Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Surprised is quite the understatement for whatever Harry’s feeling right now. He’d been suspicious of Malfoy beforehand, but this was definitely something he’d never expected. A once rude, conceited bully of his who used to judge every inch of his life was now reduced to nothing more but a kneazle waiting to be pet. He’d have expected his sixth year self to laugh at Malfoy, if what he was so wary of was actually just a ridiculous hoax, if what he was so determined to find out was actually just Malfoy hiding his damned cat ears. He’d have expected his current self to laugh. But he didn’t.

Confusion between the two of his friends filled the air with every step they took. Hermione, who had her arm intertwined with Harry’s (an attempt to put him at ease, she said), was busy asking him questions; though she actually never gave him the time in between to answer, moving onto the next without pausing. A few curses of discipline here and there, because he’d given them a fright after that little show of him chasing after Malfoy, after the last time something similar happened ended with him using some forbidden spell. They’d expected Malfoy to walk out with another scar. Instead, they saw the two engaging in conversation calmly. If the sounds of shouting were echoing in the dimly lit hallways, then it would have been less suspicious, or not at all. 

Ron, on the other hand, only agreed to whatever words fell out of Hermione’s mouth. Spitting out a few “Hermione’s right” and “what she said” here and there. He also had his arm intertwined around Harry’s free arm, because Harry had felt his jabbing glare when his girlfriend wrapped her arm around Harry’s own, and so Harry pulled Ron along by the forearm, resulting in the three of them linked together as they went. 

“And don’t get me started if ever McGonagall finds out you’ve been stalking Malfoy again. She’ll tell you off, then us off because we ‘didn’t tell you off’.” Said Hermione, her eyebrows knit tightly. Harry turns his head to her direction sharply, “I’m not stalking Malfoy—“ 

A harsh tug to the arm leaves the words stuck in his throat. Hermione shoots him a look that tells Harry she’s not done talking. “Anywho, you mustn’t put us in the dark.” She continues.

“If you’d let me speak then you wouldn’t be.” Sighed Harry, his tone mixed with sarcasm and irritation. Hermione relaxes her furrowed brows, her head now tilted to look Harry in the eye, “Go on.” she requests.

The silence swallows them briefly again, with the hint of hesitation in Harry’s face when he presses his lips together. And now, yet again, Hermione’s eyebrows are furrowed. 

“On second thought,” Harry paused. “Stay in the dark.” He joked, earning a chuckle from Ron beside him and a very aggressive sigh from Hermione. 

“Brilliant!” Ron shouts, throwing his free hand in the air. A round of laughter replaces the echoing silence, a contagious round at that, because Hermione also finds herself spilling a few giggles here and there despite the disappointment at Harry’s inability to answer. Ron’s laugh is just very amusing, she says to herself.

After they’d calmed, Hermione returned her authoritative look. “On serious note, Harry Potter,” she says upon clearing her throat, with emphasis on the boy’s name. “If anything—if Malfoy is bothering you, we should at least know why. Or have some idea.” 

Harry lets out an exasperated breath, “I—It’s not my place to say anything,” 

Ron snorts. “What? Since when have you cared?” He says in a joking manner, but it seems as though Harry doesn’t take it the joking way, because his expression contorts into that of an irritated one. 

“Since now.” Harry replies. Ron, in response, pulls his lips to one side sarcastically in frustration. 

“Then at least know that we’re expecting you to be careful,” Hermione replies almost immediately. “That you know what you’re doing, because the last time we excused your little obsession with Malfoy—“

“I was never obsessed—!” 

“You escalated things by a high level and used some spell nobody knew about.” She says, not allowing herself to be interrupted. Harry only lets out a bitter breath in defeat. He lets go of both their arms, parting the three of them as they walked past the abnormally large doors of the school library. 

*

Aside from the assignment and the delicious bacon he’s currently munching on, Harry thinks of nothing else but his weird encounter with Malfoy the night before. Now that he’s uncovered the his secret, he doesn’t have to worry himself about whatever it is he might be potentially hiding—but Harry can’t bring himself not to, because almost immediately after stepping foot into the Great Hall, his eyes start scanning the place for a familiar blonde.

When he doesn’t find him, he sits down with his friends, his eyes still eyeing the doors wondering when Malfoy would walk in with that ghastly choice of a hat. Ron seems to take note of this after he asks Harry a question and the brunette only answers moments later when Ron’s rambling about a completely different topic. Though he doesn’t bring himself to ask about Malfoy again much to Harry’s surprise, he knows Harry won't give a concrete answer anyway. 

And there he was—walking into the Great Hall with his eyes on the floor. His lips pressed together tightly as he tried to ignore the hating eyes of the other students. Then Harry’s eyes darted up, taking that ridiculous beanie into mind again. It was now strapped on tightly with the use of two hairclips on each side; white and silvery, almost blending into his hair, and if you weren’t squinting your eyes enough like Harry was then you definitely would not have seen it. Harry sees Parkinson snickering from time to time, leading to Malfoy shoving his hand in her face, and so he assumes that the hairclips were probably hers. 

“So, about this interhouse party,” said Ron, directed to Seamus who’s sitting across from him, but it's Harry’s attention that’s grabbed. He turns away from Malfoy at once, listening in on the conversation. “Who’s going?” 

“Does the word inter-house not speak for itself?” Snickered Seamus. Ron offers a scowl in response before he replies, “Very funny. I was trying to ask specifically.”

Seamus laughed before going into detail about the invitees. According to him, most of their peers; the Gryffindors, were going to join. Most of the Hufflepuffs were also invited and most confirmed they’d be attending, whereas most of the Ravenclaws had declined due to pending assignments. Nevertheless, the function was going to be great as long as the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were present, both known for their outgoing personas. And alas, Seamus mentions that most Slytherins(though very few) were going to attend. 

Harry takes note of this without realizing the sly grin that’s creeped its way onto his lips. His mind wanders off somewhere far, far away from whatever he was thinking about before; because now, his head was filled with all sorts of possible happenings during the later event. He wonders if he’ll see Malfoy join in. He’ll definitely wear some ridiculous and long jacket again if ever he does, Harry thinks. And probably that obnoxious beanie, too, maybe this time in a different color for a change and better appearance —but then again, Malfoy probably doesn’t own several variants of a singular beanie, because he’d never wear one if not for his current situation. Harry finds himself thinking about it anyway. 

Perhaps he’ll wear green this time. Why doesn’t he? It suits him and that’s always been his color. It brings out the color of his eyes despite it being a colorless grey. Compliments his pale skin and pale hair. Dark colors don’t suit him, though, so possibly a lighter shade of green to match his hair. His overall palette is so pale, only his lips are different. It’s a… well, fine shade of red. Plump and… soft, in a way. I’ve made up my mind. A green hat would definitely look best, it’ll bring out his hair, his eyes, his lips—

“Harry! Are you coming?” Shouts Ron from a fair distance. 

Crap.

How long he’s been out of focus for, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that his friends are packing to leave and his best friends have already done that, already having walked a long distance. He shouts out something along the lines of “in a moment!” before standing up and patting his robes of any dust. But as he looks into his satchel to see if everything’s in order, he’s hit by a sudden thought—Blimey. He’d just daydreamed about Malfoy. He’s just daydreamed about whatever color would suit him, and worse—his damned lips! Gross.

