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“Death Eater scum.”

Draco sighs and stops in front of the hulking figure blocking his path. Gilligan, Draco’s fairly certain, a brawny sixth year from Ravenclaw.

“I prefer Draco these days, actually,” Draco says with a tepid smile. “Or Mr. Malfoy, if you must.”

Gilligan glowers and steps in closer, and Draco braces himself for the inevitable tirade and likely fist to the jaw. Nothing to worry about, he tells himself. He’s gotten quite good at minor healing spells in the month or so since school started. As long as Gilligan doesn’t break anything, he shouldn’t have to see Madam Pomfrey.

But before Gilligan can start in, a familiar voice rings out from behind Draco. “What’s going on here, Gallagher?”

Gallagher -- Draco was close -- looks over Draco’s shoulder and pales a bit, and Draco turns to see none other than Saint Potter himself approaching them, looking characteristically exhausted and on guard all at once. There’s a gaggle of younger students trailing after him that he seems to be trying very hard to ignore.

“Nothing, Potter,” Draco says. Things have been surprisingly civil between the two of them since returning to Hogwarts for their eighth year, but they’re certainly not friends, and Draco doesn’t much fancy the idea of having to be rescued by Potter. Again. “We were just having a little chat is all.”

“Right,” Potter says, clearly not convinced. He squints suspiciously up at Gallagher, who’s nearly a full foot taller than him. “You weren’t harassing Malfoy here, were you?”

“What’s it to you?” Gallagher sneers. “What are you, his boyfriend?”

Draco almost laughs out loud at the very idea. Potter, his boyfriend. Hilarious.

“I am, actually, yeah,” says Potter. The young students crowding up behind him gasp, seeming to be almost as shocked as Draco himself is.

Gallagher looks stunned. “Really?”

“Really. Now, if you’ll kindly bugger off,” Potter says loudly, glancing around at not only Gallagher but the admirers behind him as well, “I’d like to walk my boyfriend to his next class, thank you very much.”

The fans obediently scurry away, stealing glances at Draco and tittering amongst themselves as they do. Gallagher is the only one to hesitate, and after a moment Potter’s faux-friendly demeanor drops and is replaced with obvious aggravation. “Bugger. Off,” he repeats through gritted teeth.

Gallagher casts one last glare Draco’s way, to which Draco responds with his haughtiest sneer, and finally Gallagher backs off and trudges away. Draco waits until he’s certain everyone’s out of earshot before turning a disbelieving look on Potter.

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“Shh. Not here.”

Potter grabs Draco’s wrist and drags him into a nearby empty classroom, then abruptly lets go and slams the door shut behind them, leaving them in almost complete darkness. Draco catches himself before he can stumble into anything and quickly pulls his wand out to cast a silent Lumos. Potter’s got his wand out as well and is muttering a spell to lock the door.

“You know, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to shag you yet, Potter,” Draco says to Potter’s back. “I’ve only just found out that we’re dating, see.”

Potter snorts. “Funny.” He turns back around and casts a silent Lumos as well. The wandlight accentuates both the concern in his eyes and the dark circles beneath them. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Potter. I had everything under control.”

“Sure you did.” Potter pulls off his glasses and scrubs at his face with his palm before sighing and replacing his glasses. “Has this been happening a lot?”

Draco stares at him incredulously. “Potter, are you -- did you really drag me into a dark classroom just to pester me about whether I’m being bullied? I’m going to be late for Charms, you wanker.”

“Sorry,” Potter says, having the decency to look at least a little sheepish.

“You should be. And not just that, but you do realize what you’ve done now, don’t you? You’ve stuck us together.”

“How do you mean?” Potter asks, his brow furrowed, and Draco sighs. Classic Potter. Still as clueless as ever.

“The Boot girl was in that group of fans following you about, or didn’t you notice? Everyone knows she’s the biggest gossip in Hogwarts. I’d reckon half the school’s heard of our quote-unquote relationship by now.”

“I, er, didn’t think of that,” Potter admits, running a hand through his wild hair anxiously. “I just figured it’d be the fastest way to get them all to leave us alone. And it worked,” he adds, defensive.

“It did, but at what fucking cost?” Draco’s mind races through all the possible ways to proceed in the aftermath of Potter’s rash declaration, but he sees only one viable option: “Now we have to fucking date each other.”

“Can’t we just say we broke up or something?”

“That would only make things worse for the both of us. I’d be kicked down even farther on the social ladder for breaking the Saviour’s heart, and your fans would be more aggressive than ever in their quest to capture and mend said broken heart.”

Potter’s face falls, and he sighs. “Well, what do you suggest we do, then? Pretend to be...dating?”

“No need to sound so excited, Potter,” Draco says snidely, and Potter rolls his eyes. “But yes, I think that’s the way to go. If it works like I think it will, it’ll discourage your many heinous suitors -- ”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Potter mutters. Draco ignores him.

“ -- and it’ll get people to leave me the fuck alone.” Not only that, although Draco would certainly settle for being left the fuck alone; dating the Saviour of the Wizarding World would, for all intents and purposes, make Draco socially invulnerable. He rather likes the idea of that, actually.

“It would only be temporary, of course,” Draco continues. “The rest of the term, maybe, and then we quietly break up over the holidays. That should give us enough time to get the results we want, and by then no one will care enough to cause a fuss about it.”

“Right.” Potter nods slowly, and he actually starts to look a little hopeful. “Yeah, you know, I think you’re right.”

“I usually am. You’ll need to get used to that if we’re to make this relationship work.”

Potter makes a noise that’s somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “Yeah, okay. So...how do we do this?”

“Well, you should know, I don’t half-arse anything. We’ve got to do it right, and we’ve got to sell it,” Draco muses, tapping a finger on his chin as he considers. “Especially considering that we don’t exactly have the most charming history. I think it should be doable so long as you don’t screw it up.”

“Me?” Potter says with a scowl. “Why are you worried about me?”

Draco scoffs. “Potter, have you met me? I was born to put on a show, whereas the tiniest bit of spotlight practically makes you wet your trousers. No offense, truly, but I have much more confidence in my own ability to be a charming and convincing fake boyfriend than I do in yours.”

Potter’s eyes glint, and one corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “That sounds like a challenge, Malfoy.”

Draco can’t help smirking as he raises an eyebrow and replies, “Take it as one, then.”

Potter’s grin widens, and Draco’s pulse quickens slightly. They may be past the days of their petty boyhood rivalry, but a little bit of competition between the two of them sounds refreshingly familiar.

Draco clears his throat. “Well, if you’re quite finishing harangueing me, I’ve a class to get to. Flitwick already hates me enough as it is.”

“Sure. Let’s go.” Potter undoes his locking charm and opens the door, letting Draco out in front of him.

“Thank you, dear,” Draco simpers with an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes, and Potter huffs quietly.

As Potter closes the door behind them, Draco grabs his hand. Potter stares dumbly down at their twined fingers. “What are you doing?”

“You,” Draco says primly, “are walking me to class. You said you were going to, and a good boyfriend keeps his promises.”

Potter rolls his eyes. “Right. Come on, then.” He tugs on Draco’s hand, and Draco lets him lead the way to the Charms classroom.

The door’s shut when they arrive; class has already started. “Bollocks,” Draco mutters. He’ll have to open the door as quietly as he can and try to slink in unnoticed.

Potter, however, appears to have a different idea. He throws the door open hard enough that it slams into the wall behind it, and Flitwick and the students all start and turn to look at the racket.

“Mr. Potter,” Flitwick squeaks, smiling at Potter and steadfastly ignoring Draco. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Sorry Draco’s late, Professor,” Potter says loudly, and hearing Potter say his name and not just Malfoy gives Draco an odd little thrill. “It’s my fault, not his.”

Flitwick tuts. “Well, that’s all right. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t,” Potter promises.

And then he stands on tiptoe and kisses Draco on the cheek.

“How’s that for selling it?” he whispers in Draco’s ear, then lets go of his hand and practically runs away.

For a moment, Draco is frozen, and he knows his cheeks are bright red, he can feel it, especially warm where Potter’s lips were just pressed. A few of his classmates are staring at him with mouths agape.

“Come in and take a seat, Mr. Malfoy,” Flitwick says, and then returns to his lesson without further reprimand.

Draco hurries to take his usual seat next to Blaise in the back of the classroom. As soon as he’s seated Blaise leans over and whispers, “Merlin’s pants, Draco, what the fuck was that?”

“Nothing,” Draco replies breezily. “Just my boyfriend walking me to class.”

“Boyfriend?”

“That’s right. Now hush. I doubt Flitwick will let me get away with two offenses in one class period.”

Blaise obligingly leans back into his own space, but he looks rather impressed, and Draco preens inwardly. He could get used to being the boyfriend of the Chosen One.

***

At supper, Draco decides it’s time for a bit of retaliation for Potter’s kiss-on-the-cheek stunt. Potter flustered him in front of his friends and classmates, after all; it’s only fair that Potter now suffer the same fate.

When he enters the Great Hall, he sees Potter’s already at the Gryffindor table, flanked by Hermione and Weasley. Draco and Hermione have been on rather friendly terms ever since Hermione started dating Pansy over the summer -- they even sit together in Ancient Runes sometimes -- so when Draco reaches the table it’s between her and Potter that he situates himself.

“Hello, darling,” Draco says as he settles in with an arm around Potter’s shoulders, casual as though he always does this. Potter chokes on his pumpkin juice. “Granger, good to see you.”

“You too,” Hermione replies, looking thoroughly bewildered, as Potter continues to cough.

“There, there.” Draco pats Potter’s back and reaches for a bowl of pudding with his free hand, pretending not to notice the suspicious glares of the Gryffindors surrounding him. Some of them tighten their grips on their forks and knives. Flattering.

“The fuck are you doing here, ferret?” Weasley demands, leaning around from Potter’s other side and brandishing his fork threateningly. He clearly hasn’t been forewarned about the situation, which actually surprises Draco; he’d expected Potter to run and tell his faithful sidekicks all about the most recent mess he’d gotten himself into the first chance he got.

Potter blessedly recovers in time to answer before Draco has to. “It’s fine, Ron. He’s with me.” Everyone still looks wary, but somewhat reassured.

“Luna told me she heard that you two were dating, but I didn’t believe it,” says Ginny, leaning forward from a few seats away to join the conversation. She doesn’t look at all perturbed by her ex-boyfriend having gotten a new lover, only curious. “Is it true?”

“It is,” Draco confirms smugly. “After seven years of being obsessed with me, Potter here’s finally got up the nerve to ask me out.”

“That’s not true!” Potter protests. Ginny frowns, and Potter quickly backtracks. “I mean, it is true that we’re dating, yeah. But that’s not how it happened.” He gives Draco a reproachful look. “If anything, you were obsessed with me -- ”

“At the end of the day,” Draco drawls loudly, cutting Potter off, “what really matters is that we’re here, and we’re together, and happy, and it’s very beautiful and such.” He picks up Potter’s spoon and scoops up a bit of mashed potatoes. “Now hush, poot. If you keep blathering about your dinner will get cold. Here.”

He holds the spoon up to Potter’s face. Potter’s lips purse, whether in discouragement or in an attempt not to laugh Draco’s not sure. Possibly both. Draco bumps the spoon against his lips insistently. Finally, Potter gives in and opens his mouth, and Draco gleefully feeds him the potatoes as Weasley watches with revulsion.

While Potter grumpily eats his potatoes, Hermione nudges Draco in the side and smiles. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you two.”

“I’m not,” Weasley announces loudly. “First ’Mione and Parkinson,” he says with a baleful look at Hermione, who seems only marginally sympathetic. “And now this? What’s wrong with you both?”

“Now, Weasel, don’t be jealous just since you’re the only one in your little trio who hasn’t got a Slytherin lover,” Draco says, raising an eyebrow. “I can fix you up with Blaise, if you like.”

“What? N-- Absolutely not,” Weasley sputters.

Draco grins and leans forward, eager to see how hard he can poke the Weasel before it bites, but before he can say anything else Potter lays a hand on his arm.

“This all will probably go a little more smoothly if you don’t goad Ron into biting your head off,” Potter points out, but he seems rather amused.

“Fine,” Draco sighs dramatically. “I shall relent. But only because my dear Harry here asked me to, and I am an excellent boyfriend.” He raises his voice a bit at the end for the benefit of their audience of Gryffindors.

Potter rolls his eyes, and Draco grins. Winning this is going to be easy.

***

“Delivery for Draco Malfoy!”

Draco looks up from his History of Magic notes with a frown, certain he must have misheard. Deliveries during class aren’t exactly commonplace, and yet there’s a tiny first-year Gryffindor scurrying towards him, lugging along a bouquet of flowers that’s nearly half her size.

The students around Draco are staring and whispering. He glances up at Professor Binns, but the old ghost is still droning on with no indication of having noticed anything’s amiss. Figures.

The student finally reaches Draco and heaves the bouquet up onto his desk, nearly knocking over his inkpot, but he snatches it up just in time. “From Harry Potter,” the student announces as she withdraws a piece of parchment from within her robes.

“Er, yes. Thank you,” Draco says. He reaches for the parchment, but the student jumps back so it’s out of his reach.

“Harry wants me to read it out loud.”

Of bloody course he does. “I’ll pay you not to,” Draco tries desperately.

But the student’s already unfolded the parchment and is clearing her throat to begin reading loudly.

“For my dearest Draco. I thought these flowers looked and smelled almost as good as you, so I just had to get them for you. I hope you like them as much as I like you. Yours, Harry.”

“Right then.” Draco snatches the parchment out of the student’s hand, trying to ignore the hot flush he can feel on his cheeks. “Be on your way.” The student grins and dashes back out of the classroom.

Everyone in the class is staring at Draco, a few with disgust, most with curiosity or admiration or even envy. Draco ignores all of them and pretends to be very interested in the lecture Binns is still giving, and eventually his classmates lose interest in him and do the same.

Draco finally looks down at the parchment he took from the student. He reads the note for himself, scratched out in Potter’s inelegant scrawl, and almost snorts out loud. The student messenger was effectively embarrassing, but the note itself is rather lacking; there aren’t even any rhymes in it. Potter’s going to have to try harder than that if he wants to one-up Draco. The flowers are rather lovely, though, he has to admit. Peonies are his favourite.

