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Chapter Text

Harry gaped at the family of muggles strung up in the air by invisible threads as a group of masked wizards marched through the campsite. The crackling of flames burning through colourful tents was drowned out by the screams of people rushing past them in the direction of the woods. 

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice called suddenly, and Harry blinked out of his horrified daze to find her face in the surrounding crowd. 

He jogged to catch up to her, and the two of them rushed to follow the younger Weasleys to the edge of the woods. Mr Weasley and the eldest boys had run to help the muggle family moments ago, and Harry didn’t waste time trying to locate them behind his shoulder. Instead, his gaze skimmed the trees before them and caught on a glimpse of blond, almost-white, hair through the flicker of flames. 

Draco Malfoy stood at the tree line, leant back against one of the trees in an attempt to look utterly at ease amongst the frenzied crowd. As they neared him, his face was illuminated once more by an explosion of fire not too far from him. Harry couldn’t help but be a little curious at the deep frown on the boy’s face as he watched the swarm of black hoods, oblivious to Harry’s gaze. 

The next time the surrounding flames allowed him a glimpse of Malfoy’s face, his frown had been redirected right back at Harry himself. Eyes widened a moment later as Malfoy realised Harry had seen him, and his expression was quickly schooled to a familiar one of smug satisfaction. Harry didn’t have time to think about what exactly any of that meant, as his group had reached the woods and Ron suddenly tripped over a large root in the ground. 

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, grip tightening where it curled around Harry’s forearm. Ron groaned in response from somewhere on the ground. “Oh, honestly– Lumos!”  

Her wand illuminated to show Ron sprawled across the dirt path, expression set in a grimace as he got to his feet. 

“It is truly a wonder you manage to get anywhere on those feet, Weasley,” Malfoy drawled from where Harry knew he still stood against a nearby tree, despite the dark encompassing him before Hermione redirected her wand’s beam. 

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Ron snarled, although his expression was made significantly less menacing by the leaf that now clung to his fringe. 

“I believe you’re the ones who should be buggering off,” Malfoy replied coolly, gaze flitting between the three of them before settling on Harry. It was then that Harry realised the three other Weasley’s had continued into the woods without them. “Didn’t you notice? They’re collecting Muggles.” 

Ron scowled at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Well, it’s only natural that Mudbloods would be next on the list, don’t you think?” 

“You would be the one to know,” Harry retorted at the same time that Ron stepped forwards angrily. He put an arm out to stop his friend, although the effort to hold him back was fairly half-assed. “Suppose mommy and daddy told you all about their plans, hm?” 

The amused grin on Malfoy’s face was enough to make Harry forget all about the way the boy had frowned at the campsite just minutes earlier. Malfoy tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down Harry’s figure and back up to his face in the same second. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Potter.”

“Come on,” Hermione huffed, tugging Harry’s free arm and reaching out to take Ron’s in her other hand. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

Harry glared at Malfoy as he watched them back off into the woods, eyes glistening with mirth. “Keep that disastrous mop hidden, won’t you Potter?” the git called after them and Harry ground his teeth at the taunting tone, too irritated to wonder why Malfoy was wasting his breath on the warning. 

The three of them stumbled upon a number of different people as they wove deeper into the woods, including a huddle of Beauxbatons girls, Winky the house-elf, a group of cackling goblins, some Veela surrounded by wizards, and eventually Ludo Bagman who disapparated only a moment after stopping to speak. Somewhere in the middle, Harry realised he was missing his wand. That mystery was solved shortly after when Winky was found beside it, vibrant green smoke filling the air above in the shape of a skull and snake. 

The others called it the ‘Dark Mark’, and Harry could only watch it for a moment before feeling nauseous. Mr Weasley hurried them back to their tent at the campsite where the others were waiting, and they were told about the meaning of the Dark Mark and the Death Eaters that had caused the chaos that night. When Harry was finally able to crawl into his bunk, he lay awake for what felt like hours thinking about the night’s events before he could eventually drift to sleep to the sound of snores filling the tent. 

• • •

The rest of the Summer flew by in Quidditch games with the Weasley brothers, home-cooked suppers and freshly-baked cookies courtesy of Mrs Weasley, and the (very) occasional night of reading their textbooks in preparation for the coming school year. On the last morning, they took muggle taxis into King’s Cross station and waved at the rest of the Weasleys from their compartment window upon the Hogwarts Express. 

“I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,” Charlie had grinned at them before the train left the station, ignoring the responding questions and winking at Harry before stepping back. Harry didn’t think too hard about why his cheeks warmed at the action and attributed it to the warmth in their compartment despite it definitely being cool out. 

“What was that about?” Ron asked aloud, and the rest of them shrugged. 

As they began to settle down for the trip, they overheard Malfoy’s boasting voice from the compartment beside theirs, going on about some school called ‘Durmstrang’. 

“Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish–” his voice was cut off as Hermione slid their compartment door closed. 

“I’m surprised the git doesn’t already know the Dark Arts. Surely his dad would’ve had him raised to be the perfect little Death Eater spawn,” Ron said, scowling at the door as if it were Malfoy himself. 

“I wish he had been sent to Durmstrang,” Hermione huffed, taking back her seat and crossing her arms. 

Meanwhile, Harry stared curiously at the wall between the compartments, wishing he could still hear what was being said. After another moment, he stood up and made his way to the door. 

“Bathroom,” he lied, then stepped out and closed the door behind him. He turned towards their neighbouring compartment, but stopped short when he realised Malfoy was already stood outside his own closed door, arms crossed as he watched him blankly. 

“Fairly sure the bathroom’s that way, Potter,” he commented airily, gesturing vaguely down the narrow corridor over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry opened his mouth to ask how Malfoy knew what his lie had been, then closed it again after realising he wouldn’t receive an answer anyway. He took a step forward so his body wasn’t visible by his friends still inside the compartment, and felt a pinch of satisfaction at the taken-aback glare Malfoy settled on him. It wasn’t often that he managed to confuse the other boy, and he thought it might quickly become his favourite way to get under his skin. 

“Are you deaf as well as blind?” Malfoy scoffed sarcastically, tilting his head the same way he had in the woods a week earlier. 

“Why didn’t your father send you to Durmstrang?” Harry asked, ignoring the taunt. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and they stared at each other in silence for several tense moments before he finally replied. “That’s none of your business, is it Potter?” 

“But I’m curious. If you wanted to learn more about the Dark Arts, why come to Hogwarts? Really, what does distance matter if you’re living at school for most of the year either way? Surely there’s another reason besides poor mommy missing you?” he continued, taking another short step toward the other boy and watching inquisitively as Malfoy’s gaze flicked to the side for a second before meeting his again defiantly. 

“So you are deaf,” he replied coolly. “What gave you the impression that I wanted to chit-chat with you, Potter?” 

“I dunno,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Maybe the fact that you were waiting out here right as I was leaving my compartment?” 

“I wasn’t waiting for you –” 

“I’ve got a new question,” he interrupted, and he could feel the smirk across his lips grow at Malfoy’s offended expression. “Why’d you look so angry the other night?” 

The blank look on Malfoy’s face almost led Harry to believe he had no clue what he was referring to, but a moment later he opened his mouth to respond. 

“You’re seeing things, Potter,” he said slowly, but the split-second glance away revealed his discomfort immediately. “Add that to the things you need to have checked, won’t you?” 

Harry huffed at the no-answer once again, the usual irritation finally growing beneath his skin. “Cheers for the concern,” he snapped, wishing he could punch the responding smirk off of Malfoy’s face. It wouldn’t be worth it this time. 

He spun on his heel instead and wrenched open his compartment door, stepping inside and slamming it closed before Malfoy could get in the last word. 

“Harry!” Hermione protested, staring wide-eyed at him from the seat. Crookshanks’ claws seemed to have sunk into her thighs slightly at the loud slam, but otherwise the cat appeared unbothered. Ron raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. 

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, taking his seat and glaring out of the train window for the next few minutes. Eventually, he forced himself to relax his clenched fists, glancing down at the crescent-moon shapes nestled into the skin of his palms then looking away again. “So… tell me about Durmstrang.” 

Hermione launched into an explanation of the European wizarding schools and the enchantments used to keep the schools hidden as Harry half-listened. Seamus, Dean, and Neville visited not long later and Hermione busied herself with a book as the rest of them talked Quidditch. Malfoy stopped by as well, although this time he was accompanied by his usual cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, and they spent the next few minutes taunting Ron about his new dress robes. 

Ron’s bad mood continued for the rest of the trip and only dissolved once they’d sat down in the Great Hall to watch the Sorting Ceremony take place. When dishes of food finally filled the tables, they immediately dug in gratefully. Harry listened half-heartedly as Nearly Headless Nick talked to Hermione about the Hogwarts house-elves, shovelling shepherd's pie into his mouth as he watched the Slytherins across the dining hall. Malfoy appeared to be ranting about something to the group of Fourth-years around him, expression pompous in a way that made Harry inexplicably irritated. His attention was stolen from the Slytherin when dessert appeared before them, and he folded a handful of treacle tart slices into his serviette like a parcel to save for later. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and he shrugged, digging into another slice delightedly. 

When the Headmaster announced in the middle of his speech that the Quidditch Cup wouldn’t be taking place that year, Harry almost threw up the pie he’d just consumed. “Did I hear that right?” he asked, sharing a bewildered look with Ron and the twins. 

After the buzz settled again, Dumbledore explained that the reason for this was that Hogwarts would be holding the Triwizard Tournament, which sent the students into another frenzy. Dumbledore went on to describe the tournament, and the teasing hints from Bill and Charlie earlier began to make some sense. Harry couldn’t help but glance over at the Slytherin table again, only to find Malfoy smirking back at him smugly. He looked away with an eye-roll. 

The tournament sounded exciting, Harry thought, although he was a little glad there was an age restriction set, despite the outrage from his peers. He wouldn’t have wanted to enter anyway, but he felt it would’ve been slightly expected of him by the student body had he been allowed to. He didn’t need the winning money, thought, and he definitely didn’t need any more fame, so he would happily settle for watching others compete from the sidelines. Although, he admitted to himself later that night when he’d settled into his four-poster bed, it would have been extremely satisfying to wipe the smug smirk from Malfoy’s face after becoming the Hogwarts champion and winning the tournament. He fell into an easy sleep with that exact picture in mind.

Chapter Text

Professor Moody was an… interesting teacher, Harry decided during their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year. The class centred on what were known as the ‘Unforgivable Curses’, and Moody took to demonstrating the three curses, Imperio, Crucio, and finally, Avada Kedavra, for the class to see. 

“There’s no counter-curse. There’s no blocking it,” Moody said gruffly after he’d just killed a spider using the Killing Curse. Harry was still staring at its lifeless form, the nauseatingly familiar flash of green painting his vision every time he blinked. “Only one person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me.” 

Everyone turned to follow Moody’s eyesight to Harry, who tried to ignore them by staring blankly at the blackboard and digging his nails into his palms where they sat on his lap. It was a little unethical, he thought absently, performing the spell that killed his parents and almost himself right in front of his eyes. He briefly wondered if Dumbledore had actually consented to this lesson or if that had been a fabrication. 

He thought he heard screaming, and realised distantly that he’d been swallowed up into a memory. He was familiar with this one, thanks to the dementors the previous year. Vibrant green continued to blur his vision as his mother’s anguished scream echoed over and over and– 

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” Moody barked suddenly, and Harry was jerked from the reaching grasp of his memories, blinking at the desk below him in faint confusion. 

His palms hurt, he realised slowly, as reality seeped back one thing at a time. His gaze moved to his hands, and he hummed absently at the traces of blood now painting the ends of his bitten nails. He thought he could hear Moody continuing his lesson from the front of the classroom, but the sound was muffled, as if someone had come along and stuffed cotton balls into his ears. 

“Potter,” someone hissed, and the cotton loosened slightly. “Potter. ” 

He turned a little in his chair and caught Malfoy’s gaze from two desks away. The blond had his head tilted again, ever-so-slightly, and Harry thought he hated it. His hearing returned to him enough to pick up Malfoy’s whispered taunt. 

“Isn’t that how your parents went?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, clenched hands loosening on his lap as his brain tried to piece together why Malfoy had chosen to point out something so obvious. He didn’t even follow it up with anything, just left the comment hanging there in the space between them for Harry to muddle over whilst Malfoy tuned back into the lesson. 

“What a git,” Ron grumbled from beside him, obviously talking about Malfoy’s insult. Insult? Was it, though? It seemed more like an unnecessary reminder. Harry had heard it a million times from Malfoy and it no longer bothered him in the slightest, which the other boy surely knew. So why waste his breath? 

He stared at the side of Malfoy’s face for a moment, before eventually shrugging and turning back to the front of the class, deciding it really didn’t matter enough to care about. Satisfied with that conclusion, he went back to listening to Moody’s instructions, mumbling a spell to clean his hands before starting to take notes. 

• • •

Their next D.A.D.A. lesson turned out to be even more alarming than the last. Professor Moody opened by informing them that they’d each be put under the Imperius Curse today as a demonstration of its effects. This was expectedly met with some unease, but only Hermione had the confidence to voice her concerns. 

“Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” Moody said in his typical growl. Harry somewhat doubted that statement, but refrained from saying so. “If you’d rather learn the hard way, when someone’s putting it on you so they can control you completely, fine by me. Off you go.” 

Hermione stayed, and the demonstrations began. Harry watched as his classmates made utter fools of themselves in the middle of the classroom – performing cart-wheels and imitating various animals under Professor Moody’s control. He couldn’t help but notice Malfoy’s uncomfortable stance from the back of the classroom, and was a little taken aback at how unusual it was to see. When it was Harry’s own turn to step up, he thought Moody looked almost gleeful. 

“Imperio,” the professor uttered, wand aimed at Harry, and he instantly fell into a state of utter bliss. Tension he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding melted away along with any thoughts in his mind. Distantly, he heard Moody’s voice instructing him to jump onto the desk in front of him, and he was half-way to doing just that before something in his brain clicked. 

Why on Earth would he want to jump onto a desk? He thought wildly, and felt himself shake his head at the intrusion. 

Professor Moody’s voice became louder, and Harry’s own stubbornness fought to hold off against it for only a few moments before giving in and running Harry headlong into the desk. The empty feeling in his brain disappeared abruptly, and the pain in his legs became increasingly obvious, as well as the faint cheers from his classmates. 

“That’s more like it, Potter! That’s how you fight it,” Moody growled, thumping Harry heavily on the shoulder and wetting his own lips with a quick flick of his tongue. “We’ll try again now, everyone pay attention!” 

This occurred three more times until Harry barely twitched at Moody’s instructions to start rolling on the floorboards like a pig in mud. His muscles ached by the end of it, and his brain felt all gooey, like it’d been turned to jelly after being forced to argue against itself over and over again. When Professor Moody finally let him rest, he dragged himself to the edge of the classroom to sink down against the wall with his legs folded beneath him. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked, and he squinted up at her. She knelt and held his chin in one hand, searching his face for any damage. It was his arms and legs that throbbed the most, but he couldn’t think of a reason to tell her that. 

“‘M fine,” he mumbled, jerking his face from her hand and watching as Ron began skipping in circles around the classroom. 

He mostly zoned out as the rest of his classmates were called for their turns, but when Professor Moody asked for Malfoy to step forward, he forced his eyes open properly to watch. Once Moody had him under the curse, it was several long moments before Malfoy actually did anything. A second later, his knees hit the floor of the classroom, and his hands tucked beneath his legs despite them clearly struggling to be free. 

“Impressive,” Moody said gruffly once he’d let the curse go. He seemed a lot less enthusiastic about Malfoy’s half-success than he’d been about Harry’s. 

Before he could begin to suggest Malfoy try again, the blond had risen to his feet, turned on his heel and marched from the room. He didn’t utter a word, and Moody watched him go without bothering to call him out. 

“Draco!” Pansy Parkinson huffed exasperatedly, gathering his bag with her own and striding from the classroom after him. 

“Class dismissed,” Professor Moody grunted then, and the rest of them were quick to grab their own bags and leave the room. Harry, still distracted over Malfoy’s actions, didn’t realise Ron was asking him a question until he felt an elbow nudge his side. 

“Sorry, what?” he asked, and Ron rolled his eyes. 

“Do you reckon they’re together? Malfoy and Parkinson? They’re with each other an awful lot these days, don’t you think?” his friend prodded, and they watched as the rest of the fourth-year Slytherins disappeared after their two classmates. 

Harry shrugged, trying to remember if he’d ever seen any sort of affection between the two. He supposed Malfoy did often let her play with his hair. And they did sit together quite a bit, although that was usually with additional members of their little group. “Maybe,” he settled on, frowning a little as he said it. 

The topic changed and he zoned out again on the way to their next class. 

• • •

“Does Malfoy seem any different this year?” Harry asked later, when they were full from supper and curled up in front of the fireplace back in the Gryffindor common room. 

“Different how?” Ron replied around the biscuit in his mouth, not looking up from the chessboard in front of his lap. He was playing against George, who was putting in a half-hearted attempt due to his twin distracting him with ideas for their Skiving Snackboxes. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and he saw Hermione shake her head at her half-written essay from the corner of his eye. 

“Not much to go off, then, is it?” Seamus said and Harry shrugged. 

“He’s definitely taller,” George added absentmindedly, and most of the group turned to him, including Ron. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and George looked up at him with a knowing look. Although, he couldn’t figure out what exactly George thought he knew. 

“Right. But I’m not wrong, am I? S’pose that’s what comes with puberty and all.” 

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” Ron asked, staring across the board at his brother. George rolled his eyes at the expression. 

“What? Harry asked!” 

No one had an answer to that, although Harry felt he had plenty to say. But he kept his mouth shut and let his gaze drift to the fireplace instead. The flickering flames gradually turned to burning tents, and he blinked away the memory as quick as it came. Hermione had started rambling about her new organisation, S.P.E.W., but was soon interrupted by tapping at the nearest window pane. 

“Hedwig!” he exclaimed, jumping from his armchair to open the window for her. The snowy owl gratefully clambered onto his offered arm and ruffled her wings as Harry took her back to his seat. He untied the parchment from her leg and settled in to read. A moment later, he’d leapt back out of the seat and startled Hedwig from her perch. 

“What is it?” Hermione asked, looking up from her book. 

“He’s coming back! I shouldn’t have told him!” he tried to explain without revealing too much to the others in the group. Hermione’s eyes quickly widened in realisation, and Ron looked between them. 

“Who’s ‘him’?” Fred asked curiously, trying to peer at the letter in Harry’s hand before he snatched it away. “Some secret lover?” 

“What?” Ron shot his brother a puzzled look and Fred just shrugged. 

“I’m going to write back,” Harry decided, ignoring the others and collecting a spare bit of parchment and a quill. Hedwig gave an indignant squark to remind Harry that she’d only just returned and would not be going on another trip for at least the next few days. “Don’t worry, I’ll use a school owl. I’ll be back, guys.” 

And with that, he left the common room and made his way to the school’s owlery in the West Tower. There, he scribbled out a short letter to Sirius, telling him there was nothing to be concerned about and no reason for him to return to England. He sent the letter off with a brown screech owl perched nearby, then left the small owlery only to run straight into another student. 

“Haven’t you bumped into enough today, Potter?” Malfoy drawled, stepping out of his space and fixing his robes with a scowl. 

It only took Harry a moment to collect himself. “I’d have thought you’d enjoyed seeing me knock into things,” he said, and Malfoy met his gaze with a blank expression that was quickly becoming his default appearance these days. 

Instead of responding, the boy swept past him and ducked into the owlery. After only a second’s hesitation, Harry followed, despite just leaving the room. He watched as Malfoy called– with an unnervingly soft tone– to his eagle-owl, who came swooping down to land on his shoulder so that Malfoy could deftly tie his envelope to its outstretched leg. 

Once he’d sent his owl off, Malfoy turned back to face Harry. “Your staring was obvious enough from the other side of the Great Hall, Potter. I’m afraid you’re severely lacking any subtlety you think you might be portraying.” 

“I don’t stare at you in the Great Hall,” he denied automatically, then fought down a flush when he realised he had, in fact, been watching quite a bit lately. He wouldn’t admit that though. 

“I see,” Malfoy replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “And I have orange hair.” 

Harry couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Really now? And you spend all that time giving the Weasleys grief,” he tutted, and Malfoy’s deadpan expression turned to a glare. 

He took a step as if to pass by Harry, but Harry quickly blocked his way. 

