Chapter Text
First Year, Detention in the Forbidden Forest.
The forest was worse than Harry expected. The air hung heavy and cold, and every step seemed to sink into cold earth. It smelled of rotting leaves and rain. Even the light from their torches flickered, struggling to reach more than a few feet ahead and painting everything in fearsome shadows.
Beside him, Malfoy’s torch shook. Harry caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and accidentally locked eyes with him.
“You’re not scared, are you, Potter?” Malfoy said suddenly, his voice pitched higher than usual.
Harry snorted. He would admit it to literally anyone else, but not Malfoy. “Scared? Of what? Trees?”
He sounded braver than he felt. His heart had been thudding ever since they’d split from Hagrid. he felt reassured that Fang was here, at least, since he was certainly better company than Malfoy.
Malfoy sniffed, feigning indifference, but he kept flicking his wand toward shadows that weren’t moving. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered a minute later. “Absolutely ridiculous. Sending students into the forest at night. Typical halfwit gamekeeper logic.”
Harry rolled his eyes, unable to muster up the energy to argue any further, despite how his chest flared hot in Hagrid's defence. “You could’ve just stayed inside, then. I'm sure Mummy and Daddy would have arranged a cushier detention for their princess."
Malfoy scoffed, glaring at him from the corner of his eye at the word. “Oh, yes, how terrible that I have people looking out for me so I don't die alone in this hellscape."
“You're not alone,” Harry said under his breath.
Malfoy either didn’t hear or pretended not to. He kept talking, his voice growing shriller as the forest grew darker. “And the smell - good Merlin, it’s dreadful. Filthy place. There’s probably dirt in my hair. I’ll have to wash it three times when we get back.”
Harry let him ramble. Malfoy didn't need a conversation partner to have a conversation, it seemed, and besides, it was weirdly funny - Malfoy, terrified but determined to complain through the fear, like snobbery was his armour.
They walked in silence for a while. Branches swung above them, the leaves whispering and crunching. A chill crept through Harry’s sleeves. He was about to say something - anything, really, to cut through the silence - when Fang brushed past his leg and made Malfoy jump nearly out of his skin.
“Merlin’s beard! Potter, call it off!”
Harry blinked. “Call what off?”
“That!” Malfoy jabbed an accusatory finger at Fang, who had stopped a few feet ahead and was now staring at Malfoy with mild curiosity, tail wagging.
“Er… Fang?” Harry said. “He’s not going to eat you.” He bit back a comment about how Boarhounds didn't much fancy chowing down on prickly pureblood snobs, sensing it wouldn't quite help the situation.
Fang took this as an invitation to pad closer. He sniffed Malfoy’s robes, gave a soft huff, and sat squarely at his feet.
Malfoy went very still. “Is it - what’s it doing?”
“Being friendly,” Harry said, trying not to laugh. “You can tell because he’s drooling.”
Fang obligingly demonstrated, leaving a glistening patch on Malfoy’s boot.
"Ugh." Malfoy’s face twisted in horror. “That is vile.”
But Fang didn’t move away. If anything, he inched closer, pressing his warm side against Malfoy. Harry realised, suddenly, that the dog must have picked up on Malfoy’s fear. Fang had always been good at that - sensing when Hagrid was upset, or when Harry was. It was pretty ironic considering how meek the dog was himself.
And- well, Malfoy was scared, wasn’t he? For all his posturing, he was eleven, standing in a famously dangerous forest, pretending not to be terrified.
“Relax,” Harry murmured, trying- for whatever reason- to sound comforting. “He’s harmless. Just likes company.”
“I’m perfectly relaxed,” Malfoy snapped, taking half a step back and tripping over some roots. “Malfoys don’t need great big slobbering beasts following them around.”
“Right,” Harry said lightly, “Because peacocks are much better protection.”
Malfoy glared at him but didn’t answer. Fang, oblivious to the insult, gave a soft whine and nosed at his knee again.
“Wait - do you actually have peacocks?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.
Malfoy blinked, thrown off-balance. “Of course we do,” he said, as though Harry had asked if humans breathed air. “White ones. They wander the gardens back at the Manor.”