When class ends, Draco hurries to gather his things, just in case Potter’s public romantic gesture garners him more vitriol from his classmates than respect. But before he can slip away, someone stops in front of his desk, and he looks up to see Isabel Johnson, a Hufflepuff seventh year, regarding him thoughtfully.

“Dating Harry Potter, are you?” Johnson says, her expression inscrutable.

Draco clears his throat nervously and stands up. Isabel Johnson is one of the most popular, well-liked students at Hogwarts; her acceptance of him would be a huge step. Her rejection, however… “I am, yes,” he says, puffing out his chest and posturing himself to appear as though her opinion doesn’t matter to him in the slightest.

Johnson stares down at him for another moment -- Draco’s fairly tall, but she’s taller, which only adds to her intimidation factor -- and then she smiles. “Well done. I hear he’s a tricky one to court.”

Draco can feel himself relax with relief, and he hopes it’s not obvious. “Only because those who have tried to court him previously weren’t me,” he drawls, picking up his ridiculous bouquet and slinging his packed bag over his shoulder.

Johnson laughs, and they fall into step together as they head out of the classroom. Draco follows along in the direction Johnson’s going; it’ll do him good to be seen with her by as many people as possible, and he’s a free period now, anyway.

“So what’s it like dating the Chosen One?” Johnson asks curiously as they walk.

“Oh, it’s divine,” Draco sighs theatrically. “He’s a very generous and devoted lover. I’m a lucky man.” Belatedly, he realizes that if he really wanted to help Potter avoid future suitors, he should make it sound like dating Potter is the dullest, most painful chore one could imagine, which it probably is. Ah, well. He’s in the honeymoon phase right now. The complaints will come eventually.

“Is he a good kisser?”

Draco raises his eyebrows at Johnson incredulously. “He’s Harry bloody Potter. Of course he’s a good kisser.” He doesn’t know if that’s true, but it probably is; after all, he is Harry bloody Potter.

Johnson continues to question him as they walk, and Draco continues to make up answers that he hopes are true, or at least unlikely to be disproven. Eventually, they reach the Transfiguration classroom, and Johnson gives him a grin. “See you in class, Malfoy.”

“See you,” he replies, and Johnson disappears into the classroom.

Draco only just started fake dating Potter and already he’s seeing results. He’s been keeping the bouquet low and close to him to try and avoid drawing attention to it, but now he hefts it proudly onto his shoulder for all to see as he begins to walk back the way he came.

He doesn’t make it far before he hears Potter’s harried voice behind him. “I, er -- oh, there he is! Maybe another time, sorry.”

And just a moment later there’s the feeling of a hand sliding into Draco’s, and Potter pulls up beside him and gives him a relieved smile. “Hey.”

Terrible timing, really. If only Potter had arrived a minute sooner, Draco could have introduced him to Johnson. That definitely would have scored him major points. “Hello, my sweet dove,” Draco says, and leans down to give Potter a kiss on the cheek so he can mutter in his ear. “Need an escape from your rabid admirers?”

Potter doesn’t even bother to complain about Draco’s wording. “Please,” he whispers back.

Draco straightens back up and puts on his most besotted expression. “Oh, Potter, thank Merlin you’re here,” he proclaims loudly as he leads Potter out of the crowd of students around them. “I’ve been simply dying to snog the living daylights out of you, my love.”

“Not as much as I’ve been dying to snog you,” Potter shoots back, looking like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. He nods at the bouquet resting on Draco’s shoulder. “I take it you like the flowers, then?”

“I absolutely adore them, darling. Although sending a child to do your dirty work for you is sort of a cheap tactic, don’t you think? Where’s that Gryffindor bravery of yours?” Draco’s voice echoes through the empty corridor they’ve just made it to, and now that they’re alone Potter does laugh, loud and genuine, and Draco’s stomach flips, just a bit.

“I figured if I did it myself I’d steal the spotlight away from you,” Potter says, letting go of Draco’s hand to rummage through his bag. “I was trying to be a good boyfriend by letting you have all the attention.”

Draco scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. “Oh, bull. You just didn’t want to have to read that atrocious love note out loud yourself. The dearest Draco bit was decent, but the part about the flowers smelling almost as good as me? Not the most romantic line I’ve heard.”

“I mean, it’s true,” Potter says distractedly, making a face as he digs deeper into his bag. “You smell really good. Where is that fucking -- got it!”

Draco’s brow furrows -- Potter thinks he smells good? -- but before he has time to fully process that, Potter’s yanked an ancient-looking piece of parchment out of his bag and is waving it triumphantly in Draco’s face. “Let’s go.”

Without further explanation, Potter takes off at an eager stride, staring intently down at his parchment. Confused, Draco stands still for a moment, then hurries after him.

“Potter, what are you -- What’s that?” Draco asks, trying to get a better look at the mysterious parchment.

“It’s a map that shows me where everyone in the school is,” Potter says, and then continues on as though that statement alone doesn’t require a lengthy explanation. “I’m looking for somewhere with no one around to bother us.”

“Why, Potter, you really do want to snog, don’t you?”

Potter snorts. “You wish, Malfoy. I figure we could both use somewhere to study in peace, yeah?”

Potter’s not wrong. Draco usually studies in either the library, where he runs the risk of being confronted and harassed, or in the Slytherin common room, where it’s as likely as not that Blaise will distract him with gossip or try to con Draco into doing his homework for him. Somewhere to study in peace would be nice, actually.

So he lets Potter drag him through what feels like the entirety of Hogwarts castle, up and down staircases and through passageways Draco didn’t even know existed, until finally they come to a stop in the middle of an empty fifth floor corridor.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “I hope you aren’t expecting me to sit and study in the middle of the hallway on the floor.”

“No, there should be something…” Potter squints at his map, then looks up and prods at the wall with his wand. “Here.”

To Draco’s surprise, the bare stone wall transforms into a door like any other in the castle. “What is this?” he asks, eyes darting between the door and Potter apprehensively. “Another…” He clears his throat. “Another Room of Requirement?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s just a secret room,” Potter says with a shrug. “There’s a lot of them around Hogwarts. You just have to know where to look.”

“By using your mysterious magical map.”

The corner of Potter’s mouth quirks up, but he doesn’t respond. He just pulls the door open, and they both peer inside. It’s a small room overcrowded with dusty furniture -- plush armchairs, velvet settees, luxurious couches -- but it’s warm and quiet and perfect.

“What do you think?” Potter asks.

Draco shrugs noncommittally. “It’ll do.”

They enter the room, and Potter shuts the door behind them and begins to spell away some of the dust on the furniture. Draco lights a few torches -- enough light to study by, but hopefully not so much that potential passersby would take any notice. That done, he carefully sets his bouquet down on an end table, making sure not to crush any of the flowers, then seats himself on a large sofa.

As he starts to pull out his books and notes, Draco looks up to see Potter watching him with a curious look, and he frowns. “What?”

“You don’t have to keep those if you don’t want to,” Potter says, gesturing to the flowers as he sits down in an armchair. “I won’t be offended.”

Draco scoffs. “As if I would ever do anything out of fear of offending you. I’ll have you know that I happen to like peonies, though I don’t expect you did that much research. Probably just picked the biggest one, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Potter says, but there isn’t much bite behind it, especially since he’s obviously trying not to smile.

“You fuck off,” Draco replies, and he’s quite certain he’s doing a better job of not smiling than Potter is.

They both fuck off, then, and in a surprisingly companionable quiet they start on their studying and homework, and for the first time since returning to Hogwarts, Draco feels safe.

***

They quickly fall into a comfortable routine. Potter somehow manages to always find Draco between classes, and they walk together hand in hand, warding off bullies and fans alike with an astonishingly high success rate. Isabel Johnson starts sitting next to Draco in History of Magic, and eventually even invites him to join her study group.

Through it all the competition continues. In Potions, the only class they have together, Draco creates a concoction that explodes with a massive heart of red smoke whenever Potter says the word cauldron; meanwhile, Potter keeps enchanting small rodents to find Draco and serenade him with squeaky renditions of classic Lionel Witchie songs at the most inopportune times.

And, in their free time, they often return to that secret room on the fifth floor. It remains the only place they can study in relative peace. Potter’s humming and fidgeting is more than a little distracting, but Draco can’t find it in himself to complain. After all, this is still certainly preferable to the alternative of the library or the Slytherin common room. More comfortable, too.

One afternoon Potter’s being even more distracting than usual. In addition to the fidgeting, he’s sighing every couple of minutes as he stares blankly down at his notes. Were it anyone else, Draco would think the sighs were a ploy for attention, but this is Saint Potter. He probably doesn’t realize how loud he’s being and thinks he’s doing Draco a favour by trying to keep it all in, the idiot.

Draco tries to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of Potter’s loud, dejected sighs, all he’s got written for his Arithmancy essay is his name, so finally he heaves an exasperated sigh of his own and sets his quill down. “So, are you going to tell me what’s the matter, or are you just going to sit there brooding all afternoon?”

“I’m not brooding,” Potter says immediately, and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Clearly. Just tell me, Potter.”

Potter considers for a moment, grimacing, before he starts to explain. “Well, the whole fake dating thing has been working pretty well -- ”

“Of course it has. I’m brilliant. Go on.”

“ -- except that, well. People…” Potter runs his fingers through his stupid hair awkwardly. “It’s just, people have started asking me about the Yule Ball. And, er, to the Yule Ball, a couple times.”

“What?” Draco blinks hard, aghast. “Who? Surely the whole school knows you’re spoken for by now.”

“I thought so. And maybe they did know and just asked anyway. I dunno.” Potter slumps back into his armchair with yet another sigh. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

Draco actually finds himself feeling a little sorry for the bugger. A few years ago he would’ve seethed over Potter’s ungrateful attitude towards being so desired, but now that he knows how badly Potter just wants to be left alone, he can’t feel any resentment. And besides, half the reason they’re pretending to date is supposed to be to ward off Potter’s admirers. Draco’s supposed to be keeping Potter from having to put up with this shit. Apparently he hasn’t made it clear enough --

“By the way,” Potter adds, “we should probably just plan on going to that together, yeah?”

What a romantic proposition. “I suppose so,” Draco says, and Potter gives him a small, tired smile and returns to his studying.

An idea begins to form in Draco’s mind, and he turns slightly, angling himself so that Potter won’t be able to see the grin spreading across his face. He pushes his untouched Arithmancy essay aside, pulls out a fresh piece of parchment, and begins to plan.

***

They’re at the Gryffindor table again. Draco tried to convince Potter to join Slytherin for breakfast, but, as he should have expected, Potter is a fucking coward and refused.

So they’re sitting at the Gryffindor table, and Draco is punishing Potter’s cowardice by force feeding him individual grapes, when the owls start to fly in with the morning post. Draco quickly abandons his task in favour of searching for his owl, Cleopatra; Pansy usually owls on Tuesdays, after she’s had a chance to recover from the weekend.

But today, when he catches sight of Cleopatra amidst the flurry of birds, he pales. Clutched in her manicured talons is a bright red envelope. “Oh, no.”

When the envelope drops in front of Draco, Potter’s eyes widen. “Is that -- ”

The Howler bursts open.

“DRACO LUCIUS ABRAXAS MALFOY,” it screams in Pansy’s voice. “WHAT THE EVER-LOVING FUCK.”

The Great Hall immediately goes silent, and Draco can feel everyone staring at him. He casts a quick glance up at the staff table; as expected, newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall looks furious, but she knows as well as he that there’s nothing to be done but hope it’s over soon.

“YOU’RE DATING HARRY BLOODY POTTER? I CAN’T BELIEVE IT, BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DIDN’T TELL ME, YOU ARSE. I HAD TO FIND OUT FROM MY GIRLFRIEND, AND IT RUINED WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A VERY LOVELY FIRECALL DATE THAT I WAS WEARING MY NICEST LINGERIE FOR. YOU OWE GRANGER AN APOLOGY.”

Next to Draco, Hermione’s brown skin has gone a deep, deep crimson. On his other side, Potter looks a bizarre mixture of mortified and gleeful.

“ANYWAY, WHAT WAS I SAYING? OH, YES. YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD TO ME UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. PLEASE WRITE BACK WITH AN EXPLANATION RIGHT AWAY, AND IT BETTER BE A BLOODY GOOD ONE. HERMIONE, IF YOU’RE IN EARSHOT OF THIS, I LOVE YOU. DRACO, I’D JUST LIKE TO REITERATE, YOU’RE DEAD TO ME. WRITE SOON, DARLING. LOVE, PANSY.”

And the Howler explodes, coating the remnants of Draco’s breakfast with ash.

The Great Hall is filled with silence for a long moment, then two, and then the tittering starts. Chatter and whispers fill Draco’s ears as he stares down at his now-grey bacon and eggs.

“Well,” Hermione squeaks next to Draco, and she clears her throat. “Well, er, she certainly does like to cause a spectacle, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Draco agrees, still a little stunned. “My deepest apologies, Granger.”

He tears his eyes away from the ashes and looks up at Potter, who’s completely red in the face. The Gryffindors around them might assume he’s just embarrassed -- and reasonably so -- but Draco can tell he’s trying to hold in laughter. He’s practically shaking from it as he wraps an arm around Draco and leans in close to murmur in his ear.

“Well, I reckon you win for today, Malfoy.”

“I bloody well better,” Draco grumbles, but Potter’s obvious delight is infectuous, and he finds he really can’t be all that mad.

***

Later that night, Draco is on his knees in his pyjamas in front of the Slytherin common room fireplace, where Pansy’s head is floating in the fire. It’s well past midnight, and he’s completely knackered, but there’s no other time that the common room is entirely empty.

“So. Tell me about this thing with Potter,” Pansy says, steepling her fingers together with mock seriousness. “Finally gotten the stones to ask him out, have you? Colour me impressed. It only took you seven years.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “It’s not like that. It’s…” He glances around the common room again to make certain no one’s got around the privacy charms he put up before calling. Then he casts an extra Muffliato and lowers his voice anyway, just in case. “It’s fake.”

Pansy blinks a couple times. “Pardon?”

“It’s fake, Pans,” Draco says again, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “We aren’t really dating. We’ve an arrangement to pretend to be dating so that people will leave us alone. That’s all.”

