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Chapter Text

“What do you mean the bloody git has to stay in my room?”

“Language, Ronald,” Mrs Weasley scolds. Harry looks between the two with wide eyes before his gaze inevitably lands on the blonde trailing behind Mrs Weasley. He’s wearing a scowl that Harry has been on the receiving end of many times before - except he’s refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Harry feels that maybe he should be ashamed of his staring, but he simply can’t look away. Malfoy looks like absolute shit - his eyes and cheeks are sunken in and his skin looks sickly pale, as though he hasn’t eaten nor seen the sun in weeks. 

“But mum, he’s going to kill Harry and I in our sleep! You really trust this, this-” deatheater, Harry helpfully thinks to himself, “-this bigoted prat to be in the same room as us and not try anything?”

Harry barely hears Mrs Weasley’s second scolding - nearly all of his attention is glued to Malfoy. If he weren’t staring so intently, he would’ve missed the subtle eye roll and huff of frustration the Slytherin lets out. He doesn’t bother trying to defend himself, however, which makes Harry feel sort of… unsettled. The git always likes to get the last word in, but he’s completely silent as of now, even as Ron continues throwing insults around and Mrs Weasley proceeds to scold him.

“Harry, could you be a dear and show Draco to his room? I need to have a little chat with Ronald here. I’ll have breakfast ready soon.”

“His room? It’s my room, not his!”

Harry would normally laugh at his friend’s obvious frustration, but he’s too caught up in his whirling thoughts to react as he normally does. He simply nods at Mrs Weasley instead before turning and walking towards the stairs that lead to Ron’s room. He doesn’t bother turning to see if Malfoy is following, but he knows that he is when he hears the soft footsteps behind him. When he reaches Ron’s room, he pushes the door open and steps aside to let the other enter before him.

“This is Ron’s room,” Harry states emotionlessly. Malfoy hesitantly steps inside and looks around, obviously avoiding Harry’s eyes. He appears as though he’s trying his hardest to keep his expression neutral, but Harry doesn’t miss the slight curl of his lips and the furrowing between his brows.

“Am I really to be sleeping on the floor?” Harry shrugs in response. He thinks it would make more sense if Malfoy took up either Bill or Percy’s old room instead, but he supposes that Mrs Weasley doesn’t quite trust him enough to leave him on his own. He can’t really blame her.

He takes advantage of his position behind Malfoy to continue staring without being caught. The blonde’s hair is longer than he remembers - it’s nearly touching his shoulders but it somehow still looks elegant, unlike Harry’s unkempt mess on his head. His hair doesn’t seem to be the only thing that has grown; Harry stands at least a solid foot shorter than the other. He lets his eyes travel down until they reach Malfoy’s arm and he can’t help but wonder - does he have the mark? He can’t tell, what with the other’s expensive robes covering him up, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter. 

With the way Mr and Mrs Weasley explained Malfoy’s situation, it seems as though all of his decisions were made for him, leaving him without a choice. Harry doesn’t know how to feel - all of this has happened so bloody fast, so suddenly, he may still be in shock. That’s the only explanation he can think of as to why he hasn’t spoken more than a simple sentence towards the blonde. It’s not as though they’re on friendly terms, obviously, but he’d usually have enough wit in him to say something in order to get on the other’s nerves.

It was very early this morning when Harry stumbled downstairs to find Arthur and Molly whispering in the kitchen over a piece of parchment. They each had grave expressions on their faces - the stress made them appear older and Harry suddenly felt bad before he remembered that wizards live longer than muggles. He was ripped out of his thoughts and thrown back into the present when they asked Harry to go wake Ron and the others. When they were all awake and sitting at the kitchen table, Harry had the sudden fear that they were about to announce the death of one of the other Weasley siblings.

He remembers being young and lying in his cupboard when he was awoken by Dudley’s cries as his aunt and uncle shushed him. He didn’t find out until later that day that one of his aunt’s from his uncle’s side had passed - it was the only relative that had treated Harry with normal human decency - his favorite aunt. They didn’t even have enough respect for him to tell him straight to his face and he only knew because Dudley kept crying over her. Harry himself cried to sleep for many nights afterwards.

“Something has happened with one of Ron and Harry’s classmates. He’s… in a rather dangerous situation and needs our help,” Molly had said to them this morning.

“Who?” Ron immediately questions, his previous sleepiness immediately forgotten. “Is it Neville? Dean? Seamus? Are they alright?” Harry looks at Ron’s face to see his own anxieties reflected there - he’s already lost Sirius only a bit ago. He can’t afford to lose anyone else, otherwise he might just go absolutely mad.

“He’s… well,” Arthur trails off before looking to the side and scratching the back of his head awkwardly. Molly quickly picks up for him.

“Draco Malfoy. You-Know-Who has… He has it out for him.”

“I knew it!” Harry shouts while slamming his fists on the table. He hasn’t realized that he’s stood up until Ginny gently pulls on his sleeve from beside him. He sits down slowly when everyone turns to him. “Sorry…”

“Malfoy? Doesn’t surprise me, of course, but why does he need our help?”

“He’s run from home,” Molly sighs with sympathy. “Now that his father has been locked up, You-Know-Who has seen it fit to… Punish Draco and his mother.”

“Punish?” Harry questions with furrowed brows. 

“Yes,” Arthur sighs with a shake of his head. “He’s not safe. He needs a place to hide until school starts back up.”

“Wait,” the twins interject simultaneously.

“You’re telling me-”

“The same boy who bullies our family-”

“And Harry and Hermionie-”

“Is asking for our help to keep him safe?” They finish together.

“He went to Dumbledore for help and Dumbledore asked us if we could take him in. Nobody would ever expect him to come here, what with his and his family’s… disliking of us. It’s the smartest decision, really.”

“What if this is all a trick?” Ron asks with fury evident in his voice. “Malfoy is a git! You said it yourself, he hates us!”

“Language!” Molly yells. “Draco is just a boy. He may have a few rather… corrupt beliefs, but he has his parents to thank for that. He’s still a child, just like you and Harry. He deserves a chance. He’s on our side.”

Harry isn’t quite so sure that he believes that. I mean - he’s probably a deatheater now, just like Lucius. He’s called Hermione a ‘mudblood’ and made fun of Ron’s family for being poor a number of times. Just because he pussied out and ran away begging for help does not mean that he’s on their side. Then again, he isn’t on Voldemort’s side either, so… he supposes that he can give him a chance. But this does not mean he’ll be nice to the git, by any means.

_____

“He’s just a boy!” 

Draco awakes with a gasp, hand already clenched over the wrinkled fabric covering his stomach. With barely enough time to stumble out of bed, he hunches over as bile quickly climbs up his throat.

“He doesn’t have a choice, Cissy. He’ll kill him.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the blonde barely takes notice of the hushed whispers from down the hall. As he swallows down whatever is left from his stomach, he reaches into his bedside drawers in search of his dreamless sleep potion. He likes to keep a stash of the purple liquid hidden for nights just like these. Cursing with a sigh, Draco closes his drawer once he finds it empty. He was supposed to brew more yesterday.

“This is Lucius’ fault. This is his punishment for being foolish enough to get himself locked up!”

Ears perking up at the mention of his father, Draco finally focuses his attention on the voices that are gradually rising in volume.

“Shhh! Don’t wake Draco. He isn’t to find out about this.”

“He’s going to find out soon, Cissy. The Dark Lord is ready-”

Deciding he’s heard enough, Draco backs away from his door as the nausea quickly settles in again, as though it never left. Maybe it didn’t - he’s felt this way everyday for the past two months.

Stuffing a few pairs of pants, button-ups, pajamas and robes into a bag, along with some more essentials, Draco wastes no time in shoving his jacket on over his pajamas and stepping into his fireplace. The idea of every bedroom in the manor having its own fireplace is absurd, but that thought doesn’t cross his mind in the slightest as he throws down the floo powder.

_____

Stumbling out of the fireplace and into the Leaky Cauldron, Draco brushes off the residual floo powder from his silk pajamas, huffing as some falls from his hair as well. Trust a Malfoy to be troubled over running the risk of dirtying himself, even with his life in danger.

It occurs to Draco then that he hadn’t thought to check the time, the pub being completely deserted save for Tom behind the counter. The hunched man jumps at the blonde’s arrival, clearly having fallen asleep.

Walking up to the counter with his chin raised, Draco clears his throat. On the outside, he resembles the embodiment of utter serenity - platinum hair hanging over his forehead in a way that is natural yet well kept, face schooled into a blank expression, save for a slight smile directed at the bald man in front of him, ironed jacket covering his pajamas, giving him a poised yet comfortable look; The blonde suspects that no one would be able to tell that he’s in the middle of a crisis at first glance. If he were to take just a step closer to the counter, however, Tom would surely be able to hear the loud racing of his heart - see the strain behind his smile and the slight crease between his brows.

“What can I do for ya, lad?”

“One room for the night. Some spare parchment and an owl would be very convenient as well.”

Once the room has been paid for, Draco calmly walks down the hall until he reaches the door with his room number on it. Creaking the door open cautiously, the blonde winces upon inspection. Dusty bed sheets, a cracked window, cobwebs in every corner - he’s even pretty sure he saw a rat tail disappear under the bed when he opened the door. He doesn’t understand how a room can look so filthy; They have magic for Merlin’s sake! It’s no matter - he doubts he’ll be getting more sleep anyhow, especially with how loud the building shudders as the train passes overhead.

Letting the door shut behind him, Draco finally breaks down. Knees buckling, the blonde leans heavily against the dirty door, no longer paying any mind to the state of his clothes. A shaky gasp leaves pale lips as long fingers grip tightly at his hair, pulling hard as though to ground himself. Any sense of gracefulness is lost on the now crumbling boy. If his father could see him now…

Not having remembered closing his eyes, silver - turned gray opens up at the sound of a hoot. He can see a slight wetness clinging to his top eyelashes and quickly blinks it away as he finally pushes himself up into a proper standing position. He makes his way over to the little desk under the window when his vision momentarily goes dark and all he can hear is a loud ringing sound that he knows is in his head. Leaned over with his hands splayed on the desk in front of him for support, Draco closes his eyes again until the nausea passes. He’ll get used to this soon enough. 

After a few minutes of deep breathing and thinking of who to contact, he sits and finally brings his quill to the parchment. His letter is short and to the point, his once neat penmanship now barely legible, but it’ll do. It has to.

Leaning back in the dark wooden chair that appears to have once been painted white, Draco allows his eyes to slip shut once more. He’s been preparing for this day ever since the end of fifth year. Draco had learned quite early on what his father’s faded forearm tattoo meant - had overheard him and Severus talking about it on more than one occasion. He knew his father had some sort of connection to the Dark Lord, but he was never worried about this until recently. Until he returned. Until his father’s faded tattoo turned black.

Lucius had always been a cruel father, but he’d become a complete monster once the Dark Lord returned. He snapped at everyone, even Draco and his mother. He sometimes locked himself in his room and didn’t come out for days - he’d once refused to leave his room for two weeks straight and Draco assumed he was dead or at the very least, dying. It was a sort of exciting thought at the time. Anyone can imagine his disappointment when his father finally decided to re-enter the real world and immediately invite his “friends” over for a “meeting.” It was Draco who was then locked in his room for hours upon hours, and not by choice. 

These “meetings” began to occur once every two weeks, and then once a week, and then twice. Draco had stopped bothering to leave his room entirely after that, having grown tired of hearing his aunt’s unnerving laugh echo through the manor. Sometimes, however, Lucius would leave Draco no choice but to join him and his “friends” for dinner. He claimed it was to introduce him to his future family. His mother had always sent his father the side-eye after those sorts of comments. 

One evening, Draco had sat down at their dining table between his father and Bellatrix, per his father’s aggressive forcefulness. He sat silently through his father’s speech about how they planned on capturing Potter that school year - something to do with a prophecy and Sirius black and- Draco had stopped paying attention less than halfway through. It sounded like a pretty shite plan, if you asked him. 

“Draco, darling. You’ve barely touched your plate. Don’t you like it? I made it myself.” Draco forced a smile as he reached for his fork and shoveled a bite of… whatever it was into his mouth. 

“It’s great, aunt Bella.” Bellatrix smiled wickedly at him before leaning closer and wrapping her boney hand around his - probably equally boney - shoulder.

“Make sure you eat up, love. If you do, you’ll become an even bigger and stronger death eater than your dear father.” Bellatrix slowly trailed her fingers from his shoulder up his neck, her long, pointed nails scratching him gently. Thin fingers gripped his jaw then, turning his face towards hers. Her wicked smile never faltered.

“Such a pretty boy. Bet you’ll turn out much more handsome than your father, too.”

Draco stood abruptly then, nearly knocking Bellatrix off of her chair in the process. Without a word, he swiftly walks out of the dining room and into his own bedroom down the hall, bile ready to break free from his insides. He threw up, then, all over his bedroom floor. He’s refused to eat a full meal since.

It was practically a given that his father busted into his room that very night, eyes blazing with a fury brighter than he’d ever seen directed towards him. Draco had barely enough time to sit up from his bed before a fist was brought down not once, not twice, but three times upon his face.

“You disrespectful piece of shit!” Lucius had leaned forward to land another punch, but Draco was more prepared this time. Scrambling off of his bed, he backed into the opposite side of his room as his father turned on him once more.

“How dare you embarrass me like that? How dare you treat your company like that? I raised you better than this!” Lucius was practically in his face by then, spit leaving his mouth as he basically snarled. Standing toe to toe, the height difference between father and son was very miniscule. Draco liked to take slight comfort in this fact - his father was much scarier when he was a small child

Another punch suddenly landed directly into Draco’s nose, an audible snap! filling the brief silence of the room. Huddled over with his hands now covering his face, blood dripping down his wrists, Draco gasps in pain. He’s learned better by now than to cry out while his father hit him. 

“You are a disgrace to the Malfoy name. I’d better see some improvements by the time you’re to be branded with the mark. You will not embarrass me again.” With that, Lucius leaves his room, the faint sound of his mother’s sobs barely audible over the sound of blood rushing to his head.

This wasn’t the first time his father had hit him, of course. He’d hit him a number of times as a child. Draco figured he'd be able to handle Lucius' abuse as he aged, but the hits seemed to become harder and harder. As a child, Lucius had never hit hard enough to leave lasting marks - his mother made sure of that. If he did accidentally cause a bruise or busted lip, he was quick to heal him up before his mother noticed. This time, however, Draco was left to clean up the mess his father made without the help of cleaning nor healing spells.

Shaking himself out of his daydream - nightmare, more like - Draco glances at the owl beside him. She's a simple barn owl, but she's beautiful nonetheless. He'd always wanted a pet of his own, but his mother and father always insisted otherwise. 

Chin in palm, Draco watches the owl fly onwards through the night sky, letter in tow. Closing his eyes with a heavy sigh once the owl flies out of his view, the blonde slumps forward on the hard desk. He hopes to Merlin his letter reaches its destination before the morning. In the meantime, he has no choice but to sit and wait in this dusty inn.

_____

A knock on the door is what wakes Draco out of his fitful nap on the desk. Heart immediately jumping to his throat, the blonde starts and whips out his wand, raising it towards the door just as it opens. 

Feeling his shoulders slump forward, Draco feels relief for the first time coming face to face with those twinkly eyes. He never would have thought he’d be happy to see the old geezer.

“Headmaster-” Draco hesitantly lowers his wand, embarrassed. Dumbledore simply looks at him, eyes never leaving his face.  “You… You got my owl.”

“I did, indeed.” Dumbledore smiles at him then, for the first time since… ever. 

“My mother. Is- Is she safe?”

“Quite safe, Mr Malfoy. Not to worry, I’ve already taken matters into my own hands.” Draco sighs in relief, all tension leaving his body then as he sits down on the dusty mattress for the first time since he’s arrived at this dingy place. 

“You… believe me?” the blonde asks then, voice small. Dumbledore smiles again.

“Of course, Mr Malfoy.” Draco nearly splutters before he remembers who he is and who he’s with, schooling his expression back into something neutral, albeit a bit confused.

