Archive of Our Own

“What about…uhhhh…”

Harry was at his wit's end by this point and, as much as he didn’t want to snap at his best friends, Ron’s endless streams of “uhhhhh”s or “hmmmmm”s weren’t exactly helping his situation. Then again, he supposed he only had himself to blame for this entire thing. Right?

At least, that’s what Hermione and Ginny’s stares were accusing him of. 

Damn! Gryffindor nature (or pride, as the rest of Hogwarts lovingly called it) aside, maybe Harry should have paid a little more attention to his own capabilities when making that bet with Draco. Looking back on it, the Slytherin would have only made such a “silly” challenge in the first place if he wasn’t already 85% confident that Harry would struggle to the point of giving up out of frustration or just plain losing. Why did he agree to date such a git, again? 

“....yeah, sorry, I got nothing.” Ron finally threw his hands up after several minutes of contemplation, bringing about an entire room full of sighs and groaning. He was the last one to step to the plate of trying to come up with a good idea - or, at least, the last one taking this whole thing seriously to come up with an idea. Hermione had made it clear that, while she had no issue participating in the grand scheme of things (unless it got inappropriate), she was going to sit out on the preparation stages. Something about leaving Harry to settle things with his boyfriend on his own since they were the main perpetrators of this whole thing? It sounded fair out loud but in practice? She had just sealed Harry’s fate. And not in a good way. “Aside from dressing up as Death Eaters, I can’t see any of us really scaring the other houses, let alone Slytherin.” 

(There was a very obvious reason that “Death Eaters” was off the market for this one, even if it was somehow passed as a practical joke.) 

“You don’t think we could pull off Dementors?” Seamus pushed himself up a bit out of Dean’s lap, pouting at Ron as if the larger Gryffindor had personally offended him. From when the suggestion had first come up, Harry could understand the high hopes for one of the Wizarding World’s most threatening beings, but he knew from first-hand experience trying to imitate one either made the imitator look foolish or it just didn’t work. Even trying a series of charms and illusions to make the overall appearance more mystifying was bound to backfire one way or another. And no, this wasn’t because he himself had made attempts at scaring other students by dressing up as a Dementor and wandering Hogwarts’ Halls as if he were personally hunting someone down. This was absolutely because of that one time when Draco had pulled his hood up and pretended to “ooooooo” with his group in mockery of Harry having a Dementor-boggart back in their fifth year. 

Now, whenever Harry tried to consider Dementors outside of serious situations, all he could envision was how much he wanted to slap Draco that day for his shenanigans. Well, that, and how badly imitating a Dementor could go. 

“Babe, maybe it’s a good thing we don’t make good Dementors.” Dean pulled Seamus back a bit and fixed everyone with a raised brow. “I can’t imagine the rest of Hogwarts reacting well. Unless anyone here wants to be attacked with a series of curses and hexes? Or, perhaps, being ambushed by a room full of Patronuses sounds more fun?” 

Harry was pretty confident that the only beings a Patronus could hurt were a Dementor, and even then, he didn’t understand the science behind it enough to say that it was actually “pain” that the Dementors felt in the face of their glowing guardians. That former suggestion though? Yeah, hexes and curses would definitely hurt quite a lot! Though, that was also assuming that everyone wouldn't try running away first, with a preference of not facing the happy-sucking creatures at all. In that specific situation, it might work (ignoring how the other members of the DA knew by instinct to summon their Patronuses, thanks to the work that Harry did with them). People would definitely be scared. 

Maybe too scared, in fact. Considering the part that Dementors technically took in the war… 

“No Werewolves, no giant spiders, no vampires, no demons, no ghosts, no Dementors, no Death Eaters, no Severus Snapes’, no Dolores Umbridges’-” Ron listed all of the suggestions that the present Gryffindors had collectively brainstormed with a growing frown. Harry did not doubt that, even if this bet was specifically made between Draco and Harry, his best friend felt as inclined to win as he did. After all, just because the two were civil towards each other nowadays didn’t mean that their previous rivalry had completely snuffed out. Or was this just Gryffindor vs. Slytherin rivalry? Because that was still pretty strong too, not helped by the war they had all somehow (thankfully) survived. “Merlin’s beard, why is this so bloody difficult?! Shouldn’t this holiday be about dressing up and getting candy?!” 

“We’re getting sweets during the party, Ronald.” Hermione let a small smile pull at her lips, probably finally taking some pity on the helpless souls around her. While Harry normally hated pity, he was almost begging for her to give them more so they could finally get somewhere. Make no mistake, Ron may have been a brilliant tactician and he a fairly decent leader, but Hermione had the type of brain that made situational struggles easier to solve. How else did everyone think they had survived throughout their previous years? God, if it hadn’t been for Hermione in their first year, Harry doubted any of them would be sitting here right now. “Honestly, you are all so close-minded towards this challenge. Since when did Malfoy say that the scariest costume would be the winner?” 

Harry turned to give Hermione a look. Not to call her stupid or himself a genius when it came to Muggle customs (he wouldn’t win anyway since Hermione actually came from a healthy Muggle family), but that was kinda the purpose of Halloween fun. Wasn’t it? Sure, children could be adorable or strange and that would work out for them. As young adults going to a mostly-seventh-and-eighth-year party? Harry didn’t think any of them could really pull off “cute” or “funny”. Not to mention that considering all of the horrors they’ve all been through, they should probably have more inspiration. Oh, and hopefully, not traumatize anyone on the way. 

“All Malfoy said was “may the best costumes win”, am I right?”

Hermione was going somewhere with this, Harry knew it. The angle she was taking though was completely lost to him. In a season supposedly filled with “spooky fun” and “tricks with the treats”, shouldn’t the “best” have something to do with horror of some kind? Was Harry missing something here? Cause let him be the one to say, he wasn’t about to willingly read about the history of All Hallows’ Eve when they only had a couple of hours to come up with presentable attire. 

“Well, in this particular case, I don’t think the best necessarily has to be the most outwardly scary. No, no, we can be more clever than that.” Hermione rose from her seated position and brushed out the wrinkles on her skirt before making her way over to Harry. He was still seated, so she had to bend down a bit to properly reach him without accidentally shoving her chest into his face (they all knew Ron probably wouldn’t appreciate that). The boy in question held completely still as one of her fingers, delicate and well-kept, brushed away some of his hair to get to his scar. She traced the lightning bolt pattern with care, humming to herself before coming to an unspoken conclusion. “No, no, no. This doesn’t have to be about “scary” at all. In fact, I would daresay that completely ignoring the traditional views of Halloween costumes would work in our favor.” 