“I’ve got a question,” he said in response to Malfoy’s glower. 

“Did no one ever tell you that curiosity killed the kneazle, Potter?” 

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, no. I did hear about curiosity killing the cat, though.” 

Malfoy huffed an exasperated sigh, moving to get past Harry and again being stopped in his path. After glaring at each other for a few seconds, Malfoy crossed his arms and began to tap his foot against the straw-strewn concrete of the owlery. 

“Why’d you leave Defence early?” Harry asked, leaning back against the curved stone wall to await a response that he knew likely wouldn’t come. He didn’t expect another question in return, however. 

“How many bruises did you gain playing Moody’s puppet?” 

Harry blinked, surprised at the strange question. Then he shrugged and decided to answer it honestly. “I think I counted at least six. My shins and knees got it pretty rough, and my arms were pretty banged-up after they hit the floor on the second go.” 

Malfoy hummed. “I wasn’t stupid enough to stick around and end up the same way.” 

And that was… that sounded like the truth. Harry’s jaw almost dropped at the honest answer to his question, even if it had been phrased more like an insult. Stupidly, he dared to hope for a little more truth. 

“What did Moody ask you to do?” he asked, and Malfoy’s glare became impossibly cooler, to the point where Harry almost regretted opening his mouth. 

“I think that’s enough questions for one day, Potter,” the boy said, and it sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. When he made for the door again, Harry let him go, gazing over his shoulder at Malfoy’s rigid back as he stalked away. It was then that he remembered George’s comment from earlier, and he noted distractedly that Malfoy had, in fact, grown several noticeable inches over the summer. 

He shook his head, inwardly berating George for even bringing the observation up and himself for recalling it. He’d actually managed to get an honest answer out of Malfoy, for once, and he refused to admit that he wore a satisfied grin all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Chapter Text

At the end of the next month, the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were due to arrive, much to the school’s excitement. Sirius had written back to inform Harry that he was staying somewhere in England and hadn’t been fooled by Harry’s assurances not to worry about him. He supposed it would be nice to be able to write to Sirius about the Triwizard Tournament without Hedwig having to take a week’s journey. 

That evening, the houses lined up in the entrance hall and filed out of the castle to await the arrival of the competing schools. After waiting around in the cold air for twenty long minutes, a dark shape appeared in the sky and suddenly a giant, horse-drawn carriage was headed straight for them. When it landed, the tallest woman Harry had ever seen stepped down from inside to greet Dumbledore, followed by a group of boys and girls dressed in pale blue, silk robes. 

The group of new arrivals quickly made for the entrance hall to get warm, although Harry noticed one of the girls– who’d had the sense to wear a pair of white gloves and a silk scarf– stop by the Slytherins and, to Harry’s surprise, reach out to greet Malfoy with a kiss to each of his cheeks. The boy definitely seemed to know her, the small smile on his was face almost fond as he listened to the girl babble in what Harry guessed was French. Harry didn’t even know Malfoy under stood French.

He watched the girl huff and promptly swipe Malfoy’s scarf from around his neck to wrap around her own, which clashed a little with her blue uniform although she didn’t appear to mind. Malfoy shot her an irritated look, but it was significantly more amused than the glares he was constantly giving Harry. She ruffled his hair– which, Harry noted, was almost the same shade as her own– and kissed his cheek once more, before turning and continuing into the castle behind her peers. 

Malfoy seemed to feel Harry’s stare (or Harry was becoming too predictable by now) and met his gaze defiantly, as if daring Harry to comment on whatever had just taken place. Before Harry could even consider what he’d say, however, Ron was elbowing him hard in his side and pointing excitedly towards the Great Lake. A wooden mast was gradually rising from the black water, eventually giving way to a large ship. 

“How interesting, surely they didn’t sail the ship beneath the water for the entire trip?” Hermione was mumbling to herself curiously, but Harry ignored her and watched as a line of broad figures walked from the anchored ship up to where they stood waiting. 

“Harry!” Ron hissed in his ear after Durmstrang’s Headmaster had greeted their own. “It’s Krum!” 

He swung his head to follow where Ron was pointing, and indeed there was Viktor Krum, seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team, dressed in a large, fur-trimmed coat. 

“Bloody hell!” Ron practically squealed from beside him, and they both watched with the rest of the school as Krum and his classmates made their way into the entrance hall. 

A moment later, their lines were filing back into the castle as well, students gasping and giggling over their famous guest only several steps ahead. The Beauxbatons students were all sat around the end of the Ravenclaw table when they arrived, and some of the Hogwarts students eyed the blonde girl’s Slytherin scarf curiously as they took their seats. When the food arrived, there were many noticeably foreign dishes amongst the usual. Harry and Hermione tried a bit of everything, whilst Ron stuck mainly to the familiar dishes. 

“Pardon,” a voice interrupted them, and Harry turned to see the blonde Beauxbatons girl who’d been speaking to Malfoy earlier standing beside their table. “Are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” 

“You can have it,” Harry replied as Ron just gaped from beside him. He was tempted to ask how she knew Malfoy, but decided it would likely be strange. 

The girl took the dish from the table as Ron stared after her. “She’s got to be part veela,” he said breathlessly to Harry long after the girl had taken her seat again. That initiated some more bickering between him and Hermione, but not long after they were interrupted by the arrival of Lugo Bagman and Barty Crouch. 

The others began discussing the upcoming tournament, whilst Harry took to his newfound habit of staring over at the Slytherin table. The Durmstrang students had settled at one end of it, placing Krum conveniently right beside Malfoy. This was an advantage to Harry, as he now had an excuse to stare in that general direction because half the school already was. He watched as Malfoy chatted idly to Krum and a few of the other Durmstrang boys as they ate, and found himself half-wishing that he was sat there too. 

Because Krum was there, obviously. 

Malfoy seemed to have filled his plate with every French-looking dish in his vicinity, and Harry guessed that was what the boy was rambling about currently. He idly wondered how often Malfoy had visited France to be so familiar with the cuisine. Dumbledore stood to say a few words about the Tournament not long after, before revealing a large, wooden cup filled with wild, blue flames that he called the ‘Goblet of Fire’. 

“Bit on-the-nose, ‘innit?” Ron mumbled, and Harry nodded his agreement. 

• • •

Harry hadn’t been able to catch Malfoy alone since their conversation in the owlery last month, but he was determined to find the boy and convince him to spill another truth. After classes the next day, he searched the Marauder’s Map for Malfoy’s name, and eventually spotted it in the castle’s clock tower courtyard next to another name he didn’t recognise. He supposed ‘Fleur Delacour’ was likely the blonde Beauxbatons girl who seemed to be close with Malfoy. 

His theory was proven correct when he made his way to the same courtyard and saw the two of them sat on one of the stone benches around the fountain in the centre. He gaped when he realised Malfoy was braiding the girl’s– Fleur’s– hair , sitting cross-legged behind her with deft fingers folding an intricate pattern with her blonde strands. He watched for at least ten minutes, and just when he was starting to feel like this was probably very bizarre for him to be doing, Fleur got to her feet, long blonde braid tossed over the front of her shoulder and smile dazzling. 

She said something to Malfoy in French, who then responded fluently, causing Harry to almost fall from where he was hidden behind a stone pillar at the edge of the courtyard. Malfoy speaks French , he noted somewhat-dazedly, then pinched himself at his ridiculous behaviour. What was wrong with him? 

Fleur had disappeared by the time Harry began paying attention again, and Malfoy sat with a book propped in his lap, finally alone. Harry slowly walked up to the fountain, and Malfoy didn’t look up when he sat at the other end of the stone bench. 

“I see you haven’t learnt anything in the way of subtlety, despite me telling you to do just that last month?” the boy said in his familiar drawl, eyes still trained on the pages of his book. How long had he known Harry was watching him? 

“How do you know her?” Harry asked instead, bypassing the accusation completely. He also ignored the voice in his head reminding him that he used to rise to such taunts only a few months ago and wondering what had changed.

“If you’re interested, don’t be. You’re certainly not her type,” Malfoy replied smoothly, turning to the next page. 

Harry sighed, trying to think of something he could tell Malfoy that might entice him to reply truthfully again. He needn’t have, though, because Malfoy offered up his own question a moment later. 

“And something tells me she’s not yours. She doesn’t affect you at all,” the boy said mildly, and it wasn’t exactly a question but Harry still felt it required an answer. 

“No, she doesn’t affect me. I’m assuming you mean because she’s part-veela? That’s what everyone’s been saying. The veela at the Quidditch World Cup did, though. I’m not sure why it’s different.” 

Malfoy turned another page. “Is that all?” 

Harry glared at the side of his face, a flicker of familiar heat bubbling in his stomach. “What do you mean, is that all? I’m not an expert on veelas!” 

“Never mind,” the boy sighed and, strangely, Harry’s burst of anger dissipated instantly. “We’re related. I’ve seen her and her family many times whilst visiting France.” 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Harry asked, warm satisfaction settling in his chest. Malfoy scoffed but didn’t look up from his book. They sat there in silence for a short while as Malfoy read and Harry gazed around the courtyard. 

“Why’re you here, Potter?” Malfoy asked eventually, and Harry thought a moment longer. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I guess I’m trying to figure you out.” 

“Hm,” was the only response. 

Harry continued, but on a completely unrelated topic. “I’m used to the bruises,” he said, almost mumbling, and Malfoy finally looked up from the book to tilt his head at him, eyes searching. For some reason, Harry got the distinct impression that that was all Malfoy needed to hear to understand the underlying message completely. 

Harry counted three whole minutes of silence. “He was asking me to kneel,” Malfoy said eventually, answering Harry’s question from last month in the owlery. “To beg for forgiveness, or something.”

“ Beg ?” Harry started, eyes blown wide. Malfoy scowled and turned back to his book, flipping the page again. “What for? That’s a bit fucked up, isn’t it?” 

Malfoy shrugged. “He’s an ex-Auror, my father has… questionable morals. That’s all I’ve come up with to explain it.” This was more honestly than Harry could have ever hoped for, really. He tried not to gape openly at the other boy so as to not irritate him back into silence, although hearing Draco Malfoy admit that his own father, his prime role-model, had ‘questionable morals’ came as quite a hard shock. 

“I think it’s a little questionable that Dumbledore has let him in to teach us at all,” Harry said instead, and Malfoy glanced up at him curiously for just a second. 

Harry took his continued silence for the dismissal it was, and finally got to his feet. There was an awkward moment where he wasn’t sure whether to say good-bye or not, but Malfoy answered that by murmuring, “Keep walking, Potter,” and that was the end of that. 

• • •

Harry, Hermione, and Ron took their seats in the Great Hall after a visit with Hagrid later that afternoon. The Goblet of Fire stood at the front of the hall in front of Dumbledore’s seat at the table, and almost all of the conversation between students was about the champions to be picked and the challenges that awaited them. They ate their feast impatiently, then turned excitedly to watch as Dumbledore dimmed the hall’s candlelight and announced that the Goblet would be ready any moment. 

Victor Krum from Durmstrang, Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons, and Cedric Diggory from Hogwarts’ Hufflepuff house were chosen to be the three champions to represent their respective schools. Some of the Gryffindors grumbled about a Hufflepuff being chosen from their own school, but Harry didn’t feel he minded so much. Cedric had been nice enough at the Quidditch World Cup, and he didn’t doubt that he was likely as clever as he was handsome. 

The crowd’s applause faded as Dumbledore continued to speak, but gasps quickly followed when he froze in his sentence. Harry turned, following everyone’s gaze to the Goblet of Fire where the blue flames danced haphazardly, spitting and crackling until finally a fourth scrap of parchment was tossed from the cup. The hall was silent as Dumbledore snatched the charred paper from the air, reading it several times over before looking up at the students. 

“Harry Potter,” he said then, and Harry was sure he'd just imagined it. Then everyone was staring in his direction and the murmurs had started up again. 

“I didn’t put my name in. You know I didn’t,” he insisted, looking at his friends beside him. 

Dumbledore searched the hall for his face. “Harry Potter!” 

“Go on, get up,” Hermione hissed, nudging his thigh in an effort to force him from his seat. Ron said nothing, instead staring at Harry with an emotion he couldn’t figure out in his dazed state. 

He stood slowly, ignoring the wave of glares being aimed his way and instead settling his gaze on the Slytherin boy directly across the hall. Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed, but he didn’t necessarily look angry. Rather, his expression gave the impression that he’d just found an important piece to a much larger puzzle.  One blond eyebrow rose when he realised Harry, as per usual, was staring right back at him. Then he jutted his chin ever-so-slightly towards where Harry knew Dumbledore stood impatiently at the front of the dining hall, and Harry tuned back into the whispers quickly increasing in volume around him. 

“But he’s only fourteen!” 

“How did he get past Dumbledore’s line?” 

“What a cheat!” 

“Harry,” Hermione nudged him again, and he finally began moving.

Stares and mutters followed him as he walked between the benches for what felt like hours . When he did eventually reach the front, the teachers watched, stone-faced, as he turned to make his way into the room behind them. When the teachers joined him and the other champions, the arguments ensued, and all Harry could think was how much he’d rather be sitting in silence back in the courtyard again. 

His mood only worsened when Professor Moody entered the room and suggested, in his low growl, that someone must have put Harry’s name in the Goblet to force him to compete. Perhaps even to die. Somewhere beneath the numb feeling in his chest he thought he should probably be a little more concerned about that, but the buzz in his ears hardly allowed him to think on it. And really, what was new? 

Minutes later, Dumbledore announced to the room that Harry would simply have to compete alongside the other champions, which Harry thought was a little ridiculous considering it shouldn’t be too difficult to renounce the wishes of a cup , for Merlin’s sake. He didn’t voice these thoughts, however, and watched blankly as Mr Crouch relayed the tournament’s rules to the new champions. They dispersed not long after that, and Harry endured a few minutes of awkward conversation with Cedric before they parted ways to their respective common rooms. 

To his surprise, Malfoy stood at the base of the marble staircase that would take him to the next floor. Harry glanced around quickly in search of any of the blond’s group of Slytherins, only to come up empty. Malfoy had never intentionally seeked out Harry before, and thoughts of what him waiting for Harry now could imply drowned out any worries he might have had about the night’s events. Malfoy’s arms were crossed and he leant against the stair bannister, head dipped slightly to one side as he considered Harry. 

“Only you would manage to become the fourth champion of a Tri- wizard Tournament, Potter,” he said eventually, and Harry welcomed the familiar taunting tone after listening to adults argue over him for the last half an hour. There wasn’t too much to be confused about when it came to bickering with Malfoy. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose ,” Harry retorted, crossing his arms to mirror the other boy. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Did I say you did?” he asked, unimpressed. Harry blinked at him for a moment, slightly taken-aback, but Malfoy continued on as if he hadn’t just put a complete stop to Harry’s thoughts. “Fleur’s displeased.” 

“Another common interest for you two to discuss in French, then,” he replied, and Malfoy smirked. 

“Oh, Potty, how bold of you to assume we don’t already.” 

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, hanging his arms at his sides again and turning to start climbing the staircase. As expected, Malfoy didn’t follow, but he could feel the hard stare on the back of his head all the way to the next landing. 

“Do try to keep your head down a bit, won’t you, Potter?” the blond’s voice travelled up the staircase, and Harry turned instinctively. “Someone might just get fed up and land you with another ugly scar.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Malfoy, I’d say you’re beginning to sound concerned,” he replied sarcastically, and he didn’t receive another response after that. 

Two more flights of steps later, he found Hermione waiting for him in front of a portrait that looked distinctly annoyed by her presence. She wrung her hands anxiously, falling into step beside Harry as they continued to the next floor. 

“Who were you talking to just then?” she asked, and her voice sounded a little strained. 

“Just Diggory,” Harry half-lied, avoiding her gaze. He thought the news of Harry becoming a tournament champion was likely enough of a blow without adding Malfoy’s odd behaviour to it. “Dumbledore sent us off before the rest of the professors.” 

Hermione nodded, accepting his explanation and falling silent until the fifth floor landing. Hogwarts really should invest in a lift , Harry thought absentmindedly, climbing onto the next staircase. 

“Um… before we get to the common room…” Hermione started, hands fidgeting in front of her. Harry glanced her way to show he was listening. “Ron is being… well, a bit of an idiot.” 

“How so?” he prodded, brows furrowing. 

“Well…” 

“Spit it out, ‘Mione.” 

The girl sighed, shooting him an exasperated look. “He’s saying he thinks you put your name in the Goblet of Fire.” 

“What?” Harry almost tripped on the next step in his shock. Hermione didn’t repeat herself, instead glaring at the stone steps beneath their feet. “Why the hell would I put my name in? I think I’ve been through enough grief without adding a tournament where competitors have died !” 

“I don’t know, Harry,” she huffed. “I don’t think he really thinks that. He’s likely just jealous.” 

“Jealous?!” he exclaimed. Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatics, but Harry ignored her and blundered on. “We can trade places for all I care! I don’t want more attention, Hermione, really.” 

Hermione shrugged lightly, pursing her lips and looking away from him. The Fat Lady’s portrait was just ahead of them now. Harry stared at his friend, trying to work out if she really believed him. 

“You know I didn’t put my name in, don’t you?” he asked, just to be sure. 

“Of course I do, Harry,” she replied with another exasperated huff, but her hands continued to fidget and she avoided Harry’s gaze the rest of the way to the portrait. 

Harry ignored the cheers and congratulations he received the moment he stepped into the common room, passing his housemates to take the steps to his dormitory two at a time. When he swung open the door, the hangings around Ron’s four-poster were already dragged shut, and Harry found he didn’t have the energy to start an argument about Ron’s apparent opinion on his new status as Hogwarts’ second champion. He had a quick shower and dressed into his pyjamas, then set his glasses on the bedside table and climbed into bed before the rest of his roommates could turn up to try and make conversation. 

He thought about what Hermione had said about Ron being jealous, and about her own anxious reaction to him asking if she believed him. Was it so hard to believe that he actually didn’t want to be given yet another title and compete in a tournament that was clearly too dangerous for his inexperienced self? Surely his two best friends knew him a little better than that? Even Malfoy admitted he didn’t think Harry would have put his name in the cup, and Malfoy had called him an attention-seeking ‘golden boy’ more than once over the last few years. 

He rolled over beneath the duvet, glaring at his wand where it sat beside his glasses. He was completely unprepared for whatever this tournament had in store. Suddenly, what he thought was going to be a good year was quickly turning out to be anything but.

Chapter Text

Ron’s attitude towards Harry turned out to be even more hostile than Harry had expected. He avoided him completely, apart from the one time Harry chose to call him out and was met with a bout of antagonism that rivalled Malfoy’s. Really , Harry thought after storming off after said argument, fists clenched and teeth grinding, some friend.  

Malfoy really wasn’t helping either, which shouldn’t have come as any surprise. He’d created a load of badges to hand out to the rest of the school that displayed ‘Support Cedric Diggory – The Real Hogwarts Champion!’ and when pressed became an alarmingly vibrant green ‘Potter Stinks!’. Harry glared at the boy when he offered an unnecessary demonstration, all the while cackling away with his little Slytherins. He wondered what had happened to the Malfoy that had traded truths with him in the courtyard two weeks ago. 

Viktor Krum had started following Hermione around, Harry had noticed. He chose not to point it out after Hermione spent an evening ranting about how irritating his presence in the library was due to the crowd of giggling fangirls constantly at his heel. Like Krum, the other Triwizard champions hadn’t paid Harry any attention whatsoever after the night their names were called from the cup. More than once, he noticed Fleur watching him with narrowed eyes, before promptly turning on her heel and sending her waist-length hair swishing in her wake. He considered asking Malfoy what her deal was, then remembered their little chit-chats didn’t seem to be welcome anymore. 

At midnight on the weekend before the first task, Harry found himself trampling through the Dark Forest after Hagrid and Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons Headmistress, to see some sort of surprise that Hagrid had in store for him. Harry was grumbling to himself about being unknowingly invited along on their date when he finally noticed an orange glow amongst the trees ahead. A second later, he realised what he was seeing was dragons . 

Dragons. Four of them, in big, wooden enclosures. Harry gaped at the sight before quickly collecting himself. Did this mean dragons were the first task of the tournament? Was he, thin, gangly, 14-year-old Harry Potter, who stood a head beneath all of the other boys in his year and wore glasses that had snapped down the middle at least twice just this year, expected to fight a dragon?!  

