's own anger rose. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want all of this! You don't understand-"

"I don't! I don't understand how you can stand to be with him after everything he's done!"

"None of what Draco has done is as bad as his father's actions or Voldemort's. He’s been a pest, at most."

"He called me a mudblood," there were tears in Hermione's eyes and her face was bright red. "More than once."

Harry fell silent.

"I know you had a lot on last year, Harry," Hermione's voice shook. "But you know what I remember the most? I remember the humiliation of having my teeth keep growing and Professor Snape looking at me and saying he saw no difference. I remember that neither of you followed me and I remembered that it was Malfoy who had done it. He’d made everyone snicker and laugh. He always makes me the joke for everyone else. I’m the performing monkey you can all jinx to your heart’s content. But that makes sense now. It doesn't matter if they let mudbloods," she spat the word at them. "Into Hogwarts. Because there'll always be a divide. I don't belong with you people. It's not a house or a green tie, Harry, it's a mentality. Every Slytherin looks at me and all they see is someone who doesn't deserve a wand. I wasn't born into it like you."

"I wasn't-"

"You have magical blood. You can never understand."

"I do-"

"No, because you're the chosen one and you don't have to try. I do. And it will never be enough. Well that's fine. Keep your little wizard club. I refuse to stand by a cretin like Draco Malfoy."

She wiped her cheeks roughly with the back of her hand, took a large, gulping breath, and turned on her heel.

She had barely taken two steps before Draco called after her.

"I saved your life, Granger."

Chapter Text

Harry couldn't believe people were still laughing and joking as normal when he was having a crisis. His heart hasn't stopped jumping around his ribcage but now he was sure it had stopped.

Draco had just said he had saved Hermione's life.

She froze. It seemed like even her hair was quivering.

"What?" her voice was a whisper as she turned back, her face pale. She looked almost afraid.

"As I recall, you were found petrified with a mirror in your hand when you were twelve and everyone thought perfect Potter was the heir of Slytherin, of all things," Draco said. He wasn't looking at her. "Why would you know to carry a mirror, Granger? It was because you knew the monster in the Chamber was a Basilisk, correct? And how did you find that out?"

"I read it," Hermione said. She licked her lips. "You should try it sometime."

"I have," Draco leant backwards. He swiped a finger around the rim of Harry's mug of Butterbeer and licked the froth from his pale finger. "Potter, did you find something else on Granger?"

Harry frowned.

"A page from a book."

"Well done. I know you and Weasley aren't the brains of your group, but was there nothing suspicious about that?" Draco paused, but Harry couldn't answer. What was strange about Hermione helping them? Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you really think little miss brainbox Granger would rip a page from a precious book?"

"You." Hermione's voice was quiet and trembled. Harry wasn't sure what with. "You snuck that page-"

"Into Hogwarts: A History, yes," Draco said.

"So you knew - you knew all along what the monster was and that the Chamber of Secrets was real and you didn't say anything?!" Hermione's voice rose again. A few people looked around at her.

"What would I say?" Draco shrugged "I was safe."

"And that's all that mattered?!"

"That's all that mattered then, yes," Draco snapped, standing as well. He glared at Hermione. "That's all that's ever mattered to me. I was twelve and my father was talking about killing students. I. Was. Scared."

"You should have told Dumbledore," Hermione's voice wavered in the face of Draco's white hot rage.

"Dumbledore doesn't listen to children like me."

Hermione didn't say anything. Her chest rose and fell heavily as she stared at Draco.

"I gave you that clue," he said. "And you all saved the school again, so everything worked out for the best. Imagine how put out Dumbledore’s crooked old nose would be if a Slytherin saved the school."

"And you've been sat on this information for three years?"

"You weren't exactly easy to talk to. You punched me in the face."

"That was your own fault. You were laughing at Hagrid."

"His bloody bird scratched me."

"Because you were rude and arrogant. Not much has changed."

"Draco's learnt his lesson," Harry said. His voice sounded small. "I made him now to a Hippogryff."

"I don't want to hear another word from you," Hermione said. She didn’t even look at him. "You're so reckless, Harry."

"You're so stubborn, Granger."

"Maybe I am. I find it hard to believe you after five years of fighting against your a-hole-ian behaviour,” Hermione said. She picked up her bag, flipped her bushy hair behind one shoulder and glared at them all. “Enjoy your little magic-blood club.”

She left. Harry knew it would be next to impossible to single out her footprints from everyone else in the pub, but he was sure he did. Each tap of her boot felt like an icy dagger in his heart. This wasn’t the plan. He couldn’t let this happen. This couldn’t happen. He wasn’t supposed to lose Hermione.

“Well,” Draco said. “That went well.”

“Shut up,” Harry was on auto-pilot, and it showed. He downed half his butterbeer in mourning.

“Hold on,” Ron was frowning. He had watched the exchange like a Wizard Chess match – calculating and intrigued. It was impossible to guess where his line of thought was. “When would Draco have ridden on a Hippogriff?”

Harry looked at Draco, who shrugged slightly, and leant backwards as if to say ‘we’ve come this far, haven’t we?’ He looked like he didn’t care. Harry wondered when he had started to tell that Draco was secretly unnerved.

“We – we’ve been sneaking out of Hogwarts,” Harry said. He focused on his butterbeer, taking another large gulp and wishing it was alcoholic. “To go to occlumency lessons.”

“In Hogsmede?”

“With my mother,” Draco finished.

Ron blinked. He was still frowning.

“That’s more than a little dangerous, don’t you think?” he said. There was the disapproval Harry had been expecting.

“I don’t have a lot of choice.”

“Dumbledore-“

“Dumbledore doesn’t care,” Harry said. “We have to do this, Ron. That’s why the DA exists.”

Ron sighed. He still looked deeply troubled, the lines on his face looking like they were going to be etched on there forever.

He reached over, took Harry’s butterbeer and downed it, his mouth set in a grim line. He should have been a hard-boiled detective in a film-noir, not a fifteen year old fighting Voldemort. But life wasn’t fair, Harry had learnt that quickly.

It didn’t make it any easier though.

*

The weekend was long and lonely, and it didn’t help that the Quidditch Match was miserable. Every time Gryffindor let in a goal, Umbridge turned to smirk at Harry, which sent his scar prickling. He could have easily believed her to be Voldemort over Professor Quirrell. Fred had even leant over and muttered, “can’t you kill that one too, Harry?”

Ron slumped around in defeat, Hermione wasn’t talking to him and basically everyone else hated him. Ginny tried to make a point to sit with Harry, but she was busy with homework and of course she was the most popular girl in her year, so everyone else had wanted to hang out with her. He had felt like an old man sat with all the fourth-years and had sloped off to the dormitory, only to walk in on Dean and Seamus. He didn’t let his eyes adjust, and scuttled off against before they knew he was there.

He wanted to see Draco. The problem was, he couldn’t sneak down to the Dungeons during the day and he’d run into trouble if anyone else was with him. He couldn’t even grab his invisibility cloak from the room now.

So, he sulked at the window with Ron. He supposed at least Hermione would see how miserable they were and repent.

She didn’t. At the weekend.

Monday morning, however, as Harry was summoning the courage to drink his coffee black for the extra kick, a large parliament of owls gathered around him. One, which elbowed the others out of its way, was holding the latest edition of the Quibbler in its sharp beak.

“So what’s the rest of it?” he asked, turning to Ron, who had taken it upon himself to rip an envelope open.

“Responses,” Ron said. He glanced up at Harry. “This guy thinks you’re a lunatic. You should write back and remind him which one of you brought the Quibbler.”

It got Hermione’s attention. She abandoned her eggs and slid next to Harry, helping herself to the envelopes. Harry watched her nervously, grasping the magazine with his name all over it for her response.

Her eyes flicked across the parchment like a clock pendulum and after a few, she looked up at Harry with shiny eyes.

“They believe you,” she murmured. “Or, at least, most of them do. They said that if it came from a Death Eater’s son then maybe there’s truth to it. Because of the World Cup.”

“Really?” Harry couldn’t figure out why his heart was pounding against his ribs now.

“They saw them there, they can’t deny that,” Hermione said. She tore open another one. “This one says whoever the son was that he was incredibly brave.”

“He is,” Harry said. He didn’t notice how softly he said it.

Hermione looked up at him, then down, her face falling slightly.

“It was a shock, Harry,” she murmured. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But he told the truth and that’s something.”

“He’s changed,” Harry said.

She met his gaze, her eyes losing some sparkle, like she had lost momentum.

“I hope you’re right.”

“So, who was this Death Eater’s kid, then?” George said, helping himself to some of Harry’s post. “People are saying they’re what made them believe you.”

“Was it someone we know?” Fred added.

“They’re staying anonymous,” Harry said.

“It was Nott, wasn’t it?” Neville said.

“I bet it was Nott. He’s really turned around.”

“From what to what?” Harry asked, but then Dean was leaning across, with a serious expression.

“Look, Harry, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tender. “I didn’t think – what Nott’s done – it was really cool of him.”

Lavender was at Dean’s shoulder, curling a strand of hair around her finger and not looking at Harry, she added.

“Yeah, it was really brave. Braver than any of us.”

“We’ll come back. To the DA,” Dean said. “Common enemy, and all that.”

Ron was beaming at them, but Harry caught Ginny’s eye. She was scowling. He knew who he felt like most.

“Glad that he’s proven himself worthy of you,” Harry quipped. But their faces fell and he forced himself to smile. “Thanks guys. Really.”

And really, he supposed, pushing aside a small mountain of letters and helping himself to some toast, everything was coming out right. People were starting to believe him, Hermione looked like she was at least going to give Draco a chance and people were returning to the DA. There was a certain irony in everyone believing Draco to be Nott. He wondered how they would feel if they knew the truth.

Draco would probably be angrier.

But things were really looking up. A few more weeks of occlumency with Narcissa and Harry thought he would have it sorted. Things really were going to be okay. Bettter than okay-

“What is all this?”

The voice was an exploding grenade to the swelling feeling in Harry’s chest. His balloon of joy was promptly burst and sunk low in his stomach like a rock.

Umbridge was standing behind them, her hands folded together. She looked like an overgrown child pageant star.

“Letters,” Harry said. He was not in the mood for this. Not that he ever was, but he particularly wasn’t today – not when everything was coming up aces.

“Letters?” Umbridge repeated primly, like she couldn’t understand the word.

“Is that a crime now too?” Fred asked.

“Watch out lads – next time mum sends us some fudge we’ll all wind up in detention,” George added. A few people sniggered, which served only to deepen the frog-like lines on Umbridge’s face.

“And why,” Umbridge’s voice was like a cold blade that cut across the noise of the hall. Harry saw a few students stop and stare at them. “Have you got all these letters, Potter?”

“It’s fan mail,” Ron said. “Harry is the chosen one, and all.”

Umbridge gave him a look that could make a dementor tremble. He swallowed and turned red.

“I had an interview,” Harry shrugged. “People wrote to me about it. About what happened in June.”

He wasn’t sure why he was saying it. He didn’t want her to know and it certainly wasn’t any of her business, but there was a part of him that wanted to. Just to twist the knife into her a little more. To let her know that she hadn’t defeated him. That he wasn’t doubting himself.

That he was no liar.

It was a mistake.

The fifty house points didn’t bother Harry. The Hogsmede ban didn’t really bother him – not when he was sneaking out most nights anyway. He wondered what Umbridge would say if he said he was working at the Hogs Head. The week of detentions, however-

He glanced down at the fading scabs on his hand and his stomach turned. One more session would have been unbearable – but five? He wasn’t sure he could face the pain again.

Not to mention, the Quibbler was banned. Yet, everyone seemed to be quoting it. Most people seemed to be nodding at Harry and grinning. A seventh year Hufflepuff slipped a rare chocolate Frog card into his hand when they passed each other in the hallway.

“She’s so stupid,” Hermione grinned as she flicked the latest educational decree. “Doesn’t she know if you tell students not to read something, all they’re going to do is read it?”

At least someone was happy. Harry had barely been able to stomach dinner. He kept anticipating the feeling of the quill and kept catching the letters on his hand.

Hermione hugged him fiercely when he set off and Ron gave him a weak smile, looking sick to his stomach as well.

He entered Umbridge’s office and made a vow to never buy anything pink again. He felt like it was aversion therapy. Umbridge herself watched him as he sat down, like a venus fly trap and a fly.

“Before we begin, Mr Potter, I want to have a little chat,” she said.

“If it’s about the Chudley Cannons match, they were completely cheated of the win and the highlights in the Daily Prophet prove it,” Harry said.

She was not amused.

“This is not about Quidditch,” she said. “It is about your interview,” she stepped forward and Harry fought the impulse to push his chair backwards. “I want to know who was with you.”

She might as well have stabbed him. In fact, he would have preferred it. If he told, he knew Draco would be in for it.

“No one was with me,” Harry found he could lie with surprising ease now. The lesson really hadn’t sunk in. “I mean, the interviewer was, but that’s it.”

Umbridge smiled sweetly and Harry’s fists tightened in his lap.

“The article mentions someone else. A supposed son of a Death Eater,” she gave a hiccuppy giggle. “Another liar you’ve roped in to help you, no doubt.”

“No – I – I made that up.” Maybe Harry wasn’t as good at lying as he had first thought.

“Now, Mr Potter, we both know there was someone else with you,” Umbridge squashed herself into the chair opposite him. “Maybe they encouraged you to spread your fantasies.”

Fantasy, nightmare or reality, Harry clenched his jaw. He felt a deep, burning loathing. She wanted him to throw someone else out the bus. To save his own skin.

Skin. Draco had nice skin. It almost glowed when he held him in the grounds, like a marble statue come to life. There would be no scars on that skin. Not whilst Harry could help it.

“All I want is their name, Mr Potter.”

Harry stared at her. The seconds stretched on. He was itching to glance at the clock. How many hours of torture had he escaped with this.

“I’m starting to lose my patience,” Umbridge’s smile was twitching at the edges, like a mask waiting to be yanked off.

“I am exercising my right to remain silent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My right to remain silent. Anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law,” Harry said. “I choose not to answer.”

“This is not a muggle court of law,” Umbridge shook her head, but her eyes were gleaming as she stood. “Very well, Mr Potter. I’ll be doubling the lengths of your detention until you feel it prudent to reveal the name of your successor.”

He felt like screaming. Sobbing. Something.

He shrugged.

“I suppose it’s the same as usual?”

Harry thought he saw her eye twitch. He hoped he did. That his apparent nonchalance bothered her. It was the only way he could fight back.

He did worry, however, as he clenched his jaw and picked up the quill, about Draco. He’d be waiting outside. Harry would be an hour late and there was no way to tell him. He would just have to hope that he’d wait for him.

And he couldn’t see Draco when he slipped outside. He glanced around, even stepping into the shadows to check if he was standing there. But there was no Draco. He bit his lip, leaning against the huge wall of the castle. He wasn’t sure what to do now, he certainly couldn’t go back to the Common Room, and he wasn’t sure he could face Snape tomorrow without seeing Narcissa first.

Harry watched the thin clouds move slowly across the night sky. Then blinked. There was something coming towards him. For half a moment, he hoped it would be an alien come to abduct him so that he could live on Mars and never face any of this again. Obviously, he’d been dumped.

It wasn’t an alien. As it got closer, he realised it wasn’t an alien.

In fact, it was someone on a broom.

His heart stopped beating.

It was Draco.

He skidded to a halt in front of Harry, swinging the broom to the side as he landed like he was on a motorbike. He looked like a white knight in the moonlight.

But his face was livid.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“Detention,” Harry replied. “Sorry – I wasn’t sure how to-“

“With who?” Draco’s voice was like a whip.

Harry didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t have to.

“Umbridge.”

“Show me your hand.”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

“No. It’s cold,” Harry shoved it firmly into his pocket, but Draco caught his wrist. The ache had spread to his elbow and he didn’t have the heart to refuse Draco. He supposed there was also a small part of him that wanted Draco to see. Not the cuts, but the black glove he had slipped on from his bag.

A corner of Draco’s mouth turned upwards, but the glimmer in his eye at the sight of his own glove only lasted a moment.

“Not here,” Harry said. His voice was soft, almost pleading. “It’s too cold.”

“This isn’t the end of this conversation,” Draco said. He brushed his mouth against Harry’s knuckles and Harry found he couldn’t meet his eyes. Gently, he pulled his hand away.

He felt ashamed. Of it. That Draco had to see that he wasn’t invincible.

“She asked about you,” Harry said, as he slid onto the broom behind Draco. They didn’t need to speed up for Harry to rest his head in between Draco’s shoulder blades. He felt exhausted suddenly. “Kinda. She wanted to know who else did the interview.”

“And what did you say?”

“I didn’t,” Harry could feel his heart pounding in his ears. “She’s doubled the lengths of my detentions.”

“Do you enjoy it, Potter?” there was venom in Draco’s words. “Playing the hero all the time?”

“What?”

“Do you expect me to turn around and say ‘oh thank you, mighty Potter, for matyring yourself to save me! What a heavy cross you bear!’”

“I just thought you should know,” Harry frowned, pulling away from Draco. He wished he could see his face, but he could only see Draco’s knuckles tightening on the broomstick.

"I just want you to look out for yourself," Draco said. "Yourself, you understand? No one else."

Harry paused. He found himself smiling.

"Well, you're welcome."

"Shut it, Potter."

Harry laughed aloud and pressed himself back against Draco. He had figured it out, even if Draco hadn't. That was how he had always been taught. Look out for himself and no one else. But things could be different now.

"How was work?" he asked.

"They're animals," Draco said and Harry laughed again.

He wasn’t laughing as they stood in Narcissa’s drawing room, and not just because he was still slightly dizzy from the floo-powder. Mainly because Draco was talking in rapid, angry French to Narcissa and he could guess what the topic of conversation was.

“Look,” Draco switched to English, grabbing Harry’s elbow and pulling him forward. “Show her.”

Harry stared at the look of anger on Draco’s face. He glanced at Narcissa’s worried frown. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want people to make a fuss of this. It was easier just to hide it and ignore it. If anyone knew – if anyone was upset by it, then Umbridge had won.

But Draco was worried. And Draco had risked everything to give Rita Skeeter that stupid interview. So he slipped off the glove, and showed Narcissa the words etched into his skin. ‘I miss not tell lies.’

“Sacre bleu,” she breathed, she pulled Harry’s hands towards her, running a thumb over the cuts and catching Harry’s wince. “This Ministry woman did this?”

“Technically she never touched me,” Harry said.

Narcissa snapped her fingers and a House Elf appeared.

“Murtlap essence. Quickly,” she said. She didn’t look at it. Harry bit back his remark about S.P.E.W as she turned back with dark, dangerous eyes and demanded. “How?”

“A – it’s a quill she has,” Harry said.

Narcissa’s frown deepened and for a moment she looked scary, not even blinking at the snap of the house elf reappearing. She pulled Harry over to the armchair, and sat him down. Draco leant against the one opposite, his face dark.

The house elf held the bowl up and Harry let Narcissa bathe the wounds.

“It’s not the first time,” Draco said.

“Vieille sorcière,” Narcissa muttered under her breath. “Have you told anyone?”

“He refuses to.”

“If I tell anyone, then she’ll win.”

“That’s just what she wants you to believe,” Narcissa said. She placed a hand on Harry’s cheek and he forced himself to meet her eyes. “She wins if you suffer in silence,” she stood, the house elf placing its tiny hands on Harry’s instead and looking at him with sad, lamp-like eyes. “I will not stand for this. We will inform the ministry.”

“She belongs to the ministry,” Harry muttered. This was a bad idea.

“The Minister would not allow this!” Narcissa was pacing. “And he won’t want to upset Lucius.”

Draco was looking at Harry and he was finding it very distracting. He stared back.

“Fudge hates me too.”

“He would not have you tortured. Not if I say anything about it.”

“I’m not-“ Harry broke off. ‘Your son.’ He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t say it, or why it disappointed him. “I don’t think it would be a good idea if I was mentioned. Not with the Prophet.”

Narcissa’s pale cheeks flushed and she looked about to object-

“He’s right,” Draco said. “Fudge won’t understand if you’re defending someone else’s son, especially not Potter. He might say he’ll do something but he’s as useless as Dumbledore.”

“Hey.”

“It would be better if it was me,” Draco said.

Narcissa’s pacing paused, stopping right in front of Draco.

“No,” Harry said. He slipped his hand from the bowl.

“It would mean more to the ministry and the press if a pure blood student was getting tortured,” Draco continued. He didn’t even look at Harry.

“Draco, no,” he grabbed Draco’s shoulder, but was shaken off.

“I cannot let you do that,” Narcissa said.

“They’ll heal,” Draco said.

“No.”

“How will you stop me?” Draco’s voice was quiet. It was a challenge.

It felt like a three way staring competition for a long time. Narcissa was the one to break first, shaking her head.

“Alright,” she whispered, then searched for Draco’s hands. “But I want you to be careful. You must be careful.”

“That’s not an option anymore,” Draco said. “It hasn’t been an option for a long time.”

Narcissa’s eyes closed. A look of heartbreak crossed her face for just a moment. It was like seeing a hairline crack in a porcelain statue. But then her eyes were open and she was steel again.

“What do you think you are doing?” she turned to Harry. “Hand back in bowl. Now.”

He was too scared of her to argue and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Draco. He couldn’t look at Draco as they headed back to Hogwarts. He held onto the broom instead, trying not to storm up the castle steps.

“Are you mad at me?”

Draco’s voice trailed up to him. He had one hand on the door, and amber light flooded down the steps, illuminating the figure halfway down. He could hardly spit the words out.

“I’m. Furious.”

“Now you know how it feels.”

“Is that what this is about? You’re doing this just to spite me?”

“I’m doing this for you – since you’re too stubborn to tell anyone!”

“What happened to looking after yourself?” Harry half-fell down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of Draco. “Look after yourself, Draco.”

“That’s for you. Not me.”

“No. You don’t get different rules.”

“Of course I get different rules. You’re the chosen one. I’m nothing. No one.”

“Not. To. Me,” Harry spat the words.

Draco’s pale eyes scanned his face. He felt completely exposed, his heart racing through every inch of his skin. He was furious, so furious at Draco and so desperate to kiss him senseless.

“Let me protect you,” Draco said.

“You won’t let me protect you,” Harry said. He felt tears stinging his eyes and he blinked quickly in case Draco could see them. His hand throbbed angrily, swelling against the black glove. The bloody black glove that started all of this. The bloody black glove that made him care about Draco Malfoy. He hated it. He hated Draco.

“Harry.”

He stopped breathing.

That was his name. His first name coming out of Draco’s mouth and it didn’t sound like that when anyone else said it. He loved it. He loved Draco.

The tips of Draco’s fingers pressed against Harry’s cheeks.

“Let me do this for you,” he whispered. His lips brushed against Harry’s, his breath warm and his mouth soft.

“I,” Harrry swallowed. His own mouth felt dry. “I can’t let you get hurt because of me.”

“I’ll get hurt because of me,” Draco said. His nose bumped against Harry’s and Harry closed his eyes to the distraction. But then there was only Draco’s voice. “I want matching scars, Harry.”

He swallowed again. It felt very hard to breathe. He sighed.

“Just what are you planning to do?” he whispered.

Draco kissed him.

“That’s for me to know, and you to not know.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch him or snog him. Maybe both.

Probably the latter.

Definitely the latter.

Chapter Text

“Your boyfriend’s gone crazy, Potter.”

It was Nott. He had cornered Harry as he was heading to dinner.

“I don’t think he’s officially my boyfriend,” Harry said. He supposed Nott had just guessed. Or maybe Draco had said something. Did Draco think Harry was his boyfriend?

“He went off the rails in class,” Nott said. “He refused to open his book.”

“Malfoy’s like a cat,” Harry said. “If he doesn’t want to do something he won’t.”

“He asked for a spell to tackle the imperius curse. And the cruciatus curse. Anything that would stop a Death Eater.”

Harry paused.

“When Umbridge said there was nothing to be worried about, he called her – I don’t speak French. Or Italian,” Nott licked his lips. “He’s got detention.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in an attempt to be surprised. He didn’t think it worked very well.

“But I’m supposed to have detention with Umbridge tonight,” Harry said, ditching his attempt at acting. His stomach flipped. Would she make them both sit there, listening to each other’s agony? Seeing each other’s blood drip onto the page. He felt like throwing up at the thought. Maybe he could projectile vomit all over Umbridge.

Draco would probably see that as a huge social faux par.

“You are, Mr Potter, but I have elected to take over your detention tonight,” McGonagall was standing over him, like a vulture. Or an angel. Harry couldn’t quite decide whether he was glad to see her or not. “We have some things I would like to discuss.”

“See you,” Harry muttered to Nott, but McGonagall’s default frown deepened.

“Well take a plate of food with you.”

That was how Harry found himself carrying a plate of pasta into McGonagall’s office, wondering how his basically-boyfriend was doing in his detention with a hag-toad.

McGonagall sat and took off her spectacles for a moment, rubbing at the marks they left. Harry sat and tried to eat his pasta in a dignified manner.

“Educational Decree number twenty seven would forbid me from discussing this with you, Mr Potter," she said. “But as your head of house I feel it prudent to make sure there is no bullying occurring on Hogwarts grounds.”

Harry blinked. He had been wondering if Draco would gasp or grimace at the first cut.

“Um, what?” was McGonagall talking about Umbridge? How did she know?

“It would be impossible for me not to notice the,” McGonagall pursed her lips. “Names the other students have taken to calling you.”

“Oh,” Harry swallowed a particularly large mouthful. “That.”