He shakes his head to get rid of the thought before looking towards his friends again, who are waiting rather impatiently. He hears Ron’s groan despite being slightly far, and so he finds it as his cue to speed up and join the other two. 

Much to his demise, his eyes begin to move outside of his will, shifting towards the spot where Malfoy had sat down moments before—and he’s no longer there.

“Merlin,” Harry’d uttered, because why the hell was he looking for him?

*

Walking down the stairs used to be a lot quieter when the paintings didn’t laugh at the hideous hat resting on top of your head. Yet, Draco keeps his face forward and chin held high like how he was always taught. Meddlesome looks were nothing new to him, anyway. Thankfully, there were only very few paintings that hung on the wood, given that the entire Slytherin common room had glass for walls. As he reaches the bottom of the staircase, his face is immediately painted a mix of blue and green; blue because of the underwater view, green because of the colored walls. It’s not only that, his face is painted with, but also a very confused expression.

“There he is,” said Pansy upon having met his eyes. She stood with her delicate arms crossed, alongside Blaise who was seemingly looking out into the water, less tense than she was. She greets Draco with a menacing look leading him to wonder.

“Is…” Draco pauses to study her face. “Something the matter?”

He watches as Pansy reaches to twist a lock of her dark hair, “I think I vaguely remember inviting you to dinner.” She says eventually, not quite looking at him. “You didn’t show! I had to pull Blaise here, out with me.” Pansy adds as she sends a quick look towards the boy beside her. 

Draco’s eyes widen at the realization. Now he remembers Pansy inviting him to dinner just moments before he’d left the dorms and went to the library. Her sweet but also demanding voice rang in his head; specifically her informing him about a reservation for two her parents had made a day prior—but due to unspecified reasons, they were unable to proceed with their plans. Feeling as though the efforts their house elves made to contact the restaurant were to be wasted, Pansy’s parents asked her if she’d wanted to take up the reservation instead, to which she quickly agreed to. She invited Draco for company, but that didn’t go well. She ended up forcing an already full Blaise Zabini, who’d already eaten, to come with her.

Draco wets his lips with the tip of his tongue before uttering out an apology that doesn’t seem to faze Pansy. She looks at him with a frown, somehow dissatisfied by the small apology after she had glamoured herself up the day before, only to be ghosted. Noticing this, Draco opens his mouth to speak again. 

“I’m sorry, Pans. Must have slipped my mind,” 

That was another response of no satisfaction to her. But Draco’s never been taught how to apologize, the idea was foreign to him after he’d spent so many years thinking he was above everybody else. Or so acted like he was.

Then Pansy’s facade breaks. Her then serious and angered expression now shifted into a sly, playful one. The corner of her lips turn into a grin, immediately raising her hand to cover it, though she fails horribly. Her shoulders twitch in a way as though she’s trying to mask her laughter, and Blaise lets a breathy laugh from beside her. Draco only looks at the two in confusion. 

“I’m only joking. Seriously, I should teach you how to say a proper sorry next.” She says in between giggles. Draco finds himself smiling shyly, “Shut it.”

“All right, I am a little annoyed you ditched me.” She says now, her tone light with a hint of seriousness. “But I figured it was definitely one of your mood swings,” she says before flicking a teasing look at the blonde in front, “Since you’re a cat-boy now and all.” 

Draco shoots a scowl her way, “Don’t say that out loud, you git.”

“What? Everyone’s left already, calm down,” She snorts. 

He doesn’t pay any mind to her response, instead making his way towards the doors, completely passing by them. Seeing that he was not going to stop any time soon, both Pansy and Blaise started to tail closely behind. 

As usual, the halls are filled with hushed murmurs and occasional chatter. The discrimination against Slytherins had died out now, slightly at least, compared to the first day. Anywho, the three have learnt how to deal with the hate and angered faces. 

“Where were you last night, Draco?” Said Blaise, breaking the silence between the three of them. Pansy’s ears perk up, and she also tilts her head in a manner as though she was asking the same question. “Oh, right, I was going to ask that, because you weren’t there when I barged into your room.”

Draco doesn’t look at either of them. His gaze is forward when he answers, “In the library.” 

“The library?” Asked Pansy, a look of confusion on her face. 

“I thought you hated the library because Madam Pince spat out rude comments at you using her eyes?” Blaise said. 

Draco darts his eyes side to side before answering, “I was researching how to undo this bloody spell.” He scowls at the distrust of his peers. 

“Researching,” Blaise repeated, “Funny. I passed by the library last night.” He glanced sideways at the blonde. “Didn’t see you.”

Draco exhales through his nose, turning slightly to eye Blaise with his eyebrows tightly furrowed. “I wasn’t there the whole night.” He counters.

But Pansy wasn’t stupid. She’d known the boy for longer than she could remember. “Draco,” she says, her voice sharp, and Draco swears she’s uttered some kind of spell because he finds it harder now to hide the truth. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“There isn’t anything to tell. I was in the library and then I went back.” He pans his head towards her with a sarcastic expression, “Would you like a detailed breakdown? Left foot, right foot, library.”

“You know your ears do that thing when you’re lying. They twitch slightly.” Pansy shows him a bemused look.

Draco seems to think of that for a moment, reaching his own two hands up to grab and cover his ears, “They do not.”

Pansy scoffed. “Then why’re you covering them?”

Draco looks her in the eye rudely for a fraction of a second before retreating his hands. 

“And also, you lied about that again. Your ears aren’t the only thing that hint at your dishonesty. You also bite the inside of your cheek.”

Draco looks at her with a flustered look, his cheeks flushed and eyebrows tightly knit—because he had, unfortunately, been biting the inside of his cheek that entire conversation.

“So for Merlin’s sake tell me what you actually did the other night,” Said Pansy, her lips now curled into an evident smirk.

For a moment, he considers brushing it off with another deflection, but Pansy’s eyes narrow in that way that tells him she won’t get convinced otherwise.

“…I ran into someone,” he admits eventually.

Blaise’s eyebrow arches. “Someone?”

 “Potter.”

Pansy lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Potter?” she repeats. “You skipped my dinner reservation for Harry Potter?”

“It wasn’t—” Draco cuts himself off. “I didn’t plan on it. He said he’d help me, and I—I just want to get rid of these extra pair of ears as soon as possible. It’s getting to a point where the showers running in the morning wake me up before the alarm clock does.”

Blaise hummed. “That’s very heroic of him,”

He was greeted by the loud groan coming from Pansy’s lips. “When is he never? He’s always acting like the hero.” She sneered.

“Though,” said Blaise, grabbing both their attentions. “I suppose Potter does have a higher chance of actually helping you than we do.. He has connections. St Mungo’s might even undo this little spell fail of yours for free if he commanded it.” He tells Draco who is busy observing the ground. “And… he’s always had some sort of fixation on you, anyway.” he says in a way that’s almost teasing.

Draco turns his head sharply to look at him, “What does that mean, even?”