Pansy stares at him for a long moment, brow furrowed, then pouts. “Well, that’s dreadfully disappointing. And here I was thinking the both of us had finally ended up with our dream Gryffindors. Speaking of which, why didn’t Hermione tell me it was fake?”

“She doesn’t know, I don’t think. Potter didn’t tell her or Weasley. I’m not sure why.”

“Interesting.” Pansy purses her lips. “Well, then, I suppose I should apologize for the Howler, but I’m not going to, anyway.”

“I could have gotten in serious trouble for that!”

“You didn’t, though, did you?”

“Well, no, but -- ”

“Then I don’t see the problem.” Pansy examines her nails and frowns at some flaw Draco can’t see, and he knows there’s no point in trying to argue. “So how long are you going to be fake dating Potter?”

“Through the rest of the term. We’ll go to the Yule Ball together, and then we’ll break up over hols.”

Pansy raises her eyebrows. “Already planning for the Yule Ball, are you? You realize it’s not even November quite yet?”

“Well, it’s not like we had a choice,” Draco says defensively. “Despite my best efforts to publicly humiliate Potter with affection, his fucking acolytes are still trying to get him to go to the ball with them. So I’ve got to ask him properly.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, he just brought it up while we were studying. ‘By the way, we should probably go to the Yule Ball together,’” Draco says in a poor mimicry of Potter’s voice. “I’ve got something better in mind. The plan is still in its early stages, but I think it’s going to be...”

He trails off when he sees the look Pansy’s giving him, one he can’t quite read, and he frowns. “What?”

“You really do fancy him, don’t you?”

“What?” Draco says again, with more outrage this time. “No! Why would you think that?”

Pansy raises an eyebrow. “It’s just, it sounds like you’re putting an awful lot of effort into asking your fake boyfriend to a school dance that he’s already asked you to.”

“It’s not like that,” Draco protests. His face feels uncomfortably warm, probably from the proximity to the fire. “Potter and I, we… We’ve a bit of a competition going, if you must know. Who can be the better and more romantic fake boyfriend. And I’d very much like to win, see.”

“Sure,” Pansy says, clearly not convinced.

“And,” Draco adds desperately, “that way, everyone will definitely know he’s got a date. They’ll have to piss off then. I’m just fulfilling my end of the bargain.”

“If you say so.” Pansy still looks sceptical, but then she shrugs and leans forward, a scheming gleam in her eyes. “So, what’s your plan?”

***

Everything is perfect. Draco’s spent every spare moment the past few days making sure it’s so, with thorough and extremely critical input from Pansy. There’s no way Potter will ever be able to top this; he’ll have to admit that Draco is the superior fake boyfriend.

It’s suppertime, and Potter’s already in the Great Hall with his friends and housemates. Draco told him to go on ahead and he’d meet him shortly. As far as Potter knows, Draco’s meeting with a professor to discuss a grading error on one of his assignments. He’ll never see this coming.

Draco waits exactly ten minutes for everyone to be settled. Then he bursts into the Great Hall.

Everyone turns to gape at the spectacle entering the hall: Draco, wearing his most extravagant dress robes, flanked by a troupe of young students in white robes wielding enchanted instruments. They begin to play the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings as rose petals float down from where Draco carefully hid them late last night.

As he struts into the hall, Draco’s eyes immediately land on Potter. He’s at his usual place near the middle of the Gryffindor table, and he’s half stood up already, staring at Draco with his eyes wide and his mouth half open.

Once he knows Potter is watching him, Draco pulls out his wand and taps it to his throat with a Sonorous charm, and then he begins.

“My darling dear, my sweet and tender dove,
You are my one and only, my sweetheart.
I give you my devotion and my love
And pray that we will never be apart.”

Draco’s amplified voice rings through the Great Hall as he moves towards the Gryffindor table, the white-robed students and their instruments trailing behind him. Potter’s turned around on the bench now, watching Draco with incredulity and amusement. Bolstered by Potter’s attention, Draco continues even more loudly.

“Thine em’rald eyes shine brightly as the moon
Beneath that morbid mop you call your hair.
I hope this sentiment is not too soon;
To you, my love, nobody can compare.”

As Draco nears the end of his recitation, he finally comes to a stop in front of Potter. His entourage fan out around him and lower their volume so that Draco can be sure to be heard clearly by everyone.

Draco drops down to one knee and takes Potter’s hands in his. Potter’s eyebrows shoot up, but he says nothing, waiting.

“I ask before you now on bended knee:
Will you please go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Potter stares at Draco for a long moment, just long enough for him to start to panic. But then Potter stands up and pulls Draco to his feet with him, and he stands on tiptoe, and he kisses Draco.

It’s dry and clumsy and awkward, but it still sets Draco’s entire body on fire. He knows he’s beet red, he can feel it, and sweet Merlin, why didn’t he think of this? Quite unprompted, the strings crescendo dramatically, only adding to the spontaneous romance. All the time and effort put into this grand gesture, and Harry still manages to outdo him with just a single kiss --

Potter pulls back, and Draco’s grateful to see that at least he isn’t the only one blushing profusely. Potter laughs quietly, head shaking with disbelief, and his stupid emerald eyes really do shine like the moon.

“Yes, I will.”

***

Draco’s theory proves to be correct: Potter’s still plagued by the occasional overeager fan, but after the public spectacle of the Yule Ball invitation, his plethora of admirers have all but vanished into the woodwork. Potter is now undeniably spoken for, and Draco is extremely pleased with himself. Now everyone knows that Potter is his. Or, well. At least they think he is, is the point.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Isabel Johnson says to Draco as they walk together after their next History of Magic class. “You wrote him an actual sonnet and everything. It was so bloody romantic, I almost gagged.”

“Yes, well, that was the point,” Draco says smugly. “You heard that ghastly excuse for a love note he sent me a while back. I needed to show him how it’s really done. And besides, what good is having a boyfriend if you don’t embarrass him in front of the entire school? None, I say.”

Johnson laughs and elbows him. “Okay, but you embarrassed yourself, too, you great sap. Anyway, it was nice to see you two being so affectionate. No one’d ever seen you two kiss before that, far as I’d heard. We were starting to wonder if you really even liked each other.” She laughs again, clearly joking, but Draco stiffens with panic. Was it really that obvious?

“Yes, well, we usually prefer to keep our private business more...private,” he says, feigning disinterest. He glances around desperately for an escape and is relieved to see Potter a little ways down the hall, and along with him two distinct opportunities.

“Oh, look, there’s my lovebird now. Let’s say hello. Harry!” Draco calls out as they approach him, and Potter turns around just in time for Draco to take his face in his hands and kiss him on the mouth.

He pulls back again before Potter has any time to react. “Hello, poot,” he says with as much gooeyness as he can muster.

“Hello...bunny,” Potter replies slowly. He looks dazed.

Johnson is standing next to and a little behind Draco, so he steps back to let her closer to Potter. “Darling, you know Isabel Johnson, don’t you?”

Potter squints up at Johnson, seeming to notice her for the first time. “Johnson? Angelina’s sister?”

“Yeah,” Johnson says, seeming pleased that he made the connection. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You too,” Potter says, giving her a smile that’s really half a grimace. Draco hopes she won’t know the difference. “Draco, you ready to go?”

“Of course, my dear. See you in class, Johnson.”

“Yeah, see you, Malfoy,” Johnson says, with an overexcited little wave. “Bye, Harry!”

Potter gives her another smile-grimace, then grabs Draco’s hand and drags him away. “You’re supposed to be protecting me from my fans, not introducing me to them!” he hisses in Draco’s ear as they walk.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so now they’re your fans, are they?”

“You know what I mean,” Potter mutters, his cheeks flushing.

“Either way, Johnson’s not a fan, she’s a friend. Don’t you know who she is?”

“Other than Angelina’s sister? No. Why would I?”

“Honestly,” Draco says, exasperated. “She’s popular, Potter. I suppose you wouldn’t need to know that, being the most popular person in school without even trying -- ” Potter looks like he’s about to interject, but Draco keeps going before he can. “ -- but the rest of us have to rely on connections to get us anywhere. Hence this little arrangement, if you’ll recall.”

“Whatever,” Potter grumbles. He still looks a little betrayed, so Draco sighs and backtracks.

“Look, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, all right?”

Potter raises his eyebrows dubiously. “Promise?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes, Potter, I promise that from now on I will dedicate my every waking moment to shielding you from your adoring public. Is that what you want me to say?”

Potter gives him a little bit of a smile. “Yes.”

When they reach their secret studying room, Potter lets go of Draco’s hand and summons the door. They both enter the room and seat themselves in their respective preferred spots: Draco on his long, lavish settee, Potter in his cramped but plush armchair.

Potter starts to take his bag off his shoulder, but Draco quickly says, “Actually, Potter, before you delve into whatever it is you’re about to delve into, we’ve something else to discuss.”

Potter looks up and frowns a little. “What is it?”

Draco really doesn’t know how to say this; he decides there’s nothing for it but to be blunt. He clears his throat. “It’s the matter of kissing.”

“What about it?”

“People have begun to notice that we don’t really do it. We’ve got to start.”

“Alright,” Potter says slowly. “We can do that, I guess.”

“I’m not finished,” Draco says before he loses Potter’s attention again. “I also think we should practice privately.”

Now Potter just looks confused. “Why?”

“Well, frankly, Potter, you’re not very good at it,” Draco informs him, a little exasperated. “We need to start kissing in public, and I absolutely cannot do that if it’s going to be more of the same. Also, I’ve told Johnson that you’re a good kisser, and she’s certainly told others.”

Potter looks much more distraught by the last bit than the first, which Draco thinks is really an odd way of prioritizing. “Malfoy, why the fuck would you tell her that?”

“She asked. What was I supposed to tell her? ‘Oh, he’s just sort of all right at it, but I’m dating him anyway because his charming personality makes up for it’? Please. So now everyone thinks you’re brilliant at it, and if you go on to kiss other people after this they’ll think I have shite taste. Or, worse -- they’ll think that I’m a bad kisser.”

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about,” Potter mutters irritably.

“So,” Draco continues, ignoring him, “you can either simply never kiss anyone else ever again, so that no one ever finds out about my gross error in judgment -- shouldn’t be too hard for you, I don’t think -- or we’ve got to practice. I’d be doing you a favor, really. I’m a fantastic kisser.”

Potter just glares at him for a long few seconds, and Draco sighs heavily. “But if you’re too scared -- ”

“I’m not,” Potter interrupts. “Fine. We can practice.” He stands and trundles over to Draco’s sofa, plopping down next to him with a huff and dropping his bag on the floor. “Okay. What now?”

“Well, I suppose you should kiss me, Potter.”

Potter blinks at him, annoyance quickly melting into nervousness. “Oh. Uh, okay.”

Suddenly Draco is nervous, too. This is Harry fucking Potter he’s about to kiss, which is troubling for a variety of reasons, many having to do with Potter’s place of celebrity in the wizarding world, and some having to do with how fit Potter’s gotten over the past couple of years --

Potter’s lips smash into Draco’s, and Draco immediately jerks back. “Good grief, Potter, you’re supposed to be kissing me, not...whatever that was. Try again.”

This time is slightly better, but Draco can feel Potter’s teeth right off the bat. “Nope. Not that either. Again.”

Potter kisses Draco several more times, all of which are varying degrees of awful. Draco’s critique gets increasingly exasperated and catty -- “Potter, has anyone ever told you you kiss like a dying flobberworm? Because they should have done” -- and finally Potter snaps.

“If you’re so good, why don’t you show me how to do it, then?”

“If you insist,” Draco sniffs. Really, he probably should’ve started with this, should’ve known Potter would be hopeless on his own.

Potter’s watching him with a combination of irritation and anticipation, which is more or less what Draco’s come to expect when he’s about to kiss someone. He places his hand gently on Potter’s cheek, leans in, and kisses him.

At first, Potter stays very, very still, waiting for Draco to lead the way. Draco presses his palm to Potter’s cheek, guiding him to tilt his head just so, and Potter obliges. When Draco slowly begins to move his lips, Potter follows suit, and Draco is surprised to find that, with the proper guidance, kissing Potter is altogether rather pleasant.

After a minute, Draco pulls back, and Potter blinks at him.

“Wow,” he says breathlessly. “That was…”

“Masterful?” Draco suggests, going for a blasé tone despite the anxious sort of tension twisting in his chest. “Life-changing?”

Potter rolls his eyes, and just like that the tension eases. “I was going to say educational.”

Draco squints at him suspiciously. “Liar. You were not.”

“You don’t know!”

“I suppose you’re right,” Draco concedes. “Merlin knows I can’t pretend to have any idea what goes on in that shaggy head of yours. Anyway, now that you’ve experienced how it should be done, give it another try.”

“All right.”

For a minute Potter just stares at Draco with his brow furrowed, like he’s already forgotten what he’s supposed to do and how he’s supposed to do it. Draco tries to wait, but it’s not long before he’s shifting impatiently.

“Potter, I appreciate your attempt to actually go slowly for once, but this really is -- ”

He stops short when Potter finally moves, reaching up and taking Draco’s face in both hands. He strokes his thumbs across Draco’s cheeks and moves in close, pausing with their noses almost brushing. There’s a look of fear and determination in his eyes, and Draco holds his breath and waits.

Harry kisses him softly, and from the moment their lips touch it’s infinitely better than all of his previous attempts combined. He moves slowly and carefully, sliding one hand back from Draco’s face into his hair, which feels ever so nice. Quite without meaning to, Draco lets out a little sigh, and he can feel Harry smile slightly against his lips.

Draco lets Harry turn his head for a better angle, lets him quicken the pace with the movement of his lips and the grip of his fingers. Draco puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders and pulls him in deeper, and he’s surprised how immediately responsive Harry is to his touch.

This time it’s several minutes before they break apart, and when they do they’re both breathing heavily and Harry’s glasses are slightly askew.

“So how was that?” he asks, looking unnervingly earnest as he straightens out his glasses.

Has it gotten warmer in the room in the past few minutes? Draco’s going to have to have a word with whoever is in charge of the castle’s temperature regulation.

“It was…” Draco clears his throat. “It was adequate, I suppose.”

“Better than before, though?”

“It would be hard not to be.” Potter scowls, so Draco sighs and adds, “But yes, it was definitely an improvement.”