“But.. Why? How do you know I’m not under the imperius curse? What if I’m here to lure you to the Dark Lord?” He knows he should probably be grateful for Dumbledore’s seeming willingness to help him, but he doesn’t want to risk the old git thinking that he’s under You-Know-Who’s thumb.

The headmaster simply smiles at him again, eyes twinkling in that annoyingly knowing way. His expression always screams ‘I know something that you don’t’ and it infuriates him beyond relief. He manages to keep his anger in check just enough to keep his mouth shut, but he has little control over the grinding of his teeth.

“Believe me, my boy. I know.” Draco wants to roll his eyes, to stand up and scream ‘How?!’ He inhales deeply for a moment instead, nodding slowly as he exhales.

“So, does this mean you’ll take me back to Hogwarts with you, then?” Dumbledore’s smile transforms into a smirk, then. The blonde wouldn’t have noticed, had he not been watching the headmaster’s face intently for any signs of distrust. He can’t help but get the feeling that the sneaky bastard is planning something - something that he won’t be happy about.

“Not quite. No need to fret, Mr Malfoy. I’ve already arranged for your stay somewhere where no one will be able to get to you. Now, if you’re ready…” Dumbledore holds out his arm then, looking at him expectantly with that same knowing glint in his eyes. Draco is about ready to wipe that bloody smirk off of his face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume the headmaster was a Slytherin with how damned sneaky and untelling he is. 

Draco stands from the bed with hesitance before brushing the dust off of his pajamas. Picking up his small, hastily packed bag of belongings, Draco reaches out and grabs ahold of Dumbledore’s elbow with a grimace. He hopes that wherever he’s being taken, there’s few witnesses. He’d rather not pop into a room full of people he’s uncomfortable with when he’s dressed down and unshowered. He imagines landing in a room full of Weasleys with Dumbledore - of all people - by his side. He shivers at the thought. Now that would be a nightmare. 

“Hold onto your stomach,” the headmaster says with humor in his voice. Draco opens his mouth to retort that he’s done this many times before, but gets cut off when he feels himself being pulled and twisted uneasily before landing on a dirt path surrounded by nothing but grass fields. That is, until he turns around and comes face to face with a lopsided, multi story looking house. If one could even call this a house. Draco’s certainly seen better.

“Are you ready, Mr Malfoy?” Dumbledore asks. Draco has many questions and concerns, but Dumbledore simply strides ahead of him, and this time the blonde actually does splutter.

“Where are we? Are you telling me someone actually lives here?” Dumbledore pointedly ignores him, humming to himself mindlessly as though he hasn’t a care in the world. As though he isn’t about to hide one of the most infamous Death Eater’s son.

Once they reach the front door of this shack, Dumbledore reaches up and knocks on the door. Draco’s heart begins to race as he looks frantically back and forth between Dumbledore and the front door, wondering if he’s made a mistake, wondering if he’s been set up, wondering if this is just a trap. Just as Draco makes up his mind and decides that yes, he’d rather take his chances out on the streets, the front door squeaks open to reveal a short, redheaded woman wearing a kind smile. She’s also rather plump, if Draco does say so himself.

“Dumbledore - so good to see you!” Dumbledore reaches for the woman’s outstretched hand and brings it to his lips just as a tall, thin man makes his way to the front door as well.

“Arthur,” Dumbledore smiles and nods his head at the also redheaded man and- wait. Arthur… Weasley?

“Is this some sort of sick joke?” Draco finally intervenes, causing all eyes to flit towards him as though they just realized he was there. Mrs Weasley’s smile - he now knows it’s her - seems to strain before her face settles into a look of mere pity. It sets Draco’s blood on fire.

“Mr Malfoy,” male Weasley hesitantly nods his head at him in greeting before stepping aside and making room for them to enter. Dumbledore shoots him a look that is likely meant to calm him before following the elder Weasleys through the front door. Draco has no choice but to follow.

“Welcome to the Burrow, Draco.”

Draco starts at the use of his first name. Few people actually refer to him as such. Hearing his name come from the mouth of a Weasley, well…

He nearly gapes at the woman before he remembers to gather his bearings and school his face into something less… unappealing. He looks to Dumbledore for, well, he isn’t really sure. Guidance? Reassurance? A bloody explanation? Dumbledore simply smiles at him and Draco inwardly sighs. He isn’t sure why he expected anything more from the annoying git. 

“I’ll be seeing you again quite soon, Mr Malfoy. The Weasleys will be sure to take good care of you. You’ll be safe here, my boy.”

Draco has so many questions that he wants to ask - namely, the first one being what the fuck? - but he feels himself freeze up when he hears a commotion from somewhere near the stairs. Dumbledore says his goodbyes to the Weasley parents and apparates away just as heavy footsteps stomp their way downstairs.

“I’ve already arranged for you to sleep in Ron’s room with him and Harry, dear,” Mrs Weasley turns her attention towards him again, but all Draco can do is stare. Harry. Of bloody course Potter is here, too. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I have to sleep in a house full of Weasleys for an entire month, might as well add Potter to the mix because - why not?

It’s right then and there that Potter and the Weasel decide to step into the kitchen. Draco barely even takes note of the Weasel’s indignant comment about him sleeping in the same room as them - he locks his eyes onto Potter. The last time he’d seen him in person, people believed him to be touched in the head and/or attention seeking with his claims of the Dark Lord having returned. Draco was the only other student to know that his claims rang true - besides the git’s closest friend’s, obviously. Staring ahead at him now, he looks… Tired. His wide eyes are flitting between him and the elder Weasleys, green as ever, but dark and gaunt underneath. He doesn’t appear to have grown even a centimeter since school ended, not that Draco ever analyzed his appearance so closely before, of course - it’s just that even from across the room, he can tell that he towers over the noirette by a good amount.

Just as Harry’s eyes flit back towards him again, Draco averts his own eyes. He can’t bring himself to look at these muggle lovers for any longer. He wordlessly follows Potter upstairs, ignoring the Weasel's indignant cries that follow him.

Potter leads him to Weasley’s room, shoulders stiff. He throws his arm out in an awkward gesture when they reach the bedroom. “This is Ron’s room,” is all the shorter says, voice coming out as uncomfortable as Draco feels. There’s only two beds in the room - meaning he’s likely to sleep on the floor. Potter merely shrugs when he asks as much. He tries to keep the disgust off of his face, simply because he knows that if he lets himself show any sort of emotion right now, the rest of his emotions are likely to bleed through as well. He feels so much right now - anger, confusion, disgust, sadness - he can’t afford to have a breakdown until he’s completely alone.

Potter leaves him wordlessly, likely returning downstairs to demand that he be moved to a different bedroom. And they’ll listen to him - the Chosen One always gets his way. Draco can’t even bring himself to care. He’ll sleep on the bloody bathroom floor if it means he’s safe. He never thought he could reach such desperation - so desperate that he’d somewhat willingly sleep in the same room as his arch nemesis - and yet here he is.

He feels like a child cast to the corner when in trouble, with the way they all just left him here by himself. He looks around the room again and takes note of the Quidditch posters on the wall and Quidditch magazines lying around. I mean seriously, does the Weasel not have a single other personality trait? 

At least ten minutes have passed and he begins to feel antsy. He hates not knowing what could be happening downstairs - what if Voldemort somehow knows that he’s here? What if he’s already sent another Death Eater to come find him and take him away? What if he’s found his mother? Gods, his mother! He misses her already - she may not have been the most maternal parent, rarely showing him affection or giving him praise - but she’s always been loads better than his father. 

Narcissa Malfoy is a woman of poise and beauty - he likes to believe that he got all of his features from her. He surely has her pale skin and eyes, as well as her sharp jaw and nose. It must be the Black blood in them.

Speaking of Black, Draco’s thoughts jump to his aunt. Bellatrix was there the night that his father was arrested, there the night that Potter’s godfather was killed - she was the one that killed him. And then his father was whisked away to Azkaban. He isn’t sure if he’d prefer it his father or Bellatrix that be locked up. Both would be nice. The joy he felt at his father being taken away was short lived when he found out Bellatrix would be taking his place. Her food was absolutely disgusting - but never as disgusting as her taunting laugh.

Heart racing, Draco stands abruptly from the bed that he didn’t even remember sitting on. He’s been doing a lot of that recently - getting so lost in his head that he creates gaps in his memory. He once was so distracted by his thoughts that he’d found himself walking the yard barefoot with his bloody peacocks when he snapped out of it. He’ll never shake the feeling of peacock shit from his feet ever again. No amount of scourgify can make him feel fully clean after that.

Hushed voices filter in through the slight gap in the door, and Draco can’t help but be intrigued. With careful steps, he makes his way closer to the door so he can hear better.

“What if the git kills me in my sleep? How does mum expect me to sleep in the same bloody room as the bastard, knowing who he is?” Draco grits his teeth.

“Come on, Ron. It can’t be too bad. Besides, if Dumbledore and your mum said he’s on our side, we have no reason not to believe them. They said Malfoy’s in trouble.”

“Not too bad? Are you hearing yourself, mate? Since when are you friends with Malfoy? Who cares if he’s in trouble! Git deserves whatever's coming to him, I say.”

“Look, Ron. I’m not saying Mafloy isn’t a git. He’s the biggest bloody git I’ve ever met!” Wow. Thanks, Potter. “But… he’s not evil, Ron. I’m not saying we should be friends with him or anything,” Potter laughs then and Draco can’t help but feel irritated that Potter of all people is sticking up for him right now.

“It’s just… What if he actually has, you know, changed? What if he really doesn’t want to be like his father?” He hears Ron scoff then and Draco’s decided that he’s heard enough. He grabs his bag before pulling the door open some more.

Two pairs of eyes turn his way when he steps out of the bedroom. “If you’re done confessing your undying love for me, Potter, I’d appreciate if one of you could direct me to the nearest shower,” he finishes with a sneer.

Potter openly gapes at him. Draco would laugh, were it not for Ron stepping up to him, face nearly as red as his hair. Potter quickly makes his way over to them once he’s over his shock, but he doesn’t look nearly as angry as Ron. Annoyed, however… 

“Two doors down, blondie.” Draco doesn’t - repeat, he doesn’t jump when one of the Weasley twins appears next to him with a resounding crack! 

“We’ll make sure our dear Ron Ron behaves himself upon your return,” the second twin smirks at him when he appears. Draco blinks once. Then twice. 

“...Thanks.” Draco turns then, but not before missing the mischievous look shared between the two.

Once Draco closes the bathroom door behind him, he immediately drops his bag on the floor and grips the sink so tightly that his knuckles whiten. He heaves out a sob and closes his eyes, but thankfully, no tears come. His stomach aches, and that’s when he remembers Mrs Weasley mentioning breakfast. He doesn’t particularly want to eat, but…

Draco raises his eyes to look at his reflection then. The first thing he notices are the bags under his eyes - a dark purple that clashes horribly with his pale, almost waxen skin. His cheeks seem to sink inward, as though he were purposefully sucking them in to hollow them. His jawline, which was already sharp and defined, mind you - is now impossibly sharper than before. To put it simply, he looks sickly, as though he hasn’t eaten in weeks. In reality, it’s only been a couple days… he thinks.

Draco pushes himself away from the sink and turns the shower on before he starts stripping. He lets out a sigh once the hot water hits his back, leaning into it as it soothes his sore muscles. Lack of sleep seems to finally be catching up to him.

 _____

“Mum, he’s a complete git! Don’t you remember all of the things he’s said about us, about dad?”

“I know, Ron. It’s not an ideal situation, but…” Mrs Weasley looks off to the side, a sad look overcoming her face. Even Mr Weasley seems to appear sympathetic as he finishes setting the table for breakfast. 

“With his father in Azkaban, he and his mother aren’t safe. You-Know-Who…”

“Voldemort wants to make him a death eater,” Harry finishes for her, jaw clenching. Mr Weasley inhales sharply at the name as Mrs Weasley nods sadly.

“He’s just a boy. No matter what evil beliefs his father drilled into his head, he’s still a kid, just like you guys.” The rest of the Weasleys seem to quiet at that statement, the clinking of silverware the only sound in the room. 

“Where is Draco, anyway?” As if on cue, a scream echoes through the halls. Nobody notices the twins stifling a laugh.

“Malfoy?” Harry yells, already halfway up the stairs. Once he reaches the bathroom, Ron at his heels, he raises his fist to knock just as the door is wrenched open.

Harry’s fist freezes as he comes face to face with Malfoy - more like face to chest - as he looks up, and up - until he reaches gray, narrowed eyes. All three of them are silent for some time, none daring to break this moment of calm before the storm. Suddenly, Ron snaps, unable to keep himself together any longer.

“Bloody hell!” Ron laughs, doubling over until he nearly falls to his knees. He finally does fall after a moment, whole body bending forward as laughter continues to rake through him. Harry simply blinks up at Malfoy, wide-eyed, until he too overcomes his shock, fist moving to instead cover his mouth as he barks out a laugh. He’s never seen Malfoy look so furious.

“Think this is funny, do you?” Malfoy takes a threatening step closer to the pair when Molly suddenly appears around the corner.

“Boys, what is-” Molly breaks off, mouth open as she takes in Draco’s appearance. His once nearly white hair has been turned to a bright orange-red, just the same as the Weasleys. 

“FRED! GEORGE!” Molly turns and leaves to go after the twins while Harry helps Ron to his feet.

“You know, Malfoy. Orange doesn’t quite suit you.” Harry almost regrets the words that leave his mouth as he’s pushed up against the wall half a moment later. Malfoy snarls in his face, hands on either of his shoulders as he shoves him hard. Ron is quick to pull Malfoy off of him by his arms before releasing him with a look of disgust. Malfoy turns to Ron then.

“Your brothers. Are. Dead.” With that, Malfoy picks his bag back up before spinning on his heel and striding down the hall to Ron’s room, head held high with confidence as though he hasn’t just been turned into a redhead. Needless to say, he slams the door behind him. 

“Bloody bastard is going to break my door off of its hinges,” Ron rolls his eyes.

“Living with him for a whole month is going to be tortuous,” Harry says with a grimace. 

“You’re telling me, mate.”

_____

To say the Weasleys weren’t happy about their guest staying with them would be an understatement. They all tend to avoid Malfoy, leaving him to hole up in Ron’s room all day by himself. He’d received a letter from his mother a few days back assuring him of her safety, as well as sending along a few of Draco’s books. She must have grabbed them before she left the manor and went into hiding - she knows him too well. 

It’s only been about a week since his arrival at the Burrow, and Draco feels as though he’s been sent through hell and back. He feels even more tired than before, having received a mere couple of hours of sleep each night on the floor near Potter and the Weasel’s beds. He’s certainly eaten a bit more as of late - Mrs Weasley’s cooking is astounding, not that he’d ever admit so out loud - but not nearly enough for him to have gained much weight. He doesn’t quite mind this, however, having grown quite attached to the way his bones stick out in ways that they never have before. 

He’s refused to join the other’s at the dinner table for each meal, instead preferring to sneak out and pick at whatever food Mrs Weasley has left for him in the middle of each night. He can’t stand the awkwardness and the dirty looks from all of them - but most of all, he can’t stomach the looks of pity thrown his way by both of the elder Weasleys now and again. 

After the hair incident, he’s made sure to only shower after Potter to ensure the water hasn’t been charmed to dye his hair orange again. Thankfully, the color had faded from his hair a few hours after that incident, but he hasn’t forgiven the twins and their very obviously insincere apologies towards him. 

As he sips a cup of tea and reads his book, he winces at the scratchy feeling in his throat. He hasn’t spoken one word to anyone since the hair incident, and his throat is paying the price. Thank merlin for this tea. It’s about dinner time, he’s gathered based off of the smell of something delicious being baked downstairs, when he hears a soft knock at the door. He’d planned on ignoring whoever it was until they went away, but then he hears an equally soft voice following the knock.

“Draco, dear? Arthur and I would quite like it if you’d join us for dinner tonight. I made a treacle tart and apple pie for dessert.” Draco’s ears perk up at the mention of apple pie - his favorite. He stands from his seated position on the floor and makes his way over to the door, fighting through the blurriness and nausea that accompanies him as he does so. The feeling passes quickly.

