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“That’s my mug!”
“I don’t see your name on it!”
“It’s the one I always use!”
“Unlucky then, because I’m using it today!”
Hermione looked around as footsteps descended the stairs and Pansy appeared in the doorway.
“Are they at it again?” Pansy asked with a sigh as she crossed the room to sit next to Hermione. They’d struck up a most unlikely friendship since being back at Hogwarts, what with all the eighth-years now sharing one common room.
“Yep,” Hermione sighed, closing her book. “They’ve already argued about a bowl, the last bit of milk and now the mug.”
Pansy shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what to do with them,” she said, exasperation evident in her voice.
“I’m starting to tune them out,” Hermione admitted. “I really thought things would be different after everything that went on.”
Before Pansy could reply, the door to the kitchenette slammed open and Harry stormed into the common room, closely followed by Draco. They were still arguing.
“Do you have to just leave the mug in the sink without washing it?” Draco demanded, gesticulating wildly with his arms.
“If you want the mug so badly, you wash it!” Harry retorted, turning to face Draco, eyes flashing with anger.
“Why should I when you’re the one who’s dirtied it?!” Draco exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air.
“Because I am busy!” Harry said triumphantly, whirling round again and exiting the common room.
Draco gave a strangled cry of frustration and stomped back into the kitchenette without acknowledging the two girls.
Pansy glanced sideways at Hermione. “We need to put a stop to this.”
Hermione nodded wordlessly.
***
As the day passed, Harry and Draco’s arguments occurred with alarming frequency. They weren’t particularly malicious, but every one of their classmates found themselves wishing the two would give it a rest.
Even sitting at opposite sides of the room they managed to argue. Occasionally, there would be balled up pieces of parchment launched across the room. More often than not, these pieces of parchment failed to reach their target and Pansy, in particular, had been hit in the head.
Harry always apologised, but the damage was done. Pansy and Hermione spent the majority of their free time huddled together having whispered discussions about how they could teach the pair a lesson.
They were occasionally joined by Ron and Blaise who had also grown tired of their friends arguing. So much so that they had taken to spending more time with each other than with Harry and Draco.
Hermione entered the common room that evening with a satisfied smile. “Professor McGonagall gave me permission.”
“Really?” Pansy asked, her face lighting up.
“Well, sort of,” Hermione said. “What she actually said was ‘Miss Granger, I don’t believe I heard a word you said. Certainly nothing to complain about, so have fun’.”
Pansy laughed delightedly. “I knew she would be as fed up as we are,” she said. “Tonight, then?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes. As soon as they get back.”
Pansy grinned and clapped her hands together briefly. “This could be the answer we’ve been looking for!”
“They’re bound to be worse at first though,” Hermione said warningly. “But it’ll be worth it in the end.”
Pansy nodded. “I know. I’m quite willing to put up with the extra arguments at first.”
Hermione smiled and glanced at the clock.
Both Harry and Draco were currently missing. Having angered their Potions teacher with their bickering, they had been forced to stay behind and clean the lab.
“They should be back in a few minutes,” said Hermione.
Pansy grinned. “Let’s get ready, then.”
***
Down the hall, Harry and Draco were walking back to the common room, wearing identical looks of malice on their faces. They walked in even strides, but on opposite sides of the corridor, each refusing to let the other take the lead.
Draco sped up the last few paces to the suit of armour guarding the eighth-year common room. “Unitatis et pacis,” he said, rolling his eyes at the phrase. The suit of armour saluted and stepped aside as the wall slid open to reveal the door.
Harry, peeved that Draco had won their silent walking race, pushed past him in an attempt to squeeze in the door first. Draco had other ideas, though, and shoved Harry against the doorframe. They struggled for a moment, trying to keep each other from getting into the common room, then both burst through the doorway at once in a tangle of limbs.
Harry had his fist halfway to Draco’s face when Pansy spoke up. “Hello, boys. If you could pause for a moment, please.”
As one, Draco and Harry looked up to where Pansy was lounging in a chair. Hermione sat on the arm, annoyance writ on her face. Harry lowered his hand slowly.
Pansy nodded. “Thank you. Now, I doubt either of you noticed, given your preoccupation with hitting each other, but you’ll find you’re standing in a casting circle.”