“Excellent.” Potter seems inordinately pleased with himself, and Draco determines not to let Potter catch him off guard ever again. “So, do you want to keep practicing?”

Draco raises a surprised eyebrow. “Eager, are you?”

“Wha-- No,” Potter says quickly, looking away and adjusting his glasses again.

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Potter. Like I said, I’m a fantastic kisser. It’s only natural to want to keep coming back for more,” Draco drawls, puffing out his chest.

“Whatever,” Potter says with a grimace that’s not particularly convincing. He picks his bag up off the floor, but instead of going back over to his usual armchair he stays sitting next to Draco and pulls out his homework right there.

Draco blinks at him. “What are you doing?”

“Homework.”

“But this is my spot.”

“Reckon you should’ve thought of that before you made me come over here,” Potter says without looking up, and Draco can’t quite figure out if this is supposed to be payback for embarrassing him or if Potter’s being serious. “If you’ve a problem with it, you can move.”

Draco watches Potter in surprised silence for another few seconds, but Potter doesn’t give any sign of budging. Well, then, Draco won’t, either. He pulls out his own books and notes and begins to work.

He does his best to focus on his homework and ignore Potter, but it’s a little difficult when Potter’s hmming and quill-tapping are much closer to him than usual. It doesn’t help that there’s still very little space between them on the sofa, and every time Potter moves his arm brushes against Draco’s in a way that makes Draco’s skin tingle.

After a while, Potter sighs and stretches, legs spreading outward on the sofa until he bumps into Draco. When he settles back down and returns to his writing, he doesn’t pull his leg back in, leaving his knee pressed against Draco’s.

A gentle, prickly heat spreads up Draco’s leg from the point of contact and all the way up to his neck. He’s sure that if Potter looked over he’d see that Draco’s a flushed pink, but Potter appears to be much too concentrated on his work to notice. Bastard.

In retaliation, Draco spreads his knees too, pushing back against Potter’s. Potter immediately fights back, meeting Draco with the same amount of force. Out of the corner of his eye Draco can see that the tips of Potter’s ears are turning red, and Draco feels rather smug.

They both continue to write, though Draco honestly has no idea what words he’s put on the page for a good few minutes now, as they keep pushing against each other’s knees. Eventually Draco gets fed up with the game and slips his leg underneath Potter’s, hooking their ankles together. Potter inhales sharply, and Draco celebrates inwardly. He wins. Again.

“Potter,” he says, before he can change his mind. “Are you finished with that?”

Potter finally looks up at him and sets his quill down. “Just about. Why?”

Draco pushes his books aside. “No such thing as too much practice,” he says, and Potter grins.

***

They can’t seem to stop kissing after that. Each study session is paired with snogging practice, and Potter improves so quickly that it’s not long until he’s very nearly as good with his tongue as Draco himself is. In fact, he’s good enough now that Draco can’t really find it in himself to justify it as practicing anymore, and he’s becoming hard pressed to find any other reason he keeps kissing Potter other than that he wants to keep kissing Potter, which is simply out of the question.

They’re currently hidden amongst the stacks in the library, and Harry’s got Draco pushed up against a shelf and is snogging him heartily. Draco’s hands grip Harry’s waist, keeping him pulled in close, as Harry kisses his mouth and jaw and neck and slides his hands across Draco’s chest and shoulders.

There are footsteps at the end of the row. Draco pays them no mind -- it’s not the first time someone has walked past while they’re snogging, and it won’t be the last -- until the footsteps stop and there’s a gasp.

“Harry Potter!”

Potter immediately unlatches himself from Draco’s throat, and Draco reluctantly opens his eyes and glares at the tiny Hufflepuff gaping at them -- well, at Potter -- with awe.

“Er, hello,” Potter says awkwardly.

The girl doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Can I get your autograph for my mum? She thinks you’re -- ”

“He’s a bit busy at the moment, actually,” Draco cuts in. It’s not that he’s irritated about being interrupted, or that he wants to go back to snogging Potter as quickly as humanly possible; it’s just that Potter looks like he’s about to say yes out of resigned obligation, and it’s Draco’s duty to prevent him from having to do so. He grips Potter’s waist a little tighter and pulls him a little closer, not out of possessiveness, but to keep Potter from going over to the girl. Just in case he tries. “Perhaps another time. Run along.”

The girl pouts and looks at Potter beseechingly, but he just gives her a helpless shrug, and finally she slinks away.

Potter sighs and leans forward to rest his forehead tiredly on Draco’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“My pleasure. Honestly, I’m not quite sure why anyone’s still so fascinated by you,” Draco says with affected snootiness. “You’re really quite boring, you know.”

Potter laughs into Draco’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know.”

Draco’s arms tighten around Harry without his permission, and he resists the strange urge to kiss the top of his head. Instead, he glances up at the library clock and frowns. “Merlin, is it really that time already? I need to be getting to Charms, and I don’t think Flitwick will accept Sorry, Professor, I was snogging Potter as an excuse for tardiness more than once.”

“Probably not,” Potter agrees, lifting his head and giving Draco a sheepish smile. “I’ll walk you.”

They take a moment to straighten their robes and smooth out their hair, though Potter doesn’t really look any more of a mess than usual anyway, and then they head out of the library hand in hand.

Luckily the Charms classroom is close enough to the library for them to make it there before class starts. Harry stops just before the door and pulls Draco back near the wall, cupping his chin in his hand and giving him one last lingering kiss.

“See you after class,” Harry says with a lopsided smile after he draws back, and it isn’t until he’s gone that Draco realizes Harry pulled him aside to kiss him out of view of the class instead of the other way around. Draco touches his fingertips to his lips for a moment, then breaks out of his daze and hurries into the classroom.

He takes his seat next to Blaise just before Flitwick gets up to the front of the class to begin his lesson. Blaise makes a suggestive gesture at Draco, which he pretends not to see.

Soon, though, Flitwick has them break into pairs to collaborate on a Protean Charm on a pair of cufflinks, so Draco and Blaise push their desks together under the guise of working -- Draco’s done the charm before, so he doesn’t need the practice, and Blaise is never willing to practice something he could have someone else do for him -- so that they can gossip.

“Just come from a heated tryst with Potter, have you?” Blaise says with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Draco drawls, putting on his most mysterious air.

“You’ve a fresh love bite on your neck.”

“Fuck.” Draco grimaces and tugs the collar of his shirt up a bit.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, darling,” Blaise says, shaking his head solemnly. “Too high up. Everyone’s just going to know that you were snogging Potter in the stacks all of lunch.”

Draco blanches. “How did you know that?”

Blaise’s eyebrows shoot up. “I was joking, but...” He leans closer to Draco with a delighted grin. “You really were snogging Potter in the stacks! How very fifth year of you.”

“As if you don’t do the same!” Draco squeaks back, feeling himself turning a deep crimson.

“Never said I didn’t,” Blaise says with a shrug. “But I -- fuck, here comes Flitwick, quick, do the thing -- ”

Draco hurriedly pulls out his wand and casts the charm on the cufflinks just as Flitwick makes it over to them.

“Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini. Let’s see,” Flitwick hums, picking up the cufflinks and prodding at them with his wand. “Oh, this is very good, very good! Which of you performed the spellwork on this?”

“That would be me, Professor,” Blaise says quickly, ignoring the furtive glare Draco shoots at him. “Draco hasn’t quite got the hang of it yet.”

“I see, I see,” Flitwick tuts. “Well, ten points to Slytherin for you, Mr. Zabini. And Mr. Malfoy, keep practicing. I’m sure Mr. Zabini would be happy to give you some pointers.”

“Would I ever,” Blaise says very seriously, and Flitwick gives him an approving nod before moving on.

Draco kicks Blaise beneath their desks. “What the hell was that?” he hisses.

“Ow! Relax, Draco. Next time he comes round you can just do it again and say you’ve got it. Thanks to my generous tutelage, of course.”

“And to think I was just about to offer to fix you up,” Draco huffs indignantly.

Blaise perks up. “You were?”

“I was,” Draco emphasizes. “Not anymore.”

“Oh, come on, please?” Blaise wheedles. “Look, when Flitwick comes back I’ll tell him you’ve absolutely mastered it without any of my help and you’re a prodigy. Then will you tell me?”

“Don’t do that,” Draco says, wrinkling his nose. “But fine, I’ll tell you, but only because I’m curious what your reaction will be.”

Blaise doesn’t look nearly as worried as Draco thinks he should. “All right. Let’s have it.”

“Have you ever thought about Weasley?”

“Which one?” Blaise asks, then cocks his head. “Wait. Doesn’t matter. Yes.”

Draco stares at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“Always.”

“All of them?”

“I think so.” Blaise pauses, considers. “Oh, no, not quite. Not the stuffy bespectacled one. But all the rest, yeah. At least once.”

“Unbelievable,” Draco says faintly. “Unbelievable.”

“So which one is it, then? Please tell me you’re suggesting a ménage à trois with Bill and his veela wife.”

“I assure you, I absolutely am not.”

“Pity.”

“Weasley, you arse. Potter’s Weasley. The Weasel. Ron.”

“Oh, Weasley? You should’ve just said so,” Blaise says blithely, and Draco rolls his eyes so hard he fears they’ll stick that way. “Yes, I’ve thought about him once or twice. He’s tall.”

“Because that’s a solid basis for any relationship,” Draco says drily.

“Who said anything about a relationship? Besides, you’re the one who brought him up,” Blaise sniffs.

“And I regret it more with each passing moment.”

“Why do you ask, though?” Blaise looks a little curious still. “You think it’s a good idea? Weasley and me?”

Draco shrugs. “Maybe. You’re both horrible and ridiculous, so.”

Blaise laughs, but he seems intrigued. “Weasley,” he muses. “I’ll think about it. Oh, here comes Flitwick again. Now, I know the charm is tricky, Draco, but just give it your best -- ow!”

***

This hasn’t happened in a long time. It’s a new record, actually.

Draco spits blood out into the sink and rinses it down the drain, then looks up at the mirror to inspect the damage. The split lip isn’t too bad; a quick healing charm will do the trick. The bruised jaw is a little more severe, but if he skips Ancient Runes to ice it, it should be fine in a few days.

It helps him to think about this clinically. He thinks about the exact extent of the damage and exactly what he needs to do to take care of it as quickly as possible. He thinks about the best way to hide what he can’t fix; earlier in the term he wore a scarf for a full week despite the late summer heat so that no one would see the throttle marks he couldn’t fully remove from his throat.

Thinking about why this happens -- the mark on his arm, his father in prison, the pain in another student’s eyes as they dig their nails into his skin and demand justice for loved ones lost in the war -- well, it just makes him sick.

Draco pulls out his wand to start cleaning himself up, but before he can get a spell out the bathroom door slams open.

“Draco!” Harry shouts from the other side of the sinks. “Draco, are you in here?”

Shit. Draco had foolishly hoped Harry would just go to class without him when he wasn’t in their usual meeting spot. Should’ve figured he’d use his stupid magic map to hunt Draco down instead. “Yes, Potter, I’m here. No need to alert the whole school.”

Harry lets out a loud sigh and starts coming around the sinks. “Merlin’s beard, Malfoy, don’t scare me like that, I was afraid you -- ” He stops short when he sees Draco holding his wand up to his bloodied lip.

“That,” Harry finishes, quietly. “I was afraid of that.”

“I’m fine,” Draco starts to tell him, but Harry’s already hurrying over and batting Draco’s hand away so he can look at the injuries.

“Who did this?”

“I tripped and smashed face-first into a wall. Clumsier than I look, I am.”

Harry gives Draco an unamused look. “Knock it off. Who did this?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter, all right?” Draco says, still trying his best to keep his tone light. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Harry argues, sounding angrier than Draco’s heard him in a long time. “This isn’t supposed to happen anymore. I’m supposed to keep this from happening.”

“You have been,” Draco says quickly, giving Harry the most reassuring smile he can muster with the pain in his lip and jaw. “It doesn’t happen anymore, really. This is the first time in weeks. Just a fluke.”

Harry doesn’t seem to be appeased by that. He cups Draco’s uninjured cheek in one hand and brushes the fingertips of his other hand gently across Draco’s lip, mumbling something indiscernible.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, just -- I’m sorry,” Harry mutters, eyes fixed steadily on Draco’s mouth.

“Don’t be. You don’t have to save everyone, you know.”

At that, Harry looks back up, and in his eyes Draco sees what he wants to say, what he won’t say, because he knows Draco well enough by now to know he doesn’t want to hear it.

But I want to save you.

Draco tears his eyes away and looks down at the bathroom tile instead. “Anyway, I was just going to heal myself up and -- ” He stops suddenly and frowns. His lip isn’t hurting anymore. “Potter, did you just heal my lip with wandless magic?”

Harry just shrugs and pulls his hands away from Draco’s face, looking a little embarrassed, and Draco huffs. “Of bloody course you’re a natural at wandless magic. Fucking prick.”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh and smiles for the first time since entering the bathroom, to Draco’s relief. “There we go,” he says, almost unthinkingly reaching out to take Harry’s hand. “If I’d known the way to lighten you up was to call you a prick, I’d have done it much sooner.”

“Thanks,” Harry says with a halfhearted scowl, but he gives Draco’s fingers a slight squeeze, and then his expression is serious again. “Draco, who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco says again, but his indifferent façade is beginning to waver.

“Please,” Harry says quietly. The look in his eyes is heartwrenchingly protective. “I just want to talk to them.”

Draco swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t want you to do that.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

Draco bites his freshly-healed lip, and then he pulls Harry close and throws his arms around him. Harry’s only caught off guard for a moment, and then he wraps his arms tightly around Draco’s waist, and they stay that way a long time.

***

“Ron -- ’Mione -- you have to help me,” Harry calls out desperately.

Draco rolls his eyes as Harry drags him into the Gryffindor common room. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

Harry doesn’t answer. He pulls Draco towards where Hermione and Weasley are seated near the fire, watching them apprehensively. Luckily they’re the only ones in the common room, so no one else has to witness this fucking spectacle.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asks, looking concerned.

“Did Malfoy do something? Do you need me to hex him?”

“I am right here, Weasley.”

“All the more convenient for me to hex you.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just…” He lets out a huge sigh and drops into his favourite armchair by the fire, tugging Draco down with him into his lap. Draco drapes his arm around Harry’s shoulders and slouches against him with a melodramatic sigh of his own.

