Chapter 1: A Good Sodding Thing
Summary:
Edit 12. 4. 2023: So, so, so sorry. I'm still alive and I'm going to finish this.
Chapter Text
“We’re still doing it?” Harry asked once again, checking his best friends’ faces, as they approached the massive door to the Great Hall.
“If you ask one more time, mate…” Ron gave him a meaningful look.
“I can’t help it,” Harry shrugged unhappily. He wanted it to work so badly it was pathetic.
“All right, let’s stop here for a moment. Harry…” Hermione laughed softly. “We know who we’re dealing with. It can go to hell – I’d be surprised if it didn’t, frankly. But I want to do it. I must say I’m quite happy Terrence suggested it.” Ron’s eyebrows disappeared promptly in his flaming hair. Hermione nudged him gently. “This is how you make a change. It’s similar with all abused children. The bad things are punished, sure, but you also learn that everything good comes with a price. And if the price is too high, you become vicious to protect yourself from more harm.”
“I don’t see Harry walking around hexing first-years for protection,” Ron said sarcastically.
“Harry’s never been an expressive child, he shunned being in the spotlight. Malfoy is… well, the opposite. He’d kill for Harry’s attention. Any time before Voldemort’s return, I mean.”
Harry made a face. “I’m still here, you know.”
“My point is,” Hermione said firmly, “we’re doing a good thing. And I believe it’ll be worth it.”
“I hope so,” Harry breathed. Ron sighed heavily.
“I’ll try my best not to curse him first.”
“Thanks, love.” Hermione gave him a peck on the lips. The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Feel free to leave if it gets too much.”
“I don’t want you to –”
“I mean it.” Hermione fixed him with a stare. “My diplomacy can only do so much.”
Harry snorted and finally, Ron smiled.
“Let’s do a good sodding thing,” Ron grumbled and went first. Harry sped up to walk past him; the tall, scowling figure of a Ron Weasley would do them no good.
/
The Golden Fucking Trio appeared in the Great Hall, still managing to attract gazes of admiration here and there after two months of school. It was sickening, but at least it made Potter uncomfortable (always look at the bright side of things!). Anything to make him uncomfortable and go far, far away. The Saviour We All Worship And Love kept casting these oh-so-worried looks at Draco every time he saw him, which made Draco want to jump into the Whomping Willow or greet a hippogriff or kiss a Dementor or Generally Die.
They saw him, and because all three of them hit their head a lot during the war, apparently, they decided it would be a great idea to strut towards his Exclusive Homebrew-Cursed Spot at the end of the Slytherin table.
Whoah, whoah, whoah, ran through Draco’s mind, what the fuck? If only they didn’t block his (un)fortunately short way to the door. He flicked his wand – two hours and thirteen minutes wand-time left – to cancel the wards around his spot, and every sound in the Great Hall came rushing in, making him flinch: the chatter, the clanking of cups with tea or cocoa, the rustling of parchment and paper, the sound of a Muggle music band from someone’s charmed radio; the sudden whispering voices at the Slytherin table, and the equally sudden quieting of those everywhere else.
Draco sighed internally. The Trio had arrived.
“Hello, Malfoy,” Granger said. Potter’s lips moved, but no sound came out. What the hell is wrong with you, then?
They climbed onto the bench: Granger facing him, Weasley on her right and Potter on her left, closest to the door.
Draco cast a wide-eyed look in McGonagall’s direction at the teachers’ table – she was on Saturday duty this week. He earned himself a sarcastic stare, then became ignored in favour of some book (he would ignore the dunderheads, too, if it was his hex of a job to supervise them). It was the Headmistress’s loving way of saying: “Are you five?”
They sat down. In front of him. Just like that. The audacity glued him to the table, and his heart roared with anger. He’d started their game already defeated. How was that fair? They owned the place, and he could do nothing. He would do nothing while the rest of the hall was watching. The Hogwarts’ favourite show: our Golden Trio approaching a rabid Blast-Ended Skrewt. Starring Saint Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy, the Boy Who Fucked Up. Also known as the Boy Who Fucked Up Big Time.
“We come in peace,” Weasley muttered. Draco could see how much the ginger disaster strained to remain calm. A Weasley to the slaughter.
Draco gasped and whispered in his best confidential voice: “I am so honoured. Please remind me, am I supposed to bow to you?”
A strange smile appeared on Potter’s lips before he turned his head to the door as if he saw something, which somehow evoked a disturbingly interesting thoughts in the less behaved parts of Draco’s brain. There was nothing of interest at the door, and they glanced back at each other, Merlin’s dick.
“We won’t bother you for too long,” Granger assured him, all confidence and composure. Draco was dying to know if she put up a mask every time she walked out of her dormitory, or if he was the only wreck in the room. He had no idea what they wanted from him.
“It’s already been too long.” He bared his teeth in disgust: his mind verged on panic. Weasley agreed, giving a snort.
“We just want to bury the hatchet officially,” Potter said, his eyes big and honest and idiotic.
“Oh,” Draco nodded, “in my stomach or perhaps the neck?”
“We’re here to offer you–” Granger began, and he couldn’t bear to hear “help” or “support” or any other Thing We Don’t Really Mean Because We Hate You so he pretended to spit on the table. Potter’s eyes widened comically.
It was low.
Really low.
Exactly as they imagined, Draco figured moodily.
“Okay, look,” Weasley snapped, his hateful glare a startling contrast to Potter’s worried one (and what’s in it for you, Potter?), “you’re an insufferable wanker. I really don’t want to talk to you, I don’t think anyone does, or be anywhere near you, for that matter–”
“You can kindly sod off,” Draco drawled scornfully.
“We have a proposition for you,” Potter interrupted hastily, and glared at his dog-level-loyal dog-level-stupid bestie, who shot a glare right back at him.
“A proposition?” Draco laughed incredulously. Were they never going to leave? Was it McGonagall’s stubborn way of settling the Everyone vs. Slytherin fights in the hallways and classrooms? He glanced at her and frowned: she seemed to be focused solely on her book.
Some book it had to be.
“It’s a good one,” Granger said levelly. “Have you ever wondered how Rita Skeeter gets the most disgusting details into her articles?” He had. “And why the Daily Prophet no longer writes anything particularly misleading about the three of us?” He had wondered about that, too. Bribing would be the obvious possibility, but way out of character for them, and Skeeter giving a flying fuck about anything was about as likely as Draco marrying Potter.
“Oh, how could it be? Mmmm,” Draco pretended to ponder the thought for a bit. “She’s been bribed. What a novel idea! Obviously not by you two,” Draco sneered at Weasley, who, predictably, got even angrier, and Granger, who didn’t do as much as blink an eye. Weasley has always been the most explosive, of course. “But if I remember, Potter’s rich enough to buy this whole fucking joke of a school.” Yeah, the school that used to be a safe space. The school he used to feel like he owned. Fun times, those were. “Want to get rid of me with galleons? Newsflash: I’m richer than you.”
“I can’t do this,” Weasley announced, and Granger bit her lip, finally betraying to Draco she was, in fact, not a rock.
“Have fun,” Weasley mumbled, got up, and headed for the end of the Gryffindor table, where a bunch of eight-years had been watching them intently. Draco felt the familiar rush of satisfaction from landing a blow, then burning self-hatred he had to choke down. Even if they meant it… He couldn’t stop himself, could he?
“No wonder,” he shouted. “I heard you bailed out of your super important world-saving mission, too. Some help you are.”
“Shut up,” Granger hissed. Weasley turned to look back at him, the fury in his eyes suddenly growing very cold.
“You know, Malfoy,” he said rather calmly. “At least I realised I made a dick move. Can you ever say that about your fucked up self?” What looked like every Gryffindor in the room cheered, the youngest children yelling for the sake of yelling, and Draco was momentarily taken aback.
“Piss off,” Ron grimaced. Then he joined the rest of their perfect good-to-the-bone friends.
Potter gritted his teeth, saying: “Malfoy, we’re here to help. To honestly help.”
Why, why, why, why, why?
Granger didn’t care to soothe any of the animosity in her eyes but nodded.
WHY?
“There are no bribes – not from us, at least. Just hear us out,” Potter demanded quietly, “and then if you’re not interested, we’ll leave you alone. We’ve been ignoring each other just fine, yeah? Sit this one out and you’ll have your void back.”
Void?
“If it’s such a great thing,” Draco uttered scathingly, “I’m certain you want something in return. My soul, perhaps? It’s not like I’m not indebted to you already, but no worries, I’ll just add it to the pile.”
Potter rolled his eyes and sighed. “Nothing. We want nothing from you. We want you to know there are some good things in the world, actually.”
Draco felt so incredulous he couldn’t even speak. Potter obviously meant to say something, but his ugly-hair know-it-all fucking-famous first lady was faster.
“I’ll just cut to the point,” Granger sighed impatiently. Draco turned his incredulous look to her, and she tried to stare him down. She couldn’t. Draco was impossible to stare down.
“I’ve been blackmailing Skeeter,” she said lightly.
Draco blinked.
“You? Blackmailing? With what, last season’s fashion?"
Potter laughed, although no other signs of amusement showed anywhere on his face. His eyes shone an icy green, tiny crystals stabbing deep into Draco’s mind. Instinctively, he brought his Occlumency shields higher. Which was a stupid way of wasting mental energy, really. He knew from Severus that Potter hated Legilimency. And he knew from experience that Potter was born too dumb and noble to use it against anyone voluntarily.
“Are you seriously doubting Hermione’s resolve to do something?” stupid Potter was asking him now. “Anything? Really?”