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley. I’ll be down momentarily,” Draco sends the woman a genuine smile before closing the door again. He really doesn’t want to sit and eat with them all, but Mrs Weasley had looked at him so pleadingly… If his father knew what a soft spot Draco had for Mrs Weasley now, he’d surely throw a fit. 

_____

Harry eyes the treacle tart settled on the kitchen counter as Mrs Weasley passes everyone their utensils for dinner. He turns to ask Mrs Weasley if he can skip dinner and jump straight into dessert when Ginny catches his eye from the seat next to him.

“I told her it was your favorite,” she smiles at him then and Harry feels as though his heart skips a beat. Ginny really is attractive, anyone with eyes could see that. Harry feels himself smile back, unable to resist the warm feeling that bubbles up in his stomach at the sight of her. 

“Thanks, Gin.” Ginny’s face lights up before she turns back to her food, a light coloring spreads across her face before she hides behind her curtain of hair. Cute, Harry thinks. 

Just as Harry turns back to his own plate, he hears the quiet footsteps of someone descending the stairs. His eyes snap up on their own accord, watching as an unusually shy looking Malfoy enters the kitchen. He pulls at the collar of his gray tee as he avoids everyone’s eyes - a nervous tic, perhaps. He seems to hesitate before making his way over to the table before looking around helplessly.

“I set your plate up next to Harry’s dear. Please, take a seat,” Molly smiles warmly at him then, finally giving him enough confidence to sit down. The entire table has gone quiet upon his arrival. Mr Weasley clears his throat before starting up small talk with the twins. Ginny leans over to him then, smirk in place.

“Quite evil of mum to put the snake next to you, huh?” Harry pretends not to notice Malfoy stiffening up next to him at the comment that was whispered but obviously meant for him to hear.

“Er, it’s alright. If I can manage being in the same room as Voldemort, I’m sure I can handle sitting next to Malfoy for a bit.”

Malfoy chokes on his bite of food then, startling Mr Weasley out of his conversation.

“Alright, Draco?” He asks before pouring him a glass of water and passing it along. He simply nods his head as he appears to force the food down.

“Bloody git is just dramatic,” Ron muffles through his mouth full of food, rolling his eyes. Molly looks at him sharply.

“Language, Ronald. And mind your tone, Draco is our guest.”

“How can you still call him that? It’s not as if we invited him here,” Ron scoffs. “It’s all his and Dumbledore’s fault, really.” Molly opens her mouth to likely reprimand Ron, But Draco cuts her off before she gets a word out.

“Believe me, Weasley. I’d rather be anywhere but here.” Harry had just about reached his mouth with his fork, but he can’t help but freeze up in response to the gravelly sound of Malfoy’s voice. It doesn’t usually sound so deep. He’s much more used to the nasally, whiny voice that the blonde typically uses.

“Leave, then,” Ginny butts in. “We don’t want you here.”

Molly lets out a surprised “Ginny!” at the same time as Ron says, “Go run back home to your daddy then, Malfoy. Oh wait, I forgot - you can’t. He’s in Azkaban.” 

Draco sets his fork down with as much grace as he can before he pushes himself away from the table and stands, turning to hide the frustrated flush that he knows has taken over his face by now. He walks towards the stairs calmly before turning and looking over his shoulder with intent to insult Ron and his family before he catches Mrs Weasley’s worried eyes. The poor woman looks like she’s in shock over what Ron and Ginny have said to him, while Mr Weasley and the twins are awkwardly avoiding everyone's eyes by staring down at their plates. Ron and Ginny both look smug and continue eating their food as though nothing happened. He misses Harry’s shocked face as he speaks directly to Molly.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs Weasley. I’ll be sure to try some of that apple pie later.” Without waiting for a response, the blonde turns back towards the stairs and disappears from sight. Once away from everyone, he hurries down the hall to the bathroom and locks the door before falling on his knees in front of the toilet and emptying his stomach of the little food he’d put in it today.

Harry blinks bewilderedly at Malfoy’s retreating back. Malfoy never backs down from a fight. Harry knows from experience that the git loves to get the last word in. Harry wouldn’t say he’s… worried about the blonde or anything, but… Something is very off with him. He hasn’t spoken to anyone in days, not even responding to Harry’s jabs at his ugly silk pajamas. Not to mention, his sudden respect for Mrs Weasley is rather odd. Harry isn’t often right about many things, but he knows he’s right about one thing for sure - Malfoy has changed. Even if he’s still a right git.

_____

Harry leaves the bathroom later that evening with his dripping hair wetting his shoulders. As he makes his way down the quiet hall and down the stairs, part of him - the insane part, he notes mildly - hopes to find Malfoy in the kitchen. The unusually quiet blonde locked himself in Ron’s room after dinner until Ron himself broke down the door, claiming he had no right to keep him from his own room. Harry agrees with Ron, of course, but he also knows his friend was just itching to get on the entitled git’s nerves and that was the only reason for him invading the blonde’s brooding session.

When Harry makes it to the kitchen, he’s unsurprised to find it empty. It’s nearly midnight, at least Harry thinks it is once he glances at the clock on the wall that simply reads ‘Bedtime.’ All of the Weasleys are asleep, Ron included, but Malfoy is nowhere to be seen. He isn’t quite sure where he fucked off to after Ron kicked him out of his room. Surely not too far.

Again, it’s not that Harry is worried, of course. It’s just that… Well - Malfoy is supposed to be hiding. It would do him no good to run away and get himself caught. That’s what Harry tells himself, anyway. It’s true - but deep down, Harry knows that’s not the main reason he’s, dare he say, concerned. So what if he is a little bit worried? The way Malfoy looked when he first arrived; all pale and boney and pointy - and Harry thought that he himself was underfed.

As the days came and went, Harry noticed the bags under Malfoy’s eyes getting progressively darker, his eyes drooping progressively lower, and his cheeks becoming progressively more hollow. Harry would assume the arsehole was starving himself merely to make everyone feel bad for him, were it not for the fact that he appears to have been at this for months. He doesn’t remember him looking so damn pathetic last school year. Not to mention, Harry has noticed the look of annoyance on Malfoy’s face every time he catches Mr or Mrs Weasley watching him with pity in their eyes.

Harry has already checked Percy, Bill, and Charlie’s old rooms for the git but came up short. What he’d even say to Malfoy when he saw him, he’s not sure. He never planned that far ahead, but he doubts a casual ‘Hey, Malfoy. Care to tell me why you stopped eating and cussing people out?’ would bode well for him. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to break the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery just to hex him in the mouth.

Prying his eyes from the treacle tart resting enticingly on the edge of the kitchen counter, Harry makes his way over to the window that leads out towards the large expanse of grass where the Weasleys tend to practice quidditch. Perhaps, Harry thinks to himself, he’s been hiding outside all night. As Harry peers through the window out towards the dark yard, he almost immediately spots a head of platinum hair down by the shed full of quidditch supplies. It’s hard to miss him, really, what with the way his hair lights up like a candlestick even in the darkness of the night.

As Harry makes his way down the front steps and around the side of the house, he wraps his arms around himself for warmth. It’s rather cold for a summer night. If it were just a few degrees cooler, he’s sure his wet hair would simply freeze to his head. At least then it wouldn’t be sticking up in every direction like you’ve been struck by lightning, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Malfoy’s says in his head. The only reason he knows it’s not actually Malfoy is due to the lack of insulting names thrown in there. 

As Harry comes to a stop a few feet to the right of Malfoy, he says nothing. Malfoy doesn’t say anything either; he doesn’t even acknowledge Harry’s presence at all. Were it not for the slight stiffening of his shoulders, Harry would assume the other hasn’t even noticed him. 

Harry fights with his mind to come up with the right words to say that will finally get a normal reaction out of the blonde. After a few minutes of silence, he gets an idea.

“Fancy a game of catch the snitch?”

Malfoy snaps his head over to look at Harry’s face wearily. Harry can’t help but shift from foot to foot as Malfoy scrutinizes him. Reaching his hand up self-consciously, Harry tugs at the wet strands hanging from his head. Malfoy’s eyes follow the movement.

“You look as though you’re ready to freeze to death. I’d rather not have a house full of Weasleys after my head when they think I’ve gone and murdered their precious Golden Boy while they’re all asleep.”

Harry lets out a huff of air and steps closer to Malfoy, who’s seated on the ground with his back against the shed. “As if you look much better,” Harry retorts, leaning in to get a better look at the blonde who’s still watching him. “Red face, purple lips and all.”

Malfoy quirks an eyebrow at that, familiar smirk finding its way across his face. “Look at my lips often, do you? Don’t get caught or else the Weaselette might get jealous.”

Harry splutters at that, hating himself for being so easy to rile up while simultaneously feeling relief at hearing jabs come out of the git’s purple mouth that he is decidedly not looking at. Pitiful Malfoy, he can’t deal with. Arsehole Malfoy - well, that’s a different story. It’s like they were born to irk each other. Things are much easier this way.

“I don’t- whatever, Malfoy. Are you playing, or are you going to sit there and be my own personal cheerleader? Maybe you’re just scared because you know I’ll whoop your arse, like always.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes at that and doesn’t seem to have enough decency to respond, so he simply stands up and goes to brush the dirt from his pants. Rather than succeeding, he nearly falls face first instead as darkness fills his vision and that persistent ringing sound that he’s quite familiar with now fills his ears. He would have fallen, too, were it not for Harry reaching out and catching him by his arms.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Harry tightens his grip on the blonde’s arms then, steadying him until he seems stable enough to stand on his own. “Are you okay?”

Malfoy snaps his eyes open finally and looks at Harry in horror before ripping himself out of his grip and stumbling backwards. “Fine,” he grits out behind his teeth, brushing off his arms as though Harry stained them with his hands. Harry isn’t convinced in the slightest; in fact, he’s even more concerned now than he was before he came out here. He doesn’t voice his concerns, however, not wanting the blonde to run away before they even get a chance to fly. 

“Right,” he says awkwardly after a moment too long of silence. Malfoy determinedly avoids his eyes, instead choosing to look off into the distance as though he found the grass very interesting. Harry moves towards the door of the shed then, wishing desperately that there was electricity in here so he could bloody see. After rummaging around for a couple minutes, he steps outside again, two brooms and a snitch in hand. He quickly releases the snitch before reaching out with Ron’s broom before changing his mind. He instead hands Malfoy his own broom. He can’t imagine that Ron would take it well had he found out he let Malfoy use his.

Malfoy eyes his broom with distaste until Harry gives him a look that says ‘well?’ before he actually reaches out and takes it.

“Get ready to have your arse handed to you, Potter. Try not to break your arm this time, yeah? Lockhart won’t be here to fix it for you.” With that, Malfoy smirks at him before kicking off of the ground. Harry is quick to follow, rolling his eyes all the while.

The two of them spend some time squinting for that flash of gold. Finding the snitch in the dark is no easy task, but Harry has faith that one of them will catch it. Just as he finishes his lap around the yard from way above, Harry catches a glimpse of glitter out of the corner of his eye just as Malfoy speeds downwards. Harry wastes no time in diving down to follow, but Malfoy has the advantage with Harry’s broom. Harry barely makes it close enough to Malfoy that if he wanted, he could reach out and grab the broom, but then Malfoy bears to the right and Harry has to pull his broom upwards to avoid crashing.

Throwing a glare in Malfoy’s direction, he finds the blonde still steadfastly chasing after the golden ball with wings. Gripping his broom so tight that his knuckles turn pale, Harry swoops down, smiling at the sound of the air whooshing past his ears. He’s gained a considerable amount of speed from his dive. He easily catches up to Malfoy this time, who’s wearing a grin as his jaw length hair flows freely away from his face in the wind. Harry watches as the blonde reaches his hand out then, his fingertips nearly grazing the snitch before it quickly flits upwards and out of reach. Malfoy tries his best to pull his broom up, but Harry has far less time to react before his broom tangles into the end of Malfoy’s, causing the Slytherin to lose balance and topple over, Harry not far behind. 

Harry is grateful for the fact that they were only a few feet off of the ground during their fall, otherwise he surely would have broken his arm again. The two of them collide with the ground; or rather, Malfoy collides with the ground while Harry collides with Malfoy. They fumble over each other as their momentum carries them a bit further until Malfoy eventually lands atop Harry. Harry instinctively reaches out and grabs the blonde’s waist to keep him from falling face first into Harry’s face. Malfoy catches himself with his hands landing on either side of Harry’s head. Both boys' chests heave as they attempt to catch their breaths.

As Harry looks up at Malfoy, he finds him already staring down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Harry’s immensely grateful for the dark, as he knows his own face is probably flushed all the way down to his neck. Neither of them move, even after they get their breathing under control. 

“Thanks for catching my fall, Scarhead.” The words come out softly, softer than what Harry’s used to hearing from Malfoy’s mouth. Harry takes a second to comprehend what he says, the blood roaring in his ears making it barely possible to make out the quiet words.

“Er, sorry. That was my fault,” he responds embarrassedly. As much as he’s tempted to look away, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the silver ones above him. The moon shines directly over them, hidden behind Malfoy’s head. From this angle, the moonlight highlights the blonde’s hair, making it glow nearly white. It’s almost as if Malfoy’s got a halo around him, making him look…

“Are you part Veela?” The question leaves his mouth before he thinks of the implications. He quickly opens his mouth to stutter out something stupid that surely would only help dig his grave deeper, but the corners of Malfoy’s lips quirk up before he huffs out a breathless laugh. The smile on his face isn’t anything like the sneer or smirk that he’s familiar with. Malfoy’s eyes seem to light up at the question, the tiniest bit of white teeth peeking out behind his purple-turned pink lips, little indents appearing on either sides of his mouth as he smiles down at Harry and- wait. Since when does Malfoy have bloody DIMPLES?

Harry isn’t sure how he’s never noticed them before. That’s because the git has never smiled at you before, his brain supplies helpfully. As Malfoy continues to smile down at him, hair falling downwards to frame his face, Harry suddenly finds it very hard to breathe, especially as his eyes continue to flick over to the blonde’s dimples on their own accord.

“Staring at my lips again, Potter?” Harry’s eyes immediately snap up to Malfoy’s, but any retort dies on his lips when he realizes that Malfoy still isn’t sneering or taunting him. Malfoy’s smile has relaxed into a smaller, but still genuine version of the previous; amused, and Harry thinks he could even call it friendly. 

Harry knows he should respond, but he doesn’t think he could manage saying anything other than ‘I was staring at your dimples, you git, not your lips’ so he simply huffs out a breath that he hopes passes as indignant. Malfoy raises a pale eyebrow in response.

“To answer your question, no, I am not part Veela.” One corner of his mouth quirks up again, showing off one of his dimples once more. “That would just be the Malfoy and Black blood in me. I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, git.” His response sounds weak, even to his own ears. He didn’t mean it as a compliment, anyway.

“Hum,” Malfoy breathes out, still looking immensely amused and a bit satisfied. A few more moments of silence pass as Harry looks up at Malfoy’s smiling face before he wonders what he must look like to the blonde right now - wet hair surely smothered with dirt, glasses probably askew, and Merlin, does he hope his blush still isn’t noticeable. Just as Harry begins to feel self conscious under the blonde’s stare, Malfoy speaks again, somehow even softer than before.

“You could let go of me, now. If you wanted to.” Harry quickly lets go of Malfoy’s waist then, as though it burnt him, but not before noticing how thin the blonde felt beneath his hands. Malfoy’s always been a skinny guy, Harry knows, but never this skinny. Now that he’s finally realizing this, he also notices how bloody light he feels atop of Harry, almost as though he weren’t even atop of him at all.

Harry wants to make a comment about how skinny Malfoy is, about how if he doesn’t eat more, he’ll starve to death, but he’s momentarily distracted by the glittering of the snitch right next to Malfoy’s head. Surely, the blonde should be able to hear the buzzing of the blasted thing but he shows no sign of having noticed it, nor any sign of getting off of Harry even after he’s released his grip on him. Harry leans up and reaches out then, and grabs ahold of the snitch, but not before noticing the hitch in Malfoy’s breathing. Malfoy’s eyes are comically wide now, but he quickly blinks and transforms his face into something neutral as he sees the snitch in Harry’s hand when he pulls back.

