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Chapter Text

Harry doesn’t quite remember the excuse he gave to Robards and Kingsley when he refused to join the Aurors that early on with Ron. He remembers that Ron wanted to spend one last year with Hermione having finally a relaxing year for them to do all their favourite couple activities that they always wanted to do. 

Harry is sure he gave the same excuse, wanting to spend the last year with no threats hanging on top of their head, including the part that they haven’t even gotten their N.E.W.T.s so it would be absolutely unfair if they just got a whole career even though they didn’t do anything to deserve it. 

It’s nearing October now, and all eight years are talking about celebrating this year’s Halloween with drinking as much till they puke out their guts the next morning. Harry didn’t know how to feel about it, most of his friends agreeing while only half of the others complained that McGonagall probably wouldn’t let them. The other half being Hermione and Neville, who, even though he slayed Voldemort’s dangerous snake, is still petrified of being told off by McGonagall.

Harry is indifferent about it. He’s been on the guidelines for most of it, and when people asked him on which side he was on, he would respond with the winning side. Which, coincidentally was the partying side. So. He’s in it for himself.

Harry remembers how he had once accidentally found himself surrounded by Slytherins while out in the courtyard one evening. He wasn’t really doing any work, and they were already there before him, so. Well, while he was sitting by the corner on his own, shade being given by the large tree hiding him from the peering eyes of students passing, he hadn’t expected Pansy Parkinson, of everyone, to slide next to him and whisper a soft apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said during the.. Well, during the war. I was just.. I wasn’t thinking, I was scared, and I know that’s no excuse, none at all, but–”

“I don’t care,” Harry interrupted her, watching Parkinson’s eyes widened and then a frown appear on her pouty, glossy lips. “Let me rephrase that; I accept your apology, and I don’t think anyone should hold a grudge about what happened during that time. Everything was chaotic, and if anyone understands what it’s like to do something in the rush of the moment, it’s me. You’re forgiven.”

Parkinson’s eyes glistened with something emotional, and Harry was not prepared to hear the wailing of a pitying girl, but was immensely glad when that wasn’t the case. “As honourable as ever, Potter,” She muttered with a sly grin and knocked his shoulder with hers, and then stood up, brushing dirt off her skirt. “There are a couple of more people that are willing to apologise for our actions in the past, but are too cowards to come say it.”

Harry leaned back to see behind the tree, directly at the bench where the other Slytherins were sitting and conversing quietly. Amongst them, Malfoy, hair shining under the sun’s light and giving him a halo effect with all the clouds blocking. He wasn’t looking at Harry, but looking somewhere else, looking absolutely sullied and ashamed. Before Pansy could walk away, Harry held her wrist.

“Tell them they’re forgiven,” Harry said softly, watching Pansy’s eyes bulge a little. “I need no apology, but I wouldn’t mind one. Most of the time we were just kids with too much time on our hands, but that’s the past now. Spread the message.” Pansy looked at the Slytherins and then at Harry and tilted her head.

“Ever the saint, aren’t you, Potter?” She murmured and nodded. “Thank you.” She then said with hesitation before trodding back over to the table and budging between Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott. Harry watched the exact moment when Malfoy’s brows shot up to his hairline, eyes darting to where Harry was hidden. He didn’t see Harry looking back, but Harry hid anyway, pretending to be engrossed in the book he had in his lap.

For some reason, Harry felt embarrassed. He left a few minutes after, feeling his heart a little heavier than usual.

A couple days later, Seamus came running into the Eight-Year-Only tower telling everyone that he and Dean managed to convince McGonagall to allow a few Eight Years to play Quidditch. Why, in some inane way, Dean was also convincing her—who was known to enjoy playing football in the courtyards over Quidditch any day—was amusing to watch. No, the relationship between Seamus and Dean wasn’t subtle. The boys all share a dorm, and they don’t really know how to sneak out of each other’s beds unnoticed in the mornings. No one has said anything yet, but Harry could tell everyone was happy for them.

“Told you bringing your broom would’ve been worth it,” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder where they sat in the common room. Hermione seemed to be missing, maybe off in the library, as Harry knows her.

“Yeah, I guess you were,” Harry chuckled, watching as a couple boys all cheered while rushing to the dormitories to get their stuff. Harry stayed back, still sitting on one of the couches and glancing back ‘n forth to the fireplace. 

He has missed flying on his broom. He really has! Quidditch was his favourite thing in the whole wide world, there is no doubt! But. ... 

There was something missing.

“Aren’t you going to ask to join them, Draco?” A quiet whisper, far away from Harry. But it said his name, so of course Harry had heard. He glanced sideways, searching for the voice. It came from Astoria Greengrass, who sat in front of Malfoy playing a game of Wizard’s chess with him. She was here just as much as Luna and Ginny were, but always attached to either her older sister or other slytherins. “You always adored Quidditch, Draco, this is your chance,” She murmured quietly, watching him instead of the chessboard. Malfoy stayed quiet, chewing on his bottom, pink lip, hand under his chin and glaring at the chessboard.

“Come on, Tori, they would rather have a Hippogriff to play with than me,” It’s been a while since Harry has heard his voice, but it was quiet, hoarse and seemingly unused. How long was he not talking? He looked paler as well. Bags under his eyes, his knee bouncing under the table as a nervous tick. 

Astoria sighed, looking down at the chessboard. “You don’t know ‘til you’ve tried, Draco. Potter said—”

“Who gives a shit what Potter said?” Malfoy hissed before the girl could even finish her sentence. Astoria gasped quietly, shocked, but then her face changed to an unbothered one.

“He forgave you,” She whispered. At that point, Harry had to turn back to face the fire for fear they might see him eavesdropping. “He said so to Pansy. Why would Pansy lie about that?”

“She once lied about having a boyfriend, and that boyfriend being me,” Malfoy muttered. Astoria started giggling.

“In your guys’ second year! I can’t believe you’re still upset about that!” She laughed softly, and Harry heard Malfoy scoff something inaudible to him. “Have you ever tried saying something to them? There is no way you haven’t said a word to any of the Gryffindors, it’s been two months! You share a dorm with them, after all!”

He hasn’t, Harry would’ve piped in, but held himself back. He hasn’t said a word to Harry, to Ron, to Seamus or Dean. But, surprisingly, he has talked to Neville. Apparently. Neville told them that he quickly apologised on the way to the bathroom, and that he looked like he had been crying, his hands shaking and his face pale as sheets.

“I have nothing to say,” Malfoy grunted. Harry bit his bottom lip, his brows furrowed in thought. “No matter how much you guys might think I miss Quidditch, it’s way less than you think. I’m not in a rush to get on a broom, thanks,”

The fireplace spat and sizzled. Harry suddenly remembered the ash, the smoke, the burn behind his eyes, the way his lungs hurt with each breath. Fiendfyre. Was Malfoy not as over it as he made himself seem? Harry thought he was. But the sudden bile of black smoke tingled his nose and he stood up abruptly, coughing into his closed fist.

He didn’t look, or at least he didn’t try to look in Malfoy’s direction as he walked past him to the dormitory stairs, his coughing increasing so suddenly it felt like something was choking him. He took a few steps. His knees buckled. He collapsed, clutching the wall for support.

“Potter?” It was Astoria, following a few steps behind Harry on the steps of the staircase. “Are you alright? That sounded like a harsh wheezing fit,” the girl’s brows were furrowed, and she looked genuinely concerned, but also frightened. Probably expecting Harry to shoo her away.

“I’m-” His throat scratched and Harry had to cough to get rid of it. “I’m fine, ehm, completely fine,” Harry trailed off uneasy, not wanting to look too deeply into her eyes. 

“Astoria,” she introduced herself as if Harry had forgotten her name, which he hadn’t. “Y’know, Daphne’s—”

“Sister, I know, I’m fine, sorry to worry, I just, uhh, get these fits every now and then,” he lied and stood on shaky legs, but her frown only deepened. He looked at her once more, nodding tightly and then hurriedly rushed up the steps to avoid the intense grey of her eyes. Did she always have grey eyes? Harry could’ve sworn she had darker eyes. Sweet, Merlin, he’s losing himself.

When Harry entered the dormitory, he kept his eyes down and headed straight to his bed, climbing into it and shutting the curtains. He faintly heard Ron call out to him, Harry didn’t say anything back. 

The next time Harry had seen Malfoy, he was in the library with Hermione. Malfoy was with Astoria, again, the two talking quietly amongst themselves by a table near the second floor of the library. Harry didn’t actively try to watch his every move, but he seemed to do it anyway. Watching the furrow in his brows increase, his eyes glaring at the younger girl, his lips sneering up to a scowl. Astoria’s face was stoic, pushing and pushing against whatever Malfoy was saying. Hermione saw where his eyes went.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked with a tilted head, though he was sure she was coming with her own conclusion.

“Nothing,” he muttered, anyway. Knowing it was futile. Hermione’s lips pursed, and she narrowed her eyes. Whatever she thought of, she decided to be quiet for the moment, going back to finish her transfiguration homework.

Harry’s eyes went back to the couple, but was surprised to see Astoria alone then. She was pouting, kicking something on the ground before deciding to scurry off and out of the library.

Harry mumbled an excuse—he wasn’t even sure what—and hurried off. He tried to make it seem like he was looking around, but his eyes weren’t focused on the books. He was looking for... Ah. There he is.

That blond hair tucked away at a corner, and when Harry inched closer he saw that Malfoy had his nose buried in a particularly thick book. He seemed to avoid company, staying in a corner just for him, near the window that showed the Quidditch Pitch. Harry thought a second, hesitation crawling over him, and then he walked over. He cleared his throat, to make sure Malfoy noticed his presence.

His eyes scuttled up and away quickly, as if he was trying to go unnoticed somehow, maybe thinking that Harry really was there just to find some book. He wasn’t that dumb, though.

“Malfoy,” Harry said slowly, and that’s what got his eyes to stay up. He lowered the book in his hands and shifted his stance.

“Potter,” his voice drawled. It still sounded scratchy, raw, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. “Is there something you want?”

Harry thought for a second, then licked his lips to wet them. He doesn’t know why he was suddenly nervous. He saw Malfoy paying keen attention to him. “We’re having a quidditch game, just us Eighth Years, and we still need another seeker.”

Malfoy seemed to not understand why it would matter to him. Harry felt his patience wearing thin. Even Malfoy wasn’t this dense. “I’m asking you if you want to join us.”

Malfoy scoffed, looking back to his book instead of Harry. “Sure, nice joke, Potter.”

“I wasn’t joking.” Harry clarified.

“You are. You must be,” Malfoy decided, as if he knew Harry better than Harry did. It made him a little mad, and he stepped a bit closer. Malfoy shifted, eyes wide and glaring at Harry. “You don’t want me there.”

“Why does it matter what I want? Do you want to play quidditch?” Harry argued, folding his arms on his chest and glaring right back. Malfoy opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times before properly replying.

“No one wants me there. It’s better this way,” he said, determined to stay this way. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Or,” he started saying. “You’re just scared.” Malfoy’s eyebrow twitched, and a nerve on his jaw tightened. Harry saw. He always saw. His eyes were glaring deeply into Harry. “That would be the only reason. You’re one of the best seekers in our year, well, not better than me, of course. But, fair. You don’t want to lose against me again.”

Malfoy seemed pissed now, slamming the book shut and crowding Harry’s space. Gotcha, he thought giddy. How strange. Harry was hoping for this.

Malfoy seemed to bite back what he wanted to say to Harry, as if he was hesitating for some reason, holding him captive. One thing about Malfoy, he was always blunt. Harry didn’t like the filtered Draco Malfoy.

“Are you?” Harry tried again. “Scared, Malfoy?” He then clarified when he continued not to say anything, only glaring at Harry with his silver daggers for eyes.

“You wish, Potter.” He said slowly then, and Harry had to really hold in the urge to smile wide. There it is. The familiarity wooshed over them, and Harry suddenly felt like he was Fifteen again.

“So you’ll show up? Show me how un-scared you are?” Harry taunted a little bit more, just to hear the snarl in Malfoy’s voice again. “Or are you gonna back out?”

“I don’t back out. And un-scared isn’t even a word, you oaf.” He grumbled, he sneered, and something in Harry won. He knew he won. Whatever would happen on that pitch, Harry still won.

“Sure, Malfoy,” Harry chuckled, eyes glancing over Malfoy’s features one last time before he started stepping away. “I’ll see you then.”

He turned and walked off, right back to Hermione. He pretended to work on his homework, just appease his best friend, but he had other things in mind throughout it.

When Harry told his friends that he convinced Malfoy to play as the other Seeker for the Quidditch game, they had said very little about it. They mainly asked Harry why and when he replied with well, there isn’t anyone who challenges me quite like he does, do you guys really want someone like Justin Finch-Fletchley? They agreed he was a better pick. Justin is fine. He just talks a lot about how good he is at things, and then it turns out he is very much not good at those things. With Malfoy, all his talk he can actually accomplish. Sort of. At least he hasn’t beat Harry yet.

Ron was mostly concerned, thinking Harry still is sort of obsessed with him like he was in Sixth Year. Harry assured, though, that that’s very much not the case. At least, not that obsessed. And he was right that year, anyway. That time his intuition hadn’t lied. But this year it wasn’t... an evil thought in the back of his mind, no. It was...

Well. It’ll get to that point when it gets there.

The rest of the boys planned the quidditch game on the weekends, knowing that as they are all legal adults, they can go to Hogsmeade after the game and enjoy a butterbeer with each other. The teams were then later formed. Ron was chosen as captain for one team and their keeper (Harry was very proud of his best friend), and he had Harry on his team as seeker (what a shocker), Neville (who very willingly joined this time, as a surprise to everyone) as beater, Seamus chose himself on Ron’s team as chaser along with Dean, then Anthony Goldstein became their 2nd beater, and the last spot for chaser got Padma Patil. She wanted to join the Quidditch team a few years back and never got the spot, so Ron gladly gave it to her this time. The other team’s leader was Stephen Cornfoot who took the position as beater. He gladly took Malfoy as seeker, glad to at least have a competent player. In addition to Padma being allowed to play, Lavender Brown wanted to play as well as a chaser along with Tracey Davis, a half-blood Slytherin. In another addition to play, Malfoy had apparently requested Goyle to play as well, telling the team he was their greatest beater for a reason. Stephen clearly saw no wrong in this, actually being more inviting to the slytherins than Harry first expected. He was probably sure he could win with a team like that. Then, for the keeper position and last chaser position, those were given to Kevin Entwhistle (a Ravenclaw) and Wayne Hopkins (a Hufflepuff). 