To their collective surprise, his cheeks turned pink; he could feel it. A vivid memory of Granger being tortured resurfaced, as it usually did when he lay his eyes accidentally on the Muggleborn. The bit of information about her posing as Bellatrix Lestrange clashed with that. Powerless versus powerful.
“I meant I was impressed,” he said, perhaps trying to sound apologetic. He wasn’t sure, with all the guilt and anger, if he was capable of it. “Concerned. But impressed.”
“Skeeter’s an unregistered Animagus. A beetle.” Granger curled her lips in disdain.
Draco exhaled sharply and scowled. That explained a real fucking lot. “Honestly, I didn’t think I could hate her more. And… your proposition is…?”
“I'll reach out to her for you.”
“Why would I want that?” Draco scoffed haughtily. Idiot, fucking idiot, of course you’d want that, Merlin’s rotten shoes!
“Imagine we’re your mother’s good acquaintances. How would you treat those?” Granger raised her eyebrows.
Draco’s breathing hitched. The story of Mother saving Harry Potter in return for being told Draco was okay spread the moment they stepped out of the courtroom. He asked her about it, too, and she said it was the truth. Again. It’s not like they weren’t under Veritaserum, but he did inherit his talent in Occlumency from her. She could’ve lied.
Maybe, though, maybe Mother indeed became acquainted with them. Maybe she decided not to tell him, because she knew he’d act – like this.
“You're not–” he managed, “–wait–”
/
Enough was enough.
“We’re not,” Harry groaned quietly. “It would be cool, but we’re not.” It would be cool? Did he just tell Malfoy that befriending his mother would be cool? “We’re also not trying to double-cross you, exploit you, mock you, anything of any number of things you clearly expect us to do for any number of reasons we don’t have.”
Malfoy’s face was carved from distrust.
“Meet me by the Shrieking Shack in an hour,” he said in the end, and strode out of the Great Hall. Harry stared at his back the whole time, hypnotized by his legs, caught in his own protectiveness all over again. Malfoy was too thin, too worn out.
“Fucking control freak,” he scowled to ground himself.
“Makes sense,” Hermione began.
“Please don't.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ll figure it out by yourself, anyway. I think it’s a success. Unless we end up hexed to oblivion and tied up in the shack.” She flashed him a wry smile and walked over to Ron, pressing a kiss on the top of his head before she squeezed in between him and Dean on the bench.
Harry did figure it out, quite some time ago, actually. They talked it over with Mind Healer Terrence, concluding that nothing in Draco’s life had ever been truly in his control. It made Harry feel sad, but mostly ridiculous. He used to be convinced the Malfoys had spoiled their child beyond tolerable; even if Draco had been spoilt, though, and not just hiding insecurity, it wasn’t worth the rest of the load.
Chapter 2: Three Feet Away
Chapter Text
It was September-ish. Harry sat in the back of the classroom, given up. They tried to push for more cooperative other-houses-and-Slytherin classes, visiting every year and class to spread the idea, but the resulting frays weren’t easily manageable. If anything, people and things got hurt and broken, respectively, more often. (Madame Pomfrey chewed their asses out and recommended Learning Their Own Healing Spells And Potions, Good Luck.) Oddly, the Ravenclaws turned out to be the biggest troublemakers, “logicking” the hell out of Slytherins, then breaking into hexes and fistfights.
“I admit I considered it a bit of a lost cause,” McGonagall told them earlier that morning with a sigh. Harry groaned quietly and half of their group sighed, too. “But it was worth a try nevertheless,” she stressed, “and I’m proud of you all. As the stereotype dictates, we’ll have to be more subtle. Miss Granger…”
Hermione stood upright.
“I’m aware of the afflictions Miss Parkinson and her… pack…” Ron huffed, and McGonagall shot him a dark look. “… had caused you in the past, but she and Miss Davis continue to hold quite influential posts among the Slytherin house.”
“And I reckon you want me to be the wise party who gets all the girls to pull together?” Hermione asked bitterly. McGonagall exhaled and started shaking her head unhappily, before Hermione added with a grimace: “I’ve been trying, Professor.” Harry and Ron witnessed her attempts. The Slytherin girls would vanish as soon as she’d say “hello”.
“I see…”
“I’ll try harder.”
Harry, Neville, Luna, Deamus, Susan, and Padma turned their heads to give her an incredulous stare. Susan’s face was the grimmest, as usually, all angles of her pale, shaved head shifting with the flickering of a candle that floated by the wall, above her right shoulder. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how scary she’ll be as a Hit Witch. McGonagall tutored her personally, and Susan made herself heard stating it was the only reason she hadn’t murdered every coward who didn’t fight for Hogwarts in their sleep. Harry did and didn’t understand at the same time. She’d lost all her family – but she pushed her friends away intentionally. Harry couldn’t imagine letting go of his friends, the family he chose, to save himself from grief that was inevitable anyway, one day.
Ron took Hermione’s hand and squeezed it, and she rose her chin a hair higher.
“I can talk to Pansy, too,” Padma said in a voice so small they barely heard her, even though she stood right next to them. All eyes shifted towards her. She cleared her throat, focused on the Headmistress. “We used to be… well, not friends. You know how it works with the pure-blood families. Me, Par, and Pansy were – allies. Before school. It doesn’t seem like much, I know, but maybe…”
“I would greatly appreciate the effort, Miss Patil.” McGonagall considered them. “I encourage you to set a good example.”
“Professor, it takes two parties to declare a truce,” Neville spoke up. “We can’t…” She gave him a stern look. “We’ll try anyway, you know we will,” he said wryly.
The meeting was pointless. Everybody did what they could, everybody would continue doing what they could, everybody felt so done, and everybody knew all that.
“You can go, with the exception of Mr. Potter.”
Panicking momentarily, Harry shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn-out trousers. His left hand clutched at a small, roughly diamond-shaped fragment of the stone of which the entire castle was made up. He’d found it long after the battle, a weirdly symmetrical piece of nature’s innate crudeness in the grass, and – he remembered – in that moment, he had thought death and destruction are beautiful, in a way.
He never told anyone because it scared him shitless. “Hey guys, I feel voldemortish, any advice?” He didn’t poke at the reason he carried a piece of wall around to calm himself, either.
“Shocker,” Susan mumbled on her way out. Her robes were folded up and fastened on her waist with a belt, creating a weird, but practical wear. Harry glared at her. For a fraction of a second, she grinned.
As they passed him, Ron and Hermione touched his elbows.
“Don’t wait up,” Harry told them with a crooked smile.
“See you later, mate.”
Once they were alone, Harry hunched and McGonagall smirked a little. “Do you know what I’m about to ask?”
Harry opened his mouth to say “no” when it dawned on him.
“Ha!” he barked. “No. No. Have you seen the way he looks at me?”
“I have, in fact. I also talk to him. Give it a chance.”
“Or ten,” he grumbled, his thoughts scrambled all over the place. I have, in fact. What was that supposed to mean? Did Malfoy cast him scorching looks differently when Harry wasn’t paying attention?
“Yes,” she said levelly. “Pure-blood traditions can do a lot of damage. We had all been scared and angry, not just us as the winning side. Some still are, and for good reasons, too. Our responsibility lies beyond simply ending things. We can give them more. We survived to make our future better.” Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her gaze piercing, but unlike encountering Dumbledore or Snape, he didn’t notice the X-ray quality Legilimency would have had while being with McGonagall.
Jolly.
“I survived to suffer the NEWTs,” he joked, feeling increasingly anxious.
“Please,” was all the Headmistress said. Harry’s chest ached with distant sorrow. Terrence would love it.
“You must know we’re doing our best,” he whispered.
“I do know, Potter.” McGonagall smiled at him fondly. “I struggle with my own helplessness. I wish the Slytherins could see past me having been the Gryffindor Head of House,” McGonagall said darkly. “To not have enough influence in her own school is unbefitting of a headmistress.”
“You’re doing great,” Harry assured her. “I think no one could do better in these circumstances.”
“Thank you, Potter. Will you try regarding Mr Malfoy?”
“Um, yeah. It can’t get much worse, can it?”
“I believe not.”
Harry smirked. “I’ll start greeting him in the hallways. Should make him lose his… balance.”
He’d swear the Headmistress rolled her eyes. “You may go, Mr Potter.”
As he was grabbing the doorhandle, a silky voice sounded: “You are wasting your time, Minerva.”
“Good day to you, too, Severus!” Harry shouted and shut the door. Time for a tense Potions class with the Slytherins. I might as well get to it straight away.
Draco Malfoy was reading a book, leaning leisurely against the wall, yet somehow managing to stand upright… Harry’s spine, habituated to slouching, hurt from observing him alone. Malfoy’s hair was slicked back, which Harry deeply regretted. A dishevelled Malfoy was much more… interesting. Yeah. Simply interesting.
“Hi,” Harry uttered clearly as the N.E.W.T. level Gryffindors and Slytherins slowly gathered in front of the Potions classroom, discussing their latest essay. Malfoy’s head shot up at a bird’s speed.
Don’t laugh. It’s not cute. It’s messed up that he’s so alert. It’s like when someone sneaks up on you. Messed up. It would be cute in a whole other reality.
“What do you want?” Malfoy retorted at once.
“Was I supposed to say ‘hello’ instead?”
Malfoy looked positively appalled.
Harry couldn’t. He ran away and into a bathroom and laughed hysterically until he cried.
