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Chapter Text

Harry only had to stay with the Dursleys for a total of three days before Remus apparated right into the backyard with every intention to whisk him away on the fourth. 

“Why I never!” his Aunt Petunia gasped as the wizard strode through the open door and glanced boredly around the living room. Harry, who’d just thundered down the staircase at the crack of somebody apparating, grinned widely. 

“Petunia,” Remus greeted somewhat amusedly, tipping his chin slightly. “A pleasure, as always.” 

“Who–” 

“Remus Lupin,” he interrupted with a small smirk, hand held out before him. “One of Lily’s high-school friends. Surely you remember? Does the nickname ‘Moony’ ring any bells?” 

She gasped again, clutching the headrest of the nearest armchair tightly as if she’d just seen a ghost. Harry supposed that analogy might not have been far off. “No.” 

“Petunia, darling, did you hear– who are you?! Get out of my house this very instant!” Vernon exclaimed then, waddling in from the hall in a set of mustard-yellow, striped pyjamas. 

Remus gave Harry a warning glance, and Harry nodded, almost disappointed to have to miss the conversation. He took the stairs two-at-a-time and immediately dropped to his knees to empty the small gap beneath the floorboards of his keepsakes. He stuffed them into his mostly-unpacked trunk, along with his pyjamas and a couple of items he’d had on his bedside table. Trunk in one hand and Hedwig’s cage in the other, he stumbled back down the stairs and past a bewildered Dudley. 

“All ready, Harry?” Remus asked as Harry appeared again in the living room. Harry, feeling happier than he had over the last three days by far, grinned and nodded. 

“Now wait just a minute!” Vernon huffed, taking a step forward. 

“Did I, or did I not, just inform you that I would be taking Harry with me?” Remus sighed, clearly exasperated. 

Vernon’s face grew red with simmering anger. “We don’t know who the bloody hell you are! This could be a kidnapping for all we know!” 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes at his uncle. “Because you’d care so much.” 

“Well–!” the red-faced man spluttered. 

“Goodbye, uncle, aunt,” Harry said delightedly, waving with his now-free hand as Remus took hold of his trunk. He saluted Dudley’s confused face poking around the corner of the doorway. “Big D.” 

And with that, Remus curled an arm around Harry’s own and he was suddenly swept off his feet. Harry, who’d never experienced apparition before, thought he might be sick from the feeling of it. The air twisted and swirled around him dizzyingly, before finally it came to an end. 

“Harry!” a familiar voice greeted as Harry tried to steady himself, and suddenly he was wrapped in a warm embrace. 

“Sirius!” he laughed, his grin returning instantly. He hugged his godfather tightly as Remus chuckled at his side. 

“You’d think he really was a dog the way he’s been sitting at the door waiting for you to arrive,” Remus said fondly, reaching out to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Sorry for the wait, cub. Albus insisted.” 

“Don’t be,” Harry assured, releasing Sirius as the man eventually stepped back. “I’m surprised he only made you wait three days.” 

“Well…” Sirius hesitated, gaze flicking to Remus sheepishly. “He made us agree to three weeks, but…” 

Harry laughed, heart warm with a feeling he couldn’t quite place. The Weasleys and his friends always talked about wanting to keep Harry from the Dursleys all summer, but they’d never gone against Dumbledore’s wishes to actually do so. Not that he’d ever blame them, but it felt unfamiliar to have people so desperate to take care of him that they’d disobey Dumbledore to do it. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be responsible role-models?” he joked. 

Sirius winked. “Nah.” 

“We’re supposed to look after you, Harry,” Remus added, squinting at his partner with poorly-suppressed amusement. “Can’t see how we can do that if you’re not here.” 

“Time for a tour!” Sirius exclaimed, clapping his hands gleefully. Harry thought his godfather might be even more excited for Harry to be here than Harry was himself. 

They gave him a short tour of the small townhouse and ended at the room Harry would be staying in for the summer. Harry gaped when he entered, gaze roaming from the twin-sized bed tucked into the far corner beneath a large, open window, to the empty desk, wardrobe, and bookshelf lined against either side. To his pleasant surprise, the theme seemed to be a mix of various shades of blue. 

“It’s not orange,” was the first statement he could manage, and in his peripheral he saw Sirius shoot Remus an alarmed look. 

“Should it be?” the man asked, worried. 

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “No, no. My Hogwarts room is red, and Ron’s room is orange, this is a nice change.” 

Sirius seemed relieved. “Oh, thank Godric.”

“I love it,” Harry grinned, watching as Remus sent his trunk floating to rest in front of the tall wardrobe. He didn’t know how to express the extent of his gratitude. The only bedrooms that had ever belonged exclusively to him were the tiny cupboard beneath the Dursleys’ staircase and the office-sized room consisting only of a tiny bed and set of drawers. They’d never counted to him. “Thank you,” he said, turning to the two men. “So much.” 

“Of course, pup,” Sirius smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately. Harry figured that was something he’d have to get used to quickly. 

They asked about Harry’s few days at the Dursleys’ as Remus began making sandwiches for the three of them in the little downstairs kitchen. Harry didn’t have much to tell them besides the usual list of chores and his hiding spot outside in the flowerbeds when he’d try to listen in on the daily news report. The two men had exchanged concerned looks at that, but hadn’t commented. 

“And how have you been feeling?” Remus asked, setting a plateful of sandwich triangles in the middle of the table for them to share. 

“I’ve been fine,” Harry replied shortly, then huffed at the disbelieving gazes staring back at him. “Okay. I’ve mostly been tired. I can’t seem to go a full night without dreaming about… you know.” 

They both nodded, frowns almost identical. Harry smiled a little at the sight. “Dudley, of course, has been giving me grief about it. Says he hears me talking in my sleep every night. His little gang has been terrorising the neighbourhood as usual. Think he’s too scared of this–” he tapped the wand tucked into the waistline of his jeans “– to do any real harm to me, though.” 

“Has he done real harm before?” Sirius asked sternly, sandwich paused half-way to his mouth. 

Harry smiled again, albeit slightly sadder. He shouldn’t have brought his cousin up. “It’s okay. I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

Sirius stood abruptly. “I’m going to ruin that little–” 

“Padfoot,” Remus reprimanded, staring pointedly in a message for his partner to sit back down. 

There was a moment of silence before Harry rushed to fill it. “Anyway. How are you both? Anything been happening?” 

“We’re okay, Harry,” Remus said, smiling gently. Harry thought there might have been more there that he wasn’t mentioning, but it’d be somewhat hypocritical of him to push. “I suppose you mean to ask about what’s been happening with You-Know-Who?” 

Harry shrugged, unsurprised at being caught out. “Nothing’s been in the Daily Prophet.” 

“He’s been lying low,” Sirius answered through a mouthful of sandwich, ignoring Remus’ exasperated expression. “Nothing’s happened yet. But Albus is trying to get everyone together again. Everyone who rebelled against him last time.” 

“Who’s everyone?” Harry asked eagerly, his own sandwich abandoned. 

“It’s called the Order of the Phoenix,” Remus explained. “A secret association of wizards that Albus founded during the first war. We joined it alongside your parents as soon as we graduated from Hogwarts. They’re reassembling now that You-Know-Who is back.” 

“Of course, we’re not supposed to be telling you this,” Sirius added with a careless shrug, reaching for another sandwich triangle. “Albus told us to keep it all hush-hush, but refused to explain why. So, here we are.” 

“Merlin,” Harry laughed aloud. “You must’ve been a nightmare for your professors.” 

The two of them chuckled, nodding. “Just ask Minnie, she’ll gladly tell you all about it,” Sirius winked. 

• • •

Harry spent most of the rest of the day unpacking his little amount of clothes into the empty wardrobe and filling his shelves with books from the previous school years. The framed photo of his parents went to his bedside table, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the two care-free figures, grinning and waving at the camera over and over. He was finally where he knew they would have wanted him to be. 

That evening he also met the fourth member of the household, Remus’ cat, Stella. It quickly became apparent that Stella was a shy cat, despite being completely enamoured by Remus, and absolutely detested Sirius. She was a pretty moggy, with a dark tortoiseshell coat and round, amber eyes. Harry let her sit and watch from his windowsill as he unpacked, then was pleasantly surprised when she padded alongside him downstairs after he’d finished.

For supper, Harry helped Remus make shepherd’s pie as Stella pressed up against their legs and Sirius tried to be subtle in his attempt to snap pictures of them with the muggle camera he’d found. Apparently they’d asked Harry’s friends for his favourite meal so that he could have it for his first evening at the house, which Harry had been embarrassingly delighted to find out. They ended up on the long couch in front of the muggle television in the living room afterwards, one man on either side of Harry, and Stella curled in Remus’ lap. 

“So…” Sirius started when advertisements began to play. “Anything happened so far with that boy of yours that we should know about?” 

Harry, caught off guard, almost choked on the tea he’d been sipping. “N-no.” 

“Do you believe him, Moons?” his godfather asked then, looking at Remus over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Not even slightly,” Remus replied with a teasing smirk. Harry glared at the two of them. 

“I promise nothing’s happened,” he huffed, occupying himself with stroking Stella. 

“Oh,” Sirius nodded. “So that’s why you keep glancing out the window. Not waiting for a certain owl to bring a certain letter, are you?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, slumping back against the pillows in defeat. “I asked him to write to me over the break,” he admitted through a grumble. 

“Oh-ho!” his godfather cheered. “‘Atta boy, Harry. Will you tell us who he is, yet? I’m a desperate gossip, you know, I’m not sure how much longer I can go without knowing at least something.” 

 “I’m not telling you who he is yet,” Harry said, shaking his head. “And I don’t even know what else you’d want to know.” 

“All we know is that he’s a Slytherin, and that’s really not a lot to go off,” Sirius pointed out. “What’s he like? Is he cute? Smart? Trouble-maker? Come on.” 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, despite his flushed cheeks. “Fine, okay. He’s… pretty. I suppose. But he’d probably hit me if I told him that. Cares a lot about his looks, to the point where it could almost be considered vanity, except he couldn’t take an honest compliment if it knocked him in the nose. Very smart– a bit of a nerd, really, although he’d hate being called one. He’s got an attitude, definitely, and is also very dramatic, which I’m sure you’re familiar with.” 

“It’s all sounding fairly familiar, actually,” Remus commented over Sirius’ scoff. 

“I guess,” Harry nodded slowly, amused. “Except that he’s definitely a Slytherin.” 

“Almost perfect, then,” Sirius said, grinning.

Harry smiled at his hands. “Almost.” 

“Oh, you’re smitten,” Remus chuckled, watching him. Harry’s blush grew impossibly warmer. 

“Load of good it does me, though,” he sighed. He wondered if it was normal for teenagers to mope about their crushes to their parental figures, then realised it didn’t quite matter. “I doubt he’d ever see me that way.” 

“Well, is he attracted to boys?” Sirius asked. 

“I don’t know.” 

“That's your first step, then.” 

Harry hummed thoughtfully, grateful that the advertisements ended then and the random sitcom that they’d been watching continued. How does one find out who someone fancies? He couldn’t just ask outright, could he? Besides, he hadn’t even told Draco that he fancied boys yet. Maybe that’s how he could find out? He wasn’t sure. 

• • •

‘Dear Draco, 

One week and you still haven’t written, git. 

How has your summer been? 

I think this has been one of my favourite summers so far. Remus came to get me from my muggle family the Dursleys a few days ago. You should have seen their faces! I honestly expected them to be a little more grateful. 

Si Remus is already asking me what I want to do for my birthday. I’ve never done anything special for my birthday. What do teenage boys even do? He suggested a party. I don’t think I have enough friends for a party. Besides, an event just to celebrate my birth? Weird. 

Now that I don’t have a million chores to do, I’ve realised I have practically no hobbies besides Quidditch. I went flying for a bit in the garden yesterday since it was cloudy enough to cover me. Remus lives in a muggle neighbourhood. I know you can’t be doing any chores – what do you do to fill your time? Probably just read all day. Ugh. 

I’ve been having lots of nightmares

Sometimes I

Write back soon. 

Yours, H’

• • •

It was several days before Draco finally wrote back to him. Hedwig swooped through the open kitchen window during lunch, dropped the letter beside Harry’s plate, and landed neatly on his shoulder with a greeting hoot. Harry had never seen her so chuffed. 

“Did he give you a good treat?” he asked the bird curiously, holding up one of her usual treats for her to take. She responded by ruffling her feathers and turning her head away from the offered treat, effectively answering Harry’s question. “Unbelievable. We can’t all have premium, gold-covered treats, Wig.” 

“Ah, another clue,” Sirius said with a smirk, tapping a finger to his nose. “Wealthy, hm? Surely you haven’t fallen for a snob?” 

Harry huffed, only half of his attention on his godfather as he cracked the seal on his letter. “He may be a bit of a snob, but he’s getting better.” 

Sirius didn’t reply, but Harry didn’t miss the suspicious gaze directed his way. He ignored the look, pushing out his chair and taking his last piece of toast with him out of the room. Hedwig hooted happily when they entered his room, claws digging momentarily into Harry’s shoulder before she hopped to her perch by the window. Harry took a seat on his bed, back against the headboard, and opened his letter. 

‘Dear Harry, 

Please do try not to scribble over half the parchment next time. Your atrocious handwriting is difficult enough to read without them–’

Harry rolled his eyes.

‘–Also, you didn’t write either. Prat. 

My first week of summer has been tolerable. Father is away often, but that isn’t anything new. Mother has been quieter than usual. 

Birthday parties are not weird, you are. You receive presents and eat cake. It really is that simple. 

Yes, I do read. Sometimes I practise potion-making and spellwork. Sometimes I draw. Sometimes I play chess. I fly often. It’s not difficult to find a hobby, Potter. Or you could always leave the house, you know. 

Sincerely, 

D.M.’

He re-read the letter twice more, then hit himself on the cheek as he realised he was grinning. Ridiculous, he chided himself. He didn’t even say anything nice. 

He reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a spare piece of parchment, then wandlessly summoned a quill and ink bottle from his desk across the room with a quick crook of his finger. Although Remus had advised against performing ‘too much’ magic, considering he was still underage, Harry had taken full advantage of the Ministry’s ignorance to his current location and been using some simple spells. In an attempt to pass time, he’d also spent a lot of it on practising wandless magic, which was turning out to be as difficult as expected, but had been successful a handful of times with the easiest spells. 

‘Dear obnoxious wanker,’ 

He grinned to himself, spinning the quill between his fingers before bringing it to the parchment again. 

‘Do you have to finish every sentence with an insult? 

I will continue to scribble whether you like it or not. Here is more scribble, you insufferable prat.

I didn’t know you could draw? Are you good? I’m hopeless at drawing, really. I’ve found I actually enjoy cooking when it’s not for the Dursleys. Baking too. I’m going to send Hedwig with some of the scones I baked this morning. 

I have been leaving the house, thank you very much. I go for a lot of walks. Usually Padfoot comes along (Remus’ dog, he was at Hogwarts at the end of the year). Sometimes Remus does. He’s a bit like you – he seems to like quiet. He reads a lot too. Nerds. 

It’s pretty cool here. I’m not used to being right in the city – the Dursleys live far from London. I visit the market quite a bit. There’s this stall that serves these things called empanadas and Merlin they’re amazing. I want to try make them someday, but I doubt they’ll be half as good. 

There are lots of things I want to talk to you about. It’s hard over letters. 

Don’t take another week to reply!

H’

• • •

Living with Sirius and Remus was a lot different to seeing them occasionally through firecall and reading about them through letters. In most ways, it was a good difference. Every morning, Harry and Sirius in his animagus form left early for a walk around the nearby streets, sometimes stopping at the market for groceries. Harry was allowed, even encouraged, to cook whatever might take his fancy– he practically owned the kitchen by now. He was never told to hurry up, or scolded for making a mistake, or demanded to stick to bland, traditionally Western dishes. He was never asked to do chores, either, although he still continued to always wash his dishes the muggle way after cooking. 

The evenings after dinner were spent on the couch in the living room, poking fun at various muggle sitcoms and talking about anything and everything. When Harry couldn’t sleep– which was most nights– he’d find Remus with the kettle already boiling in the kitchen and they’d sit with Stella in comfortable silence. When Harry was caught up in unpleasant memories and his nails dug into his palms, Sirius lay on his chest and nosed at his hands until they tangled into his fur instead. Harry couldn’t remember ever feeling happier, or more loved, than he did here. 

The unfortunate differences were more subtle, but Harry noticed them anyway. He noticed when Sirius spent an entire day in his animagus form, curled up in front of the fireplace and sleeping the hours away. He noticed when Remus paused to check the calendar almost every day, finger trailing along the lines and lips turning to a frown as he found the same day over and over. Sometimes, the two men would argue in hushed murmurs that they thought Harry couldn’t hear from his bedroom. Sometimes they’d come back together from a meeting with the Order of the Phoenix, expressions pinched as they bade Harry goodnight and went straight to bed. 

It was one of these evenings, when the both of them were out at a meeting and Harry had finished washing the dishes from dinner, that Harry and Draco planned to firecall. 

“Draco!” Harry greeted when his friend’s face appeared in the flames. The familiar feeling of fluttering started up in his stomach almost immediately. 

“My, someone’s excited,” Draco replied in his usual drawl, and Harry was too happy to roll his eyes. 

“Aren’t I allowed to be happy?” 

“Of course, anyone would be happy to see me.” 

“I see you’re still as much of a prat as I left you.” 

“I’m simply self-aware.” 

Harry scoffed, half of a laugh. “Hardly.” 

“How are you?” Draco asked then, head tilted in the way that Harry loved.

“I’m good, I think. I made tikka masala for dinner which was delicious , if I do say so myself. Managed to do a wandless Incendio earlier today, as well, so I’m happy about that. Remus has been in a bit of a better mood lately, since the full moon a few nights ago. I think it went okay, but he doesn’t talk about it to me much. Er… I’m not sure what else. How’re you? What’ve you been up to?” 

“The fact that you can do any wandless magic at all is a wonder to me, really. It certainly shouldn’t be so easy for you, but at this point, it’s not surprising. I’ve been fine, I suppose. Father has begun speaking to me about Voldemort’s return. ‘Things will start changing soon, Draco’ he keeps telling me. As if I don’t already know. Mother doesn’t speak a lot. I feel like we’re all just… waiting.” 

“Yeah, it feels the same here. Too quiet for comfort.” 

“Hm,” Draco hummed, shifting in his spot. “Has Lupin managed to convince you of hosting that party for your birthday yet?” 

Harry smiled, grateful for the change of topic. “I don’t think I have much of a say at this point.” 

“Stop being humble for one day, will you? You’ll have a grand time. Think of the presents. And the treacle tart.” 

“Mmm,” Harry hummed appreciatively, distracted by the thought of his favourite dessert. “You’ve convinced me.” 

“Of course I have.” 

They talked for well over an hour, until Harry heard the front door being unlocked and, after a hurried goodbye and a promise to call another time soon, Draco’s face disappeared from the fireplace.

Chapter Text

The 31st of July came so quickly that Harry didn’t realise it was his birthday until Sirius and Remus burst through his bedroom door holding presents. 

“Happy birthday, pup!” Sirius cheered after an embarrassing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday To You’, dropping the gifts at the end of Harry’s bed and reaching over to ruffle Harry’s hair. 

Remus was right on his heel, leaning in to give Harry a one-armed hug as the other arm deposited presents into Harry’s lap. “Happy birthday, Harry. Sorry if you wanted a sleep-in, Sirius insisted.” 

“I don’t mind,” Harry chuckled, sitting up more against his pillows and putting on his glasses. He gazed down at the presents covering his bed in awe, hearing the tell-tale flash of a camera from somewhere above him. “Must you take a picture of everything?” he asked teasingly, looking up at Remus. “That whole camera’s got to be filled with me, now.” 

Sirius puffed up his chest. “Plenty of me, too, don’t worry.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, looking back down at his presents. “Surely these aren’t all from you both?” 

“We have 14 years to make up for,” Sirius reminded him, taking a seat amongst the boxes. “Of course they are.” 

“But–” 

Remus put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. That camera had thankfully been put down on Harry’s bedside table. “Better to just accept it, cub. He’s a gift-giver.” 

“You are just as much to blame as I am, darling,” Sirius scoffed, and Harry only grinned. 

“Thank you so much, really. This is more than I could’ve ever expected.” 

Sirius patted his head, a soft smile across his lips. “Don’t be silly, pup. You deserve the world.” 

Harry started unwrapping his presents then as the two men watched. A few of them held new clothes that seemed to cover a number of different styles – Sirius explained that the two of them couldn’t agree on a style that would fit Harry best, and so they ended up getting the lot. Harry, who’d never put a single thought towards his clothing since most, if not all, of his items were hand-me-downs from Dudley, could only imagine the trouble he’d have trying to figure it out himself. 

He was gifted what Remus called a ‘Discman’ too, which Harry remembered seeing Dudley carrying around from time to time last year. In the same wrapping paper were a number of CDs that Harry didn’t recognise, but the men insisted were “essential for him to know”. There were a handful of items from Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop as well, courtesy of Sirius, unsurprisingly. Two cookbooks were wrapped together that Harry had to be nudged away from so that he could unwrap his last present, which appeared to be a third book. 

Harry’s jaw dropped when he realised exactly what the third book was. ‘A Complete Guide to Becoming an Animagus’ by Earnest Biggs. His gaze lifted to flick between the two men watching him, awaiting some sort of explanation. Sirius only grinned, head tilting as if waiting for Harry to ask. 

Remus, thankfully, took pity. “So, we thought–” 

“Yes,” Harry interrupted instead, nodding his head eagerly. “Yes, I definitely want to learn. I was actually going to ask about it sometime this summer. How’d you know? When can I start? How long does it take? What–” 

“Okay, okay!” Sirius laughed, holding up his hands. “Cool it, pup.” 

“You’re going to have to read that entire book before we begin talking about you starting to learn, understood?” Remus said seriously, and Harry nodded. “James and Sirius became animagi in their fifth year, so we thought it was only right to offer the same to you.”

“You’re lucky you’ve got me, really,” Sirius shrugged. “It would’ve been way easier with some guidance.” 

“What do you think I’ll be? A stag, like my dad? That’s what my patronus is.” 

Remus shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I believe your patronus is a stag purely because throughout your childhood, most of your happiness was sourced from memories of your parents. Your animagus, in most cases, will be an embodiment solely of your own traits.”

“I’m hoping you become a dog, like me,” Sirius said, and Remus gave him an exasperated look.

“There are millions of species in the world, Sirius, don’t give him false expectations.” 

“A godfather can dream, can’t he?” 

Harry snorted, shaking his head. He set his new book on his bedside table, already planning to start it that night. “Thank you both. I’m– thank you. I don’t know what to say.” 

“No need, cub,” Remus assured, ruffling his hair affectionately. 

Sirius hopped off the bed, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Come on then, breakfast!” 

Laughing, Harry pulled on one of the new jumpers he’d been gifted, and followed the two of them downstairs to the kitchen. A wave of Remus’ wand had music playing loudly from the radio on one of the shelves, whilst Sirius pushed Harry into one of the island stools and got to taking out pans. 

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry asked, eyeing his godfather dubiously as he summoned various ingredients from their pantry. He’d tried Sirius’ cooking only once before, and it had been… interesting, for sure. 

“Are you doubting me?” the man gasped, affronted. 

Remus gave Harry an amused glance over his partner’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Harry, I’m watching him.” 

Sirius scoffed, scooping a handful of eggs onto the counter. “Shows what you two think of me, huh.” 

A moment later, one of the eggs rolled right off the edge of the counter and splat onto the tiled floor. The three of them paused and stared at the seeping yoke, before collectively collapsing into a fit of laughter. 

“The timing of that!” Harry cried, smacking a hand on the counter in front of him. Remus, after finishing his own bout of chuckles, had the broken egg quickly vanished. 

“Wait–” Sirius froze, throwing a hand into the air dramatically. Harry and Remus looked at him expectantly. “Moons, you remember this one?” 

He was referring to the song that had just started up on the radio, Harry quickly realised. He didn’t recognise it, but the breakfast cooking was immediately abandoned as Sirius began singing, a wooden spoon held up in place of a microphone. 

“Guess who just got back today?” he cried, moving to the radio to turn up the volume dial. “Them wild-eyed boys that had been away. Haven’t changed, had much to say,” the next lyric was sung with a pointed finger flung in Stella’s direction, who’d curled up on the stool beside Harry to watch the whole ordeal with a bored expression. “But man, I still think them cats are crazy.” 

  He sung the next part to Remus, shuffling over to sling an arm around his waist. “They were askin’ if you were around. How you was, where you could be found. I told ‘em you were livin’ downtown. Drivin’ all the old men crazy. Come on Moons, together now!” 

Remus, clearly unsure whether to look exasperated or fond, joined in with only slightly less enthusiasm on the chorus. “The boys are back in town! The boys are back in town!” 

“Come on, Harry!” Sirius called, and Harry, grinning, hopped off his stool to join them at the counter. 

“The boys are back in town! The boys are back in town! The boys are back in town! The boys are back in town!” 

Sirius handed the spoon to Harry as the instrumental began, bending his knees slightly and playing an overly-dramatic air guitar. Harry couldn’t stop laughing, watching his godfather go mad to the song. He sung the entire thing, sharing the spoon-microphone with the others when it came to the chorus’, and even attempting to point it at Stella’s face at one point, to which she swiped at angrily. 

“It’s a wonder I’m in love with you,” Remus said as Sirius panted against the counter, wooden spoon abandoned on the floor. “You’re lucky you’re handsome.” 

“Rubbish,” Sirius scoffed, leaning in to press a kiss to the other man’s cheek. “You and Lil were the ones who introduced us to that stuff, don’t act like you don’t love it.” 

Harry watched them as he wandered back to his stool, smiling at the open display of affection. He’d never seen his aunt and uncle do anything remotely close to dancing around the kitchen or teasing each other or even kissing one another’s cheeks. Harry liked seeing Remus and Sirius be so unashamedly fond. He wondered if one day he’d be that way, too. 

“Harry? Anyone home?” Sirius was asking as he zoned back in, hand waving in front of his face. “Thinking of something? Some one , perhaps?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, and Sirius winked. 

“This birthday breakfast for your only godson getting done anytime today?” Remus asked loudly, and Sirius jumped back to action immediately as Harry laughed. 

• • •

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, before Harry’s face was stifled by bushy curls as she threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. “Happy birthday!” 

“Hermione,” Harry smiled, hugging back just as tight. He’d missed her more than he’d thought. “Thanks. How are you?” 

“I’m great! Oh, I’ve missed you so much! How are you? What’s it like living with S– wait. Is anyone else here?” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You’re the first, of course.” 

“Good.” She smiled, brushing hair from her face and handing him a small, wrapped gift and card. “These are yours. Show me around, please? What’s it like living with Sirius? And Professor Lupin? You really don’t say enough in your letters. Can I meet the cat? Is she around?” 

Harry only watched her fondly as she rambled, leaving her gift on the table in the entrance hall and following her into the living room. 

“Oh! There she is!” she cried happily, moving to the couch closest to the fireplace with a hand out-stretched to Stella, who peered at her cautiously where her face was tucked into her tail. 

“She’s a little shy,” Harry warned, but the cat seemed to hesitantly accept the gentle pets after sniffing at Hermione’s hand. 

“She’s a sweetheart,” she cooed softly, scratching behind her ears. 

“Is it safe to come out?” Sirius asked from behind the doorway, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“If it wasn’t, you’d have ruined it anyway,” he pointed out as his godfather stepped into the room. Remus followed a moment later, giving Sirius the same look as Harry. 

“I knew it was only our Hermione, calm down everyone,” Sirius huffed a laugh. Hermione stood, happily leaning in to kiss both of their cheeks in greeting. 

The doorbell rang again, then, and Harry went to open the door for the Weasleys. The rest of his Hogwarts roommates arrived only minutes apart after that, and Sirius had turned into his animagus form so that he could sit at Harry’s feet and eagerly lap up attention from the others. Several owls arrived as the group chatted and ate a feast for lunch, bringing Harry cards and small gifts from a few others. Harry didn’t recognise any of them as Draco’s eagle-owl, but noticed that a pretty barn owl carried a box and letter with the Slytherin’s familiar cursive handwriting. Harry guessed he must’ve made precautions for Harry’s guests. 

After lunch, Ron’s parents and Remus moved to the back garden with Padfoot in tow. After turning up the music on the radio a touch, Harry moved his pile of gifts to the living room to open. Hermione’s little present turned out to be a nice black, leather wallet with a small outline of a snitch engraved into the front. Fred and George had gifted him a book of joke spells and a few items from Zonko’s Joke Shop. Ginny gave him a ‘Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion’ on account that his hair had looked great when he used it for the ball the previous year. Ron had put together a large box of assorted honeydukes sweets and chocolates. Dean gave him a 3-month subscription to the ‘Seeker Weekly’ magazine. Neville’s gift was a small pot with a young seedling that he explained was a growing Moly flower. 

The last gift took Harry by surprise. He could tell it was a small book when Seamus had handed it to him, but the shock came when he pulled off the wrapping to read the title, ‘12 Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Wizards’ by Zachary Tart. He froze, eyes wide as he re-read the words several times. 

“What– how’d you know?” he asked before his brain could catch up to his mouth, and the laughter that surrounded him a second ago faded awkwardly. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” George muttered after several moments of silence. Harry’s eyes widened more still as he realised what he’d said. 

“I mean–” 

“We didn’t know, but thanks for telling us, mate,” Seamus interrupted, trying to stifle his laughter. 

“Haz! How didn’t we know this?” Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up. He looked amused, though, and was shoving at his boyfriend’s shoulder to try to get him to quiet down. 

Harry’s gaze moved slowly from the two of them to Ron and Hermione, who were still yet to speak. Hermione, predictably, looked hardly surprised, whilst Ron openly gaped. 

“Er–” Harry tried, grimacing. “Surprise? I guess?” 

He wasn’t too annoyed at the circumstances, despite being completely unprepared. He’d wanted to bring it up to his best friends soon, anyway, and now he wouldn’t have to psych himself up for it. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, eyes creased as she smiled. “I’ll be honest, it’s not much of a surprise.” 

Fred snorted loudly, startling Stella from her sleep on the couch near him. 

“You fancy boys?” Ron asked, expression confused. 

“And girls,” Harry clarified, rolling his eyes as Seamus booed quietly. “I’m bisexual. This… wasn’t exactly the way I was going to tell you all, but, there it is.” 

“Couldn’t have done it better, mate,” Dean said, leaning over to pat his arm. 

“Thanks for telling us, Harry,” Neville smiled, and Ginny nodded along. Harry tilted a smile at them both, then looked back at Ron, still waiting for him to voice his thoughts. 

He was looking oddly at his older brothers, rather than back at Harry. “You both knew, didn’t you?” 

“Ah, little brother. The things we know that you wish you did…” Fred said wistfully, and Ron rolled his eyes. 

“Do you have a, erm, a boyfriend, then?” he asked, finally looking back at Harry. His confusion was gone, and he didn’t seem angry at all, if only a little hesitant. 

“Merlin, no,” Harry replied, shaking his head quickly. 

George smirked. “He wishes he did.” 

Seamus leaned forward eagerly. “Who is he? Is he in our year?” 

“He’s no one,” Harry tried, only realising his mistake when the boys seemed to grow more excited. “I mean– no. There’s no boy. Godric, calm down.” 

“Really?” Neville asked thoughtfully, and the others turned to stare at him. 

“What d’you know, Nev?” Dean asked, leaning in. 

“Who is he? You can tell us. We keep great secrets,” Seamus insisted, but Neville only shook his head with a small shrug. 

“I don’t know,” he said, although the look he gave Harry said the opposite. 