“Why?” Harry asked. “Do they do anything?”
“They’re peacocks, Potter. They don’t have to do anything.”
Harry snorted. “Right. Makes sense.” He said flatly.
Malfoy’s mouth twitched as if he was about to smile. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Probably not,” Harry said, though he found himself trying to imagine it: Malfoy, younger, standing in a sunny garden somewhere in Wiltshire, surrounded by ridiculous white birds that screamed like broken trumpets - much like Malfoy himself. The image was so absurdly soft compared to the boy beside him that he nearly laughed.
They kept walking. Fang settled into an easy trot between them, brushing against Malfoy’s leg every few paces as if to reassure him. Malfoy didn’t protest anymore. If anything, he seemed to edge a little closer each time the wind whistled and hissed through the paths between the trees.
Harry caught himself glancing sideways at him more than once.
A sharp crack sounded to their left. Malfoy yelped, and Fang jumped at the noise, barking once before circling back to press against him again.
Malfoy froze, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. Then, seeing Harry’s expression, he hissed, “Say one word, Potter, and I’ll make you regret it.”
Harry raised both hands in mock surrender, biting back a laugh.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Fang stayed at Malofy's side, staring up at him with huge, imploring eyes. Then Malfoy sighed - an impatient, defeated huff - and crouched awkwardly to pat Fang’s between his ears. The motion looked hesitant and stiff, like someone trying to spread butter on toast rather than pet a dog.
“Good… good dog,” he muttered.
Fang, delighted, gave an enormous snuffle and licked his sleeve.
“Eugh- stop! Ugh-” Malfoy stumbled back a step, wiping at the drool, but his voice had lost its edge. Fang’s tail was thumping wildly against the forest floor, sending up a flurry of leaves.
Harry couldn’t help it; he laughed. Fang trotted over to him, gave a happy bark, and nudged his knee as if to say, Did you see that? He likes me!
Malfoy straightened his robes, face pink. “Clearly the mutt has no training," he said, not quite able to meet Harry's eyes.
Harry nodded solemnly. “He could learn a thing or two from your peacocks,” he rubbed behind Fang's ear, smiling as the boarhound practically melted. "What do you think, Fang?" Fang let out an enthusiastic yelp.
They kept walking, Fang bounding ahead, the path darker now but somehow less frightening. And though Malfoy didn’t say another word, Harry noticed he didn’t move far from the dog’s side again.
Not long after, Harry’s torchlight caught on something ahead - something silvery, gleaming faintly between the roots.
“Malfoy,” he murmured, “look.”
Malfoy stepped up beside him, pale face drawn tight. “What is that?”
They crouched. The silver trail shimmered even in the dark, winding like a thread through the leaves. Harry reached out with the tip of his finger and realised, too late, that it wasn’t water.
Unicorn blood.
His stomach turned. It glowed faintly, unnaturally beautiful, yet the sight of it filled him with dread. Then, something moved in the clearing ahead. Harry heard a rustle, soft but distinct.
“Probably...just the dog,” Malfoy whispered, though it came out as more of a question. Fang whined low in his throat as if denying it.
Then, out of the dark, something blurred into view. A figure, cloaked and bent low, shrouded over the unicorn lying motionless beneath the trees. It lowered its head to the wound in the creature’s side, and Harry saw the silver blood gleam against the darkness of its mouth.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then Malfoy screamed. A shrill, terrified sound that tore through the stillness. Fang barked once, high and panicked, and bolted, crashing through the undergrowth after him.
Harry froze.
“Malfoy!” Harry hissed, but the word came out strangled. He could hear Malfoy's retreating footfalls on the leaves. Brilliant.
The hooded figure lifted its head.
It turned toward him.
Pain exploded across his scar - white-hot. He gasped and staggered back, one hand clutching his forehead, vision blurring at the edges. His knees hit the ground, and the world tilted. Somewhere in the haze, he could hear leaves crunching- the sound of someone running - and for a wild second, he thought it was the thing coming closer.