He watched as a familiar red-head– Charlie Weasley, he realised a second later– stepped towards them and started up a conversation with Hagrid. He had a new burn over one of his freckled biceps, but he didn’t appear bothered in the slightest, grinning over at the snarling beasts with the same fondness one would give a puppy. Harry felt incredibly inferior staring at the older man, wishing terribly that he shared the same broad-shouldered look. Maybe then he’d be a little more confident about his chances with a dragon. 

He made his way back to the castle not long later, having promised his godfather to be in the common room around one o’clock. When Sirius’ head appeared in the flames of the fireplace, Harry was a little surprised to find his old D.A.D.A. professor, Remus Lupin, squashed beside him. 

“Hi, Sirius,” he greeted, quickly kneeling on the carpet. “Evening, Professor.” 

“I’m not your professor anymore, Harry,” Lupin reminded him kindly as Sirius chuckled next to him. 

“ Evening, Professor,” his godfather mocked and Harry rolled his eyes, warm affection settling in his stomach and lips stretching into a wide grin before he could stop himself. Sirius mirrored the grin, eyes roaming over Harry’s face in a quick assessment of his well-being. “How’re you doing, pup?” 

His tone was soft, and Harry thought his heart might just spill over with gratitude. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d been yearning for a conversation with his godfather until now, and he didn’t bother to stop himself when his mouth began rambling about everything he could possibly think of. About Dumbledore calling out his name on Halloween, about his peers now hating him more than ever, about not speaking to Ron in weeks, about the lies Rita Skeeter had written about him in the Daily Prophet just the other day, about the dragons Hagrid had just taken him to see… 

“I don’t think I can do this, Sirius,” he groaned finally, leaning his forehead into the palms of his hands where they were propped atop his thighs. The two men in the fire, who’d been listening patiently the entire time, stared back at him now with overflowing concern. 

Sirius frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry, pup. I’d give just about anything to be there for you right now. I ought to have a strong word with Ron–” 

“Sirius,” Remus chided gently. “Ron will come around, Harry, I’m sure of it. I’ve seen how close the two of you are, and believe me, friendships always come with their fair share of disagreements.” 

The sidelong glance he shot at Sirius after that told Harry he wasn’t just talking about his friendship with Ron. 

“Enough about that,” his godfather said then. “Harry, you have to know, Karkaroff was a Death Eater. He was in Azkaban with me but was released after naming names to the Ministry. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, and you need to keep an eye on the Durmstrang champion as well. I don’t doubt that Karkaroff has been teaching his students the Dark Arts for years.” 

“Do you think he put my name in the Goblet of Fire?” Harry asked, eyes wide. 

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Sirius replied gruffly. 

“We can’t know,” Remus said, ignoring Sirius’ scoff. “We just want you to keep your head down, but eyes peeled. The Death Eaters certainly seem to be a little more… active lately.” 

 Harry nodded seriously, mind reeling with the news of such a dangerous man walking around the same castle as Harry and his friends. Really, what was Dumbledore thinking? 

“About the dragons–” he began to ask, remembering the new problem he’d discovered tonight. As soon as he started, however, footsteps sounded from the spiral staircase behind him, and he waved a hand at the fireplace hastily. “Someone’s coming! Go, go!” 

The two faces disappeared just as Ron stepped into the common room. The anger bubbling up inside Harry at being interrupted increased ten-fold. He stood quickly, glaring at his (ex)best-friend with arms crossed. 

“Who were you talking to?” Ron asked, peering around the room. 

“What’s it to you?” Harry retorted. “Besides, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“Right,” the other boy scoffed, deciding they were alone. “I’m sure you were just practising for your next interview with the newspaper.” 

In a burst of fury, Harry picked up one of the papers littered on the table beside him, scrunched it in his hand and lobbed it right at Ron’s head. “Thanks for telling me your brother was here with a bunch of dragons , by the way. Real helpful, that was,” he said sarcastically, before marching past the boy and heading up to the dormitory. 

Ron didn’t follow him for a long while, and Harry fell asleep before he could hear if he ever returned to bed. 

• • •

On Monday, Harry managed to corner Cedric to tell him about the impending task involving dragons. The older boy stared at him with more confusion than Harry thought was really necessary, but the brief conversation was interrupted when Professor Moody showed up to invite Harry to his office. Before he could move to follow the professor, however, he was disrupted for the second time that morning. 

“Potter! Not skiving off Herbology class, are you?” Malfoy’s voice called out from a short way down the corridor where the blond stood alone. “Being Dumbledore’s pet can only get you so far, you know.” 

“Sorry Professor,” Harry said, turning back to Moody who was eyeing his other student contemptuously. “He’s right, I really ought to be getting to Herbology.” 

If Moody picked up on the completely unapologetic tone in Harry’s voice, he didn’t say so. Instead, he just grunted and continued on his way in the opposite direction. Harry watched him go for a moment, before turning to catch up with the Slytherin still waiting at the end of the corridor. 

“What was that for?” Harry asked as he fell into step beside the blond and they began the journey to the castle’s ground floor. He didn’t miss the glances Malfoy kept shooting around them, likely watching out for any students who might wonder why the school’s most talked-about rivals were walking to class together. 

“Didn’t you hear me, Scarhead? Your golden boy status might allow you time off of class, but that won’t make up for missing any learning your dim brain could definitely use,” Malfoy replied, sounding somewhat exasperated. 

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that rubbish. You’ve never given a toss about me getting in any learning before.” 

Malfoy scoffed, but didn’t answer. Harry tried to ignore the fact that glaring at the taller boy forced him to lean his head back so that he could actually see his face properly. Not for the first time, he cursed his aunt for the restrictive diet she’d forced onto him throughout his childhood. Surely he shouldn’t be this embarrassingly short in the middle of his teenage years. 

“I thought you’d changed your mind about our talks,” Harry admitted a moment later to fill the silence. “The badges were a pretty obvious indicator.” 

“We don’t have ‘talks’, Potter. You run your mouth and pester me with stupid questions whilst I ignore you–” 

“They’re ‘talks’, Malfoy–” 

“ Besides ,” he cut Harry off with a glare. “These badges have been my greatest accomplishment yet. Do you know how much finicky spell-work went into them? No, you wouldn’t of course, you’re hardly at my level.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Alright, if you’re so smart then answer me this. If you were faced with an angry dragon and told to get past it all on your own, what would you do? Hypothetical question, of course.” 

The look Malfoy aimed at him led Harry to believe the blond was likely extremely concerned for his sanity. “You’ve truly lost it, haven’t you, Potter?” 

“Just answer the question, Malfoy.” 

“Well it just depends what I have to work with, doesn’t it? Do I have my wand? Do I have a broomstick? That’s the first thing I’d be thinking, really. Why get past the dragon when I could just fly right out of there?” Harry was too stunned at the unexpected rambling to reply, although he figured the questions were rhetorical. “Most dragons aren’t too quick in the air, you know, despite how large their wings can get. Too heavy, aren’t they? I suppose if I have to bring it down there’d be a number of useful spells. Stunning surely wouldn’t do any good. Unless I could find a way to distract it, then manage to hit one of it’s weak spots… Why’re you asking me this, Potter?” 

Harry blinked. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever heard Malfoy speak that much without throwing in at least a handful of biting insults. And the boy looked downright enthusiastic about figuring it out, too. Harry didn’t know quite what to say. 

“Erm… no reason,” he replied lamely, and Malfoy scowled, pointedly turning his head away from Harry to glare at the staircase before them. 

“You are beyond irritating,” was the last thing he said, before picking up his pace and leaving Harry to fall behind as he marched down to the Entrance Hall. Harry stared after him in stunned silence, before realising moments later that he really ought to speed up as well if he wanted to make it to Herbology on time. 

• • •

“Hermione,” he said, facing his friend as they ate lunch later that day. “How far do you reckon a broomstick can be summoned?” 

She paused with her fork half-way to her mouth and fixed him with a bemused look. “Come again?” 

“How likely do you think I’d be able to summon my Firebolt from the dormitory to wherever the first task is being held in the middle of the event?” he whispered, leaning in to ensure any nearby students wouldn’t be able to listen in. 

“You’ve gone mad,” Hermione hissed back, dropping her fork back to her plate. “You couldn’t summon your food to your mouth if you tried right now.” 

“Cheers for that vote of confidence,” Harry grumbled, and Hermione smacked the back of his head. “Ow! Hermione!” 

She ignored him, instead climbing to her feet and hooking her hand around his arm to haul him up from the bench. “We’re starting practice right now , you daft, daft, idiot. How you manage to pass any of your subjects, I have no idea…” 

She muttered beneath her breath about Harry’s utter idiocy all the way to the nearest empty classroom, where she promptly took to setting up various objects on one side of the room and perching on the desk beside them. Harry practised the Summoning Charm for the rest of lunch, all through his next classes, and immediately after dinner that evening. The two of them ended up going to sleep sometime after two o’clock in the morning, and by then Harry had mastered the Summoning Charm as much as he possibly could. 

By the time morning came, Harry thought he might be sick with anxiety. He paid little-to-no attention to his morning classes, and before he knew it he was being rushed to the school grounds to prepare for the first task. Inside the champions’ tent, Ludo Bagman explained to them the task ahead and offered each of them a small pouch from which four miniature versions of the dragons Harry had seen in the enclosure the other night. Harry, who’d always had a bit of a fascination with reptiles, might have considered his tiny Hungarian Horntail somewhat cute if he wasn’t too preoccupied with trying not to barf up his breakfast. 

Cedric left to face his dragon first, then Fleur and Krum were next to follow. Once Harry’s time waiting was up, he barely noticed his feet carrying him out of the tent and to the enclosure where his dragon awaited him. He didn’t waste time summoning his Firebolt, leaping onto the room the moment it was in his grasp and shooting into the air out of the Horntail’s reach. He felt every pair of eyes on him as he dived and weaved, tempting the dragon away from her nest. When Harry swooped over the green and silver section of the stands, he risked glancing down in search of Malfoy and found him staring up with poorly-concealed surprise. He felt a little ridiculous when he winked, and certainly regretted becoming distracted a moment later when flames grazed his arm. 

When the Horntail finally spread her wings, Harry didn’t waste time diving to collect the golden egg from beneath her and rose again to thundering applause from the surrounding stands. He was hurried over to Madam Pomfrey’s first aid tent moments later to soothe the burn across his bicep and the stinging gash over his other shoulder. When she stepped away to check on Cedric behind his set of curtains, Harry didn’t expect to see the visitor waiting at the tent’s entrance, arms crossed and head tilted ever-so-slightly. 

“Come to check up on me, have you?” he asked, only partly sarcastic. He really couldn’t see any other reason why the blond would be here, after all. 

Malfoy’s lips dipped slightly to a frown as his gaze considered Harry’s injuries. “That was perhaps the most idiotic move you’ve managed to pull yet, Potter. And, believe me, I heard about you trying to fight a basilisk by yourself in second year–”

“Trying and succeeding , mind you–” 

“If I had known your so-called ‘hypothetical question’ the other day was not so hypothetical, I wouldn’t have suggested a bloody broomstick ,” the other boy huffed, and Harry got the distinct impression that he wanted to throw his hands in the air in dramatic exasperation. “You can speak parseltongue, for Salazar’s sake.”

“Parseltongue works on dragons?” Harry asked, intrigued. No one had told him that. 

Malfoy scoffed. “Maybe if you picked up a book once or twice in your life, Potter, you’d know that yes, dragons can understand parseltongue, but no parselmouths cannot understand them. A broomstick. Honestly. ” 

“Well… It worked, didn’t it?” he shrugged, then winced as pain spiked down both of his arms. No shrugging , he reminded himself. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you ask me?” 

Two could play at that game. “Why’d you answer?” 

Seconds turned to minutes as they stared at each other across the tent, both daring the other to give an honest response. The opportunity was lost, however, when Madame Pomfrey bustled through the curtain separating the tent’s second room, and Malfoy disappeared before she’d even noticed him standing by the flap. Ron and Hermione entered a second later as Madame Pomfrey inspected his arms. 

“Was Malfoy just in here?” was the first thing from Ron’s mouth, and Harry almost couldn’t stop himself from snapping back about it being none of his business. 

“No,” he said instead, glaring at the taller boy. “You must be imagining things, as usual.” 

Ron shifted awkwardly on his feet, staring down at his scuffed trainers for a moment before looking up again to meet Harry’s gaze. “Look, Harry. Whoever put your name in that goblet has got it in for you–” 

“You think?” 

“Mate, I’m sorry. I’ve been a a right git lately. I want to help figure this out, really,” Ron continued, ignoring Harry’s sarcastic bite and watching him earnestly. Harry didn’t know what to think about the apology, but he knew what his answer would be no matter how long he had to think on it. 

“It’s okay,” he replied simply. “Forget it.” 

Hermione huffed and threw her arms up, her expression so similar to Malfoy’s only minutes ago it almost startled a laugh from Harry before he caught himself. Ron described the other three champions’ performances to him as they left the tent to find out the judges’ marks. He finished with a total score of 40, putting him tied in first place with Krum, which was better than Harry could have ever expected. 

When the three of them returned to the Gryffindor common room after visiting the school owlery so that Harry could send a letter to Sirius with a run-down of the tournament task, it was to an explosion of cheers. It looked as though Fred and George had raided the Hogwarts kitchen entirely with the amount of food covering pulled-together desks, and someone had ordered a crate of butterbeers from Hogsmead. 

Half-way through the party, Harry’s housemates began insisting he open the golden egg he’d procured from the dragon during the task. When he eventually gave in and unscrewed the top, the gold shell fell open and the room immediately filled with a horrible screech that had everyone reaching to cover their ears. Harry quickly shut the thing before the noise could cause any permanent damage. 

When he eventually made his way upstairs to the dormitory, he wrapped the egg in an old shirt and stuffed it into his trunk with plans to ignore its existence for at least a month. He dug the miniature Horntail from his pocket and set it on his bedside table as he got ready for bed, watching as it set a small patch of the wood alight then put the flames out by curling up atop the warm nest to sleep. 

Chapter Text

The end of term came quickly after that, now that Harry wasn’t dreading the first task and he had Ron back at his side. After Hermione discovered the kitchen hidden beneath the Great Hall, Harry made a habit of visiting Dobby and Winky and the rest of the over-eager house-elves at least once a day to be stuffed with an abundance of pastries and biscuits. He split the rest of his time between friendly matches of Quidditch with the Weasley siblings and lazing in the Gryffindor common room with games of chess and exploding snap for entertainment. 

The only thing that seemed out of place from every other year was that Harry and Malfoy seemed to be seeking out each other’s company more and more frequently. Whenever Ron and Hermione seemed preoccupied, Harry slipped away to the now-familiar courtyard to sit on one end of the stone bench whilst Malfoy read beside him. They didn’t always talk, in fact Harry found the majority of their time was spent in silence, but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind. It was comfortable, he supposed, and it gave him time to write letters to Sirius or practice new spells he’d been wanting to try or, on the rare occasion, complete some of his holiday homework. 

On the days Harry felt like the silence was a little too stifling, he took to rambling aloud as Malfoy pretended to ignore him. ‘Pretended’, because as much as he tried, the blond couldn’t hide the quirk of his lips at a particularly amusing statement or the barest roll of his eyes when, more often than not, he thought Harry had said something ridiculous. Occasionally, Harry brought up a topic interesting enough to pull Malfoy’s gaze away from his book and tempt him into providing his own opinion. Harry couldn’t help the flicker of pride every time this happened. 

Harry had become so used to this way of things that it took him by surprise when he strode into the courtyard one evening to find Malfoy perched in his usual spot, head out of his book for once and gaze clearly searching his surroundings for something– or someone. When he spotted Harry, a smug grin spread quickly across his face, and Harry’s eyes narrowed curiously at the expression. 

“Alright, spill,” he said when he’d taken his usual spot on the other end of the stone bench. Malfoy swung one of his long legs over the bench to straddle it and face Harry. It was probably the most excited Harry had seen the other boy in weeks. 

“You won’t believe what Fleur just told me,” Malfoy started, hands propped on the closed book in front of him. Harry wouldn’t admit that the sight was a little endearing. 

“I might if you tell me,” he answered, raising an eyebrow. 

Malfoy’s grin broadened. “Apparently Weasley tried asking her to the Yule Ball. ” 

“I hope you don’t mean Ron,” Harry said, eyes widening. He already knew the answer before he heard it. 

Malfoy leaned back a little, hands still splayed over the book between his thighs as he laughed. Like, actually laughed . Harry was caught off guard by the sight. Malfoy’s eyes squeezed shut as his mouth dropped open to elicit perhaps the most delightful sound Harry thought he’d ever heard from the boy. A small part of him wished the reaction had been his doing, rather than that of his unwitting friend. 

“She–” Malfoy tried before breaking off into another peel of laughter. It took a couple more moments for him to calm down enough to explain. “She was talking to Diggory, and– and out of nowhere, Weasley just steps up to her and asks her to the ball. He didn’t even wait for an answer, just spun around a second later and legged it out of there.” 

“I don’t blame him,” Harry huffed, attempting to defend his best friend at least somewhat. “Fleur can be intimidating! And she’s part Veela, that must’ve been why he tried asking in the first place.” 

Malfoy groaned. “Stop ruining my fun, Potter. Salazar, I wish I could have been there. Imagine the look on his face! His skin surely would’ve matched his hair!” 

“Careful,” he warned, and the blond rolled his eyes. “You’re right though, it would have been a little funny. What did Fleur say about it?” 

“She’s more than used to it by now. I’m sure at least half of the boys in this castle have tried asking her.” 

“Has she got a partner already?” 

Malfoy didn’t answer immediately, giving Harry the look that told him he was being an idiot. Harry couldn’t begin to guess why he deserved that particular expression at the moment, so he shrugged and the other boy sighed. 

“We’ll be going together.” 

“Oh.” Harry blinked, frowning. “I thought you might be taking Parkinson.” 

Malfoy considered him, head cocked to one side. “And why is that?” 

He shrugged, heat pooling at his cheeks from embarrassment, although he had no clue what of. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Aren’t you two… like…” 

“You Gryffindors and your assumptions,” Malfoy drawled, eyes glinting with amusement. “Pansy and I have been close friends since before we could talk, but never anything more. If Fleur weren’t here, I likely would have taken Pansy, but alas…” 

“And Fleur didn’t want to take someone she liked?” 

“Fleur had to leave her girlfriend back at Beauxbatons and she’s not particularly fond of disloyalty.” 

“Oh,” Harry replied, nodding as if this made sense. Malfoy’s words registered a moment later. “ Oh! She’s…” 

“Not at all interested in boys, yes,” Malfoy finished for him slowly, speaking as though Harry was a toddler. 

He glared, crossing his arms. “No need to be patronising.” 

Malfoy ignored him. “Inconvenient when her lineage ensures men will immediately become besotted if they manage to step too close.” 

“Is it okay that I know this?” Harry asked, a little surprised Malfoy had told him to begin with. 

The other boy nodded, gaze trained on his own fingers as they traced the cursive lettering across the cover of his book. “I’m not one for outing others, Potter. She told me it would be okay.” 

“But…” He stared at the top of Malfoy’s head. “That implies that you asked her if you could tell me.” 

Malfoy didn’t respond, instead finding the bookmark half-way through his novel and flipping the page open. Harry sighed as the blond began to read. Stubborn git , he thought bitterly. He was beyond curious to know if Fleur and Malfoy talked about him often, and what they might say. He felt his cheeks warm at the fluttery feeling in his chest when he considered the idea, but put it down to the thrill of having a new friend. Or… sort-of friend. Harry wasn’t completely sure where they stood in that regard, beyond knowing that they definitely couldn’t be rivals anymore. 

“I still haven’t found a partner,” he said after several long minutes of silence. He already knew it was a stupid thing to say before Malfoy gave him his ‘idiot’ look. 

“Surely it shouldn’t be difficult for Gryffindor’s Golden Boy to find a date?” the boy replied sarcastically, eyes dropping back to his book. “I thought girls would be falling over themselves at the opportunity.” 

“I’ve been asked,” Harry rushed to defend himself, although he wasn’t sure why it mattered. “I just… haven’t said yes to anyone yet.” 

“I’m not sure what gave you the impression that I cared, Potter. Go whine to Granger if you’re fishing for pity.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, glaring at his trainers as he scuffed them against the grass below. “I’m not whining , I’m just making conversation. I don’t even know how I’d ask if I wanted to. Girls are so difficult.” 