They requested the pitch from McGonagall to practice with the new teams. They had two weeks for that, and the third week was the game. It was pretty quick for the group to adjust, Harry at first believed. But from what he had heard, the groups got along well. Harry himself was proud of his team. Padma, for not having played a bit of quidditch in her previous years, was an excellent chaser. Neville also got the hang of the beater pretty well, enjoying his mid-air conversations with Anthony as they threw the bludger at each other like a tennis ball. Ron seemed to relish being Team Captain, Harry saw it. He was a great leader, too, he thinks. The team all seemed to adore him. Even if he spent most of practice flirting with Hermione, who sat in the stands with the other girls. 

Harry would sometimes linger when it was the other team’s practice rounds. He wouldn’t stalk them to listen to their tactics like Ron at first assumed. He was keeping an eye on how Malfoy was doing. Which was, in hindsight, a bit more off his game than usually. Malfoy seemed to be hesitant with the team at first, Goyle stiff and quiet. Stoic, even. At some point, though, whenever Stephen would release the snitch for Malfoy to catch, that’s when he got his head into the game. He would scan the stadium, and with practised speed and adrenaline, he’d chase after it in quick succession. He’d catch it, almost every time. Stephen was very into teaching Goyle better aim tactics to shoot the bludger in a different direction. And Goyle seemed to take the advice to heart. The girls and Hopkins seemed more focused on matching each other’s speed than actually scoring goals—but they were clearly having fun. And in the end, wasn’t that what this game was supposed to bring? Fun. It was all supposed to be for fun.

Harry was in the common room one evening when he heard Malfoy come back with his team from a practice. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fire again, his favourite spot as of recently. He could gaze into the fire and pretend to see Sirius’s face again, like in Fifth Year, and pretend that he’s checking in on Harry to talk to him. He pretends to talk to Sirius and tell him about the school year, how he’s getting to a point in his life where he feels stable, where he doesn’t have to worry about anything hanging over his head besides N.E.W.T.s this time.

The team all were talking animatedly with one another, Lavender greeting Harry like she always does, and in that, the whole team greeted him as well. Well, except Malfoy, who couldn’t seem to meet his eye. Harry was alright with that.

Lavender took the spot on the sofa that wasn’t occupied with Tracey Davis and Wayne Hopkins, the three talking about who was faster than the other. Goyle and Stephen were still talking strategies, sitting together by a table near the window. And Malfoy was talking to Kevin Entwhistle. They talked about the game, and Kevin was complimenting Malfoy on catching the snitch in under Five minutes again. Interesting. Maybe Harry has to give a little more to his practices as well.

One by one, the team then dispersed into their dormitories, leaving Harry alone once again in the common room. He was wearing the sweater that Molly knitted him last year, it slowly not fitting his larger frame now that he’s finally eating better again, and keeping up with sport this time to keep himself healthy. In his joggers he kept a lighter from that one time he, Ron and Hermione went to muggle London and spent a shopping trip there. He bought cigarettes, which he promised Hermione he wouldn’t smoke inside the common room. But he never mentioned any joints to her, so he was still sort of keeping his promise.

On the premise of that, he took out his lighter, and a small joint he had received from Charlie the summer he was over at the burrow. He was about to light it when,

“What the hell is that?” It was Malfoy’s voice, and it was right behind Harry. He turned around, seeing Malfoy stand behind the sofa, eyeing Harry suspiciously with furrowed brows. Harry let out a sigh of relief, for a minute thinking Hermione came down to scold him.

“It’s just a joint, calm down,” he said in a chuckle, continuing to light it.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Malfoy argued again, moving around the sofa and looking down at Harry.

“Muggle drugs,” Harry said simply, and Malfoy’s face was still scrunched up. “It’s supposed to make you feel good.” He then explained, taking a long drag of the small thing. It smelled sharp and earthy, with a hint of something citrusy—definitely not the kind of herb you’d find in a potion. When Malfoy kept staring at Harry, even after watching him take a few hits of it, Harry lifted it up to have Malfoy take it. He seemed to hesitate, eyes wide and glaring at the object, as if it’ll burst into flame if he touched it. Then, he plucked it out of Harry’s hands, raising it to his mouth.

“Take a small puff, breathe it in gently,” He warned ahead, knowing it could go bad to anyone the first time. “Don’t hold it too long—it’s not a competition.” Malfoy looked weirded out at Harry, but did as he was told.

His face scrunched up some more at the taste, and he immediately gave it back. He coughed lightly, spluttering some curse words. “That is vile.” He grumbled.

Harry grinned, taking another long drag from it. “It is, isn’t it?” he agreed and felt it through his veins. Malfoy just looked down at Harry for a moment, something on his mind. Then he turned around and left the common room.

Harry sighed. Well. He half expected this, anyway. So that’s fine. A few minutes went by, and Harry was slowly feeling the effects of the joint. Bit by bit. His limbs felt heavier, thoughts slower, but the fire danced more vividly than before. He continued to stare at the fire. Then he felt something kick his ankle. He glanced up.

Malfoy. In plaid muggle pyjamas. Of Slytherin colour, too. Harry was now the one wearing a quizzical expression. Malfoy sat down next to him, the shirt was a long-sleeve with Slytherin memorabilia on it. At Harry’s confused expression, Malfoy looked down at himself and his cheeks tinged pink. Oh. 

“Pansy had bought muggle clothes,” he said, as if that explains how he’s dressed. Harry didn’t know how to react. “I sort of can’t deny, they are very comfortable.”

He finished talking, taking the joint out of Harry’s hand with nothing else to add. And he took a long drag from the joint as well. It made Harry really, really laugh hard. It shocked Malfoy, and then for a split second, he saw a slow grin spread on Malfoy’s face as well. Till he turned it into a stone-cold expression again, hiding away the pink in his cheeks with his sleeve and palm.

“Welcome to muggle comfort-taste.” Harry said after collecting himself, leaning his back against the edge of the sofa. Malfoy did the same, knees pulled up and arms resting on them. They didn’t really talk. They just. Sat. Together. Sharing a joint.

That seemed to happen a lot. Bit by bit.

Harry would stay in the common room till dark, and he’d mope in front of the fire, then Malfoy would join. Sometimes with a joint, other times not. Harry had to keep a sober head most of the time, and he wasn’t too keen on turning Malfoy to drugs fully. It seemed he had the same mind, as they would just sit by the fire and do nothing.

“Why did you forgive us all,” Malfoy asked a few days before the quidditch game. Harry had just gotten another package from Charlie with a few more of those joints, and he was sharing one with him again. Harry raised one brow at him, and Malfoy scoffed. “I mean, why did you forgive me?”

Hm. Harry thought for a while, giving the joint over to Malfoy. “Why wouldn’t I?” Harry then said. He looked at Malfoy, who seemed lost to know his reasons. Harry thought carefully over his words, though it seemed a bit harder. “I mean. We were kids. I was being hunted by literally the second most evil person alive, and you were just this... kid that didn’t know any better. You didn’t kill my parents and leave me orphaned by muggle relatives that wanted nothing to do with me or magic. He did that. That kinda puts things in perspective. Like. It wasn’t that hard to get over the bullying after I literally went and died to save everyone.”

Malfoy was quiet, too quiet. When Harry looked over, his eyes were glazed and staring at the fire. “You actually died there?” His voice was quiet, almost in disbelief. Harry gave a dry laugh.

“Yeah, I did.” He said simply, and Malfoy turned his face to look at him. Harry could count his eyelashes from there. “Y’know what’s funny?” He then started, feeling unsure why he’s about to tell him this. “I had the option to stay. Dead, I mean. I could’ve gone with my parents. Dumbledore was there. I could’ve... just not come back.”

The room was silent, except for the fire spitting and hissing. Harry imagined it was Sirius laughing at Malfoy’s expression. 

Malfoy’s expression was unreadable, but Harry was sure he saw something akin to fear, then resentment, then acceptance, and then he was laughing. And Harry then started laughing. And then they were laughing.

“That’s– that shouldn’t be funny, should it?” Malfoy said between breaths, and Harry shook his head, though tears were pricking at his eyes from the laugh in his stomach.

“No, it shouldn’t,” he agreed, turning his head loftily. “But it fuckin’ is.”

They laughed for some while after that. And when they calmed down, Malfoy was still wearing that dopey smile. “My mother vouched for you back there. She told me about it,”

Harry sighed loudly. “Ah, yes,” he said with a wide smile, turning to face Malfoy directly. “She was the real hero at the end of the day. And she did it for you.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything, keeping his eyes at the fire. But Harry saw the pink in his cheeks, despite the fire illuminating his face with orange hues, Harry saw his ears turn pink as well.

Wonder where else the pink spreads.

Harry looked away before the thought could settle.

“You talked to Dumbledore?” Malfoy now asked, a crease between his brows as he sat up straighter and looked at Harry. “Wait, that just clicked into my head. You talked to dead Dumbledore.”

“Yes,” Harry nodded solemnly, and Malfoy’s face just continued to scrunch in confusion. Harry really liked that expression of his. “Gave me a whole spiel about life and death, and how everything I went through was to lead me up to that point and–and, well, actually, I don’t really remember much of it. I saw an ugly fuckin’ creature in a corner that tripped me out the entire time, couldn’t really memorise what he was talkin’ about.”

“What-what fucking ugly creature?” Malfoy asked, finishing the joint that lay in their hands, unused and forgotten for a moment.

“Oh, it was Voldemort.” Malfoy burst out laughing again, and Harry joined. “Oh, I wish I could show you. He was so ugly, really fucking disgusting. Imagine like... the most ugliest little thing, all bleaky skin and with skinny bones, and his weird fuckin’ face just– god, he was so ugly.”

“I don’t need you to paint me a picture, thanks,” Malfoy said between a cough and a laugh, flicking the smallest piece of a joint into the fire. The air around them was bleary, Harry had cast a small bubble over them so it wouldn’t go all over the common room. It was their own little bubble.

Harry seemed to really like it.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispered.

“I know,” Harry replied back just as softly. “You don’t have to apologise. We were kids. I don’t care.”

“I did try to kill you,” Malfoy grumbled anyway. “Twice.”

“And I tried to kill you, too,” Harry argued back, looking at him. He loved how close they were—close enough to count his eyelashes. Malfoy turned his head to the side as well. Both of their heads were laying on the sofa behind them, their eyes staring deeply into one another. “And then you saved me. By not telling Bellatrix. And I saved you.”

“From the Fiendfyre,” Malfoy breathed, and Harry nodded. “But not only then. You saved me from Voldemort, too. By killing him, of course, Saint Potter.” Harry smiled at that, because Malfoy’s voice was slurry, not at all serious in that taunt that used to irritate Harry to god knows where.

“We’re even, Malfoy.” Harry said.

“No, we’re not,” he interrupted, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. “Not even close. You’ve done so much. I’m nowhere to getting even with you.”

“You are.” Harry declared. Malfoy only seemed to shake his head, as best as he could. His eyes fluttered open, and Harry said again, “You are. Even with me. We have nothing else to clear. We’re done, you and I. It’s our fresh start now.”

“Really, Potter?” He sounded amused, a bit of disbelief mixed in as well. Harry nodded.

“Wanna shake on it?”

Malfoy laughed at that then. But he nodded, bleary eyed, he stretched his hand out to Harry the short distance between them. Harry took it and squeezed, a firm shake, and then they smiled together.

“Eleven year old me is creaming his pants,” Malfoy joked, and Harry laughed out loud.

“That’s your eleven year old fantasy?” Harry asked, nudging Malfoy by the shoulder. Malfoy only scowled, though his grin seemed to not leave.

“It was everyone’s fantasy at eleven years old,” he scoffed, scooting away from him to sit upright. He ran his hand through his hair, dishelving it some more, and it made him look softer. He looked softer these days—muggle clothes, dopey eyes, and a confidence he was slowly rebuilding. “Don’t flatter yourself. You aren’t that cool anymore.”

“Screw you,” Harry grumbled. “I’m way cooler now than I was back then. I barely knew anything about myself then.”

“The idea of you was cooler,” Malfoy said primly, shrugging at Harry’s gaping mouth. “You’re far more boring than the Prophet makes you seem to be. Weasley seems more interesting than you.”

“Ron seems more interesting than me?” Harry sat up straighter, pushing Malfoy by the shoulder. Harry didn’t mind it, though. Being called boring. Not really. Boring felt safe. “You arsehole, I just told you I died and saw Dumbledore’s ghost and you call me uncool.”

“Seeing ghosts is so 1800s,” Malfoy yawned, fanning his palm over his mouth. “Get a new hobby, Potter.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” Harry laughed again.

The day of the game, Harry and his team woke up early. Hermione and a few other Eighth year girls had apparently transfigured them a brand new set of special quidditch robes. It took Hermione and the girls half of the night to get the stitching spells right. Instead of saying their houses on the back, it was the names that the team leaders chose. For Ron’s team it was The Mischief Makers. Stephen chose a more fitting one to his house over all, calling themselves The Enchanted Eagles. It seemed that no one else was having any disagreements, so it went by fine.

Ron’s team’s theme colour was teal and navy. Stephen’s team had dark purple with bronze. 

They at least still had their own names on the back of the robes, so Harry is glad of that. Him and Ron were the first one down by the Great Hall with Hermione. She was making sure the two were eating well before the game, while also giving them great support. Ginny joined them along with Luna, telling them that they gathered a few other kids to watch the game as well. Most other students were doing their own thing. The Eighth year game was exclusive to them, it wasn’t a normal quidditch game, therefore they didn’t have Madam Hooch to watch over them. It was Ginny instead, with Luna doing commentary with Millicent Bulstrode.

On their way to the locker rooms, Harry passed by Parkinson with Malfoy. They were by the stands, standing to the side. Parkinson was smiling big, laughing at something Malfoy was saying. He was also wearing a smile. When they saw Harry and his team, they waved at each other. Harry followed Malfoy’s move all the way to the lockers. Ron saw it, but he didn’t say anything to him. Harry knew he was going to expect some sort of talk someday in the near weeks, but he was glad that it wasn’t today.

Harry and his team were in high spirits, cheering in on the sidelines as they waited for the other team to get there. Harry saw Ron talking to Ginny from the field, and a few moments later, the other team came strutting. Ginny blew the whistle, and everyone started getting ready. A few minutes to start, Harry saw everyone settle into the stands. He saw Hermione sitting nearby with Parkinson and the Greengrass sisters in the commentary box. Luna and Bulstrode were next to each other, Bulstrode holding notes that she’s prepared to take to count the goals. There were a few kids from other houses that started coming to watch as well, scattered around the stands. Then Ginny blew the whistle again.