Then, a pair of shaking hands caught his arms before he fell entirely.
“Oh, thank Merlin,” Malfoy hissed. His voice wavered. “You’re all right - you-” He broke off, breath hitching audibly as Harry swayed against him. His fingers trembled where they gripped Harry’s sleeves, holding him upright. Fang pressed close at his side, whining, tail tucked.
Harry blinked hard, trying to focus. “What-” he began, but the word didn’t make it past his throat. The pain in his scar flared again, sharp and dizzying.
Malfoy followed his gaze, and whatever colour he had left drained from his face.
The figure was moving toward them.
It didn’t walk so much as glide, long and low and inhuman, the edges of its cloak dragging through the glowing blood.
Fang let out a terrified whine, and then the forest exploded with sound. A rush of hooves, pounding from somewhere behind. The air seemed to shift as a shape burst through the trees - a centaur.
The hooded thing recoiled, hissing, and vanished into the darkness.
Harry gasped, clutching his head. The forest felt impossibly still again, save for the hammering of his heart and Malfoy's shallow breaths.
The centaur turned, lowering his bow. “Are you injured?” he asked, voice steady and strange.
Harry tried to answer but couldn’t form the words.
"No." Malfoy, still gripping his sleeve, managed a faint, “What, in Merlin’s name, was that?”
The centaur’s gaze flicked toward the trail of blood. “Something you should not have seen,” he said softly. “Come. You are not safe here.”
"Oh, okay," Malfoy said, sounding a little out of it before passing out entirely, sprawled over Fang. The dog yelped and shifted under his weight, whining, but didn’t move away. He looked just as afraid, eyes wide and ears pinned flat.
The centaur's eyes swept over Malfoy - whatever he saw made his brow crease slightly, though not with concern, but faint disapproval.
Somehow, against all logic, it was almost funny.
The centaur turned back to him, one brow raised. “Can you stand?”
“ I-yeah,” Harry said, pushing himself up, still light-headed.
“Then ride with me,” the centaur said simply. He bent low, one powerful arm steadying Harry as he guided him onto his back with a movement so smooth Harry barely had time to protest. Then, without ceremony, he scooped the limp form of Malfoy and settled him in front of Harry, the boy’s head lolling against his shoulder. Harry sputtered as fine blond hair ended up in his mouth.
Harry gripped the centaur’s mane awkwardly, trying not to think about the ridiculousness of the situation - him and Malfoy half-balanced on a horse that talked.
Fang whined from the ground, pacing.
“Come, hound,” the centaur said, tone mild but commanding.
Fang hesitated, then trotted after them, though every few steps he let out a nervous little whine. They moved through the forest in silence. He could feel the steady rhythm of the centaur’s stride, the faint weight of Malfoy’s arm brushing his own, the slow thud of Fang’s paws behind.
After a while, the centaur spoke again, voice low and even. “My name is Firenze,” he said. “The others will not be pleased that I carry humans, but there was no time for debate.”
"I'm- I'm Harry." He replied, shakily, "Thank you for...before."
Firenze inclined his head, then continuted. “It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn. Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself, and you will have a cursed life from the moment the blood touches your lips.”
But who’d be that desperate?” Harry wondered aloud. “If you’re going to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Firenze agreed, “Unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else - something that will bring you back to full strength and power - something like the Elixir of Life.”
“The Elixir of Life? But that’s - that’s in the Philosopher’s Stone!” said Harry.
“The Stone indeed,” said Firenze, with a nod. “All the same, it is not often a young human understands what he sees.”
Harry mulled over the words for a moment, when the body slumped in front of him groaned.
“Wh-what, where-” Draco’s voice came out cracked and bewildered, and before Harry could so much as move, he began flailing. His elbow caught Harry in the ribs, his knee dug into the centaur’s side, and Fang, thinking this must be some kind of signal, started barking in panicked frenzy.
“Malfoy, stop! Ouch! Stop it, you’ll-” Harry hissed, grabbing for his sleeve as the centaur’s gait lurched.