“Potter’s always had an eye out for you, Dray,” Pansy said before Blaise could even open his own mouth. “Everyone sees it, even his own friends. I see him staring at you during meals, you know.”

Draco turns his head yet again, this time towards Pansy. “What? What’re you trying to say?” He says with his shoulders visibly tense.

“Calm down,” Blaise reassures him. “We’re not trying to… accuse you both of anything—“

“Accuse us of what?” Shouts Draco.  Blaise and Pansy share a look of wariness.

They both knew very well that Draco was not at all attracted to women. Not even in the slightest. Though he never stated it verbally, Pansy got the hint on the night of their first date when he admitted to only having asked her out to avoid Lucius’ suspicions, because he had eavesdropped a discussion with his mother about finding a potential wife for him. His third-year self almost gagged at the thought. On the other hand, Blaise had his suspicions when Draco invited some Slytherin bloke—that he’d never actually seen before—into his room, with the both of them coming out with their hairs disheveled, and Draco obviously trying to cover his limping. It drew a mental image in Blaise’s head he never wanted to draw, and so he got his answer when he asked Draco months before why he hadn’t settled down with a girl yet. With Draco’s answer always being, “it’s too soon.”Not that getting a girl—or bloke, maybe—was of any difficulty to Draco, because he’s always had a fair, attractive, and elegant face with girls fawning for him left and right—At least before sixth year. 

Blaise clears his throat. “Nothing.” 

In annoyance, Draco clicks his tongue before stepping into the Great Hall, the morning sun shining on his face causing him to squint.

*

The break after the Transfiguration period is when Harry lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding. The new Professor was rather strict, loud, and picked on students who obviously didn’t know the answer, despite Hermione raising her hand for most of the questions. He’s sure he started involuntarily holding his breath when he made eye contact with the Professor after he’d called “Potter” out, merely seconds before his eyes met the clock and realized class was over. They were dismissed, and Harry walked out with his face pale, with Ron snorting out a laugh because “It’s ironic how a strict Professor terrifies you despite the fact that you’ve defeated the most powerful and darkest wizard of all time.”

In the meantime, Hermione informs the two that she’ll be doing her so-called light reading in the library for the rest of the break. Ron says he’ll stay in their common rooms with a high chance of him probably sleeping the rest of the rest period. Harry says the same, telling Hermione he’ll go with Ron.

With a kiss to her forehead, Ron bid Hermione his goodbye while Harry waved his.

“Oh Merlin.” Ron suddenly said, stopping abruptly.

“What?” Asked Harry. 

“I forgot something inside the room,” He replied, his teeth almost chattering from nervousness. Harry claps him on the back, snorting out a laugh. 

“That seems like a you problem, mate.” A scowl started to form on Ron’s face as Harry walked a few steps in front of him, “I’ll go ahead first, I’ll see you.”  Harry added, because after that interaction with the new Professor did he want to get away from the said classroom as soon as possible.

“Harry!” Ron pleaded, hoping for Harry to join him in returning to the classroom, because neither did he want to go back any time soon. Much to his demise, Harry started walking faster—bolting even, “Bye!” He yelled back. 

*

On his journey to the common rooms, he turns a corridor blindly—and an unfamiliar arm pulls him aside. 

Upon instinct, he reaches for his wand, but the figure grips his wrist harshly before he could grab it. He’s pinned to the wall by an arm to his throat, but for some reason, he doesn’t find himself fighting back—because despite his glasses being below his nose and his vision blurry, he could definitely make out whoever was holding him there.

“Malfoy?” 

“Sh!” Malfoy quickly spat out, bringing a finger to Harry’s lips.

“…What… What’s this about—“ Harry replied with his eyes helplessly exploring the walls, forcing himself to look everywhere but Malfoy’s eyes. Trying his hardest to ignore the way their faces were merely inches away from each other, and Malfoy leaning in even closer was not helping his case.

“Don’t attend.”

“What?” He arches a brow.

Malfoy, growing frustrated by the second, tightened his grip on Harry’s wrist. “Don’t attend, next period.”

“What? I don’t see why,” Replied Harry as his body trembled— not in fear, but due to the whirling sensation in his chest that’s currently swallowing him whole. In a questioning manner, he tilted his head as much as he could despite the arm nearly pressing against his throat.

“We were partnered yesterday, but we ran out of time to finish the lesson. Professor scheduled a rematch for each duel today,” Malfoy said coldly. “If he notices you’re absent, he’ll let me off and push our duel to another time. Then I’ll be free to go to the library and do my own business.”

Harry shook his head, “Have you gone mad? No, I have to keep my grades up—”

“I have plans tonight.” Malfoy replied. He tilted his head the opposite of the boy in front, and Harry could have sworn his pupils were almost spiraling. His eyes met the curves of Malfoy’s lips, watching as he pressed them together tightly, and If he could just lean in then their lips would be touching without difficulty—stop! Stop it, not now, not here.

“And don’t play these games with me, Potter, I know well you’ve had straight Os in that subject since first year. One absence won't hurt,” Malfoy snarked. Harry finally pulls himself out the rather absurd thought, now wondering how Malfoy was aware of that fact.“So Merlin help me if you want me to attend that damned party of yours with an assignment to finish.”

Harry, yet again, shook his head frantically, “No, let’s duel, finish, and then we’ll be off—“

“Professor is going to do no such thing.” Said Malfoy sternly. “And you’re the Savior, for Salazar’s sake, anyone is going to listen to you. They’ll even pretend you weren’t absent at all.”

Harry wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, taking in Malfoy’s words and—ridiculously— almost considering it, but the opposing side in his mind seems to win. “No, Malfoy, I can’t do that. Let’s just fight—“

“I don’t want to!” Malfoy almost shouted. “These hairpins can only hold so much,” he added, gesturing at his hat, and Harry had to bite back a laugh because of how absurd it looked especially now with hairpins. He remembers how the duel with Malfoy the day before felt slightly off, like Malfoy was holding back, because he was too busy grabbing onto his robes than waving his wand. And with Harry’s discovery hours before, he knew now why Malfoy was acting out of character.

“You said you would help me, did you not?” Said Malfoy with a sneering smirk.

Fuck, I’ve no way out now, don’t I.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, avoiding Malfoy’s prying eyes. 

“…Fine,” he utters after much self- convincing. “Now would you get off me?” Harry complained, grabbing at Malfoy’s arm that was still pressed against his neck. Had he moved even an inch closer then it would have completely blocked Harry’s airway by now.

He pulls the arm off harshly causing Malfoy to stumble back. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Malfoy seemingly flick off imaginary dirt off the arm that was just pressed against his neck, muttering the words “filthy.” In an ill-mannered way. Harry rolled his eyes in response as he grabbed his neck.

Though, after thinking about the whole encounter for a few seconds, he’s hit by the realization.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking advantage of me,” Harry suddenly said as soon as Malfoy started to shift his feet in an attempt to scurry off. He turned to look at Malfoy whose eyes were already fixed on him. “After I tried to be the better person?”

Malfoy only scoffed. “Isn’t that all you’re good for? All you’ve known? Being a hero?” 