The teams settled themselves into the air, in their positions. Harry saw Malfoy from across the pitch, giving him a snarky grin, to which the slytherin reciprocated with a lifted finger. Harry held in the urge to laugh. Ron walked up to Stephen, and the two shared a handshake. Then they got onto their brooms and into their positions. Ginny raised the whistle, and...

Phweeee!

They set off.

“And, here we are!” Luna’s voice boomed. “Welcome to the Eighth Year unofficial Quidditch Game! The Mischief Makers against The Enchanted Eagles! We have Chaser Patil taking the Quaffle and passing it to Finnigan.” Luna’s voice echoed through the enchanted megaphone, charmed to carry across the pitch. Harry thinks her commentary has gotten better. The bludger veered toward Harry with vicious intent, but Anthony intercepted it mid-flight. Harry gave his thanks, and Anthony smiled wide.

“Finnigan passed the Quaffle back to Patil, then back to Finnigan—is this a game of hot potato?” Bulstrode chimed in, scratching something down in her notepad as Dean quickly took the pass from Seamus and threw it into one of the hoops. 

“And—Oh! Good catch, Entwhistle!” Bulstrode cheered. “The Quaffle has passed along to Chaser Brown, now.” Harry kept his eyes on the teams, feeling nostalgic and utterly happy to be involved in another game, finally. He looked around, trying to find—there he was.

Malfoy was floating on the other side of the pitch, looking around carefully. “Chaser Hopkins gives a brilliant pass to Davis, they fly right past Patil and Thomas! They aim, they shoot—”

“Good catch, Keeper Weasley. The game goes on, Zero-To-Zero. Who’s gonna make the first point, c’mon, guys.” Bulstrode kept the tension up, and Harry shared a glance to Ron, who was smiling big towards him. Harry gave a thumbs up, feeling youthful and full for the first time in months.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” a voice drawled behind him and Harry twirled around. “Even though you’re not really doing much.” Malfoy sniffed at the cold bite in the air. His face was already a little pink from the cold. Harry shrugged.

“I’m happy when my friends are,” he said, flying next to him but also keeping his eyes pierced. The golden snitch always seems to appear whenever Harry’s distracted by Malfoy, he’s caught on. Scattered cheers echoed from the stands, a mix of house colours and curious onlookers. It wasn’t a full stadium, but it felt like it.

Malfoy didn’t say anything for a while, also staring at his own team as they went back and forth. After a while, Malfoy’s team finally made the first goal, earning ten points.

“I can’t tell if our teams are just bloody good,” Harry started saying, watching as Padma went ahead to shoot the Quaffle, but Entwhistle caught it again. “Or if we’re just really bad.”

“The latter, probably,” Malfoy said, and Harry laughed. Malfoy grinned as well. “You’re gonna lose anyway.”

“You sure about that?” Harry raised one brow, and Malfoy kept his smirk.

“Very much so.” He flew away then, and Harry watched him for a minute. He doesn’t know why it feels like it, but Harry has this urge to follow after him. He doesn’t, of course. Maybe a force of habit. Harry stayed where he flew in place. 

“Thomas aims, he shoots, and—he scores! Twenty-To-Ten.” Bulstrode commented, and Harry looked around. The game went on as such. Harry flew by Malfoy, sure to annoy him at first, but in the end, they just distracted themselves from the game. Ron had to yell at Harry to get his head in the game three times. In the first half hour of the game, Harry’s team scored thirty points. They were in a tie with the other team so far. Harry hasn’t caught sight of the snitch yet, and it seems like neither did Malfoy.

“Harry, find the bloody snitch!” He heard Ginny yell from the bottom, and he gave her a thumbs down, just to annoy her. Harry tilted his broom higher, feigning focus while sneaking another glance at Malfoy. The chill bit through their enchanted robes, which were warm but not impervious.

“Keeper Entwhistle on the team The Enchanted Eagles keeps another score from Chaser Patil,” Luna’s voice boomed. “Oh, what a shame—Oh!Chaser Dean Thomas comes to the rescue, taking the pass from Wayne Hopkins that was meant for Lavender Brown and he shoots—Score! It’s Forty-To-Thirty!” She cheered, and so did the stadiums.

Harry looked around, seeing Dean high-five Seamus as they passed each other by. “Can we take a look at the Seekers? Are they even doing their jobs properly? Where is the Snitch, Malfoy, I have a bet on the line!” Bulstrode cackled, and Luna’s giggling was also heard on the enchanted megaphone.

“That wench,” Malfoy’s voice sounded close again, and when Harry turned, he was there. His grin came unexpectedly. Malfoy was wearing a scowl, pink in his cheeks and nose from the cold weather.

“So no snitch in sight yet?” Harry asked with a hum. Malfoy gave a deadpanned look.

“Even if I saw it, I wouldn’t tell you–” Malfoy stopped abruptly talking, looking over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned around quickly, and heard the cackle of Malfoy ringing in his ear. “You are so gullible, oh Salazar.”

Harry slowly turned back around, giving Malfoy a light shove and telling him to keep it down. 

“It seems the seekers are too busy chatting it up, like always, instead of looking for the snitch,” Bulstrode said with a heavy sigh. “Oh, and Keeper Weasley managed to stop a Quaffle again. Yay.” Her voice wasn’t any bit joyous. Harry laughed loudly, and Malfoy did as well.

“But here comes Chaser Patil, passing perfectly to Finnigan and Thomas, and the three do a looping tactic,” Luna said excitedly, the crowd started cheering louder. Seamus scored again, and the points rang out as Fifty-To-Thirty. “Perfect execution! Go The Mischief Makers!”

“I think we need to take our roles seriously now,” Harry said, scratching his chin in thought. Malfoy rolled his eyes, his smile contagious as he flew away from Harry once again.

The game went on for some time after that. Harry’s team managed to score thirty points more. Malfoy’s team had scored forty more. The snitch still remained unseen. At some point Harry had believed Malfoy caught sight of it, but it seemed as a false alarm. He wasn’t trying to goad Harry into flying after him, smiling wickedly back at him with his tongue out as provocation. 

Then Harry did see the gold flint. He immediately went after it, not to miss his shot. He flew as high as the bloody snitch went, then dived back down as the snitch did. He felt Malfoy’s presence behind him, the rushing of wind the only thing in his ears besides the booming voice of the commentators.

“Harry Potter has spotted the Golden Snitch!” Luna cheered.

“Draco Malfoy is right behind him, gearing up for an old times’ sake. Get it, Draco!” Bulstrode loudly, and then cleared her throat to add, “No offense, Potter, my inheritance hangs on the line.”

The crowd seemed to laugh and cheer at the same time. Malfoy was right beside him as they dived down, then around. The snitch was as flighty as ever, going over Harry’s head twice in which he had to do an abrupt looping that he was sure he was going to feel in his back come morning. Malfoy followed with ease, as if he hadn’t known anything better, instantly gaining on Harry. The snitch zigzagged like a rogue pixie, unpredictable and fast. Harry made the dumb mistake to look at him, and Malfoy grinned wide at him from the corner of his eyes. He flew higher, and Harry almost got a bludger to his face again. Malfoy was still on the golden snitch’s trail, Harry momentarily dazed. He shook his head, heading up again and following.

Neck and neck, it was again. Harry felt the adrenaline in his chest, his ever-present grin that would refuse to leave. He felt the wind whip past him, faster than any broom chase he’d had since Hogwarts.

Malfoy was the same. He felt it.

“Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are closing in on the Golden Snitch once more!”

“The ultimate showdown, c’mon, Draco!” Bulstrode cheered.

“You can do it, Harry!” Luna clapped her palms together. Way to go for the commentators to stay neutral. Well, this isn’t an official game, anyway. Harry and Malfoy both had their arms reached out, the wings fluttering on their fingertips. He leaned hard into the dive, his broom responding like an extension of his body. One more reach, just a little...

“Harry Potter has caught the Golden Snitch! The Mischief Makers have won and ended the game!” Luna cheered, the crowds in the stands did as well. “Good job, Draco, you were amazing.” Luna added cheerfully. Harry felt the small ball in his hands, looking around for Malfoy. He was a few feet in the air below him, staring up at Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry flew close to him, a stupid grin on his face. Then, he pushed the snitch into Malfoy’s hands.

“You can win it against me in the next game, Malfoy,” he said, and the neutral expression on Malfoy’s face split into a grin.

“You’re such an arse,” he chuckled, flying down with Harry to the pitch. Harry’s team crowded him, crushing him into a group hug. Ron gave a loud, proud speech about his team, and they all cheered.

“So,” Stephen stepped forward, shaking Ron’s hand. “That was fun. We need to convince McGonagall to do it again.”

“Oh, definitely,” Ron agreed, throwing his arm over Stephen’s shoulder. “Let’s all get dressed and head to Hogsmeade for a round of Butterbeer!” The two teams cheered. “The first rounds are on us, the winners, ‘cus we’re humble and kind.”

“Oh, screw off, Ron!” Seamus laughed, jumping onto Dean’s back and piggyback-riding all the way to the locker rooms.

Harry looked around, searching for Malfoy. He disappeared, apparently. He couldn’t seem to find him. Before Harry could think about finding him, Goyle had bumped into him.

“Oh, sorry, Potter.” He muttered, eyes fixed on the ground. Harry stiffened, before he forced himself to relax.

“All good,” he said quietly, and then looked around again. “Do you know where Malfoy went?” Harry asked, remembering they were supposed to be close. Goyle looked around, and then pointed at the stands. Harry followed his line, and saw Malfoy talking to Astoria while he was still on his broom. The girl was beaming up at him, and they were laughing.

“Oh,” is all that Harry could muster out. “Already catching the eyes of girls, huh?” He joked, giving a slight grimace when Goyle didn’t reciprocate a smile.

“No, it isn’t like that,” he explained then to Harry. “Astoria and Draco were arranged to marry. But they broke it off. Draco didn’t want that. They are just friends.”

“Oh,” Harry felt very eloquent today with his word choice. “Well. That’s interesting.” Goyle didn’t say anything to that, his brows raised as he watched Harry. They didn’t talk after that. Thank god, ‘cus this was the most awkward conversation he yet had with a Slytherin.

Harry got dressed and went ahead with his team to Hogsmeade while the others took turns to shower. Hermione, and a few from the stands, joined them. Ginny gave a rough shove to Harry, complaining about how he had taken his sweet time to find and capture the snitch. Luna had asked what the team thought of her commentary, and they all agreed that they had fun, going on about everything that happened in the game.

Hogsmeade was cold, but thankfully there wasn’t any snow yet to give anyone frostbite. Harry just wore a jumper with a shirt underneath and his joggers. He hesitated to join his team in Three Broomsticks, saying he’s going for a smoke break and taking a walk up and down the street before joining them. Hermione gave a wary expression, a clear scold on the tip of her tongue. But Ron stopped her with a hand over hers, whispering in her ear.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” is all Hermione warned before going in with the others. Harry grabbed out his lighter and the pack of cigarettes. He walked some part up and down the street, finding himself near the shrieking shack. He found he didn’t care, taking a seat at a broken stump and dragging the smoke from the cigarette out of his mouth. The cold made the smoke curl tighter around him, like a cloak he didn’t ask for. He didn’t cough anymore. That phase had passed.

The wind howled faintly through the broken boards of the Shack, like it remembered the screams. Remus’s screams. Harry shifted himself, the cold breeze only giving him a slight refreshment.

It wasn’t long until he heard a branch behind him snap. Harry turned around quickly, wand instinctively in his hands raised and ready.

Malfoy’s form came walking slowly up to him, and Harry quickly put the wand back in his pocket. He sighed, seeing Malfoy come by closer. “There you are,” he said, as if he had been looking for Harry. Had he been looking for him? Why? “You weren’t in Three Broomsticks, so I took the liberty to pretend I was a poor orphan loser and followed the stench of smoke.”

“Har, har,” Harry said deadpanned, but a smile graced his lips and Malfoy sat next to him. He was wearing muggle trousers and a jumper. He gestured for the cigarette, and Harry passed it over. “You went looking for me, I feel so honoured.” He teased, and he wasn’t sure if Malfoy was already pink enough, or if he got slightly more pink in the cheeks.

“I wasn’t looking for you.” He grumbled. Harry just smiled, knocking their shoulders together.

Harry’s eyes then focused on the shrieking shack.

“You knew Professor Lupin well, right?” Malfoy’s voice was low, wary. Harry turned to him and nodded. “Were the rumours true? That he was a werewolf?”

“Yes,” Harry hummed, though he knew Malfoy could’ve found out by just reading the Prophet, as it had addressed all victims of the war, including Tonks and Remus.

“I didn’t believe that at first,” Malfoy muttered. “But I suppose we had stranger DADA Professors.”

Harry chuckled at that. “Yeah, like Professor Quirrel who literally had Voldemort on the back of his head.” He snorted. Malfoy’s head whipped to him, his eyes wide. Harry laughed out loud then. “Oh, you didn’t know that?”

“Was I supposed to?” Malfoy said, clear shock in his voice. Harry laughed hard, grabbing the cigarette out of Malfoy’s hands. “That’s–oh that’s weird as fuck.” Malfoy shuddered, and Harry couldn’t stop laughing.

“Yeah, it was,” he chuckled, Malfoy’s eyes narrowed on Harry. “Any other rumours you want me to address?”

“Did you really blind Salazar’s Basilisk?” Harry expected this question a lot sooner, actually. He nodded slowly, and watched Malfoy’s mouth drop open. “You have to be joking.”

“Nope,” Harry exhaled sharply, handing the cigarette back as smoke curled from his lips. Malfoy was just staring at him. “Pretty sure the corpse was still there until the war was over. Hermione and Ron went back to destroy a horcrux there. I think I could still enter it, the chamber of secrets,” he talked calmly, but Malfoy’s expression read anything but calm. “But there’s a chance it’s in ruins, and it could collapse as soon as I step foot in it.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Malfoy groaned, palming his face and grunting. Harry laughed. “Yesterday you told me you’re just an average guy that had the bad end of the stick. You’re such a fucking liar.”

“I wasn’t lying!” Harry grumbled, flicking the cigarette’s ash off and taking another quick puff. “I just... had unique situations thrust upon me.”

“Oh, thrust upon you, has it?” Malfoy scowled, shoving Harry lightly by the shoulder. Harry laughed. “Are you going to tell me the rumour that you were responsible for Sirius Black’s escape, too?”

“The first time, no,” Harry said simply, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “But the second, yes. When he was in the castle, very much so.” Malfoy dropped the cigarette and stomped on it, looking at Harry with a wide range of emotions. Harry didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. It all sounded ridiculous when said out loud.

“I’m going to go down a couple of rumours and you have to tell me which are true.” He said with an even glare, and Harry nodded.