Firenze huffed. “If you could calm your companion,” he said dryly, “it would be preferable to being kicked.”
Harry winced. “Malfoy, it’s fine. You fainted, that’s all. We're safe.”
“I did not faint,” Draco snapped, still trying to twist around, though his hands had found Harry's robes fur in an instinctive grip. “Where are we? Why are we- what is this? Oh, Merlin-”
“You passed out after it ran off,” Harry said quickly, tightening his hold to keep them both from toppling. “Firenze - he saved us. Scared it away. We’re headed back to Hagrid.”
Draco blinked at him, breathing uneven. His eyes darted around, taking in the strange movement of trees sliding past, the sound of hooves beneath them, and the vast half-human shape he was currently sitting astride. His face went chalk white.
“ You- you’re a-” he stammered.
“Centaur,” Harry supplied. “He talks. Try not to insult him.”
“I wasn’t going to!”
It was another few minutes of aimless arguing before Frienze interrupted them both, summarising for Malfoy, leaving bits out here and there. Malolfy stayed silent, though, nodding erratically. The colour hadn’t yet returned to his face, but Harry couldn't tell in the dim light of the forest. Malfoy was weirdly pale.
Before he could stop himself, Harry asked, “Why’d you come back?”
Malfoy blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You ran,” Harry said. “Then you came back. Why?”
“I...well, Fang-” Malfoy hesitated, glancing at the dog. “He’s hopeless. Would’ve wandered off.” He cleared his throat very loudly. "You're hopeless too."
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
Malfoy’s mouth tightened. “I didn’t want Hagrid going completely off his rocker if his mutt and mutt adjacent got eaten. He’d never shut up about it.”
“Still,” Harry said quietly, “you came back. That was...decent.” He decided to ignore being called a mutt adjacent, whatever that was, in favour of giving him the benefit of the doubt.
The expression that crossed Malfoy’s face was hard to name - something between embarrassment and offence. “Don’t make it sound like a thing, Potter.”
Harry almost smiled. “Wasn’t going to.”
They might have gone on like that, awkward and uncertain, if the sudden thunder of hooves hadn’t split the silence.
Two centaurs burst through the thinning trees, their coats pale and gleaming in the dawn.
“Firenze!” one bellowed. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”
Harry tensed instinctively.
“Do you realise who this is?” said Firenze, voice steady. “This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this forest, the better.”
“What have you been telling him?” growled the other. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have you not read what is to come in the movements of Mars?”
Firenze faced them calmly. “Mars is bright tonight,” he said simply.
The other centaur stamped the ground, fury flaring in his eyes. “For the rest of the planet, perhaps. For the humans, their fate is written in the stars. We are sworn not to interfere.”
Harry stayed completely still, every instinct telling him to keep his head down and let the grown-ups - or centaurs - sort it out. Their presence was intimidating, proud and regal in a way that made him feel very small.
It wasn’t until Firenze spoke again that the knot in his stomach loosened. “It is not often a young human understands what he sees,” he said, glancing back at Harry. “Perhaps the centaurs have it wrong.”
Something in the calm certainty of his tone steadied Harry. He exhaled, slow and quiet.
Beside him, Malfoy was staring at the other centaurs, wide-eyed and pale. It was almost funny how much they reminded Harry of him.
When he voiced this, later on the way back to Hogwarts, Malfoy pelted him with twigs, and Harry laughed. He knew he wasn't imagining it when he heard accompanying laughter from behind him.
Second Year, Gryffindor V. Slytherin Quidditch match.
It was the perfect sort of morning Quidditch was made for: cool air, bright sun, and just enough wind to make the stands ripple with excitement. The grass gleamed with morning dew when Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team walked out, broomsticks in hand, uniform proudly flashing red and gold.
Harry’s stomach fluttered happily. Not from fear exactly - but more a fizzing restlessness that made him want to mount his broom and shoot into the open sky. Around him, the others were laughing, clapping one another on the shoulder, trading last-minute strategies. Angelina’s grin was fierce and Fred and George were already bickering about who’d clobber more Slytherins over the head. For a second, Harry just looked at them all, warmth flooding through him. Here, no one cared about his scar or headlines or anything that had happened before Hogwarts. Here, he was just the Seeker.