He made it late to class, which wasn’t that unusual. Sometimes he felt like nothing mattered anymore and it took him a while to convince himself it would pass. Slughorn tried his best to pretend he hadn’t noticed, and Harry’s seat in the back of the classroom (where Ron, Hermione, Neville, Harry, Malfoy, and Zabini were least stared at – although Zabini with his sky-high confidence didn’t mind) remained vacant. Harry collapsed on the chair, read the instructions, and let out a disgusted grunt. The Reinforcing potion – used to prevent unstable buildings from falling on your head if spells don’t suffice or extra caution is needed. Usually brewed in cubic metres so that whole buildings could be rinsed. Also known as Another Potion Where Stopwatch Is More Important Than Breathing.
“Fuck you,” Malfoy hissed, and Harry flinched when their eyes met – the grey irises held so much hatred it rendered him speechless.
What the… They used to ignore each other beautifully.
“Fuck you, Potter. You don’t know shit.”
“I – I – what? For saying hello?”
“How idiotic are you?” After that, Malfoy went to fetch his ingredients. When he returned, he Summoned a huge book and studied it as if their confrontation never happened. So there Harry sat, given up, staring at an empty cauldron. McGonagall must’ve lost her mind. What the hell did he do, anyway? Okay, maybe he ran away. But Malfoy did that all the time. It wasn’t fair. Eventually, Harry started working on his own potion, sulkily dropping ingredients into the mix so carelessly it splashed out.
“Get a single fucking drop into my potion and I’ll cut your fucking hands off.”
Harry blinked. No spellwork, just a good old bloodbath. What a pleasant change. The front row chose that exact moment to burst out laughing after a set of stopwatches rang simultaneously and Harry glared at the back of their heads. With a sigh, he resumed chopping the Devil’s Snare.
“Oh!” he nearly cried out then quickly lowered his voice. “You saw me laughing,” he snickered. Malfoy said nothing. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”
Malfoy scoffed contemptuously. “Yeah, right. Fuck you.”
“No, really.” Be honest. Be nice. You’re making future… ugh, blah, blah. If you could kindly see that we have stuff in common, Malfoy, that would make my life much easier. “You moved precisely the same way I move when someone talks too close to me from behind.” Except Malfoy didn’t point his wand at him. Harry would do that. Hermione as well. Ron, for some reason, recovered from this habit faster than them. “I thought it was funny that we had it in common, and I honestly tried not to laugh in front of you,” Harry finished. A minute passed.
“You can keep your hands if you stay three feet away from my cauldron.”
Harry moved closer to Neville’s spot, the feeling of imminent doom gradually wearing off. Neville was assigned his own potions, using N.E.W.T. lessons to improve his rather poor potion making, as it turned out to be quite useful in herbology. Since Neville didn’t possess the Finnigan ability to blow things up and Hermione supervised him, Harry considered closing the distance safe. Neville, who overheard their whispered growling, smirked at him. Harry rolled his eyes.
/
Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe Potter. He fed his grudge, maintained his distance, minded his own business, and it kept failing him.
He liked the idea of someone actually caring about whether he lived or died. He hated how effortlessly Potter… existed.
He liked the way Potter looked when he got lost in thought, forgetting his surroundings. He hated the seeming honesty in his green eyes, he hated his stupid hair, his smell, everything.
He was grateful for the testimonies that saved him, Mother, and Father from Azkaban, obviously. He hated what Severus did for Potter, whom he despised, just because he was in love with his mother. He hated that instead of his godson, a boy who didn’t give a shit was there when Severus died.
He felt calmer when Potter was near because it meant no one would mess with him openly. He couldn’t stand how likeable Potter appeared to others, too.
/
Harry remembered some advice from Snape’s textbook and was quite satisfied with his progress, when a pale hand with long skinny fingers appeared above his cauldron just a second before he’d drop Mandrake leaves into it.
“The Devil’s Snare first.”
“Come on, the instructions say it doesn’t matter.”
Malfoy took his scary looking book, placed it on the no man’s land between them and turned back a few pages. The title of a possibly infinite table written in tiny letters read: Commonly used magical plant ingredients by melting time (in cs).
“Cs?” Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Centiseconds. The Devil’s Snare takes longer.”
Why is that even a thing? Harry gave him an impressed yet exasperated look.
“You’re obsessed,” he concluded.
“I’m capable. You’re useless,” Malfoy retorted haughtily. “Now switch it.”
“Yes, Potions Master Malfoy, anything you say.” In his peripheral vision, he could see Neville’s shoulders twitch with suppressed laughter. Harry inclined his head to hide a smile.
“Three feet away, Potter, are you blind?”
“As a matter of–”
“Fuck. Off.”
Harry laid down his arms, stepped to the left, and Malfoy took his book back.
When Harry got to the part where you leave your potion simmer for six minutes (three seconds tolerance), he took a chance and instead of scribbling something on the edges of his notes like he would any other lesson, he watched Malfoy work. He would expect him to frown, concentrating, but his face was serene. His hands moved with elegant efficiency, the sleeves of his robes hanging a bit too loosely around his wrists. Malfoy got awfully skinny. It occurred to Harry he must’ve looked similarly pitiful when he first arrived in Hogwarts. He imagined a scenario where he’d come to Malfoy and ask him if he eats enough. No way in hell.
/
Draco ignored Potter’s stare: he was quiet and three feet away, no real harm done.
The cheesiest thing was, Draco couldn’t stand the thought of Honestly Liking Harry Fucking Potter and never being liked back.
Chapter 3: They Should've Gone Flying
Notes:
I hate prepositions. I honestly hate them so much :D As usually, any advice regarding English writing welcome.
Chapter Text
Draco, leaning against a boulder in front of the gate to the vast area around the Shrieking Shack, had prepared several opening scathing remarks for Potter and Granger. Then only Potter appeared. He wore the same atrocious sweater Mrs. Weasley made for her children every year. Draco hated it; he hated them all. Potter’s hair curled on his head like a very fluffy knitted hat. The weather was surprisingly calm for the beginning of November.
“Granger babysitting Weasley?” Draco sneered. “How does that relationship work? Is she teaching him read and shit?”
“Hello to you, too, and yes, you only get me,” Potter said and stopped to lean against a tree about twenty feet from Draco and his boulder. Only get you. Aha. Scared to come near me, Potter? Obviously, he didn’t come to waste time. “I’m sorry for my lack on intellectual skill but it’ll have to do.” He smirked. Draco scowled. “The thing is we can’t prevent Skeeter from writing about us altogether,” Potter said regretfully. “But we get an early copy of her articles, and we tell her what’s a no-go and what rubbish we can live with.”
Huh.
“Why can’t you prevent her from writing about you altogether? Sounds like a good enough leverage to me.”
“Because she’d write about the time Hermione imprisoned her. Very illegally. And Hermione has plans too big for her to be frowned upon before strengthening her position at the ministry. We’re prepared for the possibility, but we wouldn’t like it.”
That sounded way more cunning than he expected.
“She’s your little helper, no one would care,” he grumbled.
Harry Potter let the remark slide. Why are you trying, Potter?
“Someone always cares. And she’d done more than me. I just happened to be Voldemort’s h…” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Well, I just walked into the sodding forest, and she and Ron kept saving me in everything else. And you, too, in the end.”
Draco’s chest tightened with fear.
“Why are you okay with telling me this?”
“Why would you tell anyone else?”
“You are so thick, Potter,” Draco wailed. “I can’t believe it keeps baffling me every time but here we are.”
“Malfoy…” Potter said seriously then trailed off and walked over. Seeing him coming closer almost timidly, Draco felt a sudden urge to bury his fingers in Potter’s hair and kiss his forehead… just to see… just to prove…
Potter plumped down on the ground about five feet from Draco, bending one knee and resting his hands and chin on it.
/
Gingerly, Malfoy slid off the boulder and sat down as well, crossing his legs, his chin so high he looked like he’d never slouched in his life. Who knew, maybe the Malfoys weren’t physically able to.
Don’t laugh. Don’t. Laugh.
“In case you were wondering, my Mind Healer made me do it,” Harry said.
Malfoy gave the smallest snort, as if he’d been waiting for a catch the whole time. “Figures. I wouldn’t give a shit about me either.”
“Come flying with me,” Harry suggested and he kinda surprised himself, too.
“I don’t get it.” Malfoy looked… haunted rather than angry.
“Come flying with me,” Harry offered once more, understanding his impulse in hindsight. “That’s it. I’m terrible at talking, you’re great at insulting me, we both like fooling around on a broom.”
“That makes no sense.”
“See? Terrible at talking. Let’s go.”
Harry did his best not to check if Malfoy followed because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t. Five agitating seconds later, he looked over his shoulder anyway.
Malfoy walked quietly and gracefully several steps behind him, watching him intently, and when Harry turned, he smirked. “Turning your back on a Death Eater – you sure you’re only terrible at talking?”
“Ex-Death Eater. And yes. Talking is a large part of my life. That makes me terrible at a large part of my life.”
“What’s being dead like?” Malfoy asked like he couldn’t help himself. Harry shrugged, strangely glad for his curiosity.
“It’s… I don’t know. I wasn’t really dead; I was at a stop. There was Dumbledore for some reason, and my piece of Voldemort’s… we talked about Voldemort… and how I could choose to wake up or go further. Die definitely.” He wanted to tell Malfoy about horcruxes. He wanted to tell him everything and see if he’d understand. But it would require a tediously long explanation.
“Your piece of Voldemort’s what?”
Harry did a double-take. A small number of pure-bloods was willing to say his name, but these were usually “blood traitors” like the Weasleys or the Longbottoms. To hear a Malfoy pronounce it? Whoah.
“Of…” Harry exhaled. “Do you know what a horcrux is?”
Harry could imagine his scowl. “No,” Malfoy said as if the sheer existence of something he hadn’t heard of offended him.
/
Potter got very tense, which he only did around girls and deadly tournament tasks, so Draco was sure his next words would either kill his braincells or really fucking suck.