“Are you trying to start a fight with me right now?” Harry grimaced. His eyebrows were dangerously furrowed, fists clenched, fingertips twitching. “I’ve done non-hero things before and I’d do it again.” 

Malfoy stayed silent after that remark. It brought back memories. Horrid ones that Malfoy would have preferred to forget. He stood there, his face mirroring the scowl Harry had on his. He opened his mouth to say something, to sneer something back—but nothing came out. The fingers he had involuntarily balled into a fist loosened as an exasperated sigh left his lips.

He stayed silent bitterly, then turned his back with all the intentions to leave. He wanted to say something back. He had a thousand more insults in mind, of course, but the smart move was to not anger an already enraged Potter (who had very obvious anger issues). Especially when he knew about his embarrassing secret.

Harry could only stand there, watching as Malfoy’s body went outside his view.

*

“All right, I’m leaving.” Ron said as he stood from the maroon sofa he and Harry sat on. Harry looked at him with confusion in his expression, “to the Library.” which Ron replied upon noticing his best friend’s face.

“We just got here.” Harry crossed his arms. 

“I know, but—“ Ron said as he stretched his arms behind his back, his head tilted the opposite direction of Harry’s in order to hide the terrible blush on his cheeks. “I want to see her.”

Harry groaned. “Bloody hell, you’ve only been separated for a few minutes.” Ron shot a scowl in his direction, “Well you don’t have anyone, Harry, you won’t understand.” Ron started to move his way towards the door, “You were the exact same with Gin, I had to listen to your little rants about my own sister, and I didn’t complain.”

Harry had nothing to say to that. It wasn’t entirely false. He was a little embarrassingly in love with Ginny before. He only sighed as he leaned back for a few seconds before eventually following after Ron. As Harry made his way towards his best friend, Ron could easily read the irritation off Harry’s blank face.

Ron raises a brow, “What’s got you in a bad mood?” He asked as he stepped foot out of the threshold. “You’ve been like that since we got here.”

“Nothing.”

*

“Right so, he couldn’t wait until next period.” Harry said as he sat next to Hermione—who was reading a book placed on the table—on one of the library benches. She laughed in response, turning her head towards Ron who sat beside her, a pinkish hue on his cheeks which Hermione also laughed at. 

She puckered her lips before carefully landing a small peck on his cheek, which Harry turned away for. He let out a comedic gag as his friends giggled beside him. Not at him—but at each other, which seemed to disgust him further. Eventually he stood up to find a book of his own interest. It metaphorically struck an arrow into his chest when he looked back, only to see that his friends paid no mind to his absence at all.

He stumbled upon several shelves that held books related to magical creatures. Harry could care less about them, really, but it seemed to be the only entertaining thing to read as of the moment. He reached for a book in the middle of the large shelf, placed on one of the higher levels. He stood on the tip of his feet to try and grab the said book—but his attention was ripped from it when a familiar shade of red passed by the neighboring shelf. He could barely see through the small creaks, but he was certain who it was. 

Without realizing, his feet started to move on their own, quickly trailing the figure, his eyes narrowing as he tried his best to peer through the small spaces of the shelf that gave him a view of the other side. After much pacing, he reaches the end of the shelves and sees Malfoy sitting on one of the nearby benches. With his back turned against him, Harry couldn’t see his expression at all. But he definitely sees that tail barely peeking out his robes. 

He was definitely out of it, because he found himself placing himself on the bench in front of Malfoy. Malfoy felt the shift of air from across the table, darting his eyes to see whoever it was, and as soon as he saw—a very unfriendly look made its debut on his face. 

“Come to bother me?” He said, his tone displeasing.

“If you look to your right, you’ll probably see my best friends eating each other’s faces, and I assume you wouldn’t sit with them either were you in my shoes.”

“There are plenty of empty benches.” Malfoy quickly replied as he returned his eyes back to the book he was reading. “You could have sat on any of them.” He said. It seemed as though he was irked that Harry chose to sit with him considering the very hostile tone he was using.

Harry huffed, his breathing growing heavier by the second as he tried to restrain his eyebrows from furrowing. He was fuming. All he was doing was to get on Malfoy’s good side, be friends with him and let the past behind, especially after Malfoy had shown him a vulnerable side of his the night before. Unfortunately, the prat’s still the same prat he was during their earlier years. He was stupid for thinking otherwise.

“Fine,” He said finally, placing both palms on the table as he stood in a sudden manner. He made his way towards the opposite table behind Malfoy, with his lips pressed tightly to avoid the hundreds of foul words threatening to spill.

But as he passed by—not even a foot apart later—something wrapped itself around his wrist. It felt fluffy and soft. What felt like cotton grazed his skin gently despite the death grip it had around his hand. He stopped in his tracks because his hand would probably pop off its socket had he went any further. Finally he brings his head to look at his wrist—and oh, what a sight.

Malfoy—the prat’s tail wrapped around his wrist so forcefully it almost turned purple. It had sneaked its way out from underneath Malfoy’s flowy robe. Harry’s face displayed an amused expression as his eyes met Malfoy’s widened ones. 

“Fuck—I’m sorry, shit,” Malfoy cursed as he reached for Harry’s tail-wrapped-wrist. His hands scrambled to try and remove his own blonde tail—similar to the color of his hair—off Harry. His hands trembled as he did so, terrified of the possibility of someone witnessing the strange occurrence.

Seeing as though it wasn’t going to let go anytime soon, Harry sat himself down beside Malfoy. At least with their current position, the tail was hidden beneath the table and both their robes. Harry kept his wrist low, hiding it from everyone else present at the Library; which were thankfully only Madam Pince, Ron, Hermione, and some other Hufflepuff girl sat on a faraway bench.

Harry could hear Malfoy swear several curses underneath his breath as he tried his best to remove his own tail’s grip, his fingers twitching perhaps in embarrassment. Harry notices his distress—and like the savior he is, he snakes his arm around Malfoy’s back, patting him gently in an attempt to soothe his trembling. 

“Malfoy calm down, it’s nothing, really.” He said. Though he was definitely holding back a smirk. 

“Gah—shit, I—“ Malfoy stuttered. “I don’t know how to control it yet,”

After much prying and attempting (though nothing was accomplished), the tail finally lets go of his wrist on its own. Harry brings his gaze up towards Malfoy—but the other boy is looking in the same direction, the back of his head against Harry, hiding his face. 

The corners of Harry’s lips began to curl into a smirk. “You wanted me to stay?” He said, tone teasing. “Not at all.” Malfoy snarled immediately, and Harry watched as his ears, which were now an odd shade of pink, twitched.

Malfoy slowly turned his head back towards his book, clearing his throat and regaining his composure. He fixed his posture, now sitting upright, tail tucked protectively underneath his robes. Harry could only observe his face. He definitely couldn’t stand up now, whether it was from fear that Malfoy’s tail would curl itself around his wrist tightly again—or whether he wanted to see Malfoy flustered. 

An awkward silence fills the air. None of them spoke again, perhaps waiting for the other to do so. 