Across the pitch, the Slytherin team were mounting their Nimbus 2001s, a row of identical sleek brooms gleaming in the sunlight. The sight made Harry snort under his breath.
Typical Malfoy.
He stood slightly ahead of the rest, pale hair catching the sun almost offensively. He looked utterly pleased with himself, chin tilted high, as if his father’s gold had won them the match already. Harry could almost hear Hermione’s sharp voice:“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in!”- and the memory made him grin.
He squinted at Malfoy, wondering if he ever felt embarrassed about it- even a little. Maybe not; Malfoy's arrogance and pride were stubborn parts of his personality. Still, Harry found himself thinking: if he had parents who loved him enough to move mountains, to break rules just to see him smile...well, he could take a bit of embarrassment for that, he supposed.
The whistle blew before he could follow that thought too far, and he kicked off, the wind catching him immediately.
The game unfurled in a rush of noise and excitement.
Lee Jordan’s voice boomed over the stands, echoing off the pitch as Gryffindor took early possession. Bludgers cracked through the air; the Quaffle flashed red as it streaked between players. Harry soared higher, eyes scanning for gold.
The first Bludger came from nowhere.
He swerved, heart leaping, but it curved sharply after him. Another close pass, and it shot back again, unnervingly precise.
“That Bludger’s gone rogue!” Lee shouted. “It’s following Potter - somebody fix that thing!”
Fred and George were instantly at his sides, swinging their bats in synchronised arcs, batting it away again and again.
“We can’t keep it off you forever, Harry!” George yelled.
“Just grab the Snitch and end it!” Fred shouted back.
Harry dove. The Bludger whistled past his ear, close enough to ruffle his hair. Harry's body jerked a little, his heart working in overdrive to focus on the game and not getting killed. The crowd roared, but he barely heard them. His arm ached from the near misses, but then...there. A flash of gold near the Slytherin goalposts.
He leaned forward, chasing the shimmer.
Malfoy had seen it too.
For a moment, they were even - streaks of red and green slicing through the air, eyes fixed ahead. Then Harry caught sight of the Bludger again, still tailing him, spinning with awful intent. He heard gasps from the crowd and, over the rush of wind, Malfoy’s voice - not mocking this time but startled.
“Potter-!”
Harry’s stomach flipped. Malfoy had slowed, head twisting back to look between Harry and the Bludger. He looked alarmed. For a moment, Harry thought about this, the bludger intent on sending him to an early grave (ha! get in line, Bludger.). Malfoy was an insufferable git, sure, but he wasn’t trying to kill him. Not with the way he was looking between Harry and the bludger.
But Malfoy’s hesitation cost them both. Harry, eyes locked on the Snitch, didn’t notice he’d stalled mid-air until it was too late.
They collided hard.
The impact sent Harry’s broom spinning. He glimpsed pale hair, a flash of startled grey eyes, then the ground tilted wildly beneath him.
He righted himself just in time to see the Snitch darting ahead. Instinct took over. He reached, fingers stretching - caught it-
-and the Bludger smashed into his arm.
Pain flared all the way up his arm and across his shoulders.
There was a sound in the wind as he fell - a faint, high-pitched “Potter!” - cut off by the roar of the crowd. He barely felt the ground meet him, sand kicking up around him in a blur.
When he blinked again, Fred and George were shouting, someone was restraining the Bludger into a crate, and Lockhart was elbowing his way forward with excessive bravado.
“Out of the way, out of the way! This is a job for a trained professional!”
Harry tried to protest, but the words drowned under the crowd’s noise and Lockhart’s fussing.
“Brachium Emendo!”
A loud squelch. Then silence.
Harry looked down. His arm felt oddly suspended, and when he tried flexing it, his entire hand flopped back onto his forearm, boneless. Oh, god, Harry might be sick. Hermione too, by the queasy look on her face.
Harry had watched the sun sink through the infirmary window, the light stretching long across the floor. That was hours ago, now Sleep still refused to come.