“Because there’s no bo–” 

“Cake, anyone?” Remus interrupted, calling out to the group as the adults strode back into the living room. Relieved, Harry quickly followed him into the kitchen and the group followed suit, albeit reluctantly, to sing ‘Happy Birthday To You’ and slice up the cake to share. 

• • •

The topic of Harry’s sexuality didn’t come up again until that evening, once everyone except Hermione had left. Her and Harry sat on his bed in his bedroom whilst he showed her his gifts from Sirius and Remus. She’d been particularly interested in the book about animagi, and flicked through it as they continued to chat. 

“Are you mad I didn’t tell you?” Harry asked quietly after they’d fallen into silence for a few moments. “About liking boys?” 

Hermione looked up at him from the book, eyes soft. “Of course not, Harry,” she said gently, reaching out a hand to intertwine her fingers with his own. “I know you would have told us when you were ready. Are you upset that that was how it happened?” 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “It was kind of funny, really. I wasn’t worried about any of you guys finding out, I just… didn’t know how to bring it up.” 

“Worked out in your favour, then, didn’t it?” Hermione laughed. 

He smiled. “Yeah.” 

“This is actually wonderful, you know. Now we can talk about boys together. Including…” she raised an eyebrow. “The boy you fancy, perhaps?” 

“Merlin, here we go again.” 

“Harry, do you really think I can’t tell when you’re lying by now? I’m your best friend.” 

Harry sighed. “It’s just a crush. It doesn’t mean enough to tell anyone about.” 

“Hmm.” 

“You know what does mean enough? You and Ron. Don’t think I don’t see the way you’ve both been dancing around each other since third year–” 

Hermione scoffed loudly, pulling her hand away from Harry’s to slap it lightly instead. “We have not! Ron is a complete idiot. I do not fancy him–” 

“My guy’s an idiot too, and I fancy him!” 

“Oh, so he’s ‘your guy’ is he? I thought it didn’t mean enough to tell anyone about?” 

Harry spluttered. “I didn’t mean it like that .” 

“I’ll confess my crush if you confess yours.” 

“Not happening.” 

“I will get it out of you, Harry James Potter–” 

“You sound just like Sirius,” Harry laughed, shaking his head in amusement. He could only imagine how shocked everyone would be if they were to find out exactly who they were trying to press details about from Harry. 

Hermione smiled, looking down at her lap and taking Harry’s hand again. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out myself.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Harry sighed fondly. 

“How has it been living with Sirius? You didn’t get much of a chance to tell me before.” 

“It’s amazing, Hermione. This has been the best summer I’ve ever had. It’s like having an actual family, it’s mad.” 

“It is an actual family, Harry,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand. “I’m so happy for you, really. And I’m glad none of the rubbish in the Prophet has been getting to you. I do worry–” 

“What rubbish in the Prophet ?” 

“Oh,” Hermione paused, confused. “Have you been reading the Prophet lately?” 

Harry shook his head, equally as bewildered. “Remus tells me if there’s anything interesting in it.” 

“Oh.” 

“What rubbish, then?” 

“Well… I’m not too sure if you want to know, now.” 

“Come off it, ‘Mione. You have to tell me now.” 

Hermione avoided his gaze, fingers fiddling anxiously with Harry’s own. “Well, they haven’t said much. Just, well, sometimes they mention you in a… bit of a poor light.” 

“What d’you mean ‘a poor light’?” 

“Um… well, they seem to be writing about you as though you’re this deluded, attention-seeker that thinks he’s some tragic hero,” she said very quickly. “They’re trying to turn you into a joke. Someone who’s just telling tall tales about Dark wizards returning because you like the fame and attention and–” 

“I hate the attention–” 

“I know, Harry, it’s awful–”

“And I hate the fame,” he was glaring now, despite knowing Hermione was simply acting messenger. “I’m only famous because Voldemort killed my parents when I was one and he couldn’t kill me! Why would I lie about any of it?!” 

“I know , Harry. They’re being ridiculous–” 

“So everyone thinks I’m a liar, then?” he puffed.

Hermione grimaced, still determinedly avoiding his gaze. “People who believe the Prophet .” 

“Great.” 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, really. When had the Daily Prophet ever had his back? At least his friends seemed unphased by the gossip. He’d survived second year with the entire student body believing he was the heir of Slytherin, he could survive this one. The real concern was that the Ministry’s refusal that Voldemort would be back at large would lead to a whole lot of damage that could be otherwise avoided. Harry, who’d already been tense in anticipation of Voldemort making his first move, was now only more anxious about the year ahead. 

• • •

‘Harry, 

Happy birthday. 

I hope your party doesn’t end up feeling as weird as you thought. You deserve Enjoy it. I also hope you like my gift. Now you have something to chase whilst you’re up in the clouds. There’s a manual included that contains a spell to limit their range. 

I sort of miss you. 

Sincerely, 

D.M.’

• • •

‘Draco, 

The party was still weird, but I had fun. It was nice seeing my friends again. I wish you had been there There was so much treacle tart I think I’ll be full for days. And I don’t think I’ve ever received so many presents. I think Remus went a little overboard. I was given a book on animagi. I’m considering becoming one – what do you think? 

Thank you so much for the snitches. They’re gorgeous . Not like the chipped ones at Hogwarts. I’ve already tried one out in the garden – the spell worked and it stayed above the clouds thankfully. Thank you. I suppose I owe you a match of Seeker on Seeker when we’re back at Hogwarts. 

Does your family do anything for Lughnasadh? Remus said he and I can bake our own bread tomorrow to celebrate. I’ve never made bread before, so I’m looking forward to it. Maybe I’ll send some to you with Hedwig if it’s good. He said I can try some fancy elf wine with dinner as well. I’ve never had wine, elf or otherwise, either. Have you? Is it good? 

Have you been reading the Daily Prophet? 

H

P.S. When are you planning to visit Diagon Alley? Maybe we can try catch each other?’

Chapter Text

Harry finished ‘A Complete Guide to Becoming an Animagus’ within three days. Considering he’d had no interest in reading previously, it was quite the record. At exactly two A.M., he burst into the master bedroom, effectively waking up the two men previously fast asleep in the sheets. 

“I’m finished! I’ve read it all!” he told them excitedly, dropping the book at their feet in triumph. 

Remus took one bleary glance at him then turned over, grumbling to Sirius, “He’s your godson.” 

“Harry,” Sirius groaned, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Tomorrow.” 

“Now,” Harry demanded stubbornly. “You said once I finished reading the book–” 

“Then you’d know that we can’t start until the next full moon, wiseass,” Sirius said, voice muffled by his pillow. “Try again in a week.” 

“But–” 

Remus sighed. “Tomorrow , cub.” 

Harry held back a particularly childish whine, and instead turned on his heel to stomp from the room, book once again clutched in his hands. He knew it was a bit ridiculous expecting to talk at this hour, but he was so eager to start the process that none of that seemed to matter. 

‘Draco,’ he wrote on a spare piece of parchment the moment he got back to his room. ‘I’m going to become an animagus. I don’t know what I’ll become. I’d ask what you think, but I know you’d only reply with something terrible. Like a worm. Godric, imagine if I became a worm. Or a slug. Ew.’ 

He rolled the quill between his fingers, brushing the end of its feather against his cheek absently as he considered what to write next. ‘I can’t wait–’ no. He scratched that out immediately. ‘Looking forward to–’ still no. ‘Did you get my last letter?’ . He signed off with his usual ‘H’ and folded the paper into an envelope, scrawling Draco’s name across the front and leaving it on his bedside table for Hedwig to take in the morning, since she was asleep on her perch at the moment. 

Sighing, he took off his glasses and set them beside the letter, wriggling under the covers and staring at the blank ceiling above him. Despite feeling happier than he had any previous summer, this part of his day still remained an ever-present issue. It was easier to keep himself from falling into memories of the graveyard and of seeing Cedric be killed when he could distract himself throughout the day. It became harder when all he needed was to fall asleep, but sleep only came with nightmares. 

They always started with silence. Harry would find himself alone in an endless expanse of pitch black, nothing but the small clouds of warm air leaving his lips as he breathed. And then the black would flash green, and the screams would seep in. Sometimes his own, sometimes belonging to others. To his mother, to Cedric. To Hermione, or Ron, or Sirius, or Remus. Sometimes to Draco. 

And he’d always wake with a start, hair stuck to his forehead by a cold sweat and eyelashes wet with tears. Stella would usually find him like that; slink through the gap in his doorway and leap neatly onto his mattress, tuck her head under his chin with insistent meows until Harry was finally tugged from his clinging dreams and curled fingers behind her ear. He’d miss the cat when he was back in Hogwarts, he thought sadly. 

• • •

‘Harry, 

Unless you’re going to register yourself as an animagus (which I very much doubt), please reconsider how carelessly you’d like to tell everyone about becoming one. Also, of course you’d become an animagus. Knowing you, you’ll turn out to be a lion or something of the sort. Completely unoriginal, of course. Don’t cry to me if it goes wrong, though. Salazar knows your Transfiguration skills aren’t extraordinary. I might be persuaded to assist with the potion, however. Emphasis on might . 

I have, unfortunately, been reading the Daily Prophet. Honestly, these days their stories are more ridiculous than those in the Quibbler. And that is saying a lot . If you think I believe any of the tosh they’ve been putting out, you’ve got another thing coming, Potter. 

Of course we celebrated Lughnasadh – my family is as traditional as they come. The elves cooked a feast and we held a circle in the gardens. Not nearly as fun as the Hogwarts celebrations, but we can’t have everything. Thank you for the bread – it was delectable, especially with the new jams mother has bought from France. Still waiting on more scones, though. 

I will be at Diagon Alley in the week before school starts back. Dumbledore appears to be taking his time appointing a new Defence professor. Perhaps you could convince Professor Lupin to return? He really has been the only one up to scratch, so far. Not that I listened to most of what he taught us in third year. He is very attractive, isn’t he? Distracting. 

Anyways. 

D.M. 

P.S. Don’t tell him I said that. 

P.S.S. I’ve had some wine, but I don’t think it’s had any effect. 

P.S.S.S. Stop being so impatient. I will reply when I like. 

P.S.S.S.S. Aquila doesn’t appreciate your common Eeylops treats. Do better, will you?’ 

Harry stared at the letter in his hands, mouth agape, for quite some time. Contrary to what Draco seemed to believe, the wine certainly seemed to have taken effect. He couldn’t stop his gaze from re-reading the particular part about being distracted by Remus’ attractiveness throughout third year. Was he only joking? Did he somehow find out about Harry coming out to his friends and was teasing him for it? Was he serious? Was he attracted to men? Harry had so many questions. Completely ignoring Draco’s first ‘P.S.’, Harry scrambled off his bed and took the stairs two-at-a-time to reach Remus and Sirius in the living room. 

“He called you attractive,” he announced immediately, bypassing all necessary context. 

“Who called who attractive?” Sirius asked, already interested. He currently had his head in Remus’ lap as his partner flicked lazily through a novel. 

“My Slytherin friend,” Harry explained in a huff, throwing himself into the armchair beside them. “He said, and I quote, ‘Not that I listened to most of what he taught us in third year. He is very attractive, isn’t he? Distracting’. ” 

Sirius instantly let out a roar of laughter, one hand slapping the back of the couch as the other clutched his stomach. “Moons!” he exclaimed, breathless. “You were a poor pureblood boy’s gay awakening. How does it feel? Please, tell me.” 

“Familiar,” Remus smirked, and Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“So you think he’s gay?” Harry asked, sitting up. 

Sirius gave him a look. “No, it’s perfectly heterosexual to call your same-sex professor distractingly attractive, Harry.” 

“Well,” Harry spluttered, picking up on his godfather’s sarcasm. “I don’t know.” 

“At least we know he has good taste,” Sirius hummed, grinning cheekily up at Remus, who hummed agreeably. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Me and Moony look nothing alike.” 

Sirius scoffed. “Cheers for the obvious.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything, cub,” Remus said, amused. “Surely you’ve found other boys attractive that look nothing alike?” 

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “True.” 

That still didn’t mean Draco might find him attractive, though, he thought to himself. And why would he? He was short, scrawly, and utterly unkempt at the best of times. He supposed the sun over summer had been generous to his skin. And the extra food had filled him out a little more. But his hair still stuck out at odd angles, and he could barely see without his glasses, and that’s not to mention the ugly scar still branded over his face. He frowned, doubtful. 

“Oh, pup,” Sirius sighed, reaching a hand over his shoulder to tug affectionately at Harry’s hair. “You’re a knockout, trust me. If you had your father’s ego, you’d know that. And he didn’t even have the green eyes. Is it the glasses? Maybe we should get you some new ones–” 

“We can talk about that when we visit Diagon,” Remus interrupted exasperatedly. “Speaking of, when do you want to go, Harry?”

“Sometime in the last week of August,” Harry replied quickly, shrugging to appear unconcerned. 

“Any particular reason?” Sirius asked with an eyebrow raised. 

“No.” 

“Last week of August it is, then.” 

“Oh,” Remus said, as if he’d just remembered something. “I managed to get my hands on a couple of mandrake leaves.” 

Harry perked up at that. “Really? It’s really happening, then?” 

“You didn’t think the book was a joke, did you?” 

Harry, who had started to think something of the sort after their dismissal the other night, looked away bashfully. “Well…” 

“Full moon is in three nights,” Sirius changed the topic. “Obviously, we won’t be around for the evening. But all you need to perform is a temporary Sticking Charm for the leaf to stay under your tongue. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but you’ll be grateful when you’re not swallowing it down every second meal and having to wait another month to restart.” 

• • •

‘Draco, 

I think the wine definitely had an effect. I wouldn’t mind becoming a lion – they’re cool! I’m honestly torn. I’d like something big that can hold its own, it would be useful in a fight. But I’d also like something small that can sneak around undetected. Maybe something that can fly? How amazing would that be? I can’t make up my mind. It won’t go wrong, but I would be very grateful if you helped with the potion. 

I know you said not to, but I told Remus that you said he was attractive. He doesn’t know who you are, though, so you’re safe. Does that mean you’re Were you joking Are you attracted to other men Did you know he’s gay? Are you? He has a partner who was very amused by your comment. I might tell you about him some time. If he lets me. 

Also, you seemed to forget that he’s a werewolf. Unfortunately, parents wouldn’t be happy with him continuing to teach at Hogwarts. It’s why he had to leave after third year. I didn’t think Dumbledore would let him go just because of that, but I guess that’s how it is. I hope this year’s Defence professor is good. 

See you at the end of the month. 

H’

• • •

The end of summer came quickly. A Hogwarts owl came to the townhouse on August 28th, carrying a letter with Harry’s booklist for the school year ahead. The next day, Harry and Remus set out with Padfoot to Diagon Alley, where they met with the Weasleys and Hermione. Mrs Weasley spent the first thirty minutes hissing to Sirius about Dumbledore’s instructions for him to stay inside and how irresponsible it was of him to be there, before Remus suggested, with a sternness that Harry thought only he could detect, that the group separate to shop more effectively. 

That was how Harry found himself wandering into Madame Malkin’s with Ron and Hermione in tow, just in time to run into the person he’d been looking forward to seeing all summer. 

“Draco!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself, then flushed as he realised what he’d done. His friends were giving him equally bewildered looks that he ignored, coughing awkwardly into his hand. “Just the person I wanted to see, how wonderful ,” he continued with exaggerated sarcasm. 

He could barely pick up on the exasperation in the Slytherin’s voice as he narrowed his eyes at Harry, chin raised upwards haughtily. “Did you suffer a brain injury over summer, Potter? It’s Malfoy to you. Although, I hardly see a reason as to why you should address me at all.” 

Harry struggled to subdue the grin that threatened to spread across his face. His stomach had erupted in flutters the moment he’d set eyes on Draco, skin warm and heart racing as though he’d just come down from a game of Quidditch. He wanted to hit himself. 

“Shouldn’t you be at Twilfitt and Tattings with your precious mummy?” Ron asked with a scowl, and Harry blinked out of his distracted daze. 

Draco turned his sneer on the other boy. “Shouldn’t you be at Second-Hand Robes with yours?” 

“Boys,” Hermione huffed impatiently, striding past them into the shop without a glance back. The three of them watched her go for a moment. 

Harry latched onto the longing expression on his best friend’s face. “You go ahead, Ron. I’ll wait for you two to be done.” 

“You sure?” Ron asked, glancing warily at Draco, who sniffed and brushed past Harry, leaving the store. 

“Yeah, I’ll just look around while you’re out the back,” Harry nodded, trying not to sound too eager. 

Ron shrugged. “Alright, mate.” 

Harry watched him move to the curtains separating the tailoring section from the rest of the store, before quickly turning on his heel and following Draco out of the front door. The blond wasn’t anywhere to be seen as Harry searched the faces passing him in the street, but it was only a moment before an arm hooked around his waist and tugged his body into an alleyway beside the store. 

“Draco,” he breathed, smiling finally as he came face-to-face with the Slytherin. 

“You’re an idiot, Potter,” Draco replied, but his scathing tone had been replaced with one of fond exasperation that Harry figured was usually saved for him. 

He’d grown taller again over the summer, Harry realised. This was frustrating due to the fact that Harry had also finally had a bit of a growth spurt, which now seemed utterly unimpressive. However, he could hardly be upset when it allowed him the perfect view of Draco’s neck and collarbone – two areas that Harry tended to find himself staring at more often than not. He looked a little older, too. It was more noticeable now than it had been in their few fire-calls. His jawline had sharpened, brows had filled out a little, and his hair was longer; parted down the middle and hanging at chin-length. Harry’s hands itched with the impulse to reach up and run them through the strands. 

“I’ve missed you,” he confessed in a rush, then covered his mouth with one hand in embarrassment.

Draco smirked down at him, and Harry’s insides squirmed tighter still. 

“We fire-called just two days ago.” 

“It’s not the same.” 

“I know.” 

They were close enough that their chests almost touched. Harry’s gaze fell to pink lips, then to the stretch of pale skin over Draco’s throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed. There was a single dark freckle on the left side of his neck, just above the dip between his neck and collarbone. He wanted to cover it with his mouth. 

Draco cleared his throat, and Harry took a quick step back, hands digging into the pockets of his jeans uncomfortably. Draco was looking at him strangely. Harry didn’t know how to read it.

“Did Dumbledore make you a prefect, then?” 

Harry blinked, confused by the new topic for a moment. “Oh,” he realised belatedly. “Er, no. Ron and Hermione got it.” 

Draco looked surprised at the response. “Weasle? Over Gryffindor’s Golden Boy? What’s that old loon thinking?” 

“I don’t mind much,” Harry shrugged, looking at his feet. “Ron deserves it. I get enough attention already.” 

The look Draco gave him was indecipherable. 

“S’pose that means you got Slytherin prefect?” Harry asked instead, and grinned to himself as Draco straightened slightly, chest puffing up proudly. 

“Obviously,” he drawled, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Guess the ‘old loon’ got something right, then, after all.” 

“I wouldn’t give him too much credit. Severus knows his best students.” 

Harry snorted, shaking his head. “So humble.” 

“Hm.” 

They shared a smile, and Harry rocked back in his heels giddily. 

“How’s the mandrake?” Draco asked, then. 

“It’s okay. A little weird, but I’m getting used to it. Doesn’t get in the way too much when it’s stuck under my tongue.” 

He blushed unnecessarily. Why was he talking about his tongue? 

“When can you take it out?” Draco asked, and he seemed to be staring at the wall right beside Harry’s head instead of meeting Harry’s eyes. 

“Um, on the ninth. Next full moon. Moony– uh, Remus is going to send the parts of the potion that I need the morning of. I’d be hopeless on my own.” 

Draco tilted his head, a rare smile painting his lips as he finally set his gaze back on Harry’s. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

“I hate you,” Harry lied, pushing at the boy’s chest half-heartedly. Draco caught his wrists and held them, clasped loosely in his hands. 

“Sure you do, Scarhead.” 

“Your animagus would be a ferret.” 

Draco sucked in a breath, eyes playful. “That’s too far.” 

Harry stared at him. At his silver-grey eyes and snow-white skin and the strands of hair that hung across his face, just begging to be tucked away behind his ears. 

“Draco–” 

“Oi!”  

They both turned to find Ron glaring at them from the mouth of the alleyway. 

“Get off him, git!” he growled as his eyes zeroed on Draco’s hands, still wrapped around Harry’s wrists. 

Harry shot Draco an alarmed look, but the Slytherin had already schooled his face into an expression of almost-believable hostility. 

At least they knew how to play this part. 

“I told you to shove off, Malfoy,” he spat suddenly, tugging his wrists from Draco’s grasp and holding them against his own chest. “Just leave me alone.” 

Draco scoffed, eyes narrowed. “Gladly, Potter.” He swung around then, stalking to the other end of the alleyway and disappearing around the corner in a swish of robes that might have rivalled Professor Snape.  

Harry watched him go, trying to make his frown appear angry rather than disappointed. The feeling in his chest told a different story. 

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked from behind him. A hand was suddenly grasping his arm and Harry flinched instinctively, before quickly shooting his friend an apologetic look as the hand fell. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, nodding. “Just Malfoy being his usual self.” 

Ron rolled his eyes, turning to walk them back to Madame Malkins. “Bet he’s real chuffed, hm? About You-Know-Who being back and all. You reckon he’s been introduced yet?” 

“What would Voldemort want with a 15-year-old?” 

“Well, next generation of Death Eaters, innit?” 

Harry glared at the pavement beneath his shoes. “I s’pose.” 

The three of them caught up with the rest of the Weasley children at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour almost an hour later, treating themselves to large sundaes and sitting out in the sun to watch people pass by. He saw Draco for the second time that day, then, as the boy sauntered past them into the ice cream parlour. 

“Didn’t imagine Malfoy as the type to eat ice cream,” Ron commented as they watched him disappear inside. Harry’s gaze lingered on the glass windows, watching Draco wait in line at the counter. 

“Really?” Harry responded before his brain could catch up with his mouth. “He’s got a sweet tooth to rival Remus’.” 

George coughed into his fist, sounding suspiciously as if he were covering a laugh, and Harry refused to meet his eye. 

“How’d you know that, Harry?” Hermione asked, eyeing him curiously. 

“Gets all those fancy chocolates from his mum, doesn’t he?” he replied with a shrug. 

Part of him wanted to tell them that he knew because Draco was constantly requesting sweet desserts and pastries from the Hogwarts kitchens at odd hours of the day, and that he’d made a habit of searching Harry’s bag any time they happened to cross each other without company on the off-chance that he had a sweet of some sort stashed amongst his books. Although, he would leave out the fact that he tended to keep extra sweets or chocolates or sometimes even scones in his bag for this very reason. 

Draco stepped out of the door a few moments later, a cone held in one hand with two scoops piled on top, drizzled with a yellow-coloured syrup. Ron was eyeing it jealously, his glass empty on the table in front of him. Draco surveyed them with a dismissive gaze, lingering on Harry for barely a second longer, before licking a long stripe of his ice cream and turning to stride away. 

Harry, for no reason at all, suddenly felt very warm. They didn’t come across Draco again for the rest of the day, and Harry was suddenly very eager to return to Hogwarts to see him properly again.

Chapter Text

“Tell me again why I can’t bring Stella with me?” Harry asked with an exaggerated pout, blinking pleadingly at his godfather as they dragged his trunk and belongings down the stairs. 

“She’s Moony’s emotional support animal–” 

“I thought that was you.” 

Sirius grinned at him, eyes glinting. “Touché.”

“You’re not taking the cat!” Remus called out from the other room, and Harry sighed dramatically. “Come on, you two, or Harry’ll miss the train.” 

Harry found Stella quickly enough. She’d been intrigued by their packing and was watching from atop the table in the entrance hall. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, reaching a hand up to scratch behind her ear the way she loved. 

“Bye, baby,” he crooned as she leant into his hand. “I’ll miss you. Don’t forget me while I’m gone. I’ll see you at Christmas, promise.” 

She meowed and he sighed sadly again. 

“Portkey, Harry,” Remus reminded, and he begrudgingly moved away from Stella to touch his hand to the chipped mug being held by Remus, his other hand taking hold of Hedwig’s cage. 

Sirius transformed into his animagus form then, pressing his nose to the mug as Remus grasped Harry’s trunk. Moments later, the room began to spin around them, and they landed in the middle of Platform 9¾. 

“Harry!” Hermione cried from a short distance away, and they ambled up to her family and the Weasleys. 

He received a hug from Mrs Weasley and a firm handshake from Mr Weasley, before turning to give Remus and Sirius a last goodbye. Remus didn’t hesitate to pull him into an embrace, one hand cupping the back of his head and ruffling the thick curls there affectionately. 

“We’ll miss having you around, cub. Remember to write, and we’ll figure out a couple of times to firecall. Keep your head down, okay? No getting into trouble if you can help it. And be careful visiting Hogsmeade, of course. I doubt Dumbledore will let anything happen, but it can’t hurt to keep an eye out.” 

Harry nodded, throat tightening uncomfortably as he hugged the man. He’d gotten so used to living with him and Sirius, it would feel strange to be without them for the next few months. Remus let him go, and the large dog beside them suddenly stood on his hind legs, big paws landing on both of his shoulders as his nose nuzzled Harry’s cheek. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” he murmured into Padfoot’s fur, wishing his godfather didn’t need to hide and could wave him off properly from the platform like every other family. 

“Harry!” Ron called and he took a reluctant step back, hitching Hedwig’s cage under his arm and finally turning to step onto the train. 

Ron and Hermione mentioned needing to attend a prefect’s meeting in a separate compartment, and Harry remembered that that meant Draco would be there, too. That he was on the train now. He smiled at his friends, head bobbing in a nod before following Ginny to another compartment where he met a fourth year Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood, whom Harry thought had a very interesting fashion style, and seemed to only make sense half of the time. Harry decided fairly quickly that he liked her. They were met by the rest of Harry’s roommates shortly after, and spent their time with idle chatter and snacks from the trolley until Ron and Hermione showed up an hour later. 

“So, there are two fifth-year prefects from each house,” Hermione informed them as she stole a Licorice Wand from Harry’s lap and settled Crookshanks beside her. “A boy and a girl.” 

“Guess who’s a Slytherin prefect?” Ron asked, biting into a Chocolate Frog. 

Dean groaned. “Not Malfoy.” 

“Ding ding,” Ron said sarcastically, looking disgruntled. The rest of the compartment’s occupants, save for Hermione, Harry, and Luna, let out sounds of indignation. 

“So is that complete cow , Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione added with an angry frown. Harry was a little taken aback by her hostility. 

“Who’s Hufflepuff?” he asked, avoiding the topic altogether. 

“Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot,” Ron said. 

Hermione nodded along. “And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw.” 

“Padma doesn’t like you much,” Luna commented airily, looking at Ron. “She didn’t enjoy being your partner at the Yule Ball. She’s very pretty, you know.” 

Ron spluttered, cheeks burning red. 

“Don’t blame her,” Ginny muttered beneath her breath, and Luna smiled. 

Seamus gasped suddenly, smacking the seat beside him and startling his boyfriend who’d been tucked beneath his arm. “The Yule Ball! When Harry disappeared–” 

“You were with a boy!” Dean finished, quickly picking up Seamus’ train of thought. 

“Not a boy,” Seamus clarified. “ The boy. There’s one, remember?” 

“ No ,” Harry interrupted adamantly. “I actually remember saying there wasn’t a boy. I already told you where I was that night, anyway.” 

“Oh, because we all believed that you were ‘walking around the castle’,” Ron scoffed. 

“It’s not my fault you all don’t believe me–” 

“Come off it, Haz,” Seamus said, reaching over to pat his knee. “We’re not making you confess his identity. Just admit you were with him.” 

Harry groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. 

“This is a fun game,” Luna smiled, putting down her magazine– The Quibbler, Harry noticed– to look at him. “Is it Draco Malfoy? You spend a lot of time with him.” 

“Is–  what?!” Ron exclaimed as Seamus and Dean began to laugh. 

Harry stared back at the Ravenclaw girl in shock, his heartbeat suddenly a loud pounding in his head. Surely she didn’t know, did she? How would she have noticed? Harry didn’t even remember seeing her around before. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Seamus wheezed, slapping the seat again. “Oh, Godric, that’s too good.” 

“Malfoy and Harry hate each other, Luna,” Ginny explained with raised eyebrows. 

Hermione didn’t say anything, instead watching Harry over the top of her book with interest. Luna only hummed, picking up her magazine again as if she hadn’t just voiced the most absurd idea to the group. 

As if summoned, the compartment door opened then to reveal Draco himself, backed as usual by Crabbe and Goyle. He looked around at the full compartment coolly, and Harry snapped “What?” just so his friends would stop looking between them with obvious amusement. 

“Manners, Potter,” Draco drawled, pale eyebrows raised in surprise. “Or I might just consider giving you a detention.” 

Harry tried not to blush. “Go away, Malfoy.” 

“I couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t been given prefect. Dumbledore trying to tone down the favouritism, this year?” 

“Get lost,” Ron scowled, hand coming up to fiddle with the badge on his uniform self-consciously. 

“Touchy, touchy,” Draco smirked. Crabbe and Goyle grinned behind him. “Watch yourself, Potter. I’ll be dogging your every move in case you step out of line.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the Slytherin, instantly picking up on the choice of wording. Draco only smiled condescendingly and turned to leave. Hermione snapped the door shut instantly, giving Harry a worried expression that could only mean she’d heard his use of ‘dogging’ as well and thought of Sirius at the platform today. 

Except Harry couldn’t decide if there was a reason to be worried. So, Draco might have picked up on Padfoot being on the platform and thought it funny. Or it was simply a coincidence. Harry wasn’t worried that he might somehow figure out that the big dog was in fact Sirius Black. He was worried, however, about the possibility of Draco’s father figuring out the same. Harry couldn’t remember if he had even seen the man on the platform. 

“I’ll be back,” he said suddenly, getting to his feet and taking his invisibility cloak from his trunk. “Um, bathroom.” 

Seamus snorted. “Have fun with Malfoy .” 

Harry rolled his eyes, leaving the compartment without a reply and closing the door behind him. Just as he expected, Draco stood right outside, except this time without his two bodyguards. Harry glanced around quickly, then threw the cloak over the two of them. Draco, who had seen Harry use the cloak plenty of times by now, didn’t even blink. 

“You said that on purpose,” Harry said, cutting straight to the chase. 

Draco hummed, leaning back against the wall of the train. “Your godfather is Sirius Black, one of the only people to have escaped Azkaban prison, and no one has ever known how. You were given a guide to animagi for your birthday. And you mentioned that Professor Lupin has a male partner that I assume has been living with you both. That dog seems awfully fond of you, don’t you think?” 

“Does your dad know?” 

“Father wasn’t on the platform,” Draco said, shaking his head. “So, I’m right?” 

“Yes,” Harry sighed, although he wasn’t upset. “S’pose I shouldn’t be surprised you figured it out so easily.” 

Draco smirked, smug. “I’m quite brilliant when I want to be. Is that why you want to become an animagus? Because of Black? Also, I was led to believe that man was a mass murderer. I think I’m owed an explanation.” 

A younger girl appeared in the corridor suddenly, and Harry had to press himself tightly against Draco so that she could pass without noticing the large barrier that was two boys beneath an invisibility cloak. It was only after she’d entered another compartment further down that Harry realised Draco’s hands had come up to grip his waist in order to tug him closer. He breathed in sharply, face flushing warm at the sight. 

“Well?” Draco prompted and the hands fell away. Harry tried not to mourn the loss too openly. 

“Well,” he started, clearing his throat. “He was falsely accused of those murders. Peter Pettigrew caused the explosion that killed the muggles, and cut off his own finger to frame Sirius. He was an animagus, like Sirius, so he turned into a rat and escaped without being seen. He betrayed my parents’ location to Voldemort, which is what got them killed. That’s why Sirius went after him in the first place. Sirius’ animagus, as you’ve figured out, is a wolfhound. Him, Peter, and my dad all became animagi during school to help Remus on full moons. Does that cover everything?” 