“Go for it,” he smirked, ready to hear what he has in store.

“You killed Professor Quirrel,” Harry winced, then nodded. Malfoy’s mouth fell open again. “You talked to Voldemort through a diary,” Harry nodded, and Malfoy shook his head in disbelief.

“Technically it was his younger self, a horcrux, so it wasn’t really him—”

“Shut up, I’m not done,” Malfoy grumbled and Harry mimicked zipping his lips shut. He breathed heavily and then closed his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “You are responsible for the hippogriff’s escape,”

“Yeah, Sirius had taken Buckbeak,” Harry said calmly. He saw a vein in Malfoy’s head ready to burst. He kept the laugh inside his chest and waited.

“You joined a secret order of Dumbledore’s,” his eyes bore into Harry’s. Harry nodded. “Wait, when you said you fought Voldemort in a graveyard, in fifth year, that also happened?”

“Yes,” Harry said with no room to argue. “Of course.”

“So my father was there?” He said quietly, voice a whisper. Harry breathed sharply in and nodded. Malfoy’s frown deepened. “And the bastard tried to lie to me. Said you were just throwing accusations because you could. Because you’re the Golden Boy of the Wizarding World.”

“And you believed him?” Harry gave a dry laugh, Malfoy’s expression was thunderous.

“He is my father,” he said simply. “I had no one else to believe. He said he was doing it for me and my mother’s sake.” He muttered, dragging a hand through his hair again. Harry didn’t blame him. Not really. It was easier to believe the people who said they loved you.

He didn’t say anything for a while, and let Malfoy collect his thoughts. Then, after a moment, he spoke again. “You dated Cho Chang?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Harry grumbled, looking down at his palms. “But it didn’t really... work. She wasn’t over Cedric.” He shrugged, and Malfoy stayed quietly.

“And Weaslette–I mean, Ginerva?” The quick correction of his slip up made Harry grin, and he nodded slowly.

“Only for a bit. It wasn’t anything about her, really,” Harry explained slowly in a sigh. “I don’t think I was in the right headspace to be a good boyfriend. Having Voldemort’s memories mush in with mine, often making me feel like a psychopath. Wasn’t a good deal for a relationship.”

Malfoy nodded solemnly, and then asked, “So you did have Voldemort inside your head? That’s another rumour I can cross off?”

“Yep,” Harry nodded. “And he wasn’t in my head, I went into his. I was, uhm,” he hesitated now, looking deeply into Malfoy’s silver irises. He paused, then said quietly, “I was one of the horcruxes.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened—more than Harry had ever seen. He didn’t speak. “When he was trying to kill me, back when I was a baby. The only reason it didn’t work was because of my mother’s love. It was ancient magic—impulsive magic. It created a protection Voldemort couldn’t break, and it bounced off, hitting him instead. In the moment, he made me into another horcrux. I was meant to die one way or another, if I didn’t, then he would’ve still been alive,” a beat, and then Harry added, “It was never just survival. It was a sacrifice.”

There were so many questions swimming in Malfoy’s eyes, but he seemed to only ask one. “How... did it feel. To come back alive, without having him a part of your soul?”

Harry sighed, then laughed. “So fucking good,” he muttered. “Like. I finally tore off the blanket that was suffocating me. I didn’t have the same anger he had, it didn’t linger in the back of my mind like a vile potion I swallowed down anymore.”

Malfoy took that as it was and kept quiet for the next couple of minutes. His eyes were focused on the shrieking shack. The howling of the wind and the rustling of tree leaves were the only thing giving Harry comfort at the moment.

“You’re fucking insane, Potter,” Malfoy then said, almost in exasperation. And Harry could only laugh.

“Don’t think of me as boring anymore, do you?” He joked, knocking his shoulder against his. Malfoy didn’t react, but Harry saw the small smile on his lips. He didn’t need an answer. That smile was enough.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron said when he walked into the common room, taking the free space next to Harry and sitting down, arm thrown over to the backpillows.

“Hey, Ron,” Harry said back, flicking his eyes to the book Malfoy had recommended to him. He wasn’t getting anywhere with it. He usually doesn’t hate reading, but it’s the fact that Malfoy recommended it to him that made it slightly impossible. He decided to read it in the dormitory. He closed it and put it on the table in front of him.

“So Seamus is still raging about the Halloween Party.” Ron started, tilting his head with that pleading look Harry knew too well.

“It’s, like, four weeks from now,” Harry argued and Ron shrugged.

“He likes to be early,” Ron laughed. Harry furrowed his brows.

“Or he just wants to start getting drunk,” he muttered and Ron shrugged to that again.

“Probably,” he said simply and then cleared his throat. “But we’re having a get-together in the Room of Requirement. He wants to test if we can summon drinks from there, or if we have to beg house-elves for them.”

Harry snorted, looking at the dried fireplace. “That’s definitely not going to end up a disaster,”

Ron grinned wide and wiggled his brows. “Right?” He laughed. “So you’ll come?” He then asked to be reassured. Harry nodded. 

“‘Course,” he said. “I’ve got nothing better to miss.” Like he was going to cancel on hanging out with his friends. That’s why they all decided to come back for Eighth year after all. To be with each other. 

“Sweet,” Ron clapped Harry’s back and got up. His eyes fell to the staircase behind the sofa. “Oh, ‘sup, Malfoy?” Harry looked back and saw Malfoy standing there with Parkinson coming down. “Parkinson. We’re having an Eighth year get-together in the Room of Requirement. Wanna come?”

Malfoy and Parkinson shared a glance, a silent conversation happening between them. Ron shared a glance with Harry, who shrugged in his quizzical expression.

“Sure, Weasley,” Parkinson then said loudly, hand tightening around Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy’s lips were drawn in a tight line. Harry raised a brow. Malfoy just shook his head, eyes briefly closed. “We’ll be there.”

“Cool!” Ron said, clapping Harry one more time before hurrying up the dormitories past the two slytherins.

Parkinson opened her mouth to say something, but Malfoy already walked past her and replaced Ron’s spot on the sofa next to Harry. “A get-together?” He asked Harry instead. Harry watched Parkinson’s brow furrow before she, too, sat on the sofa next to Harry.

“An excuse to test out if we can summon alcohol in there or not,” he shrugged. “Seamus is trying to make this year the year for himself.”

Malfoy snorted, folding his arms across his chest. Parkinson watched Harry and him with wary eyes. “Can he do that?”

“No idea,” Harry laughed. “It will be fun to test out, though. And, either way,” Harry sat upright with a sigh. “It’s not like we’d get into disastrous trouble. We’re all legal adults, McGonagall would probably just give us detention for a while.”

“I’ve never gotten detention,” Malfoy said primly, and Harry opened his mouth to say something. “Undeserved! Don’t mention that time.”

“Undeserved?” Harry laughed, and Parkinson joined him.

“You mean sneaking out at night to spy on the Golden Fiascos was undeserved detention?” Parkinson muttered, cooing slightly at Malfoy’s pink cheeks.

“Yeah, well, since then I hadn’t gotten detention in the slightest, so,” he raised his nose in the air, making Harry groan and kick him lightly in the ankles.

“If the party busts, we can just skip on it and head to the Astronomy tower again.” Harry offered and Malfoy made a motion to think about it. Parkinson’s brows shot up.

“Wait, we?” She asked, incredulous. She turned to Malfoy, hazel eyes digging into him. Malfoy shrugged.

“Yes, me and Potter, you heard that right,” he sniffed the air, haughty as ever. Harry snorted.

Parkinson seemed in disbelief, looking at Harry, then at Malfoy, then back at Harry. “This is some joke, right?”

“Why?” Harry asked with a shrug, glancing around the common room. It was pretty empty for a Sunday afternoon. “It’s not like we’re still at war, are we?”

“No,” Malfoy answered for him then looked at Parkinson. “Are we, Pansy?”

Parkinson stayed quiet, face scrunched in confusion and her lips in a tight line. “Okay, you two are weird. I’m going to bother Blaise and Greg.” She stood up with a shrug, walking up the staircase. Harry heard her mumble something like “after years, they decide to be friends now?” before she fully disappeared up the dormitories. 

Harry looked over at Malfoy and raised one brow. Malfoy shrugged. “How come no one knows we’re on good terms now? I thought you said you told a few,”

“I told Astoria and Greg,” Malfoy said simply, as if that’s all the people he thought were important to tell. Harry could only shake his head with a ridiculous grin.

“I feel like good terms were pushing lightly,” Harry then added, and Malfoy’s brows furrowed. “What are we doing here, Malfoy? Are we friends?”

“Are you asking me on a date or...” he trailed off, and Harry burst out laughing. “Because I would assume we’re on the ground foundation of becoming friends, but if you are into the other latter, well, then,” Malfoy made a gesture of getting up and leaving, but Harry stopped him by the arm.

“Friends, we’re friends, got it,” Harry said, still catching his breath. It felt good to say it out loud. Even if it wasn’t the whole truth.  “Stop being so posh and stay. You idiot,”

“You’re the idiot,” Malfoy scowled.

“Agree to disagree,” Harry hummed, and rummaged into his pockets for his lighter. Malfoy rolled his eyes, snatching it away.

“Not here, you oaf.” He said, fidgeting with the lighter in his hands and kicking his feet up at the table.

“Oh, sorry, Prince Draco,” Harry scoffed, kicking his own feet up to land in Malfoy’s lap. “Didn’t know there were certain rules I had to follow in your presence.”

“You’re quite the arse, d’you know that?” Malfoy argued and pushed Harry’s legs off of him. “And don’t call me that, that’s so weird.” He muttered, looking away and flicking with the lighter.

“Careful, don’t burn yourself there, love,” Harry teased, taking the lighter out of his hands and placing it back into his pocket. Malfoy scowled, though the pink in his ears spread quickly.

“Har, har,” he mocked a dry laugh. His eyes then found the book on the table, and he sat upright again, taking it to hand. “How are you finding it?”

Harry hissed through his teeth. “I, uh, barely started.” He said, folding his arms tightly under his chest, and watching Malfoy’s unreadable face. He blinked once, and twice.

“Oh, so you are illiterate, that explains so much–”

“Shut the fuck up, no I’m not,” Harry laughed, trying to swat Malfoy’s stupid grin away, trying to take the book out of his hands.

“If you needed me to read out to you, dear, you could’ve just asked so,” Malfoy cooed, as one would to a small child, kicking Harry back as they fought over the book. Malfoy flipped open the first pages. “Here we are, the first chapter. The great sparrow flew across my head as the rushing lake washed over the blood on my knees—”

“You don’t have to read out loud, oh my god, stop that!” Harry laughed, he scrambled upright. He landed on Malfoy’s chest, grabbing for the book, but Malfoy’s grip didn’t let it go. Then Harry’s glasses fell, and they landed on Malfoy’s face.

“Ow, you little fucker!” He yelled, the book dropping onto the ground as he kicked Harry’s glasses away, and then—

Harry realised he was on top of Malfoy, face inches away from his, and they were breathing heavily from the rough-housing. Oh.

Malfoy’s face turned pink again, up to his ears. Their breath mingled in the space between them, warm and uneven. And then Malfoy kicked his leg beneath Harry, pushing him off the sofa. Harry landed on his back with a solid thunk, and he groaned. Malfoy sat upright, and then burst into laughter.

Harry felt something sharp on his back, and when he sat up, he knew what it was. “My glasses!” He bemoaned, and Malfoy was still laughing. He turned to the broken frame, pieces of glass on the floor. He glared at Malfoy, as best as he could without his glasses, and Malfoy kept laughing. And laughing.

The sound was something so boisterous it had Harry laughing soon as well.

“Let me, oh,” Malfoy breathed slowly and crawled to the floor to pick the pieces of Harry’s glasses. “I’ll fix it, wait, sorry,” he said, but Harry knew he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. He was grinning from ear to ear. As Malfoy whispered multiple reparo’s to fix the glasses, Harry thought he didn’t mind it too much, so long he could hear more of that contagious laugh. 

Harry arrived at the Room of Requirement a little later than the others. Mainly because he got pretty carried away with actually reading Malfoy’s recommended book. After Malfoy got dragged away by Parkinson and Astoria, Harry had picked up the book and read it in the dormitory with his curtains drawn on his bed. Harry actually really liked the book. It was about an orphan wizard getting taken in by a family, and he joined their business. The boy also fell in love with a princess—a princess he rescued from a fire.

Harry didn’t let the thought linger too much in his brain, or else he would start sprouting some bullshite.

When he stepped foot into the room, he was greeted by a lively get-together. It was most Eighth years, yes, but Astoria was there with Ginny and Luna, who are all a year younger than the rest. Astoria was with her sister, Daphne, and with someone Harry was pretty sure was Theodore Nott. The three were sitting by plush pillows on the ground and a blanket, cups in their hands. Ginny and Luna were in the middle of the room, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Hannah Abbott sharing company on the sofas. The room apparently gave them an Inn-feeling. It was all wood from the floor to the ceiling. There were windows, but the maroon curtains were drawn, and there were still pictures instead of live ones. Huh. The wood-paneled walls gave off a faint scent of cinnamon and smoke. There was a stand full of what Harry assumed to be drinks, but before he could walk to his friends, he was ambushed by Seamus who put an arm over his shoulder.

“Hazza! Finally!” He cheered, and the room turned to face him. “You’ll never believe it!”

Harry could already tell where this was going, sporting himself a dorky grin as Seamus led him to the drink stand. Dean was there with a few of the Ravenclaws, Stephen and Anthony, and they shared a grin with him. “Let me guess,” he started with a sigh, grabbing one of the filled cups from the stand. “The room gave you alcohol?”

“Yeah!” Seamus cheered, and jumped around, to which Dean told him to quiet down. 

Harry laughed, taking a small sip and—

Sweet Merlin and Morgana, it was strong.

“Watch your tongue,” Parkinson chimed from his left, making Harry jump slightly. “I’m believing Finnigan spiced these brews some more, which was unnecessary. One full cup of this and you’re gone.” She grumbled, and pointed to a corner of the room where a couple other slytherins sat. Goyle seemed out of it, sleeping on Milicent Bulstrode’s lap. Harry’s eyes scanned the room, but before he could say anything, Parkinson chuckled. “Draco’s not here. He was here for a few minutes, but he left. He’ll be back, probably.” She said and patted Harry’s arm, taking another cup and walking over to Daphne, Astoria and Nott.

Harry tried not to let his eyes linger at the door, to wait for Malfoy like a crup. He walked over to his friends, who all cheered upon seeing him.

“Harry!” Ron yelled the loudest, and Harry winced slightly. “Come sit, come!” Neville scooted over to make room for Harry, and he gratefully took the open spot.