Even with no bloody bones in his arm and after surviving a match and an incompetent professor, Harry Potter still didn’t get a break.
Dobby’s visit had been more than unsettling. He looked over to the water jug on the bedside table, remembering how the elf had smashed it against his own head. Merlin above, what a mess.
Harry had been angry - rightfully so - but the sight of it had left something ugly and familiar unfurling in his chest.
Then Dumbledore and his entourage had arrived, bringing with him a petrified Colin Creevey. It was all very important, of course, but they could have found a better time. Or, ideally, not let a murder Bludger come after him in the first place.
Still, Dobby’s warnings about the Chamber of Secrets rang clearer now, which just made everything worse.
Harry groaned and pressed his face into the too-warm, scratchy pillow. Maybe if he held it there long enough, he’d suffocate himself into sleep.
He had just started to drift when the curtains rustled. Someone was trying to be sneaky. Badly.
Please don’t be for me. Please don’t be for me.
“Potter.”
Oh, bugger.
Harry groaned louder, screwing his eyes shut and kicking at the blanket like a sulky child. He cracked one eye open. Malfoy was standing beside the bed, watching him curiously.
“What,” Harry croaked. “What could you possibly want?”
Malfoy blinked, frowning. “Excuse me-”
“Let me guess,” Harry cut in, sitting up and blinking blearily through lopsided glasses. “The dungeons are on fire. No, wait - everyone’s drowning. Or maybe the Chamber of Secrets has swallowed half the school while I’ve been in bed?”
Malfoy’s mouth fell open. “The - what?” he hissed. “What are you talking about?”
Ah. Perhaps that had been oversharing.
“What do you mean, Potter?” Malfoy demanded, crossing his arms and trying for authority, which wasn’t entirely convincing in matching pyjamas. “Did that Bludger hit you in the head as well?”
Harry rubbed at his face. He should tell Malfoy to leave. He didn’t.
“Swear you won’t tell anyone.”
“I will do no such thing.” Malfoy said, his nose turned up. Harry sort of wished there was another Bludger out for Malfoy's nose right about now.
Harry sighed, rolling his head back against the pillow. “Fine. Then you can jog back to the dungeons and let me sleep.”
“It didn’t look like you were doing much sleeping,” Malfoy said sharply - then went pink as he realised what he admitted. “Not that I was watching you.”
Harry didn’t even have the energy to mock him. “That doesn't even rank in the top three weird things that’ve happened today,” he muttered, squinting. “Your hair’s too bright, by the way. It’s giving me a headache." He flopped back onto his pillow and pulled the sheets up over his face. “Turn it down.”
“Turn it - turn it down?” Malfoy repeated, scandalised. “It’s my hair, Potter, not a Lumos charm.”
Harry made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, then froze, suddenly registering the fact that malfoy was actually here. Why was Malfoy actually there?
He lowered the blanket just enough to peek out. Malfoy was glaring at the window, fretting with his hair and looking very put out about all of it.
“Are you hurt?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Potter. Your comments about my luminous hair have wounded me deeply. I’ll never recover.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “No, I meant - why are you in the infirmary, then?”
Oh." Malfoy spoke a lot quieter. "Um, well." he said very eloqunelty.
Harry blinked, then sighed again when he realised thas all the answer he was getting. "Jesus." He muttered.
“Who?”
Harry blinked. “What?”
“You said ‘Jesus.’ Who’s that?”
“Muggle god.”
“Oh.” Malfoy paused, frowning. “Do you know him?”
The question was so guileless that harry had to sit up a second before he burst out laughing, bent over himself and leaning his good hand against the headrest.
Malfoy turned crimson and stared at the window again, lips pressed tight.
“Er, no,” Harry managed between breaths. “He died, like, a bajillion years ago.”
"Oh." Malfoy said, softer this time and looking less angry. "What is a bajillion?"
That did it. Harry dissolved into helpless laughter again, his pain forgotten for a moment. They never did get around to why Malfoy was there - or the Chamber of Secrets- but it didn't matter that night.