Ex-Death Eater.
“Okay. It’s the reason Voldemort survived after he attempted to kill me.”
Yep. It was about to fucking suck.
“A horcrux is Dark magic. Messing with the rules of life Dark. I kinda thought you’d know about it –”
Of course, you would, of course you fucking would. I’m the Darkest, most evil, condemnable –
“– because Voldemort stayed in your house for, like, two years?”
Oh.
“Something like that,” he said numbly.
“And maybe some of his followers would know, even though we supposed he kept it to himself…”
Draco sighed annoyedly and tried to get Potter back on track: “What’s a horcrux, then?”
“It’s a piece of your soul locked in something.”
Draco must’ve made some kind of a sound because Potter stopped and turned around to face him.
“What the hell?” Draco said in a tone much higher than he’d like.
“When you murder someone, your soul shatters,” Potter said, visibly uncomfortable. “If you’re twisted enough, like Tom Riddle was, and figure it out, you can capture the shred of your soul separated by the murder and put it in an object or a creature of your choosing. Pretty much merge your soul with it.”
Or a creature. Or a creature. Merlin. Potter was…
“Even if your body is destroyed, there’s a possibility of reviving you unless every piece of your soul is gone. That’s what happened four years ago.”
“Killing you didn’t kill him because he had a horcrux.”
“Tom especially didn’t want to die.” Potter scoffed. Draco couldn’t help but gape. To call Voldemort, the Dark Lord, Tom… ugh. “He had seven horcruxes he meant to create – and me. When his soul shattered after he attacked baby me, it clung to mine.” Potter tried to smirk, but the topic was too depressing and terrifying; it had no effect whatsoever on Draco.
“And you carried a piece of – uh – Tom Riddle’s soul with you since then.”
“Yes.”
Draco had a moment of clarity. “That’s why you’re a Parselmouth!”
Potter smiled. “Yup.”
And he got excited. “That’s why the three of you left school? There were seven pieces you had to destroy, otherwise he’d never die?”
“Well, five, because... yeah.”
“So not even Dumbledore would be able to kill him.” It almost made Draco feel a teeny tiny bit relieved about trying to assassinate Dumbledore – he wouldn’t be ridding the world of its last hope after all.
“Dumbledore was the only one besides Regulus Black who knew about Riddle’s horcruxes.”
“Regulus Black knew? And Riddle found out,” Draco guessed.
Harry shook his head. “Riddle borrowed Black’s house-elf Kreacher…” Draco could imagine what honour it must’ve meant to them, and it made him sick. “… and used him to test the security measures for one of his horcruxes. Regulus found out from Kreacher, discovered the horcrux, and made Kreacher hide it at Grimmauld Place. Black was killed by the Inferii guarding the horcrux.”
“This is…” Draco realised he’d been shaking his head.
“Messed up. It gets worse.”
Draco closed his eyes. This never made it to the papers. He’d never heard of it before, not even during the trials. He started to think… think that Potter was only talking about it to make him feel worse about his life choices. About the way he decided to help his family.
A hand brushed against his forearm, and he opened his eyes to see Potter standing… close. Draco stared into his bright green eyes.
I could kiss you, Potter. What would you do then?
“We made it to the end,” Potter reminded him – and Draco wondered how he knew he needed a reminder. “And I didn’t learn it all at once, like you now. Dumbledore…” Potter glared at a tree scornfully. “He dosed it for me.”
“Let me guess. You didn’t know you’re part a psychotic murderer.”
“I barely knew anything,” Potter hissed at the tree and kicked it. All right…
“You don’t have to tell me,” Draco heard himself saying in a low voice.
“I want to,” Potter sighed. “I’m just not over it, yet,” he laughed sourly.
He wanted to tell. To Draco.
“The diary your father gave Ginny…”
/
Malfoy groaned and turned away from Harry, then spun back with a whine. “It was a horcrux. Yeah, just keep going. We all know what he’s like. I’m not even surprised. Honestly.” He waved his arms as if to say “I’m done”.
“I’m sorry,” Harry grimaced. “I know being raised by a dick is, eh, difficult.”
“You? You know?” Malfoy spat.
“Um, yeah? My aunt and uncle hated magic. And me. And me with magic. Duh.”
Malfoy looked thrown off balance. Harry suppressed a childish desire to grin smugly. Seriously, Potter, there’s nothing to be proud of here.
“Oh. Sounds like a fun childhood.”
“Totally.” Harry started walking back and forth between the nearest two trees. “So yeah, the diary was a horcrux. Riddle created it while he was still at Hogwarts–”
“After setting the Basilisk on Myrtle,” Malfoy whispered.
“Yeah. You’d be a much better Saviour than me, you catch on fast.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“The one Regulus found was a locket of Salazar Slytherin. Riddle also used the tiara of Rowena Ravenclaw and… oh, firstly, the reason we were at the Gringott’s with Hermione as Bellatrix… no, wait, I’ll tell you chronologically. Ugh.” Stupid. Harry laughed anxiously and glanced at Malfoy, expecting a sneer; but his face was grave. Harry took a breath and gathered his thoughts. “He had a family ring – I mean Riddle – obviously – okay, I need you to say something.”
Malfoy looked unsure. “Like what?” he frowned.
Yeah, Harry, like what?
Malfoy tilted his head to the side. “I’m listening.”
/
Potter nodded and resumed his pacing. Draco caught himself before he’d drop his jaw. Had he just reassured Harry Potter?
“The ring was cursed. He killed his Muggle father to create that one and when Dumbledore got his hand on it–” Potter laughed darkly at something Draco didn’t get, “–the curse manifested itself and nearly killed him. Snape contained it in his hand,” ah, that was why, “slowed it down, but Dumbledore was still going to die in less than year.”
“When I was tasked with killing him,” Draco said dully. “His hand was maimed.” He would be killing a dying man.
Potter hesitated. “Do you want to take a break? We can finish it some other time.”
“I didn’t want to kill him,” Draco blurted out desperately. Was Potter present on all his trial days? He couldn’t remember. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he repeated. Pathetic.
“I know,” Potter said as if it was obvious. Draco blinked. Potter pursed his lips. “Dumbledore told Snape he should do it in your stead. You know, so your soul would remain intact. They weren’t going to let you even if you… well, had it in you. Which I’m glad you don’t.”
He sounded so bloody… honest.
There was a long silence during which Draco felt small, hurt, and scared. He had no idea Dumbledore and Severus…
His chest tightened. He sniffled. His face was wet, and he could feel a headache coming on. Great.
Potter smiled knowingly. “We should’ve gone flying.”
“We should have.” Draco let out a sob, then realised with a jolt of horror he would fall apart in front of Harry Potter.
“Don’t worry, you still look flawless,” Potter said, that one smile on his lips again.
/
Harry could see Malfoy widening his eyes through the veil of tears and turned his back on him, fast.
What the fuck did I just say?
Harry’s face burned. He looked up at the unpleasant clouds and wished for a lightning bolt. Where was imminent death when you needed it?
“I always look flawless, Potter,” came a raspy voice. Malfoy appeared next to him. Harry almost felt the piercing grey eyes on his skin. “But thank you,” he added regally.
Harry dared to look at him. He tried to mimic his tone: “You’re welcome.”
Malfoy bit his lip visibly.
“Shut up,” Harry muttered.
“I haven’t said a thing,” Malfoy swore.
“You were thinking loud.”
Malfoy snorted. After a while, he asked carefully: “Are you a Legilimens?”
He looked like he regretted the question instantaneously, but Harry still stared at him, scandalized. “Malfoy. Look at me. Seriously? How the fuck would I be one?”
“I’ll pin it on paranoia,” Malfoy mumbled, his face turning a darker shade of pink.
“You should.” Harry remembered a fact that came up fairly often in the trials. “Plus, you’re an Occlumens, right?”
“Yes.”
Harry laughed. “I promise your thoughts are perfectly safe from me.”
Malfoy hummed half-heartedly. They were at the foot of the hill the castle towered on when Harry said in what he hoped was a playful tone: “You haven’t accused me of anything for a long time so you’re probably plotting something huge.”
“Oh, I can oblige.”
“Please, do. I can’t wait to contradict it.” Harry knew he had no particular reason to, but he felt good. He felt hopeful. Malfoy cast a sidelong glance at him.
“I’m thinking…” he started. “You’re only doing this to confirm the idea of a good, selfless, perfect boy everyone sees in you, and when I’m ‘tamed’, you won’t give a fuck and move on to another wreck.”
“False. False and false. What the hell again, D- Malfoy.” Harry winced. Shit, shit, what are you doing?
/
They were nearing the castle and unlike the obviously fit Potter, Draco was panting, and he hated himself for it. He had zero appetite and zero motivation to move more than he absolutely needed to. He wasn’t as lunatic as Potter on a broom, trying to practice Quidditch and acrobatics simultaneously. The resulting weight loss, worse than in the sixth year, was obvious even to him. Who cared, though – Draco began hating his body when he turned thirteen or so.
“Your contradicting is indeed very convincing,” Draco huffed sarcastically. Potter almost said his first name, he heard it, his cursed heart heard it. Merlin, why am I like this?
Out of nowhere, Potter grabbed his wrist, and he froze.
“Will you still talk to me like a sane person in the castle? You could return my ‘hellos’, for example.”
Draco shot him an irritated look and Potter basically jumped away as if he got burnt. Ugh. “Well, it’s not like my reputation could get any worse, is it? Do you care about yours at all?”
“No,” Potter grinned. “It’s not like it’s very stable anyway.”
“Then I guess I will.” Draco’s hand started itching and he checked the count tattooed on his palm by his monitoring spell. Fifteen minutes wand-time left. Meh.