“Are you a homosexual, Mr Potter?”

He choked. She made it sound like two words. Like it was ‘homo sexual.’ It was how he imagined his gran would say it. If he had a gran. McGonagall watched him splutter with an air of grave seriousness. He would have laughed if it wasn’t happening to him.

“Well,” he croaked out when he was able to talk. “I’m not not – um, a homosexual. I’m, uh-“ Just basically dating Draco Malfoy. “Professor, I appreciate your concern, but it really doesn’t bother me. I’ve been through worse.”

“It may not bother you, but it bothers me,” McGonagall said. “If you make a formal complaint to me I can ensure they receive detentions.”

“It’s really fine,” Harry said, quickly. “It’s fine. Please don’t – don’t make a fuss.”

There was a moment’s pause. Harry scuffed his shoe against the floor, wondering when was polite to get up and leave. This wasn’t detention detention, after all.

"Have you told your Godfather?" McGonagall asked.

Harry felt like he’d missed a beat.

"Uh, yeah, I did,” he said. “He was fine about it.”

“Well then, I am glad one of you has come to your senses about this whole situation,” McGonagall pushed her spectacles higher up here nose.

“Wait - You - knew about that?"

"Nothing happens in this school that I don't know about. Now, I expect you have lots of homework to catch up on, don’t you, Mr Potter?”

For a moment, the words ‘not really,’ were about to come out of his mouth, before he realised McGonagall was giving him his escape, so he nodded instead. Then he stumbled up, juggling his empty bowl in his haste to escape.

“And Mr Potter,” Mcgonagall called after him. He turned, reluctantly. “Do not let Professor Umbridge catch wind of any of this. It will be just one more thing for her to hold against you.”

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath as he headed from the office.  He headed for the Common Room, stopping briefly to grab his invisibility cloak before fleeing again. He doubted either Hermione or Ron had spotted him.

There was a secret passage down to the fourth floor, and another one to the first. He was slipping down the dungeon steps only ten minutes later, sneaking his way down the corridor to Professor Snape’s store cupboards.

He cast lumos, shielding his wand under the cloak as best he could, his ears ringing in an attempt to hear footsteps. Harry heard them just as he shoved a small jar into his robes and had time to press himself into a corner, dousing his light.

Snape opened the door and glowered around the tiny cupboard. Harry closed his eyes, trying to erase any mental trace that he was there. The way Narcissa had taught him. He could feel Snape’s eyes and mind piercing into him like daggers and let the feeling wash over him. Through him. He was nothing but a collection of jars.

But Snape took a step forward.

He had left the door free. As he reached a hand out, Harry darted under his arm, treading as softly and quickly as he could down the corridor of the dungeon.

In front of the Slytherin Common Room, however, he lost momentum. He hadn’t figured this part out. He hadn’t really figured any of it out, but it was just kind of happening. He dithered, then, when it was clear that no one else was coming down the corridor this late, he slid down the wall, cradling the jar in his arms and resisting the urge to stick his own throbbing hand in there.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, he heard tapping coming towards him. A tall, slim figure was passing under the gloomy lights of the dungeon.

He stood, tugging the invisibility cloak off of his head.

Draco stopped. He stared at Harry for a moment, then stared at the cloak. His mouth moved.

Then he grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him out of the lamplight.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Returning the favour,” Harry said, flashing Draco the name on the jar. Murtlap essence.

“You,” Draco’s face was pale. He looked furious for a moment, before his anger cracked like an egg. “Beautiful idiot.”

“Are you okay?” Harry said.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, frowning again. “A little dizzy. And in pain.”

“Then, here,” Harry pushed the jar towards Draco, but he shook his head.

“The cuts have to stay. They have to look bad. That’ll make it worse.”

“But it could scar.”

“I told you, I want to match,” Draco said. “Now get out of here before someone sees you.”

“At least,” Harry had to force the words from his mouth “Can I at least distract you from it?”

Draco head dipped towards Harry’s. He chuckled and kissed him.

“You’re so cute when you flirt.”

*

Draco slipped a hand into Harry’s, and he started. That wasn’t usual for the potions corridor. He looked down, and grinned.

Draco was wearing a black glove. And so was he. One pair between them.

“So that explains where it came from,” Hermione said tartly.

One, or both of them pulled away. It was hard to tell who moved first.

“Yes, Granger,” Draco said, sweetly. He smiled at her and she smiled back, just as fake. They looked like wolves sizing each other up.

“I want to tell you now, Draco Malfoy,” she said, stepping up to him even though he was more than a head taller than her. “I’m only trusting you because of Harry. If you make one wrong move – do one thing I think is suspicious, then you’ll find out exactly what happened to Rita Skeeter for the last year.”

Draco swallowed. It was hard to tell if he grew pale, because he already looked like marble under the gloomy dungeon lights.

“Speaking of,” he said, but his voice had the slightest wobble. He cleared his throat. “Can you set me up with another article for her?”

“You want another article in the Quibbler?” Hermione asked, like he was asking her to take him to Mars. “Why? No one’s allowed to read it anymore.”

“No students,” Draco corrected. “I don’t want students to read it. I want parents to.”

“We’ve got a plan,” Harry said.

“I’ve got a plan,” Draco said. “We need some blackmail for it and an article is the perfect thing.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

“No.”

“This is exactly why I don’t want to work with him, Harry.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Draco said. He looked away. “The less people know about it, the less information that can get tortured out of you.”

Hermione frowned, but not her usual ‘I am angry at Draco’ frown. A worried frown. She opened her mouth-

The other Slytherins arrived and Draco drifted from them like smoke. No matter what, he still had pretences to keep up it seemed. Harry watched him clasp Nott’s hand and Nott make a joke about how crazy he was for winding Umbridge up like that. Draco just laughed.

“Merlin’s beard, Harry, you don’t have to watch him constantly. You look like a kicked puppy.”

“That’s exactly how you looked at Krum after the Yule Ball,” Ron said, but he was watching Nott too.

“And how you looked at Fleur Delacour.”

Ron blushed and the conversation was settled.

Harry laughed, and forced himself to return to normal. To not notice Draco’s fingers brushing against his as they worked side by side. Or Draco’s aftershave. Definitely not how he hadn’t thought to put on aftershave.

They hadn’t gone into the Slytherin Common Room, last night. They had traipsed back up the staircases, trading secret passages until they reached the North Tower. The Divination Classroom had been perfect, even if Ginny had winked at him when he arrived to breakfast late, with his school uniform crumpled.

That night wasn’t so enjoyable. Detention and then they were headed back to Malfoy Manor. He hoped Aberforth would be okay with them zipping back and forth so many times. He would offer to work another hour.

The plan – the letter of complaint and the article, was what kept him going through the detention. He couldn’t even half-ass the lines – not if he wanted a messy, squiggly scar. That wouldn’t be cool. He was sure there would be an occasion where he could show the scars and say ‘I must not tell lies.’ It would be like a movie.

“You may have noticed, Mr Potter, that I was unable to make our detention yesterday,” Umbridge said. Harry glanced up, he raised an eyebrow and sighed like he was bored. Umbridge’s eye twitched. “I hope Professor McGonagall gave you a suitable punishment?”

Harry shrugged. He thought about a cat joke, but it wasn’t worth the effort. Anyway, discussing his sexuality with McGonagall was bad enough.

“I had a boy from your year here instead,” Umbridge continued. Her voice was tight, but pleasure seeped in as she continued. “A boy telling all the same sorts of lies you are spouting. Is it not funny that he is in Slytherin house?”

“Hilarious,” Harry said. But his quill paused. It shuddered, like it was enjoying the elephant squashing itself into the room.

“Tell me, Mr Potter, could it be that this same student is the one who spoke in that nonsense interview?”

“Well,” Harry took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. He was cool. He was cool like Draco. “There are a lot of Slytherins. Professor. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Umbridge pumped the syllables out of her mouth. “A model student, until yesterday.”

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Professor.”

“His room will be searched,” Umbridge clasped her hands behind her back, taking tiny pony-like steps across the room. “I am certain we will find a copy of The Quibbler in there.”

The idea of Draco reading the Quibbler was so ridiculous, Harry almost laughed. Instead, he settled for a bemused, “okay.”

“I know you are up to something, Mr Potter,” Umbridge had ice freezing the edges of her voice. “I strongly suggest you focus on your studies.”

He wanted to say that he’d been getting E’s in almost every potions lesson now, much to Snape’s distaste, but he so despised being in Umbridge’s presence, that he dropped it.

Harry finished his lines, and started to head to the Gryffindor common room, just in case she was watching him. When he was out of sight, he checked the Maruader’s map to see if the coast was clear. She was just walking back to her office.

Within half an hour, was soaring back to Malfoy Manor.

‘Winding wool back up,’ that would have been a good cat joke. He should have said that.

“This isn’t a tube station, you know,” Aberforth grumbled when he saw them. There were only a few customers, and they barely glanced at them.

“It’s important,” Draco said. “We have to get our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher fired.”

Aberforth raised two bushy eyebrows.

“So that’s what keeps happening to them.”

“I haven’t been involved with all of them being sacked,” Harry said, then paused. “Well – I wasn’t really responsible for Lupin.”

Aberforth’s eyebrows were in danger of merging with his shaggy hair, but he let them use the fireplace. It cost Harry a Saturday of barwork, but at least he would be out of the castle.

Narcissa pounced as soon as they were standing in the grate.

“How bad is it? Let me see,” she demanded, grabbing Draco’s hand.

“Not – in front of Potter,” he managed to protest. He was already peeling back the glove.

“I’m not squeamish.”

“That’s not why.”

But the glove was off. There it was. Four words etched into Draco’s skin. Teachers must have respect.

Narcissa looked less like a veela and more like one of the mermaids from the Black Lake. She stormed across the room, towards a musty, black old fashioned telephone. The kind with a ring for the numbers. The clink of Narcissa swinging the ring around to punch them in seemed to echo.

Harry picked up Draco’s glove, handing it back to him.

“I didn’t know you had a telephone,” he murmured.

“We’re not cavemen,” Draco replied, but was hushed by Narcissa.

“Yes? Hello? I need to speak to the Minister of Magic…I assure you he is not out of office at the moment…Tell him it’s Narcissa. Narcissa Malfoy.” The name was like a password, within seconds, Narcissa was saying. “Cornelius. Good evening. I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you,” Harry could hear Cornelius mumbling away like a fat bee on the other end. “Yes. You see, I received a worrying letter from my son at Hogwarts, yesterday…yes, you have met him once or twice,” Draco smirked at Harry. He rolled his eyes, fighting back laughter. Everyone had met the Minister of Magic at least once. “Yes, he told me he had detention with your ministry approved teacher and was in a lot of pain. Of course, I bade him return to me at once. He has been tortured with dark magic…Yes. I am sure. There are words in his hand, Cornelius. I can only put that down to dark magic…I just wonder why a teacher from the ministry would take such barbaric action against a star pupil…Of course, I will send an image…You will do something about this…Do not give me excuses, Cornelius,” she glanced at Draco, and he nodded. She smiled, adjusting the phone against her ear. “I have already contacted a reporter about it. If I don’t see action done within the week, I can assure you, it will be sent off…Yes. Good night, Minister. Thank you for your time.”

Narcissa put the phone down and her charming smile dropped.

“What a shame we’ll be too late to stop them printing the article,” Draco said, but Narcissa was rushing back to him, fishing a bowl of Murtlap juice from under the table.

“Both of you. Hands,” she said. “Mr Potter, we can squeeze in another divination lesson, whilst you’re here.”

“But-“ Harry knew it was useless to protest. He wanted to say ‘but Draco is here.’ Or ‘but, I’m tired.’ But, they had to get on with it.

He did fairly well, he thought, considering Draco was watching them both with considerable interest. He was tired though, and his throbbing hand was hard to drag his concentration away from. Before long, the memories were flooding across his mind. It was only a small consolation Draco couldn’t see.

And there was the door. The black door. Over and over again.

The link stopped.

“Where did you see that?” Narcissa stopped.

“Well I was hiding in the cupboard when Dudley-“

“Not that,” she held up a hand. She was sat on the floor with both of them, her skirt flooding around her like water. “The door.”

“Just a dream,” Harry shrugged.

“That is not your dream.”

“Whose…oh, right.”

“You must not go down that corridor, Mr Potter.”

“I – didn’t think it was real.”

“It’s real and-“ Narissa stopped. There were footsteps on the stairs. Close footsteps. She pushed Harry and Draco over to the window. They half fell onto the wide ledge.

“Feet up,” she hissed, pulling the curtains. They heard her click her fingers.

“Sweetheart.”

The voice made Harry’s heart stop. He stared at Draco, illuminated by the moon on one side and fallen completely into the shadow of the thick curtain on the other. Two halves.

“Lucius,” Narcissa said. “You are home early this evening.”

“Cornelius sent an urgent message,” Lucius said. “He said I was to come home immediately because my son was injured.”

“The minister does work fast,” Narcissa said. “I only just got off the phone with him.”

“Where is he?”

“Draco? He’s upstairs. Sleeping.” She didn’t even hesitate.

“They have a hospital wing at Hogwarts, do they not?”

“I wanted him here. He was injured by a teacher.”

“Never trusted Hogwarts. Turned to dragon’s dung after Professor Black.”

“I know.”

Well, now Harry knew where Draco got it from.

Draco reached out, curling his fingers around Harry’s. His lips were pressed tightly together.

“I heard you talking,” Lucius said. The threat was evident from the cut of his voice.

“House elves. I was just getting them to tidy up a little,” Narcissa said. Her voice was sweet, like a Princess. “I always want the house to be clean for when you come home.”

But she was met with silence.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Narcissa’s voice wobbled the tiniest bit on ‘dear.’

Draco closed his eyes, his eyebrows drawn low. Harry held his breath.

“You seem to be spending a lot of time in this room lately.”

“It’s the fireplace. It’s been keeping me warm. I keep saying how it’s been such a cold winter.”

“But, my sweet, the fireplace is not lit.”

“It’s getting warmer now. I do not need to light it so much. I like it down here. It gives me a chance to think. I have taken to doodling on spare parchment in the evenings. I am at such a loss. What would you think about an easel, darling?”

“Mmm,” Lucius seemed to lose interest in the conversation. “You will not be bored soon. The Dark Lord is working fast. If Rookwood plays his part, we will have what we want soon enough.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“You do not look thrilled by the news.”

“I am worried about Draco, that is all.”

“He is strong, Narcissa. He is our son. And he will serve the Dark Lord well.”

“You were not fifteen when you started serving the Dark Lord.”

“Yes, well,” there was an edge to his voice. A finality. “Times change.”

Harry counted the footsteps it took for Lucius to exit the room. He heard the door click softly and felt muscles he didn’t even know he had relax. Meanwhile, Narcissa was hugging Draco tightly. She was humming something to him. Something Harry didn’t recognise.

“You’ll have to creep upstairs,” she murmured.

“I can’t leave Hogwarts.”

“Your father cannot find out I lied to him, mon ange.”

They were whispering, their bodies close. Like it wasn’t the first time they had done this.

“Okay,” Draco dipped his head. He glanced towards Harry. “You’ll have to go back on your own. Don’t break my broom, alright Potter?”

“Of course,” Harry said. He wanted a hug goodbye. “I’ll, um, see you later. Bye.”

Draco’s cheeks were pink. It was the only thing to settle his nerves on the journey back.

“Does Albus know about this?” Aberforth’s voice said as soon as he stumbled into the Hogs Head.

“About what?”

“Any of it,” Aberforth waved a hand. He was in the middle of cleaning a smeary glass. “Sneaking around? Getting your teacher fired?”

“No,” Harry said. “He doesn’t care.”

“If there’s anything he cares about, it has always been the wellbeing of his students.”

“Well he doesn’t care about me, okay? Not anymore.” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s broom and starting out of the inn. “He barely even looks at me.”

“Can’t take not being the centre of attention?” Aberforth called after him. He stopped, his anger bubbling under his skin.

“It’s not that,” Harry said. “I wish it was. I just thought – after last year – I could help him.”

“You’re a child.”

“Who’s faced Voldemort four times and lived,” Harry snapped. “If anyone can help take him down, it would be me, right?”

“Albus does that. He makes you feel special. Like he cares. Then as soon as something prettier and shinier comes along, he forgets about you.”

“It’s not like that!” Harry spun on his heel. “You don’t understand! You can’t help him – but I can!”

Harry stormed out of the pub and down the street, enjoying the sound his boots made on the cobblestones and ignoring the spitting rain. He was worried. He was stressed. He was in pain.

And he missed Draco. He missed Draco so much.

*

“Potter, I assume you know where your boyfriend is,” Nott said. Dumbledore’s army were firing spells back and forth. Stregthening their protego charms.

“It’s all part of the plan,” Harry said. “I mean, it wasn’t, but now it is.”

“Well Snape lost it. Big time. He says he didn’t give Draco permission to leave the castle.”

“I didn’t know we need Snape’s permission to go anywhere,” Ron grumbled, holding his wand like a knight’s shield to fend off Nott’s attacks.

“You need your head of house’s permission to go home, dummy.”

“Who are you calling a dummy?”

“Who does it look like?”

“Expelliarmus!”

Nott had gotten distracted, waving his wand through the air carelessly and Ron had struck. Nott’s wand flew across the room, earning a wide smirk from Ron.

“You take my wand and what else, Weasley?” Nott said, winking as he left to run after it.

“He knows I’m not-“ Ron gestured. “Right?”

“Do you know?”

“Harry.”

“Well, you did sleep with a man for three years.”

“He was a rat.”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t really in the mood to make jokes. He wanted to hide. He wanted to go to sleep and when he woke up, to find Draco smirking down at him, as flawless as ever.

 But that didn’t happen.

Instead, they woke up to find a new educational decree. It declared that student’s mail had to be checked and approved by the High Inquisitor before it was sent home.

“Was that part of the plan?” Hermione asked as they stared up at it.

“The plan was to get her fired,” Harry muttered.

“Well, whatever you did, you definitely struck a nerve,” Hermione said.

“We sold out of the Quibbler again,” Luna said. She seemed to appear as suddenly as Peeves when she wanted to. “Dad’s getting very excited. He says people are really getting into Crumple Horned Snorkacks.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” Hermione said. “What exactly did you do, Harry?”

He showed her the cuts on his hand, feeling cool.

“We told the truth.”

“That’s why Malfoy got detention,” Hermione said. “If his father heard about it-“

“His father heard. So did the minister.”

“So how’s he going to hear about this then?” Ron gestured over their shoulders to the board. “Dumbridge is not letting anything through that will jeopardize her position.”

They thought for a moment.

“We could use a code,” Harry said.

“Yeah – that would be cool!” Ron said.

“Definitely not,” Hermione said. “It would be too obvious. We’d be sending nonsense – it would never get through.”

They paused.

“Why don’t we just…tell people?” Ron said. “Harry, you can tell Sirius via floo powder or something – and he can tell the order.”

Hermione nodded.

“And on our next Hogsmede trip, we can tell Madame Rosmerta and she’ll pass it on to everyone in the Three Broomsticks…sorry Harry, I know it must be hard for you.”

“It’s not like it’s stopping me,” Harry said. “Just bring me back something from Honeydukes, yeah?”

It was then that they were interrupted by Umbridge’s pitter patter footfalls.

They turned and received the first good piece of news all week. There was a short, harassed young woman wearing a ministry uniform following Umbridge. Her parchment trailed on the ground behind her, and a quick notes quill was posed in front of her, making it look like a feather was sprouting from her collar.

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” she was saying to Umbridge. “The minister insists. He says he can’t have his workers disgruntled. If the employee satisfaction goes down any further…”

She rambled off numbers and jargon as Umbridge slowed to bestow a customary glare on the outraged students. Hermione grabbed Harry’s shoulder and turned him before Umbridge could see him.

“At least something good came of your silly plan.”

“So Umbridge is going to be watched whilst she’s watching our lessons?” Ron frowned. “That makes things complicated.”

“It means Umbridge’s mischief is,” Harry paused for effect, grinning. “Managed.”

“That’s…really awful,” Hermione shook her head. But she was laughing. They were all laughing.

Harry felt a flicker of pride. He had done something against Umbridge. And he had done it without Dumbledore.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts was lonely without Draco Malfoy, which was something Harry Potter had never thought he’d admit. But he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything. He ended up creating countless scenarios in his mind about why Draco hadn’t come back yet.

“Maybe his dad found something out,” Harry said.

“Would you focus on your spells, Harry? You’ve just turned that beetle into a thimble instead of a button.”

“Maybe I should go and check on him – just in case.”

“You’re not getting out of the castle now,” Hermione said, but she tapped her wand on the table in a nervous beat. “Umbridge has Filch checking where everyone’s going on the door, remember?”

“I could say I’m going to visit Hagrid.”

“That’s probably banned too,” Ron said, glumly. “I wish you’d chosen next week to do this stunt, Harry. Charlie said he was sending Chocolate Frog cards to trade.”

“Are neither of you concerned about Draco? Like, at all?” Harry snapped. “He could be in serious trouble!”

Hermione and Ron shared a glance with each other and shrugged.

“Look, mate, it’s great that he’s trying to turn over a new leaf and all,” Ron said. “But he’s still a complete prick. You’re asking a lot for me to care about him now.”

“He’s right, Harry. And Draco knew the risks.”

Rather unsurprisingly, neither of these sentiments comforted Harry. When he cornered Nott, he just received a shrug and a muttered “not my problem.”

No one seemed to know whether to hate Harry or call him a hero. On the one hand, there was no torture methods being used in detention, not with the nervous, mousy ministry official watching her. In fact, even her lessons were more tolerable knowing she couldn’t do anything to them anymore. On the other hand, he was responsible for their private mail going through her pink claws and the restrictions on leaving the castle. The mail had caused the most problems as no one was able to smuggle in banned items from home. One seventh year told Harry their girlfriend at Durmstrang wasn’t speaking to them anymore because their mail had been held up.

“But,” Ginny had said. “It shows you’re doing something. You got a rise out of that bitch and she’s trying to stop you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, scratching at the corner of his parchment with his quill. They were supposed to be studying in the library before the DA meeting, (as Umbridge had written off Harry’s detentions, with distaste on her face,) but no one seemed to be doing a lot of work. Dean and Seamus had disappeared to the restricted section an hour ago. Ron had somehow cajoled a group into a silent noughts and crosses war, including Hermione. In fact, she was sat very close to Ron and he kept grinning lopsidedly at her. Nobody seemed to settle. The plan may have gotten a rise out of Umbridge, but Harry felt like he’d brought a war zone into the school and no one was quite sure how to deal with that.

“I know why you’re upset,” Ginny kicked him under the table. “Your dreamboat still hasn’t come back, has he?”

“That’s not the only reason,” Harry said. It was mostly the truth, he guessed. From a certain point of view.

“I have to thank you for it,” Ginny said. She looked as though she was trying her hardest to fight back a grin. “He’s not around to help Luna with her homework.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry said. Her grin was infectious, and he found his mood lifting, if only marginally. “There’s no one around here with brains quite like Draco’s.”

“I have a brain like Draco’s.”

“You? No way.”

“Yes way,” Ginny elbowed him. She pretended to frown, but it only lasted a second before her face lit back up again, her eyes shining. “At least, that’s what Luna thinks.”

“You make it up, don’t you?”

“Only when I’m not sure of something.”

Harry shook his head, pretending to tut.

“I can’t believe you’d jeopardize a girl’s education just to get with her.”

“I’m not saying anything I wouldn’t say – and my grades are fine, thank you very much,” Ginny said. She sighed, hiding behind a curtain of ginger hair, her voice suddenly dropping. “I don’t even know if she likes girls.”

She sounded fragile and that worried Harry. He had never seen Ginny falter like that. She had always seemed unbreakable. Even when she had been sobbing in the Chamber of Secrets she had been more worried that she was going to be expelled than the fact she had almost died.

“Good thing you’re not a girl then,” Harry said.

“What?” at least it made some of the fire return to her face, even if the flames were directed towards Harry.

“You’re a force of nature, Ginny. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Ginny stared at him for a long time, her freckles looking like fairy dust spread across her cheeks. Then she rolled her eyes, and jabbed him with her elbow again.

“Shut up.”

The DA didn’t stay much later before they collectively decided to give up on work and sloped down the corridor. They were stopped, however, by a sound akin to that of a cat wailing, from the entrance hall.

Hermione frowned at Harry and they changed direction like a school of fish just in time to see Umbridge leering over Professor Trelawny on the stairs.

“I’m sure minister has to approve this first,” the ministry official, who didn’t appear to have a name, murmured.

“The Minister already agreed,” Umbridge waved the woman off like a fly.

“This time…it’s not my fault, right?” Harry muttered.

“No. It’s not,” Hermione said. “This is all Umbridge.”

Harry found himself pitying Trelawny as she lay on the stairs. Sure, she wasn’t a great teacher, but that didn’t mean she deserved this.

Lavender Brown had begun sobbing onto Ron’s shoulder, which made him look exceedingly awkward. They were collectively pushed aside as McGonagall swept in to the rescue. Harry was beginning to think she would be a better headmaster than Dumbledore. Despite all the stoicism he seemed to associate with her, at least she actually noticed things.

And his big entrance, Harry thought, as the doors swung open, was just a little too late. He always seemed to show up just a little too late, Harry realised. For four years, every time Harry had gotten into danger, Dumbledore had conveniently showed up afterwards. It was almost like he wanted Harry to be killed.

But that would be nonsense.