Draco gasped. They were stood right in the center of a small circle, which glowed faintly gold under the white chalk. Neatly-drawn runes flowed around the outside of the shape.
“What is this?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed.
Draco scoffed. “You’re such an idiot, Potter—”
Pansy cleared her throat. “We, the entire eighth year, have taken a vote. It was unanimously decided that something needed to be done about your childish bickering and ridiculous rivalry. We have determined that the only way you two will learn to get along is by getting to know each other—”
Harry and Draco spoke up simultaneously: “I don’t want to get to know—” “You can’t force us to—”
“If you please,” Pansy interjected. Hermione was rubbing her temples.
Both boys frowned but stopped talking.
“Thank you, gentlemen. You may learn manners yet.” Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt. “Our first thought was to trap you in a room together, but that was logistically difficult. The lovely Miss Granger did some research and found the perfect solution: the aptly-named Get Along Spell. Hermione, would you like to explain it?”
Hermione stood and gestured at the chalk. “I won’t get too technical, but the circle has trapped you both—and your magic—and the runes are casting the spell. The original spell involved some intense magical bonding, but we modified it so that it will only require you to stay in close proximity at all times.”
“How close?” asked Harry, looking between Pansy and Hermione frantically.
“Erm, well. I guess if you both had your arms out—” Hermione started.
“Touching. You have to be touching. Until the spell ends,” Pansy said.
Draco spluttered, “Touching?”
“We aren’t sure about specific requirements for the spell, but it’s likely you’ll have to be skin-to-skin.” Hermione looked entirely too pleased with herself.
“Hermione, what are you saying? We have to—touch all the time?” Harry flushed as he spoke and pointedly moved as far away from Draco as the circle would allow.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Until you can get along.”
“You’re out of your minds, all of you.” Draco’s words sounded cutting and self-assured but his face conveyed only fear. “I’m not touching him, I don’t care if it kills me.”
No sooner had Draco spoken than the very tips of his fingers started to glow faintly. Runes appeared on his skin, golden and luminescent, crawling up his fingers and covering the back of his hands like ivy. Draco’s face tightened in pain as he gripped his wrist in a vain attempt to stop the runes in their inexorable ascension.
“You may well be a suicidal madman, and believe me, I don’t care, but I’m not suffering because you think touching me is going to dirty your posh little fingers.” Harry was gripping Draco’s elbow firmly, fingers digging into the flesh (after all, the spell said they had to touch, not that the touch had to be gentle). Draco jerked his arm away but let Harry’s fingers rest on his upper arm.
“I’m sorry, Harry, I really am. But honestly, we’re all at our wits end, here. You’re transforming our common room into a boxing ring more often than not, and none of us here can concentrate on our homework with your constant bickering,” Hermione said, softly, her dark eyes grave and solemn.
“I, on the other hand, am not feeling the least bit guilty. You know what you’ve done and if you won’t feel ashamed for it, then I refuse to take responsibility for the consequences of your actions.” Pansy caught Hermione’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
***
Arguing and begging their captors to set them free having proven entirely useless, Harry and Draco spent a good portion of the evening bickering over whose fault it was that they found themselves in this situation. They thus discovered that the spell did require skin-to-skin touching, but did not consider violence to be an adequate form of contact. It flared up in tiny, glittering, painful runes as soon as they tried to throw a punch. They couldn’t fight without feeling like their skin had been set on fire, so they settled for looking as miserable as damp kneazles, slumped in a corner of the room.
The rest of their year - the traitors - were happily ignoring them, and, as the evening dragged on, the room gradually emptied as everyone found their way into bed.
“We should go to sleep,” Harry finally said when they were the only people left (Draco was holding Harry’s wrist with two fingers and an expression of absolute disgust on his face, like his hand was a half-decomposed grindylow.) “I… uh… I should tell you I have my own room.”
“What do you mean, your own room? You have a bed with us, in our dormitory. A bed in which, I should specify, we are not sleeping because I am sure you sweat profusely during the night, or something equally revolting.”
“Yeah, I do. And Ron closes the curtains for me every night, but I don’t actually sleep in it.” Harry was picking at the sleeve of his jumper, his entire body tense and awkward. Draco didn’t notice any of it.