Draco nodded, eyes widened slightly. “Plenty. So you’ve been living with him and Professor Lupin? Who’d have thought Lupin had a thing for criminals? That’s going to break a lot of hearts if it ever gets out.” 

“Including yours?” Harry asked, an eyebrow raised. 

Draco laughed, understanding his reference, and Harry tried not to melt then and there at the sound. “Maybe a little.” 

Harry stared at him, eyes searching. Now was the time to ask, if he was ever going to. “Can I use my truth?” 

It was silent as Draco considered his answer. It was fairly obvious what Harry’s question was going to be. He nodded slowly, expression unreadable as he met Harry’s gaze.

“Do you… well, um– are you attracted to… uh, to men– boys?” he asked finally, fumbling awkwardly over the words as though he’d forgotten how to speak plain English all of a sudden.

 Draco didn’t say anything, simply staring back at Harry for a long moment before eventually opening his mouth. “Yes.” 

Harry waited for him to continue, then stumbled through his next words when he didn’t. “Er– like, just boys? Like… you’re–” 

“I’m gay, Potter.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, as if he hadn’t already suspected so. “Cool. Well– cool. That’s–” 

“Let me guess, cool?” 

Harry frowned. “Shut up.” 

Draco, in a rare moment of obedience, stayed silent, head tilted in its familiar way. His expression looked conflicted. Harry chewed at his bottom lip anxiously, hands fiddling so much with the cloak around them that he thought it might slip off any second. 

“Well, I guess I should tell you that, um, that I’m… I like boys, too. And girls. I’m bisexual. I think.” 

They remained silent, and Harry avoided Draco’s gaze adamantly. He could feel it burning into the side of his face, searching for something Harry wasn’t sure of. 

Finally, “Cool.” 

Harry scoffed, heart hammering as he met Draco’s amused smirk. “Shut up.” 

“I’m supposed to be patrolling, you know.” 

“Oh, that’s why you stopped by our compartment? Just patrolling, were you?” 

Draco rolled his eyes, pushing lightly at Harry’s shoulders. “Run along back to your friends, Scarhead. They’ll be wondering why you’re taking so long.” 

“Prat,” Harry huffed, glancing down the corridor to make sure no student was around so that he could take the invisibility cloak off them. 

Draco shrugged slightly, familiar smirk still playing across his lips as he looked down at Harry then away again. He turned before Harry could say anything more, and made his way down the rest of the train corridor before pulling open one of the compartment doors and disappearing inside. Harry watched the door for a few moments longer, a small part of him hoping the Slytherin would walk right back out. He wanted Draco’s hands holding his waist again, drawing him up against his chest. His heart had been racing too, Harry remembered. 

“Harry?” Neville’s voice interrupted his musings as the boy stepped out from the compartment behind him. “You alright, mate?” 

“Fine,” he replied softly, eyes still trained on the door down the corridor. Had he imagined it? The way Draco had been looking down at him, conflicted and hesitant yet soft at the same time. He’d given him the same look in Diagon Alley a few days ago. 

“You sure?” Neville prompted, closing the compartment door behind him and standing at Harry’s shoulder. “You seem a little lost.” 

He sighed, finally moving his gaze to his friend. “I guess you could say that.” 

Neville gave him a knowing look. “Just taking a walk, huh?” 

“Bugger off.” 

• • •

The shared joy and excitement at being back at Hogwarts didn’t last quite as long as they’d hoped. The first thing out of place was the absence of Hagrid from the platform and the Great Hall during the Welcoming Feast. Instead, the first-year students were led into the hall by Professor Grubbly-Plank, who’d taken over some of Hagrid’s Care of Magical Beasts classes previously. The second was the Sorting Hat’s new song. 

“And never since the founders four were whittled down to three, have the Houses been united as they once were meant to be?” Hermione recited quietly as the hat became motionless and the clapping began. “Hogwarts is in danger from external deadly foes, and we must unite inside her or we’ll crumble from within?”

“How do you remember any of that?” Ron asked, bewildered. 

Hermione ignored him. “Has the hat ever given us a warning before?” 

“Anyone else think it’s trying to tell us to get along better with the Slytherins?” Dean asked instead when they’d all shaken their heads at Hermione. 

Ron scoffed. “Fat chance” 

“It does know Slytherin departed from the other founders for a reason, right?” Ginny added. 

Harry gazed across the hall, searching out the familiar shock of white-blond hair and finding Draco staring back at him, lips turned in a frown. The hall fell silent, then, as Professor McGonagall swept the room with an impatient glare. Harry looked away from Draco as she began to call out names of the first years, watching the small, terrified students shuffle up to the hat as though it was waiting to set their hair alight. He smiled a little, remembering being in that exact same place five years ago. He wondered briefly what his life might look like now if he’d allowed the hat to sort him into Slytherin, then. 

The third thing that was out of place came to light near the end of the feast. They’d all noticed the unfamiliar woman sat at the teachers’ table, dressed head-to-toe in startling pink, but none had recognised her. When Dumbledore introduced her as ‘Professor Umbridge’, Ron commented that he thought she worked at the Ministry, and Harry was instantly finding Draco’s eyes again to confirm it. The suspicious glare that the boy had trained on the woman was answer enough. 

“Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of wisdom,” Professor Umbridge said then, her voice high-pitched and breathy in a way that Harry immediately disliked. “It is oh so lovely to be back at Hogwarts, and to see such happy, little faces smiling up at me!” 

A quick glance around the student body told Harry that this woman had to be delusional. 

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance…” Harry zoned out of her speech fairly quickly, instead taking a keen interest in the tablecloth before him. 

Not much longer, he noticed Luna take out her copy of The Quibbler at the Ravenclaw table, and wished he’d thought to bring something to keep him entertained as well. Naturally, this led him to looking back at Draco, who was still staring at Professor Umbridge with a distinctly unimpressed gaze. Harry distracted himself by tracking the slight raise of his eyebrows every few words, the way his blond hair– still as long as it had been at Diagon Alley– fell into his eyes, only to be brushed back irritably behind pale ears. 

He was interrupted eventually by scattered clapping from the teachers and some of the students, and he turned back to the front of the hall to see Professor Umbridge take her seat again. 

“That explains a lot, then,” Hermione murmured, lips pursed in distaste. Ron, who hadn’t paid any more attention to the speech than Harry, gave him a confused glance. 

“You listened? I thought I was about to fall asleep.” 

“Sounded like a load of waffle to me,” Seamus agreed with a nod. 

“That waffle told me a lot about her intentions here,” Hermione said. 

Harry raised an eyebrow, a bad feeling settling in his stomach. “And what are her intentions?” 

“‘Pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited’? ‘Progress for progress’ sake must be discouraged’?” she rolled her eyes at their blank stares. “This means that the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t realise how much he’d been looking forward to meeting with Draco again in their courtyard until they were finally able a few days into the school term. Harry had a free period between History of Magic and Herbology, and he practically ran to meet Draco when he saw his name hovering in the courtyard on the Marauder’s Map. 

“What happened to you?” Draco asked when Harry sat down, trying to catch his breath as he tugged off his tie. 

“Nothing,” he replied, embarrassed. “How’re you?” 

“Oh, you know, just ever-wondering why I chose to become friends with such an impulsive, brainless Gryffindor as yourself,” the boy replied breezily, and Harry’s blush burned warmer. “What in Salazar’s name were you thinking, pulling that stunt in Defence on just our first day?!” 

“I didn’t realise it’d caused you so much concern–” 

“You are a bull-headed, dim-witted fool, Harry James Potter,” he continued on, batting his book against Harry’s arm on each word and ignoring Harry’s yelps. “That woman works for the Minister of Magic, who currently has it out for you because of your claims about Voldemort returning last year. How could you be so stupid? And–” 

He froze, gaze falling suddenly to Harry’s hand where it was clutching his now-slightly-sore arm. “And you’ve gone and torn into your hand! Why do I even–!” 

“If I wanted to be yelled at I’d go back to Professor McGonagall,” Harry interrupted, frowning. He’d shaken his sleeve so that it fell over his hand, effectively covering up the scar from Umbridge’s detentions. 

Draco looked away with a huff, pale face flushed pink with anger. Harry didn’t say anything as the boy took a few deep breaths, seemingly trying to cool his emotions. Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing him so worked up before. 

“I didn’t mean to yell–” 

“Yeah, well–” 

“I’ve just been bottling that up–” 

“I know it was stupid–” 

Draco gave him a look. “Will you shut up?” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak again. 

“I’m sorry for yelling. I just– you have no idea how dangerous of a situation you’re in, Harry. Umbridge has a lot of power in the Ministry, and she will find every way to remind you of it. Every word you speak about Voldemort’s return, or what happened in the graveyard, or about Cedric’s death, will be twisted and used against you. You’ve already seen what they say about you in the papers; what some of the students are saying here at school. Nothing you say will get them to believe you like you want, it will only serve to get you hurt. You need to keep your head down.” 

Harry blinked, staring back at the Slytherin with unveiled surprise. He’d only ever known Draco to hint at his concerns for Harry’s welfare through sarcastic quips and taunts. Hearing him talk so heatedly now was almost disconcerting. 

“I–” he hesitated, shoulders dropping. “I know. I don’t know why I just– I can’t help myself.” 

“I know,” Draco said softly, more understanding than exasperated. 

Harry frowned deeper, glancing down at the sleeve of his robes still hiding his injured hand. 

“Show me.” 

He looked up again, startled. 

“Your hand. Show me.” 

“It’s nothing–” 

“Harry.” 

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Harry finally pushed up his sleeve. Draco reached out, carefully taking Harry’s hand in his own and frowning down at the red, torn skin on the back of it. The first couple of nights, the cuts had healed over and his skin had only been left red and raw. Only more recently, his skin seemed to be too damaged to heal itself and instead left scars that quite clearly resembled the words ‘I must not tell lies’. Draco’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, so feather-light that it almost tickled. 

His expression did something complicated. “A blood quill?” he asked shortly, looking up at Harry. 

Harry shrugged. “If that’s what it’s called. I just write lines and they end up on my skin.” 

“Blood quills are illegal, Harry. I don’t imagine I need to explain why. Have you told another teacher? McGonagall? Or Dumbledore?” 

“When has telling a teacher ever done me any good? Besides, Dumbledore seems to be ignoring me. Not that I mind, really. You know Remus told me it was on Dumbledore’s orders that he didn’t raise me as a kid? They told me over the summer. I mean, what right did he have–?” 

“Lupin!” Draco interrupted. “You have to tell him. And Black, of course–” 

“Call him Padfoot, if you have to say his name. Or Snuffles–” 

“Ridiculous names–” 

“Besides, they’ve got enough to worry about without me–” 

“I hope you’re joking, Harry,” Draco said sternly. His hands were still gripping Harry’s own, but Harry wasn’t about to remind him. “I’ve heard enough about your summer to know that they care about you like a son. They’d want to know.” 

He sighed. “It’s really not that big of a problem. They used to disappear quickly, I’m sure these will disappear eventually, too, just a little longer…” 

“You are not that much of an idiot. Continuous use of a blood quill will scar, Harry. How many nights has it been?” 

“Only four. I think they’re over.” 

“Any more, and they certainly won’t disappear. Blood magic is incredibly powerful, which is why it’s very rarely permitted. If I had to guess, I’d say blood magic is why Dumbledore insists on you staying with your aunt over the summer. She shares your mother’s blood, see? But that’s besides the point–” 

Harry made a displeased sound, and Draco gave him an exasperated look, but nodded nonetheless. “Blood magic is a part of both Light and Dark magic, although much harder to manipulate. I don’t know what rubbish Dumbledore has spouted to you about how you survived Voldemort’s curse as a child, but if you ask me, I’d say your mother used blood magic to protect you somehow. She must have been a pretty powerful witch.” 

He wasn’t sure what to do with that information. He’d always thought Dumbledore’s explanation about her ‘love’ for Harry saving his life was a little vague. Surely if simply loving someone could protect them from the Killing Curse he wouldn’t be the only one to survive one. Like many times before, he felt as though he knew nothing about his mother at all. 

“She must’ve,” he replied finally, voice slightly hoarse. He realised, then, that tears clung to his eyelashes. When had he started crying? 

“Harry,” Draco murmured, squeezing his fingers lightly. 

Meeting his gaze– soft and patient and understanding and everything Harry needed and more– was enough for the tears to start falling. He pulled his hand from Draco’s grip so he could wipe at his face hastily, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He’d never cried in front of someone else before, besides the night of the third task at the end of last year. It was only ever when he was alone. The fact that he was crying for no obvious reason in front of Draco of all people was making his skin crawl with shame. 

“Stop, stop,” the boy in question was saying, tugging at Harry’s sleeves. “You’ll give your face another damn scar if you keep scraping at it so aggressively.” 

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Harry said, ignoring Draco’s warning and continuing to scrub his eyes to no avail. 

“I’d imagine there’s many reasons–  stop that, Potter,” Draco huffed, taking hold of his wrists to pull them away. 

“I don’t know. I–” his voice caught for a moment. “I know nothing.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous–” 

“I know nothing, Draco. Nothing about my parents. Nothing about– about Voldemort. About Dumbledore. About magic. About me. About you. Nothing.” 

Draco was giving him a bewildered look, and Harry wanted to take it all back. “What are you on about? You can ask your godfather about your parents, surely. And, at this point, you’re likely one of the only people that knows anything about Voldemort. Dumbledore has never been at all transparent, ask anybody. You know plenty about magic, that’s simply ridiculous in itself–” 

“Stop,” Harry said with a hiccup. His tears were beginning to slow. 

“And no person our age knows themselves, honestly–” 

He hiccupped again. “Draco–” 

“And I don’t think anybody else even comes close to knowing me as well as you do.” 

Harry’s protests fell silent, and he stared unblinking at the boy before him, whose gaze had dropped to their hands as he continued to speak. 

“To my father, I’m the Malfoy heir, a puppet to be manipulated into a carbon-copy of himself. To the rest of Slytherin, I’m a leader. But not because I’ve earned their respect, but because I was simply born into it. To the rest of the school, I’m just a rich, pretentious, Slytherin. To you…” 

“Draco…” 

“There’s something about you, Harry, that makes me want to tell you everything,” he said quietly, and his expression was the one Harry knew from the train. He shook his head, blond strands falling into his eyes as his tone became sarcastic. “It’s probably pity. Maybe I just see your stupid scar and think you deserve a few truths–” 

Harry wasn’t thinking when he pulled his hand from Draco’s own and brought it up to tuck the strands back behind the boy’s ear. Draco seemed to go still at the motion, and Harry could feel the warm puffs of breath against his palm as it hesitated over Draco’s cheek. 

“You’re a prat,” Harry mumbled, and he held in a breath as his fingertips brushed skin. Its colour grew pink, and Harry watched as Draco’s gaze fell to his lips, so brief he almost thought he’d imagined it. 

“See,” he said, barely whispering. Harry’s eyes tracked the movement of his lips shamelessly. “You do know.” 

“Shut up.”

“Make me, Potter.” 

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, but Draco didn’t take back his words. Rather, he reached out with a hand to hook fingers into the seam of Harry’s robes and tugged slightly, so that Harry was drawn into him before he could think to stop himself. 

It was a long moment before Harry finally pressed forward, lips barely brushing Draco’s before he was leaning back, blinking wide-eyed at the other boy as though he didn’t know what he’d just done. Draco allowed him all of three seconds to panic, before he’d pulled impatiently at Harry’s robes again and pressed their lips together again, eyelids fluttering closed and cheek warming beneath Harry’s hand. 

Despite having a semi-breakdown only minutes prior, Harry decided then that he’d never felt so wonderful before in his life. 

His hand moved to cup the back of Draco’s neck, fingers threading into his hair and the faintest pressure pulling the boy closer. He barely registered Draco’s other hand reaching forward until he could feel it against his stomach, pressing flat then curling into the material of his shirt. Harry wondered if he could feel the warm fluttering that filled his insides; if he could hear the hammering of his heart against his chest. 

The kiss was short, and light. And so was the next. And the next. Neither of them could seem to stop themselves from pressing forward over and over, until Harry could no longer control the grin from growing across his face and instead dipped forward to hide it in Draco’s shoulder. 

“Merlin,” he said breathlessly, laughter bubbling from his throat before he could stop it. 

He could feel it as Draco cleared his throat, and had to stop himself from touching his lips to the skin there. 

“It’s Draco, actually,” the boy replied, voice soft. It was as if anything above a whisper would ruin the moment. 

Harry snorted, pulling his head out of Draco’s neck to kiss him again. And again. And– 

“Harry,” Draco tittered, pushing lightly at his chest. “Stop it–” 

“Hmm,” Harry hummed, pretending to consider it as he continued to press kisses to the boy’s pretty lips. He didn’t think it would be possible to stop if he tried. “I don’t think I will.” 

“We should talk–” 

“Mm, later.” 

He could practically feel Draco’s eye-roll behind his closed lids, but the blond placated him a little longer before pushing again. “ Harry.” 

“I like when you say Harry,” he confessed mindlessly, bringing his hand to Draco’s waist in an attempt to pull him closer again. 

Draco huffed against his lips as they were caught in another kiss. “It is your name.” 

“Mmhm.” 

“Talking, Harry,” Draco reminded him through a mumble, and Harry sighed, finally leaning back slightly. 

“What’s there to talk about? I like you,” Harry said in a rush, barely thinking. “I like you a lot. I’d like you even more if you continued to let me kiss you–” 

“Salazar, you’re insatiable. Is this what it’s always like kissing a Gryffindor?” 

Harry shrugged, brain still fuzzy with elation. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“That was your first kiss?” 

“It wasn’t yours?” 

“I–” Draco paused, frowning. “No.” 

“Oh.” 

“First one that…” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirm in his stomach at the thought of Draco kissing other people, other boys, before. “Mm?” 

“Nevermind.”

“No, what?” 

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. “First one that meant anything.” 

“Oh,” Harry grinned, head tilting as he considered the red blush spreading from Draco’s cheeks and down his neck. And Merlin , did he love the fact that he was the cause of it. “Really?” 

“No need to be cocky, Potter,” Draco huffed, planting a hand against Harry’s face and shoving slightly. 

Harry hummed, reaching up to catch Draco’s wrist and pulling it back slightly to kiss the pale stretch of skin at the hem of his sleeve. He couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed at the cheesiness of it all. Especially when it made Draco’s eyes widen and lips fall open ever-so-slightly. Harry smiled, leaning in to kiss him yet again. 

“And what does it mean?” he asked, lips ghosting over Draco’s own as he kept his gaze trained on the silver-grey eyes before him. 

“It–” he took a deep breath, expression becoming conflicted, and Harry moved back a little more to allow him some space to think. 

“It’s okay,” he said instead when Draco couldn’t continue. He shifted back some more, mind finally clearing enough for him to recognise Draco’s hesitance. The nauseous feeling was back in his stomach. “It’s okay. I’m sorry–” 

“Harry–” 

“I’m sorry. That was a lot, wasn’t it? I’m a lot–” 

Harry’s hands fell to his thighs, and Draco immediately reached out to take them. “Stop, stop. It’s fine. I like that you’re a lot, Harry. I like– I like you. Okay? Calm down.” 

“I’m calm,” Harry lied, squeezing Draco’s hands in his own like a lifeline. “Sorry.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

“I’m okay. Continue, please.” 

“Well, I was going to say it means something because I like you, you daft Gryffindor. And Merlin knows why –” 

“I feel like you’re insulting me a lot for someone who supposedly fancies me–” 

“That does not mean you’re not still a prat–”

“How long?” Harry interrupted, skin buzzing. It still hadn’t sunk in that Draco– Draco Malfoy , the boy he’d been pining over for the last several months– returned his feelings. 

Draco ducked his head a little, and it was disconcerting to see the usually-prideful boy so sheepish. “You first.” 

“The Yule Ball,” he said, blushing. “That was when I realised that I felt… differently towards you than my other friends. You looked… well, beautiful. And I felt so comfortable telling you about the Dursleys and everything, and… yeah. So, a while.” 

“I can top that,” Draco admitted, trying for smugness but only sounding immeasurably pleased. “The first task of the Triwizard Tournament.” 

Harry blinked, taken aback. “You were still a git to me then. And I hardly think I looked any bit attractive with bandages all over my arms–” 

“Oh, no, I’ve thought you were fit since third year–” 

“What?” 

“Mm,” he nodded, as if this were all very normal. “Don’t misunderstand, I still despised you terribly. But I wasn’t blind .” 

“You… I– what?” 

“The task was… I didn’t realise how little I’d like seeing you in danger until then. And of course you winked at me, stupid Gryffindor, and got a burn all up your arm because of it. I had to act like I wasn’t experiencing about ten different emotions in the span of two minutes–” 

“In the second task, when Fleur was on the shore but you were still down in the lake, I thought I’d lose my mind with worry.” 

“Yes, you weren’t exactly subtle about that.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed, nose scrunching slightly as he tried to hold back a smile. “Not everyone was taught to mask their emotions, Draco.” 

“I know,” he replied, looking almost fond. His smile fell, though, when he glanced back down at Harry’s hands. “Do not land yourself another detention with that woman.”

“I’ll try. She’s just– she’s awful. How are we meant to learn how to defend ourselves against Voldemort if we’re not even allowed to practise our magic in class?” 

“We studied well enough for your tasks last year. I was going to tell you that we should continue that, anyway.” 

“That’s just as well for you and me, but what about the rest of the school? Voldemort and his Death Eaters aren’t going to hesitate just because a student isn’t me. Cedric–” his voice broke, and he sealed his lips shut to swallow down the catch in his throat. 

Draco sighed, thumb running subconsciously over Harry’s knuckles as they had earlier. “You can’t help everyone, Harry.” 

“But–” 

He was interrupted by the sound of the school bell, indicating it was time for them both to make their way to Herbology. Regretfully, they stood from the bench, hands falling at each of their sides. Harry frowned at the loss of contact, already missing the soft, cool feel of Draco’s fingers brushing at his own calloused skin. 

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure. Part of him wanted to ask Draco what this meant for them. If they were still going to keep their friendship– relationship?– a secret. But the sound of students spilling from classrooms just outside the courtyard stopped him. He glanced around quickly, and in the next second swayed onto the tips of his toes, touching the barest of kisses to Draco’s lips one more time, before swinging backwards and turning before he could get a good look at the boy’s expression.

“Idiot,” he heard Draco scoff from behind him, and it took all his strength not to spin back around, instead continuing out of the courtyard without a glance back.

Chapter Text

Things between Harry and Draco over the next month seemed to change significantly, and also not at all. They still hadn’t talked about putting a label to what they were doing, but Harry didn’t see a need to rush. They still met in the Clocktower Courtyard between classes and on scattered evenings. Draco still insisted on them using the time to complete homework or learn more Dark magic. Except, when Harry found himself growing more and more distracted by Draco’s grey eyes and baby-pink lips and the damned freckle nestled against the skin of his neck, he no longer had to hold himself back from tilting forwards and interrupting the boy’s concentration with soft kisses. Almost every time, Draco would huff and call him stupid and push lightly at his chest, but Harry didn’t miss the pink blush on his cheeks and the hidden smile as the boy ducked his face back into his book. 

The full moon that month had been clear in the night sky, to Harry’s immense relief, and he had been able to finally take the mandrake leaf out of his mouth to add to the mixture Remus and Draco had helped him put together. He’d hidden the vial in an empty shoebox tucked beneath his bedside table and hadn’t touched it since, saying aloud the required incantation at sunrise and sunset each day without fail. He was so eager for the next thunderstorm to come that he wrote to Remus and Sirius and requested he be sent every muggle newspaper so that he could keep an eye on the weather forecast. 

Classes with Umbridge hadn’t improved whatsoever. Harry had managed to gain himself another week of detentions after snapping at her in class, and had earned an earful for it from Professor McGonagall in the Great Hall. Draco, under the pretence of ‘practice’, had taken to sending whispered Silencio s at Harry whenever he looked as though he were about to snap at Umbridge again. He’d also suggested Harry soak his hand in a substance called Murtlap Essence after his nights of detentions, and Hermione was surprised when Harry went to ask her how to make some, but helped him nonetheless. It was wonderful for soothing the scarred skin after hours of pain, but it wouldn’t remove the scars. 

At the end of their second week, Hermione had broached the idea to Harry that he try teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to some of their friends to make up for Professor Umbridge’s less-than-satisfactory curriculum. It hadn’t come up again since, but Harry had spent plenty of time thinking guiltily about his responding outburst, and about the idea of agreeing to give the lessons. It was nearing the end of September when Harry finally decided to bring it up to Draco as they sat on the grass in their courtyard, Harry’s Discman settled between their legs and playing music aloud through the pair of headphones. Apparently, Remus had spent some time over the summer working with Arthur to get the thing to work whilst at Hogwarts, and Harry had been happy to discover that it had paid off. 

“Hermione and Ron want me to teach our friends Defence,” he said in the lull between songs, glancing up at the boy beside him. 

Draco, who was in the middle of sketching a rough portrait of Harry– he’d taken to being Draco’s model more than once by now– using a stick of dark charcoal that stained his fingers, only hummed at Harry’s words. Harry took it as a sign to continue. 

“I went off at them a bit, when they suggested it. The way they were talking… as though the things I’ve had to do each year were, like, exciting adventures or something. Like I was some master at magic and had been able to spell my way out of all of them like it was nothing. Like it was easy.” 

Draco remained silent, hands still working lightly against the paper resting on one of his textbooks. He glanced up briefly, before looking back down at his sketch. 

Harry huffed. “It wasn’t easy. None of it. It– it’s not like class, where you make a mistake and get to just try again. There were so many times where I could have been killed. Just like that. And half the time it was pure luck that I wasn’t. I just–” he sighed, and Draco’s spare hand moved to catch his own, tangling their fingers gently between them. “I already told them all of this. Except, well, I sort-of yelled it. I felt so guilty about it. How could they know? They’ve never been in that position before.” 

“They’ll get over it. I daresay they deserve a bit of a yell from time to time.” 

“You would say that,” Harry scoffed, and Draco shrugged, squeezing his hand lightly. 

Harry was enjoying the Slytherin’s touchiness. More often than not, it was Harry initiating any sort of contact, but Draco had seemed to sense his mild frustrations and was being quietly affectionate in the way that Harry loved most. Smiling at that thought, Harry leaned in to kiss him briefly, rocking back in time to see his blush. 

“You’ll do it, won’t you?” Draco asked a moment later, after allowing Harry another light kiss. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “It’s probably going to end up just Hermione and Ron wanting lessons. Everyone else thinks I’m a nutter, really.” 

“You are a nutter.” 

“Mm,” Harry agreed, kissing him again. 

“And if it’s more?” 

“Then… I don’t know.” 

Draco gave him a knowing look. “You’ll do it. You said you wanted to help the rest of the school. This is your opportunity to do so.” 

“I just–” 

“And before you start acting all humble and unworthy,” he interrupted sternly, fingers tightening around Harry’s own in earnest. “No one would do a better job of teaching them than you, Harry. I’ve told you enough times how powerful your magic is, and you know more about Defence than likely any other student in this school.” 

Harry hummed doubtfully, pointedly looking down at the abandoned charcoal sketch to signal the end of the conversation. 

“I’m thinking of having Pansy cut my hair,” Draco said then, raising a hand to brush strands behind his ear. 

Harry gave him an alarmed look. “Never do that.” 

Draco smirked, knowing. “We’ll see.” 

• • •

That weekend, Harry found himself travelling down the main street of Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione, then around one of the corners to come face-to-face with a battered, wooden sign with a picture of a wild boar’s head painted on, creaking as it swung over the door to the Hog’s Head inn. The inside was just as questionable– stone floor brown with dirt and dust, and windows opaque with accumulated grime. They ordered three butterbeers at the bar, served by a strangely familiar old man with long, silver hair and a beard almost the same length. 

It only took a few minutes for more students to begin piling into the small pub. Neville, Dean, and Seamus arrived first, with Lavender and the Patil twins in tow. Cho Chang, surprisingly, and one of her friends that Harry couldn’t put a name to, came in next, followed by Luna Lovegood and Ginny, then a whole hoard of others that Harry didn’t want to start trying to list in his head. Fred and George, with their friend Lee Jordan, brought up the rear, and Fred immediately zigzagged to the bar whilst George sidled over to where Harry sat in shock. 

“No blondie?” he asked in a murmur, leaning close to Harry under the pretence of clapping him on the back in greeting. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Can’t imagine that going down well,” he replied just as quietly. Part of him wished he had brought Draco anyway. He was beginning to feel like he was going to be letting down a lot more people than he’d originally thought. 

The meeting, to Harry’s surprise, went better than expected. Apart from the occasional scathing comment from the likes of Zacharias Smith– a scowling Hufflepuff fourth-year with a horrible attitude– the group had listened attentively as others began to speak of Harry’s achievements and seemed eager to arrange a time to meet for their first ‘class’. Hermione had pulled out a parchment at the end of the meeting for everyone to sign, and Harry tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his chest as it sunk in that this was really happening. 

“That was a good turn out, wasn’t it?” Hermione sighed happily as the three of them left the pub eventually. 

“I dunno about that Smith bloke,” Ron said, scrunching up his nose. “Bit of a git, isn’t he?” 

“He overheard me telling Ernie and Hannah and seemed interested in joining. I wasn’t going to say no, was I?” Hermione shrugged. “The more the merrier, really. I mean, Michael Corner and his friends likely wouldn’t have come if he wasn’t going out with Ginny–” 

“If he what?” Ron exclaimed, staring at her incredulously. 

Hermione gave him a look. “They met at the Yule Ball and have been going out since the end of last year. Didn’t you know?” 

“I thought she fancied Harry!” 

Harry, who up until then had only been paying them half of his attention– the other half had been stolen by the sight of Draco stepping out of a shop ahead of them, blond hair glinting in the sun’s rays as he brushed them back with one hand– frowned, confused. “What?” 

“Gosh, you boys don’t notice a thing,” Hermione huffed exasperatedly. “Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on that months ago. Probably around the time we all found out he fancies a boy–” 

“How did I not know this?” Harry interrupted, utterly bewildered. Ginny had fancied him? Since when? How hadn’t he noticed? 

Hermione threw him a knowing glance. “Like I said, oblivious. I’m sure you also missed that Cho Chang has been trying to catch your attention all month.” 

“Cho Chang?” Harry spluttered. He’d barely had a conversation with the girl! And… “Wasn’t she going out with…? I thought she wouldn’t even want to look at me–” 

“Oh, she looks, alright,” Ron nodded, finally distracted from thoughts of his younger sister with a boyfriend. “Feels a little bad, dunnit? You’re always off thinking about your mystery bloke, who I doubt even exists at this point–”

“He exists, thanks,” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. He stubbornly fought the grin starting to curl across his lips at the mention of Draco. He was ridiculous, really. No wonder he hadn’t noticed any girls giving him the time of day. 

Ron looked unimpressed. “Oh, yeah? I’ll believe that when I meet him. He wasn’t at the meeting, was he?” 

Harry shook his head, catching sight of Draco ahead of them again. The Slytherin looked as though he’d been watching them, and when he noticed Harry looking, he lifted his chin subtly in the direction of an alleyway by his side. “Actually… I’m– I have something I need to do.” 

“What–?” Ron tried to ask, but Harry was already walking away from them to follow where Draco had just ducked behind the wall of the alley. 

“I’ll meet you back at Hogwarts!” he called back over his shoulder, ignoring his friends’ puzzled expressions and disappearing into the alleyway himself. 

A little ways down the cobble path, Draco leant against the wall, face half-hidden by shadow. He hadn’t had his hair cut by Parkinson as he’d threatened a couple of days earlier, much to Harry’s relief. He wasted no time walking up to the boy and pressing up to kiss his knowing smirk, one hand burying itself beneath Draco’s winter coat to settle against his waist. 