He shook his head and tuned into the conflict that was playing out before them. The whole school seemed to have gathered to witness the showdown between Umbridge and Dumbledore. Although electricity cackled in the air though, it was like watching a normal conversation.

Dumbledore waved his newfound astronomy teacher in and Harry’s jaw dropped. Not because of Firenze, he had seen centaurs enough times now that he wasn’t particularly shocked, but because of who was with him.

Of course that was how Draco would return to Hogwarts, chatting to Firenze with his wand held between his fingers like a cigarette, practically glowing because of his time spent at home. Or maybe he was just glowing because Harry hadn’t seen him in a few days and had forgotten what he looked like.

Draco glanced around the crowded entrance hall with a somewhat proud expression – like he expected the whole school to show up just to welcome him back. He winked and Harry was sure it was at him.

“And our missing student returns with this,” Umbridge’s mouth twisted, as though she was struggling to find the right word. “Teacher of yours.”

“Mr Malfoy explained his situation quite adequately to me,” Dumbledore said, but he barely glanced at any of the students. “A parent has every right to bring their child home from Hogwarts if they feel their safety is in jeopardy.”

“As long as they provide the correct notice,” Umbridge said, her wide mouth widening further still.

“I did send an owl, Professor,” Draco’s charm seemed turned up to fifty in his absence. “It must have gotten…lost.”

So, somehow he had found out about the postage situation. His apologetic smile turned into more of a sneer at the look on Umbridge’s face.

“I believe I shall have to find a suitable classroom for our new teacher,” Dumbledore said, seemingly oblivious to the conflict in the room. “In the meantime, I believe we could all do with some well-earned rest, what with everyone hard at study and all this excitement.”

There was mumbling and shuffling, but nobody moved.

“Well?” Umbridge snapped, fixing a glare around the gathered students. “You heard the headmaster! Off to your dormitories. All of you.”

She was full of such anger that she was almost spitting like a kettle. People began to move, albeit slowly, back to the Common Rooms.

“You guys head up,” Harry muttered. “I’ll catch up.”

“No, he won’t,” Ginny said, but she led the herd away from the stairs, whilst Harry lingered at the bannister. He leant against it, trying to look nonchalant, but desperate to catch Draco’s eye.

He wasn’t sure it worked. Maybe he had been too subtle, because Draco was heading through the Entrance Hall without any apparent goal. Maybe he hadn’t see Harry. Maybe he thought Harry didn’t care.

Then he saw why. Umbridge was making a beeline towards him, like an angry pink wasp. He watched as they grew nearer and nearer, until Draco was almost past her. Harry stepped out, ready to meet him and interrogate him about the last three days, when Umbridge’s fat little hand snapped out.

She caught Draco’s arm and said something, her face close to his. The charming smile fell from his face instantly, his eyes glittering malevolently. Harry watched his mouth move, before he tugged his arm from Umbridge’s grip and continued walking, a scowl on his face that made the first years scatter.

‘Half an hour, Potter,’ he jumped as the voice came through his mind, crystal clear. ‘Your place.’

That was enough to get Harry scurrying up the stairs.

Ron raised an eyebrow at him as he bundled into their dormitory, tripping over the top step.

“What happened? Malfoy didn’t want to see you?” he said. A good sense of lingering resentment was still in his voice.

“Malfoy – here,” Harry panted. He leant against the door, waiting for his breath to return. “He’s coming here.”

“No. No, I draw the line at him coming into our dorm,” Ron said.

“Why would Draco Malfoy be coming here?” Neville asked. He looked from Ron to Harry, seemingly oblivious to Dean and Seamus’ knowing snickers.

“Ron, there’s loads of people in common room still.”

“Not in my room.”

“You let us in your room,” Dean said. He was sat on the end of Seamus’ bed, their legs entertwined.

“Yeah, what’s the difference?” Seamus said.

“The difference is I don’t want Malfoy going through my stuff,” Ron said.

“Why on earth would he be going through your stuff?” Harry asked.

“Why is he coming here?” Neville repeated.

“Come on, Ron, he’ll be too busy snogging Harry to even care about your stuff,” Dean said.

“That’s worse! I don’t want to seem my best friend snogging my worst enemy! That’s like seeing some creep all over my sister.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of being Ron’s sister, but he was saved having to reply by the pebble dropping in Neville’s mind.

“You and Malfoy?!” he repeated incredulously.

“It took me by surprise too,” Harry muttered.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“He didn’t tell anyone,” Ron said. Anger that he’d evidently been storing away bubbled to the surface.

“What was I supposed to say? I was just as confused as anyone else!”

There was a knock at the window, before it swung open and Draco stuck his perfect head in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, crossing to the window as though he would be able to hide Draco’s bulk.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, is it?” Ron said, folding his arms.

“No, it isn’t. And you sound like a walrus when you’re asleep, Weasley. Just to let you know.”

“We’ll go somewhere else!” Harry said, quickly, in case wands started coming out.

“Like where?” Draco asked.

“Anywhere,” Harry pushed at him to stop him from clambering through the window. “Move up.”

He tried to climb out of the window as graciously as possible, but his foot caught on the ledge and he threatened to pull them both from the broom. He could hear more of Dean and Seamus’ snickering and felt rather than saw Ron shaking his head exasperatedly.

Draco was cold. Almost freezing, but he settled the broom on the roof of Gryffindor tower. The tiles were slick from the rain, but once Harry had wedged his feet against the parapet, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

A lightning fork speared the sky, accompanied by a far off rumble of thunder. The weather seemed to match the mood of Hogwarts perfectly, almost like the castle was alive.

“We’ll catch our deaths out here,” Draco said.

“It’s only spitting.”

There was a pause. For the last few days, Harry had thought of everything he had wanted to say to Draco. Everything that he had thought of died on his tongue. He had no idea anymore.

“How’s your hand?”

Draco peeled back the black glove. The cuts had almost healed, leaving behind only a few mismatched letters.

“Looks like we’re not getting matching scars after all,” Draco said, but his voice was losing the charm and snark it had a few moments ago, when he was insulting Ron.

“Are you okay?” Harry leant forward slightly, frowning so hard he could feel the rim of his glasses pressing into his skin.

Draco didn’t answer immediately. First, he leant onto Harry’s shoulder heavily, like a doll someone had propped up against him. A few stray hands of Draco’s hair tickled his cheek.

“I’m tired, Harry,” he said, his voice small. Harry still wasn’t used to that voice saying his name.  “I sleep but I – I don’t feel rested.”

“I know how you feel,” Harry said.

Draco sighed, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. The rain looked like a cascade of shooting stars as the droplets caught the moonlight. Even though Harry was stressed and confused and tried to the very core of his being, there was no better place that he could imagine, especially when Draco’s arms snaked around him.

“You learnt occlumency,” he continued, when Draco continued to be silent.

“Mother thought it best that I learn it,” Draco’s voice was muffled. “Just in case anyone cross checks. She said I can practice with you.”

“I’m not sure how I felt about having you in my mind,” Harry said. It was hard enough hiding his thoughts about Draco from Narcissa, let alone hiding his thoughts about Draco from Draco.

“Why, Potter? What have you been thinking about me?” Draco said, his lips pressing against Harry’s jawline.

“That you’re a total prat,” Harry replied, but he turned his head, butting his forehead against Draco’s gently.

Draco grinned at him for a moment, before his face fell again. The fatigue crept back into his voice.

“She thought it would save us a few trips, since it’ll be harder than ever to get out of Hogwarts now.”

“And it’ll save us a few shifts at the Hog’s Head?”

“That too.”

“So how did you get out tonight?”

“I think I’ll keep that a secret,” Draco kissed Harry’s nose, his grin starting to return, especially at Harry’s frown. “Anyway, you’ll never guess what that crapaud said.”

“Who?”

“Umbridge. Remind me to teach you French, Potter, it’s like talking to a child sometimes, I swear.”

Harry ignored that.

“What did she say?”

“That she knew I was behind ‘all of this tomfoolery,’ and that she was going to see I get expelled for it all, just I wait and see.”

“And what did you say?”

“Only that the board of governors would no doubt have some interesting comments if one of their sons were expelled on the presumptions of an untrustworthy individual.”

“You’re kidding.”

“And to watch her step.”

“That’s certainly a step up from ‘my father will hear about this.’”

“I don’t say that.”

“No, you go around threatening teacher’s instead. Do you think you’re invincible, Draco?”

“I feel it.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I’m good with burns,” Draco shrugged, and leant backwards. He saw the frown on Harry’s face and kissed him until Harry found himself smiling again. “We did it, Potter. She’s being watched like a hawk now.”

“She’s checking our mail.”

“Let her,” Draco said. “No one’s stupid enough to write anything confidential now that she’s told everyone that. She’d be better off doing it behind everyone’s backs.”

“I missed you.”

Harry hadn’t meant to say it. It had just slipped out. He turned away quickly, burying his shame under his mess of hair.

“I missed you too.”

Draco’s hand covered his. He moved slowly, hooking a finger under Harry’s chin and turned him towards him.

“And I missed this,” he said, his mouth on Harry’s, his tongue on Harry’s and his hand on Harry’s.

It was worth the wait.

*

Harry was sick the next day. Which was awkward in the extremely quiet Divination class of everyone ‘watching the stars.’ (Most people seemed to be sleeping.) He was sure he was going to suffocate from holding in his coughs.

Draco, of course, was fine, and found it hilarious.  He and Nott had taken to walking in a parallel across from them in the hallway and he had been smirking at Harry all day.

The only thing that could make it worse was an occlumency lesson with Snape. Harry had to admit that he was out of practice, but he made it through alive and with his secrets safe.

Harry seemed to be swapping Occlumency lessons for DA lessons. Umbridge had recruited seventh years to stand on the door when Filch wasn’t, watching where everyone in the castle went. With Harry’s cloak, they were still able to sneak out, but there were other problems.

Lucius was lurking at the manor more and more often now. Narcissa shortened the lessons – he wanted to sit with her whilst she worked. It was safer not to come.

Though Aberforth still cornered them the last time they had tried. Harry avoided his eye,  remembering the last time they had seen each other. He had been embarrassing, he knew, even if he knew he’d say it again.

“Trouble’s finally catching up to the pair of you,” he said. “Though I’m sure we had a deal.”

“We can’t get out of the castle,” Draco snapped. “Unless you want to explain to Professor Dumbledore that you’ve been making us work for you-“

“I don’t care about the work. I care about what kind of business you’re traipsing through here,” Aberforth said. “I know your family, boy. I don’t need dark magic lurking around this pub.”

Draco frowned at the floor. He glanced at Harry, but he just bit his lip.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No, we’re not,” Draco stared at him. “We’re trying to help. No one else is doing anything.”

“You are just children. Dumbledore shouldn’t be recruiting kids to fight in his war.”

“Dumbledore didn’t recruit me!” Draco snapped. “I chose this. I don’t want to see my father…” Draco swallowed, his Adam’s apple bopping heavily in his throat. He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to see my father kill people.”

Aberforth stared at Draco for a long time. Harry shuffled his feet. He knew he should have stood up for Draco and he knew he should say something now.

“And what do you think about all this?” he said, turning his eyes slowly to Harry.

Harry shrugged.

“I’m dragged into this whether I like it or not,” he muttered. “I might as well help.”

Aberforth shook his head slowly.

“You’d better get back to school,” he said. “Here.”

He pushed two bottle of pumpkin juice across the counter.

“Send an owl if you need anything.”

“Can’t,” Draco said. “Our letters are checked now.”

Aberforth’s bushy eyebrows rose and he sighed heavily.

“I’m sure you can find some way of asking me for help.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Draco said, he tugged at Harry’s robes. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Right,” Harry paused, then slid the two bottles towards him. His knuckles were white on the necks. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look up. He couldn’t bring himself to.

“You didn’t need to take them,” Draco said, as they headed out into the alley. “They’ve probably gone off.”

“It’s only polite,” Harry said. He dithered in front of the broom propped up against the wall. “So…when are you joining the DA?”

“As soon as you change the name.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

There had been a lot more DA meetings. People were stressed and they needed an outlet. They needed to think they were doing something. The few people who hadn’t accepted Nott had come back with tails between their legs because they hated Umbridge more than they did Slytherins. Now, it didn’t seem to make a difference. Things were going well. If they hadn’t been, Harry would probably be miserable.

They flew back through Harry’s window, the cloak haphazardly over them.

“Where did you even get this thing, Potter?” Draco whispered as Harry tugged it off of them. Between that, the broom and Draco, there wasn’t a lot of room and he found himself falling onto the bed.

“My dad,” Harry said, looking up at Draco.

Draco frowned, sinking onto the end of the bed.

“James Potter, right?”

“Right.”

“Would you believe me if I told you he was,” Draco trailed off, leaning against the bedpost.

“What?”

“My father doesn’t speak highly of him.”

“Your father doesn’t speak highly of anyone,” Harry said. He sighed, picking at the loose thread on his pillow. “I know he was a show-off about Quididtch, but you know, that’s teenagers.”

“He called Snape Snivellus for years,” Draco said.

“Well Snape probably deserved it,” Harry felt the sparks of anger flying inside him. That wasn’t his dad. His dad was good.

“He was a dick, Potter.”

“So were you!” Harry snapped. Ron stirred in his sleep and he forced himself to whisper again. “I don’t care what he was like to Snape, Malfoy. You don’t know what he was like to his friends!”

“Tell me then,” Draco leant forward.

“When Lupin turned into a werewolf-“ Harry stopped himself. Could he say this? He didn’t want to keep things from Draco, but at the same time. “They – they stuck with him.”

“Great.”

“I can’t tell you,” Harry said. “You’re talking nonsense anyway.”

“Oh yeah? Check Snape’s memories next time.”

Harry blinked.

“How do I do that?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, two days and I’ve learnt more than you have about Occlumency in two months.”

“Yeah, well you were probably subliminally trained from birth.”

Draco laughed and Harry pressed a hand over his mouth. This time, Neville stirred.

Draco pulled Harry’s hand away slowly, actively trying to control his grin.

“Okay, okay, I’ll show you,” he said. He kept hold of Harry’s fingers, pressing them to his mouth. “Do you trust me?”

“I’ve never trusted you,” Harry replied. “Fine. Show me.”

It wasn’t that hard, he found. Or maybe that was just Draco going easy on him. He simply had to push back -  move his wall forward. Suddenly he was getting images of of a tiny Draco sitting at a piano, his mother’s hands over his own. A house elf bringing him breakfast, or tidying his room. One blowing out a candle for him before he went to sleep.

One of Draco hunched in a corner, tiny and pale and shaking, with his father looming over him.

“That’s enough,” he felt Draco’s hands on his face, pulling him back to reality. The real Draco looked just as pale and shaken. “You did fine. You’re a natural.”

“I’m not,” Harry whispered. Ron and Neville began shuffling again. After a brief internal struggle, he got the courage to take Draco’s hand, leading him from the dormitory, closing the door behind them.

They sat on the stairs. Again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry whispered.

“About what?” Draco said. He leant against the wall, looking drained. “That I was scared of my father growing up? Who wasn’t?”

“I can’t say.”

“He never hit me. Or jinxed me or whatever,” Draco said. “That’s better than Goyle’s, at least.”

There was only the muffled sounds of snoring coming from the boy’s dormitory. Harry shuffled closer to Draco, leaning against him like a cat. Draco’s fingers ran through his hair.

“I’d rather talk about Lupin. What did your father do?”

“It was kind of illegal,” Harry said. “I can’t really say.”

Draco snorted lightly.

“You know, I hated him.”

“Lupin? Why?”

“Now that I look back, I guess it wasn’t anything that he did, particularly. No it was – I assume he did that stupid boggart exercise with your class too?”

“Yeah, he thought mine would be Voldemort so he stepped in front of me,” Harry said.

“Was it?”

“It was a dementor,” Harry said. “You took the mickey out of me for fainting.”

“You were a good scapegoat,” Draco said, somehow making it seem like a pet name. “They made me feel all weird. Which is ridiculous, because I don’t have any bad memories for them to bring up.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry tangled his fingers in Draco’s. “The boggart?”
“I didn’t think I was scared of anything,” Draco said quietly. He was watching a tiny, brown spider make a cobweb on the window. The wind was so strong they could feel it through the glass. “I thought that maybe I’d be the first person to see what a boggart truly looks like – because I was an arrogant little kid.” Harry stayed silent. He didn’t want to ruin this moment – the moment when Draco finally took his mask off. “You can imagine how confused I was when my father stepped out of that stupid wardrobe instead.”

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting way. He wasn’t sure what he could possibly say.

“The worst part,” Draco continued, his lips curling at the sides. “Was that I knew I couldn’t cast riddikulus. I couldn’t laugh at him. I’d make him into a laughing stock and then where would our reputation be. Reputation, reputation, reputation – the immortal part of myself and what remains is bestial.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“It’s Othello,” Draco turned, his lips grazing Harry’s forehead as he spoke. “It was mother’s favourite.”

“Oh,” this did not clear things up for Harry. He swallowed. “So what happened?”

“I didn’t need to. Someone laughed as soon as they saw it,” Draco said. “Pansy, I think. That set everyone off. Who could be afraid of their own father?”

“I’m sure plenty of people,” Harry said. “Plenty of people are afraid of your dad.”

“His son shouldn’t be one of them,” Draco said. He sighed through his teeth. “I said someone got in my way and messed it all up. Confused the boggart. But they knew. And it was Lupin’s fault.”

“He would never mean to do that,” Harry said. He traced a finger across the line of Draco’s lips, half wondering how he had got the courage to do so.

“But he did.”

“At least you didn’t faint,” Harry said and actually received a chuckle.

“You always have to trump me, don’t you, Potter?”

“That’s why I’m your rival.”

“Rival,” Draco paused, kissing Harry indulgently. “Sure.”

Things weren’t perfect. Things were far from perfect. A million problems lurked at the edges of the stairs, creeping into the shadows that fell over them. But for now, Harry decided they didn’t matter. Right now, he could forget everything.

And he wanted Draco to forget too.

Chapter Text

16

The Room of Requirement seemed to be full of a dozen, shining moons. On closer inspection, each was a Patronus, darting around its owner as joyfully as the memory that created it.

Harry was filled with a sense of wonder, the kind of wonder he imagined one would experience at Disney World, but he couldn’t focus. He never seemed able to focus recently, and there was only one person who usually caused that.

He had wanted Draco here. Nott had slid into the banter of the DA easily, so much so that Harry was confident there would be room for Draco too. It wouldn’t be perfect straight away of course, Hermione and Ron still gave him icy looks regularly, but it also wouldn’t be a complete disaster. These days anything up from complete disaster was a win.

Draco had even seemed to be weakening in his resolve, despite the name of the group. Harry had half-fancied that he’d turn up and find Draco lounging outside the Room of Requirement. Some things, he supposed, were just fantasy.

But the door opened.

Harry spun and frowned as he saw a small mountain of hats making its way through the crowd before he realised it was just Dobby. His heart fell, but he smiled all the same.

The smile fell at Dobby’s confession. Or rather, Harry’s confession and Dobby’s wail of confirmation. The words hung in the air – ‘is Umbridge coming here?’

Chaos descended on the room. Harry wasn’t sure where to look or what to do-

“Look!” Nott’s voice stopped everyone in their tracks. “If we all come pouring out, it will look suspicious. Groups of twos or threes, every few seconds. Don’t run in the hall, just head to your dormitory or the toilets,” he turned and grinned. “Weasley, Granger, you’re with me.”

Harry nodded his thanks and helped to stagger the exits of the members of the group. People murmured nervously and glanced at each other as they left, walking quickly down the hall.

He didn’t have a lot of time left. He left last, not taking the chance of glancing back at the door behind him before running down the hallway.

Something crashed into him and he stumbled backwards, grabbing madly for the wand in his back pocket.

“Potter?!” Draco. “What are you-“

“Not now!” Harry couldn’t think. He snatched at Draco’s wrist and pulled him along the corridor, scanning for anywhere that stood a chance of hiding them. He tugged the heavy fabric away from the wall, pressing himself them both into the alcove.

“Aren’t you meant to be in your silly club, right now?” Draco asked. Loudly.

“Shut up!” Harry hissed, wishing the tapestry would stop flapping and sit still. “We had to cancel. Umbridge.”

“Merde,” Draco whispered. His hand was on Harry’s back. Despite the fact that his blood was roaring in his ears and he could hear footsteps coming down the corridor, Harry felt himself smile. They always seemed to be pressed up against each other in small, dark space now. When had he felt so comfortable around Draco Malfoy?

The footsteps grew closer. Harry held his breath.

They stopped. Draco’s fingers clenched on the back of his robes. Just move on, Harry thought.

But the luck from all the close shaves at Malfoy’s Manor and sneaking out of Hogwarts had caught up with them. There was a strong, clear shout of “flippendo!” and the tapestry flew away from them.

Draco pressed himself as far away from Harry as possible, both of them blinking in the sudden light. There was a triumphant laugh and a call of “professor – professor! I found Potter!”

Harry squinted from under his hand at the attacker. Pansy Parkinson was standing there with a wide grin that quickly fell as she spotted Draco.

“Malfoy?” her voice dropped. There was an edge of anger to it. “What are you doing here? With Potter?”

Draco didn’t respond. His face was ashen and his mouth kept opening, but no sound came out.

“Well done, Miss Parkinson,” Umbridge’s voice accompanied her tiny, trotting footsteps and Harry rolled his eyes. Her gaze rolled over the two of them and her eyes glinted. “Well, isn’t this a surprise? I am sure you said you had nothing to do with Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” Harry said, but he had hardly finished speaking before Umbridge cut across him in a very quiet, very dangerous voice.

“I think you two should come with me to Professor Dumbledore’s office.”

Harry expected Draco to snap back at her. To say that they weren’t doing anything wrong, but he was like a statue. He expected himself to say something, but what could he say? He had no defence. Either he admitted he was part of the DA, or he outed Draco and himself to everyone. He wouldn’t be able to deal with matching ‘I must not kiss boys,’ scars.

So they trudged behind Umbridge to the stone gargoyle, followed by Pansy Parkinson’s outraged glare on their backs. He wanted to hold Draco’s hand, just so that expression would disappear. So that he would turn back into the Draco who could talk his way out of anything. Just to let him know that whatever happened, he would be there. But he didn’t have the courage. He could only walk next to Draco and hope that no one else had been caught.

Umbridge stormed into Dumbledore’s office, marching them straight into the middle of a crowd of people. McGonagall blinked at them from next to Dumbledore, who, if he was surprised, hid it well. Cornelius Fudge and Percy Weasley stood on the other side, exchanging smug glances from time to time, whilst Kingsley Shacklebolt and an auror Harry didn’t know stood guard on the door.

They were in big trouble. Surely it was just a coincidence the Minister was here. He must have come on some other business that just happened to coincide with this. That would mean that someone had tipped Umbridge off hours and hours before the meeting. That would mean a rat.

He hated himself for wondering just how he managed to bump into Draco Malfoy, the only person outside of the Order that knew about it.

He kicked himself. He hadn’t even told Draco it was tonight.

But Nott might have. That thought was just as annoying. Surely after the last two months, he had learnt to trust Nott and Malfoy, regardless of what house they were in. Surely.

Someone was speaking to him. He blinked at Fudge.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked and heard Draco snicker under his breath.

“I said, do you know why you are here?”

Dumbledore’s head twitched, but Harry didn’t need the hint.

“No, not really.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t know.”

Harry shook his head and Fudge turned to Draco.

“I don’t know either,” his voice was tight and his eyes were fixed straight ahead of him, at a spot on the wall about everyone’s heads.

“But surely, Dolores, you have brought the Malfoy boy here because he knows what Potter has done?”

“I found him with Mr Potter, minister.”

Fudge blinked at them like a very startled blob fish. Harry chanced another glance at Dumbledore again and saw the slightest of frowns on his face. He tried to look at innocent as he could.

“And the two of you aren’t aware that you have broken any school rules? Any ministry decrees?”

Harry felt a surge of relief and felt the same coming from Draco. This was about the DA. That was fine.

“Not that I know of,” Harry said. “Have you broken any rules, Malfoy?”

“As if,” Draco said. The colour had begun to return to his face.

“We have an informant,” Umbridge nodded at everyone and Fudge smiled. “Here, I’ll fetch her.”

They waited. McGonagall was staring at Harry with a mixture of shock and concern. He felt like he’d let down a mother and shuffled awkwardly, avoiding her gaze just as Dumbledore and Draco were avoiding his.

Umbridge stepped back into the room with Cho’s friend in tow after what seemed like a year later.

“She’s Mariette Edgecombe’s daughter,” Umbridge said benignly to Fudge. “Make sure to tell her what a good girl her daughter’s been.”

“Of course, of course,” Fudge’s lips tightened as he looked at Draco. “Unlike some of our employee’s children.” He shook his head. “Honestly, Mr Malfoy, wait until your father hears about this.”

Draco went pale again, before turning crimson.

“And what exactly will you tell my father, minister?” he was almost spitting out his words. “Whatever mess you think Potter’s in, it has nothing to do with me.”

“They were hiding behind a tapestry together. They are both in on it,” Umbridge said.

Harry saw McGonagall’s eyebrows shoot up and even Dumbledore glanced up at him.

“I am sure,” Dumbledore spoke slowly, like he was only running at half speed. “That Mr Malfoy would never get involved in whatever it is you think Mr Potter is doing.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining the jab in Dumbledore’s voice or not, but he found his temper growing very short with the man. There was the odd, snake-like urge to bite him. He pushed it from his mind as Umbridge pushed Cho’s friend forward, her tiny hands on the girl’s shoulders like manicured eagle talons with a sickly “tell them, dear.”