“Of course. Of freaking course. The saviour of the magical world is too good for a common dormitory like the rest of us, what was I thinking? Tell me, Potter, do you ever feel guilty that your friends almost died for you and yet it’s always you that gets all the glory?” Draco spit the words like so many hexes, chin raised, fingernails digging into Harry’s wrist.
“Tell me, Malfoy, how does a spoiled baby like you cope with having nothing at all? Does it hurt that you lost everything because you were too busy grovelling for your life to make the right decisions? Does it hurt that you’ll never see your father again? Does it hurt your mother refuses to talk these days?”
A fist, balled. A punch, thrown. Runes, glittering up and down skins. Fingers clasping upon fingers, and then, silence. Harry dragged Draco to a small door hidden behind a tapestry and into a small, bare room with nothing but a wooden bed. Neither of the boys said anything as they slid into bed fully clothed, bodies slack and empty as if the fit of anger had drained the life out of them.
Draco had drifted off into a fitful, anxious sleep when he was awoken by blood curdling screams. Harry was writhing, as if in pain, tears staining his cheeks, breath rapid and shallow. Draco’s eyes sought his hand at first, worried that lack of contact was causing this reaction, but his hand was resting on Harry’s back, underneath his heavy woollen jumper and the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Nightmares, Draco realised when Harry blindly begged an invisible shadow to spare him, please spare him, please take me instead before relapsing into another fit of screams. Draco’s chest slowly filled with ice. He’d awoken more than once with tears drenching his pillow and a throat raw from having screamed too much. Those nights, it took hours just to stop the tremors, and his mind had a way of turning every sound he heard into Voldemort’s voice or footsteps. Perhaps, Potter hadn’t entirely deserved his cutting words from earlier. Perhaps the boy had suffered and lost as much as everyone in this hell of a war. Perhaps neither fame nor glory made all the pain and death worthwhile. Slowly, he shifted in the bed, and brought his hand up to Potter’s face, the touch, awkward at first, growing into a caress. His mother used to soothe him back to sleep when he was a child: he found her words sitting on his tongue, and spoke them softly to Potter until the boy grew still and soft under his hands, until they both sunk into a deep, peaceful sleep, breaths and limbs mingling.
***
As morning dawned, Harry began to stir. He frowned as he felt a weight across his middle, although it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Blinking his eyes open, all he could see was the white blond of Draco’s hair. The other boy’s head was so close on the pillow and Harry quickly realised that the weight across his middle was Draco’s arm. Now that he was more awake, he slowly focused on the warmth that was Draco’s hand pressed against his chest under his jumper. Swallowing, he tried to pull his head back to look at the other boy.
Before Harry could move, Draco opened his eyes and blinked rapidly a few times before raising his gaze to meet Harry’s.
“Well… I didn’t expect this when I woke up this morning,” Harry murmured, feeling a blush spread over his cheeks.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” Draco muttered, his own cheeks pink too. “I was asleep.”
“I didn’t keep you awake then,” Harry said softly, relief evident in his voice.
“Not exactly,” Draco said, unsure if he should tell Harry what had happened or not.
“What do you mean?” Harry asked warily.
“You… you woke me up screaming,” Draco replied with a sigh. “You didn’t mention that you had nightmares.”
“Why do you think I have this room of my own?” Harry muttered, closing his eyes. “If I’m in here, I’m not going to keep everyone else awake.”
Draco processed this silently for a few seconds. “You’re not the only one who has nightmares, you know.”
“Believe me, I know,” Harry said. “But Ron’s told me how bad mine are. I… I see a Mind Healer but it’s not a quick fix.”
“Don’t you take anything for them?” Draco asked softly. His animosity towards Harry had dissipated since last night. He felt like he and Harry may be kindred spirits when it came to nightmares.
Harry shook his head. “No-one has offered me anything for them,” he replied. “The Mind Healer prefers to try and address them in a more holistic way instead of using potions.”
“Sometimes potions are easier,” Draco said, moving his hand slightly on Harry’s chest, making the other boy shiver. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Harry said shaking his head. “What do you take for nightmares?”
