Work Text:
I could build a castle out of all the bricks they threw at me
Eighth year had started like any other; the train picked them up at Kings Cross at the same platform, all of the students wearing black robes and pushing their carts and carrying their pets. The train wound its way through the mountains and over the rivers and finally made its destination. The castle lit up the sky as the first-years got on boats and the rest of the classes got into their Thestral-drawn carriages.
Thestrals they could all see.
But that was it, the only reminder of the war. The castle looked fine, every stone tucked back into place, every torch happily lit. It was as if nothing happened.
Everything had happened behind those castle walls.
He had run away from those walls, like a coward after everything he had done to destroy the place he had affectionately thought of as a second home for seven years.
So many had died there.
Potter had died there.
Like an idiot, he had returned, borrowed wand and fresh textbooks tucked into his trunk. He had owled letters to his remaining classmates over summer hols, pathetically trying to make amends, but it was to no avail. He knew the second he stepped onto the train that his efforts had been in vain; no one would look at him besides throwing seething glares, until he finally made it to the tiny cabin holding the remainder of his friends. Goyle wasn’t returning, going straight into his father’s business instead of returning for some useless year. Crabbe summered in the Swiss Alps and met a witch there. They were already expecting a baby next spring. Nott started his apprenticeship in Diagon Alley, and didn’t see the point in returning to Hogwarts.
Only Pansy, Zabini and Draco remained, taking up half the space in a tiny train cart.
The sweets trolley didn’t stop by their door.
My castle crumbled overnight, they took the crown but it’s alright
The teachers had trouble making eye contact with the three of them as well. Only McGonagall seemed to stomach it, giving Draco a half-smile before giving them new room assignments.
Sharing a dormitory? All of them?
Not that there were that many left. Three from Slytherin, no more than five from Hufflepuff. At least thirteen from Ravenclaw; they would return to school no matter how many years they added on. And, of course, five from Gryffindor.
Potter, Weasel and Granger, standing like some sort of fucked-up family as McGonagall separated them into their rooms. Not by house, no, but by random selection. Zabini was shoved with Longbottom and Thomas, which Draco knew he would enjoy. He’d been eye-fucking Longbottom’s bottom since they got off the train. Quite the glow-up, he admitted to himself.
Not as much of a glow-up as Potter, though. The last time Draco had seen Scarhead, he was dirty and thin, his hair matted and his face puffy and destroyed by that horrible hex. Draco could barely recognize him, except for his eyes.
He’d have been able to recognize those eyes anywhere.
And now he’d have to stare at them every time before he fell asleep. McGonagall looked especially pleased, pairing Draco and Potter in a room together. Not even a Hufflepuff would be sacrificed to keep them from fighting. No, they were in the only two-bedroom room in the new eighth-year dormitory.
“Thanks for the letter,” Potter said quickly as they crawled into their respective beds. Draco couldn’t even mutter a response before Potter flicked off the light with some silver thing in his hand, rolled over and began to snore.
Draco couldn’t sleep, though. Instead, he tossed and turned, wondering what the next day of hell would bring.
He could barely crawl out of bed in the morning, and when he went to take a shower, he found every single one except the last stall occupied. He slid the curtain back, focusing on releasing his robes when he discovered he was indeed wrong. As his robe dropped, his gaze rose until it met with one Harry James Potter, glistening wet and as stark as the day he was born.
As was Draco, frozen in place and bare as a baby. He wanted to gather up his robes and slither out of the showers, but he found he was frozen in place.
He figured Potter would have grabbed a towel as well, but instead he just cocked his head and gave Draco an approving nod before saying, “Looking good, Malfoy.”
At that, he finally wrapped a towel around his waist and walked confidently out.
Draco took a very cold shower, and by the time he was finished, Potter was gone from their room.
It takes everything in me just to get up each day, but it’s wonderful to see that you’re okay
Draco could only describe his first week back at Hogwarts as a living hell. While the castle looked perfectly fine, every one of his classrooms was in a different spot. He had somehow brought the wrong textbook to Herbology, and he couldn’t even find the strength to enter his Potions classrooms.
That’s how Potter found him; hovering outside the doorframe, unable to go in.
“It’s not the same, is it?”
“Don’t pretend you knew him, Potter.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. But he knew my mother.”
“He knew mine too. Do you always think you’re special?”
“I wished I wasn’t for a long time.”