She raised her head, but only for a moment before Fudge cried out. Harry heard Draco’s sharp intake of breath and couldn’t quite believe the flash of what he had saw. Surely ‘sneak’ wasn’t written out in spots across the girl’s face.

Then again, Harry realised it was Hermione’s hex. This was the same girl who had kept Rita Skeeter in a jar for a year, she would definitely literally deface someone for being a snitch.

He wondered what she would do if Draco ever broke up with him.

Draco seemed to be thinking the same thing as he glanced towards Harry, his eyes wide.

It was horrible, but it had worked. She was keeping her mouth tightly shut, despite Umbridge’s cajoling. Harry almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

“We also have it on Willy Widdershin’s word that a meeting took place in the Three Broomsticks in October-“

“The word of a criminal?” McGonagall scowled at Umbridge like a tiger squaring up to a kitten. “So instead of serving time for setting up regurgitating toilets, he gets to spy for the ministry?”

There was an uproar from the portraits of former headmasters. Draco caught Harry’s eye and smirked, leaning almost imperceptibly closer to murmur.

“What do you think my father would say about that?”

Harry snickered, hastily turning it into a cough at order was restored to the room.

“Mr Potter was attempting to create an illegal society-“

“Was he?” Dumbledore turned a paperweight on his desk like it was a snow globe, raising an eyebrow at Umbridge in a very Aberforth way. “I am certain that back in October, Harry was operating well within school rules to make such a club.”

There was a hush around the room and Harry had to bite his cheek to stop himself from grinning.

“It has been almost six months since the Educational Decree has been passed,” Umbridge shifted her weight, as though she was about to lurch herself at Dumbledore. “Just because the first meeting was not breaking any rules, does not mean there were no rules broken tonight.”

“Oh? Is Miss Edgecombe going to tell us the details of six months worth of meetings?” Dumbledore looked towards her and she frantically shook her head, her eyes as wide as saucepans.

“She can certainly confirm it. If you just nod or shake your head, dear, I’m sure that won’t make anything worse.”

She shook her head, retreating against the wall of the room.

“This is all nonsense,” Draco snapped suddenly. “I’m not part of some stupid club – and either Marietta or Willy Widdershin’s can confirm that.”

Harry blinked at Draco. Surely he wasn’t throwing him under the bus. He had begun to think of them as a team.

“Well, Miss Edgecombe, have you ever seen Mr Malfoy at any of these meetings?”

Another frantic shake of the head. As she looked between Draco and Harry she frowned slightly, then ducked her head so that her fringe covered her face. Had she guessed? At least she wasn’t going to say anything.

“See? I’m completely innocent.” Draco said.

“I’m confused,” Percy Weasley squeaked from the corner, looking up from his quill. “If Malfoy wasn’t involved, what was he doing with Potter?”

“We were going to have a duel,” Harry lied. He was surprised at how easily it came from his mouth.

“Behind a tapestry?”

“A – a subdued duel.”

“A duel of wits,” Draco said. He rolled his eyes, slipping his hands into his back pockets. Lying all came so easily to him. “That’s technically not breaking the rules of no duelling on school grounds, is it? It’s not a wizard’s duel.”

There was a pause. Percy frowned at Fudge, who frowned at Umbridge, who frowned at McGonagall, who frowned at Dumbledore, who had a glint in his eye.

“It sounds to me like you have brought this pair in two discuss an inter-house drama better left alone,” he said.

“Professor Dumbledore, you don’t understand,” Umbridge’s sickeningly sweet smile had turned back on like a switch, her voice oozing patronisingly. “I have reason to believe that it is this pair behind the rash of false Quibbler articles. The ones spreading not only Potter’s lies, but false propaganda against me.”

“Quibbler articles?” Percy Weasley snickered under his breath, but his quill bobbed about all the same.

“Once more, Dolores, even if these two are doing so, that is not exactly breaking school rules. As I recall, it is only against the Educational Decrees to own a copy of the Quibbler, which, presumably, neither of them do.”

They shook their heads.

“It is anti-ministry propaganda,” Umbridge snapped. “And the evidence we have found in the Room of Requirement only seals that fact. Look, take a look at what this little group have named themselves.”

She fished a piece of parchment from out of her robes and handed it to Fudge, who paled at the sight. Dumbledore calmly took the paper and Harry felt his heart in his mouth as he watched those light blue eyes scan the heading. ‘Dumbledore’s Army.’

“Well,” Dumbledore placed the parchment down and laced his fingers together. “It seems we are discovered. Shall I draft up a written statement now, Cornelius?”

Glances were exchanged all around. McGonagall and Shacklebolt looked angry, but mostly fearful. That made Harry scared too.

“Dumbledore’s army,” Dumbledore said, calmly. “Not Potter’s.”

“You?” Fudge looked as white as fresh parchment and Harry felt the same. Surely this wasn’t happening.

“Me.”

“This is all part of your plot against me?”

“The Dumbledore’s army part, yes. I must confess that I had no inkling of what Dolores was doing to my students in their detentions. I found that article most enlightening.”

“It cannot be stood for,” McGonagall sniffed.

“I’ve told you! It’s all propaganda – there’s no truth to it.”

“Show them your hand,” Draco whispered.

“No. No way.”

“Harry.”

“It’s true. Every word of it,” Harry said, having to shout over the adults.

“This is all a distraction, to get away from the true plot. You are against us, Dumbledore. Weasley, have you got all of this down?”

“Yes, sir, I think so,” but Percy’s enthusiasm was stunted. “What was all that about a Quibbler article?”

“Never you mind,” Fudge said. He looked like a child in a sweetshop. “Now, we will escort Dumbledore back to the Ministry so he can be sent to Azkaban.”

“Ah yes. I thought this might be coming. Unfortunately, I am very busy and do not have time to go to Azkaban.”

“This is nonsense, all nonsense,” Fudge pulled out his wand. So McGonagall pulled out hers, so Umbridge pulled out hers, so the aurors on the door pulled their wands out.

Dumbledore shook his head, as though he was rather sad at this outcome.

A silver light streaked through the room like a stray bolt of thunder. A loud shot reverberated around the room like a cannonball and then someone was pushing him to the floor and he was pressed up against someone else. Dust filled the air, thick and heavy. Harry wasn’t sure who had cried out or who had groaned, but just as quickly as everything had descended into chaos, there was silence once more.

He coughed to find himself half underneath Draco and half underneath McGonagall, who had him by the scruff of his collar like he was a kitten. Draco’s hand was so tight around his own that he hadn’t even noticed for a moment.

“Are you all right?” a voice and tall figure came out of the dust and Harry blinked up at Dumbledore, who, he had to notice, was very pointedly not looking at Draco. “I hexed Kingsley too, so as not to draw suspicion. They will wake soon and it’s best to pretend this never happened. Everyone here seems to have gotten very good at lying.”

“Professor,” Harry started. He didn’t know where to continue. He had the sudden urge to come clean about everything – all of the occlumency lessons and sneaking around.

“They weren’t lies,” Draco said. His voice was like a growl. “We told the truth.”

“I thank you for it,” Dumbledore’s gaze finally turned to Malfoy. “I’d thank you to keep telling the truth, Mr Malfoy. No matter the cost. The two of you seem resourceful enough to make sure the Ministry is in check and Fudge will regret ever separating me from Hogwarts.” Harry wasn’t sure how much he knew, and he wasn’t really sure what to make of that. Neither did Draco. “Harry, you must listen too. You must keep practising occlumency, do you understand?” Harry nodded. He had understood from the start and know he was starting to wonder if he’d swallowed too much dust. Did Dumbledore really just praise Draco Malfoy? “Every night – you must close your mind to bad dreams-“

Someone groaned in the rubble. Dumbledore glanced around, furtively. For a man who claimed he wouldn’t be on the run, he definitely looked shifty.

He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and the urge to bite him redoubled inside Harry. He frowned at it, horror battling against anger. He wasn’t mad at Dumbledore. Dumbledore had just acknowledged that Draco was on their side. Dumbledore had just taken the fall for Harry’s mistakes.

The feeling disappeared as quickly as Dumbledore and Fawkes.

Fudge was jumping to his feet and Draco uncurled his fingers from Harry’s.

There was more shouting and much stamping of feet, but he looked out the window instead. Where did a man like Dumbledore go when he was on the lam?

And what on earth would happen to Hogwarts now?

*

“Of course its her,” Hermione’s lips curled in disgust. “It should be McGonagall. She’s the most experienced. And they can’t prove she was working with Dumbledore.”

Harry shrugged. Deep down, he supposed he knew Umbridge would get elected headmaster in Dumbledore’s place, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

And once again, everyone was pestering him for the details. Even Colin Creevey was bobbing around him, even though he had been avoiding him like the plague since his accidental coming-out.

“How did Dumbledore do it, Harry?”

“Oh, it wasn’t just Dumbledore on his own,” Draco said, sliding up behind Colin. “Potter whipped out his wand too. It was like he was composing a symphony of jinxes.”

“That’s not-“ Harry started, but Colin had already disappeared, repeating Draco word for word to a bunch of first years, who goggled at Harry. He sighed. “Is it always you who elaborates these stories?”

“I started the one about Fudge’s pumpkin head too,” Draco said.

“That’s very mature,” Hermione sniffed.

“I’m just doing what Dumbledore told me to do. I’m making the Ministry regret dislodging him from his position at Hogwarts. You should never underestimate the mockery of teenagers on morale, Granger.”

Hermione responded with a trademark glare.

“Why aren’t you hanging around your own house today?” she asked.

Draco’s smirk fell.

“I’m not the only one exaggerating things,” he said. He leant against the wall, his arms folded. “Can you believe that Pansy Parkinson had a crush on me?”

“Most girls who haven’t been jinxed by you have crushes on you,” Hermione snapped.

“You’re very flattering. I’d take you for a butterbeer if I didn’t have Potter,” Draco replied, but his heart was lacking from the snark. “All I meant was…she wasn’t exactly happy about seeing me pressed behind a tapestry with a boy.”

“Oh crap,” Harry whispered. He had actually forgotten that part of last night.

“Parkinson’s vocabulary for snog does impress me, I have to admit,” Draco stretched, like he couldn’t care less. He looked stiff and tired. “The whole school knows now.”

“Are they – I mean they wouldn’t-“ Harry stopped himself.

“Don’t worry, the whole gay thing totally overshadowed the blood traitor part,” Draco said.

Harry was reaching for his wand – “what were they saying?”

“No, you don’t,” Draco caught his wrist, still managing to make Harry’s heart skip a beat with just a light touch. “Dumbledore saved you from getting expelled for a reason.”

It would be worth getting expelled, Harry thought darkly, but people were starting to come out of breakfast in heavy droves now. It would only be a matter of time before the rest of the Slytherins saw them together, and that wouldn’t aid the situation.

“You don’t have to do this anymore, then,” Hermione said. Her voice was unusually soft, considering who she was talking to. “Go back and tell them all it was some lie.”

“But it’s just getting good,” Draco said. He winked at Harry. “And I must not tell lies.”

Harry glanced away, sure that his glasses were steaming up from the sheer heat of his face.

It wasn’t all bravado, though. A group of Slytherin fifth years walked by, coordinating jeers and glares as they passed the two of them. Harry wanted to sink into a hole. He should have done so a long time ago, he supposed.

Nott was tagging along behind them, his head down and his hands on his bag. He glanced up as he passed and opened his mouth.

Then his eyes slid to Ron, standing next to Hermione, and his mouth shut. He turned away without a word. Ron’s face fell.

“You Slytherins are all so judgemental,” he muttered.

“Everyone’s so judgemental, Ronald,” Ginny sniffed, though her hand was sat close to her wand too.

“Gryffindor’s aren’t.”

“Oh yeah? What do you think people would say if I came out as gay?”

“But that’s different. You’re not.”

Ginny’s eyes meet Harry’s, briefly, before she shrugged and muttered something about getting to class. Harry offered to walk her there. He had no real desire to head to class. There didn’t seem any point now – Hogwarts, the one place in the world where he felt safe, was no well and thoroughly ruined.

And it was mostly his fault.

“Don’t be late,” Hermione called after them. “Either of you!”

Harry waved her off. Draco seemed to have attached himself to Harry’s side, which was fine with him.

“You’re Luna’s friend, aren’t you?” he asked Ginny.

She glanced at him, obviously still angry with Ron.

“Yeah. She says I’m not as good at potions as you.”

“It’s not my fault I’m good at everything,” Draco shrugged. “When I saw her last, she asked me where you were.”

“She did?” Ginny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes glistening.

“She said something about your freckles and constellations,” Draco continued, seemingly oblivious to the growing grin on Ginny’s face.

“See, Harry – this is what I mean? That seems pretty – y’know-“

“It does.”

“But I can’t exactly ask her outright now. Not now that the two of you have messed everything up.”

“What can I say, we’re a power couple.”

The group of fourth years outside Ginny’s class spotted them down the hallway and began to whisper. Harry knew they didn’t have a lot of time left to chat.

“Look, Ginny, just pretend its Quidditch, okay? Luna is the golden snitch and if you don’t grab her soon, she’ll fly away.”

He thought it was a good analogy that played to Ginny’s strengths, but she stopped in the hallway and stared at him with outrage.

“Never give relationship advice, Harry. Merlin’s beard, women aren’t just something to ‘grab’ up.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and joined her class. Draco just snickered and leant against the wall.

“I have to concur with the Weasley girl.”

“Shut up.”

“There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Harry’s heart juddered. Was it to do with Narcissa?

“What?”

“Umbridge has set up an Inquisitorial squad. They’re basically one step above prefects.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“It is. But you need to watch your step – they’re out for blood.”

“What about you – don’t you need to watch your step?”

“If they take points from me they’re shooting themselves in the foot. They’re mostly Slytherins.” Draco said. He rolled his eyes, like Harry should have understood this before. He probably should have. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“I assume you’ve completely given up on our education system too?” Harry nodded. “Then we’re going to the Owlery.”

“Umbridge is checking our letters though.”

“Nott will check this one. He promised,” Draco caught sight of Harry’s raised eyebrows and sighed. “He still wants to help.”

“He completely blanked us just now.”

“Well, yeah? I would too. It’s a classic ‘save-your-own-skin’ mechanism. It’s much better than pulling your wand out at anyone who gives you any stick.”

“So I assume you’re writing to your mum?” Harry said. This was good. It was making him feel useful. Like he was doing something instead of sitting around waiting.

Draco nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about it all night. Father will definitely find out about last night. Fudge would tell him.”

Because that was what Draco Malfoy did, apparently. When he was outed to his whole house, he thought of his mum’s safety.

“But you weren’t involved in the DA. Your name’s not even on the list.”

“No, but I backed you up in the Quibbler, didn’t I?” Draco paused, slowing his pace. Most people were in class now. As long as they avoided Mrs Norris, they would be safe. “And I need to…dispel any rumours.”

“Ah,” Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He understood. Completely. It was almost laughable to imagine Lucius Malfoy being as supportive as Sirius.

But there was a small part of him that wished Draco didn’t have to hide it.

“I’m thinking it might be best to get her out the house. Just in case my father starts asking questions.”

“I…might know where,” Harry said. It was a long shot, and he wasn’t sure how Sirius would feel. At least he knew Narcissa was helping him. Surely they wouldn’t turn her away completely. “What about Grimmauld Place?”

“How do you know about Grimmauld Place?” Draco frowned at him.

“Sirius. But you could lie about that,” Harry thought for a moment. “You could say Bellatrix is there.”

“I could,” Draco looked impressed, and Harry felt a surge of pride. At least he could do one thing right.

It was just a shame that one thing was lying.

They stopped suddenly as a figure appeared around the corner and Harry muffled a swear.

Filch.

He leered at them in a way that made Harry want to reach for his wand all over again. Then again, everything today made him want to jinx something.

“Well,” Filch said. “Well, well, if it isn’t the stars of the school. Too good for class now, are we?”

“Got lost,” Harry shrugged. Draco started sniggering beside him and it was infectious.

“Not anymore, Potter. You’re to come with me. The new headmistress wants to see you.”

That wiped the smirk right off Harry’s face.

Chapter Text

17

Pigs could fly. At least, pink firework pigs with wings could fly.

Fred and George’s firework stunt, however, hadn’t exactly lifted Harry’s spirits. The Slytherin rumours had reached the Gryffindor tower by lunchtime and most of the people in the common room were shooting him filthy looks when they weren’t singing Fred and George’s praises. Even members of the DA who had come around to like Nott were promptly ignoring him. One of the kids in Ginny’s year had waited until she was out of earshot to spit “you were always a snake, Potter – ever since the Chamber of Secrets.”

Which had made her friend say, “just how is it you knew how to get down there, anyway?”

“I bet it was all a set up so that you could look the hero.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, snapping his textbook shut and speaking before either Ron or Hermione could. “You got me. I set it all up just to impress Ginny. A girl. And, as everyone now knows, I’m gay.”

He rolled his eyes. At the mention of her name, Ginny glanced over from where she was swigging butterbeer with Fred and George and pulled a face.

“Why don’t you two practice making love potions, or something?” she said. “It’s the only way McLagan will look twice at you.”

Her words were just as cutting as her curses. Both girls turned bright red and sloped off, quickening their pace as Ginny stalked over like a tiger.

“Butterbeer?” she offered the tankard to Harry. He shook his head.

“I’m good.”

“People are dicks,” she said this as though it was a consolatory statement.

“Yeah.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes.

“The Harry Potter I know doesn’t care what the school are saying about him. What’s really up?”

“Umbridge invited me to her office today,” Harry said. “She kept asking me where Dumbledore was. Well, Dumbledore, and Sirius.”

“Like you’d tell that crazy old bat anything,” Ron said.

“What makes her think you’d – oh!” Hermione’s eyes flashed with anger. “The cow!”

Harry nodded and, because Ron and Ginny were glancing at each other in confusion, filled them in.

“I think she might have been using veritaserum. She was very eager to get me to have a cup of tea.”

The array of insults hurled in Umbridge’s direction did nothing to lift Harry’s mood either.

“Surely that’s not legal,” Hermione finished it off, but Harry could only shrug.

“I can’t prove anything. I threw it away as soon as the fireworks went off.”

“No one’s going to care, anyway,” Ginny said. “None of the teachers can stand against her, and the ministry won’t do anything.”

“The board of governors could – they’re all parents,” Ron said. “Remember in second year when they sent Hagrid to Azkaban?”

“Half of them are ministry,” Harry said.

“This is ridiculous!” Hermione cried. “There’s not a single thing we can do!”

“Break out and go to the Order.”

“No. Dumbledore stopped you being expelled for a reason, Harry. Besides, what good would we do? We can’t do magic outside of Hogwarts.”

He hated it when Hermione was logical. He felt he operated much better on being illogical. After all, it was being illogical that brought him here, wasn’t it?

And here also meant outing Draco.

So, maybe it was better to be logical. Even if it meant sitting around and waiting instead of trying to be any help. It meant keeping his head down and doing homework, even though the school was quickly descending into chaos.

After the swamp and the Weasley’s miraculous flight from Hogwarts, the school felt like a war zone of practical jokes. It seemed as though Zunko’s entire supply of dung bombs and stink pellets had been released and Harry had no idea how people hadn’t run out of skiving snack boxes yet. At least Peeve’s was completely preoccupied with annoying Umbridge, and most people’s anger was vented towards the Inquisitorial Squad.

That didn’t, however, stop the onslaught of ‘Slytherin’ innuendos thrown Harry’s way. He didn’t even see Draco in the hallways. He seemed to magically appear in class and disappear as everyone walked out.

“I was considering coming out – I thought it would have been great with the fireworks and chaos,” Dean remarked to Harry over a very noisy breakfast. Peeves had decided to drop a bag of tarantulas in the hall, causing many shrieks and screams. Ron had turned green and ran from the room. “Now I’m thinking it’s not worth the trouble.”

And that just made him feel worse.

Then there was the question of his father. The memory he saw in Snape’s office still troubled him. He didn’t want to think of his father as an airheaded bully.

And there was a small part of him who had been amused by it all.

But he had cause – Snape had been out for his blood since his first day at Hogwarts and had gotten his way because he was a teacher. That was different. Justified.

He had called Lily a mudblood, Harry kept reminding himself. James did try to help out.

He wanted to watch it back. To really look at Lupin and Sirius and see if their reactions.

He had to talk to them. He slipped the mirror out from under his trunk, hoping it was an exemption to the tracking rule. If they had gotten away with it before, Harry was sure it would be okay now. After all, the Marauder’s Map was still secret.

He sat in the stairwell again, folding himself under a torch and sitting on the tiny windowsill. He could see a sliver of the grounds.

Sirius took so long answering the mirror that Harry was going to give up on him. Then there was a sudden blur of colours and he could hear voices. He supposed the mirror had been flipped.

“Tonks has taken a right shining to you,” that was Sirius’ voice.

“Yes. I don’t quite see why.” Lupin replied.

“What’s not to like? You’re tall, dark, mysterious,” Sirius paused for a brief moment. “Handsome.”

“Sirius.”

“What? It’s true. And she’s still basically a teenager – werewolves are incredibly attractive to teenagers.”

“And what would you know about teenagers?” Lupin’s voice sounded amused.

“I did used to be one.”

“Used to? You still act like one.”

Harry’s stomach lurched. Was Sirius as a teenager really something to smile about?

“Maybe that’s why…” Sirius trailed off. There was a long, awkward pause.

“Sirius?” Harry said, hoping that he was saving his Godfather and not interrupting anything.

“Is that Harry’s voice?” Lupin asked as the blur of colours returned on the mirror glass. He found himself looking at them both from the table in front of them. They both looked tired and drained, and there was a mountain of washing up in the scummy sink behind them. Were they sat closer than usual? He couldn’t tell. Almost as soon as he had taken in the scene, however, Lupin frowned, his head snapping to Sirius. “You didn’t give him James’ mirror, did you?”

“Of course, I did,” Sirius said. “We had to keep in touch somehow.”

“Not with some – illegal device that you troublemakers used to break even more rules.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Moony, it’s not illegal,” Sirius laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s not a registered communication service.”

“And a good thing too,” Harry said quickly, hoping to get Sirius out of trouble. “Umbridge is checking all the owls. And she’s monitoring the fireplaces.”

“That-“

“Cow?” Harry interrupted Sirius. “Yeah, I know.”

“As if Dumbledore would be foolish enough to contact one of his own students via owl,” Lupin rolled his eyes, meeting Sirius’ smirk.

“Have you seen him?” Harry pressed.

They shook their heads.

“Not hide nor hair,” Lupin said. “Now tell me, Harry, what’s so important that you had to call using that?”

He gave the mirror a distasteful look.

“I did only tell him to use it if it was extremely important,” Sirius said, as though he was trying to convince Lupin he was a responsible adult. He wasn’t that convincing.

“It’s not really…that important, I guess,” Harry said. “I mean, it’s kind of a long story, but, uh, Snape isn’t giving me Occlumency lessons anymore.”

“What?!” Sirius roared. He already had a hand on his wand before Lupin could stop him. “That weasel!”

“It’s my fault!” Harry shouted, then held his breath. There were a few mumbles from the dormitory behind him, but he didn’t think anyone in the Common Room heard him over the sound of themselves celebrating another successful day annoying Umbridge. “It’s my fault, Sirius. I may have, um, looked into one of his memories. One he didn’t want me seeing.”

Sirius, or what Harry could see of Sirius, paused. He slowly sat back down, his face coming into view and watching Harry attentively.

“It was your OWL exams,” Harry said. “My dad, um…was he really like that?”

“Like what?” Sirius blinked at him.

“Such a bully?” Harry whispered. He hated the word. It felt like he was calling his father a bad name.

 Sirius gave one of his dog-like barks.

“What to Snivellus? Harry, you have to understand, that Snape gave as good as he got to James-“

“So, Snape hung my dad upside down in front of everyone?” Harry asked.

 “Well no – James would never allow that,” Lupin said. “You have to understand, Harry, Snape was only liked by a select few people. He didn’t exactly attract fans with his behaviour or language.”

Harry frowned, resting his chin on his knees.

“But why did my mum marry him? She hated him.”

“Nah, not really,” Sirius laughed. “She liked him – once he matured a bit.”

“We are all idiots at age fifteen,” Lupin said.

“When we have-“ Sirius stopped himself again, then frowned. “Is that footsteps on your end, Harry?”

Harry frowned too, glancing around the corner. He could hear angry murmurings coming from the dormitory and wondered if he had been speaking too loudly.

“Haven’t you done enough? I was all for giving you the benefit of the doubt, especially as you saved Hermione, but-“

“It wasn’t my fault, Weasley. He’s the one who pulled me behind a tapestry.”

“I don’t want to know-“ the door opened, yellow light falling down the stairs like a river. Ron’s voice called down the stairs to Harry. “Hey, Juliet, Romeo’s here.”

“Farewell, ancient lady: farewell,” Draco’s sarcasm oozed from the stairwell and Harry felt his face warm. He tilted the mirror towards the window.

Meanwhile, Ron seemed to be deciding whether or not Draco was insulting him. He settled for a disgruntled “shut up, Malfoy,” before closing the dormitory door again.

Draco’s chuckle went ahead of him down the stairs and Harry was sure his brain was short circuiting. Not tonight. Any night but tonight. He didn’t need to explain this.

Why tonight? Draco hadn’t visited in days. They had been avoiding each other, waiting for the rumours to die down.