Malfoy hummed. 

“Thanks,” he drawled in an attempt to mimic Malfoy’s usual tone. “You’ve been beyond helpful.” 

“Oh, Potty. Is it true what they say? Is it really utter bliss to be so ignorant?” 

“Not when you keep reminding me of it. How am I meant to know what you’re on about if you don’t tell me?” Harry huffed, aggravated. Why must Malfoy always be so irritatingly vague? 

“Because that would be much too easy,” the blond replied, looking up again to smirk at Harry’s bemusement. “And you should know by now that I’m not in the habit of making things easy for you, Potter.” 

“Prat,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He left the courtyard without saying goodbye, and wasn’t sure if he was imagining the feel of Malfoy’s stare on the back of his head. 

Later that evening in the Gryffindor common room, he was told again about Ron’s incident with Fleur and pretended it was the first he was hearing of it. When Parvati Patil asked him to the Yule Ball ten minutes later, he accepted, if only to get the image of Malfoy and his stupid exasperated look out of his head. 

• • •

“Potter,” Malfoy addressed him for the first time that afternoon as the two of them sat in their deserted courtyard once again. Harry was in the middle of writing a letter to his godfather to complain about the Yule Ball coming up in only a few nights and the fact that he still had no clue how to dance at the stupid thing. 

“Mm?” he prompted when Malfoy didn’t continue immediately. 

“What do you know about Yule?” the boy eventually asked, watching him carefully. 

Harry stared back, confused. “Er… is it another term for Christmas?” 

“Salazar help you,” Malfoy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Do you ever actually listen in History? We’ve learnt all about it.” He sounded much too similar to Hermione for Harry’s liking. 

“You’re telling me you can listen to that ghost without falling asleep within minutes?” he retorted, slightly embarrassed at being called out. 

“It’s called reading , Scarhead.” 

Harry scowled. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, I’d rather go back to not talking.” 

“Yule is not another term for Christmas, idiot. Yule came first, and it’s still greatly celebrated by most pureblood wizards. The Earth experiences its longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice, and Yule celebrates the rebirth of the sun.” Harry still wasn’t quite sure why he was being taught this, but he listened to every word with intrigue. “At Hogwarts students are taught to celebrate what we know as Christmas, likely Dumbledore’s attempt to accommodate muggle-born students. But many of the pureblood students, as well as some half-bloods who grew up celebrating, still partake in Yuletide if they’re not at home.” 

He paused then, as if waiting for Harry to say something. “Sorry… I, uh, I’m not too sure why you’re telling me this.” 

Malfoy sighed. “Today is the twenty-first, Potter. The Winter Solstice is tonight,” he said, as though this meant anything to Harry. 

“Right…” 

“Must I spell everything out for you?” Malfoy grumbled. “Students will be celebrating the Winter Solstice tonight, and the beginning of Yuletide. So.” 

“So…” 

“ So , Potter, we’ll be meeting in the transfiguration courtyard an hour after supper. Eat light, and talk the house-elves into giving you food to bring. I know you found a way into the kitchens.” 

He seemed to finish there, opening his book to continue reading as if the conversation had never occurred. Harry blinked at him for a few moments. 

“You’re inviting me to celebrate Yule with you?” he clarified, still staring wide-eyed at the other boy. “But– but I was raised by muggles. I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“I’m quite sure Longbottom has attended at least one of the years. Ask him,” Malfoy said shortly. 

Harry scoffed. “You’re insufferable.” 

• • •

Despite his reluctance, Harry did end up seeking out Neville before dinner to ask about that night’s celebrations. 

“I didn’t know you celebrated the Sabbats, Harry,” he said brightly when Harry first asked if he’d be attending. 

“The what?” Harry replied, already lost. Malfoy hadn’t mentioned ‘Sabbats’, had he? 

Neville gave him an amused look. “That’ll be a no, then. Who told you about the Yule celebrations?” 

“No one,” he panicked, too quickly to sound natural. “Uh, I overheard a group of students talking about it earlier and I was interested. Can you tell me about it?” 

“Sure,” Neville chirped, and Harry gratefully took the seat beside him and leant in eagerly. He was a little surprised when the other boy took out a blank piece of parchment and began drawing a circle divided by lines, scrawling details as he continued to talk. “First you need to know that there are eight Sabbats in the year – Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lughnasadh, and Mabon. The biggest celebrations, when all of us who still adhere to tradition gather together, are usually on Samhain, Yule, Beltane, and Litha. Smaller groups still tend to get together for the other four Sabbats, though.” 

Harry, who’d been silent throughout Neville’s explanation, now gazed down at the parchment before him in bewilderment. 

“That’s… actually pretty interesting. This is helpful, thanks,” he said, gesturing to the drawn circle. “So… if I were to join the Yule celebration tonight. What exactly would that entail?” 

“Well, I usually celebrate at home with Gran, but I’ve attended one at Hogwarts before. A whole bunch of us get together in the transfig. courtyard and have this huge bonfire. You might’ve heard of the Yule Log, but it’s a little tricky to have a log burning out in the courtyard for twelve days like traditional practice. One person from each of the four houses usually takes a log from the bonfire when we part for the night and keeps it in the common room fireplace. Others usually don’t notice since the house-elves keep the fires going most of the time, anyway.” 

Harry, who’d never noticed a student carrying in a burning log to place in the Gryffindor common room, nodded his agreement. 

“We all bring plenty of food, too. Parents usually send food with their gifts to bring, and lots of students take some from dinner. There’s eating and talking and dancing around the bonfire for an hour or so, basically. The teachers are lenient about curfew on Sabbats. After we’ve eaten, we usually cast a ritual circle to say some prayers. You don’t have to participate, but they’re a brilliant experience. You can just feel your magic grow and connect you to everyone else in the circle.” 

“Woah,” Harry expressed softly. He’d never heard anything like it. “Why doesn’t everyone celebrate? It sounds great.” 

“Usually, one needs to be invited,” Neville replied, giving Harry a knowing look. He blushed for absolutely no reason. 

“Whatever. Can I walk down with you after dinner?” 

“‘Course, Harry. Can’t wait.” 

• • •

When Harry and Neville left the Gryffindor common room later to make their way to the transfiguration courtyard, Harry noticed a number of other students taking the same route. He’d asked whether Ron celebrated Yule without mentioning the bonfire that night, but was informed that the Weasley family didn’t adhere to the traditions for the reason that the history of the celebrations were too closely aligned with ideas of pureblood supremacy and ‘muggle-bashing’. Harry chose not to mention his plans for the night. 

Him and Neville reached the courtyard after a detour to the kitchens to collect a number of dishes that Harry had requested earlier. The house-elves seemed to have doubled the amount of food he’d originally asked for, but Harry didn’t think anyone would complain. The courtyard, usually completely encompassed in the black of night, was transformed before Harry’s eyes. A large bonfire crackled in the centre of the grass lawn, flames casting light over the surrounding students and the many decorations that hang freely in the air. Harry saw mistletoe and pine branches and bundles of holly strung from invisible strings in the surrounding space. 

“Potter,” a familiar voice greeted, and Harry glanced around in search of its person. Malfoy stepped into his field of view a second later, gaze assessing the wrapped parcels of food piled in his arms. “Did you clear out the kitchen?” 

“You said to bring food,” Harry shrugged, trying to push some of the bundles into Malfoy’s arms, who frowned and shoved back. “Git.” 

“Er…” Neville wondered aloud from beside them, and Harry turned to catch his surprised expression. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention. Malfoy invited me,” he said cheekily, grinning as Neville’s eyes widened. “Maybe don’t tell our friends that yet, though.” He heard Malfoy scoff beneath his breath and looked back at the blond boy, who was staring right back. 

They were silent for a moment, and Harry took the time to glance down at Malfoy’s attire. At first glance, his robes appeared their usual black, but when the nearby fire sparked particularly bright, Harry realised that they were instead a deep bottle-green. The sleeve hems were wider than those on their school uniforms, billowing out over Malfoy’s hands and covering the sleeves of his black dress-shirt beneath. 

“You didn’t tell me we had to dress up,” he frowned as he met Malfoy’s gaze again. The other boy looked good , and Harry had turned up in a knobbly Weasley jumper! 

“Because you didn’t have to,” Malfoy shrugged, skimming Harry’s own attire before glancing away towards the bonfire. “I, however, would never turn down an opportunity to dress formally.” 

“You look nice,” Harry said before his brain could catch up to his mouth. He felt his cheeks flush and tried to blame it on the nearby fire. Neville made a sort-of squeak sound from beside him, and Malfoy glared for several moments before turning on his heel and striding away. 

“When did that become a thing?!” Neville exclaimed the moment the other boy was out of earshot. Harry frowned. 

“Er, I don’t really remember. We talk sometimes, that’s all. I did say that he seemed different this year.” 

Neville spluttered and almost dropped the food from his arms. “You asked us if we thought he seemed any different. You didn’t mention that you were… this .” 

“What’s ‘this’ supposed to mean?” 

“You know!” Neville huffed, cheeks growing pink. “A thing .” 

Harry took a few moments to understand what his friend was trying to say. “Wait– what ? No. Me and Malfoy? No, no way. We’re just friends. Sort of. Not even, really. We just sit together sometimes and talk occasionally. More like acquaintances. Why would you think that?” 

Neville stared at him and Harry stared right back. When the silence became a little awkward, Neville turned and took off after Malfoy towards the bonfire. Harry stood for another moment feeling immensely out of depth, then followed. Everyone seemed to appreciate the many bundles of food he’d brought with him as he spread dishes out on what appeared to be a makeshift log table. After fixing himself a full plate and picking up a butterbeer from the crate someone had brought along, he took a seat on one of the nearby logs and watched Malfoy chatter away to a couple of his Slytherin friends. As if he could feel Harry’s gaze on him– or, more likely, he was much too aware of Harry’s habits– he turned his head slightly a moment later and tilted it in Harry’s direction. Harry, for some nameless reason, couldn’t help but smile.

“You look a little pathetic sitting here by yourself, Potter,” Malfoy said when he’d eventually walked over to join Harry on the log. 

“Fairly certain it’s your responsibility to keep me entertained. You did invite me, after all,” Harry reasoned, frowning as he watched Malfoy pluck a potato wedge from his plate and bite into it unapologetically. “Get your own plate, Ferret.” 

Malfoy glared at him. “Do not call me that. I’m traumatised enough without you reminding me.” 

“My bad,” Harry drawled sarcastically. “Is now the right time to remind you that you call me ‘Scarhead’ in reference to the giant scar across half of my face as a result of Voldemort actually trying to kill me as a baby? Or is that not traumatising enough for your standards?” 

“Of course not. No need for dramatics, Potter,” Malfoy sniffed, and it startled an amused laugh from Harry. In the past, such a comment would’ve made his blood boil, but he’d recently come to appreciate the boy’s complete disregard for the eggshells that made up Harry’s disturbing history. 

They chatted for a long while as Harry finished his plate of food and Malfoy stole at least a quarter of its contents for himself. They earned more than a few curious looks from other students milling about the bonfire, but paid them no mind as they summoned a handful of mince tarts to their laps and devoured them within minutes. It was different talking to Malfoy when he didn’t have a book in his hands to distract him from conversation. Harry enjoyed it more than he cared to admit. 

When everyone seemed to have finished feasting, a couple of the older students called for them to gather in a large circle. Harry was reminded oddly of primary school, although these students managed to form a much neater circle than his peers as a child. A seventh-year student set five unlit candles around the circle as they organised themselves – two white and two black around the perimeters, and a larger gold candle in the centre. Harry refrained from asking Malfoy what their purpose was, and instead watched the older student take out her wand and glance around the group. 

“Let it be known that the Circle is about to be cast,” she said steadily as silence finally fell amongst the students. 

Harry noticed a small handful of students stepping away to watch the proceedings from outside the circle, but the rest held out their arms to link hands with each other. He jumped when something cool brushed his own hand, and looked down in alarm at Malfoy’s hand wrapping around his. He glanced back up, but Malfoy was looking straight ahead at the girl in the centre. Ignoring the uncomfortable knot in his stomach, he reached out to take Neville’s waiting hand on his other side, glad that he wasn’t stood next to complete strangers, at least. 

The girl in the middle– Harry inwardly regretted not knowing her name– began to walk the perimeter of the circle then, lighting the candles one-by-one with her wand as she spoke aloud. “I call upon the Guardians of the Light, protectors of life, to watch over the rites of this coven. Guide us through the dark hours on this longest night, until dawn births the promise of new life. So mote it be.” 

“ So mote it be,” the surrounding students chanted, and Harry shot a look at Malfoy that he hoped conveyed his dismay for not being informed of this particular part of the ritual. 

A moment later he felt as if he’d been submerged in a tub of cold water; immediately cleansed of any embarrassment or displeasure he might’ve felt just seconds ago. He gazed wide-eyed around the circle as a gust of wind that certainly hadn’t existed earlier weaved between the students, leaving them grinning in its wake. 

“I call upon the Guardians of the Dark, defenders of evil, to watch over the rites of this coven. Provide us strength and wisdom for the long night ahead, until dawn births the promise of new life. So mote it be.” 

Harry joined in this time when the group chanted back, “So mote it be .” The elated feeling he’d had a second ago was overcome by a crackling heat beginning in his chest and setting alight his body to the tips of his fingers and toes. The bonfire behind them roared louder briefly and the flickering flames from each of the candles grew in size for a moment. 

He felt the grin spread across his face before he could cause it; skin tingling with the surge of magic that had risen from his core. It felt wonderful . Harry had never felt so in-tune with his magic. It was as if it made up the entirety of him; ran through his veins and simmered beneath his skin, just waiting for Harry to direct it. He wondered why the whole school didn’t take part in these rituals if they felt this amazing. 

He looked back at the girl in the middle of the circle in time to see her lift her wand to finally light the gold candle standing in the grass at her feet. “As the earth grows colder, the winds blow faster, the fire dwindles smaller, and the rains fall harder, let the light of the sun find its way home, bringing life and warmth with it. The shadows will vanish, and life will continue. We ask for the power of the Light and the Dark to ignite our cores and strengthen our magic on this black night. So mote it be.” 

“So mote it be ,” the circle concluded, and the girl sent a spark above her head that broke into fragments, falling in a brief, shimmering dome of light over their heads. 

After several moments of complete silence, in which Harry bowed his head along with his peers, the girl began her walk around the circle’s perimeter once again, extinguishing the flames on each of the candles. 

“I thank the Guardians of the Light for their guidance, and the Guardians of the Dark for their strength. Let it be known that the Circle is now broken.” 

Harry dropped the hands on either side of him, rubbing the pads of his fingers together as if trying to kindle a flame. Noise returned as the students began to chatter, but Harry could only stare in wide-eyed awe as his magic actually sparked –  tendrils of vibrant orange threading between his fingers and curling at his palms. He laughed aloud, looking up to find Malfoy staring at him in surprise. 

“Your eyes,” he said quietly, and Harry blinked in confusion.

“What about them?” he asked, allowing his magic to settle back into his skin and the overwhelming warmth sink into the earth below his feet. 

“They’re… well, they were glowing,” Neville answered from his other side. 

Harry frowned, wishing he knew how to conjure a mirror right about now. “Because of my magic?” 

“Could you see your magic?” Malfoy asked then, tone curious as he studied Harry.

“Uh,” Harry replied unhelpfully. He shrugged, unsure how honestly he wanted to answer the question. The last time he discovered a supposedly rare magical ability of his, the school body accused him of petrifying muggleborns. 

“We should get back, it’s late,” Neville said, nodding towards the inside of the castle. 

It was then that Harry noticed the bonfire being extinguished; several still-flaming logs distributed via levitation charms amongst four students from different houses. His jumper wasn’t enough to keep out the cold chill anymore, so he agreed hurriedly. 

“I’ll catch up with you,” he told Neville, and the boy shrugged, walking ahead to the warm indoors. 

He turned to Malfoy, then, who was pulling his robes tighter around his middle and glaring grumpily at the charred stack of logs. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Harry said, giving the boy a small smile. It felt a little strange, thanking Malfoy, but he didn’t hate it. “Neville gave me a… um, a calendar thing? It has the dates of the eight sabbats. I might join the other celebrations that are held here at Hogwarts, too. If you don’t mind, of course.” 

“Why does it matter if I mind?” Malfoy huffed, one eyebrow raised. “Come if you like, Potter. You seemed to enjoy yourself.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “You become more of a prat when you’re cold.” 

Malfoy sniffed, turning away to start walking towards the edge of the courtyard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Whatever,” Harry laughed. “I’m serious though, thanks. Talk tomorrow, maybe?” 

“I trust you’ll make sure of that whether I want you to or not.” 

“Git.”

Chapter Text

Christmas Day consisted of gifts in the morning, a feast in the Great Hall for lunch, and a snowball fight in the afternoon before they began to get ready for the Yule Ball. He and Ron trudged back up to the dormitory an hour before they were supposed to meet their dates in the Great Hall. Harry showered quickly and dressed into part of his attire, then spent the next few minutes staring at the bottle-green dress robes that hung on the hook before him. 

“Having second thoughts?” Dean asked when he caught Harry’s hesitation. 

“Just realising something, s’all”. 

Realising they looked fairly similar to a set he knew belonged to a particular Slytherin. 

“Good something or bad something?” Seamus questioned, shrugging his black dress robes on and leaning over to fix his appearance in the mirror. “If it’s bad, keep it to yourself. Ron will be on it in an instant.” 

Harry shuddered. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ll stick to my own.” He glanced between the two other boys then, catching the appreciative glance Seamus threw at Dean as he adjusted his own deep-red robes. “Shouldn’t you two be doing, like, a reveal of some sorts?” 

His two roommates were to be attending the ball together, as the others had only found out the other day. Apparently they’d been going out officially for the last two months, and Harry had been too oblivious to notice. Now, it seemed incredibly obvious, and Harry wondered how he’d missed it in the first place. 

Dean laughed. “This isn’t a wedding, Harry.” 

“I don’t know,” Harry huffed, throwing his hands up then finally shuffling to his own dress robes. He already wore a white button-up beneath a black, fitted vest, and black trousers that wrapped a little too snugly around his thighs than he thought was absolutely necessary. 

“You should ask one of the girls to fix up that nest you call hair,” Seamus suggested, watching Harry with his arms crossed. 

That only reminded Harry of the little potion vial Malfoy had handed him a week or so ago, with explicit instructions to apply two generous dollops of the gel-like substance and massage it through his hair until satisfactory. Seamus and Dean had left the bathroom by the time Harry had retrieved the vial, and he took his time rubbing the gel into his hair until it resembled more of an ‘artfully tousled’ look than his usual untameable nest of curls. He liked it.  

Finally, he unhooked his robes and pulled them over his shoulders, arms almost swallowed whole by the billowy velvet sleeves. He fixed a bowtie beneath his collar that matched the colour of his robes, and left the bathroom to collect his waiting pair of black oxfords. When he thought he looked presentable enough, he left the dormitory to meet his friends down in the common room. 

Parvati stood at the base of the stairs, looking pretty in robes of pale pink with intricate golden accents decorating the trims. Her dark braid fell to her waist, gold threads interweaved between that matched the gold jewlery adorning her ears and wrist. She looked really very nice, Harry thought, then felt a little guilty at stealing her hand from someone who may have actually been interested. Then he felt worse when they met up with her twin sister, Padma, and Ron practically ignored her in place of searching the crowd for Hermione. 

“Oh, Merlin. Harry, hide me,” his friend whined, trying to duck behind Harry despite being a head taller. 

Harry looked around for the source of his embarrassment and spotted Fleur a second later, standing off to one side and wearing gorgeous silver-grey robes. He ignored his whimpering friend, glancing around for a sign of Malfoy, who was supposed to be accompanying the Beauxbatons girl. 

“Champions! Over here, please!” Professor McGonagall called before he could find the Slytherin. Frowning, he waved off Ron and Padma, then took Parvati’s arm and walked with her to where McGonagall stood just outside the doors to the Great Hall. 

They waited until the entrance hall had cleared of students, and Harry finally noticed Malfoy striding over to take Fleur’s arm. He looked, well, he… Harry’s brain scrambled for a suitable word to describe Malfoy’s appearance that wasn’t a synonym of ‘beautiful’. The Slytherin had chosen robes in a shade of blue so deep it was almost black, paired with a matching fitted vest adorned with delicate silver patterns over a white linen shirt and silk cravat tie. His white-blonde hair, which usually hung in two straight halves, had been fluffed up and brushed back. Harry was almost tempted to reach out and feel if it was as soft as it looked. 