“I’ve won,” Harry states as he allows himself to smile for the first time since he touched the ground again. Malfoy pushes himself up and away from him then, reaching a hand out towards Harry once standing. Harry glances at the hand and up to Malfoy’s face, but Malfoy simply stares blankly back at him, smile gone. He’s suddenly reminded of little bratty Malfoy sticking his hand out towards him back in first year. He quickly grabs onto the blonde’s hand once he notices his expression turning impatient.

“Good game, Potter,” Malfoy says before releasing his hand and turning to walk back towards the house, leaving Harry to put away the brooms and snitch.

When Harry walks through the front door of the burrow, he’s hit with the smell of sweets and is immediately reminded of the treacle tart waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He’s surprised and secretly delighted to see Malfoy leaning against the counter with his legs crossed, spoonful of apple pie and vanilla ice cream in his mouth. Harry quickly plates some of the treacle tart and downs it as fast as his tired, aching body will allow him to. Once finished, Harry glances up to find Malfoy watching him with a disdainful expression on his face.

“Have you never heard of manners? Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy sighs before handing him a napkin and immediately leaving the kitchen. Harry can’t even bring himself to be offended; he’s much too tired and satisfied, he thinks, as he drags his body up the stairs and towards Ron’s room. Maybe tonight, he’ll actually be able to get some sleep.

…

He can’t. His body feels as heavy as lead and he can hardly keep his eyes open, but still, sleep refuses to come. It’s not so bad, he supposes. The few nights that he actually does manage to fall asleep, he’s always awoken by nightmares. He sees Sirius nearly every time he closes his eyes, his face staring back at him before he’s pulled away and into the void. Some nights, he still sees Cedric’s limp body falling to the ground, Voldemort smiling at him with his nasty teeth before raising his wand to kill him.

Harry sighs into the darkness of the room. Ron’s snores are thankfully being muffled by his pillow, and all else is quiet. Harry isn’t sure how much time has passed - at least an hour or two, but not enough time for the sun to be up yet. Harry’s thinking about how he’ll have to ask Madam Pomfrey for some dreamless sleep potion when they get back to Hogwarts when Malfoy suddenly bolts upright from his curled up position on the floor with a gasp before turning to the side and dry heaving. 

This isn’t the first time Harry’s been spooked by Malfoy’s nighttime fits. Every time the blonde gasps awake and chokes, Harry tries his best to ignore him and pretend to be asleep. He knows he’s not the only person that has nightmares, but Malfoy having nightmares? It makes something coil unpleasantly in his stomach at the thought. What could have traumatized the git enough for him to wake up and nearly spill his guts everywhere?

“Malfoy?” Harry questions quietly, cautiously into the darkness of the room. He squints hard enough to be able to make out the blurry form of Malfoy curled in on himself, head between his bent knees.

“M’ fine,” he mutters hoarsley in response. Harry finally sits up then, and slips his glasses onto his nose.

“Sleep in my bed,” Harry says after a moment of hesitation. Malfoy’s head quickly snaps up and he looks at Harry as though he’s grown two heads.

“Er, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Why?” Malfoy finally questions after staring Harry down.

“Well, I don’t really sleep at all, if I’m being honest.” Harry guiltily looks away from the blonde then, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “Might as well put the bed to good use by having you actually sleep in it. ‘S probably cold down there.”

Neither of them say anything for a while then, so Harry decides to stand up. He takes his blanket with him and goes to the corner that Malfoy is sat in before sitting down next to him and gesturing towards the bed.

“Go on, then.” Malfoy blinks bewilderedly before standing on shaky legs and making his way over to the bed. He hesitates before lying down on it, but once he does, he nearly melts into the soft cushioning of the mattress. He closes his eyes then, his nightmare forgotten and replaced by thoughts of how bloody good the bed smelled. Wet grass is the first scent that comes to mind. Something very sweet and cozy, Draco also notices. Treacle tart and pumpkin juice. Surprisingly, Draco has a calm rest for once. Instead of dreaming about his father and Bellatrix, he dreams of lying in a grass field with someone by his side, although he can’t see who. All he knows is that their presence is comforting, and that’s more than enough for him. 

Chapter Text

The rest of summer goes by about as well as anyone could expect it to. Molly has taken on the responsibility of bringing Malfoy his meals to eat in Ron’s room while the rest of them eat downstairs together. Harry assumes that she only does this to keep the fighting to a minimum and everyone seems happy about this arrangement. The git only shows his face when he decides he can’t go any longer without a shower, claiming the ‘Weasel stench’ has rubbed off on him. 

He and Malfoy seemed to have come up with a silent agreement - Harry lies in his bed until Ron falls asleep, his snores filling the awkward silence of the room, before he gets up. Malfoy then wordlessly makes his way over to Harry’s bed, and Harry lies down on the floor. His back always pays the price, but he deems it worth it, considering Malfoy always seems to sleep soundly through the night this way. It’s a good thing the blonde always wakes up before Ron so he can switch places with Harry again each morning. He doesn’t want to imagine the rampage that Ron would go on, should he ever find out that Harry sacrificed his bed for the ‘Ferret,’ as the redhead still calls him.

School starts back up in only a few days, so it’s inevitable that the entire Weasley family, save Fred and George, venture out to Diagon Alley for school supplies. When they get there, Malfoy is almost immediately pulled into a bone crushing hug by none other than Pansy Parkinson. Harry blinks at the display, not used to seeing the other interact so affectionately with his friends.

“Merlin, Pans. You’re gonna squeeze the life out of me.”

The rest of the Weasleys venture off, but Ron hangs back while Harry awkwardly watches as Blaise Zabini takes his turn hugging Malfoy. Molly had made the blonde promise to meet in front of the Leaky Cauldron when he was finished with his shopping, but Harry doesn’t think it’s exactly the brightest idea to let him wander off without supervision. Y’know, considering Voldemort likely has multiple Death Eaters out looking for him. But if Harry can survive walking around without Voldemort suddenly jumping out of nowhere and kidnapping him, he supposes Malfoy can, too.

“Come on, Harry,” Ron interrupts his musings impatiently. “‘Mione’s waiting for us at Flourish and Blotts.”

Harry hesitates for a moment when Malfoy locks eyes with him from over Zabini’s shoulder. The blonde stares at him blankly before raising an eyebrow in question, as though saying, ‘Well?’ Harry blinks a few times before turning and following Ron down the cobbled street.

“Can’t bloody wait to be rid of him,” Ron mutters. Harry hums in agreement, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s accepted by now that he’s worried about Malfoy. He seems to have been eating a bit more as of late, but he’s still reserved and lacking in insults. He’d especially have a bunch of names ready to throw at Harry, but… He’s received nothing but subtle nods in passing ever since the night they went flying.

‘You could let go of me, now. If you wanted to.’ 

‘If you wanted to…’

“-Harry?”

Harry’s steps falter when he realizes he walked right past Flourish and Blotts without realizing it. With a sheepish smile, he reaches up and tugs at the strands of hair covering his scar before backtracking.

“Sorry. Zoned out.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrow in concern, but he doesn’t question him, for which Harry is grateful. Ron can always sense when something is off about him, but he always waits until Harry is ready to speak about whatever is bothering him, rather than bombarding him with questions. That’s what he loves most about his redheaded friend. 

Hermione, on the other hand, is always full of concern. She notices the smallest of changes in Harry’s behavior, and she frets over him the way a mother does. She’s a lot like Molly Weasley in that sense, and Harry wouldn’t change a single thing about her. He has the two best - best friends that he could ever ask for.

Speaking of Hermione, Ron finds himself with a face full of her bushy hair when they round the corner. Ron’s face immediately goes red and Harry can’t help but watch in amusement as he hesitantly brings his arms around her.

“Hey, ‘Mione.”

Hermione pulls back with a smile, her eyes lingering on Ron’s face for a moment too long before she suddenly turns to Harry. Harry, unlike Ron, doesn’t hesitate to return her hug.

“Harry! I’ve been so worried about you. I would have come to visit you both, but… I reckon I would’ve just made your guys’ entire situation all the more… Tense.”

“Oh Hermione, living with him is a bloody nightmare,” Ron moans dramatically. Hermione pats him on the arm sympathetically.

“I can imagine. At first, I thought you guys were pulling a prank on me when I read your letter.” Hermione glances around them for any eavesdroppers before stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I mean, Draco Malfoy of all people, joining our side? It’s just… Rather unbelievable, if you’d ask me. But I suppose this is a good thing, right?”

“Good?” Ron questions incredulously.

“It is,” Harry nearly cuts Ron off. Both of his friends turn to him with eyebrows raised in surprise. Or, well, Hermione’s is raised in surprise. Ron’s looks more… questionable. Harry feels himself shy away from their gazes, feet shuffling awkwardly as he thinks of how to explain himself.

“I mean… The more people on our side, the better. Right?” Good save, Harry. 

“Exactly!” Hermione beams up at him, pride shining through her eyes. “I’m so glad you see the bright side of things, Harry. Unlike someone.” Hermione directs a light glare towards Ron, who raises his hands in defense.

“Hey! You can’t exactly expect me to be happy that the same git that’s harassed all of us for years is sleeping in my room. In case you’ve forgotten, his father is a death eater that tried to kill all of us a few months ago!”

Ron’s voice rose as he spoke - he was nearly yelling by the end of his sentence. They’ve gathered the attention of a few onlookers, who shoot glances between the three of them in concern. Hermione grabs ahold of Ron’s arm in what is likely to be a comforting gesture.

“Maybe let’s… Not talk about this here. We can discuss it more later. Sound good?” Harry nods his head in relief and Ron is soon to follow, face reddening in embarrassment. 

The three of them take out their list of books to buy before collecting them and leaving. Their next stop is Madam Malkin’s - the moment they walk through the door, Harry notices none other than, you guessed it, Draco bloody Malfoy sitting in a seat while Madam Malkin fussed over him. Harry is immediately hit with a wave of nostalgia.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go for a trim, dear? You’d look positively lovely with the sides shortened a bit.”

“Isn’t your job just to fit me for robes? I don’t need you to give me a makeover, lady. I told you not to touch my hair!” Harry has to stifle a laugh as he watches Malfoy bat Madam Malkin’s hand away from his head while the woman simply tuts at him. Although Harry tried to quietly laugh, Ron made no such attempt.

“Maybe you should listen to her,” Ron snorts. “You’re beginning to look a bit like a girl, Malfoy. Unless that’s what you were going for?”

Malfoy’s eyes flick up to them in the reflection of the mirror before narrowing. “Sod off, Weasel. I happen to like my hair this way, thank you very much.”

Me too, Harry can’t help but think. The moment the thought pops into his head, he feels as though every nerve in his body has lit itself on fire, warming him from the inside out. He can feel the exact moment that his cheeks begin to redden, and he decides he can’t stand to look at the blonde for any longer. When he averts his eyes, he unintentionally looks directly at Hermione, who’s already watching him.

She merely blinks at him, however, and he thinks he sees a hint of surprise in her eyes. Realizing that no other place is safe for him to look, Harry casts his eyes down to his feet while he waits for Madam Malkin to finish up. Malfoy doesn’t spare them a single glance on his way out, not that Harry is complaining. Madam Malkin calls Ron up next, leaving Harry alone with Hermione. She steps closer to him and opens her mouth, and Harry is mentally preparing himself for her reaction to catching him blushing over Draco Malfoy.

“Was he that thin when he first arrived at The Burrow?” Harry feels the tension leave his body at her question. Thank fuck.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “He’s been… weird, Hermione. He hasn’t insulted me once! Well, he did call me ‘Scarhead,’” Harry lifts his fingers in air quotations, “-but he didn’t sound like he was taunting me. He doesn’t even talk to Ron at all, which is almost unsettling. I’m so used to hearing him run his mouth when he’s around, but he barely talks. And he’s nice to Molly. Can you believe that?”

Hermione has her eyebrows furrowed in thought, but she hums in consideration at his question. “I mean, he must be going through a really tough time.” That would make the two of us. “It can’t be easy, being the son of a Death Eater. His life is in danger now. Before, he always had his father to protect him, as a metaphorical shield of sorts. But now that Lucius is in Azkaban, he has no one to protect him. Isn’t Bellatrix Lestrange-” Harry feels his heart rate pick up at her name, “-his aunt? Who knows what horrors she put him through. He’s probably terrified. Traumatized, even.”

Harry thinks about her words for a moment. It makes sense. Living with one of the most infamous Death Eaters of all time must come with some trauma. The fact that Malfoy was brave enough to even run from her, and from Voldemort, says a lot about his character. 

“You’re right. All he has now are his friends.”

“And you.”

Harry’s mouth gapes open in shock, but before he can ask her what the fuck she meant by that, Ron saunters over to them.

“Your turn, Mate,” Ron clamps a hand over his shoulder.

“...Right.”

_____

The trio finish up their shopping before making their way over to the Leaky Cauldron. By the time they get there, Malfoy is already waiting. Parkinson and Zabini are standing there with him, the former of the two with her arms around the blonde’s shoulders in another hug. She has to stand on her toes to reach him properly. With her face buried in his neck and his arms around her waist, one could argue that they look almost… well, good. Together. They look rather good together, and Harry feels his chest tighten up at the sight, while his heart appears to be trying to beat out of his chest. The pain almost makes him wince, but the sudden flash of anger that he feels is strong enough to keep him stock-still. 

He hears Hermione’s voice in his ear, saying… something, but he can’t make out her words. He feels light-headed - his brain is foggy and he can’t tune into his surroundings, that is, until Ron elbows him sharply in the ribs.

“Ow! The fuck was that for?”

“You’ve been glaring daggers at Malfoy and Parkinson since we got here. What did they do this time?” Ron speaks in hushed tones and Harry is grateful. If he were to yell like he did earlier, and Malfoy heard… Well, Harry isn’t sure how he’d react. He isn’t sure why he felt such anger towards them in the first place. He feels his face heat up and opens his mouth to likely spew some nonsense excuse, but Hermione thankfully butts in.

“It’s just rather weird seeing Malfoy be affectionate, isn’t it?”

“...Yeah,” Harry grimaces. It is rather weird seeing him be affectionate - Harry didn’t know that he was even capable of affection, so maybe that’s why he reacted the way that he did when he saw the git hugging Parkinson. Even as he tells himself this in his head, it doesn’t feel right, but he has no more time to dwell on the thought.

“Didn’t know the Ferret even had friends…” Ron mutters. Hermione throws a pointed glance Harry’s way after Ron says that, and the noirette is once again confused. Just as he’s about to let himself get lost in his head again, Molly, Arthur, and Ginny arrive in front of them. Ginny smiles at him shyly and Harry’s mind is officially cleared of Malfoy as he smiles back at her - that is, until he realizes that Ginny has grown these past few months. The redheaded girl now stands eye to eye with Harry. She may even be the slightest bit taller than him. He feels his smile falter when he realizes that he’ll most likely never have the same height difference with her that Malfoy has with Parkinson. For some odd reason, this thought bothers him a lot.

“I’ll see you guys in a few days, okay?” Hermione leans in and kisses his cheek before doing the same to Ron. Harry can’t help but laugh at the look of surprise and sheer embarrassment that washes over Ron’s face after the fact. Even without trying, his friends always find some way to cheer him up.

“Miss you, ‘Mione,” Harry says genuinely. Hermione smiles softly at him before leaning in for a hug. Great, Harry can’t help but think to himself. Hermione is taller than me now, too. His thoughts are immediately cut off when Hermione puts her lips to his ear subtly.

“Just treat him like a normal person. Be there for him. He needs you now more than ever,” she whispers. Harry’s eyes widen but she ignores his shocked and clearly confused expression to smile widely at all of them.

“Bye, guys! Stay out of trouble, Ronald.” Ron rolls his eyes with an affectionate smile as the rest of the Weasleys say their goodbyes to Hermione. Harry’s eyes unintentionally wander over towards Malfoy, who is now standing alone. He’s a bit of a way’s behind them with his arms crossed over his chest, expression as haughty as ever. His eyes are already on Harry.