“It’s no big deal, really,” Draco says. “He’s just being bizarrely sensitive about it.”

“Well, what is it?” Hermione asks again, still a little concerned, but more curious now.

“Draco…” Harry places a bracing hand on Draco’s knee, as though he’s the one in need of emotional support at this moment. “Draco...thinks the earth is flat.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then Hermione says, “You’re kidding,” at the same time as Weasley says, “Well, it is, isn’t it?”

Draco bursts out laughing -- Weasley, of all people, being right for once -- as both Harry and Hermione turn incredulous looks on Weasley.

“Ronald,” Hermione says, aghast. “You do know that was disproved ages ago, right?”

“By what?” Weasley shoots back.

“Science!”

“Oh, please,” Draco snorts, still laughing. “Science is a Muggle invention to explain things that are really just magic. The only reason Muggles have decided the earth is round, or a cube, or whatever it is they’re saying these days, is because their primitive brains can’t comprehend another way for it all to connect when the answer is just magic.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Malfoy’s right,” Weasley says, and the two of them share a nod of mutual respect.

“This must be some fucking Pureblood thing,” Harry says to Granger, still sounding distraught.

“I suppose so,” Granger replies, her brow furrowed. “I knew a lot of wizarding traditions were behind Muggle ones -- like technology and fashion -- but still thinking the earth is flat…”

Just then the portrait swings open and a laughing Ginny and Luna enter. They don’t seem to notice the four by the fire until Harry calls out to them.

“Ginny, Luna! Come over here!”

The two girls obligingly come closer and sit on the sofa next to Harry and Draco’s chair. “What’s up?” Ginny asks, wrapping an arm around Luna’s shoulders as Luna slides both arms around her waist and leans into her.

“Gin, you don’t -- ” Harry pauses and takes a deep breath. “You don’t think the earth is flat, do you?”

“Uh, no?” Ginny replies, her brow furrowing. “Why the fuck would I?”

“Ron and Draco do. We thought maybe it was a Pureblood thing.”

Ginny looks between them with exasperation. “It’s not. It’s just an idiot thing.”

“Wow,” Weasley says hollowly. “Betrayed by my own sister.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“Luna, what do you think?” Draco asks.

Luna, who has until now seemed to be counting the multitude of freckles on Ginny’s left arm, looks up with a little crease between her eyebrows. “Well, Draco, I don’t think we can ever fully comprehend the true shape of anything, really.”

Draco turns to Weasley with his eyebrows raised. “I say we count that as a tally on our side.”

“You shouldn’t,” Ginny says flatly.

As Harry, Hermione, and Ginny fall into a discussion about wizarding traditions versus Muggle “science”, Draco addresses Weasley again. “So. Weasley. Now that I know you’re a man of some intellect after all, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you given my offer any thought?”

Weasley’s brow furrows in a way that makes him look a bit like a ginger troll. Draco generously refrains from saying so. “Your offer?” Weasley repeats.

“To fix you up with Blaise.”

“Wh-- You weren’t serious about that,” Weasley says dumbly.

Draco shrugs, absently trailing his fingertips up and down the back of Harry’s neck and smirking when Harry shivers beneath him. “Not at the time, no. But after some consideration I can see it. Blaise is game to give it a go, naturally.”

Weasley instantly turns a deep shade of scarlet, which only adds to the ginger troll resemblance and makes it increasingly harder for Draco not to take a jab at it. “You -- you fucking asked him about it?”

“Of course I did. Though, to be fair, I’m rather certain Blaise would be game to give it a go with just about anyone, so don’t go thinking you’re on the short list or anything.”

“I think it’s a nice idea,” Luna chimes in, apparently listening in as she braids Ginny’s hair. “You’re both very tall.”

“Tall?” Weasley says incredulously.

“Thank you, Luna. That’s what Blaise said, too,” Draco says, in case it helps. “Give it some thought, Weasley, at the very least.”

Weasley stares at Draco, then at Luna, back and forth for several seconds. Draco resolutely holds his stare. Luna doesn’t seem to notice, having returned her full attention to Ginny’s hair.

“Harry,” Weasley says loudly, interrupting the others, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Malfoy is absolutely fucking barmy.”

“Weasley!” Draco protests, feeling a little bit betrayed despite himself. “We were on the same team just a moment ago!”

“Yeah, when it came to indisputable geographic facts. Not with…” Weasley gestures vaguely. “This nonsense.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “What nonsense, exactly?”

“He’s still on about trying to fix me up with Zabini.”

Harry and Hermione exchange a look, and then Harry looks back and shrugs. “It’s not a terrible idea, honestly.”

“It’s actually kind of funny,” Hermione adds, looking amused but like she’s really thinking about it. “The three of us, the three of them. It would be a bit poetic, really.”

“What -- no, it wouldn’t!” Weasley says, outraged. “It’s ridiculous, is what it is!”

“I’m with Ron,” Ginny puts in. “It’d never work.”

“Thank you, finally, some -- ”

“Blaise is way out of your league,” Ginny finishes, very seriously, and Draco can’t resist the urge to lean over and high five her as Weasley splutters.

“Too true, Ginevra. Weasley, you don’t have a date to the Yule Ball yet, do you?” Draco says, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “Let me set you up on a blind date. Won’t be Blaise, I promise.”

“I can see you crossing your fingers, you arse!”

Harry laughs heartily and tightens his arm around Draco, and Draco finds himself smiling smugly and leaning further into Harry’s embrace. Soon the conversation turns to other, more mundane matters, and Draco watches with mild amusement as the others bicker, playing idly with Harry’s fingers.

After a while the warmth of the fire starts to make Draco a little drowsy, so he takes off his tie and undoes the top buttons of his shirt for some room to breathe. He shifts partway off of Harry’s lap so that most of his weight is on the chair, then curls up into Harry’s side, and Harry presses a little kiss to the top of his head and adjusts his arm so that he’s holding Draco snugly as he chats with his friends.

It’s horribly domestic, Draco sleepily realizes, and were he any less comfortable he might have the sense to jump up and run away. But he thinks he’s likely cozier right now than he’s ever been in his life, and it just seems silly to give that up.

So he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again the Gryffindor common room is dark save for the fire and empty save for himself and Harry. Harry’s fingers are in Draco’s hair, carding through it gently, and Draco is so terribly comfortable and content that he decides he’s never going to move.

Except that his foot has fallen asleep. He shifts slightly to try and wake it up, and Harry’s fingers immediately stop moving. “Well, don’t stop,” Draco complains, reaching up to push grumpily at Harry’s hand.

Harry laughs and starts stroking Draco’s hair again. “Sorry.”

“Mm.” Draco cracks his eyes open and squints up at Harry. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not sure,” Harry says with a shrug. “Maybe an hour? The others went to bed a while ago.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Should I have?”

“I suppose not.” Draco grunts quietly and sits up to stretch, and when he realizes his legs are still slung over Harry’s he frowns. “Have I been squashing you this whole time? Because if I have and your ridiculous hero complex has kept you from waking me -- ”

“You haven’t been,” Harry cuts in with a chuckle. “I’m fine, promise. See?” He wiggles his legs demonstratively, bouncing Draco’s legs up and down with them. Appeased, Draco hums and slumps back against Harry, and Harry wraps his arms tightly around him, and oh, it’s nice.

Belatedly, Draco wonders what the fuck they’re doing. They’re cuddling, in the Gryffindor common room, with no one else around to put on a show for. They’ve been able to justify their private snogging sessions as practice, but the same probably can’t be applied to cuddling. Especially since Harry obviously doesn’t need to practice cuddling. He’s bloody brilliant at it.

And, fuck, Draco really does like Harry, doesn’t he?

He jolts up straight, a little panicked. He fancies Harry Potter. Of course that thought has always been there in the back of his mind, and it’s probably always been true, but until now he’s managed to do quite a good job of ignoring it, denying it, and otherwise making certain it never sees the light of day. But now, willingly and happily curled up in Harry’s arms, there’s not really any getting around it.

“Draco?” Harry sounds concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Draco shakes himself a bit. “Nothing, Potter, I just…”

Draco trails off when he looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. There’s a strange intensity there, a fierce tenderness that’s alluring and terrifying and so thoroughly Harry. No one has ever looked at Draco that way before, like they’d do anything to keep him safe or make him smile.

And then, Draco allows himself to confront the other thought that’s been occupying the back of his mind, even deeper down: Maybe, just maybe, Harry really fancies him, too.

Tentatively, he reaches up and places a hand on Harry’s cheek. “Harry,” he says softly.

Harry still looks worried, but he leans slightly, maybe unconsciously, into Draco’s touch. “Yeah?”

Draco watches as Harry chews anxiously on his bottom lip, and he has to admit it now: He wants to kiss Harry. Not for practice, not to get anyone to leave them alone, not for their little competition. Draco just really, really, really wants to kiss Harry.

So he does.

He leans in and kisses Harry on the mouth, prepared to pull back right away if necessary, but Harry immediately surges into it, tightening his arms around Draco and kissing him hard.

Oh, this is good. This is very good. This probably means Harry does like him back, right? Or maybe he just likes the snogging. Draco is a fantastic kisser, after all. Maybe he --

Draco’s train of thought is interrupted when Harry bites lightly at his lip and slides his tongue into his mouth. Merlin, Harry’s gotten good at kissing. Thinking later, Draco decides. Snogging now. He pushes himself up and swings one knee over so that he’s straddling Harry in the armchair, and Harry gives a hum of approval. Yes, definitely the right choice.

Draco twines his fingers into Harry’s mess of hair and tugs gently to get him to tilt his head back, then kisses all the way down his throat, occasionally pausing to nip or suck and relishing the little gasps and sighs it pulls out of Harry. Soon, though, Harry’s hand cups his chin and brings him back up to kiss him full on again, and Draco’s more than happy to do that, too.

After several minutes of very thorough snogging, Draco’s knees start to ache. He ignores it as long as he can, but eventually he pulls back with a grimace.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asks, looking worried all over again, as if he has any reason to think that Draco isn’t having the time of his fucking life right now.

“Nothing’s the matter,” Draco says quickly. “My legs are just sort of...cramped. I...” I should probably go, he almost says, is about to say, but god, he doesn’t want to.

But before he can say anything else, Harry slides his hands under Draco’s thighs and stands, picking Draco up with him. Draco squeaks with surprise and tightens his arms around Harry’s neck as his heart thuds and he wonders if Harry’s always been strong enough to pick him up like it’s nothing.

Harry carries him over to a longer sofa and drops them both onto it so that Draco’s on his back and Harry falls on top of him, holding himself up slightly with one hand and giving Draco a crooked smile.

“Better?”

“Much,” Draco replies, and pulls Harry down to kiss him.

Harry relaxes and kisses him back with fervor, and after a minute his fingers find one of Draco’s shirt buttons. “Is this okay?” he mumbles, fiddling with the button but not undoing it.

“Merlin, yes.”

Harry smiles and kisses along Draco’s jaw as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, but he only makes it about halfway before he huffs and sits up on his knees. “You’re wearing an undershirt?”

Draco gives him an incredulous look. “Of course I am, Potter, I’m a gentleman.”

“Well, I would really rather you not be,” Harry mutters, pursing his lips as though he’s being horribly inconvenienced.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Wearing an undershirt, or a gentleman?”

Harry grins, and Draco’s heart skips a beat. “Both, actually.”

“I think we can manage that,” Draco says, and slides one hand down to rest on Harry’s arse.

Harry’s eyes widen, then his grin does too. He makes quick work of the rest of Draco’s buttons, and Draco sits up to shrug the shirt off, then takes a moment to carefully fold it and set it aside. Harry smirks, but is wise enough not to make fun of Draco. He could just get up and leave, after all. He won’t. But he could.

Harry pulls Draco’s undershirt off over his head and offers it to him. “Do you need to fold this one, too?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Draco yanks the undershirt out of his hands and tosses it aside. “Shut up, Potter,” he growls, and kisses Harry hard, Harry laughing breathlessly against his lips.

Soon Harry’s shirt comes off as well and is discarded somewhere behind them, and his glasses are set carefully atop Draco’s folded shirt. It’s odd seeing him without them, but Draco barely has time to think about it before Harry is kissing him again and pushing him back down into the couch and they’re skin to skin and it’s so fucking warm and electric and just nice that he really can’t believe they didn’t do it sooner.

Draco runs his hands up and down Harry’s bare back, unable to decide whether he wants them on Harry’s skin or in his hair or on his arse, and he finds himself wishing he had three hands. Maybe there’s a spell for that. He’ll have to look into it later. For now he settles for one hand on Harry’s arse and the other at his upper back, pulling him as close as he possibly can. Harry tangles his fingers into Draco’s hair and moves his mouth down to Draco’s neck, dragging lips, tongue, and teeth across his skin as Draco tries and fails to stifle his moans.

Harry lifts his head and finds Draco’s mouth once more, and they cling desperately to each other, breath coming fast and hot as their tongues twist and their hands wander and touch needily. In the push and pull they roll onto their sides so that Harry’s pressed into the back of the sofa. Their legs are thoroughly tangled, and Draco wishes they could stay that way forever, wrapped up in each other as closely as possible.

Eventually they start to slow down. Their kisses go from frantic to languid, and their hands now caress more than demand. Draco might like this even better, he thinks. Taking the time to feel everything.

But it’s late, and now that the heat of the moment has faded Draco is very, very tired and very, very certain that this was a mistake. He gathers the will to pull back, and he sighs and rests his forehead against Harry’s. “I should probably be getting back to Slytherin.”

“I guess so,” Harry mumbles, and Draco’s gratified to see that he looks disappointed about it, at least. He gives Harry one last, soft kiss, then reluctantly untangles their legs, and they both roll off the couch and start to gather their scattered clothing.

Once they’ve made themselves decent again they stare at each other awkwardly from several feet apart. Draco’s already missing Harry’s touch horribly, but he -- he can’t just swoop forward and catch Harry up in his arms and never let go, no matter how much he’d like to. Which, he’s reminded, is rather a lot.

But no, now they’re vertical and fully clothed and everything is as it was. As it should be. They’re partners in a scam, in a sham of a romance. It’s not real. It’s not fucking real. No matter how real it feels.