“ Harry ,” Parvati hissed from beside him, and he startled out of his distracted state, blinking quickly as he realised the silver-grey eyes that he’d been admiring–  admiring? – were aimed directly at him. 

So was every other pair, he noticed belatedly with a glance around the group. Including those of Hermione, who stood beside Krum and gazed at him in concern. When did that happen? His friend looked absolutely beautiful in silk, periwinkle blue robes, brown hair combed back into a knot at the back of her head. How had he completely missed her entrance? 

He cleared his throat, realising they were still awaiting a response. “Sorry?” 

McGonagall’s lips pursed disapprovingly. “Stand in line, Mr Potter. We’re about to enter.” 

Cheeks warm with embarrassment, Harry shuffled into his assigned spot in the line beside Parvati. Unfortunately, this put him directly behind Malfoy, and he couldn’t seem to help staring at the sliver of pale skin on the back of the boy’s neck between the white collar and the roots of his hair. He barely noticed when they’d reached their table, and only came back into focus when Parvati tugged his sleeve to take his seat. 

“Something wrong, Potter?” Malfoy asked in a low murmur, picking up his menu from the table to read. Harry glared at him, pointedly ignoring the sharp angle of his jaw and the pale pink flush of his cheeks. It was normal to admit another boy looked attractive, wasn’t it? It was the same as everyone always going on about Cedric’s good looks. Right? 

“No,” he huffed, looking back to his own menu but not reading any of the words. 

Malfoy hummed, then said his order aloud to the silver plate before him and started up a conversation in French with Fleur as he dug into his meal. 

“This is rather impressive, don’t you think?” Parvati commented as her own meal appeared, and Harry realised he still hadn’t surveyed the options on the menu. 

He took up small talk with Parvati and some of the others at the table until they’d finished dinner and dessert. Then, Dumbledore was sweeping the tables to the sides of the hall and conjuring a stage at the front. The Weird Sisters, a popular band that Harry had heard play constantly on the radio, trooped onto the stage to take up their instruments amongst wild applause from the students. A moment later, Parvati was pulling at his arm to drag him to the newly cleared dance floor. 

“Try not to trip, Scarhead,” Malfoy taunted as he led Fleur past them, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

Slow music started up, and the champions and their partners began to dance. Harry tried valiantly to keep his focus on moving his own feet and twirling Parvati across the floor, but after several moments his gaze seemed to stray. He watched over Parvati’s shoulder as Malfoy expertly steered Fleur in circles, one hand gripping her waist as the other held her hand up beside them. Harry was briefly reminded of the feel of that hand in his own as they stood in the courtyard. He shook his head to rid himself of the image and Parvati gave him a confused look. 

He stopped paying attention to his steps eventually, pressing Parvati back slightly to take more of the lead, directing her in slow swirls and watching the room blur slightly as they spun. And yet he kept his eyes on Malfoy, imagining that he was steering the blond instead – his own hand warm against the dip of the boy’s waist, hidden beneath the folds of his robes. He blinked, finally registering his stream of thoughts as realisation sunk in. That was not normal to think. 

His gaze was still trained on the Slytherin when the song ended, and he thought he might have stopped breathing when grey eyes finally, finally , caught his own. They narrowed when Malfoy noticed Harry staring, then softened ever-so-slightly in a way that had Harry’s heart stuttering. This was absolutely not supposed to be happening, he thought, startled. 

The Weird Sisters had already started a faster song up on stage, and Harry barely registered the bodies crowding around him, jumping in time with the music. Padma had joined them at some point, and had stolen Parvati’s hands from his to swing between them as they danced. Harry watched as Fleur leaned in to say something in Malfoy’s ear, then dropped his hands and disappeared into the crowd of students. 

Malfoy then gradually made his way over to where Harry still stood, swerving slightly to avoid some of the wilder dancers before he eventually stopped in front of him. His head tilted, and Harry wanted to simultaneously cup his hand to the boy’s jaw and also knock himself out with his own fist. What was wrong with him? Why was he having these thoughts about Malfoy all of a sudden?! He shouldn’t want to reach out and intertwine his fingers with Malfoy’s, or drag him out of the Great Hall to find a hidden alcove for them to occupy for the rest of the evening. 

His breath caught as he noticed the boy was leaning in towards him, mind racing with a million different thoughts at once. “You’re supposed to dance , Potter,” Malfoy murmured then, lips close to Harry’s ear so that he could hear him over the pounding music. 

Malfoy leaned back again, eyebrow raised at Harry’s lack of response. He cleared his throat, cheeks burning. “Er, right. Yeah. Dancing.” 

“Merlin, who hit you with a Confundus ?” the blond drawled, rolling his eyes. All Harry could manage was a shrug, and he thought Malfoy looked almost amused. He stepped closer into Harry’s space, chest almost pressed against Harry’s own, and gazed down at him with poorly-concealed mirth. “So… dance .” 

Harry stumbled despite the gentleness of Malfoy’s push, almost falling into the students dancing behind him before Malfoy could catch his arms and tug him back into standing. He was dancing, Harry realised belatedly, staring down at Malfoy’s moving shoes then back up at his exasperated expression. He nudged him again, but kept hold of his arms this time, slowly tempting Harry into shuffling his feet in a sort-of dance. 

“We’ve finally found the one thing the Boy-Who-Lived can’t do,” Malfoy smirked, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to rise to the taunt. He felt like he had at Yule, when the Light had left him feeling elated and the Dark sent sparks skittering across his skin. He could hardly breathe. 

After two more songs had played, Malfoy took hold of one of Harry’s wrists to pull him through the crowd until they reached the drinks table. He poured each of them a glass-full of fruit punch, pushing one into Harry’s hand then leading him out of the hall. Harry followed him in silence, realising moments later that they were walking the familiar path to their courtyard. It was dark out, but Malfoy had stolen one of the lanterns from beside the doors of the Great Hall and set it on the bench between them as they sat. 

“Found your voice yet?” the Slytherin asked, and Harry tried to fight off the rising blush. He inwardly thanked whichever ancestor had given him his darker complexion. There was no way he would have gotten away with having pink cheeks all night. 

He hummed, staring down at his lap to avoid looking at the other boy. “Maybe.” 

“Shame. I was quite enjoying the silence for once,” Malfoy replied, although his tone didn’t sound serious. It wasn’t even funny, but Harry found himself huffing out a laugh anyway. 

“Prat,” he said, tone much too fond. 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Malfoy broke it. “I want to trade another truth.” 

“Okay,” Harry murmured, still staring at his feet. It was a lot easier to think clearly when he wasn’t looking at Malfoy with his blue dress robes and fluffy hair. 

“Months ago, when you first followed me here, you told me you were used to bruises,” the other boy started, and Harry flinched. Malfoy hesitated, likely cautious of Harry’s reaction, but continued a moment later. “Were you referring to the muggles you live with?” 

Harry took a long time to respond. He’d almost forgotten he had admitted that to the boy, and was unsure whether he regretted it now or not. It wasn’t something he’d talked about to anyone before. Ron and Hermione seemed to know at least a little bit – anyone who spent as much time around Harry as they did had to pick up on at least some of his tells. But they’d never asked. And he hadn’t had the chance to speak to Sirius about it yet. The idea of Draco Malfoy being the first person he might confide in was, well, scary . And yet… 

“Yes,” he breathed, and he thought the grass might set alight with how intense his stare had become. “My uncle, sometimes, when I was younger. My cousin more as we grew up.” 

Malfoy paused, then pushed on. “They keep food from you, too?” he said, and it didn’t quite sound like a question. “I see you take something from the table after breakfast each morning. And you’ve always been one of the smallest boys in our grade.” 

Harry huffed lightly, “Cheers.” It wasn’t a no. 

“Potter,” Malfoy sighed, and Harry looked up as if it were instinct. “Why did you tell me?” 

“I think…” he hesitated, “Anyone else would have made a bigger fuss, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to be pitied, or– or rescued , or whatever.” 

He loved his friends like nothing else, but admitting to them that his uncle sometimes beat him and that his aunt liked to starve him would be the equivalent of dropping a match into gasoline. His godfather would tear the Dursleys to pieces and his best friends would likely treat him like porcelain. 

Malfoy, though. 

Malfoy’s expression didn’t change as he studied Harry, pink lips pulled into a slight frown. And all Harry could seem to think about was leaning forward to close the space between them; fitting those lips to his own and drowning in the feeling. 

“You’re a mess, Potter,” the blond said eventually, and Harry simultaneously wanted to laugh and cry. You could say his emotions were a bit out-of-sort at the present moment. 

“Call me Harry,” he said immediately, then flushed at his own impulsiveness. “Please.” 

He hated that he smiled as Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“ Fine ,” he sighed, exasperated. “I suppose you can call me Draco, too– take that ridiculous expression off your face.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Draco ,” Harry said seriously, unable to help the grin at the boy’s responding ‘ugh’ . 

“It’s your turn, Harry ,” he said then, nose scrunching at the unfamiliar name. Harry thought, if he was alone in his dorm right now, he just might’ve squealed. Which, he decided, was a perfectly normal reaction to Malfoy (Draco?) saying his first name. 

“Actually,” he started, and M– Draco sighed. It would take some getting used to. “I get three.” 

“If you must, then.” 

Harry knew his expression was much too fond to be necessary. “You’re such a prat.” 

“Is there a reason you’re stalling, Pott– Harry?” 

He huffed. “Kind of. I want to ask about the Quidditch World Cup. Before you saw us coming towards you, you looked… well, angry. I want to know why.” 

“That was so long ago, how do you remember it?” 

“Who’s stalling now?” 

Draco took a long time to respond, and when he did it sounded unsure. “I was conflicted.” 

Harry waited. 

“I hadn’t…” he sighed. “I’ve grown up learning that wizards are superior to muggles. That we were smarter, stronger, more powerful. That muggles tainted our blood. And I always believed that. I still… well, it’s still difficult for me to see how muggles aren’t inferior. But simply believing wizards are better because we have magic is… a lot different from seeing our so-called gifts be used to cause suffering.” 

Harry inhaled sharply, ignoring the glare Draco shot his way. It was one thing seeing how the boy had changed that year through little things like no longer using ‘Mudblood’ or preaching about pureblood-supremacy in the corridors. But actually hearing Draco admit his doubts about his family’s values and actions was so much more. 

“I didn’t enjoy seeing that muggle family strung up in the air like I thought I should,” he continued. He didn’t say that either of his parents had been a part of the act, but Harry thought it was safe to assume. “It angered me. Everything I had been taught, everything I thought I knew and thought made sense, was being presented to me in a way I hadn’t even thought to consider. And it felt like only the start, which I hate to think.” 

“That makes sense,” Harry said quietly, trying not to sound too pleased. He wanted Draco to be able to talk through his thoughts and doubts without feeling guilted into saying things that would make Harry happy. Not that Draco ever cared too much about making him happy with his word choices, he thought with more amusement than resentment. 

He didn’t use his other two questions that evening, despite wanting to ask Draco about every single part of him and then some. He liked this vulnerable side to the other boy, and part of him just wanted to continue breaking down any walls still existing between them. But he knew they were both feeling a little too exposed for comfort, so for now he was content to sit in silence.

Chapter Text

Harry returned to his dormitory long past midnight after spending the rest of the Yule Ball in the courtyard with Draco, murmuring about everything and nothing until the other boy finally pushed Harry off their bench with a stern “Off to bed with you, Potter, you’re becoming delirious." Harry couldn’t hide the small across his lips as he snuck into the room with his shoes in one hand. His attempt at inconspicuousness was for naught, however, as the moment the door was shut behind him, each of the lamps beside his dormmates’ beds flickered on. He froze like a deer in headlights, trying and failing to resemble nonchalance as the four boys stared at him. 

“He finally returns,” Ron began, eyes narrowed at Harry suspiciously. “Where’ve you been, then?” 

“Walking,” he replied, too quick to be believable. 

Dean was grinning knowingly at him. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” 

“Walking right into a bird’s bed, more like,” Seamus added with a snigger. Harry could feel his cheeks warming. 

“No,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and moving to set his shoes at the end of his bed. “Just walking around the castle. The Hall got too warm.” 

“ Right ,” Ron drawled, scarily similar to Draco’s signature tone. Harry cringed at himself for immediately thinking of the other boy. “You disappeared after the first dance.” 

Neville raised an eyebrow. “Even I don’t believe that, Harry.” 

Ignoring them, Harry began to shrug off his dress robes and change into cotton pyjamas. He was already quite over this interrogation. 

“What’s her name, then?” Dean asked to Harry’s turned back. “Couldn’t have been Parvati, we saw her come in.” 

He sighed. “There’s no girl, guys. I really was just walking and lost track of time.” Before any of them could reply, he strode to the adjoining bathroom to use the toilet and brush his teeth. When he returned, it was only to collapse straight into his bed and pull the hangings around the sides in an explicit signal not to talk to him. 

It took a long time for sleep to come. His mind was buzzing with thoughts of Draco, of himself, of that night. He definitely found Draco fit earlier, that much was obvious. And the fluttering in his stomach every time the blond so much as glanced his way could only mean one thing. But Harry didn’t like boys. At least, he didn’t think he liked boys. He’d never looked at any of his dorm-mates for more than necessary, or had bloody heart palpitations anytime another guy brushed against him. 

He tried to think of boys that he thought could be considered attractive. Cedric Diggory, for one, was obviously handsome – anyone with two working eyes could see that. If he thought a little harder, he supposed his gaze had been snagged by the older student a couple of times that year, but he could blame that on Cedric being chosen as the true Hogwarts Champion. Obviously he’d be a little curious, right? 

And… the two older Weasley brothers were definitely pretty fit. He could admit that without it meaning he was attracted to them. Bill had that cool, alternative look going on. And he had to be smart if he was a curse-breaker at Gringotts. Charlie… well, he worked with dragons. Who wouldn’t admit that that was kind of attractive? Plus he was tan and freckled and got dimples in his cheeks when he grinned and– 

Okay, it would be understandable for anyone to have a crush on Charlie Weasley. 

But what if this was all just down to Harry not really having any male role-model in his life until last year? Uncle Dursley certainly didn’t count. Maybe that’s why Harry had taken particular interest in them, though. But then he tried to think about boys around his own age, and that theory quickly began to wilt. It was kind-of known amongst their year that Blaise Zabini was fit, in a mysterious Casanova-type way. He supposed Roger Malone, one of the Hufflepuffs in his year, was kind of nice-looking if you liked the flamboyant type. And, after some hesitance, he admitted Theodore Nott was fairly fit too, although in more of a soft, floppy hair kind-of-way. 

What are they putting in the Slytherins’ food? 

So, he found some boys attractive. He sighed, turning on his mattress and burying his face into the other side of his pillow. This wasn’t a bad thing, he reminded himself. Seamus and Dean obviously liked boys – they were dating, after all. And with the number of Weasley boys, one of them had to fancy men. Maybe he could ask Ron. But then that would mean explaining why he was asking. And… no. It didn’t take much thought to remember Dudley spitting in his face and calling him names that he’d taken from his father’s own name-calling. Harry was old enough to know that those names could only have negative connotations about gay people. 

Gay people , he repeated over and over in his head. Gay . Was he gay? He wasn’t sure. Girls could be very pretty, he thought. More than a couple times he’s definitely caught himself looking a little too long at a nice girl in class. And he’d reacted to the Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup earlier in the year, which Seamus had explained to him only happened to boys who were attracted to females. But… was it possible to fancy girls and boys? Or was he just making up this mess as a way to make his life even more difficult? He was so confused. 

Ron let out a particularly loud snore from the bed beside him, and Harry rolled over again, pulling his duvet up over his head. It only took a few moments for his thoughts to wander back to Draco. Draco , he smiled subconsciously, feeling giddy at referring to the boy by his first name finally. Predictably, the flutters started up again. No , he concluded, glaring beneath his covers at his stomach, I can’t be making this up . He fancied Draco Malfoy. And Draco Malfoy was a boy. He fancied a boy and that boy was Draco Malfoy. The thought ‘ Draco Potter ’ appeared unbidden in his mind, and he had to smack himself. He was getting way too ahead of himself. 

He spent the next hour thinking of Draco. Of running his hands through white-blond waves and brushing his thumbs over pale cheeks and leaning in to pull pink lips against his own. The racing of his heart was familiar now; the butterflies almost comfortable. Sleep came to him eventually, but the thoughts of Draco had no trouble consuming his dreams as well. 

• • •

“Harry,” a whisper caught his attention as he entered the Gryffindor common room a few evenings later. There were a number of decorations up already in preparation for the New Years celebration that was to occur that night. He glanced around to locate the voice, and found George standing to one side watching him. 

“What’s up?” Harry asked, walking over to the older boy. 

George didn’t reply immediately, instead leading him to two armchairs in one of the common room corners and throwing up a silencing charm to surround them. Harry raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what conversation might warrant such secrecy. 

“Is everything alright?” he questioned further, watching George cross his arms and lean back in his chair to survey him. 

“Feel free to tell me to fuck off after I ask this, but I’d appreciate if you tried to listen at least a little,” George started, and Harry’s bemusement only grew. “Are you going out with Malfoy?” 

Harry was suddenly very grateful for the silencing charm. “What?!” 

George waited patiently. 

“What the hell?! Why would you think that? Me and– me and Malfoy? I don’t even like boys. Let alone Draco Malfoy! What are you even thinking–?” 

“Your dramatics are only solidifying my theory,” George warned, looking amused. Harry’s jaw snapped shut so fast it almost hurt. “I’ll give you a moment to think, then you can try answering again.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the older boy. He couldn’t quite tell what answer George wanted to hear. The obvious answer was no, of course. But… did he admit that he wouldn't mind the idea? Maybe George would just accept a simple ‘no’? Somehow, he doubted it. 

“No, I’m not,” he sighed after a somewhat-awkward stretch of silence. “We’re kind-of friends.” 

“Alright,” George nodded, and Harry began to feel hopeful. “Do you want to be more than friends?” 

He scowled. 

“Why are you asking?” he questioned, and both of them were aware that it wasn’t a ‘no’. 

“I noticed the two of you dancing together at the ball,” George admitted, and Harry began to panic. “Before you freak out, I don’t think many people noticed. Not anyone that matters, at least. And you could get away with just dancing near each other, but luckily for me, I paid a little closer attention.” 

Harry groaned, avoiding George’s gaze to stare down at his shoes. He’d only come to terms with the fact that he might fancy Draco a few days ago, for Merlin’s sake. He wasn’t ready to be interrogated about it. 

“I don’t think you know this, but I’m gay,” the other boy said then, and Harry couldn’t help but look up in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Which is probably why I had an easier time picking up on your… interest in our favourite Slytherin. And it wasn’t just at the ball. You asked a few months ago if any of us thought he seemed any different this year – that’s when I first noticed. Have you realised that you spend an abnormal amount of time staring at your so-called rival?” 

“Merlin. Can I still tell you to fuck off?” Harry asked, only half-sarcastic, flushed face hidden in his hands. 

George smirked knowingly. “Is that a ‘yes’, then?” 

“If I say ‘yes’ will you shut up?” he asked, voice muffled by his palms. The other boy chuckled, and Harry almost hated it. 

“Maybe. When did you figure it out?” 

Harry didn’t answer for a long moment, then sighed finally. “At the Yule Ball.” 

“He your first crush?” George asked then, and Harry appreciated that he wasn’t making a big fuss of it. Like this was a completely normal talk between two friends about a harmless attraction to a classmate. 

He nodded slowly. “First proper one… I think. I don’t know. I’m not gay.” 

“But you think boys are fit?” 

“Um…” he hesitated. “Some, I guess. But I think some girls are fit too. So I can’t be gay, right?” 

George’s expression was amused. “Sexuality isn’t as black and white as you may think, Harry. You can like both, you can like neither, it doesn’t matter. Maybe you’re bisexual.” 

“What?” 

“Bisexual,” the other boy repeated. “It means you like boys and girls. Does that sound right?” 

Harry thought about it for a few moments. I’m bisexual , he tried, and it didn’t feel as unfamiliar as saying ‘gay’. Bisexual. I’m bisexual. I fancy girls and boys. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so.” 

George grinned. “Atta boy. Charlie’s bi, too. You know, my brother?” 

“Oh,” Harry replied, eyebrows raised. Of course he knows . “Cool.” 