With that said, Hermione removed her hand and grabbed Harry’s upper arm. With a mischievous look in her eye, she beckoned the rest of their group to follow her as she dragged her friend out of the common room. Harry had no idea where they were going, but it would be a lie to say that he was too grateful for Hermione’s interference to care. She could be dragging them down to the newly-repaired Chamber of Secrets (just to be clear, the chamber repaired itself since no one wanted to even go near it while repairing Hogwarts in general) and Harry would still follow her blindly. 

“Now, Harry,” Hermione pulled them down the never-ending shifting stairs smoothly. Some of the group struggled to keep up with her determined pace, but she hardly batted an eyelash as she led them all down the familiar corridors. “I won’t push you into dressing up if the outfit makes you uncomfortable. But I do have a brilliant idea for how we can take advantage of your idea with Dumbledore’s Army.” 

Harry almost stopped in shock at the mention of his trained group, hardly understanding what they had to do with this since it was only the Gryffindors who would be participating in this bet with him, but Hermione’s pulling didn’t allow him to stay stuck in his own musings for long. 

“If you really think about it, we were technically the Light side’s version of Death Eaters.” That was a sentence that Harry never thought he’d hear, much less from Hermione. And honestly? Despite how hopeful the inclusion of “Light side” made the whole thing sound, he was almost wincing away from Hermione’s voice as she continued to speak. No offense, but “Light” and “Death Eaters” just didn’t go together. It was just…no. It was wrong. 

“I almost feel offended that you would say such a thing, ‘Mione.” 

Well, at least Ron was as confused as Harry was. 

“Very well. Maybe, more competent Aurors would be better?” Hermione turned to give Ron an unimpressed look, though didn’t spare enough attention to see his response. She had finally pulled them all to the…library? What was she hoping they’d find there? If she made them research the history of the first wizarding war to find some sort of inspiration (because that’s what this whole thing sounded like as soon as she brought the DA and Death Eaters back into the equation) then Harry was actually gonna panic a bit. They could take an hour or two with that type of research and time for preparing for the party was dwindling short as it was! Like, did people assume it was easy to transfigure everyone’s clothes and get dressed on time? Not when it was more than five people, it wasn’t! “My point is - we already have a theme we can take advantage of. We just need to…alter…it the tiniest bit to make it more Halloween-appropriate. Maybe more authentic too, depending on how you look at it-” 

“Hermione, I’m actually getting a bit scared now.” Harry wasn’t nervous about being in the library and seeing the tall shelves lined with books, but he was scared that Hermione was gonna make them read all of the pages in the name of perfecting their costumes. It was a fear only heightened when she stopped at a particular shelf and started summoning several books down. “Please, just tell me what you’re planning before I-”

“Harry, please just trust me.” Hermione grabbed the closest book that she had called down and flipped through the pages, one of her fingers poised at the top as she continued to search through the lines of text. By then, she had released Harry’s arm so she could get a better grip on the book, though Ron replaced her grip with a hold of his own so he could turn Harry’s attention back to him. No words were needed to convey how confused and slightly scared they both were as Hermione hummed to herself. 

Harry didn’t even get a good look at any of the titles as the books came to levitate around Hermione’s still form. He didn’t try, necessarily, but could anyone blame him? 

Hermione suddenly claiming; “You’re going to be a Dark Lord for the night,” certainly took away any focus he would have had for what said book titles hinted at anyway. 

Him, a Dark Lord?! 

What the bloody Hell was Hermione thinking?!

∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾

“Remind me why you even instigated this, again?” 

Draco sipped at his Butterbeer with a smug grin, eyes focused on the doors to the Great Hall. Pansy wouldn’t be horribly insulted if he didn’t bother turning his head a few inches to address her, as he knew her to be eyeing the entrance as well, though likely with less (smug-filled) curiosity and more confusion. Even after explaining this situation to her at least three times while getting ready tonight, the purpose behind his trivial challenge still seemed lost to her. It probably should have annoyed Draco more so than it currently did, especially since Pansy was normally pretty perceptive to her surroundings and the motivations behind the actions of her fellow Slytherins. At the moment though, he was too wrapped up in his (almost guaranteed) victory over his lover concerning their little bet that he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than satisfied. 

“I will be owed five favors by the end of the night.” Draco only had an idea for the first two so far, starting with forcing Harry to go shopping for some proper clothing articles (the very argument that led to their bet) and then moving on to having his lover teach him Parseltongue. He’d think of more…fun ideas…later on, when he had a clearer head and more forethought on the subject. On that note, he was quite aware that (technically) neither of those first two things should have required “favors” being brought into play, but Harry was quite stubborn about…certain things…mainly his clothes. Honestly, Draco could admire Harry’s more humble nature (especially compared to how the Malfoys usually conducted their attire) but there was that and there was just being…Draco didn’t even know how to describe it…lazy? Indifferent? Whatever it was, Draco hated Harry’s lack of care regarding his clothing choices. How hard was it to believe - for Harry, that is - that he deserved more than being stuck with old clothes from his barbarian of a cousin? Sure, he had some robes here and there that definitely originated from the wizarding world, but those mostly accounted for his school uniform. It was sad at best and downright pitiful at most. 

Not that Draco would ever say that out loud. He liked his tongue where it was, thank you. 

Though, speaking of tongues, Draco could admit that it was less about Harry’s stubbornness and more about his own nervousness when it came to the Parseltongue request. To this day, no one (not even Granger or Dumbledore’s portrait) understood how Harry had kept that particular ability without the Dark Lord’s connection to him. Not that Draco was necessarily complaining. Call it cliche or a gross stereotype surrounding Slytherins, but he had no shame in admitting that he had a certain…liking…to Parseltongue. Especially since it was Harry specifically speaking that type of language to him. Saying that out loud though? In front of a boyfriend who regularly exchanged fond, but playful banter with Draco? Yeah, somehow, the Slytherin Prince didn’t see that ending in anything other than smothering Harry with the pillow so the shorter male would stop giggling. 