Potter clears his throat and pushes his glasses up his nose. “So, er, we should probably…”

Talk about this hangs in the air unspoken. Draco pretends not to notice.

“Call it a night? I agree. I’ll see you tomorrow, Potter.” Draco turns to leave, but Harry lunges forward and grabs his wrist.

“Draco, wait.”

An electric tingle runs up Draco’s arm and warms his chest, and he is really, truly fucked, isn’t he. He turns back with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, Potter?” he says nonchalantly, praying that Harry can’t feel his quickening pulse.

Harry just stares at him for a long moment. His mouth opens, closes, opens again, but nothing comes out. Finally he sighs, drops Draco’s wrist and his gaze. “I’ll walk you back,” he says to the shag carpet beneath their feet.

Draco’s gut turns unpleasantly. “There’s no need. I know the way,” he says, a little more snippishly than he intends to.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Harry insists, ever the benevolent Saviour. “Let me walk you. I’ve got the Invisibility Cloak.”

“Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

“At least take the cloak,” Harry says desperately.

Draco stares at him with disbelief. “You… You’d trust me with your cloak?”

“Yes,” Harry says without a moment’s hesitation. Draco’s heart shatters into exactly three billion pieces.

“Fine,” he says, barely managing to force the word past the lump in his throat. “I’ll take your stupid cloak.”

“Brilliant,” Harry says with a relieved smile. “Wait right here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He bounds off to the boys’ dormitories, and by the time he returns Draco’s more or less composed himself. “Here you go,” Harry says, offering Draco a haphazard pile of fabric.

“Thank you.” As Draco takes the cloak from Harry, their hands brush, and he immediately loses all semblance of composure. He nearly drops the cloak, but catches it and quickly throws it over himself, not bothering to check if he’s fully covered.

“Good night, Potter,” he says, and bolts out of the portrait hole before Harry can say another word.

Draco practically runs down to Slytherin and doesn’t stop until he’s made it into the empty common room. Then, he whips the cloak off, muffles his face in it, and screams.

The cloak smells like Harry.

***

The winter air stings Draco’s cheeks as he hurries down to the Quidditch pitch. It’s fucking freezing, as one would expect from a December afternoon, but Harry and Weasley insisted they all take a break from studying for exams and relax with some friendly flying. Draco and Hermione relented only on the terms that they be allowed to go over Ancient Runes notes together for a bit before joining them.

Draco’s running late after meeting with Johnson’s History of Magic study group, so when he arrives at the pitch Harry and Weasley are already racing in the air. Harry’s winning, naturally -- Weasley’s not a bad flier, even Draco has to admit that, but Harry is undoubtedly better and has a superior broom -- so Draco’s not really sure why they’re even bothering, but they seem to be having a good time anyway. Hopefully he and Hermione get through Ancient Runes quickly so he can go give Harry some real competition.

As he gets closer he cups his hands around his mouth to call out, “Kick his arse, Potter!”

At the sound of Draco’s voice Harry slows down a bit and looks around. When he finally spots Draco his eyes light up and he grins. “I am!” he shouts back.

“Fuck off!” Weasley yells, and Harry laughs and picks up speed again.

Draco smiles and heads up to where Hermione’s watching from the stands. “Afternoon, Granger,” he says, dropping his bag and sitting down beside her. “Oh, you’ve already got warming charms up and everything. Brilliant.”

Hermione frowns at him. “You know, I really think we’re at a point where you ought to just call me Hermione.”

“Why? Even Pansy still calls you Granger sometimes, doesn’t she?”

“Well, yes,” Hermione replies, her cheeks flushing a bit. “But usually only in certain -- ”

“Stop! Forget I asked,” Draco interrupts with a grimace. “You’ve convinced me. Hermione it is.”

Hermione flushes even darker. “Thank you,” she says, almost a squeak. “Anyway, I was actually wanting to talk to you about something before we get started, if that’s all right.”

“Sure, Gra-- Hermione,” Draco amends. “Have at it.”

Hermione clears her throat. “Well, after the rest of us left to go to bed the other night I realized I’d forgotten my Arithmancy book in the common room, so I went back down to get it and -- ”

“What?” Draco cuts her off, immediately filled with a panicked, embarrassed heat. “When? What did you see?”

“Nothing scandalous,” Hermione says, amused, and when Draco’s visibly relieved, her amusement turns nearly into glee. “Why? Did something scandalous happen?”

Draco flashes back to the way Harry had him pinned to the sofa, both half undressed, snogging desperately. “No,” he says, and even he can tell it’s the most unconvincing syllable he’s ever uttered.

Hermione grins at him, but thankfully, she’s not one to get distracted by sordid details. “Well, all I did see was the two of you cuddled up, very romantic and sweet, all by yourselves.”

“And?” Draco says, relieved but a little impatient, as he watches Harry lap Weasley. “Last I was made aware it was fairly normal for two people in a relationship to cuddle in their private time.”

Hermione’s brow furrows. “Yes, but not two people in a fake relationship.”

Draco turns his head so fast he feels something pop in his neck. “You know?”

“Of course I do. Should I have started with that?”

“I should bloody well say so,” Draco snips, rubbing at his neck. “Way to bury the fucking lede. How did you even -- Pansy told you, didn’t she?”

“Well, she didn’t really need to, I’d mostly figured it out already,” Hermione says, looking rather pleased with herself. “But yes, of course she did. The fake dating to ward people off, the competition, et cetera. I’m her girlfriend, and people who are actually dating tell each other things. Sorry, I figured that you’d have figured, and all that.”

Truthfully, Draco probably should have figured, but he’s too annoyed to admit that right now. “All right, well, you know. Great. What’s your point?”

“My point is that I know about your arrangement, but -- and correct me if I’m wrong -- you have real feelings for Harry, don’t you?”

Draco pales. “I have no such thing,” he says, knowing even as he does that it’s pointless. “That’s absurd. This is purely a business transaction.”

Hermione gives him a searching look. “Draco,” she says gently, placing a hand on his knee. “You can tell me, if you want. It might help to talk about it.”

Draco bites his lip for a moment, hesitant, but he’s just so tired of keeping it bottled up. “Fine,” he groans, dropping his face into his hands. “Yes, I like Harry. And I’ve no fucking clue what to do about it.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Hermione pats him on the back.

Draco grumbles wordlessly, but sighs and props his chin up on his palms to watch Harry and Weasley. He’s lost track while having this -- this ludicrous conversation with Hermione, but he estimates that Harry has lapped Weasley at least four times by now.

Weasley is chugging along determinedly, but Harry’s already coming up on him again. They’re on the side of the pitch nearest to Draco and Hermione now, and as Harry catches up to Weasley he glances over at them. When he sees Draco watching him his face lights up again, and a lopsided grin spreads across his face, and he lifts a hand from his broom to wave.

Draco can’t stop himself from smiling back, and he starts to wave back, but then his eyes widen with horror. “Harry, look out!”

Harry quickly faces forward again, but it’s too late; he crashes headlong into Weasley, sending them both into a wild spin. Draco and Hermione both jump up and whip out their wands, but Harry and Weasley manage to regain control of their brooms quickly before they’re in any real danger.

Draco and Hermione let out simultaneous sighs of relief and sit back down. Out on the pitch, Harry and Weasley have straightened themselves out and are now arguing, with Weasley gesturing madly towards the stands every few seconds. Harry folds his arms across his chest and rolls his eyes so hard Draco can see it from the stands, and it makes him chuckle.

Hermione nudges Draco lightly. “You could just tell him, you know.”

Draco gives her a disbelieving look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione, I absolutely could not.”

“Why not? What if he likes you back?”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I mean, he did just crash into his best friend and could’ve seriously injured the both of them just because he was too busy making eyes at you, but all right.”

“Pansy really is rubbing off on you, isn’t she?”

“And Harry’s rubbing off on you. Honestly, Draco, you may be brilliant in school, but I’m starting to think you’re just as dense emotionally as him and Ron.”

“You take that back!” Draco demands, affronted.

“Prove me wrong,” Hermione shoots back.

“Prove me wrong.”

Hermione huffs. “Fine, if you’re going to act like a child about it.” She lifts a gloved hand and starts ticking off her fingers. “One: the aforementioned making-eyes crash. Two: the fact that neither of you has bothered even trying to one-up the other for ages now. Three: the way he was looking at you the other night.”

“Wait a moment,” Draco cuts in before she can go on, tentatively hopeful. He looks back out at the pitch, where Harry and Weasley have apparently gotten through their discussion much more quickly than he and Hermione have, and Harry’s now making poor shots at the hoops that Weasley blocks easily. “How was he looking at me the other night?”

“Oh, now you’re interested,” Hermione says, amused. Draco glares at her, and she laughs and continues. “Well, you were still asleep in his lap by the fire, and he was starting to doze off but trying to stay awake. No one else was there to see, but he was still holding you so close, and, well…” She trails off, hesitating.

“Well, what?” Draco presses.

Hermione purses her lips, but says, “Well, the way he was looking at you… I don’t know that I could authoritatively say it was love -- ” Draco chokes on his own saliva. “ -- but it certainly looked love-adjacent, at least.”

It takes Draco nearly a full minute to stop coughing. “Love-adjacent?” he repeats incredulously, still a little raspy. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Hermione says, sagely, as though it’s supposed to make perfect sense. “Anyway, then when he saw me he panicked and tried to look disgusted, but then he remembered that I supposedly don’t know you’re only fake dating, and he went back to being fake lovey-dovey. It was a mess, really.”

“Okay, well, that part checks out,” Draco mutters. Harry is a mess. It’s one of the many things Draco finds frustratingly endearing about him. “Have you...talked to him about this?”

Hermione lets out a huff of laughter. “This is the first chance I’ve had to talk to either one of you alone in weeks. That was number four. You’re always together, even when you don’t need to be.”

She’s making an awful lot good points, but still Draco tries to fight back the hope blossoming in his chest. He glances out at Harry; it’s his turn to play Keeper, and he’s doing an absolutely piss-poor job of it. A Quaffle hits him in the shoulder, and he flips Weasley the bird. Draco smiles a little despite himself.

When he looks back at Hermione she’s smiling too. “You should tell him,” she says again.

“No thanks,” Draco says snidely, then sighs when Hermione glares at him. “Look, I don’t know, all right? It’s just, it doesn’t make any sense. Potter and Malfoy? That’s insane. Even if I wanted to try and go for something real with him -- and I’m not saying I do -- it would never work.”

“Potter and Malfoy, maybe,” Hermione says gently. “Harry and Draco, though? I think they’ve got a shot.”

Harry and Draco. Draco hasn’t thought of it like that before. It’s sort of nice. Maybe there’s some sort of clever portmanteau for their names, like… Harco. Potfoy? No, those are terrible. He’ll have to workshop that.

Ah, he’s smiling again. Blast. He schools his expression into one of bored indifference, but it’s too late; Hermione’s looking at him with a little smug smirk on her face. He rolls his eyes. “Oh, sod off, Miss Pansy-Only-Calls-Me-Granger-On-Special-Occasions. That’s right, I haven’t forgot. Let’s see those Ancient Runes notes, shall we?”

***

The evening of the Yule Ball finds Draco, Blaise, and Pansy commandeering the Slytherin eighth year boys’ dormitory to get ready. Pansy’s gotten special permission to be at Hogwarts for the day, thanks to Hermione’s tenaciously petitioning McGonagall, and with the three of them helping each other with their clothes and hair just like they used to, it almost feels like nothing’s changed.

“Oh, how time flies,” Pansy sighs wistfully as Draco zips up the back of her dress. “Not so long ago it was you and I going to the ball together, and now we’re going with Granger and Potter, of all people.”

“I wonder what our fourth-year selves would think of that,” Draco says drily, finishing with the zip and turning to a mirror to smooth back his hair for the eighteenth time since they started getting ready.

Blaise laughs as he shrugs on his dress robes. “Oh, I know very well. ‘Go to the Yule Ball with Potter?’” he says with a sneer in an irritatingly good impression of Draco’s voice. “‘I would rather eat nothing but live flobberworms and drink nothing but goblin piss for the rest of my life than go anywhere near that insufferable git.’”

Draco scowls, and Pansy cackles. “That’s exactly it! Only on the outside, though. On the inside you’d probably have wet your metaphorical trousers with excitement.”

“Possibly your literal trousers, too,” Blaise adds.

“I fucking despise both of you,” Draco grouses as Blaise and Pansy snort with laughter. “And what about Pansy? You’d have been no better.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Seeing Hermione at the ball fourth year was the moment I realized I was a lesbian. If I’d thought I had any chance with her I’d have ditched you in a second. I have no shame in that.”

“As you shouldn’t,” Blaise agrees before Draco can express his indignance. “Anyway, I’m all done and I don’t much fancy being a fifth wheel, so I’ll be going. If I see your Gryffindors in the common room I’ll let them know you’re almost ready.”

“Thanks, love. We’ll see you there,” Pansy says, waving him off, and he breezes out of the room. As soon as he’s gone Pansy turns to Draco. “So tonight’s the night, isn’t it?”

Draco’s stomach churns. For most of the evening he’s been able to keep himself pretty well distracted, but now his nerves come back in full force. He nods sharply. “It is.”

Pansy gives him an uncharacteristically encouraging smile. “Well, just remember. You’ve already gotten Potter to agree to go out with you once. It shouldn’t be that hard to do it again. I believe in you.”

“Ew,” Draco says, making a face of disgust. “That was a disturbingly Gryffindor thing to say, Pans. Hermione must be rubbing off on you.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Fine, how’s this: Suck it up and use that clever Slytherin brain of yours to figure it out. If it goes poorly, come find me and I’ll use my cleverer Slytherin brain to fix it for you.”

“That’s more like it,” Draco sniffs haughtily, but he really does feel quite a bit better for having that reassurance.

There’s a knock on the door, and then it opens and Hermione lets herself in. “What’s taking you two so long?”

“Hermione!” Pansy gasps, snatching a pillow off Blaise’s bed to cover herself despite the fact that she’s fully dressed. “It’s bad luck to see the date before the dance!”

“That’s only weddings, Pans,” Hermione says, raising her eyebrows. “And I was about to see you in a minute anyway.”

“I know, but I wanted to make a grand appearance down the staircase.”

“You mean down the five steps from the boys’ dormitories.”

“Oh, fuck off, Granger, it would’ve been fabulous.”