“Insatiable,” Draco murmured against his mouth, but Harry had missed being able to touch the boy so much that he couldn’t find it in him to respond to the jibe. 

He hummed agreeably, pressing his lips firmer against Draco’s in an attempt to deepen the kiss, his free hand cupping the back of Draco’s head. Draco made a displeased sound, pulling back from Harry with a huff. 

“What?” Harry asked, frowning. 

“These,” Draco replied unhelpfully, taking Harry’s glasses off his face and tucking them into the pocket of his coat. Harry blinked, surprised, then smiled. The glasses had been uncomfortably digging into his skin after all, and he could still see Draco clearly as long as he stayed near. 

“Thanks,” he said, and Draco scoffed. 

“It wasn’t for you.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Forgive me, your highness, for making such an assumption.” 

“Better,” Draco smirked, hooking a finger beneath Harry’s chin to tilt his head up just enough so that he could fit their lips together again.

The action sent warm sparks tingling down Harry’s body, settling near his midriff and making his stomach flutter excitedly. He pressed impossibly closer, so that Draco’s back grazed the wall behind him and Harry could feel his rapid heartbeat through their clothes. For a moment he thought the boy might complain about Harry’s rough handling, but instead the move seemed to elicit a low, contented hum that sent Harry’s mind spiralling. Draco was enjoying this. He was enjoying having Harry’s warm mouth on his own and having his back pushed against the rough stone. Delighted with this– admittedly belated– realisation, Harry returned the low hum, licking into Draco’s mouth fervently and gripping the boy’s waist so tight the skin would surely bruise. 

“Harry,” Draco mumbled, and Harry hummed again. 

He was so warm; skin burning where Draco’s hands touched; chest beginning to ache with the need to take a breath. 

“Harry,” Draco said again, more urgent this time. The hand on Harry’s jaw pushed back slightly, and Harry took the hint to break the kiss. “Your magic–” 

He gestured around them by way of explanation, and Harry reluctantly looked away from his face, finally noticing the swirl of dust and snow that seemed to rush in circles by their legs. Amongst it was a thread of gold, dancing in and out of the white blur like a fish in water. 

Draco’s hand suddenly tilted his face up again and Harry met his awed gaze. “Your eyes are glowing again. Can you see your magic? Like at Yule last year?” 

Oh, this made sense. Harry nodded, willing the magic energy inside of him to settle and watching as the swirling cloud slowed to a gentle breeze before eventually falling to the ground again, gold tendrils lacing themselves between Harry’s fingers and sinking into his skin as if they’d never existed. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said, voice soft, rubbing the pads of his fingers together briefly before replacing them at the nape of Draco’s neck. “Sorry, I’ll control it.” 

“Wizards spend years teaching themselves to see magic,” Draco mused, still looking a little disbelieving. “Of course it would just come to you naturally.” 

“I can’t help it–” 

Draco brushed his thumb over Harry’s lips, effectively muffling the rest of his sentence. His expression was amused, but kind, and Harry melted a little at the sight of it. “It’s not a bad thing, Harry. I’m terribly jealous.” 

Harry smiled, bashful. “I’m sure you could do it.” 

“Of course I could,” Draco sniffed, raising his chin. “But not without even realising it.” 

“I really like you,” Harry said then, almost without thinking. Draco just looked so , so pretty with his soft gaze and pink cheeks and ruffled hair–

Draco groaned. “Merlin, I’ve fallen for a Hufflepuff. Whatever will Father think?” 

“‘Fallen for’?” Harry repeated, feeling his smile widen. 

The look Draco gave him was equally unimpressed and embarrassed. “I didn’t call you here just to snog, you know.” 

“Oh?” Harry prompted, still amused. “What for, then?” 

“I thought we should walk together.” 

“In Hogsmeade? Everyone will see–” 

“On the outskirts, I mean. No one will be there.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Like a date?”

“Must you always be so brash?” Draco huffed, turning his face away. 

“That’s not a ‘no’.” 

“Nevermind,” Draco sniffed. “I’ve decided I wouldn’t like to walk with you, after all.” 

He pushed Harry’s body away from him so that he could begin walking down the alley in the opposite direction from the busy main street. Harry rolled his eyes, grinning, and quickly caught up with him. 

• • •

A week later, Harry, Hermione, and Ron made their way to the seventh floor to stand in front of the stretch of stone wall opposite a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. 

“Dobby said to walk past here three times, concentrating hard on what we want,” Harry explained to the two of them, ignoring their doubtful looks. 

They turned together, pacing past the blank wall three times until Hermione suddenly gasped. A large door had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and Harry wasted no time reaching for the brass handle and pushing. The room behind it was huge– the walls lined with towering bookcases and flickering torches, the floor dotted with large, colourful cushions. 

“This is wonderful ,” Hermione breathed, rushing to the nearest bookcase to skim through the titles in awe. 

By eight o’clock, the cushions on the floor had all been occupied by members of the new club, all looking up at Harry expectantly as he locked the door. 

“Well, uh, I’m glad you’ve all found the room alright. This is where we’ll be practising from here on,” he began, shifting awkwardly on his feet. 

“I think we ought to come up with a name before we start,” Hermione said brightly from her blue cushion, a number of books already cluttering the space around her. “It’ll promote some team spirit, won’t it?” 

“Er– sure,” Harry shrugged, looking around at them for suggestions. 

“How about the Anti-Umbridge League?” Angelina Johnson piped up, and Hermione frowned. 

“It should be somewhat discreet.” 

“The Defence Association?” Cho Chang offered. “We can call it the D.A. for short.” 

She was giving Harry a hopeful look, and he glanced away uncomfortably, wishing Hermione had never mentioned that the girl might fancy him. It was bad enough that he could barely look at the girl without thinking of her dead ex-boyfriend. 

“The D.A.’s good,” Ginny said. “Only, can it stand for Dumbledore’s Army, instead?” 

There were no objections to the idea, so Hermione took out the paper with their names and wrote across the top in large, curling letters, ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ . She pinned it to the wall by the door before taking her seat again. 

“Um, so,” Harry began awkwardly, hands fidgeting at his sides. “I thought we should start with Expelliarmus , the Disarming Spell. I know it’s basic but I’ve found it plenty useful–” 

“You don’t really think Expelliarmus is going to be any help against You-Know-Who, do you?” Zacharius Smith asked, rolling his eyes. Harry was reminded a little of the Draco Malfoy he knew before last year.  

“It saved my life against him last year, actually,” Harry replied with a frown. “But if you think it’s beneath you, feel free to leave.” 

He didn’t, so Harry raised his chin slightly and continued on. “We’ll divide into pairs, then, and have a go at practising.” 

Harry wasn’t too surprised to find that a lot of the group’s spellwork was quite substandard. Occasionally, students would be knocked back a couple of paces, wands still firmly in their hands, or books would fly from the shelf due to misaimed spells. He continued to make rounds of the room, correcting wand movements and incantations as he went. He tried to avoid Cho Chang and her curly-haired friend, Marietta, for as long as possible, until he thought it might be becoming too obvious. 

“Expelliarmious! I mean– oh no, sorry Mari!” Cho exclaimed, covering her mouth as her friend’s sleeve caught on fire. She turned to Harry with rueful eyes. “You made me nervous, I was doing alright before.” 

Harry extinguished Marietta’s robe without a second thought, then blinked bemusedly at the girl’s returning glare. 

“Don’t mind her,” Cho muttered, startling Harry. He took a step away, but Cho seemed to follow obliviously. “She doesn’t really want to be here, I made her come. Her mum works at the Ministry, you see, and she’s forbidden her from doing anything that could upset Umbridge.” 

“Right,” Harry said, trying to move away again. 

“My parents have forbidden me, too,” Cho continued, looking at Harry. He avoided her gaze uncomfortably. “But if they think I’m not going to fight against You-Know-Who after Cedric–” 

She broke off as Harry inhaled sharply and an uneasy silence fell between them. Forcing out the breath he’d just taken, Harry reached up awkwardly to pat her shoulder in some sort of attempt at comfort. The smile she gave him made him regret the action immediately. 

“Hey, Harry?” Hermione called out from across the room, and Harry, feeling immensely grateful, gave Cho an apologetic look and walked over to his friend. 

“Yeah?” he asked, and Hermione gave him an amused smirk. 

“I was just going to tell you to check the time,” she said, and Harry looked down at his watch to find that they’d already spent an hour practising. “But you’re welcome for rescuing you, too.” 

“Am I giving off the wrong signal, or something?” he asked her with a quiet huff. “It’s so obvious now that I know. And I feel terrible.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “Just tell her you’re not interested.” 

“How?!” he hissed, and she just gave him a pitiful look. 

They finished up the session after that, agreeing to meet at the same time next Wednesday. Harry made his way back to the common room with Hermione and Ron after everyone else had already been seen off safely. He ignored the two of them as they bickered, too preoccupied wondering if he ever made Draco nervous the way Cho said he made her.

Chapter Text

The next thunderstorm came two weeks later. At the first sight of lightning in the night sky, Harry leapt excitedly from his armchair in the Gryffindor common room, ignoring his friends’ questions and taking the stairs two-at-a-time to his dorm room. He took the potion vial from the shoebox beneath his bedside table, immeasurably pleased to find that it had turned the perfect shade of red, and tucked it into his pocket, jogging back out of the room. 

“What on Earth are you doing, Harry?” Hermione asked as he passed the group on the way to the common room entrance. “It’s past curfew.” 

He held up his Invisibility Cloak. “I’ll be fine! I’ll explain later.” 

He made his way to the Clocktower Courtyard under his cloak, and was only partly surprised to find Draco already there when he arrived. A translucent, umbrella-shaped shield hovered above him to protect him from the rain. Harry grinned, moving to the oblivious boy and leaning in beneath the magical umbrella to brush against the boy’s cheek with an invisible hand. 

“Potter, do you believe me daft?” Draco asked into the thin air, reaching out to snatch the cloak from around Harry. 

“How’d you know?” Harry pouted, sitting beside him on the wet stone.

“As impressive as that cloak is, Harry, the rain does still slide right off it. I suppose if you were moving quickly, it wouldn’t be noticeable. But, alas…” 

Harry huffed. “Whatever.” 

A thunderclap interrupted them, and Harry beamed, remembering his purpose of being there. He took the potion from his pocket, holding it up to Draco. 

“It’s perfect, right?” he asked, just to be sure. 

Draco nodded, amused. “I helped make it, so I should hope so. Eager, are we?” 

Harry, who was practically vibrating with excitement, nodded rapidly. “Last guess before we find out.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “A labrador.” 

“Shut up,” Harry rolled his eyes, taking out his wand. As an afterthought, he took off his glasses and dropped them on Draco’s lap. 

He could feel the Slytherin’s gaze on him as he stood again, taking a few steps away from the bench to stand in the rain and touching the tip of his wand to his chest. “Amato Animo Animato Animagus, he spoke softly, then uncorked the potion and drank it in one go. His chest suddenly filled with a searing pain, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes and burning in his head so much that Harry bent over, fingers pressing to his temples. 

“Harry–” Draco started, but Harry waved a hand at him. 

The pain was settling into a dull throb, and Harry could feel a second heartbeat growing alongside his own, slightly faster paced. His brain felt like it was straining against his skull, and a burnt-orange colour began to flash in the blackness behind his closed eyelids. His mind was searching for something, he realised somewhere amongst the aching pain still thrumming through his bones. It felt similar to having a word trapped on the tip of one’s tongue. He could picture a blur dashing amongst what seemed to be trees, gradually coming more into focus until Harry could make out a small, slender build carried by four long legs; a pointed snout and triangle ears, and a long, bushy tail trailing along behind it. 

“Harry,” he heard from behind him, except the sound was much louder than he remembered it being moments ago. 

He blinked his eyes open finally and startled at the stark change in vision. The first thing he realised was that he was much closer to the ground. If he were to duck his head he’d likely brush the tops of the tallest blades of glass. The second thing he noticed was that the colours around him suddenly seemed muted; more grey, or brown, than he remembered. There was a sound behind him, and he felt his ears instinctively swivel suddenly to face the source. That was new. 

He looked down at the ground, taking in black, fur-covered paws, and watched in awe as they moved to turn his body. When he looked up again, a boy sat watching him. Draco , he realised belatedly. Evidently his animagus needed a moment to adjust. 

“You’re a fox,” Draco said softly, eyes wide. Harry could feel his ears twitch with every word. “But you’re not a common red one. You’re mostly black, actually.” 

Harry blinked at him, only half paying attention to what was actually being said. Like his hearing, his sense of smell had been heightened significantly. He could smell the soil beneath his paws, and the rain falling around him, and the shampoo in Draco’s hair. He had the sudden urge to bury his nose against the boy’s skin. He glanced hesitantly at his paws again before taking a few steps, trying to adjust to being so close to the ground and walking on four legs instead of two. It was very strange. 

“Hello, pretty,” Draco greeted as he held a hand out for Harry to sniff at. When Harry came close enough, a hand was tentatively brushed through the coarse fur behind his ears, and he pushed his head into it affectionately. “Some of the orange by your ear streaks across your face. I think it’s supposed to represent your scar.” 

Harry huffed, and tried not to think about how odd it sounded coming from his fox snout. Of course he still couldn’t be rid of his stupid scar. Another sound interrupted his thoughts– a cricket, somewhere hidden amongst the grass nearby. Immediately distracted, he stared at the spot, ears swivelling in search of the sound again. There, he thought as the chirp sounded, and suddenly all four of his legs were off the ground and he’d dived into the spot where he was almost certain the cricket sat. 

“I don’t think your human counterpart would be happy if you ate that,” Draco said when he came back up, cricket held between his teeth. Harry, uncaring at the present moment what he as a human might think, happily chewed and swallowed the insect. Draco made a face. “Disgusting.” 

Harry trotted to Draco’s legs then and, on unsteady legs, lifted his two front paws to the stone bench. He was grateful for the umbrella-shield now covering him from the fat droplets still raining from the sky. 

“Very clever,” Draco praised, and Harry preened. 

He pushed himself upwards a moment later, and his hind paws scrambled helplessly as he completely overestimated their reach. Snorting, Draco tucked a hand beneath his legs and helped him the rest of the way onto the stone bench beside him. It was all very embarrassing, and he had half the mind to leg it out of the courtyard immediately. 

“That wasn’t as impressive,” he said, and Harry nipped at his hand. “Don’t you dare bite me, Potter.” 

Instead, Harry chose that moment to rid himself of the wetness in his fur, shaking his little body from his spot right beside Draco. “Harry!” he cried, gaping at his now-damp clothes and spelling them dry with his wand. “You impertinent little mutt! Perhaps your name should be Mischief. Fitting for a fox, no?” 

Harry snapped his jaw disagreeably, which Draco seemed to intentionally misinterpret as a ‘yes’. He nodded to himself, “Mischief it is. Shall I conjure a mirror?”

He didn’t wait for a response, and took out his wand to conjure a small, simple mirror in his hands. He held it up, and Harry blinked at the furry face staring back at him. Draco had been right, his fur was mostly black, covering his front and most of his face. The large ears atop his head– like the fur across his underside and the back of his neck– were a burnt-orange, and the colour spread like cracks amongst the black over the right side of his face. His eyes, different to the emerald-green colour they usually adopted, glinted a fiery orange. He bared his teeth, admiring the long, fang-like canines. 

“I told you you’d be some sort of dog,” Draco said smugly as Harry continued to look at himself. The tip of his bushy tail was stark white against the rest of his colouring, and he kept twisting and turning to see it in the mirror. He stopped abruptly when he realised the behaviour could certainly be interpreted as ‘dog-like’. 

“When will you turn back? I’m not sure how I’ll explain this to whichever teacher happens to find us here.” 

Reluctantly, Harry sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes, concentrating hard on remembering his human appearance. Wild, black hair and green eyes and scarred, brown skin. He pictured two legs and two arms, his own chest and neck and head. It felt like hours, but eventually he opened his eyes to find his vision blurred, but colourful once more. He looked down at his hands, clenched and unclenched, then promptly realised that he was completely naked. 

“Er–” he said, head jerking up to look at Draco still sitting beside him. Except the boy had closed his eyes, too, and was holding Harry’s glasses out in one hand. “Thanks,” he sighed, hurriedly changing into the discarded clothes on the grass and replacing his glasses on his face. He picked up his wand, too, where it had fallen on the ground. 

When he sat back down, Draco had opened his eyes again. “How was it?” 

“Very different.” 

“No,” Draco gasped, a hand coming to rest against his chest in mock surprise. “You don’t say?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You asked. You’re not going to stick with Mischief, are you?” 

“I certainly am. I can’t think of a more suitable name.” 

“You’re such a prat.” 

“Mm,” Draco hummed. “You like it, really.” 

“Neither of us guessed a fox, did we?” 

“No, but I suppose it makes sense. Like your nickname suggests, they’re mischievous, and you’re certainly a brat at the best of times–” Harry scoffed at this, and Draco only smirked before continuing. “They’re quick enough to get out of danger, and small enough to hide from unwanted attention. Typically solitary, but fiercely protective of and devoted to their family. I think it makes sense.” 

Harry smiled. “I get it, kind of.” 

“You’re not disappointed, are you?” 

“Not at all,” Harry said, shaking his head. “My only wish was that I’d be able to either run or fly. I’m happy with my fox.” 

“Mischief.” 

Harry rolled his eyes again. “Yes, Mischief.” 

Draco looked smug. “I’m glad.” 

• • •

That night, Harry told Ron and Hermione about his becoming an animagus once everyone else had cleared out of the Gryffindor common room. It took a little longer than it had during the storm earlier for him to transform into his fox again, but was a lot less painful, to Harry’s immense relief. 

Hermione gasped when it happened. “Oh, Harry! You’re so cute!” 

Harry turned slowly, allowing them a full view, before sliding his two front paws forward on the carpet into a satisfying stretch and yawning wide like he’d seen Crookshanks do before. 

“Mate, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Ron said, shaking his head. “What if I wanted to do it too?” 

“Your mother would never have allowed it,” Hermione pointed out, still staring in awe at Harry, who’d now laid down completely, belly-down on the carpet. 

Tentatively, she slid off her armchair onto the floor and reached out a hand to pet his ears. Harry closed his eyes at the wonderful feeling, and thought if he were a cat he’d likely have started to purr. Almost subconsciously, he nudged his head further into her hand as she scratched. 

“Nice?” she asked, amused. Harry huffed and his two friends laughed. 

He didn’t spend too long in his fox form. It seemed the more time he spent as Mischief, the less he could remember of his human self. Sirius had told him that this was normal for the first few times, but as he becomes more used to shifting into his fox and separating the two minds, it will be easier to maintain. He borrowed Aquila from Draco the next morning to send a letter to Sirius and Remus, telling them of the previous night’s transformation and his new fox form. The response was quick– congratulating Harry and warning him not to transform where anyone other than Ron or Hermione would see. 

Harry tried not to feel too guilty each time he turned into his fox around Draco, which turned out to be quite often. It didn’t take long for Harry to discover that he was much more content with Draco ignoring him to focus on study when, rather than sitting beside him and procrastinating as a wizard, he could shift into a fox and curl up neatly in Draco’s lap to snooze instead. Harry’s ability to sleep through a night without waking from a nightmare of the graveyard or of a cold, eerie corridor, hadn’t improved since the summer, so he happily took any opportunity to fox-nap if he didn’t think he would be caught. Eventually, Draco took to practising disillusionment charms on him as he slept if there did happen to be a student or professor nearby. 

“You’re the perfect subject,” Draco explained when Harry pointed out that Draco seemed to always be using him for spell practice. “Reckless enough to give me an excuse to use them, but fancy me too much to stop me.” 

Harry scrunched his nose to stop himself from smiling, but then Draco tilted his head knowingly and any self-control was lost. They were laying at the top of the Astronomy Tower that evening, since it was past curfew and they couldn’t risk being caught in the courtyard. Harry had stolen two of the big, plush cushions from the Room of Requirement to tuck beneath their heads, and the Slytherin seemed to have coaxed a flask of hot chocolate and some of his favourite scones from the Hogwarts elves on the way. When Harry had asked if it was a date, Draco had rolled his eyes and avoided the question altogether, which to Harry was a ‘yes’. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Harry said, rolling over onto his side to kiss the smirk off Draco’s lips. 

He felt the boy sigh softly against his mouth, and when he went to pull away, a hand twisted into the front of his jumper to hold him still. Harry hummed happily as Draco’s other hand cupped the nape of his neck, cool fingers tangling into the roots of his hair and spreading goosebumps down Harry’s spine. His own hands came down on either side of Draco’s shoulders to hold his weight as they pressed warm, lazy kisses into each other’s mouths, Harry’s magic simmering in the air around them as though just waiting for the smallest spark to ignite. 

When they eventually pulled apart, Harry rolled back onto his cushion to stare up at the clear sky. Part of him wanted to ask the question he’d been dwelling on for the past couple of months. What are we? He’d been holding off, worried he might have more of his heart in this than Draco, and that putting a label on whatever ‘this’ was could scare the Slytherin away. But , Harry found himself thinking more and more lately, they behaved like boyfriends . They snogged in hidden alcoves, and held hands when they were alone, and went on dates like tonight, and sometimes Harry would find Draco staring at him the same way Remus looked at Sirius. Soft, and fond, and– well– happy, like he couldn’t believe his luck. 

Instead, he asked; “Where’s your constellation?” 

“You’ve done Astronomy for almost five years, Harry, shouldn’t you be able to find it for yourself?” Draco scoffed. 

Harry, who’d never had any particular interest in their Astronomy classes, but was certainly interested in listening to Draco talk about it, shrugged sheepishly. “Not really.” 

When Draco didn’t respond immediately, Harry turned his head to watch the boy search the sky with his gaze. The moon was almost at its fullest that night, and its light seemed to turn Draco’s grey eyes to liquid silver. 

“There’s Polaris,” he murmured, and Harry regretfully turned back to follow his pointing hand. He had, at least, learned by now how to find that star. “The north star. That’s the tip of Ursa Minor, and if you follow it down–” his finger traced the air as he spoke, “– you’ll find Edasich, the star in the middle of Draco.” 

Harry smirked, reaching out a hand to settle it on Draco’s stomach over his– actually, Harry’s, since the git had forgotten his own– jumper. “Here, yeah?” 

“You’re not funny, Potter,” Draco said exasperatedly, despite his own hand coming up to cover Harry’s; thin fingers fitting between Harry’s own as if they belonged there. 

“What else?” he asked softly, watching as Draco’s thumb brushed feather-light over the raised scar on the back of Harry’s hand. 

Draco hummed, looking up at the sky still. “If you find the dragon’s head, beside it is the Summer Triangle, made up of the brightest stars from Lyra, Aquila, and Cygnus. It’s quite difficult to see, but between Cygnus and Aquila, there’s a small constellation called Vulpecula – the little fox. That’s yours.” 

Harry, who was very lost by now and only really listening to Draco’s voice rather than the words he was saying, suddenly perked up, looking up again at the sky as if he could find the tiny constellation somewhere amongst the scattered stars. 

“I forgot there was a fox,” he said, giving up on locating the constellation and looking back at Draco. He smiled, giddy. “I have my own constellation.” 

“I mean, it’s no dragon.” 

“Oh, shut up. Let me have this.” 

“Sure, little fox.” 

“Prat.” 

Draco gave him one of his small, rare smiles, and Harry couldn’t help but kiss it. They lay there for a long time, Draco pointing out constellations and teaching him their myths. More than once, Harry interrupted him with a snog, but they’d always return to laying on their backs against the cold stone, gazing up at the night sky with hands interlaced. When they eventually decided it was too late to stay, Harry leant his invisibility cloak to Draco so that he wouldn’t be caught on his way back to the dungeons. Giving him a final, brief kiss, Harry transformed into Mischief and quickly jogged back to his own tower, glasses hanging from between his teeth.

Chapter Text

It was some days later that the match between Slytherin and Gryffindor was to be held. Ron seemed to be a nervous wreck, and would barely touch his breakfast, despite the roaring excitement from the rest of the Gryffindor table. Luna Lovegood even came over at one point to show off her hat, shaped like a life-sized lion’s head with a realistic roar to match. Ron, who looked as though he might just vomit then and there, barely noticed the spectacle. Hermione’s good-luck kiss to each of their cheeks seemed to startle him from his anxiety for a brief moment, but it was back in full force once they’d reached the Quidditch pitch. 

Harry didn’t notice the silver crown-shaped badges adorning every Slytherins’ robes until they came face-to-face with their Quidditch team. Draco smirked at Harry, tapping the badge on his own uniform tauntingly. Harry peered closer and read ‘WEASLEY IS OUR KING’ engraved into the silver, immediately looking back up at Draco’s face and shaking his head in alarm. Draco either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he turned with his team a moment later to mount his broom and didn’t catch Harry’s eye again. 

Thankfully, Ron hadn’t seemed to notice the badges through his nerves, and the game began somewhat-smoothly. Harry circled the pitch, keeping an eye out for the Golden Snitch, as well as for Draco’s movements at the other end. The Quaffle soared through the air between players and Harry tried to listen out for Lee Jordan’s commentary, but it was quickly drowned out by a chant from the stands. Lee stopped speaking to try and listen to the song, but by the time he was able to make out the lyrics, it was too late. 

“Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring. That’s why the Slytherins all sing, Weasley is our king!” the crowd of green and silver in the stands below chorused, and Harry swung around on his broom to locate Draco again. “Weasley was born in a bin, he always lets the Quaffle in. Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our king!” 

“Malfoy!” Harry called out when he came close enough to the Slytherin seeker. Those badges had been too similar to the ‘POTTER STINKS’ badges from last year to be a coincidence. 

“Like the song, Potter?” Draco replied, grinning at him from his broom. 

Harry felt his eyes narrow, insides bubbling with anger. What was Draco pulling?  

“No, I don’t,” he said, drawing closer. He knew it must be obvious by now from the stands that they were talking. “Did you plan all this?” 

Draco’s expression was conflicted, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be guilty or offended. “Some of it. The badges are obviously mine, but Pansy was behind most of the song. What’s wrong? Can’t handle some team rivalry?” 

“This isn’t team rivalry, Draco,” Harry scoffed. His stomach squirmed uncomfortably, unused to feeling such anger towards Draco since becoming friends the previous year. “It’s bullying.” 

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but they were interrupted as Angelina suddenly swooped by. “Harry, what are you doing?!” she called. “Get going!” 

Harry blinked, realising he hadn’t been paying any attention to searching for the Snitch for quite some time. Sending one last scowl at Draco, he turned on his broom and shot off in the other direction to continue lapping the pitch. He couldn’t believe it! After everything, Draco was still the rude, arrogant, bullying little–

He spotted the Snitch suddenly, fluttering near the grass at the Slytherin end of the pitch. He went into a dive, and from the corner of his eye saw Draco do the same, flat against his broom as he streaked towards the ground right on Harry’s tail. They were neck and neck now, hurtling towards the Golden Snitch, the air practically buzzing with suspense and then– 

Harry pulled his broom upward, wriggling Snitch held tightly in the palm of his hand as he held it up triumphantly. Then, suddenly– WHAM! 

A Bludger had slammed into his back all of a sudden, sending him flying off the front of his broom and landing, winded, on the grass pitch. There was a roar from the crowd, and a high-pitched whistle to stop the match, then Angelina’s frantic voice as she landed beside him. 

“Harry! ” she cried, pulling him to his feet. “Are you alright?” 

“‘Course,” he grunted, still trying to catch his breath. 

“It was that thug, Crabbe,” she explained, arms crossed. “The moment you got the snitch he whacked it straight at you. But, we won, Harry! We won!” 

Draco was still hovering unsurely in the air, looking half-concerned and half-dismayed. “Saved Weasel’s neck, didn’t you, Potter?” he said eventually, and Harry didn’t hold back the rage in his glare as he turned to face the Slytherin. 

“Why don’t you shove off, Malfoy?” he glowered, fists clenching at his sides. 

Draco looked slightly taken-aback, but before he could respond, the rest of the Gryffindor team was there, cheering and thumping Harry’s shoulder in congratulations. When Harry looked back again, Draco had flown back to his own team. 

• • •

“What’s up with you?” Draco asked later, when he came into the Gryffindor changing room after Harry’s team had left. 

Harry had told Ron he’d meet him at the tower and was waiting for Draco on the bench, already changed out of his uniform and finishing tying up his shoelaces. He didn’t look up as Draco came to stand before him. 

“Is your back okay?” the boy asked then, reaching out to touch Harry’s shoulder, but freezing as Harry flinched away. “What? This isn’t about the badges, is it?” 

“You know how I feel about you making fun of my friends, Draco,” Harry said, finally looking up. 

Draco frowned, taking a step back. “You didn’t seem to mind the badges last year–” 

“Those were about me! It’s different when it’s about Ron, or Hermione, or any of my friends. You know that! And you made a song , too! I mean, what were you thinking–?!” 

“I was thinking, Potter, that I can’t very well go treating you, or any of your little lion pride, any differently just because we suddenly like to snog from time to time. I have reputation to uphold–” 

“Oh, that’s all this is, is it? Just some snogging behind closed doors? As if it means nothing?” 

Draco scowled, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

“That’s exactly what you just said!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I don’t expect you to go around holding my hand or snogging me in front of the whole school. I know how dangerous that can get, I’m not a fucking idiot–” 

“I never said–” 

“You can keep up appearances with me as much as you need to. I don’t care what rubbish you throw at me in front of others, as long as it’s about me, and not my friends! But, of course, if this is all just some fun, rebellious fling for you–” 

“It’s not–”

“Then what the fuck is it?!” He was standing now, nails digging into his palms as they hung in fists at his sides. He felt so angry he could hardly breathe. He saw Draco glance down at his hands quickly, but wasn’t about to allow the boy any time to pretend to care. “I can’t do this. Don’t talk to me or my friends.” 

He pushed past Draco then, wandlessly Accio-ing his broom before storming out of the changing room without a glance back. 

• • •

Harry didn’t speak to Draco for two weeks after that. Hermione and Ron were quick to notice his dramatic shift in mood, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain it to them. Instead, he spent most of his time curled up as a fox behind the curtains of his bed, ignoring his homework and his dorm mates. The only times he felt any bit happy were the D.A. meetings and when he visited Hagrid with Hermione and Ron– he’d finally returned from wherever he’d been travelling and was more than happy to tell the three of them all about his time with the giants.  

For the first few days, Harry only felt anger towards Draco, which was only worsened by Ron’s self-deprecating rants whenever the topic of Quidditch was brought up. He was angry at Draco’s bullying, and of his belittlement of their… whatever they had been doing. It wasn’t long before the anger turned to sadness. Sadness at the fact that he’d been invested in their relationship whilst Draco apparently hadn’t, and that Draco hadn’t tried to make up for it at all, and that he missed the boy like crazy. Then, he became guilty. He’d blown up at Draco way more than had frankly been necessary, he realised. He hadn’t even allowed Draco time to respond before throwing everything back in his face. Eventually, he made his mind up to confront the boy, and that was when Draco finally came to find him. 

Or, more like, Harry was interrupted on the way back from class and dragged into an empty classroom, completely unawares. 

“Please don’t leave,” Draco said, before Harry had even had the chance to look at him properly. 

When he did, the guilt came back tenfold. Draco looked tired. Dark circles smudged beneath his eyes, and his hair looked unwashed in a way that was beginning to look too much like Professor Snape’s for comfort. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Harry asked finally, conflicted. 

“Because we need to talk.” 

Harry shrugged, walking over to take a seat atop one of the empty desks. “Alright. Talk, then.” 

“I’m sorry,” Draco said quickly. “You were right to be angry. I took it too far, with the badges, and the song. I became too caught up in keeping up the act that it stopped being one for a moment.” 