“Dreamless Sleep. When I remember it,” Draco replied. “Listen, I, er, I owe you an apology. For what I said when you told me about this room. You… you didn’t deserve that.”
“And you didn’t deserve what I said to you either,” Harry said softly. “‘M sorry. Maybe the others are right… maybe we should try and get along now that everything is over.”
“Maybe,” Draco said slowly. “I mean… it can’t be that hard, can it?”
Harry shrugged slightly. “No harder than sharing a bed, I suppose. Although have you thought about how we’re supposed to, er, shower?”
Draco’s eyes widened in horror. “Not until just now! Oh, Merlin, I’m going to kill Pansy! How are we meant to shower if we have to touch the whole time?!”
“Wash each other’s backs?” Harry offered, making a face.
Draco shuddered slightly. “Please don’t try and make this even more awkward.”
“I’m going to have to,” Harry said, a panicked look appearing on his face. “I need the loo.”
“What? No! I’m not coming with you to the toilet!” Draco protested, shuffling away from Harry while leaving his hand resting on the Gryffindor’s midriff.
“You’re going to have to unless you want to feel the pain of those runes again,” Harry said. “Come on, get out!”
Muttering curse words under his breath, Draco slid out of the bed, making sure his hand remained in contact with Harry’s skin until the other boy was standing beside him. “No offence, Potter, but I am not walking to the bathroom like this,” he said. “Take my wrist.”
Harry rolled his eyes but obliged, taking hold of Draco’s wrist firmly.
“Thank you,” Draco sniffed, removing his hand from under Harry’s jumper and wiping it on his trousers. “When you’re done, I need to get changed. I smell of your bed.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way my bed smells,” Harry muttered. But he privately agreed with Draco; he wanted to get changed too. “And by the way, there’s no way I’m wearing a jumper to bed tonight.”
“Well you’re wearing something,” Draco replied. “We are nowhere near that stage yet.”
***
They managed to make it through their respective hygiene routines with only one brief separation — after twenty minutes of watching Draco style his hair, Harry’d had enough and walked off. Draco had yelped, grabbed Harry’s wrist, and pouted the entire way to the common room.
Pansy and Hermione sat together on a loveseat (rather close together, Harry noticed). Their faces lit up when they saw the boys (with mischief, and pride, and something else that belonged only to the both of them).
“Draco, such an interesting hairdo you’re sporting today.”
The words were apparently Pansy’s idea of a greeting or an apology. Hermione had the decency to look at least somewhat guilty besides her as she twirled a strand of hair around the fingers of her left hand, but she offered no more apologies than her co-conspirator.
Draco fought against the impulse to answer something terribly vulgar back at Pansy. It was something he would have done if they were alone, just the two of them, and he could let the mask fall and be himself. But they weren’t alone, because he was permanently glued to Harry until they found a way to break the stupid curse, and because Pansy appeared permanently glued to Hermione as well, judging by the way she rubbed the brown-skinned girl’s shoulders gently.
“Whatever,” he said instead. “We’ll see you traitors in class.”
“We’re not going to class,” Harry said as soon as they were out of earshot. “First, I think that being cursed is a good enough excuse to skip. Second, I don’t want everyone to know. What if we need to let go of each other and the runes flare up again? I’m not telling the professor and everyone else in the room we need to be holding hands at all times.”
Draco considered. He hadn’t really been thinking about the logistics of it—of classes, and showers, and everything. He’d been too angry, at first, and then he’d somehow let himself get too distracted by Potter, all because of a stupid nightmare. (Only the nightmare was anything but stupid, and the feeling of kinship clung to Draco’s ribs because he knew this. He knew how it felt to wake up with his throat hoarse and his cheeks wet and his fingers clenched. And he wanted to know Harry too.)
Draco slipped his hand down from Harry’s wrists until their palms were touching, and threaded their fingers together. Harry took the gesture as acquiescence to his previous proposition; he smiled and led Draco through winding stone corridors until they stood in front of a still-life painting of a bowl of fruit.
“Access to the kitchen,” Harry whispered, his tone conspiratorial and almost playful. “Tickle the pear.”