“Yeah. So if you have questions or anything, you can come find me. No pressure, though.” 

“Wait so… you’re not mad?” he asked, and George looked confused. “Draco’s been a prat to your family for years. And now you’re finding out I kind-of fancy him…” 

George laughed aloud at that, and it was Harry’s turn to feel lost. “Malfoy’s a pretentious git, but he’s all bark and no bite. And he hasn’t really said too much to us this year, probably because he’s been too busy befriending the Boy Who Lived, eh?” 

Harry flushed, glancing away. “Whatever.” 

“I trust your judgement, Harry. If you fancy him, I’m sure he’s not so bad. Plus, I can see objectively why you find him pretty."

“I don’t find him pretty ,” Harry grumbled, then realised that was an utter lie. George nodded, smirking all the while. 

“Sure you don’t. I’d tell you to invite him to the party tonight, but I don’t think the rest of your trio is even aware of your new friend, am I right?” 

Harry shook his head, panic settling in his chest at the mere idea of telling his best friends about Draco. 

“Ah well, maybe next time. Speaking of, they’re walking over here now,” George said, getting to his feet and subtly removing the silencing charm. “Remember what I said about coming to me, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded gratefully. “Thanks, George.” 

The older boy saluted him cheerfully before disappearing up the staircase to the boys’ dormitories. Ron and Hermione reached him then, eyeing him curiously. 

“What was that about?” Ron asked as Hermione took the newly-vacant armchair and took out her homework. 

“Some new idea for a prank,” Harry shrugged before changing the topic. 

• • •

“Really, Harry, have you never bothered to pick up a book in your life?” a familiar drawl interrupted Harry’s muddled thoughts, and he tilted his head back against the bark of the tree to peer up at the blond boy lazily making his way towards him. He’d been sitting by the Great Lake for an hour or so by now, opening and closing his golden egg to try to figure out a clue. He wasn’t having much luck. 

“Yes, actually, but likely not the one you’re about to refer to. Care to share?” Harry asked back, narrowing his eyes and raising a brow in a way that he hoped appeared daring. The glare of the sun in his eyes made it irritatingly difficult. 

Black, leather Oxfords stopped an arm’s length from Harry’s own crossed legs, and he squinted up at the white-blonde hair gleaming in the sun’s rays. Draco frowned, gaze searching as Harry awaited his response. After a long stretch of silence, he eventually said, “Come,” and turned on his heel to stride towards the Great Lake. 

Confused, Harry watched him walk away for a moment, before registering what Draco had said and jumping to his feet, golden egg clutched in his arms. He caught up to the other boy in hastened steps, thoughts falling over themselves trying to understand why exactly they were walking to the lake’s shore. When they reached the water’s edge, they both knelt on the white sand and Draco held out a hand, nodding to the egg in Harry’s arms. 

“What are you going to do with it?” Harry asked suspiciously. 

Draco's gaze quickly turned to an impatient glare, and Harry begrudgingly handed the egg over with a sigh. He watched, bemused, as Draco twisted the top of the egg as Harry had done many times before, releasing the horrible screech before promptly dropping the open egg into the lake.

He gaped. “What–?” 

His words melted to a shocked gasp as fingers then grasped the hair at the back of his head, forcing him to bend so that his face was unceremoniously plunged into the water. He thrashed for a moment, trying to pull Draco’s hands off him without success, before he suddenly noticed the singing. 

He stilled, helplessly blinking water from his eyes to focus on the blurry, golden glow amongst the sand beneath him. The singing continued, and he slowly realised that it was coming from the egg that Draco had dropped a moment ago. He ran out of breath before he could pay any attention to any of the lyrics, and the hand in his hair dragged him back out of the water so that he could catch it again. 

“How– what?” he asked between breathless gulps. 

Draco watched him blankly, unsympathetic despite his blatant attempt to practically drown him. 

“How’d you know?” he managed to put together once his breaths had evened out. 

“Have you got short-term memory loss?” Draco replied, rolling his eyes then getting to his feet and dusting sand from his robes. 

Harry opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, but Draco had turned and walked off towards the castle before he could even begin his sentence. Oh , he thought then, remembering how their short interaction had begun, a book . He was only a little surprised that Hermione hadn’t found any book with the same information. 

Deciding it didn’t really matter, and he honestly didn’t care, he faced the water again and took a deep breath before submerging his head a second time. He did this over and over until he was sure he had the entire song memorised, then closed the egg and wrapped it in his arms, quickly making his way back to his tree to write the words on a spare bit of parchment. 

When he reached the Gryffindor dormitory an hour later, he thought he had a fairly solid theory about the next task. Ron, Dean, and Seamus were in the middle of a game of Exploding Snap where they sat on the carpet before the fireplace, whilst Hermione was curled in an armchair to the side, gaze trained on a textbook in her lap. Harry strode over to the group, unable to help the pleased grin already growing across his face. 

“What’s got you so chuffed, Harry?” Neville asked from one of the small couches, and the others glanced up at his words. 

“Oh, I’ve only gone and figured out the second task,” he replied smugly, taking a seat next to Neville. 

“You’ve what?” Hermione asked sharply, immediately closing the textbook. “ How?”

“Never mind how,” Ron interrupted, and Harry was quietly grateful. “Tell us what it is! If it’s anything like the last task–” 

“I think I have an hour to search the Great Lake for something that’ll be taken from me.” 

The group was silent for a moment, but Hermione was quick to collect herself. “You what?” 

“Honestly, ‘Mione,” Ron sighed, exasperated. 

“Bloody hell, how’re you meant to be under there an hour?” Dean asked, and Harry shrugged in return.

“That’s the problem.” 

“Well, you could always try gillyweed?” Neville offered, and Harry gave him a blank look that he hoped conveyed how little he understood what he’d said. “Gillyweed. It’s this slimy plant that'll give a person gills and–” 

“Hold on, hold on,” Hermione interrupted, hands splayed in front of her. “What clue did the egg give you, exactly? How do you know all of this?” 

Harry handed her the parchment he’d scrawled the lyrics onto and she squinted at the messy handwriting. 

“I’m pretty sure the screeching is Mermish,” he explained. “When you open the egg under water, it becomes singing, instead. Those were the song’s lyrics, and the message is fairly obvious. ‘Come seek us where our voices sound’, the Great Lake, right? ‘We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss’, that speaks for itself really, something important will be taken to the lake. ‘An hour long you’ll have to look’, another given...” 

“‘But past an hour, the prospect’s black, too late it’s gone, it won’t come back’. That’s a little grim, don’t you think?” Ron commented, leaning over Hermione’s shoulder to read the parchment. 

“Surely they can’t take it forever?” Seamus asked, and Harry frowned. 

“I hadn’t really thought about that,” he said, but now that it was mentioned, it was somewhat concerning to consider. 

“Well, you’ve got yourself almost two months to prepare. I don’t reckon you’ve got anything to worry about,” Ron assured him, thumping him on the shoulder before settling back onto the carpet. 

“And we’ll be able to find gillyweed somewhere,” Neville added. Harry gave him a grateful smile, leaning back against the couch cushions comfortably. 

“But, Harry,” Hermione started, gaze narrowed at the side of his face. “How did you know to put the egg in the water?” 

“It just fell in while I was by the lake,” he lied, avoiding meeting her eyes. “Then I tripped trying to reach for it and fell in. Was pretty noticeable once the shrieking changed to singing.” 

It was an obvious fib, and Hermione continued to watch him suspiciously for the next few moments. Before she could say anything in response, however, the game of Exploding Snap finished with a loud cheer from Seamus, and Harry quickly slipped to the carpet to join in the next round. By the time they all left for bed, Hermione didn’t seem bothered to ask about it again.

Chapter Text

The arrival of the second task came much quicker than Harry expected. It was the night before the big event, and Harry was crouched in front of the common room fireplace, waiting for his godfather. Sirius (and Remus) had insisted on calling before the day to make sure he was prepared and not drowning in anxiety “because if you are I’ll be having a strong word to Albus about his pattern of apparent disregard for your health and safety”. It was ridiculous how warm his heart had felt when he first read Sirius’ words. 

“Harry!” his godfather greeted with a beam as his face appeared in the orange flames. He leant out of sight a second later. “Moony! Get that tail down here this minute or you’re not seeing your godson–” 

“Always a pleasure, Padfoot,” Harry laughed and the man reappeared. 

He winked. “How’re you, pup? Ron still keeping his place?” 

“Friends don’t have ‘places’, Sirius,” Harry huffed, amused. Then, “Hi, Remus,” when a second face showed up beside his godfather. 

“Can you believe this, Moons?” Sirius gasped dramatically, turning to Remus, who already looked exasperated. “A Potter who doesn’t think he’s the main character. Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“I think you take up enough of the role as it is, love,” Remus replied, tone fond even as he rolled his eyes. Harry blinked, then replayed the utterance in his head and blinked again. 

“Wait–” 

“Harry–” 

Harry paused. “Sorry, you go–” 

“No, no, go ahead,” Sirius said, shaking his head. Remus’ lips twitched in what Harry guessed was amusement. 

“I just– well– Remus said… are you two…?” He trailed off, unsure exactly how he’d intended to ask this question in the first place. He’d wondered a few times before, actually, whether the two men were more than just best friends. But he’d always figured they’d tell him if they wanted to. 

“Yes, Harry,” Remus said, smiling. 

Sirius scoffed. “Clearly I haven’t been obvious enough.” 

“You might’ve been a little obvious,” Harry grinned, laughing as his godfather wiggled his eyebrows. “Actually, um, speaking of… that…” 

He waited for one of them to make him continue, but instead they both waited silently, expressions encouraging. Sirius tilted his head slightly to one side, and Harry almost blushed at the reminder of Draco. Come on, Harry, he urged himself internally, taking a deep breath. 

“So… I think that I, erm, well, that I… like… boys,” he stammered, staring at the carpet below his knees as if it were particularly interesting that night. 

“Oh, pup,” Sirius sighed affectionately, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice. 

“Thanks for telling us, Harry,” Remus added in his soft tone. Harry had never found it more comforting. “You can look at us, though. We’re the last people you should feel embarrassed in front of.” 

He looked back up to meet their gazes again, cheeks warm. “Sorry, um, I dunno why I was nervous to tell you. I’m… I’m not gay, though. I was told it’s called bisexuality? I like boys and girls.” 

Sirius cooed embarrassingly loud, and Harry’s blush deepened. “Moony, I’m going through, hold me back–” 

“Please don’t,” Remus sighed, but didn’t seem to make any move to follow the demand. 

“When did you figure it out? Does the rest of your lot know? Wait. Who’s the boy? There’s a boy, right? There’s got to be–” 

“Shh! ” Harry admonished, glancing back at the staircases to the dormitories in case someone was on their way to find the source of their noise. “I figured it out after the Yule Ball two months ago. Only George Weasley knows– you know, Ron’s brother? He’s gay, and I think he figured me out before I’d even realised–” 

“Wait a second. That weasel better not be–” 

 “No!” Harry interrupted hurriedly, face burning. “No, no. George is– no. He’s like an older brother. Honestly, Sirius–” 

“Well pardon me! ” 

Remus chuckled, and Harry couldn’t help but join in. He’d missed his godfather’s dramatics more than he’d care to admit. And now, they had the added bonus of reminding him fondly of a certain dramatic Slytherin, although this he definitely would never admit. 

“Who’s the boy, then?” Sirius asked after the other two had stopped laughing. 

“There’s no boy,” Harry huffed, and the men’s gazes were a little too knowing for Harry’s liking. “Okay, fine. There’s a boy. But I’m not telling you who, yet.” 

“You’re not embarrassed, are you?” Remus asked gently, and Harry shook his head. 

“No, no. It’s just… he’s… I don’t know if you’d approve, so much. He’s a little…” 

“Old?” Sirius guessed, and Harry’s eyes widened. His godfather frowned. “Young?” 

“Let him speak, Pads,” Remus chided lightly. 

“He’s in my year,” Harry assured hastily. “But he’s… um, er–” 

“A Slytherin?”  

Harry froze, unsure how to react. 

“Moony,” Sirius gasped, turning wide eyes to his partner. “Help. My own godson. Oh, the betrayal! How will I recover?” 

“How do you tolerate him?” Harry asked Remus, picking up on his godfather’s sarcasm immediately. 

Sirius gasped again. “Why, I never–” 

“You don’t need to tell us yet, cub,” Remus smiled, ignoring Sirius. “And if he is a Slytherin, don’t be worried about being judged. I don’t think we have it in us to judge you over anything, especially not who you might like.” 

“Thanks, really. Maybe another day.”

“I’ll get it out of you, don’t you worry, pup,” Sirius warned, and Harry rolled his eyes. “But we do have a tournament task to be discussing.” 

“I’m not nearly as nervous as I was for the first task,” Harry shrugged, picking at his nails. “We stole some gillyweed from the potions classroom, and it should let me breathe and swim easier underwater for the whole hour. The only thing I’m hung up on is the thing they’ll be taking from me. What do you think I’ll ‘sorely miss’?” 

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” Sirius nodded, expression thoughtful. “Any items you feel close to? Your broomstick? Hedwig, maybe? A friend?” 

Harry’s eyes widened at the last suggestion. “They wouldn’t take a person, would they? Pets too, they’re alive! They can’t be underwater for an hour.”

“You’re forgetting that magic can do just about anything, Harry,” Remus replied, and Harry frowned. He hadn’t even considered those options. 

“What if it is a person? I don’t like the idea of someone being hidden in the Great Lake, depending on me to come save them. What if it’s Ron? Or Hermione? Or D–” he stopped, nails digging into the skin on his thighs at the close call. 

Sirius’s eyebrows raised, but he didn’t comment on the misstep. “You’ll be fine, Harry. You always are. If they are referring to people, then they won’t allow any harm to come to them, whether you manage to reach your person or not.” 

Harry nodded.

“All we need you to focus on, Harry, is keeping yourself safe and getting to the end.” 

• • •

They had been right, of course, about Dumbledore hiding people that the champions would ‘sorely miss’ in the Great Lake the next day. Both Ron and Hermione had been missing from the watching crowd, so it didn’t come as much surprise when Harry found both of them floating unconscious at the bottom of the lake beside a student from Ravenclaw, Cho Chang, and… Draco. 

Harry stopped, treading water to keep himself afloat as he looked over the four bodies. He hadn’t even realised Draco had been missing from the surface too; the Slytherins had been the furthest from the diving platforms. But here he was, white-blonde hair splayed around his head like a halo, eyelids closed and expression completely serene. Harry had to shake his head to stop himself from thinking embarrassing words like pretty and beautiful and ethereal –  

Thankfully, he was distracted then by Cedric’s arrival. The boy had charmed a bubble around his head, it seemed, and he didn’t waste any time cutting Cho Chang loose and tugging her up towards the lake’s surface. This didn’t make Harry’s job any easier, he thought grimly. How was he meant to know which friend had been chosen as his hostage to rescue? He sighed, watching a stream of bubbles leave his mouth and disappear. 

Hermione had to be here for Krum. She’d been his partner to the Yule Ball, after all, and perhaps the older boy just didn’t have any good friends here with him. On a similar thought… Draco must be here for Fleur. They were cousins, and everyone knew they’d spent a frequent amount of time together since Beauxbatons’ arrival at Hogwarts. Besides, no one actually knew he and Harry were friends. Which meant Ron was Harry’s hostage to take. 

He pushed forwards finally, scrabbling at the sharp rocks on the lake’s floor before finding one strong enough to tear at the rope weighing Ron down. Once the boy was released, he hesitated again, looking back at his two other friends floating lifelessly in the still water. It didn’t feel right to leave them both while he returned to the surface. What if he was wrong about his hostage? What if one of the other champions didn’t make it in time? What if something went wrong? 

He remembered Sirius’ assurances from the night before and sighed again, tearing his gaze away from his friends and kicking his feet to power him upwards, one arm around Ron’s torso. He broke to the surface finally, gasping for air as the gills on his neck receded. Ron was spluttering beside him, the charm instantly broken, and the crowd of students on the shoreline had erupted into applause. They both kicked to the shore where Madam Pomfrey was wrapping thick towels around Cedric and Cho, and handing them small vials. 

The two of them were given the same treatment – swaddled in several warm towels and given a Pepperup Potion each. Moments later, Krum resurfaced from the black water with Hermione at his side, and Ron jumped up to help their friend to shore. She came over to give Harry a hug, already wearing one of Ron’s towels and being wrapped from behind in another. Harry gave her a small smile, grateful that she was okay, but couldn’t help but turn back to the lake, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip in worry. 

“Where’s Fleur?” he murmured to no one in particular. Cedric seemed to hear and turned to him. 

“She got caught by the grindylows, they dragged her out just before you. She’s been over in Madam Pomfrey’s tent.” 

Harry froze, staring back at the older boy. “What?” 

“She’s in the tent–” 

“What about her hostage?” he asked suddenly, eyes wide. “He’s still down there. What if something goes wrong? It’s bloody freezing down there! And what if the grindylows–” 

“Harry!” Hermione interrupted, somewhat confused. “It’ll be fine. The professors will have them– him?– out just like Fleur.” 

Harry paused at her mistake. “You didn’t see who the fourth person was?” 

“No,” Ron shook his head from Harry’s other side. “We assumed it was another Beauxbatons student. We didn’t know Cho would be one either. Flitwick must have talked to her. Why? Do we know him?” 

Harry was saved from answering by a familiar head of blond hair surfacing from the lake beside one of the older Slytherins who must have been tasked with rescuing him. It took all of his strength not to immediately rush to the shoreline and smother the boy in warm towels. Not only were his friends watching, but the entire school body, who were under the impression that Harry and Draco still hated each other, was still stood in the stands. Luckily, Fleur chose that moment to emerge from the small tent behind them and hurried to Draco’s side, arms laden with fresh towels. 

“Merlin, I’m fine, Fleur,” Draco scoffed, teeth chattering as he batted at the girl’s hands. She ignored him, even as he seemed to repeat himself in French, and stubbornly swaddled him in the towels, words running a mile a minute. 

Harry watched the two from his bench, and refused to find Draco’s look adorable. His blond hair stuck flat to his head, hanging in wet curtains over his eyes. His teeth continued to chatter and his cheeks were flushed pink, and Harry felt a sudden urge to tug him towards him into a hug. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Potter,” Draco grumbled as he met Harry’s gaze, a note of warning in his tone. Harry blushed, looking down at his hands instead. He noticed a smattering of delicate cuts across his palms, likely from the rocks down in the lake. 

“He’s not looking at you like anything, Malfoy,” Ron retorted defensively from beside him.

“That so?” Draco asked sarcastically, climbing to his feet and clutching at least four towels around his shoulders. “He’s looking a lot like an idiot to me. Let me guess, Potter, you thought since Fleur didn’t make it to the hostages, the professors would just allow me to drown there?” 

“No,” Harry scoffed, ignoring the fact that he had expressed that worry only moments ago. “Wish they had, though.” 

As Draco opened his mouth to respond, Dumbledore’s voice echoed over the lake, calling the students to attention so that the judges could give their scores. Harry was given second place, as expected, only two points below Cedric. This put him tied in first place overall with Cedric, and he couldn’t wipe the proud grin from his face as they trod back towards the castle. 

“Try not to look too smug, Potter,” Draco drawled, only a step ahead of him. “Now they’ll only challenge you harder.” 

“Thrilled about that one, are you, Malfoy?” Ron grunted, stomping beside Harry and glaring at the Slytherin. “Harry’s already gotten past the first two tasks with barely a scratch. He’ll be fine.” 

Harry smiled at his friend’s protectiveness, but it was unnecessary. He knew Draco well enough now to read between the lines of his snarkiness; he was concerned about the last task of the tournament. But Draco Malfoy would never confess something so against his Slytherin reputation, especially in the company of Harry’s friends. 

“'Barely a scratch’?” Draco repeated with a scoff, chin raised and eyes narrowed. “Might I remind you, Weasley, that your precious Golden Boy managed to burn half his arm and scar his other shoulder after only the first task? You must have also missed the cuts on his hands from the rocks down in the lake. Honestly, if he isn’t careful, I’m going to add to his collection myself–” 

“Is that a threat?!” Ron exclaimed, and Harry had to hold his arm to stop him from lunging at the other boy. 

“Not worth it, Ron,” he said as his friend gaped. “Come on, I bet there’ll be another party up in the common room.” 