Harry begins to feel something pool within his stomach. A burning desire. His skin was hot, and every time his fingers accidentally grazed Malfoy’s—it shot a wave of electricity within his body. Malfoy’s touch scorched his skin in such a good way that he wanted more. He wanted to touch something other than Malfoy’s fingers.

“Malfoy.” He finally spoke. Malfoy’s ears perched, only looking Harry in the eye as a response. His brows were still slightly knit and his lips still pressed together. 

Harry struggled to say the words. His breathing was now heavy, his eyes almost half lidded, his right leg bouncing up and down in anticipation. He brought his arm back towards Malfoy’s clothed spine, trailing up then back down gently, his eyes never leaving Malfoy’s. 

Maybe it wasn’t just Harry who felt that way. Because when Harry trails his palm a little too far up—now against his neck—a gasp leaves Malfoy’s lips. Malfoy started to lean on one side, laying his head on his left forearm with his elbow propped on the table. He closed his eyes, breathing now the same pace as Harry’s, leaning into the touch. Harry’s hand slowly made his way up towards the locks of blonde outside the crimson hat, caressing them gently. 

Perhaps a cat’s sensations are heightened.

Harry said in his inner monologue. The way Malfoy was bent just because of simple and light touches only supported his theory. 

“Please,” Harry said as he scratched his scalp gently. “Can I touch them again?”

He waited for Malfoy’s answer, loving the way Malfoy fell apart due to his touch. Loving the way Malfoy’s lips were parted slightly with his cheeks painted pink. Loving the way the locks that escaped his hat were now stuck onto his forehead. Loving the way Malfoy’s palm was now on his thigh, with a grip similar to his tail’s. 

Malfoy removed his palm from Harry’s thigh after a few moments. He placed both his elbows on the wooden table with his arms crossed, serving as a pillow when he placed his head back down. His eyes, his face was now covered—too embarrassed to let Harry see his current state. But the brunette only watched him as he did so, the smirk never leaving his lips.

And finally, Malfoy nodded, and who was Harry to refuse?

He crept his hand up, sneaking its way past the hat—his palm now ruffling the ears with careful, almost reverent strokes. They were warmer than he expected, impossibly soft beneath his fingers, the fur yielding as he brushed his thumb along the base.

Draco stiffened at first, a sharp breath leaving him as though he’d been caught off guard all over again. His shoulders tensed, then slowly, reluctantly, eased. A quiet sound slipped from him—more of a huff than a noise he meant to make—and he buried his face deeper into his arms, as if hiding would somehow lessen the effect.

Harry adjusted his touch, slower now, fingers scratching gently behind one ear before moving to the other. He felt the faint tremor that followed, the way Draco’s posture betrayed him even when his face was hidden. The ears flicked beneath Harry’s hand, a reflexive response that made his chest tighten with something warm and unfamiliar.

“Merlin,” Draco muttered, voice muffled and edged with embarrassment.

Harry’s continued anyway—with light, patient strokes.

Shit.

He felt it twitch inside his pants. He had class to get to after this. He had to meet his friends after this—his pants were not loose enough to hide this.

He retreated his hand back outside quickly—now closing his eyes, looking the other direction as he tried to focus. He could barely.

Not now, Harry James Potter, not now.

Finally regaining his breathing and his grasp on reality, he manages to barely erase the wave of arousal about to wash over him. He turns back to look at Malfoy, whose breathing has also returned to normal. 

After a few moments of getting the hold of themselves, Harry began to fidget with his fingers awkwardly as he waited for Malfoy to rise from his arms and maybe say something to him. And when he did, the same stern look was back on his face, as though he wasn’t just bloody whimpering beforehand. The pinkish hue had now disappeared from his cheeks and his breathing wasn’t ragged. His face was blank. 

“We will speak none of this.” He finally said.

Harry cleared his throat, looking the other way. “Yeah.” 

*

Harry tried. He really did, but the look Ron is giving him is telling him otherwise.

“Seriously.” Ron spat.

Harry bit his bottom lip before he replied. “…What?” 

He was a bit offended. For once, Harry made efforts to ensure he actually looked pleasing, not just for himself but everyone else. He’d grown tired of hearing his friends laugh at ‘his obnoxious way of styling himself’, they said. And there he was, wearing his favorite pair of skinny jeans, and a (very hideous) black turtleneck shirt.

 “Don’t you look lavishing,” Ron said sarcastically. Harry’s eye twitched, “Don’t tell me how to dress. Look at you.” 

He then eyed Ron’s entire frame from head to toe, studying the dark green button-down Ron had left unfastened by two buttons at the collar, leaving an image of his clavicles, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He paired it with black trousers that wrapped around his waist, with one side of his button-down tucked inside. 

“Well I’m not trying to look my best tonight.” Harry raised an eyebrow at his reply. “I’ve got no one to please, Hermione’s not going.”

Harry sighed as he turned to the mirror and continued to swipe his fingers through his hair in hopes that it would somehow change into a good hairstyle. 

“You, on the other hand,” Ron added, looking at Harry through the mirror. “You’re trying to get laid. No girl is going to approach you if you wear that, I reckon,” 

Harry groaned loudly making sure Ron would hear. He clicked his tongue, straightened his posture and said, “Then what should I be wearing?”

That was the last thing that came out his mouth. Before he knew it, Ron went straight towards his own drawers, pulling out his garments and resting them on the bed within the fraction of a second. Harry could only widen his eyes in surprise when Ron suddenly grabbed his shoulder, “Then wear that wristwatch Dad gave you—it goes well with what I chose.” 

Rolling his eyes, Harry mumbled, “Fine.” 

After a few moments, Harry was wearing Ron’s pair of baggy jeans(“one of my favorites,” Ron had said), a tight black shirt that hugged his torso so tightly the curves of his toned physique were bulging, and a golden watch wrapped around his wrist.

Harry turned to look at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair that was parted in the middle. That was soon changed when Ron walked over, swiped his fingertips through Harry’s brown hair, and shifted the part more towards the side. 

“Now I look like you.” Harry joked as he gazed over Ron’s ginger locks, parted sideways with the use of some hair gel. Ron let out a huff before flicking a singular strand of brown hair, causing it to hover in front of Harry’s forehead loosely. Harry watched as he did so, taking into mind the similarity of his hair style to Ron’s, as he also had a singular lock of orange hair hanging in front of his forehead. 

“Now you look like me,” said Ron when he turned around to face the door. Harry smirked as he arched a brow, “what with the sudden change? I thought you liked wearing your hair messy.”

Ron only laughed slightly. “Hermione says this suits me better.” 

Harry pulled his lips to one side sarcastically at his reply. Damn lovebirds. 

He heard the sound of the door creaking in front of Ron, and he soon heard the boy ask, “Are you coming or what?”

*

Harry glanced down at the bottom of the staircase, where even though the rest of his peers were yet to be in view—the disco lights were already infiltrating the walls. The music blared harshly into his ears, but the sweet melody was enough to distract him from the pain reaching his eardrums. The scent of alcohol filled the air as he took one last step before arriving at the Gryffindor common rooms. Perhaps the common room wasn't the best place for a party–an interhouse one at that, but they all found it a hassle to rent some pub or place, and the Room of Requirement still left fresh scars on a few people.