***
Once fed, only the matter where to spend their day remained. The dorms were too risky of course, it would be the first place anyone would look for them. The infirmary would have been the reasonable choice, but neither of them mentioned it, perhaps because the room still held memories that they weren’t ready to revisit quite yet. They ended up in an empty classroom on the fourth floor instead where they did homework for a while. Neither of them could concentrate on their reading and essays, not with the curse, and the nightmares, and everything that had transpired in the last few hours, so they soon took to playing games instead.
“Why did you come back for an eighth year?” Draco asked after their seventh round of gobstones. They’d been asking innocuous questions back and forth for the better part of an hour, things like “do all purebloods consider peacocks to be appropriate garden gnomes?” and “is it true that muggles have talking bricks in their pockets?” This question was different. Harry’s fingers tensed in Draco’s hand.
“You could have gone straight into Auror training, with you being the hero of the wizarding world and all that.” Draco continued all the same.
“I never wanted to be an Auror,” he said after a long silence. The words felt like bark in his mouth, rough and honest, scratching at his voice to get out. He felt the warm heaviness of tears building up behind his eyes but there was no stopping it now. “Everyone always just assumes I’m going to be an Auror, because everyone thinks I’m a warrior. But I was never given any choice, you know? The war chose me, the war tore me away from my family, and I never got a say in any of it because if I did, if I said no, then everyone died.”
“I know,” Draco whispered as tears fell round and wet on Harry’s robes. “When he moved in at the Manor, I thought I was proud that he had chosen our home as his residence. I thought I had chosen it, deserved it, I thought I had to be happy to take the mark. And then Mother started falling apart, I’d notice empty bottles in her room, and she’d go without eating for days. And there was nothing I could do about it. I loved her so much and there was nothing I could do.”
Harry pulled Draco closer at that. Draco wound his arms tight against Harry’s shoulders and Harry let his head rest on Draco’s shoulder. They cried for a while, in silence, holding each other tightly, hands clutching at fabric.
“Not a lot we did was really a choice, was it?” Harry finally said when their breathing had become regular again.
“It was a war,” Draco answered, fingers rubbing circles on Harry’s back. “There’s nothing pretty about a war. And it’s easier for me, it is, because in a way I get to atone for the things I’ve done. I get to acknowledge my mistakes, move on and become a different person. No one expects you to change, because everyone sees you as a hero. I used to be so jealous of that.” A silence. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” Harry said softly. “I’m sorry you had to put up with him in the Manor. I always thought you must have everything. But when the Snatchers brought us to the Manor… it was nothing like I’d imagined,” he broke off with a sigh. “I suppose that was because of him?”
Draco nodded, his grip on Harry tightening slightly. “Everything changed when he moved in,” he said. “It got… darker, somehow. I’d known what my father was like, of course, but Mother tried to keep me from being sucked into it. For the most part, she succeeded, but I always wanted his approval. To show him I wasn’t a failure.”
“How could he think that?” Harry frowned. “You were always at the top of the class. You’re clever.”
“Not clever enough in my father’s eyes. Granger saw to that. I know she didn’t mean to, but Father wouldn’t let it drop. And don’t get me started on the whole Malfoy heir debacle.”
Harry pulled back to look at him. “Malfoy heir debacle?” he asked hesitantly.
Draco heaved a sigh, shifting so that he was leaning against Harry but not looking at him. “Yes. He’s always - from the moment I started at Hogwarts - spoke of how I’ll eventually be married to a nice, Pureblood girl and we’ll produce an heir to the Malfoy name. He’s never asked me, not once, whether that’s something I want.”
Harry chewed his lip gently, considering Draco’s words. “And is it something you want?”
Draco was still for a moment. “No,” he said shakily. “I’ve only ever told Pansy that.”
“Can… can I ask why?” Harry said softly. “I mean, you could have your pick of Pureblood girls. You’re… not exactly ugly, after all. And you’re a Malfoy.”
Draco snorted softly. “Potter, please,” he said. “My looks are the least of my worries. No, it’s more the marrying a girl part that’s the problem. That’s the bit I don’t want.”
“Oh,” Harry murmured. “I didn’t know the… girl thing.”
Draco gave a small huff of laughter. “Well, no, you wouldn’t,” he said. “Like I said, I’ve only ever told Pansy that. I never wanted my father to find out when I was younger, but I don’t particularly care now. I’d rather be happy than live a lie.”