• • •

Harry was, as pointed out gleefully countless times by the Weasley twins, incurably smitten. It was embarrassing, frankly, to realise how completely infatuated he seemed to be with Draco Malfoy, the boy who used to trip him in the hallways and call him names and toss that infuriatingly smug smirk at him from the back of the classroom. Actually , Harry thought, not much has changed . 

Draco still enjoyed referring to Harry by his many nicknames, and he still shot the odd stinging hex at the back of Harry’s head when he wasn’t looking, and he was still wearing that dumb smirk like he somehow knew that he had Harry wrapped around his pinky finger. Except, instead of eliciting bubbling anger like they would have a year earlier, these things only served to make Harry fall just that little bit further. 

Draco called him Scarhead and Harry replied ‘Ferret’, watching the blond blush and scowl and jut his chin irritably to one side. A tickling charm hit him in Potions class as Snape was peering over Harry’s cauldron, and Harry charmed Draco’s blond hair a bright shade of orange in the middle of supper. When Draco moped and whined until Harry left the courtyard to bribe some fresh scones from the house-elves, he threw half of them at the Slytherin’s knowing grin on his return. 

True to his word, Harry also came along to the Beltane celebration on the evening before May first, which had only served to worsen his situation. Draco had insisted on setting a flower crown made up of oranges and yellows amongst the dark curls atop his head, which had lit Harry’s skin alight with an embarrassed flush. Draco, of course, had refused to adorn anything so vibrant himself, and settled on a simple daisy chain that was almost camouflaged amongst his own hair. Neville, who by now had adapted to their unlikely friendship, had looked on with amusement until the two of them managed to push a crown of purple flowers over his hair. 

It was almost a month later that Professor McGonagall held him back after Transfiguration to tell him to meet Ludo Bagman and the other champions on the Quidditch pitch that night. When he left the tower later he met with Cedric on the way, who waffled on about his theories for the final task whilst Harry tried subtly to determine if staring at him had the same effect as staring at Draco seemed to. By the time they reached the pitch– or rather, the maze of knee-high hedges that now covered the grass– he hadn’t seemed to have much luck. 

Fleur beamed at their arrival, snaking an arm through one of Harry’s to pull him to her side. They’d had a few conversations as of late, and Harry found that she could be quite fun to talk to. Especially when she told stories of a younger Draco on his visits to France. “Draco tells me you weell take ‘eem to see your room.” 

“What?” Harry startled, blushing. “My room? No. What?” 

“Your… ah… Greeffindor room?” she corrected, blonde eyebrows furrowed slightly in bemusement. 

“Oh!” he realised. He’d told Draco about his invisibility cloak the other day, and the Slytherin was now insisting he use it to sneak into Gryffindor Tower. “The common room. That’s a little presumptuous of him, considering I haven’t made any such invitation.” 

She hummed, blue eyes twinkling. 

“What d’you think, then?” Bagman asked them then, distracting the two. The four champions didn’t quite match the man’s cheerfulness as he explained the task to come. Harry could only imagine the kinds of creatures Hagrid had ready for them. 

When they eventually began making their way back to the castle, Krum pulled Harry aside to talk. They walked a short distance to the edge of the Dark Forest before the older boy finally turned to address him. 

“I vont to know vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny,” he said shortly, expression pulled into a scowl. 

Harry hadn’t been expecting that at all, and gaped at him for a moment before answering, “Nothing, we’re just friends.”

“This is not vot the papers say,” Krum frowned, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“That’s just Rita Skeeter spinning her own tales. Trust me, I don’t feel that way about Hermione. It’d be like crushing on a sister,” he said, cutting himself off before he could admit that he liked someone else, anyway. 

The other boy took some convincing, but eventually his glower turned to hesitant acceptance. They were ready to turn back the way they’d come before none other than Barty Crouch came staggering out from amongst the trees, robes ripped and mumbling unintelligibly to the air. He began to gasp at Harry about reaching Dumbledore and Harry was forced to rush back to the castle to find his headmaster, leaving Krum to watch the unstable man. When the two of them returned, it was to find Krum laid unconsciously on the forest floor, and Mr Crouch gone.

Chapter Text

Harry’s month leading up to the third task was spent practising. He spent most of his free periods in the library with Ron and Hermione looking up spells and hexes that he could use in the maze and practising them in empty classrooms. This meant that Harry’s time with Draco had been limited to evenings. It wasn’t long until Draco was insisting those be spent practising as well. 

“I feel like I keep… waiting for something big to happen. The first two tasks have been, well, normal. But I’m… I get the feeling the main event is being saved for the third one. It’s not just bad luck that your name came out of that Goblet,” he’d said by way of explanation. They were sat in their courtyard, having just come out from dinner. 

“You’re worried,” Harry realised, sounding more surprised than he should have. He’d already guessed this, but to hear it from Draco had his stomach fluttering with the familiar feeling of almost-nauseating affection. “About me .” 

“I am not ,” Draco scoffed, but he avoided Harry’s gaze and his cheeks had flushed a pretty pink colour that had Harry’s heart positively swooning . 

“You are!” Harry laughed. “Draco Malfoy is concerned about me, Harry Potter, getting hurt. I’m honoured , really.” 

Draco’s lips pursed as he glared at him. “You’re incorrigible, Potter.”  

“I don’t even know what that means,” he admitted, still chuckling. 

“Perhaps you should pick up a dictionary next time you’re up in the library with Granger,” the other boy huffed. 

“Godric, no,” Harry groaned, rolling his neck back dramatically. “I use enough of my brain power reading about all those spells.” 

Draco hummed, pulling a large, leather-bound book from his bag and setting it between them. “That’s too bad, because I’ve just received this from the Manor – I asked my mother to send some by owl because Salazar knows the school library is utterly useless. You’re going to be learning some Dark magic.” 

“Er… Dark magic? Are you sure that’s a good idea? Isn’t that…” 

“Dark doesn’t mean evil, Potter. There’s Light magic, which tends to be more defensive, like the Patronus Charm or Protego . Not all are shields, though. In fact, Obliviate , a spell for erasing one’s memory, is actually Light magic. So, not all inherently ‘good’. There’s also Neutral magic, which are mainly practical spells such as Lumos , or simple jinxes like Stupefy . Then there’s Dark magic, which, naturally, tends to be used for offensive purposes.” 

“The Unforgivable Curses, then?” 

“Well, yes, but they’re not all completely immoral. There’s a strong healing spell I know of that’s technically Dark. There’s been a stigma surrounding the Dark Arts since the First Wizarding War. The public considered You-Know-Who a ‘Dark wizard’, which meant all Dark magic became feared. Hogwarts has only taught Light or Neutral magic since. Ridiculous, really.” 

“Is it ridiculous? If Dark magic did so much damage…” 

“How can you defend yourself against magic you don’t even understand, Harry?” 

Harry frowned, almost subconsciously bringing his hand up to hover his scar. “I’m not sure if I want to understand.” 

Draco’s gaze softened slightly, then, slowly, he raised his own hand to gently nudge Harry’s out of the way. It hesitated in the air for a moment, his head tilted and eyebrow raised in a silent question. Harry nodded, and his breath caught as cool fingers brushed lightly over his skin, tracing the spider-web of pale, delicate lines from beneath his fringe and through his right eyebrow. 

“He didn’t understand Dark magic,” Draco murmured with understanding, barely loud enough for Harry to hear. “He used it to hurt. You will use it to protect.” 

Harry remembered his dream in Divination a week earlier; Wormtail’s agonised screams as he’d writhed on the wooden floorboards after Voldemort struck him with the Cruciatus Curse. He flinched unintentionally, and Draco instantly took his hand back from his face, misunderstanding the reaction. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, and Harry blinked. He couldn’t remember ever hearing that word from Draco’s mouth before. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not you. I just remembered something. Dumbledore thinks Voldemort might be growing stronger again. And I think so too.” 

“All the more reason to learn to fight properly, then.” 

“You really want me to?” 

“I hope you don’t still believe I’m eagerly awaiting his return–” 

“No, no,” Harry rushed, holding his hands up at the cold glare Draco directed his way. “I know you’re not. It’s just… still… I don’t know.” 

“I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention, Potter. I am sorry for the horrid things I said. About you and your parents and about Granger. To be clear, I’m not entirely sorry about things I said about Weasley–” 

“You called his family blood traitors–” 

Draco sniffed. “Fine. I’m sorry for that, too, I suppose. I can’t help how I was raised. I can help how I behave now, however. I want to help you, Harry. I want you to trust me.” 

“I do trust you,” Harry said honestly, offering the other boy a small smile. To his surprise, it was slowly returned. 

“Now will you let me bring you over to the Dark side?” Draco asked, his expression turning to a smirk. 

Harry rolled his eyes but nodded. “Teach me to be Dark, Draco.” 

• • •

The morning of the third task, Harry was summoned to the same chamber the champions had gathered in at Halloween, where the families of the champions were supposedly waiting, as Professor McGonagall had explained. 

“She doesn’t expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?” he’d asked Ron, bemused. 

Ron had shrugged. “‘Dunno, mate.” 

Harry watched the other champions make their way to the chamber after they finished their breakfasts, but he was reluctant to follow. He didn’t have any family besides Sirius, and he was technically still wanted by the Ministry for a crime he didn’t commit, so he couldn’t possibly have come to see him. The Dursleys would never set foot inside Hogwarts if they could help it. That only left… 

“Surprise!” Mrs Weasley greeted excitedly when he finally convinced his feet to carry him to the chamber doors. Harry’s grin only grew when he noticed the group stood with her by the fireplace. 

Mrs Weasley had brought her eldest son, Bill, along with her, who was mid-conversation with Remus Lupin when Harry entered. At Remus’ side stood a familiar black, shaggy-furred dog, his head easily reaching the man’s waist. At Mrs Weasley’s exclamation, the dog instantly perked up, tongue lolling as his head swivelled to find Harry. When he did, he bounded to him eagerly, reaching up to lay giant paws over Harry’s shoulders as his tail wagged madly behind him. 

Harry wrapped his arms around the huge dog and ducked his head to bury his face into the dark fur. “What are you doing here?!” he laughed brightly, hardly noticing the curious gazes of the other champions and their families. 

“Clingy mutt missed you too much not to bring him,” Remus replied fondly. He looked better than the last time Harry had seen him, packing up his office at the end of last year. He’d trimmed his shaggy hair so that it was shorter on the sides and longer at the top, and his eyes were alive with something he’d been missing the last year. Harry supposed that was Sirius’ doing. 

“Hi Remus,” he grinned over Padfoot’s shoulder. “You look good.” 

Padfoot made a sound between a snort and a huff, and Harry laughed again. His gaze turned to Mrs Weasley, who was eyeing the dog in his arms disapprovingly. Harry let Padfoot back down somewhat reluctantly so that he could be pulled into Molly’s warm embrace. 

“We thought we’d come and watch you!” she beamed, kissing his cheek with a smack. “How are you, Harry? Been eating well, I hope? They haven’t been too hard on you in classes, have they? Ridiculous, this, absolutely ridiculous.” 

“I’ve been fine, Mrs Weasley,” Harry chuckled, pulling away to shake Bill’s hand. 

“Alright, Harry?” he greeted with a friendly grin. “Charlie wanted to come but was caught up with the dragons. He reckoned you were amazing against the Horntail in the first task.” 

“It’s really nice of you all to come. I couldn’t imagine the Dursleys taking McGonagall up on an invite–” 

Padfoot snapped his jaw, and Harry watched Remus send the dog animagus a warning look. 

“Oh, tosh,” Mrs Weasley huffed, flapping her hand at the air. She’d never been impressed with the way the Dursleys treated Harry. 

From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a familiar head of platinum blond enter the small room and watched as Draco made his way to Fleur and her family. It was a little like seeing a gathering of Malfoys, Harry thought, except noticeably friendlier. Fleur’s family greeted Draco with delighted smiles and kisses to both of his flushed cheeks, and Harry hid a smile at the sight. Padfoot, who’d placed himself up against Harry’s side, nudged his hand with a wet nose to redirect his attention. Harry almost frowned as he realised he wouldn’t be able to introduce the two, considering nobody knew the dog was Sirius and he wasn’t too convinced that Sirius would have a very positive reaction if he were to. 

The group spent the morning walking the school’s grounds, Padfoot happily trotting alongside him at all times, then returned to the castle for lunch. Harry wasn’t sure how Sirius was allowed to sit with them in the Great Hall with the rest of the student body, but Dumbledore appeared to pretend not to notice his presence at all. Some of the Gryffindor students who came to sit nearby greeted their old DADA professor with a mix of confusion and delight, and any that were brave enough to pet the huge dog at Harry’s leg were met with eager licks and plenty of tail-thumping. Sirius was evidently loving the attention. 

“Mum! Bill!” Ron exclaimed as he joined them. “What’re you doing here? And Professor! And– wait– S–” 

“ Padfoot has come with Remus and your family to watch the task,” Harry interrupted sternly, and Ron blushed, shooting Harry and the dog an apologetic look. 

Hermione, who’d come up behind Ron, greeted them all politely and reached over to pet Padfoot’s head as if it were any other lunchtime. Harry couldn’t stop beaming. 

• • •

Harry didn’t eat more than a sausage and a small sliver of potato gratin through lunch; stomach too twisted with anxious anticipation to have any appetite. He distracted himself with idle conversation and his typical habit of searching out Draco across the busy hall. The Slytherin table was noticeably full with the addition of Krum’s and Fleur’s families. Draco looked completely at ease amongst the small family of blondes around him, digging into his lunch and rambling about something Harry couldn’t hear over the hall’s chatter. 

He did eventually reciprocate Harry’s gaze, blond brows furrowed and lips set in a hard line, when the champions were called to leave the Great Hall early. He was quickly distracted saying his goodbyes to Fleur, and Harry was similarly swept up in wishes of good luck from his friends and family. Padfoot tried to follow him as he left the Gryffindor table, only to be stopped by an amused Remus and nudged back against the man’s legs. 

The Quidditch field looked unrecognisable as the group ambled past the stands – entirely enclosed by a twenty-foot-high fedge that only served to send Harry’s nerves skyrocketing. He’d never been one for narrow spaces and had never grown out of his childhood fear of the dark, so the tight, shadowed entrance to the giant maze couldn’t have been less appealing. The champions were given instructions to send red sparks into the air if they needed assistance from the patrols, then Bagman announced to the watching crowd the point standings. 

“On my whistle, Harry and Cedric!” he was saying only moments later, and Harry tried not to openly panic. 

The whistle blew, and the two of them entered the maze. 

After separating from Cedric, Harry didn’t run into any of the champions for a long while. He tried not to think about the towering hedges on either side of him, trapping him as he made his way ever deeper. He’d cast a Lumos early on, and it helped only slightly in keeping the shadows at bay. After a run-in with Cedric, who mentioned something about Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts from their Care of Magical Creatures classes, Harry turned the corner to a horrible sight. A dementor was floating towards him, arms outstretched and breath rattling beneath his dark hood as he searched for Harry. 

He stumbled back, mind flipping hastily through happy memories before settling on his most recent – walking the Hogwarts grounds as the Weasleys reminisced about their years at the schools and Remus talked fondly of the Marauders wreaking havoc on those same lawns, Padfoot at Harry’s heel pressing his wet nose to Harry’s arm and huffing his amusement. His family. 

“Expecto Patronum!” he cried, relief seeping through him as his familiar silver stag burst from his wand and galloped toward the dementor. 

When the creature stumbled, Harry realised it was in fact a boggart, casting Riddikulus and watching the being disappear in a puff of grey smoke. His stag stayed by his side and lit the path ahead as they continued through the maze for what felt like hours, until the eerie silence was disrupted by a scream. 

“ Fleur?!” he called loudly, spinning around as if he’d find the girl nearby, his stag unhelpfully disappearing into thin air. He searched aimlessly past the next few stretches of the maze before eventually accepting that he’d have to leave his worry for after the event. Even if Fleur was nearby, he had no chance of finding her amongst the dense leaves. 

It was only moments later that he fell into the path of one of the Blast-Ended Skrewts Cedric had warned him of. It resembled a giant scorpion-type of creature, black shell gleaming and long sting curled high over its back, ready to strike at any moment. Harry impulsively aimed a Stupefy at its armour, which rebounded alongside a blast of fire from the end of the skrewt’s tail and had Harry rolling across the grass to duck around a corner. Harry’s brain scrambled through spells as the giant skrewt scuttled his way. 

“Mergi!” he yelled, wand aimed at the grass beneath the creature’s body. He watched as the ground turned to a sort-of goopy substance and the skrewt’s wiry legs quickly began to sink. Muddy hands seemed to reach up from the melting soil, grasping at the creature’s shell and pulling it down. It was a spell he’d learnt with Draco, and he made a mental reminder to thank the boy after the task. 

He cast an Impedimenta at the skrewt’s fleshy underbelly right before it disappeared beneath the mud for safe measure, then turned on his heel and jogged in the opposite direction for a long while until he heard voices up ahead. 

“Crucio!” Krum’s voice yelled from the other side of a hedge, followed by Cedric’s anguished screams. 

Heart in his throat, Harry fought to break through the thick hedge to reach the other boy where he lay twitching on the ground. His Stupefy was successful this time, aimed at Krum’s back as he turned to run. 

“Cedric!” Harry called, rushing to the Hufflepuff’s side and crouching beside him. “Cedric. Are you okay? What happened?” 

“I–” Cedric grimaced, voice hoarse from his screams. His body had stopped spasming now, save for the occasional twitch of his fingers where they lay spread on either side of him. “ Shit .” 

“Can you sit up?” Harry asked, hands splayed in the air over Cedric as if searching for something to occupy them. He could barely feel the sting of the cuts and scrapes across his skin from climbing through the hedge a moment ago. 

Cedric huffed, then slowly lifted himself to sitting, expression pained and arms trembling. “Bloody git . What in Merlin’s name is he playing at? He just crept up on me and had his wand out when I turned around.” 

“That doesn’t make sense. I thought he was alright…” 

“So did I.” 

They both stared at Krum’s unconscious body a short ways from where they sat. 

“‘Spose we should send up sparks then?” Harry asked. 

Cedric groaned, using the hedge beside them to pull himself to his feet. “Forgive me if I don’t jump at the idea of helping that bastard out.” 

“I’ll save you the displeasure, then,” Harry said, aiming his wand at the black sky and casting Vermillious. 

They watched the shock of red shoot into the sky and burst into a great spark. Then, a moment later, one of the hedges nearby suddenly leant to one side, revealing a bright glow through the thick leaves. The two boys looked at each other, then back at the light, before starting towards it. The Triwizard Cup was ahead of them both, they could see it clearly now, but Cedric had to dive at the last second to avoid being trampled by a giant spider that sprang out from behind another hedge. Both of them began casting at the creature as it turned to Harry, lifting him off his feet and into the air, only to release him to the ground after being hit by a Stupefy from both wands. One of Harry’s legs crumpled beneath him, and he leant against a hedge to support him as he caught his breath, leg trembling with pain. 

He knew he couldn’t make it the rest of the way to the cup. “Take it,” he told Cedric, nodding his chin towards the glowing trophy. 

“You’ve saved my skin twice now, and you warned me about the first task. You deserve the win, Harry,” Cedric replied with all the humility one would expect from a Hufflepuff. 

Harry, who could barely stand on his leg and whose arms were aching and painted in scratches, only wished in that moment that he could be back at the castle with Sirius and his friends and, ideally, a nice warm meal. He couldn’t care less who came back with the cup. 

“Stop being noble, Cedric,” he grunted. “Just take it.” 

“No,” Cedric said stubbornly, walking over to meet him. 

Harry looked from him to the shining cup. He didn’t care for the glory or the money that would come with winning the tournament. He just wanted to go home. 

“Fine. Both of us.” 

Cedric stared at him. “Are you sure?” 

Harry almost wanted to hit him. 

“Yes, I’m bloody sure. Hogwarts will take the win either way.” 

“Alright,” Cedric nodded, stepping towards him. “I’ll give you a hand.” 

He wrapped his arm around Harry’s torso, supporting him as he limped towards the Triwizard cup. 

“On three,” Harry huffed, supporting himself against the stone plinth. “One… two… three–” 

They both reached out to grasp the cup’s handles, and were instantly tugged into a swirling wind.