“He knows his Shakespeare,” Harry heard Lupin mumble. He wished he had muted the mirror, but suddenly Draco was standing over him.

“And a good morrow to thee, Juliet,” Draco said. He leant closer and Harry shuffled to the side to make room on the window ledge.

“I’m, um, on the phone, Draco,” he muttered, gesturing to the mirror. He couldn’t even look at Lupin and Sirius. But he could hear them.

“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” that was Lupin. “Sirius, did you know about this?”

“Not all of it,” Sirius said.

 Draco glanced at Harry, then looked away, his face paling. Harry, very slowly, met Sirius’ dark eyes. His face seemed unreadable – or rather, Harry could read everything on it. Anger and confusion or interest and empathy.

“What is going on here?” Lupin asked, but his voice was soft.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, wondering how much to divulge.

“Well,” he said. He swallowed, but his mouth stubbornly remained dry. “Snape’s occlumency lessons don’t matter anymore, because, Draco’s mum’s been teaching me for months.”

“What?” Lupin turned to Sirius, acting more like a mum than ever. “Did you know about that, Sirius?”

“I trust Narcissa,” Sirius said. He stared at his hands on the table, twitching his fingers like he was testing they still worked. “If she hadn’t fallen in with Lucius – if she had met some decent wizard, she wouldn’t have gotten involved with any of this. She would have been a great witch.” He glanced at Draco. “No offence, of course.”

“None taken. It’s true,” Draco replied. He was warm next to Harry, their shoulders pressed against each other in the small space.

Lupin seemed to mull this information over, his eyes scanning Sirius’ face. Was it just a little too long?

“I suppose you’re not dead yet,” he said, finally. Harry’s chest felt as though it had swelled to the size of a house. “And nothing she’s done is as bad as Professor Umbridge. But I forget this part of Romeo and Juliet.”

He raised an eyebrow marginally at Harry, who felt his cheeks renewed with fire.

“Um, is it okay to tell them?” he whispered to Malfoy, who rolled his eyes.

“Mon dieu, Potter, how is it an orphan has so many sets of parents to tell?”

Which of course made Sirius and Lupin both stammer out excuses, not looking at each other.

Harry smiled.

“I’m kind of dating Draco,” he said.

Eyebrows quirked. Harry’s heart pounded. Then, without even looking at Lupin, Sirius said.

“Yes, moony, I knew Harry was gay.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that. I was going to ask if anyone else knew.”

“Just the whole school,” Draco said. “I never knew there were so many lion innuendos.”

As much as Harry’s curiosity was piqued by such a phrase, he knew now wasn’t the time to ask, because all four eyebrows of the pair in the mirror were raised.

“That was…brave,” Lupin said, slowly.

“It was stupid,” Draco said.

“It wasn’t by choice,” Harry said. “But Umbridge thinks it’s all just rumours.”

“I know a thing or two about rumours at Hogwarts,” Lupin said, his face drawn. “As I recall, it was Slytherin house who let out about my lycanthrope situation.” Draco shrugged, but he was looking down the stairs. “And, as I recall, it was a certain accident with his son that made Lucius Malfoy campaigned to have Buckbeak killed.”

“You did what to my bird?!” Sirius growled. It was suddenly very easy to believe that he could transform into the omen of death.

“Gave him the perfect chance to escape with you, did I not?”

“Unintentionally,” Harry said. He received an elbow in the side and tried to fix his boyfriend’s image. “Look, Draco’s been getting the abuse a lot more than me. And anyway, what was that you were saying about people doing stupid stuff when they’re thirteen?”

Sirius’ mouth twisted, and Lupin gave him a disapproving frown. He shrugged at Lupin.

“Narcissa’s a Black. I’m a Black. We’re not all hell and brimstones all the time. Not when we have good teachers,” and he winked, almost imperceptibly at Harry, who had decided he was going to lie out in the Forbidden Forest for the rest of his life.

“Funny you mention my mother,” Draco said. He leant across Harry to speak, his hand resting on Harry’s thigh. “I have to get her out of our house. It’s not safe.”

“Nowhere’s safe.” Sirius’ voice hardened, like he had guessed what was coming.

“For a wanted criminal, you seem pretty safe.”

“Sirius, she really saved my skin this year.”

“So, you’ve stopped having weird dreams? Broken your connection to Voldemort?” Sirius pressed.

“Well, they were stopping when I was having lessons from her,” Harry said.

They waited, the silence tense on the other side of the mirror.

“What would Snape say?” Lupin murmured. “There’s no point hiding her from Lucius with him around.”

“To hell with him. If she’s hidden Harry all this time, she has the sense to keep out of Snivellus’ way.”

They seemed to resort to non-verbal communication, holding eye contact for an extraordinary amount of time. Draco looked at Harry, and he was surprised to see he looked nervous. Draco Malfoy looked anxious.

All this really had taken a toll on him.

“Put it this way,” Sirius said. “If Narcissa knocked on my door, I wouldn’t turn her away.”

“You’re the greatest Sirius, thanks,” Harry took a breath. He was going to say it. Quickly. Like Muggles did when they hung up the phone. “I-“

“What did you say Kreacher?” Sirius was up and yelling again. “I’ll have your hide for that, you little toe rag!”

Lupin rolled his eyes as Sirius disappeared from view.

“Take it easy, Harry,” he said. “Try not to get into any more trouble.”

“I’ll try,” Harry said, mustering up a grin. “Thanks, Lupin.”

The mirror flipped back, reflecting a very tired Harry and Draco instead of a very tired Lupin and Sirius.

Draco sighed, pressing his face into Harry’s shoulder.

“I thought we couldn’t do this anymore.”

“It’s not like we have anything to hide,” Draco’s voice was muffled.

“What about your dorm?”

“Haven’t been sleeping there.”

“What?” Harry twisted, nudging Draco’s forehead up with his own to look him in the eye. “Draco.”

“I don’t exactly trust my roommates,” Draco said. “I haven’t slept there since Dumbledore left.”

“Where have you been sleeping?”

“Places,” Draco said vaguely. He kissed Harry, pressing him back against the wall. Harry knew it was just a tactic to get him to stop asking questions and it worked. “I missed you.”

He had missed this too. He had missed Draco.

And suddenly that didn’t seem such a strange thought anymore.

*

He had been through the door. In the Department of Mysteries, floating through the hallways in search of something he wanted. No, something he needed –

When he turned the corner and saw Snape standing there. Snape as angry as he had been when he had thrown Harry out of his office.

It was scary enough to make Harry wake with a start. A cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Draco said, from somewhere above his ear.

“What?” Harry blinked, coming to his senses. They were bundled up on the common room sofa once more. He hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep.

“It was – weird,” Draco said. Harry shifted to face him, so that they were almost nose to nose. “I felt like I could feel the Dark Lord here. That’s why I woke up. You scared me, Potter, in the dark I was sure…I guess I’m better at Occlumency than I thought.”

“You’re saying you felt Voldemort in my mind?”

“I think so,” Draco said. His finger traced circles on Harry’s back. “So, I hopped in there too. I had to figure out a way to wake you up, didn’t I?”

“And…Voldemort will think it’s Snape?” Harry whispered.

Draco shrugged and sighed, his breath blowing the hair from Harry’s forehead.

“Maybe he’ll just think you’re crazy.”

Harry found himself smirking.

“I’m definitely crazy,” he said. “If you’d told me six months ago about all this…”

“You wouldn’t have gone for an early morning walk?”

“Of course, I would have,” Harry said. “I would do this all again. This is the only thing left at Hogwarts that brings me any joy.”

There was a long pause. It was too dark to see Draco’s face clearly.

“Potter?” he whispered eventually. “Shut up.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Harry opened his mouth, but the words didn’t appear. His heart raced and slowed and raced again.

“I love you.”

The words were surprisingly soft from Draco. Harry’s mind panicked, and his heart had gone rogue, but he still managed to find the right words.

“I love you too.”

His feelings for Draco were very different from his feelings with anyone else, so he supposed that was what love was. He wasn’t very experienced, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised just how true it was. Just when was the last time he heard those words?

And why couldn’t he tell Sirius?

*

Harry woke to the sound of voices. He groaned and turned over on the sofa, trying to bury his head back into Draco. Then he heard Draco’s voice, frowned, and sat upright.

He was sat in front of the fireplace, his back resting against the sofa and Sirius’ mirror balanced on his knees. The silvery grey light of dawn shone through the window.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, sounding as grumpy as he felt.

“Sleeping beauty awakes,” Draco glanced over his shoulder, looking Harry up and down much like he did before he told him he loved him.

“Sorry I’m not a vampire like you,” Harry said. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to close your mind,” Draco said. “I can’t always be there to save you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, then shuffled upright and down onto the floor, next to Draco. There was a group of figures on the screen having an animated discussion. He squinted at it and blinked as he recognised one of the figures at the corner of the glass. A woman who looked like a vela.

Sirius was stood with one arm in front of her, baring his teeth at the rest of the crowd like a dog. Lupin was next to him, one hand stopping Sirius from reaching for his wand, always trying to negotiate for him.

Moody stood in front of the other side of the room, his twisted face alight with rage. The Weasley’s, Tonks and Shacklebolt stood behind him, all with varying degrees of anger.

“We told Black just in time,” Draco whispered. His eyelashes looked silver in the early morning light and for a moment Harry lost track of the conversation. He really needed to pay attention instead of thinking about how perfect his boyfriend was. “He said he’d put the mirror on, so that I could make sure my mother was safe.”

“Yeah, Sirius is like that,” Harry said, remembering Sirius’s half-serious scoldings that the mirror was for emergencies only.

“Merlin’s beard, she’s my cousin!”

“And she’s my aunt, but she chose her side! We all have!”

“And Snape? Has Snape chosen his side? He seems on the fence to me.”

“Dumbledore trusts Snape and that’s all that matters!” Moody roared at Sirius, wand raised.

“That’s not good enough anymore!” Sirius roared back. “You can all trust Dumbledore blindly, but I can’t! He knew – he knew I was innocent, and he left me in Azkaban! For twelve years! He did the same to Hagrid three years ago.”

“That was the board of governors. One of whom, I may add, is Lucius Malfoy.”

“It was inevitable one of them would step in and Dumbledore stood by and let it happen,” Sirius snapped. He lowered his wand slowly, and his voice. He seemed like the distant roll of thunder before the lightning strikes. “He also stood by and let Harry live with an abusive family for ten years. He still gets sent back there.”

An influx of excuses were thrown Sirius’ way – “that’s Dumbledore’s decision,” “they’re his closest blood relatives!” “Arabella Figg was keeping an eye on him.”

“Arabella Figg’s eyes do not stop anything!” Sirius cut across them all, looking like a death’s head mask with his pale skin, dark hair and glistening eyes. “She watched them abuse Harry. She watched him grow up living under the stairs. She watched Dementors attack him. She can’t do anything. I’m his Godfather. Dumbledore knew that. And he let me go to Azkaban.”

Harry shifted, half-wishing his t-shirt would grow even more and swallow him completely. He didn’t need Draco listening in on this conversation, and he didn’t want to hear it himself. He knew people talked about him all the time, but hearing it was strange.

Draco leant against him, though he made it look as if he was just shifting the mirror. It was silent in the glass, both Sirius and Moody were breathing heavily as they glared at each other.

“I don’t deny that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater, and that’s why I’m worried,” Sirius continued. “If Narcissa wants to stay here to keep out of his way, I’m going to let her. It’s my house.”

“What do you think your dad would do?” Harry whispered to Draco.

Draco glanced at him.

“If he found out I’d exposed him as a Death Eater? I don’t know,” he paused for a moment, his eyes watching Narcissa’s face in the mirror. “You think he’d use the unforgiveable curses, right? I feel like he can do worse than that.”

“Worse than the Cruciatus curse?”

Draco nodded, slowly.

“The cruciatus curse is just physical pain. He doesn’t have the stomach for that. But there are other kinds of pain.”

Harry leant back against Draco, snaking an arm around him as he watched the figures in the mirror. Moody seemed to have finally relented, though he muttered about vigilance as he walked out.

Tonks gave Narcissa a withering look, and stalked out too.

It was Molly Weasley who stepped forward, looking small and homely and colourful next to Narcissa, and offered her a cup of tea.

“So, she’s safe,” Draco muttered. The mirror faded, revealing the two of them staring into it with tired eyes.

“And we’re still stuck here,” Harry said. “Not able to do anything.”

“I want to leave,” Draco said. He pressed his mouth against Harry’s forehead, speaking into his hair. “I’d give anything to fly to Grimmauld Place tonight and join her.”

“Me too,” Harry said. Surely it would be better if he was learning occlumency instead of charms and potions and divination. Surely, that would help more in the war than doing homework. “But Dumbledore took the fall for me.”

“So? What do you owe him?” Draco muttered. He pulled Harry closer towards him. He smelt of vanilla. “No, I’m staying because of our OWLs.”

“Our OWLs?” Harry’s voice was muffled against Draco’s chest. “What do you care about exams?”

“It’s what my mum would want. Yours too.”

Harry frowned. He had escaped thinking about his parents in the muddled confusion that had been the night. He had thought he didn’t want anything to do with that anymore. But Lily had seemed decent, even if she hadn’t stopped James from bullying Snape.

And Harry’s last conversation with Sirius replayed in his head. James had been fine about Sirius and Lupin. Snape wasn’t. Didn’t that make his dad more of a decent person? Both of them?

Maybe, just because of that, he would stay and sit his bloody OWLs.

Just to repay them for that.

Chapter Text

18

t was under this tree. Harry couldn't shake the thought.

He didn't want to think about it. If he didn't think about it, then he wouldn't have to deal with the feelings that came with it. He wanted to like his dad. He wanted to like Sirius. He wanted to like Lupin.

So he wasn't thinking about it.

But it was under this tree.

And what would his father say if he knew Harry was sat under this tree with a known Death Eater's son? A Slytherin? He just couldn't think about it. Thinking about it would send him crazy and he was crazy enough as it was.

But at least he didn't feel as crazy as Hermione. She permanently looked as though she had just electrocuted herself, feverishly revising at every moment she could. She didn't even notice that Draco had been hanging around them almost constantly, as though being in the same room as Harry would save him from Voldemort.

The worst of all was Harry couldn't even take a nap in the Spring sun without Draco nudging him awake with his shoulder.

"You can sleep when you've practised Occlumency," he said around the several quills he had balanced in his mouth as he annotated his Transfiguration textbook.

"Then, will you practice with me?"

"After I've finished revising."

"So, can I nap whilst you revise?"

"No."

Harry sighed, leaning against the bark of the tree they were sat under and trying to see shapes in the sun shining through the leaves.

"You know, Harry, you could revise too," Hermione said.

There was a shriek of laughter as Pansy Parkinson spotted him and Draco under the tree together. Harry blocked out the chanting.

"I have revised today," he muttered. "I just, you know, have more to worry about than OWLs."

He should do it for his mum, he knew, but who even knew if he was coming back to Hogwarts next year?

He was saved from revision hell by Ginny skidding across the grass towards him.

"I need help," she said. "Luna touched  my arm and smiled at me and said I was her best friend. What does that mean?"

"That you're her best friend?" Harry said.

"But what does that mean?"

Hermione gave a moody and irritated glance from above her textbook and opened her mouth to say something. She seemed to realise it wasn’t worth the effort and buried her head again.

“Look, female Weasley, you have nothing to lose by asking her,” Draco said. “If she says she doesn’t like you, just wait a day and blame it on rackspurts.”

“Has she said anything to you?” Ginny demanded, scooting closer to Draco. Harry tried not to feel like he had been replaced.

“Maybe,” Draco smirked, scratching a note onto the page. Even his handwriting was perfect.

“Tell me, Malfoy.”

“Or what?”

Ginny paused, fiddling with the end of one of her plaits.

“Have you ever seen my bat bogey curse?” she asked. There was an underlying menace in her voice. If Harry hadn’t known her since she was the shy eleven year old with a crush on him, he would have shuddered.

“Can’t you all discuss your love lives somewhere else?” Hermione snapped. “Ginny, Luna obviously likes you because you actually see her as a person and not a freak. There is no way she is straight. In fact. I doubt she even thinks there’s a difference in loving a girl to loving a boy. Just get her in Firenze’s class and tell her some divination nonsense about how Mars thinks you should kiss.”

“All but a tiny detail of that was correct. Tell her it was Venus, she was the Roman goddess of love.”

Hermione shot tired daggers at Draco, but they both went back to revising. Ginny shuffled over to Harry, leaning against him as she frowned at the ground. She dug a twig into the dirt, biting her lip.

“Weren’t you the one who told me anything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve?” Harry said.

“What would mum say?” Ginny whispered.

“Don’t tell her.”

There was a long pause. Harry watched the hole Ginny was digging with the twig slowly get bigger.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally muttered.

Harry nodded. There was a light breeze in the air and it was warm for the first time in months. He wanted a nap. He felt like he could nap for a year, even though exams hadn’t even started yet.

But Draco stubbornly kept nudging him awake, rudely pulling him from black doors and rooms full of crystal balls.

*

Exams came around much too soon for Harry’s liking, sending the fifth and seventh years into a manic frenzy of practice questions and mountains of textbooks. There was, however, an upside. Everyone seemed to focus on the oncoming storm that they forgot to jeer at Harry and Draco, leaving Harry in a spot of relief.

He sat his exams feeling strangely detached from reality. His mind wandered back to Grimmauld Place and what it must have been like there. If Narcissa Malfoy was okay. It all seemed like a different planet. More like a dream he’d had than anything real, but that was Hogwarts’ habit. It made everything else shrink into a horizon line. It was something he had used to love about it, because he could pretend the Dursley’s didn’t exist. Now, it felt more like a curse. How could he sit there and write about the International Confederation of Wizards when there was a war brewing?

Apparently, he couldn’t. Rather than sat at his desk in the exam hall, he found himself soaring down the corridors of the Ministry of Magic. The black door swung open and he was racing down the aisles. Anticipation swelled in his stomach, engulfing him like flames. He was here. He was here and he was finally going to get it. It was important.

He glimpsed the number ninety-seven and seemed to know that was important. He careened to the left, the shelves blurring around him.

And then he stopped so suddenly that Harry learnt visions could give you whiplash. There was a figure lying on the floor and Harry’s stomach twisted. Words were coming from his mouth but he struggled to focus on them.

“You really thought you could hide from me? No, it’s about time you made yourselves useful. All of you.”

The figure raised their head.

Harry felt a strange, sudden lurching feeling and then suddenly pain flared in his side. He had fallen from his chair.

He was back in the Great Hall, the sun too bright and one of the ancient examiners leaning over him. He allowed himself to be helped up and lead from the hall, the figure’s face etched into his vision.

It was Narcissa. Narcissa with tears on her cheeks and fury in her eyes.

“I don’t – I’m fine now,” Harry said as the examiner went on and on about the Hospital Wing. “I just…fell asleep and hit my head. I’ll be fine.”

He received another anxious peer and mumbled something about “getting some air.” Instead, he stood at the bottom of the steps and counted down all of the people he could go to for help. Dumbledore was gone, Hagrid was gone, and McGonagall was freshly out of action for trying to help Hagrid. Not that any of them would have understood anyway. He didn’t think any of the other teachers were in the Order.

Apart from Snape.

He couldn’t go to Snape. Even if Snape could look at him after the debacle that was their last Occlumency lesson, Harry couldn’t let him know about Narcissa or Draco. It was too much of a risk.

So instead he paced outside the hall, waiting for the exam to finish and the doors to open. His hand had been long, thin and white in the vision. It had been Voldemort’s. If he closed his eyes, he could see flashes. Hear “crucio” and screams. But he couldn’t tell if they were real. Nothing felt real, not even the ground beneath his feet.

After an age, tired fifth years stumbled out of the hall, bleary eyed and half-dead, but ecstatic with their new freedom. Harry pushed past them. He heard someone mumble “precious Potter can’t go five minutes without seeing his boyfriend.”

Draco grinned at Harry as he saw him through the crowd, but then his brow knitted together.

“Draco,” Harry’s voice felt raw and before he knew it he was hugging Draco Malfoy as tightly as he could in front of the whole year.

“Harry,” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper, his hands barely on Harry’s back. “What’s wrong?”

“Voldemort,” Harry couldn’t make the words. He couldn’t make sense of his vision. “He has – in the Department of Mysteries – your mum.”

Draco froze. He wasn’t even breathing.

“That’s not possible.”

“I thought we agreed on no PDA,” Ron’s voice sounded as though he was underwater.

“You said,” Draco pulled Harry away, his fingers digging into his shoulders. “You said she would be safe at Grimmauld Place.”

“I thought-“

“What is going on?” Hermione’s voice was sharp, as were her nails on Draco’s arm as she pulled him away from Harry, a warning look on her face.

“I had a vision,” the words came easier this time. “I saw Voldemort – he had Narcissa.”

“A vision?” Draco echoed, running a hand through his hair. He was staring into space, but then he blinked and focused on Harry. “It’s a trick. Obviously. This is why you should practice Occlumency.”

“Voldemort’s never been aware of the connection,” Harry said. “I don’t think-“

“It must be a trick.”

“It’s not,” Harry was certain. He could feel it in his gut, and his gut feelings were seldom wrong. “What would Voldemort have to gain by showing me your mum? He can’t know about any of that – that would be impossible. And what if it wasn’t him? What if it was her?”

“If it was her, she would have contacted me, not you,” Draco said, but his face was still white as snow as opposed to white as marble.

“If I was being tortured, I’d be reaching out to anyone I could,” Harry crossed his arms. They were the only fifth years still milling around the Entrance Hall.

“If she was being tortured.”

“We can’t take that risk.”

“Don’t bite my head off,” Hermione said. “But are you sure it wasn’t just a dream, Harry?”

“I’m positive,” he was shifting his weight from foot to foot. They were wasting time. They had to get going now. “We have to go.”

“We are not rushing headlong into a trap,” Draco said. He took a deep breath. “She’s strong. She can handle this until we are absolutely certain she is in danger.”

“How do we check that?!” Harry was yelling, the rage swirling within him like a tornado. He had half a mind to pull a Fred and George. To simply ‘accio broom,’ and head to London. He would show them.

“The mirror, you idiot!” Draco hissed, taking Harry’s wrist and pulling him up the stairs behind him.

“Mirror? What mirror?” Hermione and Ron were right behind them.

“Sirius gave me a mirror,” Harry mumbled. Now that he was thinking of Sirius, he didn’t feel so furious. Now that he was holding Draco’s hand, it had evaporated. “It’s for emergencies.”

“Well this is more of an emergency than whatever you were using it for,” Draco said.

So Harry followed him up the stairs, trying to focus on where he was going as opposed to how long it had been. As opposed to what was happening to Narcissa. He had never thought her able of crying. That had been the most disturbing part.

The Fat Lady was not happy by Draco’s presence. She frowned at him and refused to open even though Harry, Ron and Hermione were screaming the password at her. After five minutes, Hermione held her hand up for silence, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We’ll just have to ask Sir Cadogan,” she said. “I’m sure he would let us all in without a second’s thought.”

“I think not,” the Fat Lady’s face turned bright red. “That man is a fool and a scoundrel. You won’t be replacing me with him any time soon.” She sighed heavily, but clicked open. “Fine, fine, go in.”

Harry and Draco were met with jeers, and Harry was sure a sixth year threw a chocolate frog their way. He ducked under it and they raised up the stairs to the tower. Hermione stopped at bottom of the stairs, turning around. Ron dithered, then stood behind her with a hand on his wand, looking like he was playing at being a body guard.

“That’s! It!” they could hear her yelling. “Ten points off anyone who says another word about Harry or Draco’s relationship! You’re all behaving like twits instead of behaving like a house or a school. We have to be there for each other, especially with Dumbridge lurking around every corner!”

Her proclamation was drowned out in shouts. They were almost at the top of the staircase now, but could hear the final threat of Hermione’s speech.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll get the House Elves to stop making food for the Gryffindor table!”

Harry wasn’t sure she could deliver on that one. Dobby would be the only one to listen to her. But as far as they were aware, the House Elves had been taking Hermione’s hats and socks and she was on their good side. The noise died down quickly.

“She’s not bad, your friend, Granger,” Draco muttered as Harry threw robes out of his trunk to search for the mirror. He dropped it twice, but it stayed in tact as he brought it to his face.

“Sirius!” he told it. “Sirius. Sirius. Sirius. Sirius.”

Draco stood behind him, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder as they stared at their reflections in the mirror. Nothing happened. A frowning Harry and Draco stared back at them, just as annoyed. Harry shook the mirror.

“Lupin, then,” he said. The mirror flickered. Nothing happened. “Narcissa. Bloody hell, Kreacher then.”

The mirror flickered again and Kreacher’s huge nose appeared.

“Harry Potter,” he sneered.

“Kreacher, thank – God!” Harry said. “Is Sirius there?”

“He’s,” Kreacher’s mouth twisted. He was holding the mirror too closely to his face. “Busy.”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Harry wasn’t sure what a man who couldn’t leave the house could be busy with, but that wasn’t the problem. “Mrs Malfoy – she arrived a few weeks ago, do you remember?”

“Oh yes,” the pink mass that was Kreacher bobbed up and down. “Now there’s a pureblood. Very good lady.”

“Yeah, okay – is she there? Now?” Harry asked.

“Kreacher!” Sirius’ voice came through the mirror. “What are you doing? Get out of my room, you cretin!”