Merlin, Draco would never live it down if Harry’s Gryffindors overheard. 

“That’s only if you win.” Pansy swirled her own glass, opting for some type of fruity-sparkling drink as opposed to the offered Pumpkin Juice or Butterbeer. It was far too sweet for Draco to even consider consuming. He didn’t understand how Pansy was already on her second glass. “Who knows? Your little lover could pull a fast one. He’s friends with the “brightest witch of her age”, after all.” Pansy spoke with such annoyance, but Draco would dare imply that there was a begrudging respect for the muggle-born witch who had proven (on more than one occasion) that she had those types of one-of-a-kind minds in terms of intelligence. After all, those who truly didn’t at least impress Slytherins hardly earned such reactions. At most, Pansy would be speaking of Granger in a bored or indifferent tone, if that were the case. 

It was probably a good thing his lover hadn’t arrived yet, he’d probably start up a small fight about how Pansy should or shouldn’t be addressing his friends. Try as they both might, Harry could only get his friends to accept Draco as his partner and act civilly even to this day, no more and no less. Meanwhile, Draco didn’t even try, understanding that his own friends were loyal enough to him that they’d stand by him without the need for prodding. Not unkind, but certainly not “friendly” with Harry’s own comrades. And, well, anyone who seriously walked away out of disgust for “interacting with blood traitors” and “the one who killed their Lord Voldermort” really wasn’t people Draco could envision himself keeping close by anyway. Many of the surviving pureblood families who hadn’t immediately been tossed into Azkaban had barely escaped the second wizarding war unscathed as it was, they didn’t need to be further dragged through the mud by trying to stay with those dying traditions. At least, not projecting that they were staying with those traditions. 

(Listen, if certain families were so prideful that they were willing to resort to inbreeding, then that was hardly Draco’s problem. As long as his own mother and father seemed to accept his choice - so long as he provide his mother with a grandchild to spoil later on - then that was all he needed to be set for the future.) 

“I doubt she’d willingly involve herself more so than she needs to.” Draco didn’t mean to imply that he understood everything about Hermione Granger. But the way he saw it? He knew enough to know that her competitive streak wouldn’t be nearly as high as Harry or Weasley’s in this particular case. Maybe if this centered around academics or something similar, but a trivial bet with the boyfriend of her friend? Best friend or not, Harry would probably struggle to get her to participate to such an extent. “And as much as I love my little lion, I’d hardly call him an expert when it comes to dressing himself.” 

Pansy scoffed at that but took a sip of her fruity beverage in place of making some sort of remark in agreement or disagreement. Once she finished, she flashed Draco an encouraging smile when he glanced at her, but otherwise just made do with observing the room. They stood in silence as the party continued to thrive around them, hardly forcing themselves to make small talk when it was already enough that they could enjoy each other’s presence. The only thing that would complete this moment of serenity would be the presence of Blaise, but he had chosen to return to the Slytherin dungeons not more than twenty minutes ago, insisting that there was only so much “social interaction” that he could take for one night. Draco could understand; even during the formal functions that all of them were expected to participate in (as important names in the wizarding world), Draco doubted that very few of them actually enjoyed the events. He could say for certain that his mother only liked a few of them, selected simply because they involved families that she already liked as opposed to making nice with naive/ignorant/arrogant ministry officials or families outside of their social circle who tried to manipulate their way in. 

Narcissa wouldn’t dare say such a thing out loud though, knowing that emotions could be a weakness in such…stifling…environment. After all, everything was watched in those things. And the vultures hardly needed any prodding before trying to take advantage of their findings. 

Shaking his head, Draco took another sip of his Butterbeer before waving his wand around to cast a Tempus spell. It was hardly surprising that the party had only been going for half an hour, but for one of the most popular people in Hogwarts (and the wizarding world, for that matter) to be this late? Draco would be worried about whether Harry had gotten into something he shouldn’t have, were it not for Pansy suddenly poking at his arm in near urgency. 

“I’m not sure if I like this one bit, Draco.” She whispered, leaning close to him as the doors to the Great Hall finally opened. All of the other students joined them in staring, their steady flow of chatter slowly dying down as the newcomers practically stalked into the room. None of them looked…angry…or aggressive…but…

Well…

They didn’t exactly look openly friendly either. 

Or was that just the effect of military regalia? 

Draco swore, just by standing there, the Gryffindors currently present gave off a (possibly unintentional) hostile aura to the room. All of the males, save for Harry (who Draco couldn’t even see through the small group of people) wore matching Auror-like uniforms. The base of their torso-covering was either leather or extremely thick fabric, with a black base and gold patterns sewn into the material. The patterns swirled and flared out as if there were actual fire imprinted into the…armor?...shirts? Whatever they were, clearly, they were no joke. The shoulder paddings that connected back to the collar of the top half bulged out only the slightest bit, just enough to make their presence known without looking like tortoise shells. The same gold patterns, now straight and laid across the paddings as if straps meant to keep them there, were a duller compared to the swirls on the main chest piece. Draco couldn’t tell if that was on purpose or not, especially considering that the lower half of the armor and the arm extensions nearly followed that example. 

The leg and arm pieces of the armor seemed to click together like a chain or a puzzle, individual pieces that somehow stuck together to create a nearly impenetrable field of protection. They, much like the chest piece, were coated with a black base and gold patterning that bordered each individual triangle-like piece. By the end, it looked as if Draco was staring at the weirdest set of stairs decorated onto someones’ legs and arms. Heck, they even seemed to go down to the hands and feet of the wearers, just an endless sheet of protection that would probably get anyone safely through a war. 

To complete the look, a heavy-looking red cloak comfortably rested atop the top half of the armor. The hood came up just enough to cover the very top of each wearer’s head, but Draco could still clearly see hair and certain parts of each Gryffindors’ face when he squinted. He had a feeling that had to do with the weird mask that all of the males’ were wearing on the bottom half of their faces. It covered their mouths and their noses (Draco was left to wonder how they breathed efficiently without the obvious presence of holes), a plain black piece of…something…that seemed to connect back to the collar of their torso armor. Altogether, it looked almost scary to make eye contact. Was Draco facing some upgraded version of the Auror office or something? 