He saw Ron fix his blouse in his peripheral vision. In front, he saw Seamus with his arm draped over Dean’s shoulders, drinking some alcoholic beverage. The room was almost filled to the brim—though, it was probably because the common rooms were not overly huge to begin with. 

Harry watched as Seamus raised his glass as a greeting when their eyes met. 

“Harry Potter, everyone!” Seamus shouted, and everyone’s gaze started to linger on Harry. He looked around nervously, pressed his lips into a thin line, wrapped his fingers around the wristwatch in an attempt to seemingly adjust it. Harry felt eyes all over his body, and it was then that he realized how incredibly tight the shirt Ron made him wear was—because people were not trying to hide the fact that they were eyeing his build at all. 

Ron nudged him with his elbow, murmuring something into his ear that Harry couldn’t quite make out—because terrifyingly—in the sea of people, though his eyes scrambled to find someone to fixate on—he couldn’t help but search for someone in the crowd.

Where is he?

“Glad you could make it, mate!” Seamus approached the two with a glass in hand and a bottle in the other. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ron replied for the both of them. He eyed Harry, who was still looking out into the crowds of students. 

Ron was so busy trying to study Harry that he didn’t realize the glass shoved forcefully into his hold, with Seamus already pouring some liquor into it. Ron chuckled loudly, “Ah, come on, I just got here!” He grumbled. 

Seamus, who was probably already half intoxicated, mumbled some incoherent reply. As soon as he lifted the bottle, Ron’s lips met the curve of the glass, completely downing the liquid. He wiped his lips after he’d completely swallowed, watching as Seamus called some Hufflepuff guy (who was, by coincidence, standing by the glass cups) to bring him another glass. The also probably intoxicated Hufflepuff obliged, approached Seamus with the glass, and looked at Harry for a little too long. 

Ron saw from the corner of his eye how the Hufflepuff boy had eyed Harry head to toe, before subtly biting the bottom of his lip and walking away. Ron wouldn’t deny it either. He did do a fairly good job of dressing Harry up tonight.

Then his eyes shifted to Harry himself, and as Seamus poured a glass for the brunette, his eyes were still busy scanning the room. 

“Who’re you looking for?” Asked Ron, looking at the direction where Harry was seemingly looking. 

Harry flinched slightly. So subtly that Ron didn’t seem to notice, and Harry could only thank the deities above. He licked his lips before answering,

“Ginny.” Then he downed the newly poured liquor inside of his glass.

Ron had a sly grin on his lips. “Seriously?” 

As Harry’s head came back down, he urged Seamus to pour another one for him. 

“I thought you were long over her,” Ron joked.

“I thought so too.” Harry tells him.

Well, shit.

A complete lie he made up on the spot. Of course he couldn’t tell Ron he was looking for that damn blonde and his ugly hat. He couldn’t tell Ron he was searching for the boy they hated so much. That he was searching for Draco fucking Malfoy.

But then again, he was only searching for him because his efforts to miss class would be a waste, if Malfoy blackmailed him into skipping and he would end up not attending anyway. That’s all there is. And if Malfoy doesn’t end up coming, that’s all the more reason to hate him anyway. For taking advantage. More reason to hold his secret against him, to—

“Gather around! We’re playing a game!” An unfamiliar voice shouted, grabbing both his and Ron’s attention. 

“Just enjoy the night—don’t let that distract you, yeah?” Ron said before walking towards the circle of students. As much as Harry wanted so badly to sit back and wait—his feet started following involuntarily.

“All right, folks,” Seamus started. “First, you pick a card.” He swiftly picked a card up, placing it between his fingers. He showed it to the other folks gathered around with a smirk on his lips. Harry adjusted his glasses slightly, narrowing his eyes he read the text that was written on the card: Give the person next to you a hickey.

His eyes flickered towards Padma who sat next to him and visualized a purple mark on her neck that would be caused by him, had he gotten that wild card.

Ew.

“It’s simple, really—don’t do what it says, you drink.” 

The gathered students erupted into collective sounds of amusement at the game, some groaning in dissatisfaction, some beaming with excitement.

“Sounds easy enough.” Ron said from across the table. Dean, who sat next to Seamus answered, “Wait until you see the demands, mate.” 

With that, he began to shuffle the deck of cards before carefully ripping one out. “This one says; bring one person here into your bedroom for ten minutes.”

Ron’s eyes widen in response. “Blimey,” he exclaimed hushedly. He turned towards Harry, mumbling the words “Might have to down the whole bottle if I get one of those dares.” But Harry seems unfazed, as though he wasn’t listening at all. He sat there with his eyes glued to the door.

Did they forget to tell the Slytherins about the password?

He thought to himself, because there was, in fact, zero Slytherins in sight.

And so the round started. Harry laughed here and there, cheered for people who refused to do the demand (reasonably so, seeing as one of the demands were to strip and stay only in their undergarments for the rest of the game) and chugged down their liquor. Then it was his turn.

“I see you looking, Harry,” Padma giggled from beside him. 

“Piss off,” Harry joked as he closed his eyes and reached his arm out to pick a card at random. Everyone watched him intently, with Ron shivering in his seat because he was next—knowing full well if it had something to do with being an unfaithful boyfriend, he’d have to chug the night away, and Hermione had told him hours before that she’d kill him if she’d found out he was heavily intoxicated. Lose-lose situation either way. 

And finally—just finally, after what seemed to be forever, he finally got his mind off Malfoy. Maybe joining the game was a great idea. A fantastic one, even, because it distracted him altogether.

Maybe the distraction was short lived. Because right as he pulled his chosen card out—the entrance to the common rooms suddenly shifted. Three figures—three familiar figures— emerged from the round threshold. 

Then his eyes met gray ones.

He was right about one thing, at least. The blonde wore a green beanie this time. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the shade Harry had pictured it in his mind, but it was still green like he thought it would be. Then his eyes trailed down and he studied the trench wool coat he wore, and Harry could only think about Malfoy trying his best to curl that embarrassing tail in order to conceal it. 

He paused midway without realizing. The others weren’t stupid, they looked at the direction Harry was facing—the direction in which his eyes seem to be glued.

Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabini.

The group exchanged worried glances. Ron’s eyebrows started to furrow. Neville’s started to draw together, and Seamus looked at Dean with a knowing look. 

“I told you they didn’t want us here, let’s go—“ Malfoy was quick to turn around, but someone’s voice stopped him.

“Zabini!” Shouted Seamus from the group. Zabini, in response, looked around at the gathered students, nodding his head once as a polite greeting. “Finnigan,” he said as he approached Seamus and shook his hand. 

“Let’s not deal with the formalities, yeah? We’re all here to unwind, aren’t we?” Seamus said, earning a few replies of agreement from some of the students. They all started to remember around an hour before the Slytherins (including Harry and Ron) arrived, where Seamus had told them about their presence, and encouraged everyone to not look at them wrongly. While Seamus himself wasn’t all comfortable with inviting them, he’d had a few ties with Zabini before, and figured it would be quite rude had he excluded them from the list of invitees.

While it did take a while for most to get the hang of it, they’d rather have fun than sneer at some of their enemies. 