“Sirius! Kreacher, I have to talk to him-“

“Not doing anything, Master,” Kreacher mumbled, his face zooming out with a sickening whirl. They caught a glimpse of his sneering face, before there was a jerk and a smashing sound. Sirius was shouting, but there were cracks across the image, forming spiderweb-like cracks.

The mirror flickered back to showing their reflection. Harry swore under his breath.

“We have to go,” he said again, just as Hermione appeared at the top of the stairs, looking breathless but triumphant. Ron was grinning behind her.

“You should have seen her,” he said, clapping a hand onto her shoulder. For once, she didn’t shrug him off. “She was incredible, really.”

“Bloody Kreacher broke the bloody mirror,” Harry said, disentangling himself from Draco and storming back across the Common room, past a baffled Ron and Hermione. “We have to go. That was a waste of time.”

“Wait,” Draco caught his wrist again and from the momentum of it, Harry swung around to face him.  “Everything could still be fine. We just need to come up with another way to check Grimmauld Place.”

“We can’t. Umbridge is monitoring everything else.”

He tore himself free, tumbling down the staircase and pushing his way through the celebrating Gryffindors to the portrait hole.

He stumbled out and almost into three other people arguing with the Fat Lady. It took him a moment to recognise Luna, Ginny and Neville.

“The Hog’s Head,” Draco said, climbing out of the Common Room behind him. “We’ll use the fireplace in the Hog’s Head.”

“What are you up to?” Ginny broke off from her glaring match with the portrait to glance at the four of them, all noticeably dishevelled and out of breath.

“What are you up to?” Harry asked.

“Ginny wanted me to see her room,” Luna said. “She said there’s a great view of the lake there.”

Neville glanced away.

“I didn’t forget the password,” he said and at Ginny’s snort, continued. “Well, I was about to say it, until you started shouting and hollering.”

“Ginny’s very good at death threats. It’s one of her talents,” Luna smiled at Ginny, who looked away.

“Your turn,” she muttered to Harry.

“We think Malfoy’s mum is in trouble. We’re going to break out of the school to the Hog’s Head and check.”

Five pairs of eyes blinked at them.

“The Hog’s Head?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t understand that part either,” Hermione said.

“We know the owner. He’s cool,” Harry said. He decided the Dumbledore’s brother bit could wait.

“We’re coming with you then,” Ginny said.

“We are,” Luna nodded.

“We are?” Neville looked on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“No. It’s too dangerous,” Ron said.

“It is. It’s exactly what Fred and George would do,” Ginny said.

It was the magic words. Ron couldn’t argue with her, so they set off in a tight bubble all the way backdown the staircases. Harry just realised he spent way too much time going up and down the stairs, especially when there were better things to be doing.

And, of course, brooms were out of the question. That was how Harry found himself astride a thestral with Draco behind him flying to Hogsmede. It wasn’t the first time they had ridden a horse like creature to the wizarding village against school rules, but the last time they had, Harry’s stomach had been full of a different kind of butterflies. Butterflies that confused him and made him light and giddy, not butterflies that made him feel sick, like they were eating away at his insides.

They landed to receive astonished exclamations from the surrounding witches and wizards. Harry wondered if any of them could even see the thestrals.

Aberforth looked just as astonished at the seven teenagers entering his pub. It was probably the largest group of people to ever enter at once.

Harry was all too aware of the bandaged wizard I the corner. The wizard he now knew to be a spy for Umbridge. He didn’t care anymore. He could be expelled.

“It’s an emergency,” he said to Aberforth. “We have to use the fireplace.”

“I don’t think you’ll all fit,” Aberforth said, looking between them all.

Harry gave a fake laugh.

“Lives are at stake.”

“Then you had better contact the Order. Leave it to the adults, boy,” Aberforth said.

“That’s what we’re trying to-“

“That’s what Albus would say,” Aberforth stroked his greying auburn beard, looking between them all again. Ginny and Ron looked ready to hex him if he didn’t agree. “Don’t tell him I let you do this.”

A chorus of “thank you, old man,” and “you’re the greatest,” and “thanks, you geezer,” as they made their way to the fireplace.

The bandaged wizard left. Harry waved him out.

“In twos, yeah?” he asked the group. “That way we’ll all get through quicker.”

“What are we going to do if she is there?” Draco asked. “All traipse back through.”

“I’d rather traipse back through embarrassed then go back in a week and find her missing,” Harry said. He stepped into the grate. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had first done this with Draco. He had been confused and naïve and straight. He supposed he was still confused and naïve.

But at least he didn’t feel so sick travelling by floo powder anymore.

At least, he thought he didn’t, but there was a sudden stop and a sudden start and they were zooming off in another direction. Draco frowned, his hands pulling Harry’s waist towards him protectively.

The fireplace stopped whirling around them with a juddering halt. Dust showered down on them.

As Harry flicked the worst from his glasses, his stomach dropped to the floor.

They weren’t in Grimmauld Place.

They were at the Ministry of Magic.

Draco’s hands disappeared from Harry and Harry had a feeling he wanted to disappear all together because Lucius Malfoy was standing in front of them. He was flocked by a handful of Death Eaters. The ones who had escaped Azkaban. Their smirks turned to frowns as they saw Draco standing there.

In fact, the only one who didn’t look surprised was Lucius himself. Harry half expected him to cackle and say ‘Mr Potter, I’ve been expecting you,’ but then he realised Lucius didn’t have a European accent and therefore, this was just silly.

“The two of you got here quickly,” Lucius said instead, as though they had just hopped off a train to meet him for lunch.

Draco was frozen. He stared ahead of him as though he had been petrified.

Harry’s heart was racing. He didn’t understand what was happening, but that had never stopped him in the past. He drew his wand, almost on reflex, and did the first thing he could think of.

He defended Draco.

“This was a trick?!” he demanded. “I can’t believe you would lie to me like this!”

Draco stared back at him. It was just like in Dumbeldore’s office, his bravado had vanished.

“Save your breath, Potter,” Lucius’ cold voice cut across him. “I know exactly what’s going on here.” Harry wondered why his heart hadn’t given away completely yet. He knew? He knew everything? “Did you really think the Minister of Magic didn’t tell me everything? I could not believe it. My own son a blood traitor. Your detention should have been a warning, I suppose, when everyone else was getting along so swimmingly with Professor Umbridge.”

“This is an ambush, right?” Harry demanded. He was confused, tired and itching to curse someone. It could have been Lucius’ smug voice, or Death Eater’, or the terrified look creeping onto Draco’s face. Probably all of the above. “What’s going on here? What do you want?”

“He has a temper, this one,” Bellatrix murmured, her eyes twinkling in a cruel way as she looked at Harry.

“Cooperation. It is as simple as that,” Lucius stepped forward. “The Dark Lord requires you to get something for him. And you will.”

Harry snorted.

“Please tell me you have another handful of floo powder in your robes,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth to Draco. Draco pursed pale lips and shook his head. Instead, he was pulling his own wand from his robes.

“Expelliarmus,” Draco said. There was hardly a point. Harry’s wand sailed all of a foot to rest on Draco’s hand instead. He stepped out of the grate, his own wand pointed at Harry now. “I can’t believe you’d underestimate me, father. Haven’t you been waiting for the Dark Lord to return all these years?”

Lucius didn’t look convinced, but Bellatrix was clapping, a death’s head grin taunt on her gaunt face.

“He got you, Lucius,” her voice rang out like a song in the huge, empty hall of the Ministry of Magic. It was only then Harry realised the vast emptiness. Where was everyone? “Can’t you see? Draco’s snuck his way under Potter’s defences. Probably found out all sorts of secrets…what makes him tick.”

If Draco’s hands on Harry’s waist were what made him tick, he was ready to be tortured for information.

Lucius stared at Draco for a long time. It was so long that Harry wondered whether a silent occlumency battle was taking place between them.

Eventually, Lucius’ lips quirked upwards for a fraction of a second.

“Well then,” he said. “Perhaps you can prove your loyalties once and for all, Draco.”

He jerked his head, his robes swishing as he turned and headed for the elevators. Draco took Harry’s elbow, pressing him forward and keeping his wand aimed at him.

Draco didn’t scare Harry. He knew this was a ploy, because lying was what Draco Malfoy did best. He trusted him. The last few months had taught him that.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared. The Death Eaters had known he was coming. They had hijacked the floo network, probably tracking all fireplaces in the area for ones headed to Grimmauld Place. Because who else would go there? They had discovered Narcissa was there, so they knew members of the Order were headed there.

It meant that this was a trap. The vision had been sent deliberately to bait him here, for whatever he had been dreaming about in the Department of Mysteries.

But if they knew about Grimmauld Place, they must have gotten that information from somewhere. Narcissa could still be here.

Not that Harry or Draco could be much help to her now. Harry was captive under Draco, who was captive under his own lies. He would at least give Harry back his wand when it came to the fight, but there was only so many times he could cast ‘expelliarmus’ before his luck ran out.

But there should have been other wands. He frowned as they crammed into an elevator. Ron and Hermione should have been right behind them. But they hadn’t come out.

Which meant they must have gotten through to Grimmauld Place. They would be getting help.

All Harry and Draco had to do was bide their time. The others would bring the Order here.

Which was surprisingly easy.

Not only were the corridors in the Ministry of Magic absurdly long, but the Department of Mysteries proved itself difficult to navigate. As soon as the door – the black door Harry had so longed to open – was closed behind them, the walls rotated sickeningly. He was glad of Draco’s grip to steady him. It would be extremely embarrassing to fall over in front of all these Death Eaters.

The blue lights flickered back on. Harry couldn’t resist glancing at Draco. He looked back wearily.

“Well?” Lucius took hold of Harry’s shoulder. “Which way is it? Which door?”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” Harry said. He felt a strange urge to laugh. “The one that started opposite the door we came through. I don’t know which one that is.”

Lucius swore as he realised him, turning to two of the Death Eaters. With a sickening feeling, Harry realised that one of them could have been Nott’s dad.

A couple were ordered to one of the rooms. A scream was heard and only one came out, their knees shaking.

“They had – there were – it was brains,” he mumbled. Draco’s fingers tightened on Harry, but his face a model of his fathers. Uncaring and disgusted by the man in front of him.

With two more tries, a locked door and one Death Eater missing through “an empty arch. He said he could hear things…he just – vanished,” Bellatrix opened a door widely to show a collection of dazzling silver lights. It reminded Harry of the patronus’ in the Room of Requirement.

They entered and Harry tried to calculate how long they had been there for. It must have been an hour, at least. More than enough time for the others to guess where they were and be on their way. Why weren’t they here yet? How long did it take to get to the Ministry of Magic from Grimmauld Place?

They paced the aisles with the air of a group of students looking for a particular book in the library. It was silent. So silent that Harry thought he could hear the dust settling around him.

They reached the aisle he saw in his dream – the number didn’t seem real now that he was seeing it with his own eyes. Ninety seven.

But there was no one standing in the aisle. He could feel the haughty waves of ‘I told you so,’ coming from Draco, but they both had bigger things to worry about.

Because suddenly a dozen wands were pointed at them.

“Now, be good boys and play your parts. Potter, take down the prophecy. Draco, tell me where your mother is.”

Chapter Text

19

Harry stared at the crystal ball in front of him, feeling his heart beating in his mouth. His name was written underneath it. This was what Voldemort had wanted. He had spent all year dreaming about this place, dreaming about how to get to this crystal ball.

So, it would be really helpful if Harry knew what it was. Or how to get past the ten Death Eaters blocking their path.

“What do you mean where my mother is?” Draco demanded, his grip on Harry relaxing. He was acting, Harry told himself. Really, Draco must have known this meant Narcissa was safe.  There was no way he’d actually believe Harry.

“That is exactly what I asked you.”

“How should I know? I’ve been at school,” Draco said. His shoulders were shaking. Harry glanced at the crystal ball again. Lucius had called it ‘the prophecy.’ He had a ‘prophecy.’

Of course he did. Of course he was the Chosen One with a Prophecy.

“You were going to visit her, weren’t you?” Lucius pressed, stepping closer, his robes created shadows that writhed and grasped at their feet. “You and Potter have her squirrelled away somewhere. I know it.”

Harry wanted to know that prophecy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco said. For once, he wasn’t convincing.

No, he didn’t. He didn’t want to know the prophecy. Not at all. It seemed as though he had blinked and everything had split inside him. Voldemort wanted to know the prophecy, because Voldemort was scared. He wanted reassurance that he could win this battle.

Harry, however, didn’t care. He just really, really didn’t care. He had consumed enough muggle media second hand from Dudley that he was bored of prophecies and destinies. What did it matter what it said? It would either come true or it wouldn’t and there was nothing he could do about that. It was probably even written in such a vague way that no matter what happened it could still have been right, ‘from a certain point of view.’

“If you two could put your little family drama aside for a few moments,” a condescending voice came from one of the Death Eater’s masks. “We have to actually fulfil the Dark Lord’s wishes.”

Lucius’ eyes were still boring into Draco’s, the two totally engaged in a staring match. But at his companion’s words, Lucius’ eyebrows twitched and he turned back to Harry.

“Quite right. The prophecy, Potter.”

“Or what?”

There was a moment’s pause.

“I’m guessing you need me to take it down, so you can’t hurt me. What’re you going to do to me if I don’t?” Harry said. He was stalling, hoping desperately that he was at least some good at occlumency as he desperately tried to relay his idea to Draco. Nothing seemed to give away if he could hear Harry or not.

“No, the Dark Lord doesn’t want you hurt,” Bellatrix said, a distinctly Umbridge smile passing over her features as she turned her wand to Harry’s left. To Draco. “But we can hurt him.”

It was now or never. He turned to Draco too, snatching his wand back and slashing it towards the bookcases.

“Reducto!”

His heart flew as he heard Draco’s voice join his. Suddenly the shelves were crashing down, glass balls tumbling downwards and shattering on the floor. A thousand ghostly figures rose from the glass, mouthing words over each other’s, mingling into a restless ocean of words and phrases. A jet of light from Bellatrix’s wand streaked past them.

He was running. He might have grabbed Draco’s wrist to get him going. Draco might have grabbed his. Either way, they left the shouts of the Death Eater’s behind as they ran through the Department of Mysteries.

“Harry!”

Someone yelled his name. A familiar someone. He stopped, his trainers skidding on the floor as he made a sharp turn. His hip bashed into another shelf of prophecies and sent a new line of oracle figures rising like smoke.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

But there was the door. And there was Sirius. And he was sure this wasn’t a dream.

He was slipping on the tiled floor, his breath like fire in his lungs, but he made it to Sirius, almost bowling him over as he tackled him in a hug.

There were other people with Sirius. Ron and Hermione, who both crowded around Hary so that he suddenly felt very small. He’d never been so happy to not be able to breathe.

“Harry, where did you go? What happened? We went to Grimmauld Place but-“ Hermione said, hastily closing the door and casting a locking spell.

“Lucius. He set a trap – I – I don’t know how.” Harry could barely find the words. Tiny stars of glass fell from his hair and off of the rim of his glasses.

“Harry, what were you thinking?” Sirius shook him lightly by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I was trying to!” Harry snapped. “That’s what I was saying! For once I actually tried to be responsible and go to you first, but we were sent here instead!”

We. That was when Harry realised. He felt like he’d missed his step and was left in freefall, his heart dropping out of his stomach and his stomach caving inwards.

Draco wasn’t with him.

“Draco,” he murmured. “We have to find Draco.”

“We will,” Sirius squeezed his shoulders. “We have to find the others too. We split up to look for you.”

They glanced around the room. It was full of cabinets of time turners and a huge, crystal bell jar containing an egg trapped in a time loop. Harry felt almost guilty about asking who the ‘others’ were. He didn’t want to know how many people he had now put in danger because of his foolish plan.

His foolish plan that he had made sure wouldn’t amount to anything anyway.

“Sirius, Voldemort was after a prophecy. A prophecy about me,” he said as they hurried along.

“I know,” Sirius didn’t seem to be listening, he was glancing around them, his wand pointing at every slight noise like a dog on high alert.

“I destroyed it.”

“You what?” Sirius skidded to a stop. Ron and Hermione glanced between them.

“I destroyed it,” Harry repeated. “Voldemort can’t get it now, can he?”

Sirius continued to stare at Harry. He seemed unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.

“But now we can’t get it, either, mate,” Ron said.

“But I don’t really care about what it said. It’s not like us getting it would change what it says or anything and we’ve just been protecting it anyway.”

“Because only a person about who a prophecy is made can take it,” Sirius said. “That’s why he wanted you here, Harry. You were the only one who can get it out of here.”

“I’m sure there’s a prophecy retrieval system, or something,” Hermione said, and at Ron’s incredulous stare continued defensively. “Well there seems to be all sorts of other nonsense in the Wizarding World. I mean, really, why can’t you just use normal tents? That’s the point of camping.”

“There’s no way,” Sirius said. He ran a hand over his jaw, looking at Harry with something akin to awe. “All those months wondering how to stop him getting that prophecy, and you solve it in five minutes.”

The door burst open and light shot out of the Death Eater’s wands.

Harry thought quickly.

“Protego!”

He was still knocked from his feet. Ron took a spell to his chest and begun giggling feebly as he lay on the floor.

“You three run, I’ll hold them off,” Sirius yelled, he was managing to shield them and Hermione helped Harry pull Ron to his feet.

“Harry,” a streak of red appeared from Ron’s mouth. “You look pretty funny…you’re all messed up.”

“You two carry on,” Harry said, slipping out and standing next to Sirius. “I’m staying to fight.”

“Hey, Hermione, did you know?” Ron was still giggling as Hermione struggled to pull him from the room. “Harry’s gay…isn’t that…funny?”

“If you say so, Ronald,” Hermione shouldered a door open.

“I told you to go.” Sirius said between spells.
“Would James have gone?” Harry replied. He didn’t have time to figure out if this was the moment he wanted to be like his father, but he knew it was the one thing that would keep him at Sirius’ side.

The Death Eater’s were advancing forward, and Sirius’ shield was weakening. One ran forward, his mouth open as he yelled –

“Avada-“

Harry momentarily forgot he was a wizard and dived forward too, tackling the man with his whole body weight. A green flume hit the opposite wall, smashing one of the many cabinets. A tinkling sound filled the air as the time turners fell and as Harry and the man fell backwards, knocking against the bell jar.

But the man passed straight through, as though it was only a bubble. Harry scrambled away from him as the cabinet fixed itself and immediately smashed again.

Sirius was still fighting the other Death Eater, but they both stopped as Harry swore loudly. The man’s head was becoming smaller and smaller, hairs retreating into the skin as he became younger and younger.

And then there was a baby’s head sat on top of a fully grown man’s body.

Harry kept backing away, understandably disturbed. He felt Sirius’ hand on his shoulder and allowed himself to be pulled protectively behind his Godfather.

The man’s head began growing again.

“You’re really in for it now,” his mate said, grinning as he raised his wand again –

As the man began to shrink back into a baby. The grin turned to a yell of anger. The end of his wand alighted.

He was promptly hit in the back of the head by a flailing arm, smashing another cabinet.

The baby-head screamed as it’s huge, deformed body stumbled around the room, successfully pummelling his companion as it did so.

“Next room?” Sirius suggested.

Harry nodded and they scurried through the door, leaving the two of them in the absolute chaos of the time room.

Neville, somehow sporting a bloody nose, was rugby tackling a Death Eater from a side door, as he aimed at the desk Ron and Hermione were pressed under. Ron kept trying to peer above the desk and Hermione kept tugging him back down as Neville and the Death Eater flailed on the floor.

A Death Eater followed Neville in and, upon spotting Harry, began yelling.

“Over here! Potter’s-“

“Muffliato!” Hermione’s hand shot over the desk, silencing the man’s voice, even if his mouth was still moving frantically.

Harry dropped to his knees, skidding over to Ron and Hermione as Sirius stepped forward to help Neville.

“What did they do to him?” Harry asked.

“They have brains in that room, Harry,” Ron said. Blood was still trickling from his mouth, flowering into stains on his shirt. “Brains. How do you think they feel?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione glanced down, worried. “Try slapping him, or something.”

That was when Harry noticed the Death Eater behind her mouthing something.

He opened his own mouth to warn her, but as he did a purple frame flickered across her chest. She fell into Harry’s arms.

“Stupefy!” he yelled, partly because he was furious at the Death Eater for hurting her, but partly because he was furious with himself for how he had yelled at her so often this year.

The Death Eater flew backwards, crashing into the far wall.

Sirius grinned at him, and immediately flew backwards as a spell hit him in the side. It had been slightly deflected by Neville sweeping the remaining Death Eater’s legs out from under him. The Death Eater, a woman, hit the side of a cabinet and fell to the floor, the back of her head sticky with blood.

“He’s okay,” Neville said, upon seeing Harry’s stricken face. “It was just stupefy, look, you can feel a pulse.”

Harry wasn’t sure he could feel a pulse, but Sirius was definitely breathing.

“Okay,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Okay. Stay here and keep them safe.”

“Where are you going?” Neville asked, wiping his bloody nose with the cuff of his robe. His wand seemed to have broken completely.

“To find the others,” Harry got up. He wasn’t sure it was the best decision to leave three of the most important people of his life with an unarmed Neville, but there wasn’t much choice.

“Then I’m coming too,” Neville said.

“No! Neville, the more we split up, the harder it will be to find anyone. We can’t lug these three with us and you’re,” Harry glanced around at the doors and decided to lock them. “Relatively safe in here. I need you here, to hold down the fort.”

“Is it because I’m useless?” Neville asked soberly.

“No!” Harry said, and meant it. Even if Neville didn’t have a wand, he was far from useless. “That’s why you have to do it. Anyone can dive headlong into danger.”

With that, he headed to the only door he hadn’t locked-

And almost fell flat on his face.

It took him a moment to realise there was still a floor below him, because there didn’t seem to be any walls or ceiling. Space surrounded him, pitch black stretching on around him, punctuated by tiny stars. Planets spun lazily in the air in front of him. There must have been a sun at the centre of it all, but it’s light barely reached here.

Harry stepped around Pluto and headed forwards. If there wasn’t a clock in his head ticking down to when he’d be too late to safe Draco, he would have found this incredible.

Until a spell shot past his ear and he ducked behind Uranus.

Someone flew into Neptune and it shattered, crumbling on top of a groaning Death Eater.

Harry heard a familiar yell of triumph and peered around the planet in front of him to see Ginny and Luna, another Death Eater in a heap at their feet.

Then Ginny, seemingly caught up in the moment, stepped closer to Luna. It happened in a second, her hands on Luna’s cheeks and her mouth against Luna’s. Harry felt tempted to cheer and punch the air in triumph, a big brother-esque pride swarming through him.

But then Luna pulled away, blinking rapidly. He had never thought Luna Lovegood could be confused before.

And before the inevitable disaster, he ran forwards, as though he hadn’t been lurking behind a planet and spying on them.

“Ginny! Luna! You’re here!” he called.

“Harry,” Ginny looked relieved. She took a few halting steps forward, before Harry was enveloping her in a tight hug. Now she was the one who felt small and breakable. “Please tell me Malfoy’s behind you.”

Harry shook his head, then noticed how tightly Ginny was gripping his arm.

“Are you okay?”

“My ankle,” Ginny grimaced. “I twisted it.”

“Here,” he stepped around her, hitching her up into a piggyback. She had a surprising weight to her. “Luna, what about you?”

“I’m fine,” Luna said. “I’ve come to terms with the concept of death.”

“We’re not going to die.”

“Just in case,” Luna murmured. “You came from this way, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded and followed her back through the galaxy. Ginny pressed her face into his shoulder, her hair falling forward. He suspected it wasn’t her ankle that was giving her pain.

They emerged back into the room with the desks, to find just Neville and an unconscious Hermione.

“Harry, I’m sorry – that man was Sirius Black and he insisted on going on ahead. He’s – well, he scared me a bit.”

Harry wasn’t sure who to be angry at – Neville for allowing it to happen, Ron for going with Sirius, or Sirius for disappearing and taking a very not okay Ron with him.

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “We might as well follow them. Can you take Hermione?”

With a little help from Luna, Hermione was draped over Neville’s shoulders and they were heading back into the maze of rooms. Ginny managed to hit MacNair with a sponge knees curse from over Harry’s shoulder.

But he clipped Neville’s shoulder with reducto, sending them all tumbling through the next door and straight down a flight of stairs. Harry seemed caught up in a huddle of limbs, being whacked with elbows and knees and hands every second, and every other second falling onto the next step.

They landed in a groaning heap in the middle of an amphitheatre. Harry raised his head to see a large, round dias in the centre and an ancient archway sat on top of it. A curtain billowed lazily, but there was no breeze.

In fact, the air was crackling with the energy of spells. The Order were duelling the remaining Death Eaters – Tonks, Moody, Shacklebolt, Lupin and even Arthur Weasley. Sirius had backed Bellatrix Lestrange into a corner.

But there was no sign of Lucius or Draco Malfoy.

“We have to help.” Neville said, standing. He had equipped himself with Hermione’s wand.

“Ginny, stay with Hermione – curse anyone who comes near her,” Harry, disentangling himself from the mess. He had also noticed that Ron was nowhere to be found.

“Harry, I can’t walk.”

“Here,” Luna pointed her wand at Ginny’s ankle. “Ferula,” a ghostly trail came from her wand, securing itself like a wrap around the wound. “That will help if there’s an emergency, but try not to move.”

“Great,” Harry said. “Luna, Neville, with me. Try not to get killed.”