Draco huffed. “Oh yes, it must have been so hard to be so adored.”
Potter shrugged. “Dying wasn’t my favorite part.”
“Being roommates with that snake wasn’t mine.”
“Thanks for your wand, by the way.”
“Feel free to return it whenever you like.”
Potter laughed. He fucking laughed in the same hallway that his friends had died in.
“I have it in my trunk,” he finally said, his voice still sounding giddy. “I’ll give it to you later, roomie.”
With that, he turned and headed down the hallway, his walk bright and springy, his head bopping from side to side as if he were listening to some funky beat.
As if he were happy.
You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes
Potter wasn’t in their room when he finally made it back from his classes. Instead, there was a note quilled to his door.
“Down in the old Charms classroom. Come join us.”
He went by Pansy’s room and found a similar note pinned to the frame. Zabini’s room was also empty, and while there was no note, Draco had a suspicion that the entirety of his dormitory was in the same place.
He ventured down and entered the room just as Pansy was making her grand announcement.
“Tonight we’re playing Medusa,” she said to a room full of his classmates. “The rules are simple; I count, and on three you stare at the person you most desire to kiss. If your eyes are locked, you’re frozen until your lips touch.” She grinned devilishly, before adding, “Only use of your tongue can release you.”
“Really, Pansy?” Draco inquired as he entered the room.
“Draco, so nice of you to join us!” Pansy gave him a warm smile before facing the rest of the room once more. “Everyone in a circle, let’s play!”
He quickly found a spot between Zabini and Thomas, smirking when he realized Zabini was positioned directly across from his roommate, Longbottom. And right next to him…
“One, Two, Three!”
Draco didn’t have time to react; he was still just realising that Potter was standing directly to Longbottom’s right and then Pansy called out and then...wait…
Was Potter staring directly at him?
No.
Surely it was someone else.
He blinked, then closed his eyes and slowly opened them. No, Potter was still staring. Directly at him. With his beautiful green eyes.
“If you have a match, you need to kiss!” Pansy’s giddy voice filled the room. “With tongue!”
Kiss? Tongue? Potter?
It's the first kiss, it's flawless, really something, It's fearless.
He couldn’t budge; he felt frozen to the spot as he watched Potter walk slowly towards him, full smile and a twinkle in his eye.
“Guess we have to kiss now,” he smirked, so close to Draco that he could smell treacle tart on his breath.
“Now?” Draco panicked. He hadn’t kissed anyone since, well since Pansy and that was four years ago and this was Potter and he was so...and Draco was-
Before he could overanalyze the situation, Potter was cradling Dracos neck with one hand and caressing Draco’s cheek with the other. Their lips touched, soft and tentative at first, and then harder, passionate.
Draco had never been kissed like that. His kisses with Pansy were always quick and satisfactory, but never…
Potter slipped his tongue into Draco’s mouth, pleading with Draco to react, to respond. His hand moved from Draco’s cheek to his hip, pulling him close to his body, and Draco couldn’t help it. He melted into the heat, into the touch, and just as he was about to relax into the moment, Potter withdrew.
Potter’s hands found their way into his pockets as he stepped back, cheeks flushed and grinning from ear to ear.
Draco could barely hear Pansy’s voice over the pounding in his ears. He had been kissed. Potter had just kissed him. In front of everyone. With tongue.
And so he did what any reasonable person would have done; he fled.
Don’t treat me like some situation that needs to be handled/ I’m fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles
He heard Potter enter their room, but he pretended to be asleep. Even when Potter “accidentally” lit the torches in their room, Draco didn’t stir. He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
After all, what happened earlier was nothing. Some stupid game that went horribly wrong. He hadn’t meant to look at Potter. It had been an accident.
But Potter had looked at him as well. Which meant…
Nothing. It meant nothing. Potter hated him, had every right to.
The next morning, he made sure he woke up before his roommate, sneaking off to the showers and changing before Scarhead even woke up. He ate breakfast, and trudged off to the Quidditch pitch, ready to fly off his anxiety from the night before.
Quidditch was something he was always good at. Not great, but good enough to make his father proud. He knew the Eighth Years wouldn’t have a Quidditch team, but that didn’t stop him from sending off a golden snitch and scouring the field for its tiny wings.
He felt free in the air; distanced from the castle and its residents, far removed from his familial responsibilities and his classroom expectations. He could breathe up there, where the air was thinner and the clouds parted around his broom. He was free.