“Come join us, Zabini!” Seamus said delightedly, eyeing the two behind the boy. “Oh, and have your two foes join us.” 

Zabini smiled. “Thank you for having us,”

“Nonsense! Don’t thank me, it wouldn’t be an interhouse party if I didn’t invite the Slytherins.” Seamus laughed. 

For a moment, Zabini looked back, mumbling something about inviting Parkinson and Malfoy to come over. After a few glances at each other, Malfoy and Parkinson soon joined the rest. They all sat beside Seamus (the safest option to sit next to at the moment) and exchanged polite greetings with the rest.

Harry watched as Malfoy’s concealed ears twitched beneath his hat. His lips were pressed together and his grey eyes did not move from its fixation on the table. He refused to look anyone else in the eye. Perhaps they twitched out of guilt—atleast that’s what Harry could theorize, given his new pair of ears were somewhat synced to his facial expressions—because the table had gone silent for a few seconds when he and Parkinson had taken their seats. It didn’t last long because Dean thankfully diverted their attention and brought it back to Harry and his newly picked card. They erupted into cheers and smiles again, and it surely got their mind off the awkward air. 

“What’d you get, Harry?” Seamus shouted from the other side of the table. 

Harry scoffed as he read the text; “Get rid of your shirt for the rest of the game.”

“This isn’t that bad,” Harry said. From the corner of his eye, he could see girls whispering in eacha other’s ears, the other corner of his eye; his friends prolonging a few “oohhh”’s, as though challenging him.

But his eyes met Malfoy’s instead.

The blonde looked at him with a blank expression. Harry couldn’t quite make out whatever Malfoy was feeling—was it anger, or excitement because he was going to watch Harry be humiliated, or nothing at all—Harry didn’t know. He couldn’t make out anything with the way Malfoy only looked at him with his lips, eyes, and eyebrows stationary and head tilted slightly. A red cup in his right hand, which he took a sip from when he realized he and Harry had looked at each other for too long.

Parkinson, on the other hand, looked as though she had no trouble socializing at all. She had already hit it with a few other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls, giggling along and drinking with them. While Zabini was engaged in a deep conversation with some other guy Harry was quite unfamiliar with—all opposite to Malfoy, who was only sitting there silently, his back straight and his eyes on Harry’s.

Harry was snapped out of focus when Ron hit his side using his elbow. “Well? Take it off, mate!” He shouted loud enough for every other person there to hear. Harry smirked in response, his fingers clutching his glass, threatening to bring it to his lips because he was very eager to obey any demand as long as it didn’t involve stripping. There were a few scars on his body—which he doesn’t know himself why and how he’d got them—that he’d very much prefer to keep private. 

“Why so shy, Potter? Not like you’re surprising anyone, really, with that tight ass shirt you’re wearing,” Parkinson snickered. Harry narrowed his eyes, surprised at her boldness, because she did quite look like a lost puppy when she first arrived. Much to his surprise again, the rest of the people started agreeing, talking about his shirt which very much exposed his build already. 

“I picked that for him!” Ron started to say, though no one really paid much attention. Harry laughed at his efforts.

“I’m sorry folks,” Harry said as he raised his glass towards his lips. A few sounds of disappointment emerged from the crowd of students, but they moved on very quickly, continuing to Ron whose hand shook as he reached his arm out to pick a card. Like the odds were in his favor, he got an easy one; 

“Toast,” someone called out immediately.

Groans and laughter erupted as Ron flushed, climbing onto his chair with a wobble. “Right—fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’d like to dedicate this drink to the most loyal thing in my life. Always warm. Always there for me.”

He lifted his glass solemnly.

“Roast chicken.”

Then the group laughed and moved on. It went as so, until it was Seamus’ turn—and his, unfortunately, was to snog the person on his left; Blaise Zabini. The circle erupted into laughter, Ron specifically, and they all started urging him to do it—saying it was in a friendly and non-homosexual way, just to push on Seamus’ buttons. For fun and games, Seamus was all set to full on snog Blaise Zabini—but the boy shoved his palm in front of Seamus’ face, grabbed both of Seamus’ cheeks with the use of his fingers, and forcefully poured liquor down Seamus’ throat. What a way to say no, the crowd had joked.

Then it was Zabini’s turn, then it was Malfoy’s.

For that single moment, it seemed as though the crowd had forgotten their history with Malfoy—because they all started cheering for him. Maybe it was because they were drunk, or purely running on adrenaline. 

Harry eyed him a little too hard that his eyebrows started to furrow. He worried about Malfoy getting something a little too erotic, and he’d end up cussing everyone out if they forced him to do it—or if he got a demand similar to Seamus, and that he’d have to snog Parkinson who was on his left. Harry would turn away from it. It was disgusting to think about.

 Why would I want to see Malfoy snogging someone? And Parkinson, his rumoured girlfriend, of all people—in fact, Malfoy shouldn’t snog any one, at least not in front of me—

A breathy laugh that left Malfoy’s lips made him blink rapidly and gain his focus. That was definitely the first he’d heard Malfoy laugh that wasn’t sarcastic—then Harry looked up, and he saw Malfoy laughing, smiling widely. Laughing as the others curiously asked him to reveal what card he got. 

“Well?” Someone shouted.

Malfoy laughed. Full-on laughter. He couldn’t get the words out his mouth because of it. And he was, very visibly, obviously tipsy from all the shots he drank beforehand. Running impatient, Parkinson snatched the card from his hand, reading it aloud.

“Sit on someone’s lap until your next turn. Other players choose the lucky person,” Pansy read.

What the fuck. 

Harry raised a brow at that. He shot a look towards Malfoy—and the bastard’s laughing. And the crowd also did just that, and they were already deciding on who.

Why is the prat laughing? He was going to humiliate himself? He was going to willingly give someone a bloody lap dance today then have that same stoic expression the next.

Harry looked—studied even; Malfoy’s face, looking for any signs of objection. But there wasn’t any.

And what then if someone finds out your stupid secret, Malfoy? Not a single soul among this table is trustworthy enough to keep your secret but me. Oh, and, wipe that fucking smirk off your face—it’s nauseating. 

“Zabini!” Some shouted. 

Some, “What about you, Longbottom?”

And, “Have a go at some pureblood arse, Weasley!” To which Ron violently gagged at.

Then finally. 

“Potter!” Shouted an unfamiliar voice.

Harry halted his staring at once, searching for whoever it was who shouted his name—only to find the rest of the students looking at him with knowing looks on their faces. 

“Malfoy, wouldn’t you want to give Potter a lap dance?” Seamus, drunk to the brim, said. 

Harry’s face was bewildered. His lips trembled. On the tip of his tongue were the words “hell no,” but nothing came out. His fingers trembled as they clutched his glass tightly, involuntarily downing his liquor entirely—because if he was going to do this, if that damn git was going to go on with this—then he’s not doing it sober.

As his head came back down, grey eyes immediately greeted his green ones. Malfoy stared at him so intently, waiting for any objections to leave Harry’s mouth—but none left his lips. They stared at each other too intently that Harry’s eyes were starting to dry. Stared at each other so hatingly, so loathingly—so intensely with the sickening awareness that both of them definitely wanted this. That they definitely wanted to fucking feel each other’s skin.