“Cool.” Potter set out for the castle again in a ridiculously energetic pace.
Draco’s brain led him to hot then to you’re hot and he rolled his eyes at himself. They should’ve gone flying.
“Slow down, for fuck’s sake,” Draco whined. “You’re like a bloody animal.”
Potter burst out laughing – and slowed down without a single teasing word.
Something small and heavy in Draco’s chest relaxed and he took a deep breath.
They entered the courtyard where Potter claimed he was headed to the owlery. He uttered “bye” with a meaningful look (That’s the biggest challenge you’ve got, Potter? Pathetic.), after which Draco glared at him to maintain decorum and told him to enjoy his perch. Potter sent him to hell and promised he would.
It was… fine.
Draco made sure no one was around, cast an admittedly lousy Invisibility spell on himself and ran for McGonagall’s office. It almost killed him.
“What in Merlin’s name have you been running from?” McGonagall asked horrified when he dragged himself into the office. He dropped his wand on her meticulously clean desk (yes please) and held onto the edge of it, choosing resolutely to ignore all the portraits.
“Nothing. What on Earth… was Dumbledore thinking… ugh, I hate running… when he… uh, wait a minute.” When he was done panting, he asked: “If Potter, Granger, and Weasley died before they could retrieve all the horcruxes, who the fuck would finish the job if Dumbledore hadn’t told anyone?”
McGonagall stared at him in layered shock.
“Yes, Albus, who would do that?” he heard Severus say venomously.
“I trusted you to find a way,” Dumbledore replied calmly.
Roaring with cynical laughter, Draco left.
/
Anticipation gripping his ribs, Harry said “hi” as he was passing Malfoy in the hallway the next morning.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, smirked, and said: “Hi.”
Chapter 4: Topher, Way Too Many Emotions, and Yet Again (Still) No Flying (Yet)
Notes:
I love how the chapter title is actually legit in English. Hehehe. Sorry. Have a wonderful day!
Chapter Text
Two weeks of hi’s and hello’s, joking and bouncing from dark subjects to stupid ones and back. In today’s Potions, Draco held himself for thirty minutes then gritted his teeth and turned to Potter, who was watching him work the entire time, not even trying to be subtle anymore.
“Don’t you want to pass your NEWTs?” Draco snapped. He heard Granger snort. He lowered his voice. “Potter?”
“This is more interesting,” Potter drawled.
… what?
“And I will pass, thank you.”
“Not with this attitude, you won’t. Even famous, fancy Aurors such as your hypothetical self have to brew potions that work.”
“It’s nice of you to care, but I’ll just buy all of them at yours, hypothetical Master Potioneer,” Potter uttered smugly.
This was exactly the problem. He said Draco looked flawless (which was a memory to which Draco clung more fiercely than his mental health probably required), laughed with him instead of at him, told him fucking war secrets, didn’t appear to talk voluntarily to anyone but his inner circle and Draco, and now he was complimenting his skills.
Logically, it sounded like the nice kind of… friendship…?
Emotionally, it made zero sense to Draco, which sent him into panicking and a certain kind of dark void. Potter liked good, helpful people. Draco hurt him a million times and didn’t lift a finger for anyone else if he didn’t have to (apart from Topher, that is). He sorted the latter in his head a while ago to find that he honestly wanted to become a healer or a pharmacist – he just liked the idea of being useful, and he loved potion brewing and precise spellwork – but it was a long way to go. These days, Father wouldn’t probably disapprove openly. For once. Nevertheless, Draco had no idea how to convince people to trust him with his family’s reputation lying in the gutter, and he couldn’t bribe his way into a good starting position either.
Yeah, that was another thing. His family’s morality wasn’t quite consistent with Potter’s.
“Have I offended you somehow?” Potter asked, his eyes fixing the table, and Draco’s thoughts scattered at the sight.
/
It seemed that Malfoy couldn’t decide what to answer.
“I know I can be annoying,” Harry smirked, dropping a cauldron on his stupid head internally. So far so good ends right here. Twelve days are the maximum, I reckon. “I’ll give it a rest.”
“I thought I was the annoying party in this,” Malfoy scoffed. Huh. It sounded like Malfoy didn’t like himself too much, either. A strange thing to hear admitted, though.
“I just gave up on thinking about how to say things because I do suck at it. So I just say what I think, and it’s blunt, and it shows how dumb I am, but I feel pretty fine.” Harry shrugged.
“You’re not dumb, you’re lazy. If I said what I think,” Malfoy drawled nonchalantly, “this whole school would burn.”
Was Harry lazy? He considered a lot of things unworthy of his time, all the more after the war, true. And now that he found out that Slughorn didn’t care what he was doing during his lessons, Harry’s motivation evaporated. At least Snape made him pay attention.
“Aww, but I practically live here,” Harry complained. “Would you still burn it if I bought it? I’m rich enough. I could sue you.”
Malfoy didn’t manage to hide a grin before he schooled his features into a regal expression again. Ha. Harry discovered, being an active participant in their teasing, it was comfortable fun for both of them. They threw sarcastic retorts at each other, made faces, uttered pathologically dark jokes about war and Mind Healing when no one saw it coming and picked at every Quidditch team except the Slytherins. Harry had to suffer through it because this year’s Gryffindor was a catastrophe. It was him as Seeker, Ron as Keeper and Captain, and a bunch of fresh players who were… eh… average at best and totally useless at worst. Ron almost cried after the try-outs.
Harry watched Malfoy lean over his cauldron. During Potions, when the brewing took long, Malfoy’s hair would often loosen from under the Smoothening spell and frame his face in a way that made him look younger and more genuine. It suited him. Harry could sit and watch him all day and wasn’t that one hell of a weird turn?
“You couldn’t buy it,” Malfoy said. “I’d outbid you.”
“You’d buy a castle just to burn it?” Harry scoffed.
“Suits my persona.” This time, Malfoy smiled widely – and with no signs of mirth. “I’m not a nice person, Potter.”
Well, I am baffled.
“Who’s a nice person according to you?”
“You?”
Harry snorted. “I tell people to fuck off every day.”
“You?”
“Seven years of stupid shit, Malfoy, and you still haven’t noticed how much I hate attention.”
“Stupid shit,” the blond repeated incredulously.
“Okay, some of it was dangerous stupid shit.”
Malfoy scoffed, muttered something with “unbelievable” in it and continued brewing. Harry’s eyes followed his fingers. He braced himself.
“Did it scar?” Harry whispered. “The Sectumsempra I cast?” They never talked about it, and it was nagging at him. At least in Potions, Malfoy had nowhere to run. Malfoy stirred his potion twice counterclockwise and set it to simmer. Very slowly, he leaned towards Harry, who didn’t dare move because of the raging feeling of something unidentifiable in Malfoy’s grey eyes. Malfoy cut every word as if it was vital that they sounded perfectly clear.
“Not. Your. Fucking. Business.”
“Malfoy…”
“You know, you should’ve just finished the fucking job when you cast it.” Malfoy flicked his wand aggressively, Vanished everything on his desk, and left, slamming the door shut. Slughorn jerked his head up from whatever he was writing at the desk and gave a low “oh”.
Harry felt shell-shocked. They were doing well… weren’t they?
“Malfoy wasn’t feeling well, Professor,” Zabini announced dispassionately.
Slughorn laughed awkwardly. “Well… his grades were always excellent. I suppose he won’t need to brew it again.”
Harry waited for a murderous glare, a hex, something, but Zabini kept to himself and the other Slytherins focused on their potions. Maybe they were simply used to Malfoy’s irritability, and to them this looked like any other fit he threw.
The moment the class ended, Harry held Zabini back… and realised he didn’t know what to say.
“Got a problem, Potter?” Zabini cooed, his teeth flashing white against his dark lips.
“Can you tell Malfoy to meet me at lunch?” Harry asked a little defensively.
“Whatever you ask, my Saviour,” Zabini jeered and took a bow.
“Thanks,” Harry said dryly.
---
A tall figure loomed over his lunch, then a pair of familiar pale hands rested on the table. Harry let out a relieved breath and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards when he noticed Malfoy painted his nails black. Self-care, not self-harm.
“Hi,” Harry said lightly. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
“I sincerely hope,” Malfoy murmured peevishly, “you didn’t walk around claiming I lost it. I’m moody, not suicidal.”
“You?” Harry gasped, causing Malfoy to raise an eyebrow. “Moody? I never would’ve guessed!”
Malfoy sat down next to him and elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ow!” Harry yelped. “Look, I just wanted to apologise and didn’t think you’d leave during Potions of all–”
“I don’t want your apology,” Malfoy snapped. “There’s no reason for it and it certainly wouldn’t change anything.”
It scarred. It had to, right? Sectumsempra wasn’t just illegal, it was probably meant to be an Unforgivable.
“People don’t apologise because it changes things,” Harry said, consternated. “And there’s one hell of a reason for it.”
“What, because you lost your nerve once?” Malfoy mocked.
“Is quantity the only measure you use for things?”
“What?”
“Once is all it took! Because, surprise, I didn’t want you to die.”
Malfoy snorted, shrugging it off. “You wouldn’t exactly mourn me, would you?”
Harry scowled at him. “If nothing else, an execution is never the right thing to do, for fuck’s sake.”
Malfoy smiled drearily. “Yeah, well, sometimes you only get to pick out of the wrong ones.”
“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry repeated stubbornly. Malfoy gave him an exasperated look.