They started forward, fighting side by side among the members of the Order, and despite himself, Harry thought there was something that felt right about it all. There was something right about seeing Luna fighting next to Tonks, even if curses sounded wrong when they were said in so gentle a tone. There was something good about seeing Neville fighting at Shacklebolt’s side, even if his borrowed wand was hardly working.

Harry ended up alongside Arthur Weasley, backed up onto the pedestal. Harry couldn’t understand where all these new Death Eaters had come from. They must have brought reinforcements as well.

“I really was trying to be responsible this time, I swear, Mr Weasley,” he panted, it felt almost like being in a sword fight.

“I know Harry,” sweat beaded on Arthur’s face. “I believe you.”

A surge of relief flowed through Harry. Someone trusted him. Someone who might as well have been his second Godfather. He discovered that it was possible to have a spring in his spell as he cast “expelliarmus” and took the nearest Death Eater’s wand.

The fighting stopped so abruptly and suddenly it was as though someone had flipped a switch, or the clock had ticked over to full time. The silence was deafening as the crowd turned towards the stairs.

At first, it looked like a ghost. Then Harry’s eyes focused and he saw Dumbledore instead. He should have been relieved. Dumbledore was here to save them. He’d make everything okay again.

Instead he found a small part of him asking what had taken the headmaster so long. Surely the order came with him.

Death Eaters were starting to apparate at this new arrival, almost tripping over themselves in their fear to get away.

There was only one pair still fighting. Bellatrix cast spells like a wildcat at Sirius, who seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Come on, Bella, you must have better aim than that,” he laughed, ducking another spell.

She snarled at him, looking more like a wild animal than a woman and another spell shot from her wand.

Sirius stepped deftly out of the way, his smiling faltering only slightly as the spell streaked across his chest. It flew past him and, like an arrow, continued forwards.

Everything moved in slow motion. Harry watched the spell streak across the dark room.

It found its target in Arthur Weasley’s side. He had been grinning up at Dumbledore, but no the spell knocked him off balance. He stumbled, his foot loosing its way on a piece of rubble.

He began falling towards the archway.

Harry reached out his hand instinctively, his fingers just grazing Arthur’s.

And then he had fallen through the veil.

There was a strange moment were the world felt completely out of balance. Like everything that Harry had ever known was false.

Because Arthur wasn’t falling on the other side of the veil. That defied logic. He had disappeared into it.

He could hear screaming. Ginny screaming. He wanted to turn around and tell her that it would be fine, that Arthur was just hiding. That he would come back out in a minute.

But he wasn’t.

And Harry realised that no father would stay hiding from his daughter when she was screaming like that. Like she was being torn in two.

Harry turned, feeling as though he had completely slipped out of reality.

Ginny was running towards him. It was impossible to tell whether it was Luna’s spell or sheer desperation that was allowing her to walk on her twisted ankle.

He caught her a second after she passed him, pulling her to his chest as she screeched, tugging against him because –

“He’s there, Harry! I’ll just – I’ll just step in and pull him out! It will take a moment! Just a moment! You would do the same!”

Harry wanted to do the same. He so badly wanted to do the same. That was why he holding onto her so tightly.

There was a high cackling laugh that echoed around the hall.

Harry pressed his head into Ginny’s hair to see Sirius nursing his side and Bellatrix grinning at Ginny.

“Oh, look at the little girl! Crying for her daddy!”

Ginny was out of Harry’s arms before he could blink, her wand glowing as she ran across the room, he caught the words “kill” and “bitch,” but everything sounded strangely underwater.

Nevertheless he followed Ginny, who was following the retreating Bellatrix out of the room.

They left the doors open as they ran back through the Ministry, into the main hall full of fireplaces. Harry skid to a halt as he spotted Ginny behind one, leaning on it heavily. Her tearstained face was pale and sweaty. Luna’s spell had worn off.

A chunk of plaster came away from the fireplace. Harry ducked out of the way and into plain sight in the hallway. He found himself face to face with Bellatrix.

“Has the little girl’s handsome Prince come to save her? Are you going to kill me for her, little Harry?”

“Yes!” it hit Harry as though he had just ran into a wall. What had happened. Arthur Weasley was dead and he didn’t deserve to die. He was brought back to reality and felt as though he had shattered from the sheer impact. Arthur Weasley, who sat at his breakfast table and grinned at his children. Arthur Weasley, who hid a flying car from his wife and hid his excitement about his sons driving it. Just a normal man with a normal family and a normal life.

This shouldn’t have been his war.

He hated this woman. She was like an infection or a disease. He raised his wand.

“Crucio!”

That wasn’t his voice. Ginny was leaning against the fireplace with pure venom in her eyes, her hair streaming behind her like a long flame.

Bellatrix was knocked off of her feet, her own spell hitting a statue and sending it head rolling away. Only second later, however, she was back on her feet, grinning like a skull up at them.

“Now, come on little girly, you have to mean an unforgiveable curse. You have to really want to cause me pain. Don’t you want to? I’ll just have to give you a lesson-“

“No – reducto!” Harry cast it at the floor, sending rubble to knock Ginny off of her feet and safely back behind the fireplace. The spell hit the one behind it, cracking the marble.

His head was starting to hurt, and Bellatrix was screaming at him. Something about the prophecy.

“I broke it!” he laughed, squinting through the pain. “It’s gone! It shattered back there.”

“You’re lying! You snuck it into your robes – I know you did! I know – accio prophecy!”

Harry shrugged, holding his hands to his sides. The pain was becoming unbearable now.

“I tried, Master. I – I didn’t know – but I have him here-“

“He can’t hear you-“

“Can’t I, Potter?”

Harry’s heart seemed to be very good at stopping beating for large periods of time. The high, cold voice chilled him thoroughly. As the cloaked figure stepped around him and into view, he wondered if he was going to vomit all over Lord Voldemort. He supposed it would be a ridiculous, but not the worst last action.

“He’s not lying, Bella,” those red eyes surveyed Harry calmly. “Even through his muddled mind I can see that much.”

Harry couldn’t even take that as an insult. He could barely think straight. He was starting to hope that he would wake up in St Mungo’s.

“All those months of planning, all those months of work, and Harry Potter decides he’s just going to destroy the prophecy. How selfish of you, Potter. Don’t you ever think about what I want?”

Harry wasn’t sure how to answer that. He felt like he was being told off for taking the last pizza slice as opposed to destroying a prophecy. Of course he thought about what Voldemort wanted, but considering Voldemort wanted to kill him, he tried not to give it to him.

“For someone who is always in my way, you are always anticlimactic to meet. At least this is the last time. Avada Kadavra.”

Ginny screamed. Harry flinched. The newly headless statue, however, bounded in front of him, the jet of green bouncing harmlessly from it.

Dumbledore had made his entrance as dramatically as he always did. As he strode through the hall, Ginny hobbled back from behind the fireplace and tugged Harry’s arm, pulling him out of the danger zone.

Harry held onto Ginny protectively, her hair tickling his mouth as he frowned and tried to listen to what they were saying. Part of him wanted to see the duel. No doubt it would be incredible.

Another part of him wanted to run off and find Draco.

But another part of him was aching, drumming the pain through every part of him. Arthur Weasley was dead. And it was Harry’s fault.

Ginny’s fingers dug into him and she was shaking. He had never seen her cry before, but this wasn’t crying. This was something else.

He closed his eyes and let the pain wash over him. A whole ocean of regret and sorrow and anger rushing through him, pummelling him from all sides like he was a tiny stone in the sea.

He felt tiny, pressed up against the crumbling fireplace. Little more than a feather in a storm.

Little more than a boy in a war.

*

Fudge was outraged, of course, even though Dumbledore had won. He was arguing with Dumbledore now, as Dumbledore walked slowly towards Harry with a newly created portkey.

“I must talk with you, Harry,” he said. Those bright blue eyes looked so kind and familiar. “Will you wait for me in my office whilst I sort things out here?”

“Where are the others going?” Harry’s voice was raspy, as though he had been crying a long time.

“Back to school, or back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Then I want to go to Grimmauld Place,” he said. It struck him that this was the first time he had disagreed with one of Dumbledore’s plans. If the headmaster looked shocked, he said nothing. “I need – I need to sort some things out. I need – Draco. I can’t go anywhere until I find Draco.”

“There will be time for all of that later, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice was soothing. A voice he wanted to trust. A voice he had wanted to hear all year.

“I have to take care of Ginny first,” Harry said. There were a million thing she had to do first before talking to Dumbledore. He had never seemed high on Dumbledore’s list, anyway. “I’ll meet you there. Half an hour?”

And with that, he slipped Ginny’s arm over his shoulder, and helped her hobble back to the others.

He didn’t really want to go to Grimmauld Place. He knew that Narcissa would be there, safe and sound.

And he knew that he would have to look her in the eye and tell her that he had failed.

That he had failed to keep Draco safe.

Chapter Text

The first question Narcissa asked was not where her son was.

The first question she asked was "are you alright?"

She asked it as she pressed Harry close to her. He felt numb all over, the very tips of his fingers tingling. She smelt sweet. His face was pressed into her shoulder and the smell of perfume made his head swim. It smelt too sweet. Harry felt he had been smelling the smell of spells, like an electric crackle in the air, for an eternity.

"I'm fine," Harry said. Physically, he was. Every part of him thronged and ached but that all seemed to be under his skin. A cauldron bubbling underneath the surface.

"You are not," Narcissa said firmly. She took his shoulders for a moment and then he froze as she took his face in her hands, studying the cuts and bruises scattered across him.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was. But she was right, he really wasn't. For some reason he couldn't say that.

"I'm sorry," he said instead. "I’m sorry – I’m sorry – it was all my fault. It was my fault we were in the department of mysteries and it was my fault that Draco’s missing and it was my fault that Mr Weasley’s-“

The word went back down his throat with a painful gulp.

Suddenly Narcissa was hugging him again, harder than before.

“Of course it wasn’t.”

Of course it was. But he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he allowed himself to be lead to the living room and collapsed next to Ginny on one of the sofas. She absently reached for his hand, but the rest of her remained completely still. Lupin had found an unconscious Ron in the room with the brains, and she was staring at him. Harry wanted to tell her that he would be okay – that he would tell Ron what happened so that she didn’t have to.

But he wasn’t sure what he could possibly say either.

Narcissa was quick to heal their injuries. Luna sat next to Neville, her arms around her knees, pointedly not looking at Ginny. Neville kept glancing up, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t look like he wanted to say anything.

They could hear the hum of voices coming from the kitchen. The adults were clearly making an effort to keep their voices down, but he could still hear words. Harry was trying not to think about what would happen in half an hour, if he would simply be zipped to Dumbledore’s office, or if Dumbledore would arrive here. It seemed the only thing that was safe to think about without the world fracturing around him.

Narcissa was still standing over him, her fingers running through his hair as though he was a cat. He felt numb, and she was staring out of the window. Neither of them were comforted by this.

There was a knock at the door and everyone jumped up at the same time. Harry felt a sickening twist in his stomach. There was so much hope. For half a moment, he thought it was Arthur Weasley.

The next moment, he thought it could be Draco.

Before any of them could quite make it out the living room, Mad-Eye Moody was already at the door.

Dumbledore was silhouetted against the evening light.

Narcissa pulled the living room door shut, pushing Harry behind her.

“I told him I’d meet him,” Harry said. His voice was cracked and dry.

“Not today. You need to rest,” she said, and slipped out of the room. They heard it lock, but barely glanced at it as they sank back down. It was not Arthur Weasley. It was not Draco Malfoy.

The arguing started again.

“It is of the utmost importance that I speak to Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice was calm. “There are a lot of things he does not understand.”

“Then maybe you should have told him before!” Sirius yelled.

“Things are not that simple,” Dumbledore said. “His connection to Voldemort-“

Harry clapped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, wishing he wasn’t there. That he wasn’t anywhere. He didn’t want to think about Voldemort or occlumency. A man – a good man – was dead and it was his fault and no one was discussing that. It was always about him. He’d had enough of it being about him. He’d just had enough.

“We need to find Draco,” he whispered.

Narcissa was at the door, one hand on the handle, but she leant against it more for support than to eavesdrop.

“He will be with Lucius,” was her reply. “He will protect him.”

Harry didn’t want to ask from what.

The arguing continued. Mad-Eye had added his gruff bark to Dumbledore’s calm voice.

“Harry is a key part in this! He’s our most important fighter!”

“He’s fifteen!” Sirius yelled. “He’s not a fighter! He’s a teenager.”

“He’s seen enough that you don’t have to mollycoddle him, Black!”

“That’s exactly why I have to protect him,” Sirius’ voice was quiet and his words deliberate.

Ginny folded into Harry’s sides, her shoulders shaking by no noise coming from her. He thought she had ran out of tears, even if the grief was still storming through her like a hurricane.

Luna bit her lip, her legs twitching as though she wanted to get up and help. She would probably be the last person Ginny wanted to comfort her.

“I think it’s best we take this conversation away from here,” Lupin said. “Harry hates to hear people talking about him like this.”

They could still hear, even when they went to the kitchen.

He wanted to sleep, desperately, because he need to just stop for a little while. To forget and to have his mind blank. There would be no more dreams about the prophecy.  But he couldn’t sleep, because Arthur had just died and Draco was still missing and that wasn’t a time to sleep at all. It was a time to leap into action. To keep fighting.

Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off, or maybe Narcissa had cast a charm on them all, but Harry found himself drifting off to sleep as the streetlights outside began to flicker on. As the argument was beginning to simmer down, her found himself diving into a confusing world of half-dreams.

He awoke in one of bedrooms upstairs. In a musty bedroom. There was the smell of bacon coming from downstairs and his stomach growled.

And then it hit him again and he felt too sick for bacon.  He hid under the duvet instead and stayed there for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep. He didn’t want to think about how the day was going to go. What he would have to do. Who he would have to face.

It was late morning when he got up, padding to the bathroom to clear off the grime and blood. He didn’t know a spell to deal with his clothes, but he bet Hermione did. If Hermione was okay.

Then he stayed in the tiny bedroom. The ceiling was a little lopsided and the window was warped so that the square outside looked magnified, but it was full of old books to distract himself with.

There was a knock on his door around midday, and Luna Lovegood poked her head around.

“Harry, you’re up too,” she said.

“I am.”

“Everyone else is, but no one emerged for breakfast.”

“I didn’t feel like eating.”

“Oh, I did,” Luna closed the door and sat opposite Harry, her legs crossed. “But I hardly know anyone here and I didn’t want them to think I was heartless because I had an appetite. Besides, I hate greasy food for breakfast.”

“It’s my favourite,” Harry admitted. He had spent to long smelling the Dursley’s fry-ups not to crave one of his own. He had fully taken advantage of them at Hogwarts.

“Ginny likes them too.”

There was a pause. Harry wasn’t even sure that her kiss with Luna was one of Ginny’s worries right now.

“I feel bad about what happened,” Luna continued. She traced a finger over the pattern on the carpet. Harry wasn’t sure if it was just an artful collection of stains or not. “I’m not usually a hesitant person. I can’t understand why, in that moment, when it mattered, that I pulled away. It just kind of happened, like my head and my heart just switched off for a moment and then it was already too late. I lost my chance.”

“Why don’t you talk to Ginny about it?” Harry asked. It felt absurd, to be talking about relationships after all that had happened, but perhaps that was easier than the other stuff.

“I don’t think she wants to see me,” Luna’s lips curved upwards in a sad smile. She shrugged. “If its going to happen, it will happen, you know.”

“I guess,” Harry didn’t know. He let them lapse back into silence.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Luna said eventually. “There’s so many pieces to pick up and not very much time, but we don’t want to do any of it.”

“I don’t know where to start,” Harry admitted. The pieces had shattered around him and each one had a sharp edge ready to cut him.

“That’s the easy part,” Luna said. “All you have to do is get up.”

She did, slowly, as though she was still in pain, then padded out of Harry’s room. It seemed unbearably empty and quiet without her, as though the room was growing bigger with every second, that Harry was quick to follow her.

There was a congregation in Ron’s bedroom. Under other circumstances, Harry would have found it impressive to fit five people on one bed. Ginny was resting her head on Ron’s shoulder, staring blankly at the duvet. Hermione was on Ron’s other side,  her legs to her chest, only just touching him with her shoulder. Neville and Luna sat at the opposite end of the bed, Neville shuffling a worn pack of cards with all of his attention.

Harry pulled himself up next to Hermione and nudged Ron’s leg with his own.

“You okay, mate?” he asked. It was a stupid question, but what else could he ask?

Ron’s face was pale, the marks from the brains a blotchy purple on his neck.

“Does it sound weird when I say I wish I could have seen it?” he said. Harry had rarely heard Ron so meditative. “I just – can’t believe I was passed out when-“ Ron swallowed. “I know you guys weren’t wrong, but I keep thinking that he’ll just walk through the door.”

“We all do,” Hermione said.

“And all Dumbledore cares about is Harry,” Ginny said. Harry hoped the bitterness was aimed at Dumbledore and not him.

“I don’t want to see him,” Harry said. “I don’t get how he can spend the whole year ignoring me and then want me to come running when my boyfriend is missing.”

“I’m sure Dumbledore had a reason,” Hermione said. She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself. “I’m sure he wants to explain himself.”

“I just-“ Harry gritted his teeth. He could feel some of that old sharp anger bubbling under the heaviness of his limbs. “I can’t believe that even when we try to do something right – when we try to sort things out in a mature, level-headed way – that everything goes so wrong.”

“I have a feel Lucius Malfoy would have gotten you to the Department of Mysteries one way or another,” Hermione said.

Her words felt like the tide crashing against a concrete wall. They simply washed over Harry.

Yes, Lucius had got them in the Department of Mysteries.

But everything after that was on him.

*

Harry could only describe the next few days as fuzzy. There was an awkward jerk back into the normal routine. Of breakfast, lunch and dinner. The time in between was filled with wizard’s chess and card games that no one focused on. They all glanced up at the sound of footsteps, like dogs waiting for the postman.

Sirius was out most days, as a dog, of course, looking for Draco. Lupin often went too. They were the only members of the Order who were searching. A few others popped in and tried to avoid as many teenagers as they could. Tonks had apparently apparated straight out of the kitchen at the sight of Narcissa.

She was the one who was making sure they didn’t break down. She was the one who made sure they were all down for meals and woke up at reasonable hours. She wasn’t the best cook, and though Kreacher helped, neither was he. But that was okay, because Harry could barely taste the burnt porridge or the lumpy mash potatoes.

“She’s incredible,” Hermione said once, as she sat behind the net curtains and stared out at Grimmauld Place. “She’s the only one who can pull herself together, but she’s the one who’s son is missing. I can’t believe they’re just letting her cope with that.”

They had all murmured in agreement. That was the most anybody had said for three days.

Everything else seemed out of focus. Harry didn’t know when he would be returning to Hogwarts, but it felt like a different life. He didn’t know when Dumbledore would want to speak to him but that seemed at the very edge of his concerns.

The only thing outside of Grimmauld Place that seemed real was Draco. He clung onto that. Draco must still be alive. He spent too much time thinking of Draco knocking on the door, smirking at him and saying “did I give you a scare, Potter?” And way too much time thinking about kissing Draco when he saw him again.

The only thing outside of Grimmauld Place that seemed real was Draco. He clung onto that. Draco must still be alive. He spent too much time thinking of Draco knocking on the door, smirking at him and saying “did I give you a scare, Potter?” And way too much time thinking about kissing Draco when he saw him again.

But it didn't happen like that. It didn't happen like that at all.

They had been picking their way through lunch when Sirius had appeared into the kitchen. The crack had been the loudest sound in the house since they had got here.

He had a streak of blood running down his temple and was breathing heavily, holding tightly onto a very pale Draco Malfoy. Draco looked very limp. His eyes were closed. Harry hoped that meant passed out and not dead.

But there was smudges on everything. From crimson to maroon to a dirty brown stain. Blood.

"Remus!" Sirius yelled. "I need you now!"

There was a loud clatter as they heard Lupin half-launch himself down the stairs. Narcissa was staring at Sirius in shock, as though she wasn’t sure if what she was seeing was real or not.

Harry stepped forward as Lupin crashed into the kitchen.

“What’s happened?”

Sirius shook his head.

“Upstairs.”

“I’ll help,” Harry stepped forward, then immediately stepped backwards as Sirius barked “no!”

Narcissa took Harry’s elbow, pulling him gently backwards as Sirius and Lupin rushed back out of the room, the unconscious Draco between them.

Harry felt numb all over again.

“He’s okay, isn’t he?” he asked Narcissa, because he was tired of thinking for himself. He needed an adult. He needed someone responsible to tell him it was all going to be okay.

Only Narcissa didn’t reply.

Harry couldn’t sit still for the rest of the day. He couldn’t bear to be sat around doing nothing whilst Draco was upstairs. It felt like forever since he had spoken to Draco, even if it had only been a few days.

He eventually crept up the stairs, waiting on the landing until he saw Sirius emerging from one of the rooms. He spotted Harry immediately, though he didn’t say a word until he sat down next to him, his long legs tangling in the bannisters like Harry used to do with the Dursley’s stairs. He had gotten stuck once, leaving just one more thing for Dudley to hold against him.

“He’s alive, Harry.”

“I’m sensing there’s a ‘but,’” Harry said, slowly. His heart was juddering in his chest and nausea threatened to swallow him.

Sirius sighed. He still had blood matted in his hair.

“It’s not good.”

Harry waited, his eyes boring into Sirius. He sighed again, his foot nudging a few splinters from one of the bannisters.

“Lucius Malfoy was punished for his failures to Voldemort. He took it out on Draco.”

“The cruciatus curse?” Harry had never heard Draco scream. He couldn’t imagine it.

“No, Harry, something much more permanent,” Sirius glanced at him, then put a hand over Harry’s. “This might be a shock,” Harry couldn’t answer. His heart was in his mouth. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to hear. “He used Fenrir Greyback.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t make the connection. He frowned at Sirius and wondered how that could possibly be worse.

Then the name clicked. Greyback. Werewolf.

He had infected Draco.

“Oh,” Harry couldn’t think. “But that could be a lot worse, couldn’t it?”

Sirius grimaced.

“Not for the Malfoy’s, it couldn’t.”

“But Lupin is a werewolf, and he’s okay.”

“Lupin’s been a werewolf for a very long time,” Sirius said. “He’s learnt to live with it, but I don’t think he’ll ever accept it.”

Harry’s eyes pricked. He wanted to lean against Sirius and be told everything was okay, but he knew it wasn’t. He still wanted to lean against Sirius, the only proper family he had left. But he wasn’t very good at the family thing and Sirius didn’t seem to be either.

“Can I see him?” Harry asked.

“Soon.”

So when? Harry was dying to ask, but knew he sounded like a selfish child. He ended up sloping down the stairs to his own room, then staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Draco. Did he already know? Or would they have to break the news to him like they did with Ron? How would he react? How could you react to being told you were a werewolf?

He bided his time, waiting until he heard both Sirius and Lupin head down the stairs. They had been talking, but stopped as they passed Harry’s room.

Then he crept up the stairs. The squeaked and groaned under him and he wished he had taken the time to figure out which floorboards were loose and which weren’t. No one rushed after him though, so he figured he was safe.

His fingers hovered over the door handle. Just what exactly would he find there? Would Draco even want to see him? Probably not. So Harry had to go in, even if it was only to apologise.

He swung the door open.

It was another room full of old, sagging furniture and moth eaten sheets. Draco was sat at the end of a four poster bed, buttoning up his shirt.

He looked incredibly normal. He still looked pale and there were dark circles under his eyes, but much more normal than Harry had thought he would. He couldn’t even see any wounds or bandages. Maybe Sirius had made a mistake.

Draco glanced up at him, his lips curving into a slight smirk for a moment.

“Potter,” he said. He didn’t bother to stand, but he did hold onto the bed frame. Harry wondered how much of it was Draco’s usual cockiness and how much was due to exhaustion.

“Draco,” Harry stepped forward and found his words caught in his mouth. He had to say it.

“Wipe that look off your face,” Draco said, the smirk flickering back, as though there was another Draco inside trying to break through the tired eyes.

“What look?”

“Let me guess – you’re going to say that you’re sorry, right? What for?”

What for? What for?

“For everything. It’s all my fault.”

“So, you wanted to go to the Department of Mysteries?”

“Well – I wanted to check here first.”

“Were you working with my father?”

“No.”

“What part is your fault, then, exactly?” Draco leant back and Harry wasn’t sure if that small smile had turned into a grimace. “Lucius Malfoy was the one who trapped us in the Ministry. You just survived.”

“I should have checked you were behind me,” Harry swallowed hard. “I should have gone back for you.”

“And what? Fought off ten Death Eaters by yourself?”

“If I had to.”

Draco smiled and looked away for a moment. Harry thought if he had said that a month ago, Draco would have laughed. Now the smile reminded him of how Sirius smiled, as though he was holding something back.

“You’re such an idiot,” Draco muttered.

“I know,” Harry headed forward, his confidence growing, but he stopped as Draco shifted away from him.

“Potter – Harry,” Draco sighed. “I’m not – I’m not me anymore.”

“Could have fooled me,” Harry said.

“Like that’s hard,” but the scoff didn’t last long. Draco looked up at Harry, his eyes almost the same colour as his skin. “Didn’t they tell you what happened?”

“Sirius did. But I don’t see how that changes anything.”

Draco did laugh then. But it was a bitter, harsh laugh that reminded Harry too much of Sirius.

“Of course if changes things. Potter, it changes everything. It changes my whole life for my whole life. I’m not human.”

“Of course you are.”