Harry blinked, arms loosening where they’d been crossed in front of him. “Oh, well, thanks for apologising–” 

“I’m not finished,” Draco interrupted, putting out a hand. “I’m even more sorry about what I said afterwards. About us ‘liking to snog from time to time’. I didn’t mean to trivialise our… us. I didn’t expect you to be so angry, and I didn’t think about what I was saying. I should have corrected you immediately. I never wanted–” he broke off, frowning down at his shoes. “It’s not just snogging for the sake of it. I never wanted you to think so.” 

“What is it, then?” Harry asked, voice softer than he’d intended. Draco looked up again, meeting his gaze and holding it. Harry could practically see his mind whirring behind his eyes, flicking rapidly through a jumbled mix of emotions before finally settling. 

“I would like it to be more than just… just friends that like to snog,” he said, hesitant. “I’ve likely ruined any chances of that, though.” 

Harry sighed, hands falling to his lap where they fidgeted distractedly. “You haven’t ruined them,” he said, glancing away from Draco’s hopeful expression. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry at the match. Some of it was warranted, sure, but I shouldn’t have yelled. I should’ve given you a chance to explain yourself. I’m sorry. I don’t know why, I just get– get so angry, so easily, lately.” 

“I know,” Draco said quietly, taking a step towards him. “I forgive you for yelling. I deserved it, really. I was being a prat–” 

Harry waved a hand at him, still mildly shocked that Draco was putting aside so much of his infamous pride just to make it up to Harry. “Stop it. You’ve apologised, and I forgive you. Can we just… Can we figure out what exactly we’re doing? I like you, Draco, I really, really like you. So much that sometimes I think it’d be worth it to just say ‘bugger it all’ to everything and kiss you in the middle of the Great Hall just so everyone can know. I want to be with you, properly. Like, um… like boyfriends.” 

“You understand no one could know? My parents… if they knew I was into boys…. Most of the wizarding community doesn’t give a toss who’s shagging who these days, but purebloods are expected to marry and produce heirs. And if they knew it was Harry Potter? Dieu m’en garde… ” 

“I know,” Harry rushed, hands gripping the edge of the desk. Draco took another step closer, so that he was almost directly in front of Harry. “Not to mention how much Voldemort would love to use it to his own benefit somehow. I know it’s risky, and no one can find out. But… I still want it. You’re not just a friend , Draco. I don’t go around snogging all of my friends on the Astronomy Tower…” 

“Merlin, I should hope not.” 

Harry grinned, reaching out to hold Draco’s waist as the boy stepped close enough to stand between his knobbly knees. He tried not to let his mind stray too far into thinking about how comfortably Draco’s figure tucked against him, as though he belonged there. “It would also mean no more poking fun at my friends. For appearance’s sake, we can bicker as much as normal when we’re around everyone else. But no teasing Ron, or Hermione, or anyone else.” 

“Just you, hm?” Draco asked, eyes glinting teasingly as his hands came to rest behind Harry’s neck, fingers winding into black curls at his nape. 

He nodded slowly, tilting his head up slightly and glancing at Draco’s lips. Godric, he’d missed kissing him. “Just me.” 

“I suppose that can be arranged.” 

Draco closed the remaining space between them, holding Harry’s head so that he could press into him with slow, careful kisses that quickly grew more desperate and sent Harry’s thoughts spiralling. Draco bit lightly at his bottom lip, eagerly licking into his mouth when Harry gasped and pushing his body flush against Harry’s chest. 

“Be my boyfriend,” Harry mumbled, pulling back for only a second before capturing Draco’s lips again. 

After several more moments, Draco broke away. “Okay,” he said breathlessly, leaning his forehead against Harry’s own with his eyes still closed. 

Harry couldn’t help the grin from spreading across his face. “Merlin, I like you so much.” 

Draco responded by kissing him again, hands travelling to Harry’s glasses with the intention of pulling them off the next time they pulled apart. But Harry brought up his own hand to stop him, leaning back slightly. 

“I want to show you something,” he said, only feeling a little bad at Draco’s frown. “Come on.” 

He led Draco to the seventh floor, smirking at Draco’s growing excitement as he began to realise where Harry was taking him. He’d mentioned Room of Requirement briefly to Draco before, but they’d never had a chance to visit, yet. Or… Harry had been too nervous to visit without knowing exactly what Draco and him were. 

When they reached the corridor, Harry paced past the stretch of wall three times, thinking things like‘I want a warm, cosy room’,‘somewhere where no one will find us’,‘perfect for snogging’. When he opened his eyes after the third turn, the familiar door stood embedded into the wall as if it had never been erased. Draco wasted no time in reaching out and tugging the great door open, revealing a room that was smaller than the D.A.’s practice room and partly resembled a common room. Though there were no desks, there was a large fireplace against one wall, and a number of couches and beanbags on the carpet in front of it. 

“Thank Salazar it’s not orange,” Draco said, stepping inside. Harry followed, pulling the door closed behind him and locking it with the waiting key. “Why didn’t you bring me here ages ago?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, partially lying. 

Draco gave him a knowing look, before sauntering over to the couches and taking a seat. When Harry didn’t move, he patted the cushion beside him and raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“You’re too used to getting what you want,” Harry said, whilst doing exactly as Draco wanted and sitting beside him on the couch to face him. 

“Hm,” Draco hummed, shamelessly pushing Harry back against the cushions and bracing his hands on either side of his head. “I think you just like giving me what I want, Potter.” 

“That, too,” Harry agreed, already a little breathless. 

Draco had practically climbed into his lap, knees on either side of Harry’s thighs as he leaned in close to kiss him thoroughly. Harry’s hands came up automatically to hold the boy’s hips, pulling them down so that Draco settled comfortably between his legs again, chests pressed together. 

“These, off,” Draco demanded, leaning back slightly so that he could take off Harry’s glasses and drop them onto the carpet. “And this,” he continued, tugging at Harry’s hoodie. 

They hadn’t snogged whilst shirtless before, Harry realised as he shrugged off his hoodie and shirt in one go, likely messing up his hair more than it already was. He shifted uncomfortably as Draco gazed at him for a moment, before pulling weakly at the hem of the boy’s shirt. “Your turn.” 

Draco seemed less hesitant about the whole thing, Harry thought, watching as he unbuttoned the white shirt quickly, revealing more and more pale skin until the shirt was suddenly on the floor alongside Harry’s own. Before he could think about what he was doing, he’d reached up to graze his fingers gently over the perfect skin, from his navel to his collarbone. There, he caught sight of the single freckle on the side of Draco’s neck, and leant forward almost subconsciously to plant a kiss over it. 

He felt it when Draco’s breath caught in his throat, lips nestled into the hollow between the boy’s neck and shoulder, kisses firm but gentle as they pressed over and over against his skin. He began to suck lightly, too, and Draco’s body seemed to melt against his, the feeling of skin against skin so very different to being separated by layers of clothing. He continued to suck as Draco’s hands gripped at his hair, arms pressed into the couch on either side of Harry, no longer trying to hold himself up. 

Eventually, Draco groaned, lifting his head to redirect Harry’s mouth onto his own, running his tongue between Harry’s lips and behind his teeth. Harry could feel as the blood in his body travelled downwards, gathering at his groin and causing his hips to push up into Draco’s needily. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, willing his body to relax, which was very difficult when there was an incredibly fit boy laying himself down flat against him and simultaneously snogging him senseless.

“Don’t be,” Draco breathed against Harry’s lips, rolling his hips and pressing down against Harry. 

It only took him a second to realise Draco was as hard as himself, and another second to realise that neither of them were about to stop because of it. He lifted his hips again experimentally, and Draco moaned appreciatively into his mouth, rolling his own hips again. 

“Shit,” Harry sighed, raising his hips over and over until they found a messy sort-of rhythm. “Draco.” 

“Mmhm.” 

He moaned, holding the boy down against him with his hands. He could feel his magic fizzing in the air around them, sparking where they touched and seeping like a hot wax into their skin. He broke away from Draco’s lips for a moment to mouth at his neck again, tracing his lips over skin and sucking at the curve of his Adam’s apple. 

“Draco,” he murmured, feeling as the boy swallowed. 

“Harry,” Draco whispered, breathless, and Harry moved back to kissing his open mouth.

It was so, so much more than any of the snogging they’d done before, and so, so much better than when Harry was alone in his four-poster bed. Feeling Draco press down against him, hot and hard and everything Harry could possibly dream of, was enough to have his mind reeling. Their kisses turned sloppy as the pace of their grinding quickened, heat building impossibly higher and muscles tensing in anticipation until it suddenly released without warning, hips stuttering as waves of boundless pleasure rolled through his body. 

“Shit, Draco,” he panted, going practically boneless against the couch. His brain felt all fuzzy and dazed, body still tingling delightfully. 

Draco finished only seconds later, collapsing on top of Harry with a choked gasp. They lay there for several long minutes, catching their breaths and regaining strength in their limbs. Oh, Merlin, oh my God, I just got off with Draco on top of me, oh my God, he just got off with me, oh Merlin, that was the best thing I’ve ever done. 

“Bloody hell,” he said, eyes blown wide. He felt a slow smile grow across his face, tucking his hand beneath Draco’s chin, which had been buried against Harry’s chest, and pulling it up so that he could meet the boy’s lidded gaze. White-blond strands fell forward into his face with the movement, and Harry used his free hand to tuck them behind Draco’s ear. “That was good.” 

“Blunt as ever, Potter,” Draco drawled, batting at Harry’s hand with apparently every intention of laying his head right back where it had been on Harry’s chest. 

Harry frowned. “Well, it was good… wasn’t it?” 

“Of course it was,” the blond replied, voice muffled against Harry’s skin. 

Harry smiled, amused, and lifted Draco’s chin again so that he could plant a brief kiss against his lips. “Don’t fall asleep there. Hermione and Ron are probably wondering where I’ve gone. I was meant to meet them in the library.” 

“You are not kicking me off after what we just did. Are you thick?” Draco scoffed, shifting slightly and sending a flare of heat up Harry’s body. 

“Um, maybe don’t move just yet,” Harry said, and he felt Draco grin. 

“How do you expect me to reach for my wand so that I can rid my trousers of this filth?” 

Harry bit his lip, considering the risks of attempting the spell wandless. “Erm…” 

“I’m waiting,” Draco said, lifting his head to smirk at Harry. 

He knew the statement was in reference to his lack of response, but Harry decided to also take it as a go-ahead to attempt his spell. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and concentrated on focusing the frenzied magic that still fizzled around them, before muttering a “Scourgify”.

To his immense relief, the spell seemed to work, and the uncomfortable stickiness in his pants disappeared almost instantly. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Draco staring wide-eyed back at him. 

“Did it work?” he asked unnecessarily. He knew it had, but the boy was looking at him like his own pants had caught fire instead. 

“Never do wandless magic when you’re beneath me,” Draco said and Harry frowned, confused. 

“Oh, sorry, I should’ve asked, I just wanted to give it a try–” 

“No,” Draco interrupted, huffing a laugh that warmed the skin across Harry’s chest. His hair flopped forwards again, and he seemed to brush it back almost subconsciously. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Oh… er, then what–?” 

“It’s incredibly attractive, Harry,” he answered bluntly, and Harry felt his cheeks flush. “Therefore, quite dangerous.” 

Harry glanced away awkwardly, mumbling, “Merlin.” 

“This room really is wonderful,” Draco went on, as though he hadn’t just altered Harry’s entire stance on his wandless magic. “Perhaps we should begin practising your Dark magic here, instead. Much less likely to be caught swinging around Funemfyre than in the school courtyard.” 

“I haven’t even tried a Funemfyre yet,” Harry pointed out as Draco rolled off his body to stand beside him. “Where are you going?” 

“I have Quidditch practice in ten minutes, and, unlike your little friends, it cannot wait.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, sitting up and unabashedly watching the boy button up his white shirt again. “Want to stage an argument outside the Great Hall this evening? Probably a little strange that we’ve just been ignoring each other the past couple of weeks.”  

“Knock into me by the door or something, that will be cause enough,” Draco said, peering into the mirror that had just appeared on one wall. “Potter, are you part vampire, for Salazar’s sake? You’ve mutilated my neck!” 

“I didn’t mutilate it–” 

“Oh?” the blond huffed, craning his neck left and right to glare at the red marks staining his pale skin. “Then what do you call these, hm? Mon dieu…” 

Harry shook his head in exasperation, getting to his feet and coming to stand behind Draco, arms wrapping loosely around his narrow waist. He nosed lightly at the bruise closest to him, relishing in the shiver it seemed to send down Draco’s body. “I think they’re called love-bites.” 

Draco scoffed, albeit weakly. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Mm,” Harry hummed, smiling against the skin on Draco’s neck. “But you’re the one who agreed to be my boyfriend. Doesn’t that make you just as ridiculous?” 

“If you’re not careful, I’ll revoke it,” Draco sniffed, batting at Harry’s arms. “Get off me, you leech. I really do have to go.” 

Harry released him begrudgingly, watching as he pointed the tip of his wand to the marks on his neck one at a time, muttering a spell that seemed to make them disappear. He pouted, and Draco rolled his eyes at him in the mirror’s reflection. 

“They’re still there, Harry, just temporarily glamoured. I will not subject myself to all of the looks and questions I would surely receive should I allow our peers to see them.” 

“Well, at least I know they’re there,” Harry said, turning to collect his own shirt and hoodie to put back on. “Enjoy practice. See you tonight, maybe?” 

“I’ll try to slip you a note during our spat outside the hall.” 

Harry smiled, walking back over to plant a quick kiss to Draco’s lips one last time. “Okay.” 

Draco rolled his eyes again, but he wasn’t able to turn quick enough to hide his smile. Feeling more elated than he had in weeks, Harry watched the boy leave the Room of Requirement without a glance back, already giddy at the thought of seeing him again that night.

Chapter Text

“You’re all getting really good,” Harry grinned broadly around the room, a swell of pride in his chest as the members of the D.A. cheered in response. “When we get back from the hols we’ll get started on some of the bigger stuff. Maybe even Patronuses.” 

His peers seemed excited about the prospect, and slowly started trickling from the Room of Requirement in the usual twos and threes, wishing Harry a Merry Christmas– and some, a Happy Yuletide– on the way out. Ron and Hermione were amongst the last to leave, and before Harry could follow he noticed Cho still standing in the room, tears running down her face as she sniffed quietly into her hand. Part of him wanted to pretend he hadn’t noticed her at all, but the other knew he couldn’t just ignore the crying girl. 

“Cho?” he started quietly, taking a step over to her. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I just… learning all this, I can’t help but think– well– it just makes me wonder if… if he’d known it all, would he still be alive…?” 

Harry’s heart sank, but he couldn’t say he was surprised that she was emotional about Cedric. He just wasn’t exactly keen on being around to hear about it. Or think about it. Ever. 

“He did know it. Cedric was brilliant,” he sighed, staring down at his hands. “It’s just… once somebody’s in Voldemort’s way, they don’t really stand a chance.” 

Cho was silent for a moment, and Harry slowly rolled back on his heels to move towards the door again. 

“Oh, don’t go,” Cho said then, and Harry forced himself to stop. “I’m really sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to get all upset. I know you mustn’t want to hear about Cedric after… after you saw it happen…” 

Harry didn’t say anything, but reluctantly dragged his gaze back up to meet hers.

“You’re a really good teacher, you know,” she said, wiping her eyes again. 

“Thanks.” 

There were an awkward few moments where Harry tried very hard not to just run from the room, then Cho suddenly pointed to the space above his head. 

“Mistletoe,” she said, and Harry’s stomach squirmed uncomfortably. But… not the familiar way it did when Draco did something terribly endearing and Harry wanted to melt. More like he wanted to get out of there right now . 

“Probably full of nargles,” he mumbled instead, in an attempt to make the girl stop moving towards him . 

“What are nargles?” she asked, now much too close. 

“No idea.” 

She laughed lightly, and Harry grimaced. He wasn’t meant to make her laugh , for Merlin’s sake. 

“I really like you, Harry,” she murmured then, stepping right into his space. 

Before she could lean forwards completely, however, Harry’s arms shot forward to grip her shoulders and push her back awkwardly. She blinked at him, confused. 

“Sorry, Cho–” 

“I don’t understand–” 

“I’m– I don’t like you like that, I’m sorry,” he said uncomfortably, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“Oh,” Cho replied quietly, eyes wide and self-conscious. “But– but I thought…” 

And, of course, that’s when Harry’s lips chose to move of their own accord and form the words “I’m with somebody else,” rather than simply stay shut as Harry had wanted them to. 

The Ravenclaw girl’s eyes grew impossibly wider, and Harry decided that was the right time to spin on his heel and walk quickly from the room without a glance back. 

• • •

Harry dreamed he was back in the Room of Requirement that night, stood beneath the mistletoe with Cho Chang. Except this time, they were surrounded by the members of the D.A., who were all cheering and laughing and encouraging the two of them to just “KISS ALREADY!” 

Then Cho was leaning in and Harry was holding out his arms, then all of a sudden the room’s huge doors were slammed open and Draco, of all people, strode inside, wearing nothing but Harry’s own pants (the embarrassing ones covered in golden snitches) and a Gryffindor tie. He was extremely torn between ogling his boyfriend’s exposed body, holding off Cho whose lips were still puckered expectantly, and taking out his wand to defend Draco from the furious glares being sent his way from the surrounding members. It was all very confusing and very dramatic and then, as if things weren’t strange enough, his own body suddenly began to shrink. 

The Room of Requirement was replaced by a dark corridor, and then he was gliding across cold stone, flat against the floor, field of view even lower than that in his fox form. The corridor appeared empty at first, then… no, there was a man… sitting on the floor ahead, back against a black door with a large, silver handle… 

He felt his tongue lick out into the air. The man was alive, but drowsing. He wanted to bite the man… sink his fangs into his warm flesh… but he was here for more important things…. The man stirred suddenly, and upon noticing Harry on the floor in front of him, he jumped to his feet, wand rising quickly– 

Harry reared up and struck once, twice, three times, fangs sinking deep into the man’s arms and chest and legs. The man was yelling, then all of a sudden he fell silent, slumped back against the door, red blood seeping onto the stone floor. Harry reared up to strike again, but his head had begun to pound something terrible…

“ Harry! Harry!” someone was calling, and he opened his eyes.

His forehead seared with red-hot pain where Harry knew his scar etched into his skin, sweat gathered in his palms and he could feel it cling to the skin over his body. He tried to sit up against his pillows, stomach rolling heavily as he pressed his head into his hands. Then, suddenly, he was leaning over the side of his bed and vomiting all over the floor. 

“Should we get someone?” another voice asked worriedly. 

Harry could make out Ron’s voice now when he exclaimed again, “Harry!”. He gulped down air, head still aching and hands shaking in front of his blurred vision. 

“Your dad,” he gasped, voice raw. “Your dad’s been attacked.” 

“What?” Ron spluttered, and Harry felt his glasses shoved onto his face a moment later. 

“Your dad!” he said again, more urgently, and tried to sit up properly. “He’s been bitten, there was blood everywhere, it’s bad , Ron–” 

“I’m getting help,” Neville said from somewhere out of his peripheral, followed by hurried footsteps out of the dormitory. 

Ron cupped his shoulder with one hand. “Harry, mate, you were asleep. It was just a bad dream–” 

“No, it wasn’t just a dream, it was real , I saw it–” 

He retched again, and Ron jumped back out of the way. 

“Harry, you’re ill–” 

“I’m not –” 

“What’s all this? What’s happened?” a familiar stern voice said then, and Professor McGonagall strode into the room, tartan dressing gown billowing behind her. “Mr Potter, what’s the matter?” 

Harry almost melted with relief. “It’s Ron’s dad,” he explained quickly. “He’s been attacked by a snake, I just saw it. There was so much blood– I think it’s really serious. Professor, you have to help him–” 

“What do you mean you just saw it?” McGonagall asked with a frown, waving her wand idly at the mess beside Harry’s bed. “You mean you dreamt it?” 

“No!” Harry groaned. Why was no one listening to him? Why was no one doing anything?! “It was real! Mr Weasley was asleep in front of some door in some dark, random corridor, and– and he was attacked by this giant snake and he’s bleeding, Professor–!” 

“Put on your dressing gown, Mr Potter,” she said, nodding sharply. “We’re going to see the headmaster.” 

When they arrived at the Headmaster’s Office, a white-faced Ron in tow, it was to find Professor Dumbledore already awake and at his desk. Harry quickly explained his dream– vision– thing, trying not to feel too put-off by the fact that the Headmaster adamantly avoided his gaze the entire time.  

“Where were you positioned as this attack took place, Harry?” Dumbledore asked finally, still staring down at his frail hands rather than meet Harry’s gaze. “Were you perhaps standing by the victim? Looking down from above?” 

Harry narrowed his eyes on the man. Why was he asking that? It was almost as if he already knew the answer, and Harry honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if that was so. 

“I was the snake,” he said slowly, growing more agitated by the second as Dumbledore kept his gaze lowered. “I saw it all from the snake’s point of view.” 

“Is Arthur seriously injured?” the Headmaster asked then, and Harry almost rolled his eyes. What had he been saying this whole time? 

“ Yes!” 

Dumbledore began giving sharp orders to the portraits on the walls around them, sending old headmasters and mistresses from their frames and out of sight. 

“How can you know where Mr Weasley is?” Harry asked, as Dumbledore swept over to Fawkes, his phoenix. 

“Take a seat, all three of you, please,” the man said, as though Harry hadn’t spoken. Professor McGonagall conjured three wooden chairs, and Harry watched as Dumbledore murmured to Fawkes, before the bird suddenly disappeared in a burst of flames. 

The portraits returned moments later with news that confirmed Harry’s vision. Mr Weasley had indeed been injured, and was now being taken directly to St. Mungo’s. Dumbledore sent McGonagall away next, to gather the remaining Weasley children, before sending a glowing phoenix patronus through the office wall. 

“Professor, I don’t understand,” Harry tried, hands still trembling on his lap. “How did I see it happen? Why’s this happening?” 

Dumbledore, who’d been tapping his wand against an assortment of silver instruments on his desk, didn’t even look up at the question. Before he could give Harry any sort of indication that he’d heard him, Professor McGonagall swept back into the room with Fred, George, and Ginny at her heel. 

“Harry, what’s going on?” George asked first, glancing around the office before settling on Harry with a curious gaze. 

Ginny was looking at Harry too, albeit much more frightened. “McGonagall said you saw dad get hurt…” 

“Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix,” Dumbledore answered her, and Harry tried not to feel angry at the fact that it seemed to be easy for the headmaster to answer anybody but him. “He has been sent to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you all to the Order’s headquarters where you will meet your mother.” 

“How will we get there?” Fred asked then, eyes wide. 

“We will be taking a Portkey, come here, all of you,” Dumbledore said, and they gathered around him to touch a finger each to the black kettle sitting on the desk. “On three, ready. One… two…” suddenly, seemingly by accident, he made eye contact with Harry across the kettle, and Harry was immediately filled with an unbidden loathing for the headmaster, a need to strike– to bite– “ three.” 

There was a hard jerk, and then they were whirling in a rush of wind. 

“Blood traitors! Half-bloods! Out of my house this instant–” 

“Shut up, you old hag!” a familiar voice roared, and Harry got to his feet, looking around him at dark, wooden beams and drooping wallpaper and–

“Sirius ,” he sighed as he caught sight of his godfather, wasting no time scrambling forward and burying himself in the man’s arms. All the tension, all the anxiety that had been clouding his thoughts from the moment he’d woken from that nightmare seemed to seep from him instantly, replaced by a comfortable warmth and a feeling of finally being home. 

“Are you okay, pup?” Sirius murmured against his hair, hands patting at his back and arms as though checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “But Mr Weasley–” He gulped, suddenly unsure whether he wanted to continue or not. 

“Albus’ patronus said that Arthur had been badly injured and to meet you all here. Moony is making hot chocolate for everybody, come get settled, and you can tell me everything,” Sirius said soothingly, brushing a hand through Harry’s damp hair before releasing him from the embrace and greeting the others. 

“We don’t have time for that, we have to get to St. Mungo’s,” Fred said, looking down at his pyjamas. “Do you have any cloaks we can borrow–?” 

“You can’t go to St. Mungos,” Sirius said rather sternly. “Have you any idea what the Ministry might think of Harry having visions of things happening hundreds of miles away? You aren’t supposed to know that your father has been injured, yet–” 

“But, he’s our dad!” Ginny exclaimed, face red and eyes brimmed with tears. 

“He could be dying!” George said hotly, already taking out his wand. 

“You can’t apparate from here, the house is warded–” 

“Fine!” Fred interrupted, looking around wildly for the nearest fireplace. 

Before he could actually locate one, however, Remus stepped into the room calmly, five steaming mugs hovering in the air in front of him. “That’s quite enough yelling, I think,” he said gently, sending the mugs to each of the children standing around the room. “Come take a seat, and we’ll talk about what will happen.” 

Harry ignored his steaming hot chocolate still levitating by his head, taking a few steps towards Remus and embracing him the same way he had Sirius, head buried against the taller man’s chest. Remus rubbed circles against his back, before stepping back and bringing Harry’s hot chocolate over again. “Take it,” he prompted, and Harry took hold of the warm mug. 

A glance around the room told him that the others had taken sips of their own drinks now, and seemed quite a bit calmer than moments prior. Remus ushered them through the arched doorway and into a large sitting room with dark, velvet, camelback sofas and armchairs surrounding a large, crackling fireplace. They each took a seat, before suddenly they were interrupted by a flash of fire and a small scrap of parchment fell to the carpet, tied to a long, golden phoenix feather. 

Sirius snatched up the parchment and peered at the writing. “Not Dumbledore’s… must be your mother. Here–” he thrust the letter into George’s hand. 

“Dad is still alive,” he read aloud. “I am setting out for St. Mungo’s now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.” 

“‘Still alive’,” Fred quoted, glancing around at them all uneasily. “That makes it sound as though…” 

Remus cleared his throat, glancing at Ginny. “He’ll be alright, we can’t jump to any conclusions before we’ve heard back from Molly. We can wait here as long as we need.” 

“What happened, then?” Sirius asked, watching Harry carefully, who became increasingly interested in the patterns on the carpet beneath his feet. 

“I’d like to know, too,” Fred added, and Harry glanced up to see them all staring his way. 

He sighed, taking another sip of his hot chocolate before retelling the events of that night. He chose to leave out the fact that he’d seen it all from the snake’s point of view, however, making it out as though he’d watched from above, instead. He caught Ron’s brief glance at this, but his friend didn’t say anything. They talked for only a short while afterward, the Weasley siblings too riddled with worry to make idle conversation, and Harry too confused about the evening to remember all the things he’d wanted to talk to his godfathers about over the semester. 

Just past five in the morning, Mrs Weasley burst from the fireplace with an anxious smile. “He’s going to be alright. He’s sleeping now, we’ll go to see him later. Bill is with him,” she said, before taking her children into her arms. 

“Breakfast?” Sirius asked, not waiting for an answer and sweeping down the hall to take a set of small, narrow steps to the basement kitchen. Harry and Remus, wanting both to leave the family to their embrace and also to save their breakfasts from the horror of Sirius’ cooking, quickly followed. 

“Are you okay, Harry?” Remus asked softly once the three of them were alone in the kitchen. 

Harry busied himself trying to pry open the door to what seemed to be a cramped, walk-in pantry, occupied by a handful of groceries along various shelves. He found a couple of unbruised tomatoes, almost a dozen eggs that didn’t seem to be already broken upon first glance, and a sackful of potatoes in one corner. 

“I’m fine,” he answered eventually, setting the groceries onto the counter and returning to the pantry for some more. The back section of it appeared to be under some sort of cooling charm, and he managed to scrounge together a few bacon rashers, a plate of brick-hard butter, and a small jar of what he hoped to be a berry jam. 

Remus gave him a doubtful look as he ambled back into the kitchen, but didn’t push the matter. Harry worked himself into a bit of a frenzy in an attempt to distract him from his spinning thoughts; frying eggs and bacon and breakfast potatoes and diced tomatoes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two men give each other concerned looks, but then Remus was busying himself with the toast and Sirius began taking out plates for everyone, and Harry thought the matter was over. 

“Oh, Harry,” Mrs Weasley’s voice came from behind him a moment later, and he was turned on the spot and pulled into another familiar embrace. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for you, Harry. It might’ve been hours… But he’s alive, thanks to you. I’m so grateful, Harry, thank you.” 

Harry’s insides squirmed, guilty for some unknown reason, but he stood in the embrace until it was over and Mrs Weasley nudged him aside to take over the breakfast. 

“Harry,” Sirius said, crooking a finger to summon him back up the stairs. Harry grimaced, but followed, feeling Remus at his back. 

“What is this place?” Harry asked, partially to stall and also out of mild curiosity. He looked at the various paintings as they walked down the hall to a small, empty study. A number of stern, blank faces glared down at him as he passed. 

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,” Sirius replied, closing the door behind the three of them and sitting atop the old, wooden desk. “And also my old family home.” 

“Really?” Harry gaped, looking around again. “You lived here?” 

“As a child, yes. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It used to be quite a lot grander than it seems. Lost a lot of its magic. Horrible now, really,” his godfather sighed, scratching absently at the wood beside him with his fingernail. “Horrible family, too. You heard my mother earlier.” 

Harry felt his nose wrinkle. “That was your mother?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Harry,” Remus interrupted, conjuring a spare armchair for Harry to sit in. The rooms that Harry had seen so far seemed woefully bare, he noticed absentmindedly. “Will you talk to us, please?” 

“I am talking,” Harry said. He was being difficult, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel like this vision was a very bad thing, and that telling them that he’d seen it all as the snake would cause them to see him differently. Cause them to blame him, somehow. He knew they wouldn’t, but… 

“You left something out of your story, Harry. I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re not telling the whole truth. You’re as poor at lying as your father was,” Remus said a little fondly, taking the old, wooden chair already positioned by the desk. “Whatever it is, Harry, you can tell us.” 

Harry frowned at his hands. “I’m… it feels… bad.” 

“And maybe we could help it not feel so bad,” Sirius suggested and Harry nodded, lips twisting uncomfortably. 

“I told you everything that happened, but… in the vision, I saw it all from the perspective of the snake, not from above. I was the snake. I could feel its hunger, could hear its thoughts. I wanted to bite Mr Weasley. And I did, over and over, and it was horrible–” all of it began pouring out of him now that he’d started, and Harry felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. “Then when we were in Dumbledore’s office, I just felt so angry . He refused to meet my eyes or answer my questions, which was frustrating enough, but when he did finally look at me, right before the portkey sent us off, it was… I felt so much hatred . Like I was the snake again. Like I wanted to strike out at him, too! And I’m so confused, I don’t understand what’s happening to me because he won’t tell me and I feel so awful for being so angry all the time and–” 

“Breathe, Harry,” Remus interrupted, leaning over to rest a hand on his shoulder. 

“Am I–” he gulped, holding back brimming tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of his– in front of Sirius and Remus. He wouldn’t cry. “What’s wrong with me? Is there– it’s like there’s a snake inside me–”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, pup,” Sirius said sharply, a hand coming up to curl into his hair gently. “None of this is your fault. Something is messing with your head, and I’m sure Dumbledore will figure it out. But you’re not a snake, there’s no snake in you, you’re not going to attack anybody. It was only a vision.” 

“It felt like more than that,” Harry sighed, hands loosening. The sting on his palms was one he hadn’t felt in a long while, and he frowned down at them. “I don’t know, I’m just confused.” 

“That’s understandable,” Remus nodded. “I imagine anyone would be in your position. No one can understand this just yet, but give us time, give Dumbledore time, and hopefully, soon, this will all make some more sense. For now, we just need you to know that what happened tonight was not your fault, and you’re right for feeling confused, and angry, and frustrated. But never feel like you can’t talk to us, Harry. We love you, we want to listen.” 