/
“I know that, you idiot,” Draco moaned. Potter gaped at him as if he said trolls were cute. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t hold it against you. So: no need to apologise.” Merlin, do you get it? Whatever. “What I do hold against you,” Draco drawled, picking a small empty tin plate, “is using a spell you’re not familiarized with, dimwit,” and he smacked Potter’s head with it, which gave out a satisfyingly loud bang.
“Ow!” Potter yelled, more surprised than hurt. “Fucking hell, you–” He reached to grab the plate, so Draco tossed it into his lap, struggling not to laugh, counting on Potter’s reflexes. It was perfect. Potter snatched it instinctively and it hit his knuckles. He hissed, glaring at the Slytherin. Draco grinned.
“You know what, Malfoy, I’ll just kill you right now,” Potter growled half-heartedly.
“I can’t wait,” Draco assured him cheerfully. “So, didn’t you pay attention in, like, the first class we had in Hogwarts?”
Potter grabbed a piece of gingerbread in the shape of a star, frowning. Wait, what? That was it? No interesting reaction? No dark looks?
“Do you know anything,” Draco continued, “about spell safet–”
And Potter stuffed the star into Draco’s mouth, laughing like mad when Draco let out a muffled shriek from the fright of the unexpected. He spat it out and into his palm and stared at it for so long Potter stopped giggling for a second. Good. I like you too much when you’re laughing with me, and I can’t have that. Draco raised his head slowly, their eyes met – such a nice shade of green wasted on a Gryffindor – and they both burst out laughing.
“Idiot,” Draco shook his head.
“Look who’s talking.”
All was reasonably well again. For six hours exactly.
---
Draco stared beyond the tip of Finnigan’s wand into his narrowed eyes, fuming. He didn’t manage to even open his mouth before the human salamander took out his wand and pointed it in his face. Of all hostile Gryffindor idiots, it had to be Finnigan who walked out of the portrait first.
“Hello, Finnigan,” he ground through gritted teeth, trying really hard to be polite, polite, polite.
“What are you doing here?” Finnigan spat out.
Get help for Topher. “I need Potter’s help.”
“You don’t need shit. Fuck off.”
Think about Topher. “Just bring him here and let him decide for himself.”
“Wanna throw him off a staircase or what?”
“You–” Draco took a breath. It’s not about you. “I just want to talk. Would you lower your wand, for fuck’s sake?”
“Talk to me and I’ll decide.”
I’ll fucking hurt you. “I need him to help a Slytherin.”
“No one wants to help you, Malfoy.”
Whatever. “Not me. A second-year. I don’t even have my wand anymore,” Draco hissed.
“A little Slytherin? Are they shite like you were?”
“You fucking twat–”
Finnigan scoffed and turned around, closing the portrait behind him.
“No!” Draco leaped forward but didn’t make it. The Fat Lady squealed and started babbling something disapprovingly. “Finnigan, please! Fuck!” Draco screeched completely out of his mind. Someone else had to come. Someone else had to come out.
It was all his fault, all his fault, all his fault.
/
“Harry!” Seamus cried out. Harry looked up from his Transfiguration essay, annoyed. He just started after coaxing himself into it for a week. “You won’t believe this. There’s Malfoy outside, looking like he’s lost his marbles and then some.”
What the hell?
“What did he want?” Harry asked, already on his way out.
“Ah, he wants you to help some Slytherin kid? First I thought he came here to murder someone, he looked– Harry, be careful!”
Harry darted across the common room and burst out of the tower. A pair of bloodshot grey eyes widened at the sight of him – Malfoy took a step closer and raised his hands, possibly to signal he meant no harm, but it was forced. There were dark circles under his eyes and his lips had barely any colour. He looked like Draco at the trials.
“Draco?” Harry whispered, his blood screaming “look out!”. He surveyed his body for injuries. He wanted to ask him if he’s okay, ignore anything he’d say, make him drink three Pepper-Ups and send him to bed. A part of Harry’s mind rearranged.
“I need a favour, Saviour of the Wizarding World,” Draco said. Harry realised he was so mad he was shaking – though apparently, not at Harry.
“Is anyone in immediate danger? Do I need to take someone else with us?”
“Not anymore and no,” Draco said stiffly. He ran a hand through his hair, and not for the first time, because it stuck out everywhere on his head.
What a wonderful sight of an insane Draco. Shit.
“Okay, just a sec…” Harry rushed back and found Dean instead of Seamus, which was a relief. Dean looked at him questioningly, sitting in one of the soft armchairs scattered around the common room, a thin book in his hands. Harry crouched next to him.
“Hey, mate,” he whispered. “Something’s happened in Slytherin and it’s serious, although no one’s in danger. Can you tell the others I went with Draco and will come back when it’s settled?”
Dean narrowed his eyes.
“No problem. Are you heading out of the castle?”
“Not sure.”
“Can Malfoy cast a Patronus to send a message?”
Harry hesitated. The Dementors used to be under Voldemort’s control. The Death Eaters didn’t need to learn the spell even if they had a memory happy enough to perform it. Harry was fairly sure Draco had no such memory in the first place.
“I don’t think he can,” Harry said matter-of-factly.
“Fine, then, at least don’t do stupid shit alone.”
“I won’t. He is a good wizard, you know.”
Dean tapped his wristwatch and a light flashed above it, drawing 8:23 PM in the air before dying out. “It’s also past his wand-time.”
“I won’t do stupid shit, Christ.” Harry got up and ran back to Draco.
Malfoy.
Oh my god, he called him Draco aloud. Oh shit. Thank fuck it wasn’t Seamus. No thank fuck that the weird “you’re safe” atmosphere emanated from Dean and made him say it.
When did he become Draco?
“What took you so long?” said blond snarled. Harry closed the portrait, letting go of the tiny bit of hope that Draco had calmed down a little in his absence.
“Let’s walk for a bit, yeah?” he said, carefully keeping concern out of his voice. He wanted to hug the distressed Draco so badly he questioned his own sanity, but concern was usually one of the things that set Draco off. “What happened?”
“So, my only friend in this fucking castle is a twelve-year-old half-blood Slytherin and he just got beaten up and hexed literally into oblivion for being gay and talking to me.” Draco almost shouted the end of the sentence and his pace got fast as his fury grew.
“Uh, firstly, I’m your friend…” Harry started.
“What?” Draco spat, confused, and didn’t seem very happy about the concept.
Harry tilted his head back and groaned at the high ceiling: “Why me?”
“Potter–”
“Whatever, go on,” Harry said quickly. “How’s the kid doing? And what do you want from me?”
Draco stopped dead in his tracks.
“Look.” His voice trembled, but Harry couldn’t tell whether from rage or despair. “I fucked up. I fucked up a lot. It’s on me. Totally.”
“Wait, what did you– Is he all right?”
“So unless you want – he’s fine, I healed his fractures, stocked him with potions, made sure he wasn’t concussed, all that–” Draco waved his hand dismissively. “Unless you want to–”
“You healed him on your own?” Harry gaped at him. Fractures? What the actual fuck is happening in that house?
“–avenge the kid for me, because that’s exactly what they deserve,” Draco rambled on, “yes, are you deaf? And I’d just end up in Azkaban if I did–”
“What? No! Draco!”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, shut the fuck up and listen. Can you help me protect him, though? Can you hide him in the Gryffindor tower?”
Harry hadn’t seen him so agitated since the trials and hadn’t felt so out of balance since the funerals. He understood nothing. “What? Slow down.”
“I use simple sentences!” Draco flared up. “If Bones wasn’t in Hufflepuff, I’d ask there, but she’s scary as fuck, and he’s got more classes with Gryffindors than anyone else. I’ll cover the rest of his schedule. Please, Potter, I’ll do – I’ll do anything you w–”
“Shut up, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry said. “I thought we were friends. Do you want us to be friends?”
It was pure confusion that he saw on Draco’s face now.
“Why would you want that?” Draco laughed incredulously.
“Because you’re brilliant? And funny? And dumb at once, apparently? Hello?” Harry waved his hand in Draco’s face, and Draco slapped it.
“Ow,” Harry said offendedly. “My point is, it’s not a favour and it doesn’t have to be returned. You guys are mental, honestly. Now if you could take me to your mystery friend and introduce me to the amazing efficient plan I hope you have…”
Draco blinked a few times. Harry could see the cogs turning inside his head, magical sparks exploding here and there.
“My only plan besides maiming all the second-years and third-years,” Draco sighed, hopefully running out of anger, “was throwing Topher among the big brave lions and make them guard him. He’s literally the sweetest kid I’ve ever met so you’d have to.”
He has a name, excellent.
“I take back my complimenting your intelligence,” Harry complained. “Why, just why didn’t you come to Hermione?”
“Fuck you,” Draco snapped and started walking away.
Draco iratum nunquam titillandus, ha fucking ha, Harry thought, browned off.
“Wait for me, you tall git!”
Draco didn’t slow down.
“Draco, wait!” he called out, some degree of exasperation creeping into his voice.
That got the Slytherin to falter in his step and eventually, to stop. Harry caught up with him until they faced each other.
“Draco, you can’t yell at me for everything. Talking is a thing.”
/
His name sounded so nice in Potter’s voice. Was it Harry now? Harry, Harry, Harry.
He was too pissed.
“I ca…” He trailed off, closed his eyes, and just breathed for a minute. So you’re on a first-name basis now. So what? Don’t feel special, you little shit. When he opened them again, Harry was still standing there, impatient but silent.
Harry reached out, stroked Draco’s forearm lightly, and said: “Let’s go get Topher?”
“You really…” Draco hesitated and clenched his fists when Harry’s hand disappeared, leaving a tingling sensation. “Let’s go get Topher.” He ignored the distinctive lack of feeling in his fingers and toes. Topher first.