“One cup only,” Hermione said sternly. “Seamus spiked the alcohol even more than it should be possible. It’ll leave you drunk ‘til next morning.”

“How fun,” Harry said with a wiggle of his brows. Hermione’s scowl was disapproving. “So, what’s up?” He directed the conversation elsewhere, not particularly enjoying Hermione’s anger being passed to him.

“We were just discussing who should be in charge of playing music here,” Ginny offered, casting a side glance at Ron. “And no one wants Ron in charge.”

“Why the bloody hell not?” He bemoaned, growling at his sister. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. “I have good taste, Harry, tell them I have good taste!”

Harry shook his head slowly, and Ron tried to throw a sock at him. He dodged it with a grin.

“I want to be in charge,” Ginny announced proudly. “Me and Luna spent the summer in muggle London, and we asked a few kids what kind of music they listen to at parties. I would know better than Ron.”

“Go for it,” Harry was throwing his support, and Ron threw his hands up in the air.

“The betrayal!” He screamed. “First you had to go off and date her, and now you side with her on this, too?!” He sounded a bit delirious. He probably already had one cup, from Hermione’s exasperated look. It felt good to laugh. Even if part of him was still watching the door.

Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother and got up, holding a hand out for Luna to take it. The two girls walked away, heading to Dean, who was now messing about with a wireless. “Betrayal,” Ron hissed quietly, Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, shut it, Ron,” Neville said playfully, his arm over Hannah’s as they spooned closer. “You’re ruining everyone’s mood.”

“No, I’m not,” he grumbled, glaring at Neville. “You shut up.”

“Easy there, lion,” Hermione sighed, flicking her fringe out of her eyes and staring at Harry. “Have you seen Malfoy?”

Harry shook his head. “Why do you think I know where he is?”

Hermione pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side as if to say oh, you know... Harry felt his cheeks turn slightly red, he coughed and looked away. “Oh, yeah, what’s up with that?” Ron butted in, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “You’re, like... all buddy-buddy with him.”

Harry shrugged, suddenly aware of every gaze on him. Neville had his own brows raised, looking back at Hermione a few times, like those two understood each other. “Nothing,” Harry said simply, shrugging once again. “I don’t know what you guys are insinuating.”

Hermione tapped her finger against her chin and made a humming noise. Harry looked away, sipping his cup.

“What, you fancy him, or somethin’?” Ron spluttered, head tilted back, not even facing Harry. Harry’s laugh felt too loud, too quick. He didn’t know what answer they were looking for. Hermione looked at her boyfriend, then at Harry, then back at Ron.

“No, that’s a good question,” she said, to Harry’s utter shock. He coughed the next sip in his throat. Neville patted his back solemnly. “Harry, do you fancy Malfoy?”

“W–What the fuck?” Harry choked, coughing hard as his eyes prickled. He stared at his two supposed best friends. The enchanted lights overhead dimmed slightly, casting warm shadows across the room. Ron had his eyes narrowed, and Hermione had that scrutinising look. “No! No, I don’t!”

They were quiet for a moment. All the conversation around them went on, but this little group stayed silent. The wireless crackled faintly in the background, Luna’s voice drifting through laughter. Then, Ron pointed an accusatory finger at Harry.

“You do fancy him,” he said assuredly. “Which would make sense. He’s a slimy git. But also handsome.” Hermione chuckled behind her palm and Harry’s mouth dropped open. Nevile and Hannah also laughed.

“He’s not even that much of an arsehole anymore, Ron,” Neville said and looked at Harry reassuringly. “If it wasn’t obvious, we don’t care if you do fancy Malfoy.”

“But I don’t!” Harry argued, brows furrowed. “Why would I? Honestly, are you guys–listen to yourselves!” Ron and Hermione looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Mate,” Ron started.

“Harry, we love you,” Hermione continued.

“We’ll always be your family,” Ron muttered and waved a hand in the air. “No matter who... who you like to kiss and–and grope, or smoke with, or whatever you do with Malfoy–”

“I don’t do any of that!” Harry stood up, face most definitely red. “Well, except for the smoking, but I don’t do the rest! We’re just friends!” But even as he said it, the words felt too rehearsed.

Hermione and Ron shared a look.

“Is this you lying to us or lying to yourself?” Hermione said slowly, and Harry let out a dry laugh.

“I’m not–”

“Harry,” Ron cut in, giving him a very unreadable look. Hermione’s eyes shifted to gentleness. Then something in him deflated, and he sat back down, next to Neville.

“Fuck, yeah, okay,” he said under his breath. “I might. Fancy him. Shit. You guys are, like, insane at that.”

Ron laughed loudly, and Hermione smiled softly. “We’re your best friends, Harry, you can’t hide anything from us.”

“Yeah, I’ve realised,” he scratched the back of his neck, staring down at his feet and his cup in his hands. Neville patted his back.

“As far as we are all aware,” Neville started and hummed. “We all don’t really care. We’ve seen Malfoy change. He’s... something, for sure.” He trailed off, and that had Harry laughing again. He looked around at his friends, each of them smiling at him with quiet warmth.

“Don’t go snogging him in front of me, though, please,” Ron groaned, running his hands down his face. “I can’t handle Seamus and Dean’s totally secret thing, I won’t be able to handle your and Malfoy’s.”

“What?!” Seamus yelled over Ron’s shoulder, face red as a tomato. Ron turned, and Hermione visibly fought back a laugh. “How did you find out!? Dean, they found us out!” Seamus yelled across the room, and Dean, who was with Luna and Ginny at the wireless, yelled back.

“What?”

“They found out we’re shagging!”

“Oh. We were hiding it?” The room erupted into laughter. It felt good to laugh. Like something had unclenched inside him. He looked at his cup and drank. He set the cup down at the coffee table, finally empty. He hadn’t realised how tightly he’d been holding it.

A few minutes later, Ginny and Luna had navigated the wireless to turn to muggle frequencies and play a few of their popular songs. It had a lot of muggleborns and half-bloods dancing, while a few purebloods were skeptical at first, but joined the dancing crowd as well.

Harry stayed seated on the sofa, watching as most of his friends were letting their nerves die down. If this was their idea of a get-together, Harry could get used to it.

He held the lighter in his pocket in comfort, humming slightly to himself. He hadn’t registered that someone had taken Neville’s previous spot until he felt the tap on his shoulder.

It was Pansy Parkinson, again. She smiled at Harry, a little too bright. Maybe she had a few too many of the drinks as well. Her lips were pretty glossy, hair put in a high ponytail, unlike how it was down an hour ago. She leaned her arm on the sofa, giving Harry an unreadable expression before she leaned in closer, Harry could smell her strong perfume. “You haven’t seen Draco around, have you?”

Harry shook his head, to which Parkinson deflated and sighed, settling herself on the sofa. She pulled her legs up, sitting underneath them and leaning close to Harry. “That bastard said he’ll be back. I don’t know where he is.” She sighed, again, and looked at Harry, almost hesitating to ask, but Harry knew what she wanted from him.

“I’ll go look for him,” he said, already making up his mind. Parkinson sat upright, eyes wide.

“Really?” She reached out and grasped Harry’s arm.

“Yeah,” Harry assured her, getting up from the sofa. “Don’t worry about it.

Parkinson didn’t say anything for a moment, biting her bottom lip and looking at Harry with something akin to admiration. “Thank you,” she said slowly, and then, “Harry.”

“No problem,” Harry put his sweaty palms against his pants, trying to rub off the awkwardness in him. “Pansy.” He also added, which made the girl smile wide.

Harry quickly got out of the room, deciding to head to the dormitories first. Malfoy wasn’t there, nor in the common room. So, next best thing, he grabbed out the Marauder’s map and looked for his name. Harry didn’t even have to do a full search, because Malfoy was heading this way, to the Eighth Year Tower. The ink shimmered faintly as Malfoy’s name moved closer.

Harry shoved the map back inside, heading downstairs to the common room and—

“Ouf–” Malfoy bumped into him, Harry grabbed his arms, afraid he’d topple down the stairs.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, a bit more winded than expected. Did he run here? How strange, Harry doesn’t remember that. Malfoy shared a quizzical expression.

“Potter,” he said, just as breathless. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” Harry said, he saw pink tinge Malfoy’s cheeks. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in the room.”

“Of Requirement?” Malfoy finished for him, and Harry nodded. Then, he scoffed, shaking his head. “I couldn’t–uhm, I couldn’t stay. It... I didn’t feel well.”

“Oh,” Harry said intelligently. He saw Malfoy’s demeanor now, his shaky breath, the way he was gripping onto his arm— Oh. “Oh.” It just clicked into Harry’s head, and he rushed to say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot, I didn’t know if you felt safe back in there, I should’ve asked—”

“Potter, it’s fine,” Malfoy interrupted, a small, but not dashing, worthy smile on his lips. “I could’ve also said something, and I didn’t.” He said simply, and shrugged. Harry saw it now—the tension in his shoulders, the way his voice wavered. He fidgeted where he stood, then he grabbed out his lighter.

“Well,” he started. “You want to get out of here?” Malfoy smiled and nodded.

The two of them snuck out, it was a little past eleven. Usually, Filch would be patrolling the place, but in the area of the Eighth Year tower, he avoids. He doesn’t like dealing with legal adults, since he isn’t allowed to threaten them. They’re adults. They can decide when to go to bed, they just need to make sure not to be caught.

They snuck silently, Malfoy didn’t seem to be in the mood to share, so Harry let it simmer between them. He didn’t mind.

He rarely seemed to mind anything that involved Draco Malfoy lately.

Chapter Text

The Halloween Party was around the corner now. They’d had another game of Quidditch in the meantime. Harry won against Malfoy, again. They went out for Butterbeer afterwards. They sat next to each other. Harry was sure Malfoy also felt it, the touch of their hands accidentally touching under the table. Or, at least he pretended not to have felt it. Harry couldn’t.

At least he knew his friends were supportive of this... endeavor of his. Harry wanted to do something about these lingering feelings. But he didn’t know how. Worst of all, he had no clue how Malfoy felt about all of this. Sometimes, when they would get high together on the Astronomy Tower, Harry would imagine Malfoy reaching out to him. But then he’d pull away, so it would leave him confused. Was he just being friendly? Is he like this with all of his friends? Or is Harry different?

Harry was not good at reading signs. At least, not Draco Malfoy’s signs, if he was sending him signs at all. Every now and then, Harry kept testing the waters to see if Malfoy would back away from his flirting, but he doesn’t know if it’s even coming across as flirting to Malfoy. He hadn’t really had much experience in that area. Sure, he had tested out his sexuality over the summer before Hogwarts, doesn’t mean he tested out his flirting expertise. 

Sigh. He was quite pathetic, right?

Harry was on his bed, finishing the latest chapter from that book that Malfoy gave him. Ron was out on a date with Hermione, as those two should. Seamus and Dean were probably doing something careless, as they always are. Neville is probably teaching Hannah something new and extraordinary about plants, as he always does. So Harry was left in the dormitory, decidedly alone. Malfoy went to Hogsmeade with his Slytherin friends, and this was the first time in months in which Harry had enough private, alone time to deserve himself a wank.

He did have a glorious wank, too. He imagined Malfoy watching him, that laughter ringing in his head, calling Harry by his name and giving that delicious smile of his. Yeah, Harry came like a virgin at that.

He’d just finished the chapter of the book when he thought about going for another round, feeling himself giddy with excitement. He was still young and fresh, after all. But before he could even palm himself through his joggers, the door to the dormitory jiggled open. He shifted onto his stomach, hiding the growing erection just as the door opened. And in walked the man that was just in Harry’s thoughts.

“Malfoy!” Harry said, a little too chirpy, he realised himself and winced. Malfoy’s eyes darted to him, one brow raised. After him came Goyle, Nott and Zabini, all who waved Harry hello. Harry cleared his throat, sitting up very slowly and turning to face the other direction. He didn’t know what to do if he kept staring at Malfoy’s face, unsure if the erection will flag down or get up, and up!

He busied himself with pretending to still read.

“Hey, Potter,” Zabini came over and leaned on the bedposts. “You want to come down and play a round of Wizard’s chess?” Harry had carefully begun to befriend more of the slytherins, often playing chess with them in the common room. But, as of right now, he didn’t see that as a good outcome. He shrugged loosely, playing it off as cool.

“Maybe a bit later.” He replied, trying to sound casual, watching Zabini’s reaction. Zabini was as perceptive as Hermione on a good day, and he watched Harry’s face carefully. Then he chuckled, one corner of his lips quaking a cheeky smile.

“Sure, Potter.” He hummed, grabbing Nott and Goyle as the three made their way downstairs. Only Malfoy and him remained in the room now, Harry noticed. Oh, Zabini you slick little shit—

“Are you enjoying the book?” Malfoy came over, asking Harry with folded arms. In his eyes danced mirth, and something akin to playfulness. Usually, Harry sniped back with the same amount of playfulness, but he felt like he really was testing his limits.

He hummed at Malfoy, looking back down at the book. “I’ve been thinking," he started slowly, carefully choosing his words. “Did you give me this book as a come-on?” He looked up at Malfoy, and watched the moment his face turned pink. Malfoy’s face scrunched up, and then he spluttered.

“What the fuck are you talking about,” he hissed, stepping away from Harry with his back turned. He heatedly walked over to his bed in the boys dormitory and muttered some more under his breath. “Forgive me for offering you a book I thought you might enjoy, you pompous fuck,” Malfoy’s hands were clenched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Harry blinked. That wasn’t a no. He held in the urge to laugh. “I’m joking,” he said, rolling his eyes at Malfoy’s dramatics. “The princess in this just reminds me a lot of you.” He hummed and watched how Malfoy sharply turned around, arms folded and ears pink.

“What?” He hissed and stalked over. Harry kept his laugh under control.

“You’ve read the book, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Harry said and stood up as well, placing the book on his desk. Malfoy was breathing hard now, glaring at Harry. “I’m obviously joking!” Harry added quickly, rolling his eyes. “Not like I would mind if you were coming onto me.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cus everyone just falls to your feet in love,” Malfoy grumbled and Harry shrugged.

“Yeah, but you aren’t,” Harry rubbed his chin, pretending to think. “But I’ve always been a bit dense when it comes to finding people like me. Hadn’t realised Ginny was in love with me until Sixth Year.”

“Is this a burn on yourself?” Malfoy then asked in a scoff, one brow raised. 

“We’ve lost the point,” Harry sighed dramatically, patting Malfoy’s shoulder. “What I was trying to say was,” he started slowly. “That I wouldn’t have minded if you were coming onto me, Princess.” He winked, and watched the blush on Malfoy’s face deepen.