Don’t even get him started on the females. There were two that he could pick out: Granger and the youngest Weasley. While not as terrifying as their male colleagues, that wasn’t to say that they looked any less deadly. Hoods were still up with masks being used to help “hide” their true identities. Other than that? The leg pieces also seemed to look the same, if not slightly smaller or lighter. Possibly for agility as opposed to brute strength? Whatever it was, Draco would still not like to get kicked by those armored legs if it could be helped. As opposed to an obvious chest piece, their torsos were actually covered by a dress-cloak combination of a piece. Draco would almost compare it to their normal Hogwarts robes, save for the fact that they were much more form-fitting and obviously made out of a stronger material. Covering Granger’s hands, he could make out padded gloves that encased delicate skin protectively. He wondered those casings connected to a lighter type of armor underneath their dress-cloak main covering, but he wasn’t left to dwell on it when Granger’s voice echoed throughout the room. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman.” Granger was nearly speaking in a purr, something that Draco could honestly say that he’s never heard from her. After tonight, he didn’t think he’d want to hear it either. It sounded far too coated in…something unpleasant…to really enjoy. Not exactly venom or spite, but not the usual warmth or professional tone that she could pull off when conversing in a more general setting. “Apologies for our tardiness. We ran into some trouble with our Lord’s wardrobe when getting ready.” 

Pansy and Draco turned to face each other, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape as they regarded Granger’s words. Lord? The Gryffindors had a Lord?! This had to be a new development, surely. It definitely would have come up if the Gryffindors started following a more…strict…hierarchal practice, as the Slytherins were more known for conforming to. Or was this code for something else? The Gryffindors, while not full of rebellious scoundrels that would never listen to anyone but themselves, certainly weren’t individuals who took well to being completely ruled over by a tyrant-like figure. 

Just what was going on here-?

“That being said, he has finally come to a presentable conclusion for the night. If you would please,” Granger positioned herself so that she was in a graceful bow at the waist, “some respect for his lordship would be appreciated.” 

Looking around quickly, Draco was pretty shocked when many of the students shrugged before complying or just standing there, too surprised to really do anything other than stare. The Slytherin Prince was confident that only he and Pansy (maybe some of the other presiding Slytherins) heard the hostile-coated mischievousness to Granger’s words. After all, no one who took Granger seriously would go along with it as if it were a children’s game they were partaking in. No, no, knowing Hogwarts and what its students have been through? Wands would be drawn and someone would be calling for the Headmistress or the Aurors (maybe both?) to stop…whatever this was…!

“A flattering introduction, my lieutenant.” 

Draco’s eyes could have rolled out of his head for how hard they just…glitched out…at the sound of that very familiar voice. 

Really, he knew his lover had a tendency for the dramatic flair, but surely this was a bit much-? 

“Of course, Lord Potter.” Weasley was the one to speak this time, sounding much less poised than Granger did. And, honestly? The fact that it was replaced by some sort of maniac entertainment wasn’t any better. He had also dipped at the waist in a small bow, arms extended in an exaggerated show of presentation. “The leader of Dumbledore’s Army is not a title to be taken lightly.” 

At that, many of the standing students seemed to snap out of their stupor, if the upcoming chattering and whispering was anything to go by. Anything else they did other than talk, Draco couldn’t tell since his eyes were focused on the now parting Gryffindors. In the back of his mind, he could see what the Gryffindors were playing at - to an extent. Many of the students had just survived a war, the mentioned “Dumbledore’s Army” acting as the first line of defense and/or attack against the Death Eaters. Of course, that probably was a theme that the house followed for making a memorable Halloween experience. For goodness’ sake, their most prominent member created and led the damn thing. 

Just…just why…

Why did Harry have to take that title so…so…bloody literally?! 

“Voldemort was obviously not a worthy leader for the wizarding world if he couldn’t defeat a two-year-old baby.” Harry Potter finally stepped out from behind his soldiers, an innocent smile at his lips and a dangerous glint in his eyes. Eyes that, somehow, didn’t need to be covered by his usual horrendous glasses as he gazed at the crowd before him. Draco would probably know what spell was at work if he were able to think of anything other than Harry right now. “Maybe I should give it a go?” 

The suggestion was said in a joking-enough manner that some party-goers dared to laugh at it in humor as Harry shrugged. Draco, though? Draco couldn’t make any sort of sound even if he wanted to. By Merlin’s great wand, he had NEVER been able to envision Harry as a Dark Lord. Not only because the previous Dark Lord continued to haunt his thoughts (and dreams) whenever the situation came up, but because Harry was just so…Harry. Everything that Dark Lords were stereotyped to stand for was almost the complete opposite of what made up Harry Potter. The last Potter heir despised the idea of segregation based on bloodline and the complete oppression of freedom. Heck, Draco is sure that the reason Harry didn’t completely destroy The Ministry before it could be rebuilt (or even after it was rebuilt) was that he trusted Minister Shacklebolt to learn from past mistakes and lead the wizarding world into a future that followed similar morals to Harry’s own. 

Yet here…standing right there…

Draco didn’t need to envision anything. 

Harry James Potter as a Dark Lord was literally slapping him in the face as he struck a few poses to appease his audience. 

His raven-haired beauty was dressed in some of the finest robes that Draco had ever seen. And coming from a Malfoy? The only Malfoy heir? That was saying something! Draco had no idea where they came from or if they were transfigured (since he doubted that anything in Diagon Alley was open this late), but he would get that information for later use. Because, Merlin almighty, this would not be the only day that Harry dressed like that in his presence. Mark Draco’s words, this wouldn’t be the only sight to behold in terms of his lover’s attire. 

Atop Harry’s head, cushioned by his boyfriend’s styled smooth and thick locks, was an eerily perfect copy of Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem - no doubt a slight against the previous Dark Lord’s attempt at immortality through his Horcruxes. Though, as opposed to a blue gem lying beneath a raven, there shined a blood-red stone (that could have housed the souls of a million sinners for all Draco cared) resting comfortably under a lion charm. His eyes were captivated by its surface despite his normal tendency to wince every time the overly red decor of the Gryffindor common room (or Gryffindor quidditch uniforms in general) caught his eyes. He couldn’t tell what it was, but there was just something so…hypnotic…about the piece that it made analyzing the rest of Harry’s outfit difficult. If Draco later found out that the stone in Harry’s diadem was charmed to draw attention to it as part of the theme that the Gryffindors’ had for tonight’s show, then he was taking his indignance surrounding that on Harry’s arse. 