“Right,” Molly interrupts just as Harry was about to open his mouth and say something to Malfoy. He isn’t sure what he’d say - he tends to speak first, think later. He’s a Gryffindor at heart. 

“Everyone get what they needed? Good, good. Back home, then.”

_____

Later that night when Harry is lying in bed, his thoughts wander back to what Hermione said. ‘Just treat him like a normal person.’ Harry supposes he could treat Malfoy like a normal person - I mean, hasn’t he already been doing that? He hasn’t fought with the blonde once in all the weeks that he’s been here. He could even argue that he’s been nice to the git. 

‘Be there for him.’ Be there for him, how? He isn’t quite sure what Hermione meant by that. But then as his thoughts continue to wander, he zeroes in on her words from even earlier in the day.

‘His life is in danger now… He has no one to protect him… He must be terrified. Traumatized, even.’

Harry wouldn’t consider himself the most… comforting , of people. Having not received an ounce of comfort until he reached Hogwarts, he’s still a bit new at the whole ‘making people feel better’ thing. That’s the main reason things never would’ve worked out with Cho last school year. He still doesn’t know what he was thinking, going after a girl whose boyfriend had just died…

Anyways, if there’s one thing that Harry likes doing, it’s protecting people. He’s been doing it ever since his first year. Draco Malfoy has no one to protect him, huh? Well, as of this moment, Harry is making it his mission to protect Draco Malfoy.

With that thought settled in his mind, Harry moves onto the next. ‘He needs you now more than ever.’ Again, Harry isn’t too sure what Hermione meant by that. Malfoy has never once in his life needed Harry. At least, not as far as he’s aware. It doesn’t make too much sense to him. Why would he ever need Harry? It’s not as though they’re friends. I mean - they’re enemies, for Godric’s sake!

Well… are they? They may not have been treating each other like friends, but they haven’t necessarily been treating each other as enemies, either. Maybe they’re past that point - I mean, they’ve both seen real evil, by now. He’d be silly to call Malfoy evil. Considering Malfoy isn’t evil (but still a prat), Harry can confidently say that the blonde is not his enemy.

…But then where does that leave them? Not friends, not enemies. Acquaintances? He doesn’t feel right calling Malfoy his acquaintance, either. They’ve known each other for nearly six years now! But then again, they don’t know know each other. So… Yeah, acquaintances it is. 

He still doesn’t quite understand what Hermione meant by ‘He needs you now more than ever,’ but he’ll just… roll with it. Malfoy ‘needing’ him, for whatever reason, is hardly the weirdest thing that has happened to him. 

He’s answered a few of his questions by lying here and thinking, but he’s still left with a few more, rather difficult questions to answer. Like, why did he think Malfoy was… Beautiful? Has he always been beautiful? Even when he’s unhealthy and miserable, he’s still. Fucking. Beautiful. Why?

Harry sits up in his bed suddenly and looks over towards Malfoy. His sudden movement seems to have caught Malfoy’s attention, the blonde whipping his head up from his pillow to look back at him. Ron’s snores fill the silence of the room while the two of them stare at each other. Feeling brave, Harry stands from his bed. Malfoy watches him before slowly moving onto his own feet. Harry’s bravery begins to dwindle away the longer he stands there, so he decides to finally move and make his way over to the blonde’s spot on the floor. Malfoy mirrors him and begins making his way over to Harry’s bed, but Harry speaks just as they pass each other.

“Malfoy.”

Malfoy freezes on the spot before very slowly turning around and facing him. From where he’s standing now, the moonlight shines directly from behind Harry and onto Malfoy’s face. The moment Malfoy’s eyes lock onto his, Harry feels his heart begin to beat faster, like it’s trying to escape his chest again. Rather than feeling anger this time, as his heart races, he feels… Awe.

The moonlight brings out the paleness of Malfoy’s hair and skin, while also casting dark shadows in each divot on the blonde’s face. Harry can’t look away - he feels like shrinking under the gaze of the other’s silver eyes, but still just can’t look away. 

A few moments pass where neither of them move nor say a thing. Malfoy appears like he desperately wants to ask Harry what the fuck he wants, but the look on Harry’s face must be severe enough for him to keep quiet. When Harry finally does find his voice, he opens his mouth to ask, ‘Are you sure you’re not part Veela?’ What comes out of his mouth, however, is-

“Are you and Parkinson dating?”

Harry immediately snaps his mouth shut. Malfoy’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but Harry has been staring at them so intensely for the past minute or so that he’s able to notice the difference. The blonde opens his mouth ever so slightly and Harry swears his heart must be beating loud enough for the other to hear it by now. The shocked expression on Malfoy’s face passes quickly, however, soon to be replaced by amusement.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Potter.”

With that, Malfoy turns back around and strides over to Harry’s bed before gracefully laying himself down on it. Harry blinks a few times before turning himself around and awkwardly taking Malfoy’s previous spot on the floor.

That had… not gone the way that he had planned. He doesn’t know why he asked that. He had found himself so, so… mesmerized by the git’s eyes that he just… Blurted out that admittedly, unwarranted question. I mean - it was somewhat warranted. Him and Parkinson seemed rather friendly when he saw them together earlier that day. Ugh, but that’s still not the question he had meant to ask. His mind keeps getting… weird when he looks too closely at the blonde.

With a sigh, Harry leans his head back against the pillow beneath him and closes his eyes. He has exactly two missions for this upcoming school year.

Mission One: Protect Draco Malfoy

Mission Two: Find a way to prove that Draco Malfoy is part Veela

_____

The moment they land on the platform, Malfoy all but disappears. One second he was standing behind Harry, but when he turned around to face the blonde, he was already striding over to the train without a backwards glance. Each Weasley takes their turn getting hugged by Molly until it’s Harry’s turn. Molly wishes him good luck and makes him promise to study hard. When he pulls out of the hug, he notices her smiling rather sadly at something behind him. When Harry turns to see just what, or rather who she’s smiling at, he notices Malfoy glancing back at her with a similar expression, one foot in the train. With a barely noticeable wave, the blonde turns around and brings his other foot onto the train before disappearing. Soon after, Harry boards the train with Ron by his side.

“Can’t help but notice that Mum almost seemed sad that the Ferret was leaving. Pretty sure she even shed a tear! And what the bloody hell do I get as a goodbye? Just a hasty, ‘Stay out of trouble, Ronald!’” Ron rolls his eyes as they make their way past full compartments. Harry snorts.

“Sounds like Hermione. Anyways, I wouldn’t overthink it, if I were you. She’s probably just worried about him.”

“Worried?” Ron questions incredulously. His face scrunches up as though the thought of anyone worrying over Malfoy leaves him disgusted. Knowing him, he probably is disgusted. They finally reach a nearly empty compartment near the back of the train where Hermione has clearly been waiting for them. Just as Ron reaches out to open the door, a voice stops him.

“Hi, Ron.”

Both Harry and Ron turn to the source of the soft voice. A girl in their year whose name Harry can’t quite seem to remember stands before them, a few strands of her long, brown hair curled around her finger in a flirtatious manner. She’s wearing a shy smile on her face that’s directed towards the redhead as though they’re the sole two occupants of the train. Ron freezes up and stares back at the girl awkwardly. A few seconds of silence pass between them and Harry can no longer take it, so he elbows his friend in his ribs. This seems to snap Ron out of his shock.

“Er, hi…” he mutters. His face is nearly as red as his hair by now. Harry wants to laugh, but this entire interaction is just too awkward for him to do anything at all. He swears he knows this girl’s name. Lily? No, he’d remember someone if they had the same name as his mother. Daisy? No, that doesn’t seem right, either. He shrugs internally, quickly coming to terms with the fact that he doesn’t really care.

“Right,” Ron clears his throat after a few more moments of silence in which the girl simply stands there smiling at him. “We’ll just be- going,” he motions to the compartment before sliding the door open and all but tripping in his hast to get inside. Harry follows behind him with a muffled laugh before closing the door.

“What just happened?” Hermione glances up from her book with a raised eyebrow sent in their direction.

“Some girl was just flirting with Ron. At least, that’s what I think was happening,” Harry looks off to the side in consideration. “I couldn’t tell. It was rather awkward, really.”

“What?” Hermione asks disbelievingly, finally setting her book aside. “Who was it?”

Ron shrugs helplessly. “Dunno. I’ve seen her around the common room before, though.”

“Seriously, Ronald?” Hermione asks with a roll of her eyes. “Five full years at Hogwarts and you still don’t know all the Gryffindors’ names? Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey!” the redhead exclaims after shoving his belongings onto the shelf above their heads. Harry does the same before taking a seat next to his bushy-haired friend. Ron sits on the opposite side of them before crossing his arms.

“What were we talking about, again?” Ron asks Harry.

“Malfoy,” Harry responds without missing a beat. He quickly snaps his mouth shut, just as Hermione loses her defensive stance and instead looks between them with intrigue.

“What about him?” Hermione asks. Harry detects a slight bit of concern in her voice.

“About how Mum is supposedly ‘worried’ over the git. Couldn’t imagine why, though. I mean, Hogwarts is the safest place he could be, right? Still don’t understand why Dumbledore didn’t just hide him there to begin with…” he mutters the last part, mostly to himself.

“Right,” Harry snorts. “We only just barely made it through last school year with Toad Umbridge breathing down our necks and trying to dictate our every move while she simultaneously tortured students and drugged them just so she could find out what I was up to. Or did you forget how she slapped me in the face and threatened to use the Cruciatus curse on me?” Harry finishes with a snarl. Ron flinches back with a guilty expression on his face.

“Sorry, mate,” Ron says quietly. “I wasn’t trying to undermine your experiences. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” Harry sighs, feeling just as guilty as his friend. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not mad at you. I just…” Harry sits back in his seat with another sigh. “The mere thought of Umbridge still pisses me off more than anything else.”

Ron nods his head in a sad sort of understanding. Hermione reaches out then, her hand landing on Harry’s shoulder. She squeezes it comfortingly and Harry turns towards her. “Umbridge is gone. She won’t be coming back. Dumbledore is here to stay. This year will be better.”

Harry can’t help but smile gratefully at Hermione. She smiles back at him and Harry turns his smile towards Ron who smiles back at him in relief. Just then, the door of their compartment slides open and Neville steps in.

“Hey guys,” the brunette smiles sheepishly at them. “Mind if I join you? I was gonna sit with Luna, but she and Ginny are having ‘girl talk’ and they said no boys are allowed, so…”

“Of course!” Hermione smiles at him. Ron scoots over and pats the seat beside him which Nevile gratefully takes.

“Thanks. So, how has your guys’ summer been?”

Harry and Ron glance at each other with widened eyes, both clearly unsure as to how much of their summer they should reveal. Hermione seems to sense their hesitation, so she helpfully responds for them.

“Great! I spent the majority of it reading up on N.E.W.T. - Level defense spells. I know everyone learned a lot from Harry teaching the D.A. last year, myself included, but I wanted to get even more of a head start before the first term.” Neville nods along with her, clearly not surprised by her choice to do nothing but read the entire summer.

“What about you, Nev?” Hermione asks him. Neville’s face seems to dim at her question, a shadow of grief suddenly crossing his features. 

“Alright, I suppose. I-I went to see my parents. They seemed to be doing alright when I visited them last summer. They even smiled at me! B-but when I saw them last month, they couldn’t even glance my way.” Neville sniffs and blinks away his tears before continuing, all of them now listening intently. “I know they won’t get better! But I just thought, seeing as they smiled at me for the first time ever last year, that they just… would. I know it’s silly.”

Ron clamps a comforting hand over Neville’s shoulder while the brunette hastily wipes away his tears. Harry and Hermione both lean forwards in their seats. “I’m so sorry, Neville,” Hermione says softly after reaching out and taking both of his hands in hers.

“It’s alright,” he sniffles one last time before smiling slightly. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to overshare. I haven’t talked to anyone all summer, so all of my feelings sort of boiled over.”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry says meaningfully. “You can talk to us anytime, Nev. We’re here for you.” And Harry means it. His heart clenches as Neville’s smile brightens into a more genuine one.

“Thanks, Harry. The same goes to you. All of you,” he glances at Ron and Hermione who both return his smile with genuine ones of their own.

Harry feels bad that he hasn’t given too much thought to Frank and Alice Longbottom since he’d found out about their condition. He’d been rather… preoccupied with the D.A. and Voldemort. But now that he’s sitting here with Neville, who is so obviously hurting, he can’t help but feel for him.

Him and Neville both lost their parents to the first Wizarding War. While Harry’s parents are dead, Neville’s are still alive and breathing, albeit they can no longer function as they used to. He isn’t sure which fate is worse. He imagines it’d be nice if he were able to see his parents again - look them in their eyes, feel them. But they wouldn’t recognize him. He would still never be able to talk to them, to live with them like he’s always desperately wished to. He would have to be reminded of the excruciating pain that they experienced each time he looked at them. 

Both fates seem equally as painful.

_____

Rather than dropping their belongings off by the Entrance Hall like they usually do, Filch required everyone to drop their luggage off just outside the school to be searched. Harry supposes it’s a good idea, considering, well… just about everything that is going on and has happened at Hogwarts in the past. He follows Neville, Ron and Hermione into the Great Hall with bated breath.

He can’t explain why he feels so anxious all of a sudden. He glances up at the Head Table and locks eyes with Dumbledore. Dumbledore smiles at him and Harry feels himself smile back. He may not have had the best relationship with the Headmaster last school year, but dear Merlin is he happy to see him up there, rather than Umbridge.

His eyes instinctively glide over to the Slytherin table on their own accord. He subconsciously seeks out that head of blonde hair and finds him quite easily - once again, his hair makes him stick out like a candlestick in the dark. Malfoy is seated between Zabini and Parkinson, of course. Harry feels that muted rage within him suddenly unmute as he watches the dark haired girl link one of her arms with Malfoy’s. He still doesn’t understand exactly why he feels so much anger when he sees her. Malfoy scowls down at the table in response to something she says and Harry feels just a tiny bit of the anger dissipate.

Maybe it’s the Veela in him. That’s gotta be it! Harry thinks to himself. There’s really just no other explanation as to why he feels angry when he sees Parkinson with Malfoy. The Veela in the blonde is obviously pulling Harry towards him, and Harry, having no choice but to be attracted to the bloody git, feels jealous that someone other than himself gets to be that close to him. It’s not that Harry is genuinely jealous. It’s just his hormones’ response to Malfoy’s Veela nature. Yeah.

The Sorting Ceremony goes by quickly and Harry is able to tune the entire thing out. Once it’s finished, Dumbledore stands up. “The very best of evenings to you!” he calls out with a broad smile.

“Merlin,” Hermione breathes from her seat next to Harry. “What happened to Professor Dumbledore’s hand?”

Harry furrows his brows in confusion before glancing towards Dumbledore again. The Headmaster is standing in front of his podium with his hands clasped, clearly prepared to give his beginning of the year speech, but Harry’s eyes are on his right hand. From the tips of his fingers down to his wrist, the skin is black and dead looking. His already wrinkly skin is even more shriveled up than it used to be. 

It appears that Hermione wasn’t the only one to notice his hand. Whispers sweep across the entire hall, all wondering what the hell happened to him. Dumbledore shushes them quickly enough.

“Nothing to worry about,” he assures the hall. “Now… To our new students, welcome! To our old students, welcome back! Another year of magical education awaits you…”

“His hand looks… dead,” Hermione whispers in horror. “I’ve read about incurable curses that leave lasting injuries, and poisons without antidotes… I wonder what could have happened.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “I hope it’s not too serious.”

“-We are pleased to welcome a new member of our staff this year. Professor Slughorn is a former professor of Hogwarts who has happily agreed to resume his old position as Potions Master.” Professor Slughorn stands up and Harry can’t help but stare. The man appears old, although not as old as Dumbledore. He’s rather round and has a friendly face with graying hair. He sits back down after a moment and- wait.

“Did he just say Potions Master?” Ron exclaims. The hall once again erupts into whispers that soon turn louder and louder. Dumbledore calls for attention again before things get out of hand.

“Meanwhile,” the Headmaster continues, raising his voice so it carries over the rest of the hall. “Professor Snape will be taking over the position of your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“No!” Harry exclaims. Many heads turn his way, but he can’t bring himself to care. After all these years, Snape finally got the position that he’s always wanted. Why?