“Oh, piss off, you fucking toad.” Malfoy grumbled, swatting Harry with his palm. Harry laughed, catching his wrist. Malfoy tried his other hand, which Harry also quickly caught. And then, the two were pushing against each other, until they toppled onto Harry’s bed, with Malfoy on top of Harry.

They looked at each other, heavy breathing, and then.

“If you’re a princess, and I’m a toad,” Harry hummed, and Malfoy seemed to catch on to what Harry was implying, jumping off of him.

“I don’t kiss toads.” He grumbled, folding his arms, turning away from Harry. But he saw it. The glimpse of a smile on Malfoy’s lips.

“But I could be a prince,” Harry hummed, and Malfoy let out a laugh. “A very beautiful prince, too. Such a shame. You’d never know, would you, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that, or I swear I’ll hex you,” Malfoy grumbled, and Harry mimicked zipping his lips shut.

“Sure, Princess.” A stinging jinx flew his way, and he barely missed it. Harry’s laughter probably echoed all the way to the common room—he was sure of it.

“Is this more of a formal Halloween party? I mean, do we have to dress up?” Pansy Parkinson asked one afternoon at lunch, strutting her way to the Gryffindor’s side of the Eighth year table and scooting herself between Harry and Seamus. She asked this question to more than one person, turning to the whole group. “Or is this a casual party? I like Halloween with the costumes.” She hummed, behind her trailing Malfoy and Nott. Malfoy sat next to Harry’s other side, Nott taking the place next to him. Harry gave Malfoy a cheeky grin. The slytherin didn’t reciprocate, but his ears turned pink again. Harry saw that as a win to himself.

“I am not gonna dress up,” mumbled Ron, mouth full with a sandwich. 

“Boohoo, Weasley, robbing us of all the fun.” Pansy deadpanned and grumbled. “What about the rest of you?”

“I’m not particularly hyped for the party because of the costumes,” Seamus agreed with Ron.

“Yeah, because you’re an alcoholic to become,” Pansy fired back. Then she groaned. “Are you guys really not in the Halloween spirit? Harry, what about you?” She then addressed him, by his first name, of all things. The other Gryffindors stared at him, slightly wide eyes.

“Uhm,” Harry looked around aimlessly, then cleared his throat. “Well. Halloween was. Uh. Never really a night for myself. Since. Well.” He didn’t finish talking, but everyone kind of knew where he was going with it.

Pansy groaned again. “Way to literally kill my mood for dressing up, too, Potter.” She said, making Harry laugh. Everyone around him looked slightly bewildered, but it was quite funny in retrospect.

“Welp, you have your answer,” Hermione shrugged. “I think nobody would mind if you did dress up. Most of us are probably not going to.”

“Boring,” Pansy said and stood up. “Fine. I’ll ask Lovegood if she wants to come up with something kooky. She’s always up for that.” And then she strutted away. Harry turned to Malfoy who just shook his head with his hand raised.

“Please, I don’t know if she’s being serious either,” he said quickly and Harry nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“Will you attend the Halloween Party as well, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, tone gentle and conversational. “We were thinking about hosting it in the main common room. I’m afraid if we’d go into the room of requirement during that, Seamus would constantly summon more drinks instead of going back down.” Seamus laughed at that, enjoying being accurately portrayed, Harry assumed. 

Malfoy seemed to think about it for a moment, shrugging lightly. “Well, at the very least I’ll be there.”

“If you mean the dormitories, then sure, you’ll be there.” Nott piped in, and Malfoy elbowed him to the side.

Harry snorted. “Accurate enough.” He muttered, and Malfoy turned to him with a flat glare.

“I didn’t know I seemed to call for your opinion, Potter,” he grumbled, and Harry shrugged.

“You didn’t, Princess,” it slipped out quicker than he expected, and the whole table got quiet. For a split second. Until everyone went back to doing whatever they were doing. Malfoy’s ears tinged pink again, and now Harry was the victim of his elbow being shoved into his ribcage.

“You’re annoying.” Malfoy said as he got up and left. Nott stuck around, quietly snickering. Harry watched him go, unsure if the elbow meant irritation or something else entirely.

Ron, across from Harry, put his sandwich down and grimaced. “Harry, I asked you not to shove it down my throat, thank you very much.”

“We’re not shagging!” Harry quickly said, and he felt Hermione kick him under the table.

“We’re still in the great hall, watch your tongue,” Hermione warned. Once a Prefect, always a Prefect.

“Princess?” Seamus beside Harry cackled. Harry could only shrug, and Hermione’s exasperated look turned into a fond one, until she was laughing along with Harry. It was strange, how normal this all felt. Like they’d always been this way.

It was the day of the party now. Harry was waiting out the planning inside the dormitory, doing not much except for reading Malfoy’s book. He nearly finished it now. He wasn’t sure what to do after he was done with it. Was he supposed to just give it back to Malfoy then? Yeah, great book, Princess, I especially loved the part where they got happily married and had seven kids, wanna recreate that? He shuddered at his own imagination. 

“Harry, mate,” Ron’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, and he opened his curtains. All of the boys seemed to be in the dorms right now, Harry’s eyes unhelpfully dragged over to Malfoy, who was staring back. Both looked away at the same time.

“Yeah, Ron?” He turned to his best friend, who seemed to be asking fashion advice. He held up two shirts, motioning to Harry which one he prefers.

“Don’t ask him that, Merlin,” Blaise interrupted before Harry could even say something. “I know muggle clothes are your guys’ chic, but even they have better taste than that.” He muttered and gestured to Ron’s clothes. Ron took offense, putting a hand over his chest.

“Then what do you offer, oh, great fashion guru?” Ron mumbled, throwing the shirts on his bed and crossing his arms. Blaise beamed at Ron’s remark as if it was a compliment. They both knew it was supposed to be a jab.

Blaise didn’t answer Ron right away. Instead, he stood, stretched like a cat, and walked over with the slow confidence of someone who knew he was about to change lives—or at least wardrobes.

“First of all,” he said, plucking the shirts off Ron’s bed with two fingers like they were contaminated. “These belong in a thrift bin guarded by trolls.”

Ron scoffed. “They’re clean!”

“So is a cauldron before you brew something awful in it,” Blaise replied smoothly. Harry heard the snickering of a few other boys in the dorm. Ron’s face turned bashful red, grumbling something under his breath. “Now, shut up and let me work.” 

He rifled through Ron’s trunk like it was a crime scene, muttering under his breath. Harry was surprised Ron let him, watching him sit there, looking sullied, like that time Hermione commented that he had dirt on his nose in their first year. Eventually, he pulled out a pair of dark jeans Ron probably didn’t even remember owning and a fitted navy button-down that looked suspiciously untouched. Blaise tossed them at Ron.

“Wear that. Roll the sleeves. Leave the top two buttons undone. You’ll look like you almost have taste.”

Ron blinked. “That’s it?”

“Add boots. Not those dragon-hide monstrosities. I know those must’ve been a gift from your Dragon-Loving Brother, adore the familiarity, but it doesn’t do you any good,” he said simply, leaving no room to argue and Ron was rebuffed. “The black ones Dean lent you last week. Trust me.” Ron looked over at Harry, who shrugged as a response.

He grumbled, but didn’t argue. Mainly because he probably had nothing to argue with. Blaise turned, clearly satisfied with his work—and then his eyes landed on Harry.

Harry, who had been quietly watching from his bed, suddenly felt like prey. Oh no.

“No,” Blaise said, walking toward him. “Don’t think you’re safe just because you weren’t holding up fashion crimes.”

Harry sat up straighter. “I wasn’t asking—”

“Exactly. Which is why you need me more.” Blaise smirked, and when Harry took a glance at his slytherin friends, Malfoy was wearing a large grin with the others.

Before Harry could protest, Blaise was already scanning him like a tailor with a wand. “You’ve got the brooding thing down. Let’s lean into it.” Harry scrunched his face, and over Blaise’s shoulder saw Ron’s sniggering as he got dressed.

He pulled out a charcoal henley from Seamus’s pile—how Blaise knew everyone’s wardrobe inventory was a mystery—and tossed it to Harry. Seamus didn’t even seem to mind, laughing with Dean on his bed. “That. With your black jeans. And the leather jacket you pretend isn’t yours because Sirius Black gave it to you.”

Harry caught the shirt, blinking. “You know about that?” Suddenly Blaise became a lot more interesting than he thought. Also, Harry looked over at Ron again, to see if he potentially let something slip up once. He shook his head emphatically when Harry glanced over.

“Please,” Blaise said, already walking away. “I know everything. And you’re welcome.”

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line, looking around the room as all the other boys suddenly pretended to be busy again. He looked down at the shirt in his hands. It was soft, fitted, and—he hated to admit it—kind of perfect. He didn’t expect to be Blaise’s next mannequin, but he didn’t mind it either. Not when Blaise’s suggestions made him feel like he might actually look good tonight.

Ron was still grumbling in the corner, but Harry caught Malfoy watching him again. This time, he didn’t look away so quickly.

He grabbed out the leather jacket, which he had worn once over the past few weeks. How Blaise had come to the knowledge that this belonged to Sirius, someone the wizarding world doesn’t know much about since they wrongfully condemned him, was bizarre. But when he looked over to Blaise’s side of the dorm, he saw that there was nothing... malicious to him. He was helping Goyle and Nott dress up now, fawning over them as a mother would. Maybe that’s just who he is. Observant and knowledgeable.

He glanced at Ron, dressed exactly as Blaise had instructed. And, well—he wasn’t wrong, Harry thought. Ron seemed nervous, though.

“You look great, Weasley,” Nott said as he passed by. “Granger will positively swoon over you.” He joked, and Blaise clapped his back on their way out of the dorm. Harry smiled back, silently agreeing with them. Ron’s nerves eased quickly, Neville coming over and also appreciating the outfit choices. Malfoy had slipped out sometime after Harry got dressed. He hadn’t seen him leave. So, he went down with Ron and Neville, not really prepared for what the night might hold.

Harry already heard the music pulsing from the common room as he descended the staircase, a rhythmic thrum that vibrated through the stone walls like a heartbeat. When he stepped inside, the transformation hit him like a spell.

The once cozy and warm common room—lined with battered armchairs and soft, flickering lanterns—had been utterly glamoured into something theatrical and otherworldly. Pansy had clearly taken the lead, and it showed: the ceiling was bewitched to mimic a stormy night sky, clouds swirling in slow motion with flashes of harmless lightning illuminating the room in bursts of silver. Floating jack-o’-lanterns bobbed near the rafters, their carved faces animated and whispering snarky commentary to anyone who passed beneath them.

Ginny had added her own chaotic touch—Harry could feel it. Muggle disco lights spun lazily in the corners, casting rainbow patterns across the enchanted tapestries, which now shimmered with dancing skeletons and glittering bats. Hermione, ever the grounding force, had charmed the furniture to rearrange itself for optimal mingling: plush sofas curved into conversational nooks, and a long refreshment table hovered slightly off the ground, laden with pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and a suspiciously bubbling punch bowl that Seamus was already eyeing with glee.

The music—some hybrid of wizarding rock and muggle pop—blared from a wireless in the corner, charmed to respond to the crowd’s mood. At that moment, it was upbeat and pulsing, matching the energy of students twirling. Some in costumes, others in their everyday clothes. It was Halloween, after all. Dean hadn’t leaned completely into the Halloween feel either, wearing a half-hearted vampire cape paired with his Quidditch Boots, still muddy from the game a few days ago in the rain. 

Harry stood at the threshold, momentarily stunned. The room felt alive—like it had shed its usual post-war quiet and embraced something joyful, theatrical, and a little bit mad. And somewhere in the chaos, he spotted Pansy in a dramatic black gown, gesturing wildly with a wand tipped in glitter. Was it hers? Harry wasn’t sure. Ginny was beside her in a devilish red ensemble, next to her Luna, who wore a more angelic theme. Harry supposed they were matching.

It was ridiculous. It was brilliant. And Harry couldn’t help but smile. They looked like a trio from a storybook–dark, fire and light.

“Holy shite...” Ron said in awe, glancing around with his mouth hanging open. Neville beside him laughed.

“That’s putting it lightly,” he said. “This is amazing!”

“Right?” Harry agreed, pulling the boys onwards as they joined their Eighth year companions. 

“I’m going to look for Hermione,” Ron said, already leaving without saying goodbye. Harry turned to Neville, who was clearly looking around for his own girl. Harry smiled, shaking his head.

“And, let me guess,” he started saying, watching the blush on Neville’s cheeks spread. “You’re gonna find Hannah?”

“Yeah.” He said in a dopey smile, and Harry patted his back, telling him to go for it. Harry ventured further into the common room himself, managing to make it to the drinks table. Seamus was ridiculously trying to fill an enlarged cup he had enchanted. “I think Pansy was right,” he grumbled, watching Seamus nervously as he poured more and more punch into the cup. Seamus raised one brow at Harry. “You’re an alcoholic to be,” he laughed, and Seamus playfully shoved him, downing the large cup with two very crude fingers pointed at Harry. Then he left, yelling for Dean. Harry quickly filled one regular-sized cup for himself, tasting the beverage. It was alcoholic, he could taste that. But it wasn’t so strong like the one Seamus summoned in the Room of Requirement. It had a fruity aftertaste. And it washed down his throat with no scratch, so he was glad of that.

“Harry!” He heard Ginny’s voice booming in his ear. “Hey, you look hot.” She complimented him, looking him up and down. Then her brows furrowed. “Who dressed you?” She asked accusatory, knowing Harry could never dress himself. Then, her face split into a grin. “Was it Malfoy?” Her voice was suggestive, but Harry shook his head despite the blush rising in his cheeks.

“No, it was Blaise Zabini, actually.” Harry said with a sip of his cup. Ginny hummed, eyes narrowed as she watched Harry carefully. She laughed loudly.

“Zabini, huh?” she said, almost in disbelief. “I should’ve known. You’ve got that ‘I don’t care but I absolutely do’ look going.” Harry couldn’t even ask what she meant, because then she said, “You want to dance?” and Harry nodded before he really registered what she had asked of him. 

Ginny’s hand took Harry’s, and she went into the middle, already blending into the dancing crowd. Harry hesitated, knowing his dance moves were limited, but did his best to keep up with her. She was always quicker than him, fiery and all spit and fizzle that Harry lacked. It’s one of the reasons that drew him in first when he got together with her, now he just loves her personality as a friend to bring him out of his shell. He’d seen the way Ginny looked at Luna when she thought no one was watching—like the sun had chosen her alone. The secret relationship that they’ve kept hidden for the whole summer that only Harry knew, because they trusted him.