Taking his eyes off of the Diadem, Draco briefly locked gazes with his boyfriend’s satisfied look before averting so he could focus. It would be the only time that Draco willingly submitted to Harry’s attention in any way, trust him. 

The locket hanging around his neck had to be a joke around Salazar Slytherin’s locket, only its color scheme was off as the diadem was. Ok, alright, Draco could admit that it was a funny thing to mock with the previous Dark Lord gone. Other than all of that, the first thing to notice was that Harry wasn’t wearing any armor like his fellow Gryffindors were. Or, at least, not any that Draco could see. Maybe it was hidden? If it was, it’d be a pretty tight fit considering that his robes looked to be as form-fitting as Granger and Weaslette’s. Which, for the record, followed the color scheme of a black base and gold highlights. Though, the gold was less spread out and mostly centered around the main joints of the outfit. 

The sleeves were clutching the hidden muscle of Harry’s arms like a hug, emphasizing that they were there even if they weren’t obvious bulges like Weasley’s had turned out to be. The main chest piece followed suit, held together by straps that cleanly crisscrossed against Harry’s torso until they got lower and disappeared entirely. Meanwhile, Harry’s waist (which Draco would state was curvier than most males without shame) was secured with some sort of black corset that squeezed him in all of the right ways. Somehow, the robes didn’t wrinkle under the pressure. Instead, they seemed to smoothly flow from chest to tail, flowing behind Harry as if he were walking in the wind. They almost covered the pants he was wearing, but not enough that Draco couldn’t get an idea of how those looked. They weren’t the individual pieces of armor that his colleagues had. Rather, just ordinary dress pants that probably were a bit tighter than they needed to be but hey! They seemed to be the theme here; form-fitting so nothing could get caught in combat. Right? Look, at the bottom, Draco would dare say that the boots that Harry was wearing were specifically chosen for their sturdiness and lack of delicacy. That sounded very Gryffindor-y. Just as did the red cape that settled against Harry’s back once he stopped moving around and stood still for a few moments. 

All things considered, Harry looked like royalty mingling with commoners. And, for a brief moment, Draco was left to wonder if Lord Voldemort could have pulled such a look off (in Slytherin colors, of course) had he been much less concerned with looking terrifying. Then again, maybe he should be given a small break, considering that Tom Riddle had a very persistent and very powerful arch enemy on his tail nearly every step after his return. 

(Thank Albus Dumbledore’s lengthy beard that Harry never became a Dark Lord. Draco would probably die from a combination of eternal erections and lack of gratification when Harry lorded his newfound influence over Draco’s emotions.) 

“I’ve probably distracted you all enough for one evening.” A wave of Harry’s hand revealed that he wasn’t wearing gloves like his fellow Gryffindors either. Rather, his sleeves covered the top of his hand and came to a triangle-like tip when they reached the knuckles of his middle and ring finger. Draco didn’t know why, but that almost looked much more mesmerizing compared to if Harry had covered his hand entirely. “Please, continue on. Don’t let me spoil your fun.” 

With that, all of the Gryffindors (Harry included) straightened, performed a dramatic bow that was typically associated with signaling the end of a show, before dispersing to interact with the rest of the party participants. The hostile aura that they had (unintentionally) cast over the room dissipated in a second, with several students rushing over to ask questions or shower the Gryffindors with compliments concerning their chosen costumes. 

“Is it pathetic that I sincerely assumed that they were preparing to fight?” 

Draco had to blink a few times to focus back, but when he turned to look at Pansy, any snarky remarks he was prepared to make died down. She genuinely looked quite nervous as her eyes bounced from Gryffindor to Gryffindor, unable to look at one for too long before feeling as if she would be vulnerable to another if she couldn’t see them. Draco, under normal circumstances, would probably say something along the lines of “Granger wouldn’t let them do anything crazy” or “you were pardoned, they have no reason to attack you”. Sure, there were plenty of students (Harry’s own friends among them) who hadn’t yet forgiven Pansy for suggestions that the school turn Harry over to Lord Voldemort near the end of the war, but it had been a while since anyone was bold enough to try attacking her. Much less in such a populated room. Plus, Draco doubted that - as daring as the Gryffindors were - even they wouldn’t try in front of their leader. 

Or, sorry, their LORD for the night. 

“Considering we just survived a war? I don’t think so.” Draco had to adjust himself a bit as Harry sauntered over. Merlin, the way he carried himself only added to the overall appearance of a Dark Lord. Don’t misunderstand, there was always a cautious and alert way that Harry carried himself on a day-to-day basis. Even when with his closest and safest company, Harry just couldn’t get back to the nearly-carefree and relaxed manner that he may have started developing when he first came to Hogwarts. Draco understood that, given everything he’s gone through, it would probably take a while to undo all of the mental and physical stress that came with being hunted or watched nearly every hour of your life. Still, watching him glide through the sea of people with nothing more than a graceful flow of his cape behind him, sent shivers up and down Draco’s spine. It was like he was being approached by some sort of water snake, silent and lethal as they slithered towards their desired prey. 

The day that Draco knowingly addressed himself as prey while Harry seemed to be the predator used to look so far away. Not tonight though. Clearly. 

“Draco. Parkinson.” Harry’s smile dialed itself down a bit so it didn’t look like he was putting on a show anymore. Now, this was just a sincere grin as his eyes seemed to rake over Draco’s form, likely assessing the blonde’s chosen costume. It most certainly dimmed in comparison to Harry’s own tonight, Draco could admit that. “So? How’d we do?” 

Draco had to swallow before answering, lest he wants to sound like he was on the verge of choking on some weird potion ingredient that he shouldn’t even have while attending this party. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed with the lengths you’ve taken this…performance.” Draco took the chance to take a large gulp of his Butterbeer, hoping that the liquid would force any building pressure to calm down as the cool liquid flowed down his throat. It wasn’t nearly as successful as he had hoped, but at least he no longer felt like his throat was constricting in on itself as Harry stared up at him. “Am I safe to assume that this was mostly Granger’s work?” Draco tried to default to a teasing tone, but he wasn’t sure how accurate he was. He hoped it didn’t sound too mocking, at the very least. 