But then Malfoy licked his lips and his mouth met the curves of his cup. And Harry watched, with disappointment, as Malfoy’s throat bobbed in front of him—indicating he had swallowed the liquid. He wondered how he’d look if he swallowed something other than Firewhiskey.

No, he wasn’t dissapointed—he was relieved. Or at least he convinced himself that he was.

I think I’ve had far more shots than I’ve planned to drink.

The crowd, for the third time in a row (since Blaise also drank and refused to bite the bottom lip of the person across from him), groaned in disappointment. But those groans soon dissolved as Parkinson, who quickly became the life of the party, willingly gave the Ravenclaw girl who sat next to her, a hickey.

And then more rounds came, more liquor was drunk, more demands were obeyed. Harry started to feel slightly tipsy himself, but he knew better than to waste himself—especially when he had all the intentions to bring someone into his bed tonight. 

Malfoy (who Harry questionably kept a keen eye on), on the other hand, was obviously heavily drunk, obviously out of his own body already. He had drank for almost all of his demands, only obeying the demands that told him to drink even more liquor or the demands that involved not being in close contact with some other person. Just the way Harry preferred it—because then, his secret would be kept hidden. Or maybe because he couldn’t, for some reason, stand the thought of Malfoy doing erotic acts in front of him with someone else.

Then the crowd dispersed as soon as they ran out of cards, and everyone went into different corners of the common room. Harry was still, thankfully, somewhat sober, raising his wrist, he read the time on his watch; 11:19 PM.

He danced with Ron to some of the songs, some of Muggle origin which Ron seemed to be unfamiliar with, and some they loved as kids. Time went by in a blur, and Harry could feel himself getting even more half-lidded by the second. Then he checked his wristwatch again. 12:01 AM. 

His eyes roamed the common room, now less crowded but still filled with students. Ravenclaw students had now mostly left because they’d rather be sober when answering the riddle to their own common room, otherwise they’d be camping and experiencing their hangover outside. 

Speaking of which, when most of the Ravenclaws, who went out in groups left, he and Ron commented about how Parkinson was practically clinging onto that girl she’d given a hickey earlier. 

“She became social fast,” said Ron, his hips swaying side to side to match the beat of the music.

“She’s always been like that. I’m guessing being in Slytherin shushed her,” Harry scoffed, remembering the Slytherin discrimination that lingered for quite a while.

“Right, well, I guess I’ve just now noticed.” Ron leaned in closer to Harry to ensure only he would hear, “and–did you know she was into women?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“Besides, wasn't she with Malfoy?”

“What?” Almost immediately, Harry replied. Ron flinched slightly at the sudden rise of Harry’s volume, and so Harry coughed before adding, “I–uh, was never informed.”

Then Harry was reminded of Malfoy again. And like it was instinct, his eyes searched the room for the familiar blonde–Zabini was no longer in sight. Parkinson left moments ago with another girl. Finally, his eyes landed on a familiar hat. 

Malfoy was sitting on the edge of one of the sofas, eyebrows furrowed, cheek resting on his palm. He looked concerningly distressed.

“Turn up the music!” Neville shouted somewhere in the room.

And someone followed his orders, because the music did turn up, and every one was singing along very loudly.

With that, Harry watched as Malfoy’s furrowed brows twitched–and so did the locks underneath his hat. His leg started bouncing faster.

Ron only shrugged at Harry’s answer and continued to move his body to the music as he poured more liquor into his cup. Harry was slightly impressed at his alcohol tolerance. 

Harry pat Ron’s shoulder, “Remember, Hermione won't be very pleased if she sees you wasted.” he reminded before moving past Ron in a haste. Ron watched Harry’s back, mumbling a “Harry?” before deciding not to chase after him, instead joining Neville and the rest. 

Malfoy sat there very discomfortingly. Any one could tell with the way he bit his lip harshly, the way his leg was bouncing frantically. If the failed transfiguration’s amplified sensations weren't bad enough, amplified hearing was also one of the things he struggled with–given his two pairs of ears. The music was already loud enough, but then stupid fucking Longbottom had to shout loudly and request that the music be turned up even louder. He was already tipsy enough–drunk enough that everything around him was a blur, and he had watched as his companions–Pansy and Blaise–left without any care for him at all. He wanted to shout, tell them to take him with them, but nothing left his lips–and at the time, had he opened his mouth, he was sure nothing would come out but his dinner. He was at fault, anyway, for letting himself get as intoxicated.

But at least–at the very least, one problem was subtracted, because he felt two warm palms clasp over his (human) ears, shielding him at least a little from the horrid, loud music. 

His eyes widened, or opened as much as he could open them, and he looked over to see Potter standing behind the couch, watching him as his palms stayed on both his ears.

“P–” 

“You don't look well.” Harry said. Malfoy was too exhausted to argue any further, and so he stayed silent. “Do you want to go back?” 

Malfoy closed his eyes. “Mm.” he mumbled. Harry couldn't even hear him, it was the vibration because of how hard he was protecting his ears that had told him.

Without the use of any more words, he reached for his wand and muttered a silencing charm, making it so that Malfoy could only hear him. 

“Come on, Malfoy, I’ll escort you back.”

No response–Malfoy was definitely out of it. 

“Malfoy.” Harry tried again. Still nothing. So he walked in front of the blonde, grabbing his free arm to support him in standing up. 

“Can you, uh,” Harry said, “Can you walk?” 

“I’m not a damn baby.” Malfoy replied rudely, his eyes still closed as he leaned over, placing his forehead on Harry’s shoulder.

“You're not, you’re drunk.” Harry replied, grabbing the sides of Malfoy’s arms and pushing him back in order to see the blonde’s face. “You can't even open your eyes,” 

With that, Malfoy opened his eyes very slightly. Only enough to shoot a scowl at Harry. “Fuck off.” 

“I would, but I hope you know your friends left an hour ago. You’ve got nobody but me.”

“I’m aware.” Malfoy said before closing his eyes again, letting his body relax as he knew he had Harry holding him.

“Merlin,” Harry cursed. 

*

They found themselves just outside Gryffindor, with Malfoy’s arm snaking over Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s over Malfoy’s waist. They stepped through only a few flights of stairs before Harry remembered to ask, “Do you remember your password?”

It took a while for the question to register in Malfoy’s mushy brain. “Mm… password… for what..?”

“Slytherin.”

“It’s Merlin’s saggy tits.” 

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

Harry paused in his tracks. Malfoy seemed to get the hint, “Right, fine–I don't… I don't remember…”

“What?” Harry exclaimed. “You made me climb down all of those stairs for nothing?” 

“I didn't tell you to do all that.”

“Well, I can't really leave you outside of Slytherin heavily drunk and asleep, can I?”

“There's your savior complex again.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. Before Malfoy knew it, Harry was turning around, already climbing back up. 

“Noooo… wher’ we goin’?” 

“I didn't know you grow an accent when drunk.”

“That–” Malfoy hiccuped. “that doesn't answer the question–”

“We’re going to my dorm.”