“Everyone deserves to be happy,” Harry said softly. “Whether you want to marry a girl or a boy.”
“Very philosophical, Potter,” Draco said with a small smile. “I suppose you want the Weasley girl? You were going out with her, were you not?”
Harry paused before he answered, causing Draco to tilt his head up. “I was,” he said eventually. “Now I’m not.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Something like that,” Harry replied, shrugging slightly. “I broke up with her at the beginning of the war. It wasn’t fair to keep her waiting for me when… when I might never make it back.”
“But you haven’t got back together,” Draco said carefully. “What happened?”
“Honestly? Not a lot,” Harry said. “After everything was over, the Weasleys spent a lot of time together as a family, grieving for Fred and I had a house to renovate. It just sort of… fizzled out. We did try again but… my heart wasn’t in it. I don’t think hers was either, really.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Draco replied, not really sure what else to say. “When you say your heart wasn’t in it… why was that?”
“Do we have to talk about this?” Harry sighed.
“Well, since you decided we weren’t going to class, we don’t have much else to do,” Draco pointed out. “We might as well… get to know each other if we want to have any hope of breaking this curse.”
“Oh, alright,” Harry said, sounding more cross than he felt. “I started… questioning everything about myself, I suppose, and eventually realised that I’m bisexual. Not only that, but I also realised that I didn’t really like Ginny in the way that I should. Like, she was more like a sister than a girlfriend - we’re still really good friends because of that, but it would never have worked between us long term.”
“So her loss is everyone else’s gain?” Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Not everyone’s,” Harry protested. “I do have morals, you know.”
“Alright, so, what’s your type?” Draco asked, shuffling around to sit facing Harry now.
“My type?” Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. “I… I don’t think I have a type. I mean, I’ve never thought about it. What’s your type?”
“Boys. Obviously,” Draco said, looking thoughtful. “Dark hair… I used to find Wood quite attractive actually. I think that’s how I first realised I was gay.”
“Wood? As in Oliver Wood?” Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide.
Draco nodded. “You can imagine the confusion that caused me,” he said. “He was in Gryffindor for a start. Though… I’ve recently come to realise that not all Gryffindors are bad.”
Harry snorted and shook his head. “I can’t believe you fancied Wood,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t have if you’d been on the team with him.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco said. “I can’t imagine it was that bad sharing a changing room with him…”
Harry groaned softly.
“Are you telling me you never snuck a look at him in the showers?” Draco pressed, raising an eyebrow again.
“At thirteen? No,” Harry flushed. “I didn’t know I liked boys back then.”
“Do you really know you like boys now?” Draco asked, sighing. “Come on, Potter, give me something to work with!”
Feeling his heart pounding in his chest, Harry leant forward and crushed his lips against Draco’s in an awkward kiss.
Pulling away with a gasp, Draco looked at Harry with wide eyes but didn’t say anything. After a few seconds, Draco shifted and captured Harry’s lips again in a much softer kiss. His hands fisted in Harry’s robes, he pulled the other boy closer.
They did not stop kissing, not even when their skin glowed purple and bright with runes that felt like droplets of fresh water on their skins on a hot summer day. Every single emotion in their chest suddenly swelled and unfurled in waves, crashing against their ribs as they breathed in moans and whimpers, and all they knew was the excruciating desire for more—kisses and touches and bare skin.
When they finally broke apart, flushed and out of breath and weak with exhilaration, all they could do is laugh at first.
“Do you reckon they knew?” Harry asked, when the giggles finally stopped “That this would happen, I mean.”
“Who’s to say? Pansy’s always been sharper than she lets on and I wouldn’t put the whole thing past her if I’m honest.” Draco stroked Harry’s wrist with his long fingers, learning all the curves of it by heart.
“I don’t know,” Harry said, lifting Draco’s fingers off his wrists and up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss onto the soft skin, “I just don’t know anymore. I’m not even sure I believe what just happened. I mean—it feels so strange, after all the years we spent fighting and bickering and trying to get each other into detention.”
“Qui aime bien châtie bien, mon amour. Or at least that’s what the French say.”