Free to watch Potter eagerly snatch the golden snitch right out of the corner of the field.
“What the fuck, Potter?” Draco yelled, before tucking into his broom and flying the short distance to his enemy.
“Thought we were playing? Gods, it’s been so long since I’ve played.”
"I was playing, you nimrod! You were just stealing my ball!”
“Thought you’d love a bit of competition.”
“I’d love to be left alone!” Draco yelled, louder than the distance required.
“Is this because I kissed you?”
Draco felt his cheeks redden. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, is this because you kissed me back?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Because I didn’t mind it, Draco.”
“Malfoy.”
“Actually, name’s Harry Potter,” Harry said, before giving Draco a small chuckle and flying back towards the ground. Draco watched, stuck in the air, as Potter walked back to the castle, broom in one hand, and his snitch in the other.
I had a marvelous time ruining everything
They met in the Charms classroom again that night.
“Since everyone loved Medusa, I thought we’d play another one,” Pansy called out, and why she was the ringleader for their sexcapades, Draco didn’t know. She gave Draco a quick wink before announcing, “We’re going to play Spin the Bottle!”
Okay, fine. There was a one in 25 chance that his spin would land on anyone in particular. The odds were certainly with him that it wouldn’t be-
“Potter, you go first!” Pansy declared, handing him the bottle.
He twisted the bottle with his wrist and it spun, and it spun…
And it landed on Draco.
Fuck.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Potter said across the circle.
“Did I mention the bottle was charmed?” Pansy added. “It only lands where you want it to.”
So was Potter controlling the bottle? Or was Draco?
Did he want this? Did Potter want this?
How could Potter want this?
Draco didn’t want to answer that. Instead, he stood up out of the circle and fled.
I can’t decide if its a choice, getting swept away
He tried to pretend to be asleep again, but Potter wasn’t buying it.
Instead, he sat on the edge of Draco’s bed, waiting patiently no matter how much Draco snored.
“You don’t do that, you know.”
“Do what,” Draco begrudgingly mumbled into his pillow.
“Snore.”
“You do.”
Potter chuckled. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”
Draco groaned and finally sat up. “What do you want?” he asked, wincing at his voice. He was hoping to come off dismissive, but instead it came across as, ugh, curious. As if he actually cared.
“I want to know why you ran off,” Potter said, his eyes soft and open and honest.
“We hate each other.”
“Do we?” Potter said with a small smile. “You gave me your wand. You wanted me to defeat Voldemort.”
“Don’t say his name,” Draco hissed.
“I think that’s why I kept it so long,” Potter responded, disregarding Draco’s plea. “It was like holding onto a part of you.” He pushed off of the corner of Draco’s bed and headed to his trunk. Draco recognized his wand instantly, taking a moment to acknowledge how well it had been taken care of. His hawthorn wand was polished to a state where it looked practically new.
He didn’t give it back right away, though. Instead, Potter stood over Draco’s bed, holding his wand and holding his gaze. “After I died, I told myself I wasn’t going to live in fear ever again.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Good, so far. I’ve been able to choose for the first time in my life. What I do, who I room with…” he paused, giving Draco a quick wink. “Who I kiss.”
“You chose our rooms?”
Potter shrugged. “McGonagall let Neville and I choose as a reward for putting the castle back together this summer.”
“That information will make Zabini happy.”
“And you, Malfoy? Are you happy?”
“I could be.”
“What would make you happy?”
Draco crawled out of bed and stood, so he and Potter were chest to chest.
“Kiss me,” Draco said, his voice surprisingly strong considering how hard his heart was beating.
“If you insist.” Potter smiled before wrapping his arms around Draco and pulling him into a toe-curling kiss.
I once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden
Eighth year turned out to be not all bad. He finally found all of his classes and found his way under his roommate’s sheets. Being on Potter, erm, Harry’s arm had really helped his other schoolmates soften towards him and the other Slytherins. Plus, they were able to play quite a bit of Quidditch in between all of the official school matches.
As they left the year, Draco and Harry found a flat in Diagon, close to Slug and Jiggers, where Draco was starting his new apprenticeship and just one apparition point away from the practice field of the Appleby Arrows.
Even twenty years after they left Hogwarts, Draco and Harry could be seen playing pick-up games of Quidditch, chasing the Snitch, and snogging in the fields. He was grateful for every moment that led to that year, no matter how horrible, because it brought them together.
isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?