They marched through two hallways, rounded a left corner at the end of the second one, and passed three niches before Draco cried: “Toffee tree!”
There was a thump, some creaking, another thump, how close to the ceiling were you, for Merlin’s sake?, and then a door to the closest classroom opened to reveal a tiny dark-haired boy with huge black eyes that seemed even bigger in the light of the torches. He tiptoed closer and Draco examined his moves. Yep, he looked fine.
“I see what you meant by sweet,” Harry mumbled dryly. Draco struggled to keep his expression blank, nodding at Topher.
“Hello, my name is Topher Lydall,” the kid recited.
“Hello, I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said gently. Draco wasn’t really afraid of how Harry would accept a bullied child, but he felt relieved anyway. Step one complete, thank fuck.
“I know,” Topher said.
Harry rolled his eyes while Draco snickered.
“I thought it’d be polite to introduce myself. What are you two up to?”
“If I bring him back to the dungeons,” Draco said, “someone’s going to hurt him eventually. I need time to find a solution without committing a crime and in the meantime, I need Topher to stay out of the dungeons. He can’t walk from class to class alone either.”
“Eh, I don’t know what he’ll be facing in the tower. There are idiots up there, too. And I have no idea what the teachers would say.”
Topher started sniffling.
“Hey,” Draco admonished and saw Harry shooting him a murderous glare. He’s not you, fragile Scarhead. “I told you you’d be fine. Trust me on this or do it on your own.”
“R-right, so-sorry,” Topher stammered.
“Ugh,” Harry groaned. “I know he can be a dick, but he means well,” he smirked at Topher. It took all of Draco’s willpower to stay quiet. “You’re allowed to be emotional, okay?”
Topher’s eyes popped out.
Harry sighed. “It’s too much. Come with me, cuteness incarnate.” Topher’s eyes somehow got even wider. Again, a stupid amount of relief flooded Draco. They followed Harry back to the tower. Topher reached for Draco, and he took his hand.
“You’re so spoiled,” Draco shook his head theatrically. “If you had a big brother like me, you wouldn’t dare.”
“You said you didn’t have a big brother,” Topher replied, puzzled.
“I meant if I was your brother, nitwit.”
“See, Topher,” Harry mused in front of them in a confidential voice that awoke dread in Draco. “Draco can tell a spoiled kid from a modest one because he himself used to be a spoiled brat. It’s like a sixth sense now.”
Topher sniggered, his mood suddenly improved. Draco wanted to scream. Of course, everybody likes Harry Fucking Potter. Topher won’t even be interested in coming back from the Gryffindors.
“I like him anyway,” Topher said afterwards.
Oh. Misjudged again. Shit, I might as well go back to Burroughs and tell her she was fucking right. Maybe he should. But mind therapy was exhausting and made him feel like shit.
“He’s got a weird sense of humour, and I do, too,” Topher announced.
“Oh, that he does.” Harry turned around and walked three steps blindly just to grin at Draco, apparently. Draco scowled, just to be sure.
“Topher, your humour includes throwing slugs at other kids.” Draco stared down at him and the kid flushed. “It’s not weird, it’s dumb and childish.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry opposed darkly. Draco gave him a speculative look. “I’d say it’s that kind of humour that gets you in trouble. You’re small, Topher. You can’t afford being stupid.”
“You don’t say,” Topher spat, gripping Draco’s hand tighter. “I also can’t afford friends. No one wants to be friends with you in Slytherin if you’re gay.”
You mean if you’re gay and against sex with a female.
Draco almost pointed at himself, but it wouldn’t matter. Topher was twelve years old; it was about as much of a friendship as he used to have with Gemma Farley. It simply felt weird to view himself as a mentor.
“Screw Slytherin, then,” Draco sighed. “I told you you could make friends among the other houses. Now’s your chance.”
“I don’t want to,” Topher muttered sulkily.
“There’s always someone who feels more scared or embarrassed than you,” Harry laughed.
“Easy for you to say,” Topher retorted. “You’re cool, and you date girls.”
“I’m…” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. There was something wrong about his laugh, but Draco didn’t dare ask. They reached the moving staircases and had to wait for three of them to change to get to the tower. Topher’s hand kept squeezing Draco’s more and more.
“It’s all right,” Draco said in a low voice.
They stopped before the Fat Lady’s portrait. Harry crouched in front of Topher, darkened eyes full of sarcasm. “Okay, why do you think I’m cool?”
“You killed the Dark Lord.” Harry pursed his lips. False. Topher hesitated before he continued: “You saved everybody. Everyone likes you.”
“I’ll say,” Draco muttered.
“Fine, a lesson for you both,” Harry scoffed. “Don’t assume stuff about people. Just. Ask. Them. Until I came to Hogwarts, I was starved, I lived in a fucking cupboard, I did all the work around the house, I was bullied every day, I wore my fat cousin’s clothes.”
It was like being punched in the stomach. Draco’s head spun. He remembered little Potter walking around in t-shirts and trousers at least three sizes bigger.
“My only ‘friend’ was a female snake to whom I showed a good hunting place behind our garden, and she wouldn’t shut up about her offspring. And you know what? I am cool, but it’s because I got through all that and didn’t kill anyone or myself. And for the record, Voldemort killed himself with his own curse. Who keeps coming up with this bullshit?” He got up, not sparing Draco a glance. “Fuck’s sake. Wait here, I’ll get Hermione. Ruby rubber root,” the Saviour told the Fat Lady and walked through.
Draco might’ve as well been Petrified. They stood in silence for several minutes.
“That’s a stupid password,” Topher commented.
“Pardon me, young man?” the Fat Lady cried in dismay.
“I-I-I-I’m sorry,” Topher squeaked.
Draco let go of his hand and leaned against the balustrade. The boy looked up worriedly, eyes big.
“You ought to be brave,” Draco smiled.
“Okay,” Topher whispered.
“And Harry was right. Don’t assume.”
“Okay.”
“And be smart.”
“I knowww. I’ll be smart and kind and ask the right questions, whatever that means.”
“Good boy.”
/
Harry regretted what he said to Topher the moment he emerged in the common room, where the familiar, warm colours calmed him a little. Sometimes he got mad too quickly, and… he probably took out his anger at Malfoy on the boy.
Oversharing in front of Draco bloody Malfoy, argh. He forgot to contradict the part about dating girls. Ginny would have a proper laugh.
“Harry!” Hermione shouted from across the room and Ron followed, both getting up from a game of Muggle chess. He met them half-way through, and they all hugged briefly.
“What happened?” Ron frowned.
“You seem upset,” Hermione remarked. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine. Recovering from a shock, I guess,” Harry admitted then cringed. “I have a task for you, actually,” he grinned at Hermione.
“For me?”
“You’re the amazing Head Girl, after all.”
“Ha, ha.”
“So…” Harry supposed it didn’t matter who was listening. Soon everyone will know about Topher either way. “There’s this kid in Slytherin, Topher Lydall–”
“We have classes with Topher!” an eager little girl chimed in, appearing next to Harry. He jumped, reaching for his wand. Ron grabbed his arm, and they exchanged a resigned look.
“Sorry,” the girl smiled nervously. She had light brown hair sticking out of her head like a monstrous hedgehog.
“Hi, Daisy,” Hermione said calmly.
Daisy took a breath and spluttered: “Monica said his best friend cursed him after he said he was gay to him.”
Harry’s best friends cast him equally confused looks.
“No one is cursed. What I know is, Topher is gay, a half-blood, and he was seen interacting with Draco,” Harry elaborated. Aside from commiserative hissing, he noticed a change in their faces that he’d seen in Dean earlier. Yeah, whatever, he’s Draco, big deal. “Some second-years and third-years beat him up. Draco healed him but he’s worried.”
“He healed him?” Hermione blinked. “On his own? Pomfrey didn’t check up on him?”
“Yep.”
“Impressive but he should’ve–”
“Not the main issue now,” Harry interrupted impatiently. “Draco’s working on a solution that doesn’t require violence–”
“Hooray,” Ron smirked.
“–and he asked me to let Topher crash here in the meantime and task some of his Gryffindor classmates to walk him to classes, the Great Hall, and bathrooms and such.”
“And I assume his teachers don’t know because the Slytherin house is a fucking sect,” Ron growled.
“Language,” Hermione said automatically while Daisy gasped.
“Teachers can’t watch him all the time,” Harry pointed out. “Guys… Draco said he healed his fractures.”
“Oh my god,” Daisy squealed. “Monica and I can guard him! I think.”
Ron sighed heavily. “They’re waiting behind the portrait?”
Harry nodded. Ron up and left without another word and came back with Topher, who looked terrified and seemed even smaller than in the dim corridors, and Draco, who kept shooting careful glances at Harry. The common room fell completely silent in under a few seconds.
“Listen up, guys,” Ron shouted. “This is Topher…”
“L-lydall,” Topher said through chattering teeth.
“Topher Lydall, everybody. His dormmates attacked him–”
“Because he’s a Slytherin and it’s normal down there?” a fourth-year Harry knew only by sight scoffed.
“Not that it fucking matters,” Harry retorted before Draco could snap, “but if you must know, it was because he was brave, and fighting’s not normal anywhere.” The boy frowned but remained quiet.
“The point is,” Ron raised his voice again, “there’s a second year being threatened by people in his own house. A house that’s usually known for its integrity, too. We know that Slytherins happen to be quite resourceful, and Topher has nowhere else to go. We’ve seen the Ravenclaws go nuts in class, the Hufflepuffs have Susan, which wouldn’t end well for her or for Topher, and the teachers can’t watch him all the time.”
“They broke three of his bones,” Draco said coolly. “He was badly bruised and unconscious when I found him. I healed him and I’d hate to have to do it again.”