“Of course you would speak French, you posh git,” Harry laughed, “but you’ll need to speak English if you want me to understand anything.”
“Something about rough love. Doesn’t matter. I mean—I don’t want this to end. I know we’ve had our differences in the past, and I know sometimes the line between love and hate is thinner than we expect. I don’t want any of this to matter. I want to have this. With you. I want to kiss you, and hold you, and only fight about the small stuff.”
Draco looked sincere and earnest, all glistening grey eyes and marble-coloured skin in the soft light. Harry felt his heart fill with affection at the sight.
“I want it too,” he whispered onto the skin of Draco’s thumb, “the mug is mine, though.”
Draco smiled at the reminder that not two days prior, they’d been fighting about something so insignificant.
“We probably ought to go warn our captors of the dreadful consequences of their actions, at some point. Shall we?”
He got up with a flourish, pulling Harry into his arms.
Harry grinned and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. “I think we should play a trick on them,” he said, his eyes shining. “Let’s go in arguing. Then, we can make up with more of this…” he punctuated his words by capturing Draco’s lips in another lazy kiss.
Draco smiled into the kiss as he returned it. “You have the best ideas,” he said. “Come on.”
With that, they left the classroom and made their way back to the eighth-year common room. The school day was surely over by now and Pansy and Hermione would no doubt be wondering where they were.
His hand on the door, Harry signalled a silent count to Draco.
“I can’t believe you!” Draco raised his voice as they pushed the door open. “I thought we’d got past this!”
“Well, you thought wrong!” Harry retorted, frowning as he turned to look back at the blond over his shoulder. “It’s mine and you know it!”
Pansy looked up from where she was sitting, a frown on her face.
Hermione sat up, lifting her head off Pansy’s lap and putting her book down. “What’s wrong now?” she asked.
“This git won’t admit when he’s wrong!” Harry exclaimed, gesturing to Draco.
“How can I admit it when I’m not the one in the wrong?” Draco replied, his hands on his hips.
“You are, and you know it,” Harry said, moving to stand right in front of Draco so that they were nose to nose.
Pansy glanced at Hermione worriedly. Had their plan gone terribly wrong somehow? Had the curse done something unexpected?
“Guess I’ll just have to apologise then, won’t I?” Draco murmured, moving closer to Harry.
Pansy put her hand on Hermione’s arm, alarmed.
“Make it good,” Harry said, his eyes lighting up as Draco leant in and pressed their lips together. He smiled into the kiss, returning it enthusiastically.
Pansy let out a shriek, causing Hermione to drop the book she was holding in surprise.
Harry and Draco pulled apart and looked at Pansy innocently.
“You… you…” Pansy stammered, looking between Harry and Draco, her eyes wide. “Are you…”
“Like you didn’t know this would happen,” Draco said with a snort. “This was probably your plan all along!”
Hermione shook her head and looked at Harry. “No, we didn’t… we just wanted you to stop fighting. We… is this what you want?”
“Hermione, it’s okay,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand with a smile and squeezing it gently. “We’ve done a lot of talking since we’ve been bound together, and we realised that… well, we realised quite a few things.”
Draco nodded, pulling Harry across to sit on the sofa opposite the two girls. “This has probably just been a long time coming,” he said. “We’ve just been too caught up in other things to notice.”
“Well,” Pansy started, looking pleased with herself. “I take it the curse has lifted itself then?”
Draco nodded. “We think so,” he said. “We haven’t had any runes show up anyway.”
“Can you tell if it’s gone?” Harry asked, looking to Hermione. “Just so we know for sure.”
Hermione nodded and pulled out her wand. “Stay still,” she instructed. She stood up and passed her wand over the two boys, murmuring an incantation. A few seconds later, she smiled and put her wand away. “It’s gone. It determined that you’ve definitely made up.”
Draco and Harry looked at each other, grinning, before kissing again.
“Hey! Don’t tell me we’re going to have to put up with you doing that now, instead of fighting?” Pansy demanded, clicking her fingers.
“This is surely the lesser of two evils, Pansy?” Harry asked as he pulled back from Draco to give the dark-haired girl a grin.
Pansy gave a groan, shook her head and looked to Hermione. “What have we done?”