“Have you any plans to make the moves on Malfoy tonight?” Ginny asked, coming in close to whisper in his ear, then twirling herself away again. Harry cleared his throat, suddenly unsure. Should he have plans? Maybe he did need a strategy. Ginny saw his turmoil quickly, she laughed, and soon she and Harry were spinning together. “Just get him to dance with you. Easiest move ever. Do all that grinding and humping that randy teenagers get up to at these social events.”

Harry was sure his face was flaming red. He couldn’t really answer Ginny’s teasing, knowing it would only multiply if he tried to defend himself. “Yeah, well, have you seen him around here?” Harry then asked, his hands on her shoulders to make her stop twirling for the moment. Ginny nodded then, coming close to Harry and pointed him in Malfoy’s direction. Malfoy was standing next to Hermione. “Oh, okay. Thanks!”

“Go get him, loverboy!” She cheered and pushed Harry. He stumbled into a few kids, uttering apologies, and hurried to the two instead. He tried not to let Ginny’s ‘go get him, loverboy’ comment echo in his head.

“Harry!” Hermione beamed when she saw him. She hadn’t embraced the costume spirit either, opting for a formal, tasteful dress instead. “I heard Blaise dressed you and Ron up!” She said, looking Harry up and down and lightly adjusting his jacket. “He wasn’t kidding! You look nice!”

Harry smiled, kissing Hermione’s cheek. “Thank you, you also look nice.” Hermione giggled, then turned to Malfoy.

“So what’s your costume supposed to be?” Malfoy teased, knowing he was there when Blaise dressed him up. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Someone who isn’t Harry Potter,” he shrugged and Malfoy’s face twisted in fake confusion.

“Who’s Harry Potter?” He asked, turning to Hermione as if she had the answer. Hermione only laughed, patting Malfoy’s arm.

“Har, har,” Harry stuck his tongue out at him. “And who are you supposed to be?” Harry finally took in what Malfoy was wearing, allowing himself to get the eye candy he’s been craving for a while. He wore a black silk shirt, slightly sheer under certain lighting, with subtle silver thread embroidery of constellations. Tailored charcoal trousers, fitted and sharp, with a slight shimmer charm that catches light when he moves. A deep green velvet blazer, structured and regal, with silver lining and a snake-shaped brooch at the lapel (house pride sneaking in, Harry almost laughed). Dragonhide boots, and a single silver ring. His hair was styled back, maybe with a charm that keeps it perfectly in place, but soft enough to fall in his eyes when he laughs. It was unfair, really—how someone could look that good without even trying. Harry suddenly regretted wearing jeans, feeling a tight pressure low in his abdomen. He did his best to ignore it.

“Someone who isn’t Draco Malfoy,” he mimicked Harry, eyes glinting in the light. Harry hated how it made his breath catch. He didn’t know if it was the outfit or the smirk—or both. But it was doing things to him. 

“You both are ridiculous,” Hermione laughed, breaking the intense eye contact Harry had formed with Malfoy. “It’s like you guys were never meant to be on opposite sides of the war!” She patted both of their arms, giving Harry a subtle smile that he was sure was a sign to make a move on Malfoy. “I’m going to find Ron, excuse me, boys. Enjoy the party!” She said, kissing Harry’s cheek, whispering in his ear as sneakily as she could. “Do let him enjoy the party a little bit before you steal him upstairs for the rest of the night.” And then she hurried off, leaving Harry to have vivid imaginations of what could happen if he took Malfoy upstairs to the dorms. His jeans suddenly got tighter, and more uncomfortable. He looked at Malfoy, which was a mistake.

He was smiling down at Harry. Fuck, the slight height advantage he had over Harry. It’s so minimal, too. Maybe an inch. Or two. It’s ridiculous. 

“Saw you dancing with Ginerva,” Malfoy hummed, picking up a cup from one of the many tables floating nearby and taking a generous sip.

“You know you can just call her Ginny,” Harry mentioned, and also took one of the cups. “And, so?” He hummed, choosing his words carefully now. “Did you get jealous, Princess?”

Malfoy didn’t react as strongly as he would’ve at the pet name, and something in Harry swooped. “I don’t get jealous of what doesn’t belong to me.”

Oh. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that. He carefully took another large gulp from the cup. “That didn’t really answer my question, though,” Harry said slowly, looking up at Malfoy and hoping he was giving his best sultry expression. Well. He felt ridiculous, so he immediately stopped that and turned away. “Are you? Jealous?” He clarified then, not looking at Malfoy.

Malfoy didn’t reply instantly, leaving Harry to worry for a minute. Then, he said, “Why should I be jealous? Didn’t you say there’s nothing going on between you anymore?”

Harry looked at him, and Malfoy had tilted his head, face unreadable. His hair fell lightly over his eyes, and Harry wanted to push it back. “There’s nothing going on between us.” Harry said quickly– too quickly. His voice cracked just slightly, keeping his hand firmly on his cup and very much not in Malfoy’s hair.

Malfoy hummed into his next sip. “So, I have nothing to be jealous about.” He agreed, and Harry shrugged at that. Flirting, he was good at (eh). Reading signals? Not so much.

“Are you waiting for me to ask you to dance, Malfoy?” The music pulsed around them, but Harry only heard the silence between them. Malfoy didn’t answer. But he didn’t walk away either. It’s as if he’s testing Harry, and if it’s a test, he really, really doesn’t want to fail it.

Harry cleared his throat, placing his cup on the table again. It’s time to be a Gryffindor, and be brave about it. He looked at Malfoy with intense eyes, hoping they conveyed everything Harry is feeling at the moment. “Draco, do you want to dance with me?”

He seemed shocked to hear Harry say that. Harry saw the blush spread on his cheeks and up to his ears. “Well, that ought to do it, I guess.” He grumbled, playing it off as if he was dissatisfied, but Harry knew better now. He knew that’s exactly what he wanted.

He took Draco’s cup out of his hands and placed it on the table next to his, then took his hand and led him to the middle. The music had turned to something sensual, something more... heightened. There were no lyrics, just melody—fluid, wordless, and spellbinding. Draco’s fingers curled slightly around Harry’s. Not tightly. But not reluctantly either. Harry pulled him close, his hands running over Draco’s waist, hesitant at first, then he melted into his body. Draco mirrored him, his arms—awkward and limp at first—rising to rest over Harry’s shoulders, drawing him in as they began to move–not quite in sync, but perfectly attuned.

Their bodies began to move—not choreographed, not practiced, but instinctive. Harry’s hands slid lower, fingers grazing the curve of Draco’s hips, and Draco leaned in, his breath warm against Harry’s neck. The space between them vanished. 

The music pulsed through their bones, guiding them into a rhythm that wasn’t quite dancing anymore. It was swaying, pressing, teasing. Draco’s fingers tightened slightly on Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s grip on his waist grew bolder.

Around them, the party blurred. There was only this, heat, movement, and the quiet thrill of being wanted.

Draco looked at him then—really looked—and Harry felt the question in his eyes. Not can I? But do you want me to? And Harry didn’t answer. He just moved closer.

Harry tilted his head up slightly, his nose bumping into Draco’s and their eyes were focused on one another. They didn’t look away, even as their lips lightly brushed over each other. They didn’t even close their eyes as their lips pressed against one another, not until Harry deepened the kiss, his hand tightening around Draco’s waist and—

Draco let out a small whine against his lips, a gasp—and then.

Harry drove his tongue inside, tasting Draco, eyes fluttering closed, their bodies pushing against one another. Draco’s hands wound themselves in Harry’s hair, mushing up the already messy strands. Harry’s hands ventured up Draco’s back, to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer and biting down on his bottom lip. It made Draco groan, and Harry relished it, deepening the kiss. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, searching. Like they’d been waiting for this moment far longer than either would admit.

Harry didn’t know where his body ended and Draco’s began. There was only heat, breath, and the quiet, desperate need to be closer. Around them, the party roared on. But inside this moment, it was quiet. Just the sound of lips, breath, and the thrum of something unspoken finally being answered.

Then Pansy’s cackle ran out nearby, and Draco drew away. Harry chased his mouth instinctively, like a puppy after a treat, and Draco put his palm over Harry’s mouth. 

He turned to where Draco was staring then, where Pansy was with the rest of their slytherin friends. Astoria was waving excitedly at them, Pansy was laughing uncontrollably. Ginny and Luna gave Harry a subtle wink, a silent show of approval the two gave that made Harry’s heart soar. And then he turned to Draco, who had his face completely red.

“Mind removing your hand,” Harry said, though it came out muffled thanks to Draco’s palm against his mouth. Draco did, now not meeting Harry’s eye. Harry shook his head, tipping Draco’s face up with his forefinger on his chin, then he kissed him softly on the lips. “Let’s get out of here.” He said softly, and Draco released a long breath. His eyes glimmered like the stars in the fake sky above their heads.

“Yes, please.”

Harry kicked open the dorm’s door, pushing Draco inside while their mouths stayed connected. He pushed, his eyes open to make sure they weren’t walking blindly, and led them to his bed. He broke the kiss just long enough to push Draco onto the bed, and Draco let out a shrill yell at first. Harry would’ve laughed, but he jumped onto the bed and went back to kissing Draco.

Harry’s hands slid beneath Draco’s blazer, and he threw it to the ground. Draco did the same with Harry’s jacket, their boots were ceremoniously next. Harry threaded one hand into Draco’s hair, touching, and—oh. It was soft to the touch. He groaned into the kiss, his tongue swiping to the back of Draco’s throat, to get more of him, if possible. His other hand started unbuttoning Draco’s ridiculously posh shirt, one button at a time, bit by bit. Each button letting him see more skin, feel more skin and—

Draco’s hand held Harry’s wrist, and he wrenched his mouth away. He looked up at Harry, worried on his face and something on the tip of his tongue. Harry sat up, sitting on Draco’s lap and looking carefully at him and then—

He saw it. Faintly. Draco’s eyes were wide, nervous, swimming with anxiety. Harry finished unbuttoning Draco’s shirt and saw it then. The scars. The scars that Harry gave him.

“And I tried to kill you, too,”

Harry’s own words whispered in his ears, and the scars were like a slap to his face. He looked up at Draco, swallowing the last bit of guilt he had left and pushed the shirt off of Draco’s shoulders. Draco raised himself to his elbows, helping Harry get him out of it. He hid his arm, though, the arm that Harry knew bare the dark mark. Harry threw off his own shirt, and he enjoyed how Draco’s eyes went over every inch of his skin, his own scars on the showcase. Draco’s hand hesitantly reached up to the part of the chest where Harry had worn the locket, like a splatter of ugliness, Harry would call it. He had his share of body dysphoria, yeah, so he understood Draco’s sudden anxiety. He let Draco touch all the scars on his body, from the spells that Death Eaters and Snatchers shot at him, the one that Umbridge gave him on his right hand. Harry didn’t speak. He just let Draco look. Let him trace the places where pain had lived. 

Harry reached for Draco’s left arm. He tried to pull away at first, but Harry held firm onto his wrist. Draco eased up slowly, letting Harry turn it around to look at it. It was faded. Slightly. Harry raised the arm kissed along its length, making Draco shiver and try to remove it. Harry held firmly. He continued to kiss the dark mark, and then he kissed the jagged lines of the scar Harry caused, tracing each sectumsempra scar as it branched and twisted into the next. Draco was shaking, but when Harry looked up, he was holding back his tears. Harry didn’t know how to reassure him it was alright, so he threaded his hand through his silky, blond hair. Draco looked at him, eyes wide and glossy. Harry leaned in, kissing the corner of his lips, and then his jaw, and then his neck, and further down. Down his collarbone, again on the sectumsempra scars, whispering a silent apology as he ventured lower. Kissing along Draco’s stomach, and then he started pulling his trousers down. He continued to kiss Draco’s chest, one hand slid experimentally over the waistband of his pants. It made Draco shiver. Maybe from something else this time.

Harry didn’t rush. Every kiss was a wordless apology, every touch a quiet promise: I see you. I remember. I’m still here.

Harry’s hand slid underneath the waistband, and Draco gasped deliciously. His hand found the base of Draco’s prick, giving an experimental squeeze that had him bucking into his hand. Harry mouthed over Draco’s waist, moving slowly but deliberately over Draco’s length. Draco was groaning lightly, panting breathily, his hips stuttering beneath his touch. Harry removed Draco’s pants fully, gazing down at his prick. He wrapped his hand fully around it, tugging lightly enough to drive Draco insane.

“Ha-rry,” Draco panted, nearly whined, his hips chasing his touch. Harry tightened his hold, eyes transfixed on watching Draco’s cock leak precum. He stroked gracefully, letting his hand glide over the slick length, only slightly squeezing it to give Draco some stimulation. Draco was fisting his hands into Harry’s sheets. Draco’s breath hitched with every stroke, his body arching into Harry’s touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment. 

“Harry,” Draco panted, stopping Harry by putting a hand in his hair. He looked up, seeing Draco bite down on his bottom lip. His eyes were dark, full of the same lust that was thrumming inside Harry’s veins. He sat up, crawling up to lean over Draco.

“What is it, Princess?” Harry said, meant as teasing more than anything else, but he watched how the pink blush scattered across Draco’s body so beautifully. Draco liked that pet name a little more than he pretended to hate it.

“I want to see you,” Draco said, and pointedly decided to grab Harry’s cock, still captive inside his ridiculously tight jeans. Harry half-groaned and half-moaned, tipping his head to rest on Draco’s chest. “C’mon, take those jeans off. I want to taste you.”

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry whined, then stood away from him, shucking his jeans down in one swift motion with his pants. Draco sat upright, gaping a little, before he crawled over to him.

“I need you to fuck my throat,” he mumbled, saying it more to Harry’s cock than himself, which had him laughing.

“Really?” Harry asked, threading his fingers through Draco’s hair. The blond hummed, on his knees on the bed and looking up at Harry like a delicious snack he was ready to devour. Harry wanted to fuck more than just his throat. “Alright then,” Harry cleared his throat, helping Draco get off the bed and fall to his knees in front of Harry’s cock. Harry stroked himself once, holding himself back from doing it some more. He pushed it between Draco’s lips, a smirk on his lips as he said, “Open up, baby.”

Draco kept eye contact as he slowly parted his mouth for Harry to push it inside, and—Ohhh.

Draco’s hot, wet mouth was hot, wet, perfect and Harry was going insane. He tipped his head back, pushing forwards some more until he felt Draco gag on it. He wanted to pull back, but Draco didn’t let him, pushing himself down Harry’s cock, choking himself on it. “Holy fucking shit, Draco,” Harry moaned, his voice jumping an octave in shock, then in the deep grumble that tumbled out of him.