Snape merely waves his hand in acknowledgement. The Slytherins are the only ones who clap for him. He’s glad he’s not the only one upset over this new predicament. It doesn’t make sense to him - Snape has been after that position for years, and yet, Dumbledore never trusted him enough to give it to him. Why now?

“Maybe this means he’ll be gone by the end of the year,” Harry whispers suddenly. Ron and Hermione both turn to him in confusion.

“What do you mean by that, mate?” Ron questions.

“I mean,” Harry continues. “-no one has lasted more than a year in that position. By the end of each year, they always leave. Or in Professor Quirrell’s case, he died. Don’t you get it?” The two of them shake their heads hesitantly.

“That position is jinxed.”

Ron and Hermione seem to sit with this revelation in silence. Dumbledore carries on after another few moments.

“Now, you all have a right to know why your belongings have been searched before entering the castle.” Everyone seems to quiet at that. “As you should know, Lord Voldemort and his followers have been at large and are growing in strength. It is absolutely crucial that you report any suspicious behavior, from students or staff, should you feel that they are a threat in any way. These are dark times that we live in.”

The hall is silent by this point. Harry’s eyes are once more drawn to the Slytherin table. Malfoy has his head bowed, strands of his blonde hair now falling into his face and obscuring Harry’s view of his eyes. When he glances at the rest of the Slytherins, he finds a few of them throwing dirty looks Malfoy’s way. Has he done something to them…? No, It’s because he’s not one of them. 

Harry averts his eyes with a sigh. It makes sense now, Hermione’s words. ‘He needs you now more than ever.’ Malfoy has all of two friends - Zabini and Parkinson. His father is a Death Eater. He was a Death Eater in the making, but he deflected. He refused. And now the Slytherins - whose parents are mostly Death Eaters, mind you - have cast him out.

Malfoy has never been the friendliest of blokes, either. Harry can imagine that every other house hates him, but for different reasons than the Slytherins. He, quite literally, has no one but his two friends on his side. And Dumbledore, it seems. But is that enough to keep him safe? 

Maybe this is why he needs Harry, even if he doesn’t know that yet. Call him presumptuous, but Harry thinks that by protecting Malfoy, that is the only way he’ll ever be safe. Harry holds a lot of, shall we say, sway over others, considering his name. He hates taking advantage of his own name, but if it’s to keep someone safe… He just may be able to make a sacrifice, just this once. In due time.

“Remember, children,” Dumbledore continues with a soft voice. “It is our choices that make us who we really are.” Malfoy finally looks up, then, and Harry watches the Headmaster give the blonde a subtle smile. Malfoy quickly ducks his head again, but not before Harry catches a slight pinkening in his cheeks. Huh.

“Anyways, dinner and then off to bed with you.”

_____

Directly after dinner, Professor McGonagall had cornered him and Ron and convinced them into taking Potions this year. They hadn’t originally intended to, considering neither of them had the grades for it, but Professor Slughorn is supposedly more lenient than Snape. This means they’ll have one less free period this year, but that still leaves them with two. If they both want to become Aurors in the future, they don’t really have much of a choice.

Harry, Ron and Hermione find themselves sitting on the rug near the fireplace afterwards. Harry’s already got so many things running through his mind, and it’s only the first day back. The thing at the forefront of his mind, however, is Snape.

“Why do you suppose Dumbledore finally gave Snape the DADA position after all this time?”

Hermione shrugs helplessly. “Dunno.”

“Really?” Ron snorts. “You don’t know? That’s a first.”

Harry has to smother a laugh with a cough, but Hermione doesn’t buy it, judging by the glare she throws at him. “Oh, bugger off. Honestly, Ronald… But, seriously. If what Harry says is true, about the DADA position being,” she looks around for any eavesdroppers before leaning forwards, “-jinxed, then that would mean that Snape will be gone by the end of the year. The only thing I can think of that would make any sense is that Snape is planning something, and Dumbledore is in on it. I just haven’t a clue as to what it could be…”

“Listen to yourself, ‘Mione. You’re beginning to sound like Harry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry questions defensively.

“You always think that someone is up to something. ‘Snape is up to this, Malfoy is up to that,’ and so on.”

“To be fair, they were always up to something! Even if it wasn’t always something inherently awful. Besides, I agree with Hermione.”

Ron sighs. “I suppose it makes sense. But do you really think this is something we should meddle with? Don’t you think we should trust Dumbledore on this?”

Harry and Hermione are silent for some time while they think this over. He trusts Dumbledore. He has no choice but to trust Dumbledore. “You’re right,” Harry says suddenly. Ron snaps his head over to look at him, surprise adamant in his expression.

“I am?” he asks as though he doesn’t believe him. Harry smiles.

“You are,” Hermione interjects. “As much as this entire situation makes me feel uncomfortable, this is Snape and Dumbledore that we’re talking about. Dumbledore is even sneakier than us-” they all smirk at that, “-so we’d get nowhere if we tried sniffing around.”

“True,” Harry agrees. “But I’m sure we’ll find out what’s going on soon enough, anyways. We always do.”

Chapter Text

Harry’s first potions class of the year goes… surprisingly well. Professor Slughorn was all smiles and clapping him on the back each time he’d pass Harry’s desk. Harry of course knows why Slughorn likes him so much, considering this is only the first time they’ve ever interacted. It’s because he’s Harry bloody Potter. He pushes this annoying revelation to the side, however, simply because he actually managed to brew a proper potion without it exploding. This new accomplishment is exciting enough that he can’t even bring himself to care that the only reason Slughorn favors him is because of his name and his scar.

“Well done, my boy! Well done,” Slughorn clamps a meaty hand over his shoulder for what must’ve been the fiftieth time within the past hour and a half. Harry smiles sheepishly when students turn in their seats and look at him with a mix of awe and suspicion. He supposes it’s an appropriate reaction considering - again - this is the first time he’s properly brewed a potion. And it’s a rather difficult one, at that. When he looks to his right, Hermione is wearing a disbelieving expression.

“How did you do that?” She whispers accusingly when Slughorn ends the lesson. He simply shrugs in response, which causes her to scoff. Even Ron looks confused.

“Harry, mate… It’s not that I don’t believe in you or anything, except, well…” The redhead trails off, blinking rapidly. Harry can spot a lie when he sees one.

“Well?” Harry raises his eyebrows in amusement while packing his books.

“Well… I don’t believe in you when it comes to potions.” Ron suddenly takes a step closer to Harry then before grabbing ahold of his sleeve. “How did you do it, then?” he asks almost hysterically. Harry snorts.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Harry says with a smirk before brushing Ron off and sauntering over to the door. Ron looks confused while Hermione simply rolls her eyes.

“Harry, my boy. Might I have a word with you before you leave?”

Harry stops in his tracks, Ron and Hermione doing the same. Harry nods his head towards the door. “Go on, I’ll meet up with you.” The pair of them hesitate before ultimately nodding and leaving the classroom. Once alone, Harry turns to Slughorn, heart in his throat.

You see, the only reason Harry was able to brew a perfect Draught of Living Death is because he had a bit of help from his new friend, the Half Blood Prince. It’s not an actual person - it’s a book. 

When he and Ron entered the potions classroom that morning, they were unprepared, of course, considering they hadn’t planned on taking the class that year. Or ever again, really. Slughorn was nice enough to lend them each a used textbook from one of the cupboards in the back of the classroom, however. Harry had originally been a bit annoyed that Ron was quicker and managed to grab the newer-looking copy - but then he opened his own worn copy. 

Each page of the textbook contained notes upon notes about potions and spells alike; Quantities were scribbled out and substituted for different ones, methods were replaced for easier ones, spells Harry weren’t even sure existed were noted in margins. It was, afterall, quite an intriguing book. If that wasn’t enough to convince Harry to keep the damned thing, the fact that it had helped him brew a perfect potion for the first time in his life was.

Standing before Slughorn now, he’s a bit scared that the Professor is going to accuse him of cheating and take his book away. Without this book, he’ll never manage to pass Advanced Potions. He barely managed to pass standard Potions, for Godric’s sake! 

“Very well-brewed potion, if I do say so myself! Professor Snape-” Harry internally cringes, “-had told me you were a rather, oh, shall we say - unversed student when it came to potion making. Bollocks, I’d say!” Slughorn walks around the front of his desk until he reaches his chair, sitting heavily on it with a sigh.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry says cautiously. He’d like to consider himself a decent enough liar, but lying still makes him as nervous as Neville when he comes face to face with Professor Snape.

“I’d already known you were a talented, special boy. Everyone knows, eh?” Slughorn laughs a bit awkwardly. “But today has further proved so. I taught your mother, you know.”

“Really?” Harry asks, intrigued. He takes a few steps closer to Slughorn’s desk.

“Really,” Slughorn confirms before smiling somewhat wistfully. “Lily, lovely Lily. She was exceedingly bright, your mother. One of my absolute favorite students. Excuse me, I know professors shouldn’t pick favorites, but… Your mother had always been one of a kind. You have her-”

“Eyes, yeah. So I’ve been told,” Harry smiles slightly. All of his anxiety has been washed away and replaced with riveting intrigue - intrigue to know more about either of his parents, however small and insignificant the details are.

“She was a part of my Club, she was. Back when I used to teach, I strung together a little group of students that which I thought were extraordinary. We used to meet once every week or two and have dinner and dessert. We all got to learn a bit more about each other. It was called the Slug Club.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, somewhat in amusement. “The Slug Club - was my father a part of it, too, sir?”

“James? Oh no,” Slughorn leans back in his chair with a laugh. “James Potter was quite the troublemaker. Always getting up to something. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy having him in my class, of course. Say, Harry - would you be interested in joining, were I to revive the Club? I could tell you many stories about your mother.”

Stories about his mum… “I’d be delighted to, Professor.”

“Great!” Slughorn claps his hands together. “It’s decided then. I’ll let you know when I’ve put together my little group. Oh and Potter? Bring Miss Granger with you, will you? She seems like she has quite the talent.”

“I will,” Harry smiles, relieved. He didn’t question why I was the only one who managed to brew the potion correctly. “See you later, Professor.”

_____

“The Slug Club? Are you barking mad?”

“I know he only wants me there for bragging rights-” Ron snorts, “-but he said he used to teach my Mum. He said he could tell me stories about her if I joined.”

“So,” Hermione snaps her book shut and turns to him on the sofa. “You’re saying Professor Slughorn is bribing you to join his Club just so he can show you off, correct?”

“Er,” Harry scratches the back of his neck and averts his eyes. “I don’t know if I’d really call it bribing, necessarily… More like we just struck a deal…”

Hermione gives him a pointed look as though to say ‘...Right,’ before sighing in defeat. “I suppose it would look good on my resume…” she mutters before shaking her head and standing. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to finish this week’s homework and get a head start on our Defense paper. I highly suggest you two do the same,” she sniffs before making her way to a secluded table in the corner of the common room.

Harry watches her go before the movement of red hair from a few tables over catches his attention. Ginny is sitting next to Dean, both of their heads bowed together over a book. He tries not to make it obvious that he’s surveying them, letting his eyes roam across the rest of the common room before landing back on the couple to find that they’re - oh. Kissing.

“Blech,” Ron pretends to gag. Harry whips his head over to look at his best friend and wonders if his own face resembles the same scrunched up look of disgust. He knows it doesn’t, however - he can feel his eyebrows raised into his hairline and quickly snaps his mouth shut when he feels it gaping open in shock.

It’s not that Harry is jealous of them. No, really - he’s happy for them. Truly. They’re both two good friends of his. They deserve each other.

…It’s just that, well… Harry had thought that he and Ginny had something going on. There were the longing looks that she threw his way the entire summer; There were the subtle touches on his arm and the shy smiles. Forgive him if he’s stupid, but he could’ve sworn something was blooming between them. Something good. And now, Harry feels rather dense. Was he reading too much into their interactions? Were they friendly gestures? Did they not actually mean anything at all?

Having decided that he’s had enough of - whatever this heavy feeling was - Harry bids Ron goodnight before heading up to his dormitory. Once there, he sheds off his robe and rids himself of his shoes before climbing into bed and spelling his curtains shut.

The first day of classes was a long one. He already has four assignments due in two days and he’s barely even been in the castle for forty eight hours! Hermione would probably roll her eyes and call him dramatic - he’s thankful to have her and Ron in all of his classes this year. He couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy also shared most of their classes - they’ve shared many classes in the past years, but it took Harry a while to even realize he was there.

He sat in the back of each class with his head down and didn’t say a single word the entire day. Even when Snape had ridiculed Harry in front of the entire class for being an ‘arrogant boy who thinks he can get away with his blatant ignorance in everything simply because he’s the Chosen One,’ or whatever the greasy bastard said, Malfoy barely lifted his head. Harry only found out he was there when Ron pointed out how creepy it was that he drifted through each lesson like a ghost.

Harry isn’t sure where he and Malfoy stand, exactly. Malfoy hasn’t looked at him once - okay, call him dramatic because it’s only been two days since they’ve returned - but it just doesn’t sit right with him. Malfoy should be paying attention to him.

Harry bolts upright in his bed at this thought. Perhaps he should see Madam Pomfrey; he’s clearly gone mad. Never once in his life has he ever been worked up over the fact that Malfoy isn’t paying enough attention to him. Can Veela powers still affect you, even from this far away? Maybe it’s an aftereffect… He’ll have to ask Hermione.

Feeling restless, Harry lies back down, only to toss and turn on his sheets. Something just feels off, but he doesn’t know what or why. His mind keeps wandering back to that blond hair and the way it shines in the moonlight.

With a sigh, Harry sits up and crawls towards the end of his bed where his trunk is settled. He rifles through it, leaving his clothes crumpled until his fingers close around the paper that he was looking for. With a triumphant smile, Harry crawls back towards his pillows and settles comfortably under his blankets.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he whispers. He watches names and footsteps begin to fill the page with black ink. He unfolds the map until his eyes find the dungeons. “Come on,” he mutters to himself as he searches for a certain Slytherin. “Where the hell are you?”

He checks the common room and every Slytherin dormitory but comes up short. He even checks the surrounding halls and classrooms, including Snape’s, but still doesn’t find the git. He flips the map over and checks the library - still nothing. He checks the kitchens - still nothing. Feeling more and more paranoid, Harry even resorts to searching the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw common rooms but still finds nothing. He turns the page again and is about ready to give up when he spots him - the name Draco Malfoy is alone and standing still on top of the astronomy tower.

Harry hastily shoves the map in his pocket and pulls his slippers on before reaching into his trunk again. Once he finds his cloak, he throws it on and walks to the door of his dormitory before glancing back at his bed and facepalming. He hurriedly shuts the curtains around his bed again so nobody notices that he’s gone - he can be smart sometimes, as much as Hermione likes to imply otherwise. And Malfoy. And Snape. And- Harry shuts down his disheartening line of thoughts before tiptoeing down the stairs and into the common room. He looks around to make sure that no one is watching before slipping through the exit, ignoring the Fat Lady’s suspicious call of ‘Who’s there?’

Pulling the map from his pocket, Harry checks to ensure Malfoy is still at the astronomy tower before he takes off. It’s nearly curfew and Harry doesn’t fancy getting stopped by Filch and questioned where he’s going at this time of night, so he makes sure to keep his steps as quiet as possible. He just knows that Malfoy is up to something - he can feel it in his gut. He’s about to find out just what it is that the Slytherin is planning.

When Harry makes it to the tower, he has to climb the stairs extra slowly. The castle may be put together with magic, but the damned stairs still creak if you step on them a certain way. Once he’s finally reached the top, Harry freezes at the sight of Malfoy.

The blond is leaning on the railing that overlooks the grounds, head tilted back slightly and eyes closed. From this angle, Harry can see the moonlight reflecting off the other’s face, highlighting the paleness of his hair and eyelashes. He’d never realized how long the other’s lashes were before - with his eyes closed, they look as though they just barely graze his cheeks, even with the slight curl at the end of them that makes him look rather girly. Girly sort of suits the blond, anyways. Harry has to catch himself from snorting in amusement as he imagines Malfoy’s reaction to him telling him he looks good with his girly features.