Harry’s scoff sounded quite fond, though as he opened his mouth to respond, one of the many house-elves serving refreshments came over to offer him a drink. It was the fruity sparkling drinks that Pansy seemed to like, and knowing Harry, he shouldn’t have been surprised to watch his boyfriend actually consider taking a glass before shaking his head in favor of requesting Butterbeer. It seemed that, despite his massive sweet tooth, he favored specific types of sugary drinks. 

“I mean, the idea? Definitely.” Harry’s arms came to cross over his chest, almost looking shy as he regarded how intently Draco and Pansy were staring at him. It was at that moment that it occurred to Draco just how un-used to formal wear Harry was. Like, he logically knew that Harry didn’t have to suffer through as many formal functions as he had in his younger years, but seeing it was another thing entirely. Perhaps, in his older years, he’d have to get used to it during Ministry functions he’d be invited to or formal parties that the leading families would hold to gain popularity in the new wizarding world. Now though, now Harry looked out of place compared to his usual attire. It almost made Draco feel bad for lightly teasing him. “We spent some time in the library for the outfit designs though. Don’t ask me how she knew which books to grab without having to search for hours on end, I doubt even she would be able to tell you.” 

“I’m sure.” Draco saw no harm in spending so much time on studying or learning new material, but when you could remember the location and information of 87% of the books in Hogwarts’ library, maybe that was a good indicator that one needed a break from the area. At least Granger wasn’t in a position where he could see her becoming the next big threat to the wizarding world. He had a strong feeling the rest of them wouldn’t do well in the long run. “Well, for what it’s worth, your tardiness seems to be worth it in the end. I don’t think it’s exactly fair for me to even try convincing you that you’re on the losing side of our bet.” 

Not to call Draco’s own costume terrible or even remotely bad by any means. Draco had been told by many of his fellow Slytherins that there was nothing wrong with avoiding the flashy and gaudy with his decision. He had opted for the muggle version of the devil (or was he called Satan?) in an attempt to catch Harry off guard and spice things up. Needless to say, some adjustments had to be made for the regalia to fit Draco instead of making him look misplaced or ridiculous with the over-use of red and gold. On top of a fairly tight white dress shirt, he wore a black dress vest that had silver trimmings near the bottom and the buttons. On top of that came a very long black dress coat that Draco purposefully left unbuttoned. The original back had been fairly plain, so Draco opted to spell some silver victorian seamless baroque designs onto the surface for something to look at. They traveled along the sleeves as well before stopping at the wrists, where a thick border acted as the cuffs. Black pleated trousers covered Draco’s legs, with nearly shiny dress shoes to finish off his outfit. 

For accessories, Draco actually found himself having fun as he researched the typical body markings that muggle demons (or celestial beings in general) adorned. For his own purposes, Draco had left his markings black instead of trying to imitate blood or Hell’s fire with more red (he owed Pansy some more make-up after this). With his friends’ assistance, he had managed to cover his eyelids and the border of his eyes with black ink, giving them a lethal effect whenever he turned to stare someone down. Pansy had insisted that the area closest to his eyes needed to be a lighter grey compared to the outer edges, claiming it would give him a smokey effect as opposed to something flat. Draco had no reason to object, so he let her mess with the various shades until he literally looked like he had smoke surrounding his eyes. It was much more dramatic, but also perfect compared to how he envisioned they’d end up. 

For the rest of his face, he literally had Pansy dip her fingers in black (skin-safe) paint so she could create claw marks across his skin as she dragged them down his cheeks. It, unsurprisingly, took more than ten attempts to get exactly right. Though, when all was said and done, it was well worth the time and effort. Draco actually managed to look like Hell’s fire had scorched him, marking him as a sinful being. All that was left were the traditional horns that he saw with most muggle depictions of hellish beings. Those were a bit trickier to maneuver since he had to stick them onto his head and move his hair around a bit so it looked natural. Getting them was easy though - the number of potions that required pieces of a horn was ridiculous this year, let him tell you. 

To complete the look, he had transfigured a piece of wood (that he had stolen from one of the trees surrounding Hogwarts) into a silver crown. Nothing too big or tasteless, mind you. Quite a small trinket, in the grand scheme of things. It was more like some sort of headpiece rather than a crown, but it worked all the same. 

In the end, Harry’s version of the next Dark Lord has clearly captured much more attention by the general populace. And, honestly? Draco couldn’t even pretend to be mad or indignant about that. If part of that was due to the Gryffindors getting involved in a grand theme of their house, then Draco was willing to look past that in his particular case. What could he say? He was feeling generous tonight. So long as Harry just…ya know…kept that uniform on for some time after tonight’s party…

“Just like that?” Harry uncrossed his arm when a house-elf arrived with his requested Butterbeer. A small sip later and he hummed out in pleasure. “I was expecting more of a fight from you tonight. Any reason you’re giving up so easily?” As opposed to the expected-smug tone that Draco was preparing himself for, Harry actually looked a bit disappointed. If Draco was allowed to be so bold, it almost seemed as if his boyfriend was excited for a potential “fight” that would break out between the two of them over this bet. Draco could understand, to an extent. It would be a lie to say that their relationship would ever reach a cut-and-dry state of eternal peace. The way he saw it, there was just no fun in keeping everything covered by a heavy duvet of domestic bliss. Sure, sometimes it was nice and comforting (especially considering the scars they both walked away with from the previous year) but other than that? Their usual banter was quite exhilarating and their past simply left no opportunity to get rid of such a thing. As long as no one was ever really hurt from it, there was no reason to give away the “refuse to easily surrender” nature that plagued both of their characters. 

All of that being said, there was also a twinge of genuine curiosity that made Draco want to curse his boyfriend’s innocence. Or, was it nativity? Whatever it was, Draco could do without it sometimes. He felt like he shouldn’t need to explain himself, but clearly, Harry’s obliviousness was still as thick as ever. Merlin, it was just like those first few months of their courtship. Only, replace “getting Harry’s attention” with “alerting the naive Gryffindor that he was sexually desirable”. Seriously, how long did Draco have to stare at his lover before the other understood just how much Draco wanted to practically devour him when Harry looked like that? Certainly, the many eyes that followed Harry’s form as he simply stood in front of Draco and Pansy didn’t help. People could look so long as they didn’t touch - that was Draco’s usual attitude about it. But this? Yeah, he didn’t want them looking so much anymore. 