Harry sniffed, a single tear breaking free from his lashes and rolling down his cheek to wet his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard those words said to him. Couldn’t remember if he ever had. ‘We love you’ , he’d said. Like it was a simple fact. The way he sometimes heard Mrs Weasley call out to her children through the carriage windows of the Hogwarts Express. The way his Aunt Petunia had crooned to Dudley each morning before he trotted into school. 

“Harry,” Sirius said, voice soft, warm hand coming to settle at the nape of Harry’s neck. 

“Sorry,” he croaked, quickly wiping the stray tear from his lips. Why was he crying at being told he was loved? It was a normal thing to say to somebody. Merlin, he’s embarrassing. “I don’t know why–”

Sirius huffed lightly. “You don’t need to explain yourself, pup. We should have been saying that long before now. It’s… not a term I use often, but…” 

“We love you, Harry,” Remus finished for him, hand coming down to squeeze Harry’s. “We always will, don’t ever try to convince yourself against the fact.” 

“We love you, pup,” Sirius added, voice wavering slightly. 

Harry sniffed again, eyes still trained on his lap, but hand squeezing back at Remus’ in a sign of gratitude. “I love you guys, too.”

Chapter Text

After breakfast, they spent the rest of the morning napping– or, in Harry’s case, curled up on his bed as a fox, too fearful to fall asleep and attack someone again– before their trunks arrived from Hogwarts and they got ready to visit Mr Weasley at St. Mungo’s. Remus opted to stay with Sirius at Grimmauld Place, and part of Harry hoped they’d offer for him to stay, too, but Mrs Weasley was all-too-happy to whisk him away with the others. They went with Nymphadora Tonks, a young witch Harry had met once or twice over the summer, and the real Mad-Eye Moody, who Harry was still slightly wary of and attempted to avoid through most of the trip. 

Mr Weasley seemed well enough, and waffled happily to them all about the other patients in the ward, and about what he’d read in the Prophet before they’d arrived. Eventually, Mrs Weasley sent the lot of them out into the corridor to wait as Tonks and Moody greeted her husband, which is when the twins took out their Extendable Ears to listen in to the conversation. 

“Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning,” Mrs Weasley was whispering on the other side of the door as the group of children listened in through the flesh-coloured strings. 

“‘Course he’s worried,” Moody’s gruff voice came then. “The boy’s seeing things from inside You-Know-Who’s snake. Potter wouldn’t know what that could mean, but if You-Know-Who’s possessing him–” 

Harry wrenched the Extendable Ear away from his own, heart hammering in his chest as he looked around at the others, who were all staring back with horrified expressions. 

Possessed by Voldemort? 

He suddenly remembered Professor Quirrell in first year, and almost subconsciously brought a hand to the back of his own head to feel for a face that he knew wasn’t there. His stomach squirmed like he might throw up, and he spent the trip back to Grimmauld Place lost in his own thoughts. He felt dirty, contaminated. He’d been right– the snake was inside of him, except it wasn’t a snake, but Voldemort . Voldemort was controlling him . He did attack Mr Weasley last night, and Voldemort tried to get him to attack Dumbledore, too. What if he’s listening to all of these thoughts right now?

“Harry, are you alright?” Mrs Weasley asked as they ambled up the stone steps to the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place. “You look pale. Perhaps you should get some more sleep before dinner.” 

Harry nodded stiffly, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the Weasley children as he pushed through the door and took the stairs two-at-a-time to the new bedroom he was now sharing with Ron. It was nothing like the cosy, comfortable room waiting for him in Brixton. This bedroom had grey, peeling wallpaper and rotting floorboards and suspiciously damp hangings surrounding the beds. He just wanted to be home. 

Then, suddenly, the thought hit him. If Voldemort was possessing him, he’d be seeing everything through Harry’s eyes right now! Harry was showing him Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix! He’ll know where they are… where Sirius is… 

He immediately reached for his trunk and called Hedwig to his shoulder, planning on heading right back out of Grimmauld Place before thinking through his options on where to go. But before he could even make it out of his temporary bedroom, one of the portraits on the wall beside him cleared his throat. Harry paused, turning to look at the old wizard, dressed head-to-toe in Slytherin green and silver. 

“Running away, are we?” the wizard asked, one of his thin eyebrows raised. 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Who are you? You weren’t there before.” 

“Surely you are aware that paintings possess the ability to move , boy,” the man sneered, eyeing him distastefully. “I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore.” 

“How’ve you spoken to Dumbledore?” Harry asked, taking a step towards the painting curiously. Hedwig hooted with her usual scepticism of any object that moved, ruffling her feathers albeit staying put on Harry’s shoulder. 

“He says to stay where you are,” the wizard said, eyeing Hedwig scornfully. 

“Why should I believe you?” 

He sighed tiredly. “I am Phineas Nigellus Black, former Headmaster of Hogwarts. I have another portrait in the Headmaster’s office, which is how Albus gave me this message. So, if you give a toss about what the old man says, stay where you are .” 

“That’s it?” Harry said hotly. “That’s all he can say? Stay put, Harry, and let the adults figure it out. How about he tells me what is happening to me–?!” 

“You see, this is why I so loathed teaching–” 

“That’s quite enough, Phineas,” Sirius interrupted, stepping into the room, and Harry sagged with regret whilst Hedwig, the traitor, tittered happily at the sight of him. He shouldn’t have let himself be distracted by the stupid portrait. He should be out of here already. “Harry, come with me, please.” 

With a sigh, he dropped the handle of his trunk and turned to follow his godfather downstairs and inside one of the rooms on the first floor– a large drawing room, it seemed, with what appeared to be a giant family-tree tapestry across a stretch of wall. Harry peered at it, making out unfamiliar names in small, curvy handwriting, below head-portraits of, supposedly, the matching person. 

“Is this your family?” he asked, not looking at Sirius. Part of him was still under the impression that Voldemort could see what Harry was seeing, and would know Sirius was living here. 

“Yes,” Sirius answered quietly, and Harry could feel his gaze on the back of his head. 

“Where are you?” 

His godfather stepped forward, raising a hand to brush against a charred patch of the tapestry, above the name ‘Sirius’ . Harry frowned, confused. “What happened to it?”

“My lovely mother blasted it off after I ran away at sixteen.” 

“You ran away?” 

Sirius nodded, smiling slightly. “Best decision I ever made. I stayed with your father, actually. Your grandparents treated me like a second son.” 

Harry finally met his gaze, forgetting the entire business with Voldemort for a moment. “It must’ve been pretty bad for you to run away.” 

“‘ Toujours Pur’ is the Black family motto,” his godfather said wryly. “‘Always pure’. I suppose that’s enough to help you imagine what kind of people my parents were. When their first son was sorted into Gryffindor, rather than Slytherin, it was almost enough to be disowned right there. My younger brother, Regulus, was sorted into Slytherin a year later, and my parents made it very clear who the favourite was from then onwards. We were quite close, you know? As children. My parents tore us apart.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, gaze moving back to the tapestry to find ‘Regulus’ scrawled beneath the portrait of a handsome teenage boy, with the same dark hair and grey eyes as his brother. “What happened to him?” 

“He became a Death Eater the moment he graduated from Hogwarts, alongside many of his Slytherin friends. I reached out to him, once. I’d always regretted leaving him in this horrid place with our parents. I truly believe he could have been so different without their influence… if I’d just taken him with me. I expressed all of this in my letter, offered him a way out, should he ever show the slightest want for it. I never heard back, and he was declared dead not long after. The story is that he got cold feet and tried to run, and Voldemort caught up with him.” 

Harry stared at his godfather, horrified, and Hedwig hooted sadly from her perch. “That’s awful, Sirius.” 

“It is,” Sirius said, looking back at him; eyes searching. “I’m not sure if you know this, Harry, but I have three cousins. Andromeda– she married a muggle and was blasted off this tree, too–” he pointed to the blackened hole. “She’s Tonks’ mother, actually. You’ll likely meet her sometime. Then there’s Bellatrix, she’s a nasty piece of work and is in Azkaban for torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom with the Cruciatus Curse.” 

Harry, who’d already been told this by Professor Dumbledore the year prior, nodded with a pained grimace. 

“And then the youngest, Narcissa.” 

“What?” Harry started, quickly looking back to the tapestry. 

Indeed, there was Narcissa, blonde ringlets framing her pale face and striking blue eyes staring up at him. He followed the branch to meet ‘Lucius Malfoy’ at her side, then down to ‘Draco Malfoy’ . 

He stared. “You’re related to the Malfoys?” 

“Almost all of the old pureblood families intertwine somewhere. The Weasleys are related to my family, also. I believe, somewhere, there’s an overlap with the Potters, too. It’s certainly not uncommon.” 

“But… Draco’s your cousin,” he said without thinking, but then it was too late to fix his mistake. 

Sirius gave him a knowing smirk. “Once removed, yes. Although I wouldn’t imagine that would cause a problem. You’re my god son, afterall.” 

Harry quickly looked at him. “Wait–” 

“Let’s see,” Sirius interrupted, looking entirely too smug. “Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin boy in your year, with every bit of his mother’s ‘pretty’ features, and a good portion of his father’s pride, I imagine. Wealthy enough to purchase premium owl treats and a gorgeous new set of golden snitches. And, as I hear it from Remus, a boy with a tendency to get under your skin–” 

“Merlin, you sound just like him,” Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes, recalling Draco’s pompous retelling of facts he’d gathered on Sirius being an animagus on the Hogwarts Express earlier in the year. 

“So, I’m right?” the man said, tilting his head with a grin. 

Harry stared firmly at the curvy letters spelling out his boyfriend’s name on the tapestry, unsure how to reply. When the silence seemed to stretch for a moment too long, he nodded. 

“I’m not upset, Harry.” 

Harry’s frown deepened, and he still couldn’t meet his godfather’s eyes. Hedwig had been ignoring the conversation entirely up until then, but she moved from cleaning her feathers to nibbling gently at Harry’s ear as though sensing his mood shift. 

“Pup,” Sirius prompted, nudging his shoulder. “If anyone can understand that family doesn’t define a person, it’s me.” 

“Did you tell me about your brother as a warning?” 

Sirius sighed. “Partly,” he admitted. “I did just want to tell you a little about my family. I rarely broached the topic over summer. But… I also suspected that if it was the Malfoy boy that you seemed to be tail-over-muzzle for… it might be good to hear.” 

“I told him it didn’t matter what happened as long as we trusted each other,” Harry said softly. He didn’t quite want to think about the similarities between Draco’s and Regulus’ situations yet. 

Sirius watched him carefully. “Trust can be fickle. Especially when one is raised the way you and I were. And in times of war… it can become easy to suspect even the ones we love most.” 

Harry knew he was speaking from experience. His suspicion of Remus during the first wizarding war and Remus’ belief that he’d been the one to betray Harry’s parents. Harry tried to picture it, Draco becoming a Death Eater and bearing that awful tattoo on his wrist. Betraying Harry’s trust to follow Voldemort. Once upon a time, he probably would have been sure it’d happen. Now, it just made his stomach churn just thinking of it. He shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts altogether and turning away from the tapestry wall.  

“I need to do something,” he said abruptly, walking out of the room before Sirius could stop him, Hedwig chattering away in his ear. 

He climbed the staircase to his and Ron’s bedroom, searching the desk for a quill and ink. 

Draco, he scrawled onto a spare piece of parchment. I’m sure you’ve probably noticed by now, but I’m not at Hogwarts anymore. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you where I’m staying, but I’m safe. I’ll explain everything when I see you again after the break. 

He hesitated, ink dripping onto the page as he stared at the paper, chewing at his lip distractedly. It was difficult to write about things in a way an outsider– well, Umbridge– wouldn’t understand. 

To tell you the truth, I’m scared. I think something’s wrong with me. I had a dream that wasn’t really a dream. And now the adults seem to think I’m not myself. That I’m someone else . And I think it makes sense – it would explain why I’ve been getting angry so easily. I don’t know what to make of it. 

Also, Padfoot showed me a family tree. There was a familiar name on it. I didn’t realise. 

I hope you’re okay. I miss you. Happy Yuletide. 

Mischief. 

• • •

To my daft little fox, 

You are an idiot. 

If you think you’re someone else perhaps try asking the only other person who HAS been someone else that I imagine is living in the same household as yourself currently. 

And yes, thank you for informing me of my familial ties that I was already very much aware of. Also, you’ve just told me where you are despite saying at the start of your letter that you cannot tell me. 

Happy Yuletide, idiot. I suppose I miss you too. 

D.M.

Harry re-read the words ‘to my daft little fox’ with a grin at least five times over, before finally reading the rest of the letter and immediately leaping to his feet. Draco was right, he’d been an absolute idiot . Here he was, avoiding everybody because he thought he might be possessed by Voldemort himself, when there was somebody occupying the same house who he knew had been possessed by Voldemort all through second year. Shaking his head, he marched straight out of his bedroom, only to come face-to-face with exactly the person who he was going to find. 

“Ginny,” he said in a rush, holding his arms out to stop them from crashing into one-another. 

“Finally left your room, have you?” she asked, eyebrows raised. 

He frowned. “I didn’t think any of you wanted to talk to me.” 

“We did , you idiot.” 

“Well, I just–” 

“Let me guess, you’ve finally remembered there’s somebody here who actually has been possessed by You-Know-Who?” Ginny sniffed, crossing her arms. 

Harry flushed, looking down at his shoes. “I should’ve asked earlier, I know. I forgot.” 

“Lucky you,” she muttered. “Look, it’s really simple. Do you remember everything you’ve been doing? Are there any blank periods that you’ve completely forgotten?” 

“No…” 

“Then you’re not possessed, Harry. In my first year, I would find myself in random places in the castle with absolutely no recollection of the past few hours of my day. And Ron said you never left the bed, or anything ridiculous things you might think. So will you please stop ignoring all of us and just talk to us again?” 

Harry sighed. She was right, he’d been thinking ridiculously. 

“I’m sorry, Gin.” 

“You better be. Come on, mum’s almost finished dinner,” she said with a huff, turning to lead him down to the dining room. 

Harry, Sirius, and Remus celebrated the winter solstice that night without the Weasley family. When the others went their separate ways after dinner, the three of them set about lighting a new log in the sitting room fireplace and standing the traditional candles in a circle on the floorboards– the carpet had been rolled up against the side of the wall. Remus, who’d only ever celebrated the Sabbats with his friends in school, and now again because of Sirius, took a seat and allowed his partner to lead the circle. 

“Let it be known that the circle is about to be cast–” Sirius began as they all sat, before pausing and looking towards the doorway. “Yes?” 

Harry turned around to see Ron peering into the room. “Could I join you?” 

“Your mother won’t come for my head, will she?” Sirius asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“No, er, she doesn’t have to know.” 

“Very well, then. Take a seat.” 

Ron stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him and joining their circle on the floor, legs crossed beneath him. 

“Um, before we start,” Harry said suddenly. “Don’t be alarmed if I, well, if my eyes start glowing a bit. It tends to happen…” 

“Glowing, Harry?” Remus asked, the three of them giving him matching expressions of bemusement. 

“You’ll probably see, just don’t freak out or something if it happens.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Ron said, eyebrows furrowed. 

Harry huffed. “Whatever, pretend I didn’t say anything.” 

They stared at him for a long moment, before Sirius cleared his throat and continued as though he’d never been interrupted, lighting the candles one-by-one. “I summon Custodes Lucis to watch over us on this long night. Protect us from evils ‘till dawn births new light. So mote it be.” 

They were different words than what Harry remembered from the Hogwarts gathering, but they seemed to carry the same message. “So mote it be.” 

The now-familiar cold breeze looped the circle, ruffling their hair and making Ron visibly shiver. Harry grinned at him. 

“I summon Custodes Tenebris to watch over us on this long night. Bestow us with thy strength ‘till dawn births new light. So mote it be.” 

“So mote it be ,” the others repeated, and Harry could feel his magic crackle as a wave of warmth covered him. 

“ Tutum te robore reddam antiquis ,” Sirius said then, and Harry looked at him. 

He didn’t remember that part of the ritual, but the room seemed to recognise the unfamiliar words. The fire grew as another gust of wind surrounded Harry, and he followed the golden thread of magic weaving its way around him. He knew his eyes must be glowing by the wide-eyed expressions on the others’ faces. 

“Can you see it?” Sirius asked curiously, and Harry nodded. “Try a spell.” 

Harry hummed in thought, then, without taking out his wand, murmured, “Aethra siderea.” 

It was the easiest he’d ever performed a spell wandless, and he’d never even attempted this one before. The dark room suddenly filled with light as an array of twinkling stars scattered close to the ceiling, matching what would be the real night sky if it weren’t polluted by London’s own lights. 

“Woah,” Ron gaped, staring up at the ceiling. “Mate…” 

“Beautiful, Harry,” Remus commended, smiling softly. 

Harry gazed at the map of stars, instinctively searching out the constellations Draco had by now ingrained into his mind after many more nights on the Astronomy Tower. His magic seemed to read his mind, and the stars that made up the Draco and Vulpecula constellations appeared to shine just that little bit brighter, before Harry blushed and looked away. 

“Let it be known that the circle is now broken,” Sirius uttered, and Harry’s body sagged a little at the unexpected weight of his magic. 

“What was that spell you cast?” he asked as his stars began to dim. 

“Asking for strength and safety from my ancestors to bestow onto you,” Sirius explained. “The ones who will listen, anyway.” 

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Many wizards will ask for things during a circle. If a gathering was large enough, witches would often ask for fertility during the spring Sabbats. On Samhain, there was a common blood ritual made to briefly reveal the dead. Strength and protection are more common and are asked for year-round, but as the winter solstice comes with the birth of the sun, it’s more typical to ask then.” 

Ron looked as impressed as Harry felt, despite having grown up in a wizarding household his whole life. “Wicked.” 

“That was an impressive bit of wandless magic you did, Harry,” Sirius said then, grinning at his godson. 

“I’ve been practising a bit,” Harry admitted with a flush. 

Remus smiled, looking distinctly proud. “You never cease to amaze, cub.” 

• • •

Christmas came a few nights later with just as much excitement. When Harry and Ron awoke on the 25th, they quickly made their way downstairs to the sitting room to join the others as they trickled in. Remus handed out hot chocolates, and Mrs Weasley appeared with a large plate of warm pastries that the children of the household didn’t waste time digging into. Sirius seemed all-too-eager to hand out the presents, loudly calling out names off the tags one-at-a-time. Hermione had joined them for Christmas, as well, and she was in the middle of tying a green ribbon around Crookshanks’ neck. Stella, who’d been brought over to Grimmauld Place by Remus several days ago, curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace, her own red ribbon already pulled from her neck and tangled beneath her paws. 

Harry began opening his presents excitedly, rolling his eyes at Ron when they both opened up their talking homework planners from Hermione, and happily shrugging into his new knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley. Remus gifted him a set of books titled ‘Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts’ that would be incredibly helpful for the D.A., and Sirius gave him a small mirror, which Harry gave him a raised eyebrow for. 

“I think you meant this for yourself, Padfoot,” he joked, and Sirius grinned. 

“I have my own, thank you,” he said. “It’s a two-way mirror. James and I used to use them in school, when we were in separate detentions. Just say my name into it, and we’ll appear in each other’s mirrors.” 

Harry thanked him, happy for the fact that he’d now have an easier way to talk to his godfather. Sending letters all the time had become somewhat of a pain. 

“This arrived this morning, as well,” Remus said then, holding out a small package. 

Harry smiled, recognising the neat, loopy handwriting across the front of the envelope attached to the paper. “Thanks,” he said, taking the parcel into his lap and opening the envelope to read his card. 

Harry,

Merry Christmas. 

This gift started as a joke, but after some genius thinking on my part, I think you will find it greatly useful. I’ll give you a hint – try being a little mischievous . 

It’s frankly quite embarrassing how much I miss you. Luckily for me, you couldn’t brag about that to anyone who will believe you, so there. The manor doesn’t feel particularly festive this year, though my parents hosted their annual Yuletide masquerade which was as spectacular as ever. It is truly a pity you missed my ensemble.

Yours, 

D.M. 

P.S. If you find yourself baking more of those scones you made over the summer, do send some my way. 

Biting his lip to hide his grin, Harry tucked the card into his pocket, before noticing a few slips of paper inside the envelope. He pulled out the folded pieces of parchment, and opened the first one up to find a wonderful charcoal sketch of himself gazing back at him, hair in its usual messy state and grin so wide that dimples dug into both of his cheeks. The next was a sketch of Mischief, curled up similarly to Stella in that moment, snout tucked atop his front paws and bushy tail wrapped around his small frame. The last, to Harry’s surprise, seemed to be blank at first glance. But then he noticed the tiny scrawl in the corner, ‘For when you’re alone’ . He tucked that one alongside his card, too, but he wasn’t quick enough to hide the other two sketches from the others’ watchful eyes. 

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, leaning over to take a closer look. “Those are great!” 

“Blimey,” George said, peering over Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t need to ask who those are from. Why a fox?” 

Harry felt his cheeks flush warm as the others all leaned in to look at the sketches. 

“Who made them?” Ron asked curiously. Unlike his siblings, Ron knew that the fox was Harry’s animagus, which could only mean that whoever did the sketches knew Harry’s secret, too. 

“Now, now,” Sirius interrupted, batting the others away. “Let him open the rest of the gift, at least.” 

Harry glared at his godfather, who was unsubtly trying to pick at the parcel’s wrapping. Wondering what on Earth Draco could have given him that would require becoming Mischief to understand, Harry cautiously tore open the small gift, only to find what looked to be a dark blue, leather collar with a silver buckle. 

“Oh,” he said, blushing harder than he thought was possible. At the sight of the collar, Sirius had immediately collapsed into a fit of laughter, whilst the others stared at Harry with looks of bewilderment. 

Slightly confused and more than a little embarrassed, Harry reached out to touch the leather, only for it to suddenly transform before their eyes into a large, deep-blue, hooded winter cloak with a grey fur trim and silver clasp. “Woah.” 

“Oh, how lovely,” Mrs Weasley gushed, reaching out to feel the soft material cascaded over Harry’s lap. “Who sent it?” 

“A friend,” Harry replied softly, running a hand over the fur trim of the hood. For a moment, it felt distinctly as though he were touching Draco himself, before Harry realised that it was, in fact, Draco’s magic that he could feel woven into the cloak’s fabric. 

“ Friend , hm?” Hermione repeated, eyeing him carefully. He avoided her gaze, shrugging and bundling the cloak in his arms. 

“I’m going to put this all away, I’ll be back in a mo’,” he said, wandlessly levitating the rest of his presents and following them back upstairs to his room, ignoring the curious gazes on his back. 

Once alone, he locked the bedroom door behind him, depositing his gifts onto his bed. He moved to stand in front of the slightly-grimy mirror in the corner of the room, then swept the cloak over his shoulders, clasping it at his neck and admiring it in his reflection. It really was gorgeous, and Harry had never had much interest in clothing before. Remembering Draco’s hint in the card, he closed his eyes and transformed smoothly into his animagus, the cloak’s weight suddenly lifting from his shoulders. When he opened his eyes again, the cloak wasn’t amongst his scattered pyjamas. Instead, he noticed, the leather collar was fastened snugly around his neck, silver buckle glinting as he turned. 

Draco, he wrote later, after admiring his cloak a little longer and looking at the last sketch– a picture of two familiar boys laid out against a stone floor beneath starry sky, one half-leaning over the other, moments away from a kiss. Thank you, thank you, thank you! The sketches are incredible, especially the one of us both. Although, you should have been more direct with your instruction. It took me almost ten minutes to figure out that I was meant to actually tell the paper out loud that I was alone. 

He smiled, gaze trailing over the papers now propped up on his bedside table, then to the leather collar sat in front of them. You could have warned me about the other gift, too. Imagine what everyone else thought when they saw me opening up a bloody dog collar for Christmas! But it works amazingly – the cloak is gorgeous and I could actually feel your magic running through it. It made me miss you a little more, though. 

I’m glad you could enjoy another Yule ball since you mostly missed out last year. Though, I can’t say I’m too sorry for it. I’m sure you look perfect. Tell me what you wore – was it white? Silver? You should make a habit of taking pictures so I wouldn’t have to miss out. 

Merry Christmas. 

Yours, 

H.

Chapter Text

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley siblings made their way to Hogsmeade via the Knight Bus a week into January. Sirius hadn’t been allowed to ride with them as it would have been too risky, but Remus and Tonks accompanied them all the way to Hogwarts’ gates. 

“Have a good term, you lot,” Tonks said cheerfully, patting Harry’s shoulder and ruffling Fred’s hair. 

“See you, Tonks,” Harry smiled, before turning to Remus and immediately being wrapped up in the man’s arms. 

“Be safe, cub,” Remus murmured into his hair. “Stay out of Professor Umbridge’s way and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Even if your godfather certainly would.” 

Harry huffed a laugh. “I’ll try.” 

“And, I know you don’t like Severus, but he’s an extremely skilled Occlumens, and it’s important that you learn to protect your mind, okay? Please try to work with him.” 

“I’ll try,” Harry repeated, albeit with less enthusiasm. 

Remus stepped back and ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately. “I love you, cub. We’ll see you at the end of term.” 

Harry smiled. “Love you too, Moony.” 

Pulling his blue cloak a little tighter around him and taking hold of his trunk’s handle, he turned to follow the others through the gates and made the slippery climb up to the castle. After they’d left their belongings at Gryffindor Tower, Harry took out the Marauder’s Map and searched for Draco’s name. It seemed to be moving quite quickly down the familiar corridor on the seventh floor, before suddenly disappearing from the page. Smiling to himself, Harry tucked the map into his pocket and made his way to the Room of Requirement. 

Draco was sat on their favourite couch in front of the fireplace when Harry entered the room, and his head turned to look Harry’s way. “Harry,” he said, standing quickly. 

Harry smiled, wasting no time closing the distance between them and kissing the boy eagerly. He cupped Draco’s face, magic tingling at his fingertips as he pressed gentle kisses over and over to soft lips, nudging forwards just enough so that Draco’s legs hit the edge of the couch. 

“I missed you so much,” he mumbled, pulling back to look at the boy properly, grey eyes wide and gazing back at him with as much emotion as Harry felt. How had just two weeks felt like years? 

“Me too,” Draco said, voice soft, and he pulled Harry with him as he sat back down against the couch cushions. 

Harry wanted nothing more than to spend just as long sinking into the feeling of being back in Draco’s arms, mouth warm against his own. His hands reached to tangle in Draco’s hair, though instead ended up touching cool metal. 

He leaned back again, grinning. “You’re wearing the hair pin.” 

“Mm,” Draco nodded, leaning forward to drop a kiss to Harry’s cheekbone somewhat distractedly. “It does its job, I suppose.” 

“Shut up,” Harry scoffed, batting his shoulder lightly. 

Holding Draco’s chin, he turned his face to one side, admiring the hair piece clasping together part of Draco’s white-blond hair. He’d found it at a charming little antique shop on their last Hogsmeade weekend before the holidays and paid quite a handful of galleons for it to send over as Draco’s christmas present. Sterling silver wove in a figure-eight, completed by the head of a dragon holding the end of its tail and fastened by a silver pin in the shape of a sword through the centre, an emerald gemstone nestled at the hilt. 

“It’s even prettier on you,” he said softly, pulling Draco back to face him and kissing his cheek in the same way Draco had done. 

The Slytherin flushed lightly, albeit smirking all the same. “Of course it is,” he sniffed, accepting another kiss to his other cheek as it reddened. His fingers came up to touch the silver clasp still fastened at Harry’s throat, holding his blue cloak against him. “So is yours. I’m glad you like it.” 

“I love it,” Harry corrected, leaning in to kiss the boy again. “It’s so warm.” 

Draco raised an amused eyebrow, fingers dancing distractedly down Harry’s sides. “House of Black too cold in the winter, hm?” 

“Of course you know about Grimmauld Place,” Harry sighed, making himself more comfortable between the boy’s legs and curling his arms beneath him so that he could press ever closer. 

“It really is your own fault for mentioning the family tree. My mother told me about that house and the tapestry when I was younger. I never saw the place, of course. Madam Black wasn’t so well in her final years.” 

Harry hummed, too caught up in relearning Draco’s embrace to pay attention to the conversation. He ducked his head to press close-mouthed kisses to the skin beneath Draco’s jaw, slow and feather-light. He smiled at the boy’s familiar scent– the apple and elderflower of his shampoo, mixed with a new, subtle bite of fresh snow. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and feeling his magic settle like a warm blanket over them. 

“Did you just cast a warming charm? You can’t possibly be cold with that cloak on and the fire going,” Draco said, slipping his hands beneath Harry’s shirt to settle against his lower back. 

“No,” Harry replied, reaching a hand beneath his chin to undo the clasp of his cloak. His voice muffled where his lips still pressed against pale skin. “I think you just felt my magic. It’s felt a little stronger lately, especially after Yule. Some of the others mentioned the air around me feeling warmer, or… like a bit static sometimes. I haven’t figured out how to contain it yet.” 

Draco didn’t say anything for a short while, and Harry raised his head with a frown, grazing the pad of his thumb over the boy’s bottom lip. 

“What’s wrong? I’ll put a lid on it, don’t worry.” 

“No, it’s not that,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s thumb before sighing and rolling his head back against the cushion. “Your magic is incredible, Harry. Don’t dampen its strength. I’m just…” 

“Mm?” Harry prompted when he fell silent again. 

“We had a visitor at home over the break, more than once.” 

“Oh.” 

“I met him… The D– Voldemort. Father insisted on introducing me.” 

Harry’s eyes widened as he sat up more. “Draco…” 

“He was… he is , well, frightening. I’ve never seen my father so… weak, so powerless, in the face of another person. If he could be considered a person. I cannot fathom how you were able to face him last year. I could barely stand to be in the same room . ” 

“I’m sorry you had to see him,” Harry said softly. He remembered all-too-well how it felt to be in front of Voldemort, and it wasn’t a memory he very much wanted to touch on again. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?” 

Draco shook his head. “No, but just his presence…. And the way he spoke… as though he believed he had complete control over every person in the room. Well, I suppose he did. He met with father a couple of times, and some others that I mostly recognised. Likely Death Eaters. I wish I could tell you what they might have been meeting about, but mother insisted on keeping me as far away as possible from the room.” 

“Good. I’d rather you be safe than risk your neck trying to get me information. You’re not a spy, Draco.” 

Draco’s expression softened from its pinched look and Harry felt himself relax with relief. “Don’t worry your pretty head, little fox,” he said, moving a hand from Harry’s back to tap lightly on his forehead. “The Slytherin self-preservation is still very much intact.” 

Harry smiled, head tilting. “Think I’m pretty, do you?” 

“I keep you around for a reason, don’t I?” Draco teased, and Harry rolled his eyes, leaning forward to kiss the smirk off his lips. 

“You don’t want me to start calling you ‘little dragon’, do you?” 

“Merlin, no. That’s what my mother called me as a child. Draco is fine enough.” 

“Starlight? Sweetheart? Hunny-bunch?” 

Draco gave him a stern look. “Do you want to end up on the floor?” 

Harry hummed, ignoring the question. “How about Muffin? Snickerdoo– mmph!” 

“I did ask,” Draco sniffed, peering down at the bundle of limbs currently representing Harry, sprawled onto the carpet after being pushed unceremoniously off Draco’s lap. 

“Nevermind,” Harry said, glaring up at his boyfriend. “Prat works just fine.” 

The blond smiled, eyes glinting. “Now you’ve got it.” 

• • •

Harry’s first occlumency lesson with Snape was the next evening, and Harry practically dragged his feet down to the dungeons after dinner in the Great Hall. 

“Shut the door, Potter,” the Potions master said tersely once Harry had entered the small office. 