When Harry processes his thoughts some more, he feels his body temperature rise, despite the cool September breeze flowing through his cloak. It’s from anger, not embarrassment. Anger because it seems that every time he finds himself near Malfoy, his thoughts always stray to how fucking good the git looks, even without him trying. And then even more anger because Harry knows that these aren’t genuine thoughts - it’s definitely because Malfoy is part-Veela.

Harry’s brain short circuits when Malfoy sighs and blinks open his eyes. The moonlight makes them look so silvery; Harry swears he’s seen that exact shade of silver before, but he can’t place where from. As he gazes at Malfoy for longer, he can’t help but take in the broken expression on the other’s face, along with the sad way he carries himself. He just looks so done with everything, and Harry suddenly feels guilty for coming all this way under the pretense that Malfoy was up to something evil when he so obviously just needed time to himself because he’s hurting. He wants to facepalm himself again - it’s almost like his talk with Hermione about how Malfoy is obviously afraid and bloody traumatized went in one ear and straight out the other. He feels like an arsehole.

Malfoy turns towards him then and Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out some shitty excuse as to why he’s stalking him when the blond takes steady steps towards him. It takes Harry a second before he realizes that Malfoy still can’t see him - he’s just walking towards the set of stairs that Harry is currently blocking. Panic sets in and Harry has to sidestep the other last second, holding his breath lest his raggard exhales alert Malfoy to his presence. Malfoy almost grazes the edge of his cloak with his arm when he walks by, he’s so close. Harry closes his eyes tightly as the blond makes his way down the stairs without a single suspicion. Once the sound of his footsteps fade out, Harry releases his breath heavily.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself. He can’t tell whether the scent of smokey wood and wintery air is from the breeze or from Malfoy.

_____

The following morning finds Harry pushing around his scrambled eggs distractedly. His eyes keep finding their way towards the blond on the other side of the hall and he has to keep mentally slapping himself to keep from getting caught staring. His view of Pansy fucking Parkinson touching Malfoy’s arm is cut off when Hermione sits down across from him.

“Morning!” she cheerfully greets him and Ron.

“Mornin’,” Harry replies while Ron grunts in greeting. The redhead has never been much of a morning person.

“Did you guys start your Defense papers like I suggested?” Harry and Ron glance at each other with wide eyes and Hermione scoffs.

“This year’s workload is going to be much more difficult than last year’s. If you want to be accepted into Auror training once we graduate, you’re going to have to work for it, you know. They won’t accept anything below Exceeds Expectations on your Newts.”

“Look, ‘Mione, I would’ve started my essay - truly - except I was too busy wondering where Harry had disappeared to last night.”

Harry chokes on his pumpkin juice and Ron reaches up to slap his back in consolation. Hermione leans forwards in intrigue.

“Disappeared? What do you mean?”

“Well,” Ron glances at Harry in apology and Harry can’t help but scowl at his friend’s obvious attempt at changing the subject away from schoolwork. “You see, I went to bed around ten and saw Harry’s curtains closed, but his trunk was open. I may have… gotten a bit nosy and decided to snoop through his stuff - can you blame me?” he asks when Harry’s scowl deepens. “And I couldn’t help but notice that his cloak and map were both missing. So I thought to myself, ‘Huh. Now why would Harry sleep with his cloak and map?’ So then I pulled open his curtains and realized he wasn’t there. I even reached out to make sure he wasn’t hiding under his invisibility cloak.”

Harry averts his eyes from his friends’ own searching ones and clears his throat. Hermione leans forwards even more and lowers her voice. “You weren’t having… nightmares again, were you, Harry?”

“Er…”

“Ah, leave the bloody man alone, ‘Mione! He was probably off getting a good shag from some lucky girl.”

“Who’s shagging who?” Ginny suddenly questions as she takes the seat on the other side of Harry, Dean quick to follow her. Harry has the sudden urge to facepalm again.

“Harry, I bet,” Neville butts in as he sits on Ron’s other side. “He was missing from the dorm last night.”

“Oh?” Ginny raises a teasing eyebrow and looks at Harry. “So? Who's the girl?”

“Er…” Harry says again, at a loss of words.

“Is she a Gryffindor?” Ron asks.

“A Ravenclaw?” Neville asks next.

“Hufflepuff?” Ginny adds in helpfully as she fills her plate with breakfast.

“Oh, Gods…” Ron moans. “Please don’t tell me you’re shagging a Slytherin, please!” Hermione rolls her eyes and feigns disinterest at the conversation. Harry knows her better than that, though - his friend is still listening intently, waiting to hear the next piece of juicy gossip just like everybody else. Bloody great friends, he has.

“No! Jesus…”

“Well, who was it, then? Don’t tell me it’s a secret love affair…” Ron widens his eyes and lowers his voice dramatically and Harry snaps.

“I wasn’t shagging anybody! I’ve never shagged a bloody day in my life!” Harry exclaims. All of his friends stop what they’re doing and stare at him in surprise. “Fucking hell,” Harry mutters as the whispers start at each end of the Gyffindor table and quickly spread to the Ravenclaw table. Harry pushes his plate away from himself and stands up, ignoring Hermione’s call of ‘Harry, your breakfast!’ and Ron’s muttered ‘Sorry, mate.’ Without his permission, his eyes find their way over to the Slytherin table and he watches in poorly concealed horror as Pansy Parkinson leans close to Malfoy and whispers to him and Zabini with a wicked smile. Malfoy whips his head to the side and immediately locks eyes with Harry and the Gryffindor almost trips over his feet when the blond raises an eyebrow with an amused smirk. Not wanting to be scrutinized by Malfoy for being a bloody virgin any longer, Harry hurries out of the Great Hall and towards the library.

“Nosy arseholes… So what if I’m a bloody virgin… I’m only sixteen! I bet the rest of the sixth years are virgins, too…” Harry mutters to himself angrily. He knows Ron is a definite virgin. He would’ve been the first person Ron told, had he shagged a girl. Hermione probably is, too. He sincerely hopes she and Krum didn’t get down and dirty during fourth year… Neville is definitely a virgin, too. Every time he tries to talk to a girl, he stutters and stumbles over his words before running away. He’s much too pure for that. Seamus, well. Okay, he has no bloody idea. Dean…?

Harry stops just outside the library and throws his head back with a groan. He hears Madam Pince’s loud ‘Shhh!’ from inside, but he pays it no mind as he angrily stomps his way into the library. 

Dean and Ginny have been awfully… touchy. Even at breakfast this morning, Ginny was leaning into Dean while he had his hand wrapped around one of her thighs. He isn’t sure exactly how long they’ve been dating, but with how they act around each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already done the deed.

He doesn’t know why this revelation bothers him so much. He surely isn’t the only virgin in his year, but it’s as if everyone expects more from him. ‘He’s Harry Potter! He could shag any girl he wants. He’s probably shagged loads of girls!’ He rolls his eyes as he wanders into the ‘Creatures’ section of the library.

As he searches through the different books on creatures, he can’t help but scoff in disgust as he imagines himself… doing it with a girl. He isn’t sure why, but the thought makes him uncomfortable. He even tries to imagine Ginny, with her long hair and pretty eyes - but all he feels is… well, nothing. He tries to imagine her naked - she looks as though her skin is pretty soft. She’s rather skinny and her curves are very slight and- Oh Gods, he doesn’t want to think about that any further. Maybe it’s because she’s younger than me? He closes his eyes tightly and tries to imagine Madam Rosmerta, with her curly, dark hair and her more noticeable curves. He tries to picture her without clothes this time and - “Ouch!”

Harry leans down with a sigh and picks up the book he’d just dropped on his foot. He’s about to put it away before he realizes it’s just the book he was looking for. Happy for a distraction from his rather disturbing thoughts, Harry goes to Madam Pince’s desk and checks it out. She never once removes her glare from his face as he walks out of the library and heads to his first class.

_____

Come lunch time, the whispers have only just barely died down. Girls keep sending him their ‘sex eyes,’ as Ron calls them jealously, but Harry pays them no mind. He’s still in a mood and he wants nothing more than to hole up in his room and read the book that he has hidden deep within his backpack.

Harry’s eyes unintentionally land on Malfoy from across the hall, again, and he lets his mind wander. Has Malfoy had sex before? Realistically, yeah, most likely. I mean, he may be an outright git, but anyone could admit that he’s easy on the eyes. Harry has already admitted that to himself multiple times. He’s probably used his Veela powers to seduce whatever woman he wants. 

He feels a pit form in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy having had sex. The heavy feeling only intensifies when he watches that Parkinson cow laugh at something the blond said before said blond’s eyes flick up and lock onto Harry’s own. Harry blinks and hastily glances away when he registers the fact that he was just caught staring, but not before noticing the other raise his eyebrows in amusement. He seems to do that a lot. Harry’s face must just be so hideous that the Slytherin finds it funny.

“Say, Hermione…” Harry interrupts Hermione and Ron’s argument over whether or not House Elves deserve to be paid for their services. Hermione immediately stops what she’s doing and gives Harry her full attention, concern shining plainly in her eyes.

“Er- how much do you know about Veela?”

“Oh! Um, not too much, actually,” she blinks in surprise. “I know that they’re native to Bulgaria, hence why they’re the mascots of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team. They’re pale and blonde and hypnotically attractive, especially when they dance. Their allure is so seductive that it can cause its victims to become completely mesmerized by them, leading to them performing impulsive and typically foolhardy acts just to keep the Veela’s attention.”

Harry sits there unseeingly for a moment as he absorbs this information. He’d already known about the paleness and the blondeness - hence why he highly suspects a Veela being a part of the Malfoy family tree. He’s never seen Malfoy dance, so… he can’t say for sure whether or not he’s been completely hypnotized by him before. There was that moment back at the Burrow where Harry had thought Malfoy just looked so beautiful that he stupidly spouted out the question of whether or not him and Parkinson were dating - could that be considered impulsive and foolhardy? Harry thinks so.

“I see… Would these traits be present in someone who’s only partially Veela? Let’s say… A quarter Veela, maybe?”

“I’m not too sure,” Hermione furrows her eyebrows. “If they were, I’d imagine they wouldn’t be as strong as a pure Veela. Why are you asking me this, Harry?”

“Er…” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “I was just wondering. Was thinking of writing my defense paper on them. You know, ‘Dark Creatures of Europe.’”

“Right…” Hermione drags out the word. She looks at Harry as though she doesn’t believe a single word he’s said. “I’m not sure Veela can be classified as dark creatures, but… Maybe I can do some more research for you.”

“Would you, please?” Harry grins at Hermione before giving her his best puppy-dog eyes until she scoffs and agrees with a smile. Harry thanks her and returns to his lunch, as well as his unintentional staring of Malfoy from across the hall. He takes in the shadows under the other’s eyes that are visible even from this distance, as well as the sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline. It’s only then that Harry realizes that he hasn’t seen the blond eat a single thing since they’ve returned to school.

_____

Today the Gryffindor’s had their Quidditch tryouts, which went surprisingly well. Ron had actually done great and landed a position as Keeper; Harry chose Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote as Beaters, and Ginny and Demelza Robins joined Katie Bell as Chasers. Harry is happy with his team, especially considering the fact that Ginny and Ron are now a part of it.

“Great job out there, Katie. I knew I wouldn’t be replacing you,” Harry smiles at the dark haired witch as they make their way over to the broom sheds.

“Thanks, Harry. I think we’ve got a strong team this year.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “We’re gonna whoop Slytherin’s ass. Can’t wait to see the look on Malfoy’s face.”

“Harry,” Katie furrows her eyebrows at him as she puts away her broom. “Didn’t you hear? Malfoy dropped out of Quidditch this year. He didn’t even bother trying out.”

“What?” Harry whips his head around and stares at her disbelievingly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Katie nods her head as she walks out of the shed. “Probably because his father isn’t here to bribe the captain with new brooms this time,” she jokes over her shoulder before running off. Harry remains in the shed for a minute longer, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Malfoy, the boy who’s known for being a great seeker, didn’t even bother trying out for his team this year. 

As Harry makes his way back up to the castle, he hesitates for only a moment before turning away from the Great Hall and making his way towards the Hospital Wing. Everyone else is headed in the opposite direction for dinner. He’ll just stop by the kitchens on the way back.

When Harry enters the Hospital Wing, he breathes a sigh of relief when he finds it empty. Madam Pomfrey must have superhuman hearing because she exits her office only a moment later and eyes him with a mixture of concern and exasperation.

“Potter,” the old lady greets. “Three days back, and you’re already here. Why am I not surprised? Now, what is it this time, dear?”

“Oh, er- I’m not sick or hurt or anything. I actually wanted to report - uh… I wanted to voice my concerns about a certain student.”

“Oh! What seems to be the matter with them?”

“Well,” Harry clears his throat. “He hasn’t been eating. I’m not really sure he’s been sleeping much, either. I know for a fact that over the summer, he, er… He was barely eating and sleeping. It seems that he’s gotten worse since we’ve come back here.”

“Poor boy,” Madam Pomfrey coos in concern. “I’ll be sure to check in with them. May I ask who this boy is, Mr Potter? Is it Weasley?”

“No,” Harry says awkwardly. He takes a deep breath. You’ve got this, Harry. You’re doing something good. “It’s Draco Malfoy, Ma’am.”

Madam Pomfrey’s eyebrows rise into her greying hairline in surprise. She blinks a few times before summoning a clipboard and quill and writing something down. “Alright then, I’ll be sure to take care of him. Anything else I should know?”

“No, Ma’am,” Harry shakes his head before heading towards the exit. He stops just in front of the doorway and looks over his shoulder.

“Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You’ll help him, right?”

Madam Pomfrey smiles in understanding, the crinkles beside her eyes making her look much older than she actually is. “Of course, Potter. I’ll prescribe him some nutrient and dreamless sleep potions. He’ll be in tiptop shape in no time.”

“Alright,” Harry breathes out with a relieved smile. “Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes, Potter?” She asks him exasperatedly, but Harry can see the amusement on her face.

“Please don’t tell him it was me that reported him. He’ll have my hide, and I’d rather not fight with him this year.”

Madam Pomfrey’s understanding smile returns to her face. “Your secret is safe with me.”

_____

“Hey, Mate.”

“Hey, Ron,” Harry greets him distractedly. It’s been two days since Harry had talked to Madam Pomfrey, and Malfoy has somehow gotten even worse. He’s constantly scowling, which isn’t that new, but he’s still resolutely not eating. Harry watches as he snaps at Zabini when he tries to give him a plate of dinner. He can’t help but wonder why the git bothers showing up to meals if he’s never gonna eat anything.

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize for outing you the other day. That wasn’t cool of me. I just wanted Hermione to get off our backs with all that schoolwork talk. I forgot how bloody annoying people could gossip when it involves you.”

Harry watches Ron throw a glare at a pair of whispering, giggling girls passing them by. Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Ron. I’m used to it. Just ignore them.” Ron nods solemnly but lightens up when Harry digs his elbow into the redhead’s side.

Ignoring the whispers and stares is definitely easier said than done, but Harry is used to it. Sort of. I mean - he’s been stared at his entire life; well, the entire part of his life that he’s been in the wizarding world, anyway. It’s still bloody annoying.

“You know, you’re not the only one,” Ron whispers. Harry cocks his eyebrows. “I mean- we’ve hardly gotten a chance. Maybe this year though, yeah?” Ron glances behind them with a dopey smile.

“I’m gonna go talk to Lav. Meet up with you later, ‘kay?”

Harry nods and withholds his grimace; ‘Lav,’ bleh. Harry makes his way through the halls - it’s finally Saturday and he just wants a chance to breathe. Without thinking, he finds himself outside. The sun is beating down today, even as it sets, and Harry closes his eyes and lets it warm his face. 

There won’t be many warm days like this left - autumn will be gone before they know it, the cold, brutal winter ready to take its place. Harry finds a tree by the Black Lake and sits below it, taking his book out of his bag.

He hasn’t had a single moment of privacy since he’s checked his book out of the library; Ron has been by his side basically every minute since - don’t get him wrong, he appreciates Ron with all of his heart. He always has Harry’s back - he tells off all the girls that giggle and whisper behind his back and he always has a comeback for the guys that make jokes.