Best find a way to take the both of them out of the room in an inconspicuous-

“That’s my cue to leave.” Pansy sighed, summoning a house-elf to her so she could deposit her nearly empty glass on their tray. “I’m pretty tired. Think I’ll join Blaise in the dungeons. Enjoy the evening, you two. Don’t get into any trouble that’ll embarrass our respective houses.” 

Draco rolled her eyes as Pansy quickly made her way out of the Great Hall. Tsk, if she thought that he was shameless enough to do anything inappropriate with Harry while in front of so many eyes, then she didn’t know him as well as she thought. And no, his decision to keep his restraint wasn’t because he was embarrassed by showing affection to his lover, or anything. Nor was it some after-effect of his parents’ training regarding the familiar mask of indifference, blankness, or fake contentment. Rather, he preferred that HE be the only person to see Harry’s various…reactions…when they decided to get more frisky. It was bad enough that Harry had an ex that already knew how cute Harry was when he was flustered. Or that all of his dorm mates had Harry’s sincere laugh memorized by heart. He didn’t need the whole school to join Chang or the Gryffindors. 

Malfoys didn’t do well with sharing, after all. 

“If you must know,” Draco got closer so that his lover was forced to tilt his head back more to accommodate for their height differences, “seeing the savior of the wizarding world suddenly present himself as a Dark Lord should be enough of a shock to push anyone into willing submission. Not just I. And only because no one can deny that there’s a certain…allure…to the whole scheme.” It could be said that there was also an element of fear that could be felt when suddenly seeing a hero imitate a considered villain, but that was probably where the Halloween edge came in. Plus, the adrenaline added nicely to Draco’s growing fondness. “The robes look good. I must know though, wherever did you or your Gryffindors find that corset? I can’t say I know anyone who would have such an article in their wardrobe. Never mind one that would fit you so perfectly.” Draco’s free hand came up to slide up the expanse of Harry’s side, fingers smoothly gliding up the sturdy material of the aforementioned corset. For how stiff it felt under his touch, Harry moved around as if he were just wearing a normal shirt. Although, Draco heard that little hitch of breath his lover stuttered on when Draco’s pointer finger managed to pick at the top of the corset. Just above it would be Harry’s chest where, if the older male wanted to, he could press against it to teasingly massage his lover’s clothed muscles. 

Harry didn’t answer right away, choosing to take rapid sips of his Butterbeer as Draco’s fingers continued to pick at the front of his costume. Anyone else would probably call this Draco’s form of fondling, with his fingers endlessly picking at the smallest details of Harry’s front while occasionally pressing his palms down so he could push away non-existent wrinkles. If Draco didn’t know any better, then he’d assume that Harry was avoiding his attention as opposed to the question alone. Only, that was such a silly thing to think, right? It wasn’t as if Draco was full-on groping his lover. Just…ya know…admiring his clothing…and how bloody well they fit on Harry’s body… 

Harry’s absolutely fit, beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, perfect body…even knowing Harry’s history of malnourishment and neglect didn’t take away from the admiration Draco held towards the shorter boy’s physical form. Besides, he knew that having Granger and Weasley as his friends not-too-aggressively ensured that Harry was eating healthier while at Hogwarts. It would never make up for the nutrients he should have had as a child, but hey, he didn’t look like a skeleton. Nor did he look like a gust of wind could tip him over. That had to count for something. 

(You know, disregarding all of the quidditch and training that Harry put himself through as he prepared to destroy the previous Dark Lord.) 

Yeah, Draco had a feeling his thoughts were hardly considered “innocent” any longer. By this point of the night? He was fine with that. As long as it got him and his lover alone eventually, he was willing to give more of a show than he normally would. “Well?” Draco eventually stopped with his fussing, raising a pale eyebrow as Harry refused to disconnect his lips from the rim of his mug. It was tempting to try and take the mug away, but then either Harry would pout at him all night long (when they could be doing other things) or Draco would have to sacrifice his last free hand to hold the mug. Or his wand, depending on if he decided that bringing magic into the equation was even worth it when the problem was so simple. Simple, but frustrating. “Come now, dear, I’m sure it can’t be that embarrassing.” 

“Didn’t say it was embarrassing.” Harry’s words were a bit muffled from the mug, but Draco still caught on. 

“Then what is it?” Draco snapped his fingers for a house-elf to dispose of his own beverage. While not completely finished, there was only a sliver of liquid inside of his mug anyway, so he figured that he could live without it. A small popping sound signaled their server’s arrival and not more than a second later, another pop reinstated their privacy. Well, ok, as much privacy as they could get at a party. “If you’re not embarrassed, then you’re being stubborn. That’s how you are. But I don’t understand how this is something you necessarily need to be stubborn about when all I asked was-” 

“It’s not the question! You don’t even want to know the answer!” Harry almost spilled a few drops out of his Butterbeer mug with how quickly he lowered it so he could speak properly. “You’re just-! You’re looking at me!” 

Draco was having too much fun with this and it hasn’t been that much longer than five minutes since their conversation began. “Yes?” Draco’s arms quickly circled around Harry’s waist before the other realized just how close they actually were to one another. By all means, did Draco risk startling Harry enough that the latter’s Butterbeer could be spilled all over him, which would probably present one of the largest inconveniences of the day, but if it also meant that Harry would be inclined to clean it up? Aka…pulling them into a more private setting? Hands all over Draco as he mopped up the quickly spreading liquid? 

Draco was willing to make that type of sacrifice. 

“I look at you every day, love. What makes this so different?” 

“Because! You-! You…you just-!” The hand that wasn’t precariously trying to balance the Butterbeer mug found its way to Draco’s shoulder, where it feebly pushed in a vain attempt to dislodge Draco’s hold. At the most, Draco had to put some effort into keeping so close to his lover. Other than that, all it did was attract some weird stares that eventually looked away again when Draco either caught them and returned them with a glare or the show just got boring to certain folks. If Harry noticed any of it, he didn’t make it his top priority to address them as he continued to squirm in Draco’s arms. “Merlin! You can’t just look at me like that!” 