Harry did as he was told, before taking a seat opposite Snape and looking uncomfortably at the man across his desk. 

“You know why you are here. The Headmaster has asked me to teach you occlumency. As I told you previously, this is a branch of magic concerned with sealing the mind against magical intrusion and influence.” 

“Why does Dumbledore want me to learn it?” Harry asked, and Snape’s eyes narrowed. 

“I will remind you that it is Professor Dumbledore, Potter, and you are to refer to myself as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir’ whilst in this office, even if this may not be an ordinary class,” he drawled, cold eyes boring into Harry’s. “The Dark Lord is highly skilled at legilimency–” 

“What’s that, sir?” 

“Do not interrupt me. Legilimency is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person’s mind. The Dark Lord is almost always able to determine whether a person is lying to him. One must be greatly skilled at occlumency to shut down those thoughts and feelings so that the Dark Lord may not detect any falsehoods.” 

“So he could be reading my mind right now, sir?” 

Snape sniffed. “Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.” 

“Then why am I learning occlumency?” 

“When the Dark Lord’s curse failed to kill you as a child, it seemed to have forged a sort of connection between the two of you. When your mind is vulnerable, such as when you are asleep, you appear to be sharing the Dark Lord’s thoughts and emotions. The Headmaster wishes me to teach you to close your mind to the Dark Lord.” 

“But…” Harry started, confused. “It’s useful, isn’t it? If I hadn’t seen that snake attack Mr Weasley, no one would have found him in time. Sir.” 

Snape stared at him for a long moment. 

“It appears as though the Dark Lord has been unaware of this connection until very recently. The vision you had shortly before Christmas–” 

“But in the vision I was his snake, not Voldemort.” 

“I thought I told you not to interrupt me, Potter. And do not say the Dark Lord’s name, you foolish boy.” 

“But how come I saw through the snake’s eyes if I’m sharing Voldemort’s thoughts? Sir?” 

“The Dark Lord was possessing his snake at that time, and so you dreamed you were, also.” 

“And he realised I was there?” 

Snape’s lip curled. “It appears so. Stand up and take out your wand, Potter.” 

Harry got to his feet, heart hammering anxiously. 

“You may use your wand to disarm me, or defend yourself in any way you think of,” Snape said, taking out his own wand. “I will attempt to break into your mind, and we will see how well you resist. Brace yourself… Legilimens!” 

The office blurred before Harry’s eyes before he could even think to defend himself, and suddenly his vision was filled with a quick succession of scenes– memories, from his own life. Dudley riding his new bicycle… his Aunt Marge’s dog chasing him up a tree… Hermione lying petrified in the hospital wing… a hundred dementors closing in on him and Sirius… Draco’s sleeping body floating at the bottom of the Great Lake… Draco taunting him on the Quidditch field… Draco following him into the Room of Requirement… 

No, no, get out, Harry thought, and he felt his magic spark and suddenly the intrusion in his mind vanished. He blinked his eyes open, watching as Snape rubbed at his wrist. 

“Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?” he asked coolly. He had an odd expression on his face. 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Did you see everything I saw?” 

“Flashes of it. We’ll try again. You must clear your mind , Potter. Do not waste your time shouting, defend yourself . On three…” 

“Wait, but you haven’t told me–” 

“One… two… three– Legilimens!” 

Ron crashing to the tiled floor of the chessboard… a great, gaping dragon rearing up… Draco meeting his eyes through the crowd of dancing students… Cedric lying still in the grass–

NO!

Harry’s knees hit the floor painfully, head pounding as he covered his face with his hands. 

“Get up!” Snape ordered sharply. “You are making no effort–” 

“I am making an effort–” 

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion! You are handing me weapons! You must control your emotions . You are weak , Potter. The Dark Lord will penetrate your mind with ease–” 

“I’m not weak,” Harry growled, anger simmering in his chest. How was he supposed to ‘control his emotions’ if Snape was yelling at him constantly? 

“Prove it!” Snape snapped. “Discipline your mind! Control your anger! Ready, now, Legilimens!” 

Uncle Vernon locking him into the little cupboard beneath the stairs… a dementor rising up in front of him… Mr Weasley asleep in the corridor against a black door with a silver handle… Draco saying “make me, Potter” and tugging his robes… Draco straddling him on the couch in the Room of Requirement– 

Stop it! Get OUT!

It seemed Harry needn’t have pushed his magic this time, however, because it was Snape who pulled out of his mind. He was watching Harry with narrow eyes, expression unreadable. 

“What did you see?” Harry asked in a rush. 

Snape stared at him. “Everything.” 

“Even…?” 

“Even Mr Malfoy.” 

Neither of them spoke for several long moments, Harry’s thoughts running a mile a minute as his heart hammered. Snape knows. Snape knows. Fuck. 

“I shouldn’t have to remind you, Potter, that if you do not successfully master occlumency, the Dark Lord will have complete access to your mind. If the Dark Lord were to see Lucius Malfoy’s son fraternising–” 

“Well he won’t see, will he?” Harry huffed, cheeks hot. “Not if you teach me.” 

Snape stared at him. 

“I want you back here at the same time on Wednesday, and we will continue. In the meantime, you must learn to clear your mind of your emotions. Now, get out of my office.” 

“You won’t say anything, will y–?” 

“Out, Potter!” 

Harry grit his teeth, turning on his heel and marching out of the office. He pulled out his map immediately, finding Draco doing his Prefect rounds in the dungeons just nearby and walking quickly in his direction. 

“Draco!” he hissed the moment he was within earshot of the boy. 

Draco started, but before he had time to question him, Harry had pulled him into a hidden alcove in the wall. 

“I’m learning occlumency with Snape,” he explained, cutting right to the chase. 

“What–?” 

“He does this thing called legilimency where–”

“I know what legilimency is, Potter.” 

“Okay, well, Snape is a dead-awful teacher, which isn’t news,” Harry continued, ignoring Draco’s unimpressed look. “But… he, well– I wasn’t able to shield him from my mind.” 

“That’s not completely unexpected,” Draco said with a shrug. “You can’t be a natural at everything.” 

Harry shook his head. “No, that’s not the problem.” 

“Well, then?” 

“He knows.” 

“Knows?” 

“About us.” 

Draco stared at him, silent in the same way Snape had been only minutes prior. Harry hung his head, too guilty to meet the other boy’s gaze. 

“Severus is a Death Eater, Harry,” Draco said finally, voice blank. 

Harry released a long breath. “Dumbledore trusts him.” 

“I’ve never trusted Dumbledore’s judgement, and I’m unlikely to start now. What if he tells my father? Or–” 

“He warned me to learn occlumency quickly so that Voldemort wouldn’t find out.” 

“Well he wouldn’t just blatantly tell you that he’s about to–”

Harry took a step forward, a hand reaching out to touch Draco’s shoulder. “Would he, really? You know him better than I ever could, but…” 

Draco looked at him, then, slowly, his eyes closed, head leaning back against the stone wall behind him. Harry’s hand didn’t move. “Perhaps not. I have to speak to him.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be daft,” the boy scowled, picking his head up again. “If he’s pulling legilimency on you, there was no way of that secret staying hidden for long.” 

“I s’pose,” Harry muttered, stepping back. “Just talk to him, yeah?” 

“Of course.” Draco caught his arm before he could leave the small alcove. “Wait, Harry. I want to ask you something.” 

“Mm?” 

“I’d like to learn how to cast a Patronus.” 

Harry’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“Meeting… Voldemort over the winter break, it made me a little more conscious of what’s to come, I suppose. I’d like to be prepared for anything.” 

“That’s fair. You want me to teach you?” 

Draco’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and he ducked his head to hide the colour. “Well they don’t call you the youngest wizard to learn the spell for nothing.” 

Harry grinned, pleased that for once, he’d have something to teach Draco instead. “We can get started after my session with Snape on Wednesday, if you’d like.” 

“Whatever,” Draco sniffed primly, and Harry rolled his eyes, pressing a quick kiss to the boy’s pursed lips before ducking out of the alcove. 

• • •

It was safe to say that Harry had completely forgotten about the incident with Cho at the last D.A. meeting before the break, due to everything with Mr Weasley. This only made remembering suddenly at the D.A. meeting the next night all the more distressing. 

“Hi Harry,” Cho greeted quietly when she entered the Room of Requirement, awkwardly taking a seat on one of the cushions near her feet. 

“Cho!” Harry startled, then blushed at the looks from his friends. “Er– hi. How was your break?” 

“Nice, thanks,” she smiled and it seemed a little uncomfortable. “And yours?” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, um, good. Thanks.” 

“What’s up with you two?” Hermione hissed as she pulled him out of earshot from Cho a moment later. 

Ron quickly followed. “I feel awkward just watching you, mate.” 

Harry sighed, flicking his wand to cast a temporary Muffliato around the three of them. “After the last D.A. meeting, me and Cho were the only ones left in the room by the end. She was crying, so I guess I was just trying to comfort her or something…” 

“Merlin, I can see where this is going,” Ron said, and Harry sagged miserably. 

“There was mistletoe above me, for some bloody reason. She tried to kiss me.” 

“What do you mean ‘tried’?” Hermione asked. 

“Well, I stopped her, didn’t I?” 

They looked at him expectantly. “And?” 

“And what?” 

Ron raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Did she kick up a fuss?”  

Harry shifted awkwardly, avoiding their gazes. He was just now remembering exactly what he’d said before turning tail and scampering from the room. ‘I’m with somebody’ , he’d said. He groaned. “Well, yeah. I just said I didn’t like her like that and left.” 

“But–” 

“Harry!” Ernie Macmillian suddenly interrupted, and the three of them startled. Harry quickly ended his Muffliato Charm, then regretted it almost instantly when the Hufflepuff spoke his next words. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend! Who is it?” 

Harry gaped, keenly aware of the many heads now turning in their direction. Had his Muffliato not worked or something? What was Ernie on about? 

“He doesn’t,” Hermione said quickly, and Ernie raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. 

“Not what I heard.” 

“Heard from who?” Ron demanded, stepping forward. 

Harry’s eyes skimmed the other members before settling on Cho, who was very obviously trying to avoid his gaze. “Look, there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding…” 

“Maisy told us that Cho told Marietta that you’re dating someone,” Terry Boot explained with a shrug, as though it was old news. 

Lavender, for some reason, looked offended at this. “How come no one told me ?” 

“I don’t believe it’s anyone’s business if Harry’s dating somebody or not,” Hermione said with an aggravated huff. “Can we get on with the lesson, now?” 

“Who is she?” Padma piped up, ignoring Hermione completely. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Harry said hotly, glaring in Cho’s direction. “I don’t know why everyone seems to think so. Now, if everyone’s done with that, I thought we’d start learning Shield Charms.” 

Everyone looked vaguely disappointed at Harry’s dismissal, but no one asked about the accusation again. Ignoring the curious looks from his Gryffindor roommates– who had been under the impression that Harry still fancied a boy in their year– Harry began explaining the Shield Charm and how to perform it.

“It can be dead useful in a fight, too,” Harry went on to say. “I mean, obviously, it can temporarily shield you from offensive spells. Typically, it doesn’t work so well against Dark magic, though. There’s stronger variations, Protego Duo and Protego Horribilis , which are harder to cast but more likely to hold up against stronger magic. Another variation, Protego Totalum, will shield a wide area, rather than your person. You can essentially create a shield dome that’ll stay up for as long as you need if you keep reinforcing it every once-in-a-while. Protego Maxima is similar, but it can cover a wider area, hold for a long duration, and is probably one of the strongest shield charms.” 

“‘One of the strongest’?” Dean asked, sitting up with interest. “Are there more?” 

Harry chewed at his bottom lip, unsure of how to reply. There was another variation of Protego that he hadn’t mentioned, but it was a type of Dark magic, and Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to bring up the fact that he was learning Dark magic with the D.A. any time soon, if ever. “Well, technically, the Patronus is a shield.” 

The others seemed to accept that answer, which technically wasn’t a lie, and Harry moved on swiftly. “Alright, up you get. We’ll just be getting a hang of Protego today, and recapping some of the spells from before break.” 

He gave them a demonstration of the wand movement and how the Shield Charm should look, then the others got in pairs to practise. At the half-way mark, Harry made them all stand in a circle around him, then spun around and cast light stinging hexes at random members, so that they could practise pulling up the shield at short notice. It was tricky, and he caught most of them on their first attempts, but eventually each of them could quickly perform the charm to defend his stings. 

“You guys are doing great. Remember, though, that I’m keeping my hexes pretty light. If you’re bringing up a shield quickly, you might not have enough time to create a strong one. We’ll practise a round of this every meeting from now on, and I’ll gradually be hitting harder, so try practising in your own time if you can. Where you’re at now is great for our first tries, though, I’m really impressed.” 

“Reckon it’s your turn now, Haz,” Fred grinned, twirling his wand in his fingers. 

Harry raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly into a protective stance. “Try me.” 

He let out a long breath and felt the air simmer as his magic curled around him. No one moved for a moment, then he felt before he heard the first jinx being cast from behind him. “ Protego ,” he muttered, whirling around and flicking his wand, watching the jinx bounce off the shield and sail over Ginny’s shoulder. 

Everyone else seemed to take that as their cue, and soon, hexes were flying in rapid succession at him from every direction. Harry was almost out of breath, spinning to throw up shields each time he felt the air shift ever-so-slightly with the anticipation of magic. More than once, he had a shield up on either side of him, one suspended by his wand, and the other summoned only by the palm of his hand. 

Eventually, his magic began to strain, but the spells were coming at him too fast to put a stop to them. It was only partially intentional when the string of white flames burst from his wand, following its direction as he swirled it in a complete circle around him. The others gasped, jumping back from the flames as though burnt, and the hexes stopped abruptly. 

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, giving him a look of concern. 

Harry quickly swiped his wand, muttering a “Finite,” beneath his breath. “Sorry, guys. Don’t worry, it’s harmless.” 

“What spell was that?” Neville asked, half-curious and half-alarmed. The sentiment seemed to be shared by the group. 

“Not one I’ll be teaching, sorry. I didn’t really mean to perform it.” 

“I’ve never seen white flames before,” George said, watching with intrigue as the last of the flames dissipated. 

“They’re not meant to be white,” Harry replied vaguely, casting Reparo s at the various objects that had been hit by spells rebounding off Harry’s shields. “I want you all to pair up again, with someone you’ve never worked with before–” 

They groaned at that, and Harry rolled his eyes. “In an actual fight, you won’t be against someone you’ve practised with. They could have a completely new style of duelling. Can’t let you get comfortable.” 

The rest of the meeting went smoothly, and, thankfully,  everyone seemed to have forgotten about Harry’s white fire by the end of it. Everyone except Hermione, that is. 

“Harry, what was that spell earlier?” Hermione questioned when the three of them were packing up the room after everyone had left. “You might be able to avoid questions from the others, but I’m getting an answer out of you.” 

“It was wicked cool,” Ron added, and Hermione gave him a reproachful look. He shrugged, turning to pick up a stray book. 

After a moment of internal conflict, Harry answered, “It was another variation of Protego .” 

“What’s it called?” 

“Protego Diabolica.”

He held his breath, waiting for Hermione to figure out that it was a piece of Dark magic. If anyone would just know that kind of thing off the spot, it’d be her. 

“That’s a Dark spell,” she said, proving Harry correct. 

He released the breath. “Yes.” 

“Mate,” Ron said, giving him a strange look. “Why were you using Dark magic for? Our classes aren’t called Defense Against the Dark Arts for nothing.” 

“It’s only harmful if I want it to be. Those white flames couldn’t have hurt anyone here. If they were going to hurt, they’d be black.” 

“Still, Harry–” 

“Look,” he interrupted, meeting Hermione’s gaze. “I need to be as prepared as I can be for whatever might happen. Voldemort’s a Dark wizard, and he uses plenty of Dark spells. If I don’t know half the spells he’s using, how can I be prepared to face him again?” 

“It doesn’t mean you have to use them–” 

“Using Dark magic doesn’t make me Dark, Hermione. It’s just a type of magic. Just like Light magic.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Ron intervened as Hermione opened her mouth to reply. “Years ago, Dark and Light magic was used by anyone.” 

“How do you know that?” Hermione asked, swinging around to face him. 

Ron scowled. “I do know some things, you know.” 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Ronald. You know that’s not what I meant–” 

“I dunno,” Ron went on with a huff. Harry subtly moved towards the door. “Why’s it always when I say something that you didn’t know or didn’t think of first, you act all shocked?” 

“That’s not true–!” Hermione’s voice cut off as Harry quietly closed the great doors behind him. 

He wasted no time making his way back to the Gryffindor tower before his friends could notice his disappearance. The moment he stepped into his dormitory, however, his head suddenly burst into a searing pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his face in his hands as he fell to his knees. 

“Harry?” he thought he heard Neville ask, and there might’ve been footsteps around him, but he hardly noticed over the loud, ringing laughter suddenly filling his ears. 

It sounded almost… maniacal. That was the only word for it. He felt over the moon with happiness, ecstasy. The laughter grew with his elation. It was as though the most wonderful, amazing thing had just–

“Harry!” another voice yelled then, and he was slapped across the face, hard. 

The laughter stopped abruptly, and Harry realised it had been coming from his own mouth. He lay on the floor on his back, panting, even as the wide grin on his face stuck. 

“You alright, mate?” Seamus asked from his side, holding out a hand to help him up. 

“Peachy,” Harry grumbled, touching a hand to his stinging scar. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened,” he lied. 

He managed to shrug off the others’ questions and hid himself in his four-poster with the curtains drawn closed. All he could think was that Voldemort must be very, very happy about something. Something good had happened. Which meant it must only mean bad things for Harry. He groaned, rolling over on his side to press his face into the pillow, and eventually, willed his nausea to settle just enough for him to slip into a restless sleep.

Chapter Text

Harry found out the reason for Voldemort’s jubilance the next morning. When Hermione spread the Daily Prophet over the table beside her plate at breakfast, she yelped so loudly at what she saw on the cover that even Hedwig jumped on Harry’s shoulder, squawking indignantly and ruffling her feathers. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, trying to peer over the table. 

Instead of answering, Hermione moved the paper closer to him and Ron and pointed to the large, black-and-white pictures spread over the front of it. Each contained a face, and was captioned by a name and crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban. Harry stared for a long moment at the glaring eyes of whom he immediately recognised as Bellatrix Lestrange, his godfather’s cousin. Then, Hermione nudged him and pointed to the page’s headline. 

‘MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN: MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS “RALLYING POINT” FOR OLD DEATH EATERS’. 

Scowling, he continued to read all about the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, blaming the breakout on Sirius and asking the magical community to stay alert. 

“That’s why he was happy last night,” Ron muttered. Harry had told the two of them of his laughing-fit the moment he’d seen them this morning. 

He hardly heard his friend, however, as he’d just taken to searching the Slytherin table across the hall for a familiar head of platinum blond. He caught the moment Draco saw the paper, watching as his eyes widened and shot up to find Harry’s. 

“Mate?” Ron asked, nudging him. 

“I forgot my textbook,” Harry said quickly, scrambling to follow Draco’s hurried pace to the door.

By the time he’d left the hall, Draco was half-way up the marble staircase leading to the next floor. Harry jogged to catch up with him, glancing around quickly before slipping a hand between them and interlacing their fingers together. 

“Where’re you going?” he asked quietly.  

Draco hummed distractedly and squeezed Harry’s hand. “The library.” 

Harry, in typical Gryffindor fashion, blurted the first response that came to his head. “Come to my dormitory instead.” 

Draco looked at him, affronted. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?” Harry huffed, now determined to carry out the ridiculous idea. “Everyone’s at breakfast. And we have a free first period.” 

Draco stared ahead of them as they continued to climb the stairs. When they reached the third floor where they both knew the library to be, Harry tried not to look too openly pleased when Draco tugged his hand slightly to lead him up the next staircase. They didn’t speak all the way to Gryffindor tower, and Harry quickly gave the password to the Fat Lady, ignoring her narrowed gaze at the very obvious Slytherin standing beside him. 

When the portrait had closed behind them, Harry watched as Draco surveyed the room, expression blank. “Merlin, how do you stand it?” he muttered after a moment, and Harry rolled his eyes, unsurprised. 

“C’mon,” he said, pulling the boy to the narrow set of stairs that led to the boys’ dormitories. 

When they reached Harry’s room, they stood in the doorway for another long moment. Harry had the sudden realisation of what bringing Draco to his bedroom while everyone was still down at breakfast might have implied. 

“Er–” 

“I assume this is yours?” Draco interrupted, walking over to Harry’s bed and tugging Harry along behind him. “How do you sleep with all this red? My eyes are burning up as we speak.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Harry shrugged, toeing off his shoes and taking a seat on the mattress. Draco did the same, except he didn’t waste time being awkward and simply lay flat on his back beside Harry. 

Deciding he was being ridiculous, Harry lay down too, staring up at the bed’s canopy. Neither of them spoke for a long while, and Harry turned his head to watch the other boy. Despite Draco’s carefully blank expression, Harry knew his thoughts were racing. 

“What’re you thinking?” he asked eventually, voice soft. 

It was minutes before Draco replied. “It’s all starting.” 

“You said that at the end of last year.” 

“This is exactly what I anticipated. I knew something big was about to happen. I knew there was a reason they kept meeting at my house.” 

“Even if you’d known before it happened, I doubt we could have done anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if Voldemort’s got all the dementors working for him.” 

“Of course he does.” 

Harry sighed, eyes roaming Draco’s face – the slight furrow of his brow, the steep slope of his nose, the pale-pink cupid’s bow of his lips. After a moment, he reached out to trace the shapes with his finger instead, barely touching skin as he brushed over high cheekbones and the sharp line of Draco’s jaw. God, he thought distractedly, how are you so beautiful? As though he could hear Harry’s thoughts, Draco turned his head to look back at him, gazing silently whilst Harry continued to trace fingertips over his skin. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, almost a whisper. 

Harry curled a strand of hair around his finger, tucking it behind the boy’s ear and resting his hand at the nape of his neck. 

“How insanely lucky I am,” Harry replied honestly. 

Draco scoffed lightly. “That’s corniness worthy of Hufflepuff, Potter.” 

“It’s true,” Harry said, shrugging against the sheets. “I get to look at you all I want.” 

“Who said you could look at me all you want, hm?” 

Harry huffed, lips curving into a smile. “You like when I look at you. Your cheeks get all pink. And you never tell me to stop.” 

“I always tell you to stop–” 

“You don’t mean it, though.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Potter.” 

“You’re the only person who addresses their boyfriend by his surname.” 

“Not my problem.” 

Harry’s smile grew, and he shifted closer so that their noses almost touched, breaths intermingling in the space between them. “I’ve imagined bringing you up here a lot.” 

“Is that so?” Draco asked, almost sarcastically. He moved slightly, pressing the cold tip of his nose to Harry’s. “What exactly did you imagine?” 

“Um,” Harry blushed, glancing down at the boy’s lips almost subconsciously. “I’d imagine you’d call me something snobby, like ‘uncouth’, for saying.” 

Draco snorted lightly, lips spreading into a fond smile that had Harry’s heart swooping dangerously fast. “Why, Harry, I wouldn’t have guessed you to even know the word.” 

“I do know some things.” 

“I’m sure,” the boy purred, and Harry’s eyes widened at his tone. 

Just as he was deciding whether to close the space between them or not, Draco made the choice for him, gently pressing his lips to Harry’s and curling his hand into the front of Harry’s shirt. Harry hummed, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss, hand reaching up to tug lightly at Draco’s hair. An arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer to the warmth of Draco’s chest, his own hands holding firm at the boy’s lower back. 

After several long moments of slow snogging, Harry sat up just enough to lean over the boy, tongue pressing into his warm mouth and eliciting soft, pleased sounds that went straight down his body. He brought his hands up to fiddle with the clasp of Draco’s robes, lungs burning in his chest as their kisses became desperate. When he pulled back enough to take a breath, Draco took the opportunity to duck his head and press his tongue flat against the skin on Harry’s neck, licking a clean stripe up to Harry’s jaw and sucking lightly at the spot beneath Harry’s ear.

He felt his own body shudder with rolling pleasure at the feeling of Draco’s lips on his skin, fingers winding tightly into Draco’s hair. The mouth against his neck trailed, warm and wet, back up to Harry’s own, sinking him into another deep kiss that had his toes curling. He was so impossibly blissed that he barely registered the fingers fumbling at the buttons of his trousers until there was warmth between his legs and a low sound of pleasure against his lips. 

His breath stuttered, eyes flying open in surprise as he realised what was happening, pulling back from the kiss abruptly. “Wait, wait,” he gasped, alarm quickly turning to guilt as Draco’s eyes blinked open beneath him in wounded confusion. “Sorry, wait, sorry–” 

“Oh,” Draco said then, eyes wide. The hand disappeared from Harry’s trousers, coming up to press flat against Draco’s own chest as though it’d been burned. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“Sorry, it’s okay, I’m just–” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Draco cringed, and Harry just wanted the bed to swallow him whole and save him from this embarrassment. “Merlin, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t…” 

Harry saved them both the trouble of trying to avoid each others’ gazes by rolling off to the side, staring instead up at the bed’s canopy again and trying to calm the rabbiting of his heart. “No, I just– it took me by surprise, is all. It’s not like– I don’t know, I think–” 

“We should talk about this,” Draco interrupted, sounding a lot calmer than Harry felt. 

He wasn’t even sure exactly how he felt. He didn’t know why he’d panicked. He wanted everything that Draco would do with him, to him. Wanted it so badly it was like an ache in him every time Draco so much as touched him, every time he saw Draco’s eyes alight with that wild excitement that only came with particularly heated bouts of snogging. And yet… 

“It’s me,” he said quickly, before Draco could voice any insecurities. “I panicked, I’m sorry. I think it was just… just faster than I expected. We can… you can try again. I mean, I want to–” 

“Harry,” Draco said, cutting him off and rolling onto his side to face him. Feeling his face burn with shame, Harry reluctantly copied. “I’m not upset with you. We both got too caught up. I should have come to my senses quicker, I apologise.” 

Harry blinked, confused. “ You apologise?” 

“I won’t say it again, so don’t fish,” Draco sniffed, and it was such a distinctly ‘Draco’ thing to say that Harry found himself relaxing automatically. “Because of my mindlessness, I crossed a line that we haven’t yet discussed. It’s only normal that you’d panic. I figure that means now is the time to talk about it.” 

Oh, Harry thought, flooding with relief as he exhaled. ‘ Normal’ , he’d said, this is normal . Draco’s hand had reached out to curl into his shirt seemingly without thought, not in an attempt to pull Harry closer, but rather in what seemed to be a show of simple comfort. Harry smiled, his own fingers moving to trace mindlessly over the back of Draco’s hand. 

“Okay,” he said quietly, “we can–” 

“Harry, you in here?” Ron’s voice interrupted suddenly from outside the room, muffled by the wooden door. 

The two of them stared at each other, eyes wide. Then the door knob began to twist, and Harry quickly flicked his hand at the surrounding air, forcing the bed’s hangings to swing closed around them. They heard the boy come into the room, and Harry’s heart hammered so hard he thought Ron might be able to hear it if he listened close enough. 

“Harry?” 

Draco raised an expectant eyebrow at Harry’s silence, and he cleared his throat. “Um– yeah. I’m not really in the mood to talk, Ron.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Ron went on obliviously, and Harry could hear him moving around the room. “I’m sorry about what they said in the paper, mate. Are you going to write to Padfoot about it?” 

Harry huffed, inwardly cursing his friend despite it very much being his own fault that they were stuck here. “Later, maybe. I’m just– I just want to rest… for a bit.” 

Draco was grinning cheekily at him, face still only centimetres away from Harry’s own. ‘Don’t’ , Harry mouthed in warning, without a clue what his boyfriend was thinking, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay,” Ron was saying from the other side of the curtains. “Hermione’s making me come to the library. I’ll see you at Charms second period, yeah?” 

Harry cleared his throat again as Draco continued to grin, leaning forward surreptitiously to nose against his jaw, planting a soft kiss just beneath it that had Harry’s breath catching as he stuttered out, “Uh, yeah–” 

Ron’s voice grew closer. “You alright in there, mate?”

“Yeah, yep,” Harry huffed, tilting his head back slightly despite himself and feeling Draco’s lips curve wider against his skin. “I’ll see you at Charms, don’t worry.” 

“Alright… let me know if you need anything,” Ron answered, before they heard the door close and he was gone. 

“You’re a prat,” Harry said a little breathlessly, pushing at Draco’s head where it had nestled in the crook beneath his chin. “Weren’t you just talking about crossing lines?” 

Draco leaned back, looking unimpressed. “This is not a line, Potter.” 

Harry tried not to frown, already regretting pushing the boy away and losing the warmth tucked against his skin. He knew he was losing the battle when Draco smirked lightly, fingers reaching up to brush teasingly at his neck. 

“I think I’m starting to understand the fixation you seem to have adopted for my neck,” he murmured, eyes dancing with amusement that had Harry flushing and smiling all at once. 

“You’re a prat,” he repeated, albeit much fonder. “Are we talking about this or not?” 

Draco nodded, averting his gaze for a moment before meeting it again. “Yes, well. Despite my… eagerness, beforehand, I don’t believe we should move past what we’ve been doing until both of us feel completely ready. That means not jumping out of our skin, in case it wasn’t clear.” 

Harry huffed, and their faces were so close that it blew strands of hair from Draco’s face. “I get that, thank you,” he said sarcastically. “And… does that include the, er… what we did in the Room of Requirement?” 

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind repeating that sometime in the near future,” Draco smirked, fingers still light against Harry’s neck where he was sure to feel his pulse skittering nervously beneath the surface. “But, that’s of course dependent on what you’re comfortable with.” 

Harry felt his lips twitch upwards at the words. “I knew you could be sweet.” 

“Ew.” Draco’s nose scrunched adorably and Harry’s smile only grew. “I’m nothing of the sort.” 

“Sure, Draco.” 

Draco’s gaze narrowed. “Are you comfortable or not, Potter?” 

“I’m comfortable for the line to be there for now, yeah,” Harry said, still smiling. “I just think getting, uh, our hands down… down there , is a bit…” 

“Merlin, you’d think you’d never spoken about sex before,” Draco teased, and Harry blushed unwillingly. “Oh, you truly haven’t. I thought Gryffindors were the raunchy ones?” 

“I thought Slytherins were.” 

“Crude, certainly, but it’s uncouth of purebloods to behave indecently in a public space. Meanwhile, you Gryffindors seem more than happy to lay all over one another no matter who’s in the vicinity.” 

“I told you you’d use that word,” Harry laughed. “And it’s not illegal to be affectionate, Draco. Just because we’re more expressive doesn’t mean we’re all shagging behind closed doors or something ridiculous.” 

“I should hope not,” Draco sniffed, and Harry laughed again, catching the hand on his neck and bringing it to his mouth to dip delicate kisses to each of Draco’s fingertips until the boy couldn’t help but smile. “It’s probably Hufflepuff, now that I think about it. All nestled away in their little dungeon burrow… I wouldn’t be surprised if they were having orgies–” 

“Oh my God , Draco!” Harry exclaimed, torn between shock and amusement. “You weren’t wrong about being crude.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’ll find I’m rarely wrong.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, threading his fingers through Draco’s where their hands curled between them. It was one of his favourite things, to hold Draco’s hand in his own. He always wondered at how the boy seemed to keep his palms soft despite playing Quidditch, whilst Harry’s were worn with rough calluses. But he mostly loved the feeling because it had become so familiar; every curved line and stretch of skin had been mapped by Harry’s own fingertips, etched into his own palms as though they belonged there. 

“What are you smiling about?” Draco asked, and Harry shook his head, leaning forward to press a short kiss to Draco’s lips, just as soft as the rest of him.