“We’re just about done here, Hermione,” Draco cuts in before they can start undressing each other with their hands instead of just their eyes. “Pans was just harassing me about confessing my feelings to Harry.”

Hermione turns her attention to Draco, eyes wide. “Oh, is tonight the night?”

“Yes, and she’s already given me the whole Gryffindor you-can-do-it! spiel, so you can save your breath.”

“She did?” Hermione beams proudly at Pansy. Pansy attempts to hide her blush by studying her nails, and Hermione turns a supportive smile on Draco. “That’s great, Draco. Do you want us to give you a minute to do it now? He’s waiting in the common room.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ve decided I’m going to wait for a quiet moment during a slow, romantic song,” Draco explains. “And besides, if I leave you two alone you’ll end up shagging, which would be fine by me as long as it’s in Blaise’s bed and not mine, except that I spent entirely too long on Pansy’s hair to let you muss it up this early in the night.”

Pansy lets go of Blaise’s pillow with one hand to give Draco a two-fingered salute, and Hermione rolls her eyes. “All right, all right. We’ll all go down together, then.”

“Suits me.” Draco smooths his hair back for the nineteenth time, then heads out of the room, Pansy and Hermione following after.

When he opens the door into the Slytherin common room and steps out the first thing he sees is Harry sitting in a chair by the fire. He’s got one leg crossed over the other and is bouncing them anxiously, elbow on the armrest and chin in his hand as he gazes into the fire.

He looks up, then, and meets Draco’s eyes, and Draco’s heart stops.

Harry quickly jumps to his feet and straightens out his robes. Draco helped him pick them out at Diagon Alley a few weeks back, and the deep colour looks amazing with his brown skin and bright eyes. His hair is no less of a mess than usual, but it’s obvious that he at least tried to tame it. He looks anxious and excited and happy and a little like he might be sick all at once, and Draco doesn’t think he’s ever seen a lovelier sight.

Harry gives him a crooked smile. “Hi, bunny.”

Draco smiles back. “Hello, poot.”

And that’s when it hits him.

He doesn’t just like Harry. He loves him.

That throws a massive fucking wrench into things.

Harry starts towards him, and Draco’s feet move of their own accord to meet him in the middle. Harry reaches out and twines their fingers together, and Draco’s heart starts up again in double time.

“Wow,” Harry breathes. His eyes are wide, and he swallows visibly. “You look, uh. Wow.”

Draco finds he’s actually quite satisfied with that reaction. He beams at Harry. “Thank you. You look…” He trails off, realizing that he doesn’t have anything eloquent to say, either. Looking at Harry makes Draco’s heart ache horribly, and he really doesn’t know how to put that into words.

I love you.

Fuck off, not those words. “Wow,” Draco finally says too, because maybe now isn’t the time to be worried about eloquence, anyway.

Harry beams back at him and stands on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his lips. Before he can draw back Draco wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him closer, kisses him deeper. Harry hums quietly and slides his fingers into Draco’s carefully styled hair, and Draco doesn’t ever want to let go of him.

“Get a room!”

They instantly jerk apart, but grab each other’s hands again as they turn to the source of the interruption. Pansy and Hermione are at the door of the boys’ dorms, and Draco wonders if they hung back to give him a minute after all or if they’ve been there all along. He’d sort of forgotten about everything but Harry. Pansy’s got her arm draped around Hermione’s shoulders and a contorted grimace on her face.

“Oh, fuck off, Pans,” Draco says with an equally exaggerated scowl. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what? My date is far sexier than yours,” Pansy says as she and Hermione come down the steps to join them. “Although I must say, Potter, you are looking slightly less like a grindylow that slept in a rubbish heap than usual.”

“Thanks, Parkinson,” Harry replies, seeming almost genuinely touched by the backhanded compliment. “I like your necklace. What’s it made of, the souls of the innocent?”

Pansy puts a hand on her chest and gives Harry a bright smile. “It is, actually, thank you ever so much for noticing. Hermione gave it to me for Hanukkah. Draco, hold still,” she says, reaching up with her free hand to smooth Draco’s hair as he obediently remains still.

“It’s an opal from Australia,” Hermione says, looking both annoyed and amused.

“Sure it is, darling. Merlin, Draco, and you had the gall to give Hermione a hard time about mussing my hair. How did you manage to fuck yours up so badly in the span of two minutes?”

“Uh, that’d be my fault,” Harry says with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Of course it was. Honestly, Potter, have some decorum. Anyway, we should get going. It would be cruel of us to deprive everyone of our presence for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

As the four of them make their way down to the ball, Harry chats and laughs with Pansy and Hermione. Draco tries his best to pay attention, but he’s horribly distracted by every brush of Harry’s thumb across his knuckles, every glance in his direction after Harry makes a joke and wants to see Draco’s reaction. Draco laughs a little too late and a little too loud, but it makes Harry smile anyway, and then Draco’s lost all over again.

When they walk into the ball they all immediately slow to a stop, looking around the hall with awe. It’s even more beautiful than Draco remembers from their fourth year, though he can’t be sure if it’s an actual improvement in décor or simply the rose-coloured glasses of having Harry on his arm this time. The lights floating above them are soft and mesmerising, and everything is accented with a rich purple. At the front of the hall is a stage where Mindfang, a popular new wizarding singer, is performing a slow rock ballad with her band; at the back, an overwhelming array of refreshments.

“Wow,” Harry whispers, and Draco is inclined to agree.

Pansy and Hermione break out of the trance first. “Well, Granger,” Pansy says. “Shall we show these wankers how it’s done?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione agrees, and she grabs Pansy by the hand and pulls her onto the dance floor, both laughing. Pansy glances over her shoulder and makes a crude gesture at Draco that he’s fairly sure she means to be encouraging.

And now he’s alone with Harry and the gigantic love-shaped lump in his throat. Draco thinks he might faint.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, squeezing his hand. “You all right?”

“Nothing,” Draco says quickly, then realizes that’s not an answer to the question Harry asked. “I -- yes, I’m fine. Obviously. Should we start with some refreshments?”

“Er, okay,” Harry says, frowning a bit, but Draco drags him towards the back of the hall before he can ask any more questions.

Draco’s much too anxious to eat anything, so he sips at a cup of lemon water off to the side and tries to calm his nerves while Harry loads up a plate entirely with chocolate truffles. As he heads back to Draco, Blaise comes into view round the other side of the table. Draco beckons, grateful for another distraction, and Blaise saunters over to them.

“Evening, gentlemen.”

“Hey, Zabini,” Harry replies as he munches on a truffle. “Don’t you have a date?”

Just then Weasley comes round the table too, mouth half open and stuffed full of fried shrimp. When he sees Draco and Harry he halts so abruptly that the cup of punch he’s got in one hand sloshes over and spills a bit onto the floor.

“Ermf. H’llo,” Weasley says awkwardly around a mouthful of shrimp.

“Classy,” Draco snipes, but then Blaise moves over and puts his arm around Weasley’s shoulders, and Draco’s jaw drops. “Wait, are you -- are you two here together?”

“I don’t know what you’re so surprised about,” Blaise says mildly. Weasley shrugs his arm off, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “It was your idea.”

“Well, yes, but…” Draco trails off, unsure how to put But never in a million years did I think it would actually happen kindly.

“Honestly, I just sort of can’t believe Ron agreed,” Harry says, squinting and frowning at Weasley indignantly. “You gave me and Hermione so much shit for dating Slytherins!”

“Imf -- ” Weasley finally manages to swallow down his shrimp and gives Harry a reproachful glare. “It’s different. I’m not dating a Slytherin. We’re just…” He waves a hand vaguely. “You know.”

“On a date,” Blaise supplies helpfully.

Weasley turns beet red, but doesn’t correct him. “We just figured that one way or another it’d get you lot to fuck off about it, so. Fuck off about it.”

Draco actually finds that, for once, he has nothing more to say on the matter, and indeed has no choice but to fuck off. “Well, we’ll leave you to it,” he says, then leans closer to Blaise. “I’ll be expecting a thorough explanation from you after, though.”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll be sure to give you all the dirty details,” Blaise says with a wink, and Weasley chokes on a shrimp.

“Good luck with this one, mate.” Harry pats Weasley sympathetically on the back, then lets Blaise take over and turns to Draco. “So, should we dance?”

They should, is the thing, but dancing means talking and talking means Draco telling Harry he loves him and that’s fucking terrifying. But he can’t think of a good enough reason to put it off any longer, so he just says, “Indeed we should,” and lets Harry take his hand and pull him out to the dance floor.

Draco leads, and Harry’s a little awkward and stiff at first, but he’s quick to catch on. His hand is warm in Draco’s, and he laces their fingers together, which isn’t really proper technique, but Draco decides he can let it slide just this once.

The song is a slow, romantic number, perfect for a quiet confession of love. Draco couldn’t ask for a better opportunity, really. This is exactly like he planned it. It’s fine. He can do this. He’s still trying to muster up the nerve when Harry speaks up first.

“So,” Harry says. He seems a little nervous, but firm. “Term’s over.”

Draco’s chest constricts with anxiety. He should’ve been quicker. “That it is,” he manages.

“I guess that means our deal’s over, too, after tonight,” Harry continues. His eyes bore into Draco’s, and Draco’s sure he can tell exactly what he’s thinking, and suddenly he’s hit with an immense paranoia that Harry’s actually secretly a Legilimens and has been reading his mind literally this entire fucking time. But that’s ridiculous. Probably.

I love you. I love you. I love you. If you can hear my thoughts, blink twice.

Harry blinks once. Waiting.

“I guess so,” Draco replies, his voice barely more than a whisper. If he’s going to say something, if he’s going to tell Harry how he feels, he needs to do it now.

Harry opens his mouth to say something else. Draco doesn’t think his heart can take it.

“I -- ”

“I have to go,” Draco interrupts suddenly, loudly, before Harry can get anything else out.

Harry looks confused. “Go? Where?”

“To…” Draco glances around frantically for an escape. “Er, the loo. Yes. I have to piss.”

“Should I come -- ”

“No!” Draco practically squeaks. “No, that’s -- that’s all right. I’ll be right back.” And he bolts away.

As he hurries out of the hall, he glances back and manages to catch Pansy’s eye over Hermione’s shoulder as they’re dancing, and she raises her eyebrows questioningly at him. He jerks his head at the exit, and she nods and whispers something into Hermione’s ear before following after him.

Draco all but sprints the rest of the way to the restrooms just outside the hall and pushes through the door to the boys’, which is thankfully unoccupied. Pansy joins him just a few seconds later, her stilettos clacking loudly on the tile.

“What the fuck is going -- ”

“I can’t do it,” Draco blurts before she can even finish her question. “I tried, and I can’t. It’s over. It’s just going to be over, and that’s fine. It’s fine.”

Pansy sighs and grabs Draco’s hands before he can start raking his fingers through his hair. “Don’t do that, darling, I don’t want to have to fix it again. Calm down and tell me what happened.”

“Well, we were dancing, and I had to sort of teach him how because he’s a buffoon, obviously, and then he brought up that the term is over so our arrangement is, too, and I wanted to say something then, but I...” He trails off and clears his throat. “The thing is, I’ve realized I don’t just like him. I love him, Pans.”

He pauses, and Pansy just looks at him for a few seconds before frowning. “Oh, was that supposed to shock and scandalize me?”

“A little, yeah.”

Pansy gasps melodramatically and clutches both hands to her chest. “Consider me extremely shocked and thoroughly scandalized. Continue.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but can’t help smiling a bit at her theatrics. “Well, so I wanted to say something, but I just -- I was afraid he was going to break off the arrangement officially before I got a chance to say it, but I was also afraid to say it, so…”

“So you panicked and ran away,” Pansy finishes for him.

“Yes.”

“Like a complete arsehole.”

Draco’s eyes widen with sudden realization of what he’s done. “Fuck, I just fucking abandoned him in the middle of a date, what if he comes looking for me -- what if he doesn’t -- ”

Pansy grabs his hands again as he starts to reach up, but this time she doesn’t let go. “Don’t worry about that,” she says firmly. “I sent Hermione to keep him busy. He’ll be fine.”

“Oh. All right.” Draco relaxes slightly, then sighs. “What am I supposed to do now, Pans? I don’t -- ” He stops and shuts his eyes tight, takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“I know, darling.” Pansy gives his hands a gentle squeeze and hums thoughtfully. “Have you thought that maybe you’re going about it in the wrong way?”

Draco opens his eyes again and frowns at her. “How do you mean?”

“Well, think about it. Most of your romantic gestures have been grand and public, and you managed those fine.”

“Yes, but those were fake.”

Pansy arches an eyebrow. “Were they, though?” When Draco only grumbles unintelligibly in response, she laughs and squeezes his hands again. “Look, I’m just saying that it’s something you’ve done before, something you know you can do, so maybe it’s worth a shot. At the very least, it’s got to go better than your dreadful attempt at a regular face-to-face conversation about it.”

“Thanks,” Draco says, wrinkling his nose. “You might be right, though.”

“I always am, love,” Pansy says, and Draco can’t really argue with that.

The restroom door opens, and the scrawny fourth year who walks in stops short and gawks at Pansy.

“Girls aren’t supposed to be in here,” he says, voice cracking towards the end.

“I’m a lesbian,” Pansy says, as if that explains everything. “Sod off.”

The boy keeps staring until Pansy makes a shooing motion, then hurries past and locks himself into a stall. Pansy rolls her eyes and lets out a beleaguered sigh, and Draco smirks.

“Would you like me to hex his bollocks off?” he asks loudly.

Pansy grins back at him. “Hmm…” She draws the hum out, as if she’s giving it great consideration.

There’s a tiny squeak from within the stall, and both Draco and Pansy stifle laughter. Pansy pulls out her wand and casts a nonverbal Muffliato on her stilettos, and they sneak out of the restroom as silently as they can manage, Draco closing the door carefully behind them.

Once they’ve made it a safe distance away they both burst into laughter.

“Fucking classic,” Pansy cackles. “God, it’s been too long.”

“It really has,” Draco manages through a laugh of genuine delight. He wraps an arm around Pansy’s shoulders and pulls her in close. “I’ve missed you so much, Pans.”