“Not completely. Not ever again,” Draco sighed, looking at the ceiling. “All those generations of purebloods and now there’s a half-breed in the family. A whole legacy, ruined just like that.”

Harry stayed silent. He felt like he was around a scared animal and the wrong move could set it off.

“How’s my mother?” Draco asked quietly. He was still staring at a patch of damp on the ceiling.

“Coping,” Harry replied. “At least, she was. I haven’t seen her since you got here.”

“Neither have I,” Draco didn’t seem bothered by this. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m sure she’s been worried about you.”

“And what will she be when she sees me? Horrified? Disgusted?”

“No,” Harry didn’t know much about mums, but he did know that was off the table. “I’m not.”

“You should be.” Draco said it quietly, almost as though he didn’t want Harry to hear it. “I’m a beast, Potter,” he finally stood, still holding onto the bed, his expression venomous. “Werewolves are listed in Fantastic Beasts and where to find them. Do you know what is says? It says ‘murderous beast.’ That’s me. That’s what I am now.”

“You’re not like that.”

Draco made a sound between a scoff and a laugh, turning away from Harry for a moment. His hair flopped over his face as he smiled grimly at the ground.

“How do you know?” he bit his lip as he looked back up at Harry. “You can’t trust me not to kill you when I transform.”

“I trusted you not to kill me in the Department of Mysteries. You could have. Easily.” Harry tried to stay calm, to keep his voice even, but the look in Draco’s eyes was scaring him.

Because he had never seen Draco Malfoy so clearly terrified. His voice rose into a shout, almost a scream, as he continued.

“Because I had control. Werewolves don’t have that – they’re animals, Potter! I’m an animal. I shouldn’t have a wand, I don’t deserve to be a wizard. I’m not worthy of magic anymore!”

“Draco-“

Harry could hear footsteps on the stairs.

“Just fuck off, Potter!”

Harry felt a hand grip his shoulder.

“No!” he yelled back. He wasn’t sure what to or for, but he knew that his vision was blurry and his chest felt as though it was burning and despite his protest, he was pulled from the room.

It was Sirius. Sirius pressing Harry to his chest with both arms, his chin on the top of Harry’s head. They had stumbled halfway down the hallway, not quickly enough to hide the slam of Draco’s door.

Harry was crying. He wasn’t sure when he had started, but his shoulders felt heavy as he sobbed into Sirius’ chest. Everyone had been doing a lot of crying lately. Harry had to catch up.

But Sirius was there, and he was something to hold onto and he let Harry stand there and sob.

“I know, Harry,” he said quietly, pressing his face into Harry’s hair. “I know.”

“I don’t know what to say – I don’t know what to do to – to make it better.”

“There’s nothing you can say, Harry,” Sirius’ voice was still gentle against the ghost of Draco’s yells. “We’ll never understand. Not completely.”

“So – what do I do?” talking was hard, but not talking was harder.

“Just be there.”

“I don’t – care about it? I really don’t care, Sirius!” Harry pulled away slightly, because Sirius needed to see how much he meant it. “I love him and I don’t care!”

“I know. I know. It’s okay,” Sirius kept saying it, but Harry was finding it harder and harder to believe those words. Everyone seemed to be saying it and no one seemed to mean it.

*

Lupin spent a lot of time with Draco the next day and Harry was advised to stay out of the way.

That was when Sirius was revealed that he had been working on a new motorbike and took Harry on a whistle stop tour of London. In fact, they couldn’t stop unless someone recognised Sirius. They had had to park in an alleyway and buy food from a vendor so that Harry could share his burger with his ‘dog.’ It was strange to think there was a world beyond Grimmauld Place. A world full of normal people who weren’t caught up in the Second Wizarding War.

They got back in time for dinner, and Harry was shocked to find Draco in the kitchen, leaning on the table and comparing answers with Hermione about the exams, successfully driving Ron insane. Harry could barely remember sitting his OWLs, let alone what answers he put down.

As a slightly sooty Harry walked in, he grinned and slipped an arm around Harry’s waist.

“Mon Cherie,” he said.

“Draco. You’re – okay?” Harry said.  He felt as though Draco could shatter at any moment.

Draco smiled at him and pressed a kiss against Harry’s forehead.

“I will be,” he whispered, slouching back against the table with his arms around Harry’s waist.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Ron said. “Going over every answer in the exam, or the PDA.”

“Potter gets antsy if he doesn’t see me every day,” Draco said.

Sirius and Lupin walked in and Harry was too busy avoiding their eyes to argue his point. He didn’t know what had happened, but Lupin gave Draco a loaded gaze.  Maybe Draco would tell him one day.

He let go of Harry when Narcissa came in to hug her tightly, but as soon as he was done, wrapped himself back around Harry like a child returning to their teddy bear.

“At least I managed to finish my OWLs before I got abducted,” he said. “You should be proud to have such a considerate son.”

Ginny snorted and Harry smirked, leaning into Draco. It was easier here. Everyone was focusing on something else and not them.

Narcissa didn’t laugh. She stared into Draco’s eyes instead.

“You could fail them all and I would not care,” she said. “What matters is that you are alive, Draco.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Draco muttered into Harry’s neck. Harry squeezed Draco’s hand and wished he could do more.

“If it helps,” Harry said, tracing his fingers up Draco’s arm. There. He could feel the ridges of the bandages under his shirt. “It makes me feel a little better. You’re not so heartbreakingly perfect.”

Draco smiled, his arms tightening around Harry.

“All those years of being the perfect son, ruined,” he said.

And received a spatula on the wrist.

“Don’t,” Narcissa snapped. “Don’t you dare. I’m much more proud of a son who chooses what’s right and wrong for himself than turning out just like his father.”

“Sorry,” Draco said, then his mouth twisted and he buried his face into Harry’s neck. When he emerged, it was like nothing had happened, but Harry had seen the mask slip. For just a moment. It didn’t bother him, and he squeezed Draco again to let him know that. Everyone was breaking and that was nothing to be ashamed of.

Still, things felt normal for the first time as they ate dinner. It felt as though there wasn’t a dark, heavy cloud bearing down on them. Ginny actually smiled at Luna and offered her the salt. It was the first time they had spoken directly to each other since the kiss. With Draco back, the playful banter had returned and Harry felt as ease again.

That didn’t stop him from sneaking out of the living room early after dinner.

He heard Draco follow him, of course, and he ignored it until he had sat back down on his bed, running his hands through his hair.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one in emotional duress?” Draco asked. He closed Harry’s door, crossed the room and crouched in front of him, so that he was looking up to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I just – tonight felt normal, you know? For the first time since the Department – and it shouldn’t have.”

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“Because Mr Weasley is dead and you’re a werewolf.”

Draco’s eye twitched.

“You can’t spend everyday in mourning,” he said, lacing his fingers through Harry’s.

“So what? I just – forget him?”

“No, you carry him with you. That’s a better way to honour someone’s memory than to stop living your life because they lost theirs.”

The words sounded right. They even sounded wise and Harry knew there was truth in them.

But he didn’t feel strong enough to carry anything right now.

“Can you,” he stared at their linked fingers. “Stay with me, tonight?”

Draco answered him with a kiss.

And for one night, Harry didn’t feel quite so awful.

Chapter Text

21

Then, of course, Dumbledore had to show up.

It was when they were eating breakfast. He had walked in and calmly surveyed them all. If he had been surprised by Draco and Narcissa he didn’t show it. Harry did. He dropped Draco’s hand and stared at his porridge.

“I do feel it prudent to tell you, Sirius,” Dumbledore began, but he wasn’t ignoring Harry this time. In fact, he seemed to be watching him closely. “Your choice of guests has made a few members of the order uncomfortable.”

“A few members of the Order make me uncomfortable,” Sirius replied. “I haven’t invited anyone with a Dark Mark on their arm into my home.”

Harry had thought of Draco’s arm. He knew the bite was there – right where the Dark Mark would sit, because he had learnt long ago that Voldemort had a flair for dramatics. He still hadn’t seen it, but he wasn’t going to press it.

“I know where Serverus’ loyalties lie,” was all Dumbledore replied.

“You’ll be wanting to see Harry, I take it,” Sirius said. He had a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and squeezed it imperceptibly as Dumbledore nodded.

So Harry followed Dumbledore from the room, wishing he was somebody else. He wished he wasn’t the chosen one. He wished he could still be sat at breakfast next to his boyfriend and laughing and smiling.

Because now that he followed Dumbledore he was reminded just how much devastation he had caused.

“This should do, don’t you think?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged, feeling more like a sulky teenager than ever, and stepped into the room. He sat down on a sagging sofa and stared out the window. He hoped he looked angry. He was thinking about the tiny freckle at the back of Draco’s neck, because that was the only way he wasn’t going to scream at Dumbledore.

“I know how you feel,” Dumbledore said.

Harry glared at the grey streets outside. He didn’t want to reply. He had no interest in replying.

“No you don’t,” he replied, anyway.

"I do. I know exactly how you feel."

Harry had not touched his wand in days, but he itched for it now. He had to compromise with slamming his fist against the peeling window frame.

"You don't! How could you?"

“Because I am just as human as you Harry, and what you’re feeling is proof you are too.”

“Then I don’t want to be human,” Harry gritted his teeth. “I don’t think that distinction matters much.”

“Because of your grief, or because of what happened to Mr Malfoy?” Dumbledore asked, still watching him calmly from over the tops of his spectacles.

Harry felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. How could he talk about it so easily? How could he dismiss Arthur’s death as grief?

“Both,” he managed to choke out. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

There was a scoff from underneath one of the covered paintings and a mutter about how useless it was to level with teenagers nowadays.

“Why wouldn’t I understand, Harry?”

“Because Draco’s not me. He’s not the Chosen One. You think it was a mistake for me to ever trust him in the first place. You think he’s a Death Eater.”

“I never said that.”

“Are you going to help him, then?” Harry snapped. The whole week’s worth of guilt and shame and self-hatred seemed like a tower growing around him, waiting to smother him.

“There is nothing I can do,” Dumbledore said, and he might have been genuinely upset by that. Harry wasn’t sure of anything anymore, because he had heard that so many times from that mouth – and he was only realising it now.

“There’s never anything you can do! Is there?! There was nothing you could do to stop Professor Quirrel almost killing me when I was eleven! Or the Basilisk almost killing me when I was twelve! Or to clear Sirius’ name – or – or any of this year. No wonder I had to go to Narcissa Malfoy to get help when you wouldn’t even look at me, much less teach me occlumency. It doesn’t matter if Snape was trying to open my mind or not, he didn’t teach me anything!”

He felt like he could breathe for the first time in weeks. Maybe months. He knew they could hear him in the kitchen, but he found he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about anything, he just knew that the throbbing, angry monster inside him had to come out.

Dumbledore hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as flinched or raised a finger to stop his tyrade.

“I’m looking at you now,” he said, instead.

“Why didn’t you get to the Department of Mysteries sooner?!” Harry demanded, tears pricking his eyes like thorns.

“I came as soon as I knew, Harry. But I am not superhuman,” Dumbledore said. “And neither are you. What happened in the Ministry of Magic was not your fault.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, feeling every breath in his chest like it was his last. Everyone had been saying those words.

“There was nothing you could have done to have prevented any of those events. You did the best that you could do under circumstances you could not control and I daresay most of your friends are alive because of you.”

“But, Mr Weasley,” he shook his head. He didn’t have the words to describe how his heart was screaming at him that that wasn’t the case.

“Would you like me to say it was my fault? Perhaps it was. Perhaps I should have kept a closer eye on you or listened more to Aberforth. I do know, Harry, that neither of us shot the spell that killed Arthur, and neither of us could have prevented him going. He would have gone even if he knew the outcome, to get you back.”

Forget punching, Harry was sure he had just been stabbed. He turned away, swallowing hard. That was even worse. People dying for him was even worse.

“I want it to stop,” Harry whispered.

“For what to stop?” Dumbledore took a step forward. Harry supposed that was fair – for all Dumbledore knew there were voices in Harry’s mind telling him to kill the Headmaster.

“Everything,” he swallowed, his voice shaking. “I want everything to stop. I want it to end.”

There was a pause. He was shaking all over.

“That’s because you care, Harry. You care so much that you feel it will kill you. You care so much that you have fallen in love with a boy you hated.”

Harry really didn’t want to talk about his love life with his headmaster, especially not right now. But the mention of Draco felt like an electric shock against the numbness that had been slowly creeping up on him. Draco hadn’t blamed him. No one had blamed him. And no one would want him to end. At least, not for no reason. Maybe Dumbledore was right, maybe it wasn’t his fault.

He sat down on one of the sofas, feeling strangely light.

“Yeah,” he said, because that was all he could say.

“I am sorry to have kept so much from you, Harry, but I will explain now. If you will let me.”

Harry got the feeling he didn’t have a choice, so he nodded and let Dumbledore sit opposite him and talk to him in that meditative voice. He loved the sound of that voice. It was a voice that made him feel safe and calm and cared for, despite the doubt niggling at him.

Dumbledore explained that he had been ignoring Harry to stop Voldemort from spying on him. Harry supposed it made sense, though it wasn’t like that problem was solved now. Voldemort could still be spying on him. He explained that Kreacher, aside from messing up their mirror conversation, had also been the one to fiddle with the fireplaces. He had actually been serving Bellatrix at the same time and had fled after the battle of the Department of Mysteries. Harry couldn’t find himself particularly shocked or hurt at the news.

But then he had kept talking. He answered the question that Harry had each Summer: why he had to live with the Dursley’s. It was something to do with bonds in blood and securing the charm Harry’s mother had started with her death. Voldemort was not supposed to be able to get to him at Privet Drive. It wasn’t a very satisfying answer.

“But why did I have to stay there?” Harry asked. “You said I only needed to be there once a year. Why couldn’t I have just gone there for a day once a year?”

“Harry-“

“You let me stay there, knowing they would treat me like shit,” the anger that had plagued him for the last year wasn’t there, it had left only hurt and disbelief.

“Language,” Dumbledore said softly and Harry found himself wishing for his wand once again. He couldn’t understand. He hadn’t lived ten years with the Dursley’s and he didn’t seem to care that much that Harry had. “You are only protected at Privet Drive, the enchantment will spread no further.”

“But Sirius is my Godfather – surely he counts as family.”

“I was not about to test the loopholes at the risk of your life.”

“My life’s been at risk multiple times at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “And most of the time, Voldemort had nothing to do with it.”

“That was before Voldemort was restored to his full power. You must see, with term starting to close that you need to return to your Aunt and Uncle for the summer.” Dumbledore said.

So that’s what this was about. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hoped he could hide here for the Summer or if he knew he’d be found out eventually.

“I’ll go,” Harry said. “To collect the rest of my things. But I’m not living there. I’m staying here. With Sirius. He’s my family.”

“Please do not make this into an argument, Harry.”

“I’m not staying there,” Harry folded his arms. “I’ve been staying here for a week and I haven’t been killed yet. I won’t get involved in any of the Order business, I promise, but I won’t go back to Privet Drive.”

Dumbledore stared at him for a long time, and though his expression had not changed, Harry felt waves of disapproval. He didn’t care. He had just found out that he hadn’t had to live with the Dursleys. Not really. He was allowed to be difficult. Just once.

“I will discuss the matter with Sirius,” Dumbledore mumbled. “And then, of course, there is the graver truth that I was hiding from you. The prophecy, or the reason Voldemort wanted to kill you as an infant.”

That was the reason? Harry couldn’t help but feel let down. In fact, a little offended, that it was just a prophecy that had made him the Chosen One.

“So, it could have been anyone?” he said. “I mean, aren’t prophecies meant to be pretty vague?”

“This one did narrow it down to two. You, and Neville Longbottom,” Dumbledore said. “I can show you the prophecy.”

“I’d rather not,” Harry said, quickly. “I mean, no offence, I just – I don’t want to worry about it. Like, it will come true in some way or another no matter what, right? So if I know it, and I don’t like it, then I’ll just stress about it.”

“It is rather important, Harry. It does say that neither of you can live whilst the other survives.”

Harry let himself digest that. Dumbledore said it with the tone of voice that implied Harry should be surprised, but he wasn’t. When he thought about it, it made sense. Voldemort wanted to kill Harry. Harry wouldn’t be able to sling Voldemort in Askaban. The only way to stop him would be to kill him. It wasn’t an appealing prospect, but Harry realised it had been sat in the back of his mind since he had seen Voldemort rise from the cauldron last year in the graveyard.

“Okay,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure what else he could say to that. “Well, thanks Professor, for you know, explaining and everything.” He stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I, um, actually feel a lot better now. Thanks.”

“It is truly the least I can do to ease your burden, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

The only thing Harry could remember was the tear running down Dumbledore’s crooked nose.

*

Neville could have been Harry. Harry had no idea what to do with that information. Neville was braver than he was, for certain. Harry wasn’t sure if he would be able to look his parents in the eye if they didn’t recognise him.

Luna and Neville had gone back to Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco and Ginny were going to go back for the last day of term feast in a few days. Then Harry was going to pop to Privet Drive and come straight back. He had heard Sirius arguing with Dumbledore about it, and knew Dumbledore disagreed.

But Sirius had promised Harry he wasn’t going to go back to Privet Drive, and Harry trusted Sirius.

“I’m going back with you,” Draco said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms folded. “I want to give those muggles a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry said. He nudged his hip against Draco’s.

“You most certainly will not,” Narcissa said. She was peering over a lumpy looking stew. “I will go with Mr Potter.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Harry muttered.

The kitchen door swung open violently and Harry didn’t have a moment to react before he was enveloped into a bone-breaking hug. It took him a moment to distinguish the curly red hair as Mrs Weasley’s, sending the waves of grief crashing back to shore as he returned the hug.

He was a head taller than her now, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It made him feel a lot more responsible, a lot more like an adult, and he didn’t think he wanted to be. He wanted to be small enough to hide in Mrs Weasley’s arms and not think about anything. But then, Harry wanted a lot of things he didn’t get.

“Mrs Weasley,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say ‘what for,’ or ‘you have nothing to be sorry for,’ or ‘it wasn’t your fault,’ she just took a deep breath, released him and smiled, bravely.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, but the smile dropped quickly. “Though, you have been avoiding me.”

It was true. Mrs Weasley had been popping in every other day, and whenever Harry had heard her voice, he had hid in his room. He knew she was here to see Ginny and Ron, not him. He knew, deep down, it wasn’t really his fault, but that didn’t ease his guilt.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I just – figured you’d want to spend time with your family.”

“You’re all my family,” Mrs Weasley shook her head like she couldn’t believe he would ever be able to believe otherwise. She stepped back, looking at Narcissa and Draco with a kind twinkle in her eyes.

“Including you two, given the circumstance.”

Narcissa stared at her, astonished.

“My husband was the reason for all of this,” she said, slowly. She probably expected Mrs Weasley to turn on her like the other members of the Order.

“I lost both of my brother’s in the last wizarding war,” Mrs Weasley said. She did not break eye contact. “I have lost my husband in this one. It’s ridiculous to bare a grudge because of a family’s names or actions.” Next to Harry, Draco glanced down guiltily, entwining his fingers with Harry’s. Harry remembered their first day at Hogwarts, when the names ‘Weasley’ and ‘Malfoy’ were thrown around like slurs. “Besides, I have a habit of collecting waifs and strays, take Harry for example.”

“You’re very kind,” Narcissa said, but there was a tightness in her voice and a hardness in her eyes that Mrs Weasley seemed to ignore.

“And look at the two of you!” Mrs Weasley turned on Harry and Draco, now. Harry felt Draco’s fingers twitch in between his own and wondered whether he should let go. “You have to eat, you know.”

“They won’t,” Narcissa said. “I’ve even resorted to takeaway, but none of them will eat any of it.”

“They will with me here,” Mrs Weasley’s eyes flashed dangerously and she stepped up to the stove. “You leave the cooking to me and we’ll have them all fattened up in no time.”

Narcissa looked about to object, then she seemed to remember how much she had despised cooking, and relented. She murmured something about finishing a book, and headed from the kitchen. Draco begun to drift to, looking only slightly uncomfortable on the outside. Harry said he’d catch up.

“Not quite ready to overcome their pride, then,” Mrs Weasley murmured into the stew.

“A lot of things have changed, quickly,” Harry said. He couldn’t believe he was sympathising with the Malfoys. “They’ve gone from being rich to being homeless. And Lucius Malfoy is in Askaban.”

“He won’t stay there. Not now. The dementors have deserted the place,” Mrs Weasley said. She turned the stove down. “Are you okay, Harry?”

“I should be asking you that, Mrs Weasley.”

“I’ve grieved before, I’m used to it now. There’s still work to be done and Arthur wouldn’t want me to neglect that. Not when it’s keeping me from despair. There will be time to cry when the war is over.”

When the war is over. When Voldemort killed Harry or when Harry killed Voldemort. He was still wondering about the killing part. It should scare him. He shouldn’t want to do it. Maybe it was because Voldemort hardly seemed human anymore that the idea didn’t feel like too much of a moral problem.

He still didn’t want to think about it. He retreated to Draco, who huffed into his neck as he embraced him.

“I mean, honestly, I’m not a charity case,” he muttered, his hands digging into Harry’s hips. “We still have some self-respect.”

Harry got the sense that Draco didn’t mind so much – that maybe he had no idea how to react to it. After all, he was used to the Order hating him. Someone turning around and telling him it was all okay was probably a welcome shock. But he let Draco complain, and he let Mrs Weasley goad him into second helpings at dinner. He let them be sent back to Hogwarts for the few final days of term.

It was like returning to a different school. People were actually smiling, and the remnants of Fred and George’s last pranks had been wiped clean.

They were ambushed almost immediately by a group of Gryffindors. Dean and Seamus and Lavender and Parvati, all trying to explain how they got rid of Umbridge at once. From what Harry could gather, Umbridge had cornered them when they had disappeared, and they had been trapped in their office. It had been Lavender and Parvati who had thought of taking her to the Forbidden Forest, their time spent obsessing over Firenze having finally paid off. Dean and Seamus had set off the last of Fred and George’s fireworks, causing a newfound chaos for the Inquisitorial Squad to tackle.

They talked as though they had liberated the whole school and been worshipped for it. In reality, they got a couple of high fives from some of the others and the first years stared adoringly at them.

But they had gotten rid of Umbridge, and that was more than fine by Harry.

It still unsettled him, slightly, that Dumbledore’s Army was so eager to step in. He found himself sat at the Gryffindor table wondering about what would happen if the Death Eaters invaded the castle, and then wondering how many of his friends might get hurt in the process. How many of them might end up like Arthur Weasley.

He ended up using one of his last days at Hogwarts, one of his last days of surety, to visit Hagrid. He was greeted with another bone-breaking hug, but at least this time it made him feel small. Like he was still a child that could be protected.

“’Arry, I’ve been wonderin’ when you would show up,” Hagrid waved him in, one huge hand on Fang’s collar.

“Hagrid,” Harry found himself flooded with relief. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“You’re ‘ere now, is all,” Hagrid said, he brushed himself down and beamed down at Harry. The various wounds from Grawp were healing, and he looked better than he had in months.

That smile made Harry feel like a child again. Like he had saved the day, not ruined it. It put an all too familiar lump in his throat as he sat down at the table.

“Yer don’t look that happy to be back.”

“I am,” Harry’s voice trembled. He swallowed. “I love Hogwarts more than anything. I just, have a lot on my mind.”

“I know. But I don’t think Dumbledore’d put so much pressure on yer if he didn’t think yer could handle it.”

He knew Hagrid meant well. He knew Hagrid was trying to make him feel better.

That didn’t mean it worked.

“Dumbledore wants me to go back to Privet Drive for the Summer.”

“I get the feelin’ you disagree.”

“I want to stay with Sirius.”

Hagrid sighed, and Harry thought he felt the whole hut shake from the force of it.

“Look, Harry, if Dumbledore says yer to go there, you probably should.”

It was Harry’s turn to sigh. He had been listening to Sirius yelling at a calm Dumbledore for the last few days and no one seemed to be getting anywhere. Surely, when he was almost sixteen, he could decide where he wanted to live.

What did it matter that he wouldn’t be completely protected from Voldemort? He had just almost been killed by Voldemort. It didn’t seem to matter now.

“Just go,” Draco said. They were sat underneath the tree by the lake, having decided to skip the last day of term feast. There were too many stares and whispers and snickers. “I’ll come and get you after a week.”

“And hex the Dursleys whilst you’re at it?” Harry said, leaning back against Draco and pulling the Slytherin’s arm around him. Their legs tangled as they watched the algae slowly drift over the Black Lake.

“Would you have any objections?” Draco’s lips moved against Harry’s neck and he smiled.

“I’d probably get blamed for it and then they’d definitely expel the both of us,” he said.

“We’d be better off.”

Harry laughed, and it felt like the first true laugh he’d had for a long time.

Things definitely hadn’t gotten better, in fact, he didn’t want to think more than two days ahead, but at least, for now, he was enjoying himself. At least this last day at Hogwarts had been good. At least he didn’t want this one day to end.

And if the next year was going to be any indication, he would be able to survive that too.

After all, he supposed, he was the boy who lived.

Chapter Text

(A/N): So the sequel is up: https://archiveofourown.info/works/16104617/chapters/376167237

I'm not sure if you get a notification because it's the same series or not, but I thought it would be best to publish a note to announce it.

I talk about update times for the sequel and stuff in that author's note.

I also want to say a big thank you to Mimae for helping with the French and for proofreading! If you got a notification earlier today, it was me editing the chapters.

A final thank you to each and every one of you! I can't believe how much this fic has blown up. xx