Harry is perfectly capable of sticking up for himself, but he simply doesn’t care enough to do so in this instance. He has bigger problems to worry about. He cracks open ‘Veela: Beautiful but Deadly,’ and begins to read.

 ‘Veela (both singular and plural) are human-like magical beings that are known for their beauty and hypnotic abilities. Native to Bulgaria, Veela are typically women with pale skin and light hair. Their looks and especially their dance are hypnotic, causing those who are attracted to women to perform foolhearted and impulsive actions to gain the admiration of said Veela.

 Those under their hypnotic spell would experience a blissful blankness of the mind, believing that the Veela and their dance was the only thing that mattered, and that something terrible would happen if they stopped. The mesmerised people would feel compelled to do something crazy to try to impress the Veela, giving no thought to personal safety.

 When Veela became angry, however, they could transform into something more like Harpies — their faces turned into cruel-beaked bird -like heads, while long scaly wings burst from their shoulders, and they could launch balls of fire from their hands.’

Harry leans his head back against the trunk of the tree with a sigh. This book didn’t give him much information that he didn’t already know. It only leaves him with more questions - like, what about those who are only part Veela? Can men be Veela? If yes, does their allure function the same way that women’s do?

He would read further, except the rest of the book appears to just be about the history of Veela. He hates reading - he’ll just have to hope that Hermione has found some more useful information.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Potter the virgin, sitting all by his lonesome under a tree. Waiting for some bird to come swoop you away?”

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Harry mutters without heat.

“Now, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Harry cracks open his eyes just enough to throw a glare at the blond. Malfoy merely smirks in response before stepping closer and sitting next to him, leaving about a foot of space between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read outside of class. I was beginning to wonder if you even could read.” Harry doesn’t have enough time to react before Malfoy reaches out and snatches the book out of his hands. “‘Veela?’ Interesting text subject. This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been pestering me about my supposed ‘Veela status,’ now, would it? I’ll have you know, my blood is as pure as it gets.”

Harry rolls his eyes and snatches the book back from the Slytherin. “I said fuck off, Malfoy. I don’t want to fight.”

“Who said anything about fighting? I’m merely starting a conversation with you, Potter. Is my company really that bothersome?”

“No,” Harry internally curses himself for responding so quickly. He was supposed to say ‘yes!’ goddamnit! Harry watches with a grimace as Malfoy’s smirk widens into something more predatory.

“No? I’ve always known you’ve secretly admired me.”

“Wha-” Harry scrambles to his feet. “I do not admire you! You’re an annoying git!”

“So? It’s a part of my charm.” Malfoy raises an eyebrow as he gracefully stands on his feet - that is, gracefully until he nearly topples sideways into the tree. Harry just about reaches out to steady him but the blond brushes him off in annoyance. 

“Merlin, Malfoy. You’re still not eating, are you?”

Malfoy freezes up and looks at Harry with an expression of disdain. Harry mentally slaps himself; he was just getting used to seeing friendlier expressions on the other’s face. If you can call a taunting smirk ‘friendly.’

“Excuse me?” Malfoy’s voice comes out icy cold, yet Harry can feel himself begin to sweat under his long-sleeve. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fight with him this year.

“Er…”

“Eloquent as ever, Potter.” Harry winces under the deadpan stare now being directed his way. He liked it better when the other was teasing him.

“Why didn’t you try out for Quidditch this year?” he asks to quickly change the subject. Malfoy turns his head, hiding his expression.

“I wanted to focus on my studies.”

“...Right.”

“What, gonna miss getting your ass handed to you?” Malfoy is looking at him again.

“As if,” Harry scoffs, letting a slight smile make its way onto his face. “Was just hoping I’d get a worthy opponent. I’ve never seen another seeker as good as you.”

Malfoy blinks at him and Harry swears he sees a hint of red make its way onto the other’s pale face. Harry presses on. “Nobody else stands a chance. At least when I’m playing against you, you give me a run for my money.” Malfoy furrows his brows. Ah, right. Muggle reference. “I mean- you’re almost as good as me. Almost, but not quite.”

Malfoy’s face is properly red now. He opens his mouth to respond, but Harry cuts him off.

“I suppose you could always make it up to me, though.”

Malfoy blinks once. Then twice, but slower. When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re blazing; they’re filled with so much heat, so much warmth. Harry has never seen anyone’s eyes look so expressive before. Malfoy takes a step closer to him and tilts his head up. Like this, standing nearly toe to toe, Harry has to crane his neck up to look at the blond properly. Malfoy looks down his nose at him before his lips curl up into a smile. It’s a smile similar to the ones that Harry has caught Dean sending Ginny the past couple of days. Harry is distracted by the way it brings out Malfoy’s dimples, however, so he doesn’t give himself any time to dwell on that thought.

“Yeah?” Malfoy asks, voice low; it’s barely above a whisper, but he speaks so clearly that it sends tingles down Harry’s spine.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, voice catching. He clears his throat awkwardly. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so softly. He’s supposed to have the upper hand! Malfoy takes a step closer to Harry and Harry instinctively steps back and back until he can see the tree’s leaves above him once more, yet Malfoy moves closer still. The blonde leans in until Harry can feel his breath ghosting across his face. 

“And how do you suppose I’ll do that?” Harry squeezes his eyes shut and stands as still as possible, willing his heart to stop trying to escape his chest. He takes a deep breath in hopes of calming himself, but it only makes his panic worse - all he does is take in a deep lungful of Malfoy’s scent. That smell of cold air - like crisp snow, fills his nose. It’s mixed with an underlying scent of smokey wood, like a fire. He can picture the scene - the wind blowing and the ground covered in a thick layer of snow, except where a fire pit is lit, melting the snow surrounding it. It’s rather… calming. Comforting, even. Despite this fact, Harry’s heart decides to beat even faster.

“Please eat. Or take your potions, at the very least,” Harry whispers. He feels the moment Malfoy stops breathing and takes a staggering step backwards. When Harry blinks his eyes open, he’s faced with Malfoy’s accusing expression.

“It was you,” he breathes out. 

“I-”

“It was you!” Malfoy steps close to him, expression furious. He grabs Harry by his shirt and pins him against the tree. Harry winces when he feels the bark dig into his back.

“I only wanted to help!”

“I don’t need help, Potter! My wellbeing is none. Of. Your. Business!”

“You do need help though- fuck, Malfoy, ease up on your wand!” Harry tries his best to glare through his tears as the bark digs even deeper into his back. Malfoy has his wand in hand and is currently trying to stick it directly through Harry’s neck, it seems.

“When will you learn to stop meddling in other people’s business? I don’t need the Chosen One looking out for me, of all people!” Malfoy is basically hyperventilating by this point, eyes wild as he snarls in Harry’s face. Harry reaches up and grabs onto Malfoy’s shoulders and pushes him. He watches with no amount of guilt as the blond staggers backwards.

“Stop acting crazy for a second! You’ve barely eaten all summer and you’re clearly not sleeping, either! Now you’re all quiet in class and you’re not even playing Quidditch anymore! You’ve barely even looked at me since school started - it took you three bloody days to even insult me! This isn’t you, Malfoy,” Harry says the last part quieter, eyebrows furrowed. He takes a cautious step towards the blond who’s shaking his head, eyes darting around frantically in panic. “It’s okay, Malfoy. Just let me help you. I can help you.”

Just as Harry is about to reach out and grab the other’s shoulders, Malfoy seems to snap out of it and punches Harry straight in the jaw. He punches surprisingly hard for someone so weak - Harry falls to the ground from the impact. He looks up in anger as he holds onto his jaw.

“I don’t want your fucking help,” Malfoy snarls. Harry grabs the other’s shirt and drags him onto the ground, relishing in the yelp he hears when Malfoy’s back makes contact with the dirt. Harry immediately rolls on top of him and lands blow after blow onto the other’s face. Mafoy finally grabs ahold of his fist and twists until Harry hears a concerning crack come from his wrist.

“Fuck!” Malfoy takes advantage of Harry’s distraction and pushes him off of himself before rising on his knees and punching Harry in the stomach. Harry’s breath leaves him in a pained gasp, but he manages to quickly roll to the side before Malfoy lands another. He makes it onto his feet quickly and whips out his wand before pointing it at the blonde. Malfoy whips out his own wand and stumbles to his feet - Harry watches in horror as Malfoy squeezes his eyes shut with a gasp before falling forward, wand falling from his fingers and rolling away.

“Shit,” Harry curses, reaching out and grabbing Malfoy by the waist, lest he fall directly on top of Harry and land them both on the ground again. Malfoy leans his entire weight onto Harry, head lolling forward until it reaches the shorter boy’s shoulder.

“Jesus, Malfoy. Are you alright?” Malfoy feels limp in his arms. Harry wishes he could see his face.

“Mmph.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital wing?”

“No,” he feels Malfoy wince as he leans backwards, clearly trying to steady himself on his feet. Harry didn’t even realize the blond had grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt until he feels it being tugged as Malfoy leans back some more, blinking down at Harry hazily. “You didn’t beat my ass that bad, Potter. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Harry scoffs. “Care to explain what the fuck just happened, then?” Harry stares back at Malfoy as those silver eyes dance across his face. They seem to be taking in every detail, searching for something. Harry tries his best not to fidget, but his fingers flex against the other’s waist anyways. Malfoy twitches.

“That happens when I stand up too fast. The less I eat, the weaker I become. Every time I stand, now, I black out for a few seconds. It’s not so bad, I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Malfoy,” Harry furrows his eyebrows, now more concerned than he was all summer. “You have to eat. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Why?”

“Wha- Why?” Harry splutters. “Because you’re slowly killing yourself, that’s why!”

“No-” Malfoy’s lips twitch. “I mean, why do you care?”

“Why do I-” Harry cuts himself off, blinking rapidly. Why does he care? “Because,” Harry forces out behind gritted teeth. “I’m… worried.”

Malfoy tilts his head to one side, causing strands of his blond hair to fall over his forehead and into his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows what the git wants him to say. “Because I… care about you.”

Malfoy’s lips twitch again. “Why?”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy!” Malfoy actually smiles, then. “I don’t fucking know, okay? I just do.”

“You just… do,” he repeats slowly. Harry nods his head, avoiding those searching eyes. He covers up his anxiety with an irritated expression. “We’re not friends, Potter. You don’t have to care about me.”

“We could be,” Harry mutters, still resolutely avoiding the other’s eyes. He still can make out the other’s face twitching in response. Twitchy ferret.

“What was that?” Malfoy presses. “Could you repeat that, please?”

Harry finally looks at him, then. “Bloody hell, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘please’ the entire time I’ve known you,” he mutters, yet he feels the corners of his lips rising, betraying his amusement. Malfoy’s eyes look wide and hopeful and Harry feels his heart begin to race again.

“I said, we could be. I mean, would it really be so bad? We acted pretty civilly over the summer, so…”

Malfoy’s breath tickles Harry’s face when he exhales. “I dunno,” he says quietly. “Being friends with you sounds… horrid.”

Harry snorts. “You seemed pretty eager when you were begging for my friendship back in first year.”

“I was not begging!” Malfoy finally releases him, affronted. Harry immediately misses the warmth of the other’s hands against him.

“Were too,” Harry teases with a smile. Malfoy pouts and Harry’s eyes are drawn to his lips. He catches himself and averts his eyes. He doesn’t want to be accused of staring at the git’s lips again.

Malfoy turns with a dramatic sigh, picking up his wand before looking over his shoulder. “I suppose we could try to be… friends. Don’t expect me to sit at Gryffindor table, though. I’d never stoop that low,” he snuffs. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. I have one condition, though.” Malfoy turns back to him and waits patiently.

“Drink your potions. Then- eat. At least, try to eat. When you can. Deal?”

Malfoy purses his lips for a few moments but eventually gives in. “Deal. But this means you have to go flying with me again once I’m feeling a bit better.”

“Deal!” Harry smiles brightly at the Slytherin. Malfoy’s eyes widen and he doesn’t smile back - he just simply blinks at Harry. Harry doesn’t let this reaction ruin his relief, however. Malfoy is just weird. He’s already used to it.

_____

When Harry makes it back to his common room that night, he drops onto the couch next to Hermione, feeling dazed. He notices her shooting glares at Ron and Lavender across the room from behind her book, but she seems to snap out of it once Harry lands.

“Harry! I was beginning to worry. I’ve done some research on Veela, like you asked me to.”

“You did?” Harry sits up, all of his attention on her. “What did you find?”

“Well,” Hermione turns her body towards him and looks down at the book in her lap. “It says here that when a Veela mates with a wizard or a muggle, they can pass down some of their allure to their kids. The more generations it passes through, the weaker the genes become.”

“So, you mean that eventually, the Veela genes will be mated out until there’s none left?”

“Correct. It also says here that those with partial Veela genes don’t experience their inheritance until the age of sixteen.”

“That makes so much sense!” Harry exclaims. He knew he could count on Hermione to find out more information. “Wait- what about men? Do they have the same effects as women Veela?”

“Somewhat,” Hermione says slowly. “There’s never been a full Veela-blooded male recorded in history, but those who have Veela parents or grandparents receive some of the same allure that women do. People claim that their allure isn’t as strong as a woman’s however.”

“I see.” Harry stares out at nothing as he processes this information. Hermione closes her book and scoots closer to him.

“Are you ready to tell me why you’re suddenly so invested in Veela? I know it’s not because of our Defense paper.”

Harry smiles tightly as he turns towards her again. “How’d you know?”

“Please,” Hermione waves her hand. “As if you’d have started your paper yet. I know you’re saving it for the last minute, just like always.”

“You caught me,” Harry raises his hands in defense but smiles genuinely. Hermione knows him so well.

“So…?” she presses gently. Harry sighs. He looks around to make sure no one is listening in before lowering his voice.

“I think Malfoy might be part-Veela.”

Harry watches as Hermione’s eyes widen, her mouth opening slightly in the shape of an ‘o’ before she blinks rapidly in surprise.

“And… Why do you think that, may I ask?”

“Well,” Harry clears his throat. “He sort of fits the description, doesn’t he? Pale, light hair, er- attractive. Objectively speaking, of course.” Hermione bites her lips in a clear attempt at suppressing a smile as she nods along with him. “Also, he, er… I keep having these moments where I’m alone with him and- and the moonlight keeps shining on his face just right and I sort of just freeze up and… act all stupid. All I can think to myself in those moments is ‘Gods, he’s so beautiful.’ And I know this isn’t normal! This- this isn’t like me. I’ve never been attracted to him before. He must’ve come into his inheritance, right?”

Hermione is wearing an expression best described as pity. She smiles gently at him before reaching out and laying her hand on his arm. “Harry, you do know that in order to be attracted to Veela, you first have to be attracted to women, right?”

“Yeah..?” He nods his head in confusion. “So? Malfoy isn’t a girl.”

“It also says in this book that in order to be attracted to a man who is part-Veela, you must first already be attracted to men.”

Harry freezes up, ignoring the way that Hermione’s eyes soften even more. His eyes are so wide that he feels them filling with water - he is definitely not crying. His eyes are just dry.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Harry?”

Harry stands up suddenly, causing Hermione to drop her hand from his arm. He begins to make his way over to the stairs leading to his dormitory.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathes out. He ignores her.

“Thanks for all of your help, Hermione.” Once out of sight, he runs the rest of the way up the stairs and to his dormitory, all but slamming the door behind him and leaning against it heavily.

This is all just - it’s too much. Malfoy must not be part-Veela, then - Harry obviously was just confused and, and- oh Gods, he doesn’t even know anymore.

It makes sense - but he doesn’t want it to make sense. He’d always wondered in the back of his mind why Ron and the rest of his friends were all attracted to Fleur Delacour in his fourth year, while he simply viewed her as a regular witch. He wouldn’t have even known that she was part-Veela, had Ron not gone on and on about it.

Harry changes into his pajamas as quickly as he can before shuffling under his blankets and spelling his curtains shut. He hopes that if he just goes to sleep now, tomorrow he’ll wake up feeling normal.