“Augh, fuck off, you great ponce,” Pansy says with a roll of her eyes, but she hugs him around the waist with both arms and plants a kiss on his cheek. “So, do you know what you’re going to do?”

Draco takes a deep breath and nods. “I believe I do, actually.”

“Excellent. Well, then, unless you need my help, I’ve a girlfriend to get back to.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your public groping.”

Pansy gives Draco a look. “I don’t think you’ve much room to judge there. I’ve heard the stories about you and Potter.”

“Touché,” Draco mutters, flushing.

Pansy laughs and squeezes him tightly for a moment before letting go. “Good luck, darling,” she says, and glides back into the ball.

Draco waits another minute, then two, in a futile effort to compose himself. Eventually he’s too antsy to stay still any longer, and he forces himself to head back in, too, as stealthily as he can. He glances about until he spots Harry over by the refreshments with their friends, then ducks quickly into an inconspicuous corner to get a better look without being seen.

Draco just watches them all for a minute. He watches Pansy join them and brush back a strand of Hermione’s hair and whisper something in her ear that makes her light up; he watches Ginny with her arms around Luna’s waist and her chin on her shoulder as Luna pats Harry on the arm; he watches Blaise smile as he listens to Ron talking animatedly with sweeping hand gestures. He watches Harry glance at the door, over and over, like he’s waiting for something. For someone.

Draco’s heart aches to be over there with them, holding Harry’s hand, laughing with their friends. He has half a mind to abandon this insane idea and go over there right now to enjoy one last night. But, if he goes through with this, there’s a chance he could have all of that for much, much longer, and that’s a chance worth risking everything for.

So instead of going to the back of the hall, Draco heads to the front. He makes it to the stage just as Mindfang is finishing a song, and he hurries up onto the stage before she can start another or he loses his nerve.

Mindfang raises a pierced eyebrow as he approaches her. Draco hadn’t noticed it before, but she’s got an eyepatch over one eye, and he wonders if it’s a necessity or simply decorative in function. She shakes her wand out of her sleeve and cancels her Sonorous charm so she can address him. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be up here, mate.”

“I need to make a dramatic declaration of love,” Draco says desperately.

Mindfang considers for a second, then gives him a shrug and a toothy grin. “Yeah, all right.”

“Thank you very much,” Draco says, and Mindfang gives him a thumbs up and retreats to the back of the stage with her band. He turns back out to face the students, who have begun to notice that the band’s stopped playing. People are staring up at him and whispering already. In the back, Ginny punches Harry in the shoulder and points frantically towards the stage until he finally turns to look, and when he sees Draco his jaw drops.

Draco gives Harry as much of a smile as he can muster, then steps to the front of the stage, takes a deep breath, and casts a Sonorous. He hasn’t even thought about what he’s going to say. “Harry,” he begins, his voice carrying through the entire hall. “I need to tell you something.”

Anyone who wasn’t looking before definitely is now. Draco swallows nervously, feeling as though his heart could beat out of his chest at any moment. His eyes are locked with Harry’s, and Harry looks nervous too, and exasperated and hopeful and perfect.

“I love you, Harry,” Draco says, for all their world to hear.

There’s a beat of complete silence.

“We know!” comes a distant shout from Luna in the back.

Titters and giggles run through the crowd. Next to Luna, Blaise laughs so hard he starts crying and has to clutch at a flabbergasted Weasley for support. Draco turns red from embarrassment, but he keeps his eyes on Harry -- Harry, whom he loves, who means everything to him, who’s staring at him with wide, stupidly green eyes -- and forges on.

“I didn’t expect it to happen, and frankly, I’m not quite sure how or even when it did. I think it was somewhere in between your getting me my favourite flowers by accident and my realizing that you trusted me, despite, well, everything.”

Draco pauses and lifts a hand to run his fingers nervously through his hair, then remembers Pansy’s reprimand and settles for adjusting his tie instead. “I, er, don’t really know what else to say. I didn’t think this through very far in advance, so I don’t have another sonnet or anything…” He stops himself before he can start rambling too much and clears his throat.

“Anyway, yes. I love you, and I thought you ought to know that before it’s too late. If we could continue to discuss this in a more private and conversational setting, that would be superb. Thank you.”

There’s a smattering of confused applause from the audience as Draco ends the Sonorous and rushes to the back of the stage. “Thank you,” he says again to Mindfang, who looks thoroughly entertained.

“No problem.” She grins and punches him on the shoulder, a little too hard, and Draco winces. “Go get ’im.”

Draco nods resolutely and hurries off of the stage. Behind him, the band start playing again, and over the starting chords Mindfang announces, “This song goes out to Harry and, uh -- well, whoever that bloke was, didn’t get his name…”

Draco weaves and shoves his way through the crowd to try and get back to Harry as quickly as possible. He’s making fair progress when suddenly he slams directly into someone. They both grab at each other for balance, and it takes Draco a full two seconds for him to realize it’s Harry he’s holding onto.

“Hi,” Harry breathes.

“Hi,” Draco replies, still stunned. “I, er -- ”

“I love you too.”

Now it’s Draco staring with mouth agape. Harry gives him a nervous smile and lets go of him with one hand to straighten his glasses.

“I,” Draco says faintly. “You. You do?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and his smile grows wide and crooked.

Draco’s heart thumps madly, and he’s fairly certain the only way to quiet it is to kiss Harry immediately, so he does. He slides one hand into Harry’s hair and puts the other on his chest as Harry throws both arms around his neck and kisses him back in earnest.

It’s several seconds before Draco manages to draw back, smiling so hard it almost hurts. He can feel Harry’s heartbeat beneath his palm, rapid and real, pounding as hard as his own. He leans his forehead against against Harry’s and lets out a sigh, still a little bit in shock. “Merlin, Harry, I love you. And you -- you love me too. Wow. Wow.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Harry says, grinning. Arms still around Draco’s neck, he nods towards the stage. “You know, they did dedicate this song to us. Or, well, tried to, at least. So we should probably dance to it, yeah?”

“Probably,” Draco agrees, and he pulls Harry onto the dance floor.

This song is quick-paced and peppy. Draco’s never heard it before, but it’s now his favourite song in the world. He leads Harry in an impromptu variation of a foxtrot, too giddy to bother with precise movements like usual, but Harry just laughs and follows along impressively well.

“You know, if you love me you could have just said so,” Draco says as he spins Harry out and back in close.

Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling hugely. “Yeah, I mean, that’s literally what I was about to say before you ran off, you great idiot.”

“Right.” Draco feels the tips of his ears turn red. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Did you really think I was about to break up with you?” Harry asks, frowning.

Draco plays his embarrassment off with a sardonic sneer. “No, I ran off because I knew you were about to profess your undying love for me, because that makes sense, obviously.”

Harry shakes his head incredulously. “Fucking unbelievable. I’ve been mad about you for ages now. I thought you didn’t like me.”

“That is the single most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. You really are a buffoon.”

Harry snorts and shoves lightly at Draco’s shoulder. “And you’re still an arse.”

“But you love me anyway,” Draco says smugly.

“Yeah, you and your arse both.”

“That’s a terrible line. You really aren’t smooth at all, you know.”

“But you love me anyway,” Harry shoots back, grinning.

Draco can’t help beaming back at him. “Indeed I do.”

The song -- their song -- comes to an end and transitions smoothly into another ballad. Draco adjusts his leading accordingly, but before they’ve really gotten into the rhythm of it Harry says, “Er, d’you maybe want to get out of here?”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “Are you not having a good time dancing with me?”

“I am, definitely,” Harry says, and one corner of his mouth quirks up. “It’s just that there are other things I’d rather be doing with you.”

“Such as?”

“Well, first, I want more truffles. And then I reckon I’d like to snog the absolute shite out of you.”

Draco grins triumphantly. “I think both of those can be arranged.”

They head back to the refreshments, passing Pansy and Hermione as they do. Draco tries to catch Pansy’s eye, but she’s too focused on trying to lead Hermione in bold, unorthodox moves, which Hermione consistently botches. Pansy pulls her back in close until the tips of their noses touch, and she smirks dangerously as Hermione grins and then kisses her.

Harry immediately begins to load up another plate with chocolate truffles to go. As he waits, Draco sees that Blaise and Weasley are still loitering nearby. Blaise has got his arm around Weasley again, but Weasley doesn’t seem to mind this time. Blaise says something in his ear that makes him laugh so hard that he snorts punch out of his nose. It’s absolutely revolting, but Blaise seems utterly pleased with himself as he offers Weasley a handkerchief.

Once he’s finished, Harry grabs Draco’s hand and pulls him back towards the doors. As they pass the stage, Draco manages to catch Mindfang’s eye, and he gestures excitedly at Harry and mouths Thank you. She lifts her eyepatch to reveal a perfectly normal eye -- well, that answers that question -- and gives Draco a wink and a grin as Harry drags him out of the hall.

“Where are we going?” Draco asks, and Harry looks back over his shoulder at him with a smile.

“Trust me,” Harry says, and Draco does.

***

Morning comes much sooner than Draco would like it to, but he finds he’s not so bothered by it when he’s got Harry wrapped up in his arms.

The curtains around Harry’s bed are drawn tightly shut and warded with privacy charms, and they’re curled up together under the garish scarlet bedclothes, nose to nose, arms around each other. Harry lent Draco a Muggle T-shirt to sleep in, a ratty old thing with the words MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE across the chest. It’s horrible and Draco is never ever ever giving it back.

They keep their voices low as they talk. There’s something about this morning, this moment, that quietly asks for a reverence Draco is glad to give. It’s warm and peaceful and Harry is smiling at Draco like he’s the only person in the world that matters and Draco is one hundred percent certain that this is the happiest he’s ever been.

“Here’s one,” Draco says, propping himself up on one elbow on his side. Harry’s face is still half buried in his pillow, his glasses still on his bedside table outside the curtains, but he’s got his full attention on Draco and a fond little smile on his face that makes Draco’s heart flutter. “Do you remember when I spent three straight days working on that Arithmancy essay?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies through half a mouthful of pillow. He slips a hand under Draco’s borrowed shirt and traces fingertips lightly up Draco’s side, making him shiver. “I’ve never seen you work harder on something than that.”

“Well, I was lying,” Draco confesses. “I was really working on your sonnet that entire time.”

Harry pushes himself up on his elbow too and gives Draco an incredulous look. “No way.”

“It’s true. I didn’t even start that essay until the day after it was due. Vector was furious.”

“Oh my god.” Harry laughs and leans in to kiss the tip of Draco’s nose, wrapping his arm tightly around Draco’s waist. “Well, it was worth it. I loved the sonnet.”

“I’m glad.” Draco pauses, then adds, face a little warm, “I meant all of it, you know.”

Harry smiles. “Even the part where you called my hair a morbid mop?”

“Especially that part,” Draco says, reaching up to run his fingers fondly through Harry’s tangle of hair. It’s even worse in the morning than it usually is. Draco loves it.

Harry laughs again and flops onto his back next to Draco. “All right, well, I think I can do you one better.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, the, er, the time I got you your favourite flowers on accident?” Harry casts a quick look at Draco, blushes a dark crimson, and glances away. “It, uh. It wasn’t an accident.”

Draco stares down at him with disbelief. “It wasn’t?”

“Yeah, I, um -- ” Harry covers his red face with both hands. “I owled your mum.”

“You owled my mum,” Draco repeats faintly.

Harry’s voice is muffled by his hands. “I just, I wanted to impress you, and I wanted to be sure and get you something you’d like, but then you assumed it was an accident and I was too embarrassed to say -- ”

“Harry.” Draco reaches up and gently pries Harry’s hands away so he can look him very seriously in the eye. “That’s the sweetest bloody thing I’ve ever heard. And you do remember that I love you, right? Like, I am very fucking in love with you. Also, I’m literally in your bed. There’s really no need for you to be flustered right now.”

“Fair point,” Harry concedes, his sheepish smile stretching into a grin. “I really like that, you know.”

“What, that I’m in love with you, or that I’m in your bed?”

Harry rolls back onto his side and bumps the tip of his nose gently into Draco’s, making Draco grin like an absolute loon. “Both. And the combination of the two.”

“Ah, yes, I’m quite a fan myself.” Draco wraps his arm around Harry’s waist and pulls him in close. “Actually, I think I should warn you that I intend to never leave. You’re stuck here with me forever now.”

“Oh no,” Harry says in an utterly unconvincing monotone. “I’m stuck in my warm, comfortable bed with the stupidly gorgeous bloke I’m in love with. What a nightmare.”

Draco perks up a bit. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

“What? No,” Harry says quickly, instinctively, then appears to remember he’s allowed to admit such things now. “I mean, yeah. You know. Obviously.” He rolls his eyes at Draco’s gleeful grin and buries his face in Draco’s shoulder. “Shut up. You know you are.”

“I do,” Draco agrees smugly, and Harry huffs. Draco kisses the top of Harry’s head and adds, quietly, “You’re not so horrible yourself.”

Harry’s laughter tickles Draco’s neck. “Wow, you really think so?”

“Yes. In fact,” Draco murmurs in Harry’s ear, “I think I may even be starting to fancy you a bit.”

“Well, maybe you should date me, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

Harry lifts his head and grins at Draco. “Y’know, if we weren’t both such idiots, a conversation like that might’ve been how we got together instead of -- ” He makes a vague gesture. “ -- all this.”

“And where would the fun have been in that?” Draco reaches up and smooths back a particularly unruly bit of Harry’s hair. It immediately bounces back into place, which he uses as an excuse to continue stroking Harry’s hair. “Would you do it differently, if you could?”

“Nope,” Harry says without pausing to consider. “You?”

“Not a thing,” Draco replies, brushing his thumb across Harry’s cheek and smiling when Harry leans into the touch. “Especially since I won.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “You won?”

“Yes, the whole who-can-be-the-better-fake-boyfriend competition. I definitely won.”

“Oh.” Harry laughs and leans his forehead against Draco’s. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t think that was ever really in question. You were really good at it.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” Draco says smugly.

“Yeah. But you know,” Harry adds, one side of his mouth quirked up mischievously, “I’ll bet I can be the better real boyfriend.”

Draco laughs happily and leans in to kiss Harry. He can feel Harry smile against his lips, and it makes him smile too. Then he pulls back, just slightly, just enough to see the sparkle of Harry’s stupid green eyes, and he grins.

“You’re on, Potter.”