“Like what?” Draco could admit that he was less inclined to hide how much he wanted his lover in this specific setting, but this would neither be the first nor the last time that he expressed his interest in Harry in a public setting. If people chose to recognize or make a big deal out of it, then that was hardly his problem. Harry could just let him drag them out of the Great Hall and then they’d have some more privacy. Not to mention that Harry himself wasn’t so innocent from the very crime he was accusing Draco of. So, what gives? 

(Honestly, Draco was having too much fun with this.) 

“Why did this seem like a good idea?” Harry pulled his Butterbeer mug close again, the edge of the back hitting Draco a bit as he tried to hide behind taking small sips again. Draco wasn’t in the mood for letting that continue for too much longer, however. As soon as Harry started lowering his mug just the tiniest bit, Draco relinquished one of his hands so he could place it over the top - preventing Harry from drinking any more. “Hey!” Harry was a bit loud with that, pulling everyone’s attention back on them for the…tenth?...time that night. Draco didn’t mind the attention too much, but it was easy to see that Harry did. He ducked his head close to Draco’s chest, mumbling about how much he hated that Draco was doing this to him. It was cute, Draco couldn’t lie, but he hardly counted his actions as anything harmful. It wasn’t really his fault that everyone needed to constantly stare and whisper about the Golden Boy. 

Did Harry think that Draco liked sharing in this manner? 

Because, as mentioned before, that would be FALSE. Extremely false. 

“Why do you look at me like you want to eat me?” Harry’s voice was muffled a bit from where it was pressed so close to Draco’s chest. With how form-fitting his clothes were, he could almost feel Harry’s lips moving against him. It probably didn’t do well if Draco wanted to continue restraining himself, but since he already had plans for calling an early night for them both, he figured that letting Harry mumble to himself couldn’t have that many consequences. “Why? I just wanted to surprise you. Why do you do this to me? God dammnit, Draco! You make it so hard to control myself when you act like this. Why? Why does this have to happen to me? Why do you do this to me?!” 

Draco chuckled at Harry’s incessant chattering. It didn’t take long for his mumbles to take on a whinier tone, one that would surely have Snape’s ghost turning in his grave if he understood the extent of tolerance that Draco had towards the sound. What could Draco say? You tolerated what you must to keep your partner happy. Besides, Draco was sure that he could convince Harry to make up for lost time later. 

(He already got Harry to have a civil conversation with Lucius. That was one of the biggest obstacles to their relationship known to wizard-kind! Just because Harry was shy now didn’t mean that Draco couldn’t beckon his less cautious side out with enough…persuasion.) 

“You’re so mean to me sometimes! Mean, mean, mean, mean-!” 

“You’re being dramatic, love.” Draco bent his fingers so he was gripping Harry’s mug by its top before lifting it from Harry’s own loosening hold. The shorter boy took too long to notice that Draco had no intent on giving it back, leaving Draco a few spare seconds to call a house-elf over to take it away before Harry was trying to get it back. Seeing as how house-elves practically popped in and out of their desired destinations, it was a rather pitiful decision to keep trying but Draco had a feeling that pointing such a thing out might reward him with a soft slap from his lover. So, phase two might as well commence. “Though, seeing as this party isn’t going anywhere, we might as well leave before I can get any “meaner”, as you put it.” 

“Wait, but isn’t there some final activity-?”

“It’s hardly an “activity” and you know it.” Draco didn’t think the event to be boring, necessarily, but he wouldn’t call some final vote for the best costume of the night very entertaining. Sure, the winner would probably celebrate some momentary satisfaction that they didn’t look stupid before their peers, but there was no true prize or motivation. “All in good fun”, some people would say. People who didn’t need a prize or end game to reach in order to want to participate. As a Slytherin, Draco found the whole thing tasteless as he was used to working towards some higher ambition when planning to put so much effort into anything like this. But hey! In this particular case, he was originally planning on winning a bet with his lover that would have rewarded him five favors. Even though he lost, he wasn’t regretful that he went to various lengths in getting a good costume. 

Pulling Harry out of the Great Hall (all the while ignoring the stares and calls for his boyfriend’s name), Draco made a series of twists and turns around the corridor as he sought out a truly secluded area for them to occupy. It was actually more difficult than he envisioned. Each time he thought they were alone, some voice would echo along the walls which would suggest otherwise. This could have been one of the many ghosts that haunted Hogwarts’ halls as opposed to students, but either way, Draco didn’t want to take the risk. 

“Draco…Draco, hold on-!” 

Finally. Draco rolled his eyes as he finally found a lonely, dark wall to push Harry against. Questions and promptings kept tumbling from the shorter male’s lips, but Draco dismissed them all in favor of pushing their lips together. Despite earlier reactions, it hardly took longer than a second for Harry’s arms to wrap around Draco’s neck, pulling so they were impossible close. If Draco had any desire to care, he’d worry that his facepaint would smudge all over Harry’s face as a result of his lover’s actions. As it stood, all he could really do was appreciate the texture of Harry’s lips and the ferocity of the battle their tongues engaged in as soon as someone’s lips (Draco wasn’t sure whose) opened up just enough. There was also the nice little addition of not having to worry about moving Harry’s glasses or getting poked at by the top edges as they began to make out, but Draco could hardly call that type of judgment fair since he doubted that Harry would get used to the idea of…well…whatever magic was used to fix his vision for tonight. He’d ask later. For now, his own hands found Harry’s hips, both of which he treated to fairly firm grips so his lover couldn’t go anywhere. 

“See? I like this better.” Draco chuckled against Harry’s lips, relishing in the pleased whine it earned him. Without any desire to hurt his lover, he gently urged Harry back into the wall as far as he could go before pulling back completely and pressing only their foreheads together. “I suppose I should thank you or indulging me tonight. Regardless of my defeat, you have cleaned up well for my standards.” 

Harry, on a normal basis, would have either scoffed or playfully sent a stinging hex Draco’s way for not-so-subtly insulting his usual attire. In the current mood he was in, Draco was unsurprised to find that his lover could barely get a small nod in before trying to press their lips together once more. 

“Thank me later. You owe me anyway.” It was so petulant but so adorable. “Draco!” 

“Alright, alright.” Draco pressed a single kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I love you, you know.” 

“I’ll love you even more when you start kissing me again.”