Draco’s throat flexed around him, swallowing Harry down inch by inch, until Harry’s knees nearly buckled. The wet heat, the pressure, the sight of Draco’s flushed cheeks and glassy eyes—it was too much, too good. Harry gripped Draco’s hair tighter, guiding the rhythm, watching his cock disappear between those perfect lips. Draco moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight through Harry’s spine. 

The eye contact was driving him insane. Draco managed to keep looking at Harry, kneeling like a—shit, like a perfect fantasy Harry hadn’t dared to voice. He wasn’t even touching himself, completely focused on taking more of Harry’s cock, lips stretched, jaw slack, throat working with every push.

Harry started thrusting deeper, testing the limits. Shallow at first, then longer, harder strokes that made Draco gag softly—but he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, letting Harry use his mouth, spit slicking his chin, eyes fluttering but never closing. Harry’s hips snapped forward, chasing the heat, the friction, the obscene sound of Draco choking and moaning around him. Tears were streaming down his face, yet he didn’t signal to Harry to stop.

The music from the common room thumped through the walls, but it felt distant–irrelevant. No one could hear them. No one could interrupt. Harry loved that thought. He loved the way Draco’s throat tightened around him, the way his hands gripped Harry’s thighs like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry groaned, voice wrecked and low. He pulled back just enough to see the mess he’d made—Draco’s lips red and swollen, spit glistening on his chin, pupils blown wide. Then he pushed back in, deeper, until his cock kissed the back of Draco’s throat again. 

Draco whimpered, and Harry felt it—felt the sound vibrate through his cock, felt the way Draco’s body trembled with need. He wanted to see him fall apart. He wanted to make him sob from pleasure.

When Harry felt himself nearing his climax, he pulled away. Draco whined, momentarily dazed, as he chased after Harry’s cock. He twisted his wrist, making Draco moan as Harry forced him to look up instead. “I didn’t want to come,” Harry panted, looking down at Draco, feeling incredibly turned on than possible. Draco looked at Harry expectedly, panting, just out of breath as him. Realising he was still gripping Draco’s hair, Harry loosened his hold, and Draco slowly rose to his feet on wobbly knees. Harry helped him sit down on his bed, gently wiping away the spit on his chin before leaning in to kiss him.

He didn’t care that Draco had just had his cock in his mouth, he kissed him anyway, tasting himself and wanting Draco all the more.

When he pulled away, Draco wore that dopey grin of his, his eyes were dark with want. Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “How do you want to do this?” Harry asked softly, his lips gliding over Draco’s neck and collarbone. Draco didn’t answer immediately, tilting his head to give Harry better access to his skin. He hummed softly, one hand reaching up to tangle his fingers in Harry’s hair.

“I think,” he started quietly, drawing out the syllables, “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry looked up. Draco’s eyes were blown wide. He looked beautiful—really, a mess, too. Lips still swollen red, cheeks pink. Harry searched Draco’s gaze, looking for any doubt, any lingering anxiety that might pull them back. He found none. So he leaned in, kissing along Draco’s jawline. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Draco sighed breathily, his hands scratching along Harry’s scalp with a soft but firm grip. “I want you inside me.”

Harry groaned, kissing under Draco’s ear as his hands gripped his hips. He pulled away before he could get more carried away than he already was, leaning his forehead against Draco’s and breathing heavily. “Lay on your stomach,” he instructed, and Draco obeyed, keeping eye contact with him all the while. Harry leaned over his smooth body, kissing upon his shoulderblades, the dip in his back, and his arsecheek. Harry experimentally let his hands glide down the same path as his lips, giving a cheeky squeeze to Draco’s backside to entice a light groan out of him. Then he let his hand glide over Draco’s crack, his fingers coming to contact with his furled hole. Draco tensed up, his head resting on Harry’s pillow with his hair fanning over him.

Harry kissed along his body some more before he pushed experimentally, just to tease Draco a little bit. Draco groaned above him, eyes closed and breathing layered. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, just to hear his voice, kissing the dip in his back while watching his reaction.

“Yeah,” Draco replied breathily. “Just waiting for you to get on with it.”

Harry laughed, leaning over Draco and kissing his sweaty forehead. “I’m getting there, Princess,” He hummed, his hand reaching for his wand which lay somewhere at the foot of his bed with his clothes. “Should’ve known you’d be impatient.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco twisted his face towards Harry, glaring and scowling. Harry sniggered and kissed his scowl away. 

“Oh, nothing,” Harry hummed, summoning lube on his fingers. He teased Draco’s rim again, watching his shoulders sag a little as he got used to the cold substance. He pushed his finger further, it sliding in with no real trouble. He watched Draco’s reaction, his eyes fluttered closed again and he leaned further onto the bed. Harry pushed his finger up to his knuckle inside him, and marveled at how well Draco took him. “Hm,” Harry looked at his finger as it worked in and out of him.

“W-What?” came the breathy exhale from above and Harry didn’t say anything. He took his finger out, replacing them with two, and, as expected, they slid in with no resistance. Draco sighed, relaxing furthermore. He didn’t even notice when Harry added a third finger.

“You prepped yourself?” Harry said, mouth dropping open as he now slid his fingers expertly in and out of Draco. “You knew—”

“I didn’t,” came the muffled groan, and Harry looked up. Draco hid his face in Harry’s pillow, hands fisting his own hair. “I didn’t–I didn’t expect. Anything. Not from you. I just...” Draco trailed off, and Harry twisted his wrist, angling his fingers that had Draco gasp, then push back against his hand.

“You just what?” He leaned over Draco, pushing his head to the side to see him. Draco had his eyes screwed shut, but they fluttered open when Harry ran his other hand through his hair. “You can tell me, Princess.”

Draco’s bottom lip was wobbly, and his cheeks were flaming pink. Harry couldn’t tell if it’s from embarrassment, or from everything else. “I, uhm,” he hesitated at first, looking the other way. Harry kept sliding his fingers in and out, slow and steady, kissing Draco’s shoulder. It made Draco’s voice shake a tad bit. “I just... I touched myself. In the shower. Before the party. I didn’t expect..”

Draco didn’t even need to finish that sentence. Harry took his fingers out and flipped him around, staring at him with probably the dorkiest grin ever. “Oh, did you, now?” His voice was filled with amusement, and it had Draco glaring at him, biting down on his lip. He took the pillow from behind his head and hit Harry with it. Harry laughed, trying to shield himself but his glasses askew and fell in his lap. “Oh, okay, okay! I’m sorry, I was just joking!” Harry yelled, though he was laughing too much to be actually sorry about it. Draco saw through it, deciding to hide his face with the pillow next instead of assaulting Harry. “Oh, c’mon, Draco, I was joking,” Harry said with less laughter in his voice, though his smile didn’t falter. He removed the pillow from his face, and gazed at Draco’s pitiful expression. Embarrassment colouring his cheeks and his eyes glaring. “C’mon, don’t look so sour,” Harry leaned in, brushing his nose against Draco’s. “For what it’s worth, I find it extremely hot.”

Draco looked at him like he didn’t believe it, but his eyes darted to Harry’s still erect cock. “Hm.” He didn’t say anything else, and Harry kissed him as an apology instead.

Draco allowed that, his hands finding home in Harry’s hair. Harry’s hands caressed his chest, all the way down to his legs, he spread them slowly. His hands found Draco’s furled hole, and he stuffed three fingers at once, enjoying the delicious moan coming from him. “Y’know you don’t have to do that,” Draco said in between a groan and a moan. Harry’s lips attached themselves to Draco’s collarbone. “You can just stick it in.”

“So eloquent, Malfoy,” Harry sniggered, still fingering Draco, enjoying the expressions he was pulling out of him. 

“Shut up,” Draco moaned when Harry twisted his finger and increased the speed of his fingers thrusting in and out of him. “I didn’t know you were a prude, Potter” he grumbled, moving his hips in time with Harry’s fingers. Prude, sure, that’s what Harry is.

“You’re literally fucking yourself on my fingers,” Harry would’ve laughed in a different circumstance, but he’s too fixated on Draco’s moaning. “And you get turned on from me calling you Princess, so I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

“Or what?” Harry removed his fingers, lining himself up. Draco watched, his hand holding onto Harry’s hip.

“I’ll have to shut your mouth myself.” Harry said coolly, then shoved himself into Draco. Draco let out a garbled yell, a moan dragging out of him as Harry forced him to take all of him completely in one go. Harry let out his own groan, feeling all of Draco squeeze around him at once. He held himself up with his hands, trying not to immediately pull out and thrust back inside with all his might. His glasses fell away somewhere, probably off the bed, but he could still see how Draco’s face contorted into many expressions at once. His mouth was gaping open, eyes fluttering closed, and sweat running down his forehead. 

Harry gave him the time to adjust, holding back from his own orgasm to take over. He let his hands caress Draco’s chest, wiping away the sweat on his neck and kissing along his jaw. Draco turned his head to the side to kiss Harry’s open palm, and then he shifted his hips. “Go ahead, Potter,” he said quietly, his eye contact fiery and full of want. “Get me to shut up.”

Harry’s heart was ready to jump out of his throat. He pulled out, just enough so that his head was poking at Draco’s entrance. He watched the exact moment he shoved it back in, Draco’s face was just as euphoric as the feeling, a guttural moan escaping his pretty swollen lips. Harry immediately followed that pace, fast, quick, hard, rough. Draco’s moans only steered him on, his hands digging into his shoulder in the form of a crescent moon, his hips following Harry’s pace. Their faces were so close, Harry tasted the fruity punch breath on him. He smiled. Draco couldn’t smile back, moaning too much for that. Harry licked into his mouth, kissing along his jaw and right underneath his ear. 

He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, the way Draco’s inner channel was trying to suck him further in, so tight, so warm, so perfect. Draco was moaning underneath him, eyes not even focusing on Harry. “Ha-rry.” He moaned, dragging the syllables long and breathy. Harry couldn’t help himself. He came hard and fast inside Draco, burying himself deep.

Harry panted, pulling himself up and out of Draco, looking down at the come trickling out of his arse. Draco’s face was dazed, but he blinked up at Harry, his erection still standing. Harry quickly crawled over, attaching his mouth to the crying, leaking cock. He didn’t have Draco’s expertise on this, but he tried his best to make Draco feel as great as he did. Draco’s hands wound themselves in Harry’s hair, his hips bucking into his mouth. Draco’s cock was heavy on his tongue, and the salty tang of precum was addictive to him. He suckled, and swallowed as best as he could. Draco was panting and moaning uncontrollably above him, hips stuttering as Harry swallowed more and more—

Draco pulled him away as soon as Harry felt the first droplets come on his tongue. He pulled him off, but most of it splattered over his face and, well...

Draco snorted, and burst into laughter. Harry had to blink some of the come out of his eyes, glaring at Draco, who sat up and was still laughing. Harry slowly wiped most of the come off his face, licking his palm clean then, and Draco’s laughter disappeared. Then he was on Harry, kissing him and licking into his mouth.

“Hey, Harry, have you seen Malfoy—” Ron pulled back Harry’s curtains, falling silent at the image he was greeted with

. Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. He blinked blearily at his best friend.

“Wha–What is it, Ron?” he yawned, scratching the back of his head. Ron stayed quiet, lips pressed tightly together.

“Someone tell Greengrass’s sister that Malfoy’s busy. I’m not going to do it.” Ron muttered—not to Harry—before closing the curtains again. Harry heard retreating footsteps, and a few boys laughed distantly in the dorm.

Harry frowned, then turned to his other side and looked at Draco, still sleeping peacefully beneath the blanket. He sighed, crawling back under the covers, and spooned behind Draco, arms wrapping around his waist. “Think Astoria is lookin’ for you,” he murmured into Draco’s ear, kissing his shoulder.

“Hm,” Draco hummed. “I’ll speak to her later.” He said, voice thick with sleep. His hands pulled Harry closer. Harry buried his nose in Draco’s hair and smiled.

“So you’re dating now?” Hermione asked when Harry finally came down for breakfast—though it was nearly over. Most students had left. Neville was still there with Hannah and Hermione.

Harry looked up at her, brow furrowed. “Sure,” he said simply. Though he hadn’t actually asked Draco when they woke up. Hermione’s stare made him reconsider. “I mean, I’m going to ask him out as soon as I’m done with breakfast.” He raised his palms in surrender. Hermione’s shoulders dropped slightly, but her glare deepened.

“At least you got laid,” Neville smirked, giving Harry a fist bump.

“Ugh,” Hermione groaned, turning to Hannah, who wore the same annoyed expression. “Boys.” Harry chuckled under his breath, watching Hermione and Hannah shake their heads in perfect synchrony. He shoveled the last bite of toast into his mouth, wiped his hands on his robes, and stood abruptly.

“I’m going to ask him now.” He declared, more to himself than anyone else.

Neville gave him a thumbs-up. “Good luck, mate. Don’t mess it up.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Try not to be awkward.”

Harry blinked. “Have you met me?”

She sighed. “Exactly.”

He found Draco in the library, of all places—curled up in a corner with a book he clearly wasn’t reading, fingers idly tracing the spine. His hair was still damp from his shower, and he looked up as Harry approached, one brow lifting in quiet amusement.

“You’re late,” Draco said.

Harry frowned. “For what?”

“For asking me out,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Suddenly Harry felt out of the loop. “You knew I was going to?”

Draco smirked. “I was hoping. You’re not subtle, Potter.”

Harry sat beside him, heart thudding. “So... Do you want to?”

Draco closed his book, leaned in, and kissed him—soft, slow, and deliberate. “I think you can figure it out yourself, Einstein.”

Harry laughed, wrapping his arm around Draco’s shoulder. “Einstein? Did Hermione teach you about him?”

“She sure did,” Draco sighed, deciding he’d prefer to sit in Harry’s lap instead. “Crazy, but genius. Sounds like me.”

Harry laughed even harder than at that. He rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder, enjoying the intimacy of this a lot more than he first expected. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since last night. “So what happens now?”

Draco sighed, his hands running through Harry’s hair. “Now you stop pretending you’re not obsessed with me.” Harry guffawed, almost falling down from the chair with Draco in tow.

“Not obsessed,” he muttered, but Draco’s long stare wasn’t making his defense any better. “A little obsessed.”

“Stop arguing with me,” Draco hummed. “I don’t date guys that argue with me.”

“But that’s our best quality!” Harry bemoaned, crushing Draco in his arms. “Is this you breaking up with me already? We barely lasted a minute.”

“No,” Draco narrowed his eyes. “I’m giving you another chance.” Harry sniggered, unable to help himself. He’s afraid he’s falling in love with this idiot, and he’s finding that he doesn’t hate it. At all. He thinks he’d be okay with that.