Harry had to admire how efficient the three sentences were.
“Who the fuck does that to a child?” Parvati’s voice sounded in the middle of an appalled silence. Topher squirmed under the scrutiny.
“Who does that to anyone?” Hermione replied grimly. “Don’t tell me that after what we’ve been through, you’re going to blame a child.”
“We aren’t.”
The room started buzzing with quiet conversations.
“Hi Topher,” Daisy peeped.
Topher made a surprised sound. “Hi Daisy.”
“Welcome to Gryffindor, then,” another girl, probably a fifth-year, said. “We’ll sort it out with the second-years. Daisy and Monica can help, right?”
“Sure!” Daisy beamed.
“And Topher will tell us what happened and what to watch out for, exactly and truthfully,” Hermione warned. Topher nodded solemnly.
Draco pulled out a tiny suitcase out of the pocket of his robes. “Could you Unshrink this for Topher, please?”
And that was it.
/
Draco didn’t realise how tense he was until the Gryffindor common room jumped to their feet and swarmed Topher like thirty adoptive parents. He felt light-headed, and even said thanks to Weasley. He wasn’t sure how he got out of the tower. Harry followed him out for some reason.
It actually worked.
It was strangely deafening how quiet the hallways were, the echo of their footsteps muffled. Or was it just him? Sleepiness threatened to slow down his pace.
“You okay?” Harry hummed.
He looked at him. Harry sighed. They stopped at the same time.
“I’m sorry I snapped,” Harry said bleakly.
“You had every right to,” Draco reckoned. He thought maybe if they stood there long enough, he could fall asleep.
“I aimed at the wrong guy,” Harry grimaced.
“I think Topher got it,” Draco replied in what he hoped was a gentle tone.
They watched each other, Harry looking tired and Draco feeling like it with every fibre of his being. He had no idea how to express what he felt, and fatigue turned his brain gradually into mud.
“Thank you,” he breathed finally, shaking his head helplessly. “For everything,” he added lamely.
“That’s what friends are for,” Harry smiled faintly.
“Do friends hate each other sometimes?” Draco said bitterly. He had nothing at that moment – no wand, no strength, no will. He wanted Harry to hug him. He wanted to fall asleep in his lap and forget about the world.
Harry’s smile widened. “We’re special.”
/
Initially, Harry planned to stay with Topher, apologise to him and make sure everyone understood what needed to be done. Then he saw Draco heading for the door, his moves suggesting he might’ve turned into a zombie. Looked like too much stress and too little food worn him out. Idiot. Ron’s unsurprised gaze followed him out the door – he knew, because he looked over his shoulder guiltily at the entrance.
“If we weren’t like this, it would be boring,” Harry stated. “Plus we hate each other significantly less often than we used to.”
“What is wrong with you, Harry Potter?” Draco tried to scoff. It came out affectionate.
“Quite a lot,” Harry chuckled. Draco, of course, had to ruin the moment by turning serious again.
“I meant what I said earlier. This is a huge deal. If you happen to need something from me, let me know.”
Rubbing the piece of stonewall in his pocket distractedly, Harry studied Draco’s skinny frame.
“Actually, there’s one thing that bothers me immensely,” he said gravely.
“All right?”
Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe he was bonkers – either way, he closed the distance between them and hugged Draco, who let out a soft surprised sound. He willed his breathing to stay calm and even, and he struggled not to nuzzle up against Draco’s chest. A day to be proud of.
He bit his lip when Draco returned the hug, albeit lightly.
“The thing is… I want you to eat more than a first-year’s portions for a change,” Harry mumbled and stepped back. Draco’s eyes were wide.
“What? Should I start by stewing some Mandrakes for you?”
“Do I look that awful?” Draco asked in a way that betrayed he, in fact, knew how thin he’d got.
“I told you you looked flawless, git. But you need to eat.” Harry clicked his tongue.
Draco snorted almost inaudibly and yawned.
“All right, keep walking before you fall asleep.” Unhurriedly, they resumed their pace.
“Yes, my bed is eager to see me again.” His words sounded a little slurred.
“Can’t believe you like your bed better than me,” Harry grumbled mournfully. “Does it talk to you, too?”
“You know… it comes to the same thing. Because you and the bed have a very similar score on the social intelligence scale.”
“Ouch.”
Draco let out a high-pitched frustrated sound and slowed down rapidly. Harry turned around, startled.
“Are you okay?”
“Har…” Draco’s eyes closed, and his knees gave in. Harry leaped forward and caught him before he hit the ground. He laid him down.
“Tireth…” Draco breathed out and his body went limp.
“Perfect,” Harry muttered. Christ.
/
Draco woke up in an unfamiliar place – the ground was hard and cold and the ceiling so high… but he felt pretty alert, compared to the last time he felt.
A hallway. “Mmm,” he hummed morosely.
“Well, good morning, Malfoy,” he heard from above and it sounded very Weasley.
“Can you feel your fingers?” another familiar voice asked.
“Granger?” Draco sat up, flexing his fingers and toes. “Oh. Yes. You healed me?”
When he looked around, he saw Weasley leaning against the wall in front of him, with Harry sitting close and casting Draco dirty looks. Draco chose to look at Granger, who was kneeling by his left, a wand still in her hand, although pointing down on the stone floor, as it should when unused.
“I did,” Granger smiled mildly, looking smug.
The whole Golden Fucking Trio for the rescue.
“Thank you,” he blinked, impressed and humiliated. He scoffed at his hands. They had an attractive shade of dead, sprinkled with Umbridge pink.
“My theory is you put too much magic into healing Topher. Correct?”
“I’m not usually such a shite healer,” he grumbled and got up, dusting himself off. “I was terrified he’d die, I don’t know, I just… meh.”
“It’s understandable, I just wouldn’t expect it from you.”
“What, healing?” Draco snarled at her. He could almost feel Weasley preparing a hex.
“The lack of emotional control, idiot,” Harry snapped before Granger could. “Next time you’re on the verge of collapsing, maybe warn me,” he added sarcastically.
What, because you were concerned? Oh. Because we’re friends. Oh. We’re friends. Oh my god, he meant it. Draco suppressed a sudden rush of giddiness and shook his head. This was no time to grin like a retard.
“It’s not like you could’ve done anything,” he told Harry.
“I was–”
“Topher is fine, by the way,” Granger stated. Draco flashed her a grateful smile.
“Thanks. It means a world,” he said candidly.
“He adores you,” Weasley said. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“Duh.” Draco scowled at him. They were the same height when Weasley stood upright. Weasley snorted and extended his hand to him. Draco’s eyes opened wide.
“Ron,” Weasley said levelly.
/
“Draco,” Draco said. Harry could see he was so taken aback he had no room for discomfort. He averted his eyes from Draco’s now healthier looking skin (he tried his best not to stare at him worriedly all the time) and exchanged an amused look with Hermione. He imagined she was proud of Ron the same way he was proud of Draco. They were being adults.
Hermione shook Draco’s hand next. “I don’t care what you call me as long as you agree to compare notes.”
“Yes, please,” Draco said eagerly. This time, Harry exchanged a horrified look with Ron. “Merlin, you have no idea how I hate you and your grades,” Draco literally whined.
This wasn’t happening.
“It would be fine if you did your Arithmancy homework right,” Hermione smirked and winked at him. It was ridiculous.
“Have you got lesson four covered?” Draco inquired. Harry vaguely remembered Draco hissing something about setting his Arithmancy notes on fire not so long ago.
“Who do you think I am? Of course, I have.”
Draco groaned and waved his arm in the general direction of Harry and Ron. “Ditch them and help me.”
“You have only yourself to blame,” Ron whispered to Harry.
“I know,” Harry whispered back. He’ll shout at Draco Malfoy later.
/
Harry was adamant on walking him all the way down to the dungeons and Draco felt too good to argue too much.
“I know emergency magic replenishing spells, I could’ve–”
“You couldn’t have done anything. Anyway, the onset was too fast,” Draco added hastily upon seeing Harry’s indignant scowl. “I didn’t expect to collapse.”
Harry scoffed.
Draco sighed. “Okay, look. My and Granger’s magic are precisely aimed thrown pebbles, and yours is a fucking falling cliff. I know for a fact there still are people who’d be very happy about you dying, but personally I’d rather you didn’t exhaust all of your magic on healing me and die because you’re inexperienced and score zero on the instinct of self-preservation.”
“I’m sure falling cliffs are useful somewhere,” Harry mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground.
“I guess you’d be great at creating barriers and large-area spells. Lots of power with less demanding anchoring. But you should get a specialist work with you on channelling your magic anyway. It’s overall helpful.”
“Can’t you help me do it?”
“Are you deaf?”
“Worth a try.”
They snickered, Draco rolling his eyes, and spent the rest of the way in comfortable silence. At least on Draco’s end. If only it helped him fall asleep as well.
It was because he smiled too much without realising.
Hypothesis 1: It’s a temporary infatuation stemming from having met someone who cares about me naturally and is being nice to me. Unlike literally anyone else, because I’m fucking insufferable.
Hypothesis 2: It’s just that I Like Harry Fucking Potter for Being Harry Fucking Potter, and he’s being nice to me, too, and I’m crazy.
“I must be crazy,” Draco whispered to his pillow. Next time, they would go flying. There was a lot of distance between people on brooms. Yes.
MaryInHogwarts on Chapter 1 Tue 07 Dec 2021 05:09AM UTC
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Maitter on Chapter 1 Thu 09 Dec 2021 11:39AM UTC
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serpentauthor on Chapter 4 Tue 15 Feb 2022 05:54PM UTC
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