Chapter Text

Harry slammed against the grass lawn, body numb and ears ringing incessantly. He didn’t dare to move, arms still wrapped tightly around Cedric’s lifeless body, the cold handle of the Triwizard cup grasped in one hand. After a long moment, he finally drew a gasping breath, eyes still squeezed shut behind cracked glasses. His lungs felt as though they were on fire; throat strained and raw. Sounds began to seep through the muffled ringing in his ears – loud voices and footsteps and screams. He couldn’t open his eyes to face whatever sight awaited him. Couldn’t even bring himself to remember where he’d landed. 

“Harry. ”  

He groaned as his body was turned over roughly, still aching all over. 

“He’s back,” he murmured, voice drowned out by the sounds from the stands. He squinted up at Dumbledore’s face, determined to pass on this one message. “Voldemort is back.” 

“Harry!” voices were screaming, growing closer to where he lay trembling. He could barely tell them apart through the dull buzz of his brain. 

“Diggory– he’s dead!” a closer voice was yelling, and it wasn’t long before the phrase was repeated through the crowd. “Harry, you have to let go.” 

It was the Minister – Cornelius Fudge. Harry felt him grip his fingers and try to pry them from Cedric’s body. 

“No,” he sobbed, holding tighter. He was crying, he realised then, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and onto Cedric’s robes. He couldn’t look at the boy’s face. “He wanted– he wanted me to bring him back.” 

“That’s alright, Harry, just let him go now,” Dumbledore said softly, pulling Cedric from his grasp. 

The crowd’s buzzing returned. “Harry!” he heard again, and he blinked blearily at his surroundings. 

“It’s alright, son. Come with me now. I’ve got you,” a gruff voice was saying, arms pulling him up to his feet. 

“I need to–” he tried, but couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. “I need…” 

“You need to lie down,” the voice growled. Someone was dragging him through the crowd of people. 

“Harry!” 

Harry grunted, wishing he could reply to whoever was calling for him. 

“Just up here, now–” 

The man was interrupted suddenly as a large shape came darting in their direction, twisting through people’s legs and launching itself at Harry. The dog snapped at the man– Professor Moody, Harry realised suddenly– holding him, teeth bared and ears back. 

“Padfoot?” Harry mumbled, confused. The dog growled at Moody again, who was shoving his hand into the folds of his robes and pulling out his wand. Harry barely had time to register that he’d pointed it at Padfoot before there was a flash of red light and the wand was flying out of the Professor’s hand. 

“Harry!” an achingly familiar voice cried, and Harry sobbed again as his knees buckled beneath him. 

He fell against the dog beside him, who shifted to support his weight and pressed his wet nose to Harry’s face as if concerned. People had reached them, feet stopping a short distance from Harry. 

“Harry–” 

Harry looked up to meet the cold, pitiless stare of Lucius Malfoy. He flinched harshly, body shaking as though reacting to the ghost pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Padfoot growled and Harry watched as the figure stumbled backwards. 

He blinked. 

“Draco,” he said then, voice a hoarse whisper. The blank expression of Lucius was replaced by his son’s – eyes wide and lips open to form words that didn’t come. Harry’s throat burned as he cried. 

Draco moved towards him again, steps cautious and arms outstretched. “Harry–” 

He was interrupted as several more figures pushed through the crowd and reached them. Harry couldn’t recognise their faces through the blur of his tears. 

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed from somewhere ahead of him, and then she was at his side, hands on his skin. He recoiled suddenly, and her hands dropped. “Sorry! I’m sorry! Oh, Harry. Someone find Madam Pomfrey.” 

Another figure was beside him, just out of reach. “Harry,” Remus’ soft voice soothed him slightly. “It’s Remus, can you hear me?” 

He nodded slowly, screwing his eyes closed and burying his face in Padfoot’s shaggy fur. 

“Harry, I’m going to stun you. We’ll take you to the infirmary so that Madam Pomfrey can help you. Is that okay?” 

Harry nodded numbly again, barely registering Remus’ words. Anything to stop this , he thought. Stop all of it. Please. 

• • •

“Surely he should be awake by now?” 

“He was badly injured, Ron. His body is likely exhausted.” 

“Surprised Dumbledore hasn’t just Rennervated him to be done with it.” 

“Not for lack of trying.” 

“If Madam Pomfrey knows anything, it’s how to take care of her patients–” 

“Mmpf,” Harry grunted, and the voices stopped suddenly. His head was pounding, and his body felt as though it had been beaten twice-over by the Whomping Willow. His brain was foggy too; disoriented and unable to remember what he was doing here. 

“Harry?” Ron asked, and Harry blinked blearily up at his friend. “He’s awake! Get Dumbledore.” 

“Not yet,” Remus, who was sat on the other side of Harry’s bed, said gently. “Harry, how’re you feeling?” 

Harry groaned. “Sore.” 

It was then that he registered the warmth against his side, radiating off the giant dog taking up half of his bed. He closed his eyes again, almost dropping back into sleep to the rise and fall of Padfoot’s body beneath Harry’s palm. 

“Stay with me, Harry,” Remus murmured. “Can you tell me where you are?” 

He didn’t respond for a long moment, taking stock of his surroundings – the white curtains and sterile smell. “Hospital wing.” 

“Good. And do you know what month it is?” 

He hummed, thinking. “June?” 

Remus nodded. “Mhm. Do you remember why you’re here?” 

“No,” Harry sighed. He shifted to try and push himself up to a seated position, then grimaced at the pain that spiked through his body. “I got hurt.” 

Hermione made a sound that sounded like a whimper. 

“Padfoot,” Harry whispered, patting idly at the fur beneath his hand. The dog bent his head to push his nose into Harry’s palm, as if to say ‘I’m here’ . 

“Ron, could you perhaps find your mother? She wanted to know when Harry was awake,” Remus said gently, turning to the boy. 

Harry watched as his friend nodded, getting to his feet and turning to duck between the white curtains surrounding Harry’s bed. 

“How long have I been asleep?” Harry asked, rubbing at his eyes and stifling a yawn. 

“Only a day,” Remus replied. “I believe dinner should be starting soon for the rest of the school.” 

Harry nodded idly. A moment later, the dog beside him clambered off the bed and transformed into Harry’s godfather. 

“They’ll be back soon,” Remus warned, but Sirius ignored him in favour of reaching out to Harry, hand hesitating just before it could touch Harry’s face. 

“Harry…” he murmured in his low, gravelly voice that Harry had missed. “I’m so sorry, pup. Remus and I will be here for you every step of the way, I promise you. You’re going to spend summer with us. Remus has a small place we’ve been staying in. I won’t let you out of my sight.” 

Harry was surprised, but he grinned nonetheless, heart filling with warm affection at the thought of spending summer away from the Dursleys and instead with Sirius and Remus. With his family. 

“Dumbledore’s allowing that?” Hermione asked, unsure. The Headmaster had always insisted that Harry stay with his aunt’s family on the premise that it would maintain the blood protection given by his mother’s sacrifice. He’d never quite understood it, really. 

“I haven’t told him yet,” Sirius shrugged, sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed. “It’s not his decision to make, either way.” 

Harry’s beam grew, and he ignored the dull ache in his arms as he wrapped them around his godfather in a tight embrace. He hadn’t any idea why any of this was happening, but he wasn’t about to complain. This was the best news he’d received in a long time. 

He reached an arm out with the intention of pulling Sirius into a sort-of hug, then froze at the sight of a red gash running up the underside of his forearm. As he blinked at the scar he began to remember. He remembered the glint of a silver dagger as it sliced his skin, the metallic taste that filled his mouth as he bit into his tongue to stifle the scream that had crawled up his throat. And then… there was Voldemort, alive and standing and whole. Harry’s body shuddered and the voices around him sounded muffled, as if he were underwater. 

The scar across his forehead seared with pain, forcing his eyes to squeeze shut. He thought he was going to throw up with the overwhelming sensation. The backs of his eyelids painted vibrant green and he saw Cedric’s pale face and blank stare. There was a heavy pressure in his head that matched the burn in his chest. 

“Breathe, Harry,” someone was murmuring somewhere in the blank ink that surrounded him. “Take a big breath for me.” 

He tried, gasping in short breaths that eventually slowed to full ones. The pounding in his head seemed to recede as he continued to take slow breaths, and he finally opened his eyes to gaze at the space around him. Every time he blinked he saw green, and it opposed the white curtains on either side of him so startlingly that he couldn’t decipher which he was meant to be seeing. His thoughts felt slow and heavy and disconnected. 

“Harry,” another voice said then, and he blinked slowly at the person beside him. “Can you see me?” 

His vision focused slightly and he could make out Sirius’ concerned expression. He nodded, frowning. 

“How about this? Do you know what this is?” Remus asked then at his other side, voice gentle. He was holding up an object– his wand, Harry realised. 

“‘S your wand,” he mumbled, nodding. 

Remus asked him to name a few more objects help up in front of his face and the rest of Harry’s surroundings slowly seeped back into his field of vision. Sirius had been replaced with a black dog, now curled at the foot of his bed, and he reached out to tangle a hand in his fur. 

“What does that feel like?” Remus asked. Harry wrinkled his nose and tried to shoot the man a look to say ‘what do you think it feels like?’. He smiled exasperatedly. “Just tell me, cub.” 

“‘S a bit soft,” he sighed, watching the coarse fur part between his fingers. Padfoot huffed as though affronted by Harry’s understatement. 

“How about your bed? How’s that feel?” 

He used his free hand to lay a palm against the white sheets beside him. “Mm, soft. Nice.” 

The green beneath his eyelids was gone, he realised then. He blinked around the room again, registering the concerned expressions of his family. He felt exposed under their heavy gazes; emotions laid bare for them to see. Part of him wished for a moment that he were alone instead. 

“I panicked,” he said quietly. The hand against his bedsheets curled. “Sorry.” 

He remembered last night now. The third task, the maze, the Triwizard Cup, the graveyard, Voldemort, Cedric. Cedric, who was dead. Who’d died before Harry could do anything to stop it. His breath caught in his throat; eyes stung with unshed tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked again

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Remus assured him quietly.

“S’all my fault,” he continued, and escaping tears rolled over his cheeks. He dragged hand over his face in an attempt to stop them. “I shouldn’t have made Cedric come with me. He wouldn’t have been there. He wouldn’t have died. Voldemort took my blood. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” Hermione admonished, hands clasped tightly in her lap as if to stop herself from reaching out. “You shouldn’t have been in the tournament to begin with.” 

“Oh, Harry!” a voice called then, and Mrs Weasley bustled through the curtains with Ron at her heel. “How are you feeling? Have you eaten? Has Poppy given you your potions–?” 

“Molly,” Remus interrupted, giving her a stern but understanding look. 

She paused, then took a seat, obviously restraining herself from smothering Harry in one of her usual comfortable embraces. Harry was secretly glad – he thought he might try to crawl out of his own skin if someone tried to touch him right now, no matter how well-intentioned. He paid little attention to the proceedings that followed. Sirius revealed himself to Mrs Weasley shortly after and the others managed to talk her down from alarming the entire castle without Harry’s input. They tried telling him about the Death Eater, Barty Crouch Jr., who’d disguised himself as Professor Moody for the whole year just to help Harry reach the Portkey that would take him to the graveyard. To Voldemort. 

Somewhere in the background he registered Remus sending a large wolf-shaped Patronus off through the Hospital Wing’s doors, and moments later Professor Dumbledore entering through the very same. He ignored the man as he tried to question him, turning on the too-white mattress and pressing his face against the too-hard pillow. He wanted to be in his own four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower, where he could draw the heavy hangings and avoid the rest of the world. Or in the courtyard with Draco, who seemed to understand better than most the comfort that could come from simply sitting in silence. The Headmaster seemed to give up trying to pull answers from Harry eventually, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Sirius suggested they let him rest for the time being. 

Madame Pomfrey arrived with a plate filled with portions of dinner likely left over from the Great Hall moments after the group had left. It was only Harry and Sirius– now returned to his animagus form– then. Harry thanked the nurse quietly for the meal and remained still as she checked on his well-being with a number of spells. After she’d wished him goodnight and left the Hospital Wing, Harry pushed the plate onto his bedside table and turned his back on it. 

He felt it when the comfortable weight at the end of his bed lifted, and his godfather appeared beside him. He barely glanced his way, instead content to stare mindlessly at the expanse of white sheets. 

“I know you don’t want to talk,” Sirius started, voice so soft that Harry almost couldn’t understand his words. “I’d just like you to listen.” 

He waited, and the minutes stretched uncomfortably before Harry finally nodded, still not meeting the man’s gaze. It didn’t seem to deter him. 

“Everything that happened tonight… None of it was in any way your fault, pup. I should have done more, Dumbledore should have done more, to ensure you were nowhere near that tournament. Your parents entrusted me to protect you, and I’ve failed them for fourteen years–” he put up a hand when Harry opened his mouth, “No, I’m not saying this to guilt you into speaking. I’m telling you I want to do better. I hope that I can do better, for you, Harry. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t last night. No person should have to go through what you’ve been through. No person should see a friend die. Know that however you feel, even if you feel nothing, it is completely well founded. And if you never want to speak of what happened, that’s okay. You don’t owe that to anyone, pup.” 

Harry listened silently, feeling his throat tighten familiarly. He wanted to tell Sirius that he hadn’t failed his parents, that he was everything that Harry had wanted in a family. That simply reading Sirius’ letters and having him as Padfoot by his side were more than enough. That he’d seen his parents in the graveyard; spoken to them. But the words stuck in his throat, and he could only stare back at his godfather as if it conveyed everything he wanted to say. 

He shook his head, licking salty tears from his lips. The smile Sirius gave him was bittersweet. “Sleep now, Harry. Poppy left you a Dreamless Sleep you can take. Will you let me stay with you for the night? I’ll remain as Padfoot, I know you find him comforting.” 

Harry nodded, reaching out to take the small potion vial on his bedside table and ignoring the tremble of his hand as he tipped it into his mouth. The black dog returned to the end of his bed, and Harry was asleep in seconds. 

• • •

“It’s my turn,” was the first thing Harry said upon entering the clocktower courtyard almost a week later. As always, Draco sat on their stone bench, buried in one of his books. He’d been avoiding Harry since the third task, although that wasn’t too difficult with how busy the others had been keeping Harry. 

He’d eventually relayed the events of the graveyard to Sirius, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s office. Then again to Cedric’s parents. Remus had been given instructions by Dumbledore the previous evening to locate others for reasons Harry didn’t yet understand. Sirius had as well, but he’d refused to leave Harry at the castle. They’d been to visit Hagrid as well, who’d hinted at being given similar instructions by Dumbledore, too. Everything seemed to be happening, and yet not one had told Harry what exactly was happening. 

Draco looked up at Harry’s voice, expression unreadable. Harry almost sighed with the relief of meeting his gaze again after catching only glimpses of the back of the boy’s head for the last number of days. “Your turn?” 

Harry nodded, taking his usual space beside Draco. “My turn to ask you two questions, remember?” 

“I wasn’t aware we were still playing that game,” Draco said, voice stiff. He shifted on the bench, and Harry tried not to feel hurt at the fact that he’d moved away slightly. 

“Why’ve you been avoiding me?” he asked, ignoring Draco’s unease. 

“I haven’t,” Draco replied too-quickly. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware we were lying to each other now.” 

Draco groaned, exasperated. “Insufferable git.” 

“Why, Draco?” 

“I don’t know,” the blond sighed, fingers fidgeting with the bookmark he’d slid between the pages of his book. “Do you remember that night? When you’d just returned from the maze?” 

Harry nodded, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t like to remember. 

“When I reached you, the way you looked at me…” 

“I didn’t realise it was you,” Harry explained shortly, unwilling to explain that it was because he thought Draco was Lucius. Although, knowing Draco… 

“You thought I was my father,” he said softly, barely a question. 

Harry nodded. 

“He was there? With… with Voldemort?” Despite Draco’s stutter on the unfamiliar name, his voice remained impassive. 

“Yes,” Harry replied, wishing his answer could have been different. 

Draco sighed again, still staring at his lap. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding you. For one, I thought I might serve as a reminder. And for two… I suppose I was worried you’d think I knew something about what was happening. It’s what everyone else has been thinking. I really only suspected something might be up– I mean, something had to be wrong if your name was coming out of that cup. And I had my suspicions of Moody, of course, ever since our first Defence class. I’m sorry I never said anything. But I do swear I never knew for sure. I know it can’t be easy to trust me, considering my family and our past, and this just… I thought I could put an end to this… friendship before you did. Slytherin, remember? Self-preservation and all.” 

“That makes sense,” Harry hummed. “I should’ve come to talk to you sooner.” 

“Why?” 

“To stop you trying to stop this,” he explained, gesturing between the both of them. He pointedly ignored the implications behind his wording. “I trust you, Draco. It was your dad that was in the graveyard, not you. I don’t believe any of that rubbish. All I’ve wanted this last week has been to talk to you.” 

Draco turned grey eyes on him finally. “Why? Surely you see what this all means. The– Voldemort has returned, Harry. My father will stand at his side, which means my mother will, which means I’ll be expected to. This… this changes everything .” 

“It doesn’t have to, though,” Harry pressed, heart hammering in his chest. He wasn’t about to let Draco just walk away from this as if nothing had changed. “I know you don’t want to stand with him. I know you’re not like your father–” 

“You don’t understand, Harry. I don’t get to just pick and choose which side I’d like to belong to. My family–” 

“Your family doesn’t have to know.” 

Draco frowned. “Harry–” 

“No, listen. It’s too early to assume how everything will play out. I can’t expect you to turn your back on your family, on your life. It’s enough that I know I can trust you. Nothing has to change.” 

“Wishful thinking, Potter.” 

Harry huffed, hands curling atop his thighs. “Aren’t I allowed to be wishful?” 

Draco didn’t answer, instead dropping his gaze to Harry’s hands. A moment passed, then he was reaching out to take the hands into his own, slowly turning them palms-up and frowning at the crescent-moon indents against Harry’s skin. 

“Have you told anyone about this?” he asked, running a thumb lightly over the marks. 

Harry’s brow furrowed. “About what? It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just stress.” 

“Right,” Draco scoffed, then took out his wand, pointing it at Harry’s palms. “Episkey."

The skin stung for a moment, flashing hot as the thin cuts seemed to heal over quickly, then cooling once they’d disappeared. Harry stared wide-eyed at the clear expanse of skin. 

“Thanks,” he said. “Where’d you learn to do that?” 

“Most children raised in wizarding families learn it from a young age. Very simple healing spell. It wouldn’t work for deeper cuts or more serious injuries,” Draco explained, and Harry nodded as if he knew this. Draco gave him a pitying look. “The spell is Episkey . A loop around the wound and a sharp flick should do it.” 

Harry smiled, slightly bashful. “Thanks.” 

“Do you have another question?” Draco asked, seemingly unaware that his fingers were still tangled loosely in Harry’s. 

Harry wet his lips; hesitated. “Will you write to me during the break?” 

Draco glanced at him, expression vaguely amused. “Waste of a truth.” 

“How so?” 

He shook his head, smile small. “Don’t you stay with your muggle family over summer?” 

“Actually,” Harry breathed, gaze dropping uncomfortably. “I think I’ll be staying with Remus instead.” 

“I’m taking a turn,” Draco declared instead of answering. “Why are you so close to Professor Lupin? I know you were his favourite student last year. But to the extent that he’d invite you to live with him?” 

Harry smiled, more than happy to speak about his pseudo-godfather. “He was one of my dad’s best friends at Hogwarts. My mum’s as well. Apparently I saw him a lot as a baby, before…” 

“Why didn’t he raise you, then?” 

“It’s… complicated,” Harry sighed, and Draco only stared at him expectantly. “I haven’t really asked, but I can only imagine. In only a few days, he lost four of his closest friends. Two to Voldemort– my parents. One at another’s hand, or so he thought. That’s another story. And one to Azkaban. And, at the time, he believed that none of them trusted him because of… well–” 

“Because he’s a werewolf,” Draco finished, and Harry nodded. 

It didn’t surprise him that the boy didn’t ask about the ‘other story’ Harry had mentioned. He knew by now that Draco wouldn’t push to know things that Harry was clearly avoiding, unless he thought it necessary. He wanted to tell Draco about Sirius, he did, but not yet. 

“It would’ve been too much, I think.” 

Draco hummed and they were silent for a while. 

“Of course I will,” Draco said eventually, and it took Harry a moment to realise he was answering the question from earlier. 

Harry couldn’t stop the grin that formed across his face if he wanted to. “Good.” 

Draco nodded, smiling slightly. “Good.”