He pulled away and smiled as Draco instinctively chased after him, catching his lips again just as quickly and melting into Harry with a contented hum. Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest, lips curving against Draco’s own in unbridled happiness. They shifted closer almost subconsciously, legs tangling loosely on top of the bed sheets, Draco’s socked feet pressing against Harry’s calves as though to soak up his warmth. 

“I like knowing where the line is,” he mumbled and Draco hummed in response, still pressing close-mouthed kisses to Harry’s lips. “Feels like we don’t have to snog with the aim to get further.” 

“Please, shut up,” Draco sighed, and Harry huffed a laugh, unfurling his hand from Draco’s to wrap it around his waist instead, grazing light fingertips beneath his shirt and settling at the small of his back. 

They kept this up for most of the free period, trading slow, lazy kisses and making no effort to deepen it. Harry thought he could have stayed like that forever, wrapped up in Draco, cocooned by their shared warmth and the fizz of their magic. 

“I couldn’t help but notice that the next Hogsmeade trip falls on Valentine’s Day,” he said at one point, trying for casual, and Draco groaned. 

“You really are a Hufflepuff. Muggles and their tacky holiday themes.” 

“We don’t have to–” 

“Well,” Draco huffed, blowing wisps of white-blond hair out of his face. “You haven’t asked anything yet.” 

“Oh, I see,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Would his Majesty like to accompany me to Hogsmeade on Valentine’s?” 

Draco pretended to ponder for a moment, though his stalling was a little useless considering he was still tucked closely into Harry, forehead pressed warm against his chest. “That depends, where is it you’ll be taking me?” 

“I was thinking we could have a picnic somewhere on the outskirts. I can bribe our favourite foods from the house elves.”

“Only if there’s scones.” 

“How could I forget?” 

“I’ll think about it,” Draco said, and Harry could feel his lips curl up against him. 

He scoffed. “You’re a prat.” 

“Mm, you like me.” 

“Merlin knows why,” he huffed, voice laced with an unmistakable fondness that had Draco’s grasp on his shirt tighten slightly where it bunched at his stomach. 

Eventually, Draco sighed. “We need to get ready for class.” 

“I was thinking–” 

“That’s a feat.” 

“Oh, shut up. I was thinking we should meet up later for that match of Seeker on Seeker I still owe you.” 

“You do know it’s winter, still, right? We’ll freeze.” 

“Scared, are you?” 

Draco scoffed, picking his head up only to fix Harry with an indignant look. “You wish.” 

• • •

Despite the boy’s doubts about the cold weather, Draco still met with Harry that evening by the Great Lake. It had been surprisingly easy for Harry to slip away from the Gryffindor common room– Ron and Hermione seemed to be well-used to Harry’s repeated excuses by now that they let him go with barely a glance. He watched with a small smile as Draco trenched through the snow towards him with his broomstick, hair covered by his grey fur hat and body practically swaddled in multiple layers. 

“I knew this wasn’t a good idea,” he grumbled once he was within hearing range of Harry. “I cannot believe you’ve made me come out here.” 

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Harry replied, hardly able to keep the amusement from his voice. It had only been hours since the two of them had curled up in his bed that morning, and yet he still found himself reaching out needily to lace his fingers with Draco’s. 

Draco gave him an unimpressed look, glancing down at the blue cloak wrapped around him. “You’re lucky I even gave you that cloak, Potter. Perhaps I’ll take it from you, instead.” 

“It only changes at my touch. It’d turn into a collar the moment you stole it.” 

“Well,” Draco said, smirking slightly. “I’m sure that could still have the desired effect.” 

It took a moment for Harry to realise his meaning, and another for a flicker of heat to travel down his body. He dropped Draco’s hand and pushed at him lightly, cheeks flushed. “Shut up.” 

Draco’s head tilted, smirk melting to a grin. “You’ll have to make me,” he taunted, and in the next second he’d swung a leg over his broom and kicked off into the air. 

“Prat!” Harry called after him, before taking one of the beautiful golden snitches he’d been gifted by Draco the year before out of his pocket and releasing it into the air to whizz off after Draco. “Don’t go near the castle!” 

He looped a leg over his own Firebolt and pushed into the air to chase his boyfriend and the glinting snitch, who’d drifted in the direction of the Great Lake. 

“If we stay over the lake, we should be far enough from the windows,” Draco said when Harry had caught up with him, hovering by his side and reaching for the snitch so that he could cast a spell on it that would cause it to glow. 

“Alright,” Harry nodded, letting go of the tiny ball again. “Off you go then, snitch. Lake’s the perimeter.” 

They waited several moments with their eyes closed, before shooting off to chase each other after the glowing snitch as it zigzagged away in the distance. Harry thought that it was a lot more enjoyable playing against Draco when they didn’t have the pressure of winning for their houses on their shoulders. They still knocked shoulders and kicked at each others’ broomsticks as they raced over and over for the snitch, but they had just as much fun trying to out-perform each other with fancy stunts and tricks that would’ve been reckless in a real match. 

Harry watched as Draco dived at one point, despite the dancing snitch above their heads, and turned up just before the lake’s surface, reaching a hand out to skim across the water. Forgetting about the snitch, Harry dipped as well, gliding alongside Draco and trailing fingertips against the ice-cold lake. After a moment, he directed his broom into a wide loop until he was facing the boy, then, slowly, attempted a roll that had him drifting upside-down instead. 

“You’re an idiot,” Draco scoffed up at him, slowing his broom to a stop so that they wouldn’t collide.

Harry grinned, reaching a hand forward to tug lightly at Draco’s scarf around his neck until he was close enough for Harry to kiss him. The angle was awkward, and his mouth seemed to capture more skin than lip, but Draco wove fingers into his hair and directed him into a second, more accurate kiss. 

Neither of them made to release their holds after they’d broken apart, and Harry found himself quickly becoming lost in the pools of molten silver that made up Draco’s eyes. It seemed as though nothing else mattered in that moment. Not the risk of being caught by another student, not the fact that to the rest of the wizarding world they were expected to be enemies, not the ever-present threat of Voldemort outside the school’s reach. 

He wanted to drift here with Draco for as long as their brooms would allow them. He wanted to cup the boy’s cheeks and pepper burning kisses against cool skin; tangle fingers into fine, blond strands and melt against the warm buzz of their intertwined magic as it swirled around them. He’d never felt more at peace, more…

“Draco,” he uttered, and watched his breath cloud in the frigid air. 

The boy didn’t answer, head tilting curiously. 

“I–” 

Zip!

The snitch shot between their faces, gold wings only a hair-width from grazing each of their cheeks. Harry laughed, and Draco grinned back. 

“Needy bugger,” he tsked, rolling back so that he was right-side-up again. “This one’s mine!” 

“You wish!” Draco called, already racing up to where the glowing snitch had sped off to. And Harry was hot on his heels, heart warm and stomach full of familiar flutters that had him smiling so hard his cheeks ached. 

I think I’m in love with you.

Chapter Text

Somehow, there was a silver lining that came from the Azkaban outbreak. All of the D.A. members had been motivated to work even harder than before. Neville, especially, seemed to be pushing himself to the limit in their meetings. He’d been second only to Hermione in mastering Protego Horribilis in their last session, and was one of the few members so far that had managed to nick Harry with a stinging hex during one of their impromptu circles. Harry planned to start them on the Patronus Charm in their next meeting, and he was more than a little grateful that he’d started teaching Draco earlier to figure out how he might teach it to a larger group. 

“Have you thought about any more memories to try?” Harry asked the boy as they dropped their things onto the couch by the fireplace, the door to the Room of Requirement locking quietly behind them. 

“You could always give me another,” Draco replied, smirking over at him as he shrugged out of his robes and began rolling the cuff of one shirt sleeve. 

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling off his own robe and flicking his fingers in the direction of the fireplace with a whispered, “Incendio” . 

Draco’s gaze slid from the flames to Harry, before humming lowly and closing the distance between them in three quick strides. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he murmured, tucking a finger beneath Harry’s chin and tilting his face to press open-mouthed kisses to his lips. 

“Not when you react like this,” Harry replied in a quiet mumble, hooking fingers beneath the hem of Draco’s pressed trousers and melting against the warmth of his mouth. They kissed for several long moments, pressed flush against each other in front of the crackling fireplace, before Harry eventually broke away. “C’mon, we’ve got a Patronus to see.” 

Draco groaned, begrudgingly releasing Harry and taking out his wand. “You sound confident.” 

Harry nodded. “You got so close last time, I think you’ve got it. Besides,” he added, lips twitching upwards. “If you do , we get to spend the rest of our time doing other things.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Draco said, eyes dark as he gave Harry a once-over before forcibly dragging his gaze away and closing them. “I can never settle on just one memory.” 

“The more practised you become, the easier it’ll be to conjure any memory that might work. But this one needs to be one of, if not your most happiest moment that comes to mind. A moment where there were no distractions, nothing negative that could have tainted how you felt. You can’t give your mind the opportunity to latch onto something darker.” 

Draco took a slow breath, rolling his wand between his fingers before drawing a circle in the air before him, over and over, and muttering, “Expecto Patronum.” 

A burst of silver mist erupted from the end of his wand, forming a glowing shield that glinted off against the room’s stone walls and illuminated their faces. Harry smiled at the familiar thrum of Draco’s magic rippling the air, but it was gone too quickly as Draco opened his eyes again and frowned. 

“I thought I had it,” he said disappointedly. 

Harry stepped towards him, wrapping arms around his waist and resting his chin atop the boy’s shoulder. “That was incredible, dragon. Even an Incorporeal Patronus is a huge achievement. Stop doubting yourself. You’ve got it, you just need to believe it.” 

“I thought we agreed not to call me ‘dragon’ ,” Draco scoffed, and Harry huffed a laugh, turning his face to press a kiss to the side of his neck. 

“Have another go, I know you can do it,” he murmured, breath sending a shiver down Draco’s body where it pressed back against Harry’s chest. 

It was several minutes till Draco drew another deep inhale, wand circling before them. “Expecto Patronum!” he cast, and instead of shapeless smoke, a silver, four-legged form poured from the end of his wand and leapt silently onto the stone floor. 

“Draco!” Harry gasped, squeezing the boy’s waist excitedly. “You did it!” 

He knew the moment Draco had opened his eyes again, sagging slightly in relief into Harry’s hold with his wand still held aloft. “That’s purely coincidence,” he said quickly as he looked down at the silver fox sniffing curiously in their direction. 

“Of course,” Harry laughed, chest filling with affection. 

He remembered talking to Remus about whether his animagus might become a stag like his Patronus, and how the man had mentioned that his Patronus’ form was likely a result of deriving the most happiness from memories of his parents. He wasn’t completely sure if the same could be said about Draco’s situation, but he couldn’t find it in himself to dismiss the possibility as he watched the fox– so alike to his own animagus– wriggle excitedly at their feet. 

“It’s not as dark as Mischief,” he noticed. Though the same build and size as Harry’s animagus, most of its fur shone a pale silver, darkening only around its large ears and underside. 

“Different morph, perhaps,” Draco replied as he crouched down, watching the fox brush against his hand, its misty shape disappearing beneath it before reappearing on the other side. “She’s beautiful.” 

“Fitting,” Harry smirked, before turning to produce his familiar silver stag. 

The two creatures surveyed each other cautiously, circling once before Harry’s stag bent its head to press into the fox’s nose. Harry watched Draco smile as he stood again, and didn’t hesitate to loop an arm back around the boy’s waist and pull him into a brief kiss. 

“Told you you could do it,” he said as the two shining patronuses faded beside them with no threat to work against. 

“Mm,” Draco hummed agreeably, leaning his forehead against Harry’s. “I hope you don’t try teaching your little army the same way.” 

Harry laughed. “There’ll definitely be a couple of adjustments.” 

“I believe you mentioned spending the rest of our time doing other things..?” 

“I might’ve said something along those lines,” Harry said, walking the Slytherin backwards until his legs hit the couch and he tipped back against the cushions, mouth quickly latching to Draco’s. 

• • •

With Harry’s schedule filled by Quidditch practice, D.A. meetings, occlumency lessons with Snape, and study sessions with Draco, Valentine’s day came surprisingly quickly. Harry was approached more than once in the coming days by girls asking if he wanted to visit Hogsmeade with them, and Harry was forced to awkwardly reject them as he ignored Ron’s gawking. 

When the day arrived, Harry spent at least ten minutes going through his clothes before deciding he needed help. 

“Special date, hm?” Hermione asked, eyeing him amusedly as she followed him back into his dorm. 

Harry shrugged, trying not to smile. “Maybe.” 

“Are you ever going to tell us who he is?” she sighed, wrinkling her nose at the pile of clothes Harry had formed by his trunk. “Is he really the type to care a lot about Valentine’s day?” 

“No, but he cares about… er, fashion, I guess. I need to at least try to look like I haven’t just rolled out of bed.” 

“Well, you should certainly wear your new cloak, for one,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the collar atop his bedside table. “And I’m sure a nice shirt and jumper beneath it would be fine.” 

“The only dress shirt I have is the one I wore at the ball last year.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking out the white button-up in question from the pile and spelling it so that the creases smoothed out. “It’ll do. Do you have a nice jumper? A jewel tone, maybe?” 

Eventually, the two of them managed to coordinate a suitable outfit for Harry to wear out, with an impromptu lesson for Harry on what in Godric’s name ‘jewel tones’ were. He said goodbye to Hermione as she went off to meet Ron in the Great Hall for breakfast, before turning in the direction of the dungeon kitchens to collect the food he’d asked for. 

Dobby and the other house-elves were more than eager to hand over the large basket, squealing happily about the many treats they’d bundled up inside for him. He thanked them quickly and charmed the basket to shrink into his pocket, before slipping out into the corridor. Ahead of him, he spotted Draco, flanked by his usual group of Slytherins. 

“Why not?” Nott was asking aloud as Harry followed quietly. 

“I have prior engagements,” Draco replied loftily, waving a gloved hand in the air. “Surely you can entertain yourselves for the day without me?” 

“We never see you anymore, Dray,” Parkinson complained, hooking an arm through one of Draco’s. Harry frowned at the action, but tried to ignore the lick of jealousy in his chest. He was about to spend the day on a date with the boy, after all. 

“More’s the pity,” Draco drawled, voice fading as the group climbed the stone steps to the castle’s entrance hall. Harry waited a moment to give them time to enter the Great Hall, before taking the steps himself and finding Draco standing alone by the doors. 

He glanced Harry’s way, giving him a quick once-over before moving to leave the castle. Harry smiled, falling into step several paces behind the Slytherin and following him out of the doors and through the snow. Finally, they reached the small village, and Draco veered off from the main road. After slowing his pace and glancing around a bit, Harry too ducked into the alleyway Draco had just disappeared down. 

They didn’t acknowledge each other until they’d made it to the cobble wall that skirted Hogsmeade, and then Draco was quick to turn and pull Harry into the edge of the woods. He was crowded against the nearest tree before he could even say a greeting, Draco’s gloved hands curling in the collar of his shirt to tug him close as he kissed him roughly. 

“Happy Valentine’s to you, too,” Harry murmured between open-mouthed kisses, arms winding around Draco’s waist and pulling him flush to his chest. 

“Shut up,” Draco muttered, interrupting anything Harry might’ve replied with by licking eagerly into his mouth, tongue hot and wet and tasting of mint. 

When he pulled away again, it was to rake an appreciative look down Harry’s body that had his skin flushing warm. “You cleaned up nicely,” he said as he caught his breath. “Meeting anyone special later?” 

Harry hummed, tilting his head back against the bark of the tree to smirk up at the boy. “I’ve got a few dates lined up, of course.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course. Gryffindor’s Casanova, hm? I’m flattered to even be considered.”

“Well,” Harry said, voice dipping as he allowed his own gaze to roll over his boyfriend. “You are my favourite.” 

As usual, Draco had outdone Harry by a mile. Black sweater vest tucked loosely into a silver-buckled belt; pressed, white collar protruding from the top and over the neck of his winter coat. His black slacks made Harry’s jeans suddenly look extremely inadequate. 

He pressed a kiss to the boy’s lips, fingers fiddling lightly with the silver dragon clip holding up half of his hair at the back of his head. “You look amazing, of course.” 

“Naturally,” Draco sniffed, standing and watching as Harry took the miniature basket from his pocket and enlarged it with his wand. 

He took the blanket out from the top of it and laid it over the snow-speckled grass for the both of them to take a seat, then set about unpacking the rest of its contents. The house-elves had outdone themselves. They’d included a tall flask of hot chocolate, wrapped sourdough sandwiches, several cornish pasties, a platter of various fruits, a whole stack of fresh scones alongside small jars of jam and cream, and an entire treacle tart. 

“Those elves are utterly besotted by you,” Draco said, popping a strawberry into his mouth and humming blissfully. “I’d bet galleons on them giving Gryffindor the best dishes at mealtimes.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Harry frowned, opening the hot chocolate flask and pouring some into each of the two mugs. To his surprise, the flask seemed to automatically refill the moment he’d finished pouring. 

Draco snorted lightly. “Point.” 

They gradually made their way through what they could of the food, leaving most of the treacle tart and scones to be wrapped up for later. Stomachs pleasantly full, they lay on their backs on the blanket and stared up at the forest canopy, hands intertwined between them. 

“How have occlumency lessons been?” Draco asked at one point, thumb rubbing light circles over the raised scarring on the back of Harry’s hand, as he was wont to do. 

Harry huffed a sigh. “I hate them.” 

“You hate anything where Severus is involved, Harry.” 

“Yeah, but I really hate Occlumency. I don’t feel like I’ve been learning anything except how to prepare a little better for the headache of having someone in my bloody mind. I haven’t made any progress towards actually blocking him from my thoughts, and he’s seen more than enough of them for me to definitely want to.” 

“You mean of us?” 

Harry nodded, cheeks warming slightly. “Merlin, if I have to see his disapproving glare one more time after giving him even a glimpse at our previous night’s activities, I might do Voldemort a favour and off myself.” 

“And you say I’m the dramatic one,” Draco scoffed, head turning to look at him. 

“You wouldn’t think me dramatic if you were the one having your memories pulled out into the open one-by-one. And he refuses to actually teach me how to block him! It’s always ‘clear your mind, Potter’ or ‘control your emotions, Potter’ .” 

“Well, you don’t have the best track record of keeping your anger in check.” 

Harry huffed. “Yes, thank you .” 

“Have you had any more peculiar dreams?” Draco asked, shifting so that his body faced towards Harry, too. Harry copied him so that they lay face-to-face.

“Only the usual one of the black door. I’m sick of it, honestly. At this point, I just want it to open .” 

“Do you recognise it at all? There must be a reason you keep seeing it.” 

Harry shook his head. “No. It’s just a plain black door, with a chunky silver handle in the middle of it. I mean, that could be anywhere.” 

“What’s the room like? Can you see the walls around it?” 

“Yeah, it’s at the end of this dark corridor. All black tiles over the walls and floor. Pretty creepy, if you ask me.” 

“Black tiles?” Draco frowned, looking thoughtful. “Is there anything else? Any lights?” 

“There’s a few torches on the walls. This blueish-white colour.” 

His frown deepened. “I think I’ve been there.” 

“What?” Harry gaped, sitting up suddenly. “Where? How?” 

“I could be wrong, but it sounds like the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. I’ve never been inside the door, but Father has taken me to the floor several times to be introduced to various Ministry workers.” 

“Department of Mysteries?” Harry asked, laying back down. He’d never heard of it. “What’s that?” 

“Well, the entire premise is that no one outside of the department really knows what they do. The workers are called ‘Unspeakables’; they’re forbidden from revealing any of their work to others, and most often aren’t known to work in the department to begin with.” 

“Why’s Voldemort trying to get in?” 

Draco sighed, turning to look up at the sky again. “Haven’t a clue.” 

At half-past-one, Hedwig interrupted the picnic with a scrap of parchment with Hermione’s loopy handwriting across it. ‘Harry, I’m sorry for interrupting your date, but I need you to meet me at the Three Broomsticks. It’s important.’ 

“Hermione wants to meet me for some reason,” Harry explained, frowning at the paper. 

Draco glared at him. “So tell her to stuff it, it’s my turn today.” 

“She wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t important.” 

He gave Draco an apologetic look, to which the boy rolled his eyes and huffed dramatically. “You’re going to be making this up to me, later.” 

“I’ll spend the whole night making it up to you,” Harry promised, leaning down to kiss him. “I’m sorry to leave so soon.” 

“What if I come along?” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?” 

“I assume you have your Invisibility Cloak,” Draco reasoned. “I’ll sit in on your little meeting then steal you away again when it’s over with.” 

“Isn’t that risky..?” 

“Come on, Potter, where’s your Gryffindor recklessness? Besides, I’m the one under the cloak. You just have to try not to search for me.” 

So that’s how Harry ended up squashed into a booth at the Three Broomsticks with Hermione, an invisible Draco, Luna Lovegood, and Rita Skeeter, of all people. It was an odd combination, to be sure. 

“Been enjoying Valentine’s, Harry?” Rita purred, nursing a glass of vibrant green liquid in her hands. 

“Er–” 

“That’s none of your business,” Hermione said coolly, pushing a butterbeer over to Harry. 

“What’s all this about, then?” Harry asked, taking a small sip of his drink. He was still reasonably full from the picnic. 

“Been wondering the same thing, myself,” Rita said, glaring over at Hermione. 

Hermione went on to talk about the bad image the Daily Prophet had given Harry lately, and her wish for Rita to report on Harry’s own story of the events in the graveyard last year. Harry squirmed uncomfortably at the idea, but settled at the weight of Draco’s hand pressing against his thigh. He knew it was a good idea to inform the public, but it didn’t mean he’d enjoy doing it. 

“He’ll give you all the details,” Hermione was saying. “All the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, what Voldemort looks like now…” 

Harry felt himself tense as he realised what Hermione had said. He couldn’t help but glance at the empty space beside him, where he knew the son of one of said Death Eaters sat. 

He got to his feet quickly. “Just need the loo, first,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be back.” 

He moved quickly through the busy pub and through the door to the men’s cubicles, holding the door open slightly longer to allow Draco through behind him. The moment the door was closed and locked, Draco pulled the cloak off. 

“Draco–” 

“You can tell her,” he said tersely, staring pointedly at the wall just over Harry’s shoulder. 

“But… your dad–” 

“He made his choice. Besides, I’m sure Granger knows, and she’d certainly question you if you left him out.” 

Harry frowned, stepping closer. “Are you sure? I can say I don’t want to do the interview at all–”

“I’m sure, Potter,” Draco scowled, pulling the cloak back over his head before Harry could think to respond. 

They went back out to the pub where the others waited impatiently, and Rita perked up eagerly, her Quick-Quotes Quill hanging at the ready. Harry took several gulps of his butterbeer before giving Rita the go-ahead to ask her questions. It was uncomfortable, retelling the events of the maze and the graveyard again, remembering the pain he’d felt and the sight of Cedric struck by green light. 

When it came to naming the Death Eaters who had been present, he hesitated, glancing at the empty space beside him before taking a breath. “There were a lot that I didn’t recognise, or didn’t hear the name of. The ones I can name, though, are Peter Pettrigrew,” he started, scowling slightly at his glass, “Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Nott…” 

He stopped, gaze slipping again to where he knew Draco sat. 

Hermione gave him a curious look, before leaning forward on the bench. “And Lucius Malfoy.” 

Harry felt it when the faint buzz of Draco’s dormant magic beside him suddenly faded, and he looked towards the door just in time to see it open, seemingly by itself, and close again. 

He sighed, pushing away his half-empty glass and tugging on his gloves. “Are we done here?” 

“Well, yes, I suppose–” Hermione wasn’t able to finish her sentence before Harry had slipped out from the booth and made for the door. “Harry!” 

There was no sign of Draco when Harry made it outside, which should have been obvious as he’d left wearing the invisibility cloak. He moved quickly through the crowd of passers-by and made it to the clearing inside the edge of the forest, gaze immediately falling to the familiar black toe of Draco’s winter boots, seemingly protruding from thin air. 

“Draco,” Harry said quietly, moving closer and reaching out slowly to pull the invisibility cloak off the boy. He had his back to Harry, sitting with crossed legs and face down-turned as he picked at the fingers of his gloves. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” Draco said, voice unnervingly flat. 

Harry lay on his back beside him, grateful to find that the warming charms weaved throughout his cloak worked fantastically. It had begun to snow lightly; tiny white flakes floating down to settle over them, camouflaged against the blond-white of Draco’s hair. “I shouldn’t have done the interview.” 

“You needed to, Harry.”

He still hadn’t lifted his head, and Harry frowned. As much as he thought he’d learnt about reading the Slytherin’s emotions, he still faced moments such as these where he couldn’t decipher the thoughts that might be running through his head. He lifted a hand and tucked the strands of hair hiding Draco’s face back behind his ear, grazing knuckles lightly over his cheek and smiling as Draco leaned into the contact. 

“I understand my father has poor morals and that he’s following a dangerous man who’s done terrible things,” he said eventually when Harry stayed silent. “I know that I can’t be the heir that he expects, and I no longer want to be.” 

Another beat of silence was enough for Harry to understand what was being left unsaid. “But he’s still your family.” 

Draco didn’t answer, instead turning and tipping forward to press his face against Harry’s chest. Harry’s arms moved instinctively to wrap around him, pulling him down further until he lay with half of his body over Harry’s, hands tucked beneath Harry’s cloak and twisted in the wool of his jumper. 

“This is bollocks,” he mumbled, voice muffled.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, closing his eyes against the falling snowflakes. “That’s one word for it.” 

They didn’t talk for a long while, and Harry thought he might fall asleep to the gentle rise and fall of Draco’s chest against his, the faint thumb of their heartbeats, the hum of their magic as it circled the air around them in lazy swirls. 

“Do you ever wonder what your parents might think of you? If they could see you now?” 

Harry took a deep breath, repeating the question in his mind and thinking it over. “All the time.” 

“What would they think?” 

“I think that they’d be happy I have you.” 

“Sap,” Draco scoffed.

“It’s true,” Harry smiled, raking a gloved hand over the boy’s hair. “They’d think you were good for me. And they’d probably be worried, for what’s to come. They’d wish they could be here to help me. But, they’d be grateful for those who are. You, Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Remus… everyone. I’m sure.” 

He felt it as Draco smiled against the fabric of his jumper. “You may be right.”

Chapter Text

It took several weeks before most of the members of the D.A. began to produce corporeal patronuses. In those same weeks, Harry and Draco had been determined to learn how to use their own patronuses to send messages, like Harry had seen Dumbledore and some of the other Order members do. Which is why it wasn’t too much of a surprise when Draco’s silver fox came bounding through the stone wall of the Room of Requirement during one of their D.A. meetings and stopped in front of Harry. 

“Umbridge knows,” Draco’s voice echoed from the fox’s mouth, so quiet that Harry almost missed the words. 

“Ooh!” Lavender gasped, trotting over to him. “Who’s got the fox? It’s so pretty.” 

“Nevermind that,” Harry said, watching the fox disappear and turning to address the room. “Everyone, we need to get out of here, now! Umbridge knows about the room and she’s on her way.” 

This started a sort-of bewildered panic in the group, who scrambled to collect their things and reach the door. 

“Don’t try to get to your dorms!” Harry called out as they piled out of the room. “Get to the library or the bathrooms or the owlery!” 

Harry was the last to leave, watching as his peers disappeared around either end of the corridor before turning and making a dash to the right. He’d almost made it to the end, before Draco appeared around the corner with a look of alarm. 

“Other way!” he hissed, waving his hands wildly. “Other–” 

“Have you got one, Draco?” Professor Umbridge’s voice huffed as she bustled up to them. She grinned at the sight of Harry, eyes glinting. “Excellent work, Draco! Fifty points to Slytherin. Go help round up any others and leave this one with me.” 

After the barest moment of hesitation, Draco collected himself with his signature smirk in place. “Yes, Professor,” he said with false cheer, glancing at Harry once more before turning to find the others. 

“You, Potter, are coming with me to the Headmaster’s office,” Umbridge said then, voice dripping sickly sweet and sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. 

• • •

By order of the Ministry of Magic, 

Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Signed, 

Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic

“Where d’you think he’s gone?” Ron asked over breakfast the next morning, after the story of Dumbledore’s escape had already filtered through the school. 

Harry shrugged, glaring down at his empty plate. “Not a clue.” What’s new? He wanted to add. 

“I heard the gargoyle wouldn’t let Umbridge into the Headmaster’s office,” Seamus said through a mouthful of buttered croissant. “Apparently she had a right little tantrum.” 

“Serves her right,” Ginny scoffed from across the table. 

“Did you hear about the Inquisitorial Squad she’s put together?” Neville asked the group and was answered by blank stares. “She’s picked a bunch of Slytherins who ‘support the Ministry’, so they say. They’re allowed to dock points from the houses.” 

“They what?” Hermione gawked. “Prefects can’t even do that!” 

“Let me guess,” Ron said. “Malfoy and his lot, yeah?” 

Neville nodded, flicking an apologetic glance towards Harry that went unnoticed by the others. The news didn’t upset Harry, though. Really, he was only thinking about how convenient it would be to have Draco in the new Headmistress’ good favour. He didn’t doubt that that would have likely been the reason Draco joined in the first place. 

“I just can’t believe Marietta snitched,” Hermione said as Harry left the hall with her and Ron. “I knew she didn’t want to be there, but…” 

“D’you think it’s ‘cause Harry rejected Cho?” Ron asked. 

Harry frowned. “Steady on–” 

“Oi,” Fred greeted, as he and George appeared beside them as they reached the marble staircase. “You lot heard about the Inquizzy-whatsit squad?” 

“You mean the Umbridge fan club?” Ron grumbled. “Yeah, just found out.” 

George nodded. “We figured we’re just about done with her rubbish.” 

“What with Dumbledore gone–” Fred continued. 

“– we reckon a bit of mayhem–” 

“– is exactly what our new Head needs.” 

“But you’ll be expelled!” Hermione exclaimed, ever the voice of reason. 

Fred gave her a look. “We don’t care about staying anymore. But we can’t walk out without our last hurrah, can we?” 

“Phase one will be starting soon,” George said, grinning. “Might want to get to class.”

“What’s phase one?” Harry asked, peering at them with intrigue. 

“You’ll have to see, won’t you?” Fred said, ruffling Harry’s hair and ignoring the responding slaps to his hand. “Run along!” 

They’d barely made three steps of the staircase before Filch, the caretaker, came huffing up to them. 

“The Headmistress would like to see you, Potter,” he said, eyes glinting maliciously. 

“What for?” Harry asked, only to be ignored. 

“Follow me,” the man snarled, turning to hobble up the staircase. 

Harry glanced at his friends before begrudgingly following the man. When they reached Umbridge’s office, Harry tried not to think about what had happened to him the last time he’d been there. He subconsciously scratched at the scars across the back of his hand. 

“Sit,” the Headmistress said, pointing to the chair across from her desk with a pink-polished finger. Her eyes gleamed as they lingered on the scarred back of Harry’s hand. “What would you like to drink?” 

“What?” Harry responded impolitely, a little taken aback by the question. 

“To drink, Mr Potter. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?” 

Harry glared suspiciously. “Tea… I guess.” 

She rose from her seat swiftly, turning to face the table behind her and bustling around making them each a cup of tea. After a few silent moments, she slid a full teacup over to his side of the desk and sat again. 

“Drink up, now, Mr Potter, before it gets cold,” she said, sipping from her own cup. “I thought we might have a little talk about the events of last night.” 

Harry didn’t answer and didn't reach for his tea. Several more tense moments passed before she threw her hands up. “Drink, boy!” 

Slowly, he raised the cup to his lips, then lowered it again without taking a sip. Something felt very wrong about drinking the tea. He’d never been offered a drink by Umbridge before. 

“Wonderful,” she smiled, laying her hands neatly over one another atop the desk. “Now, where is Albus Dumbledore?” 

“No idea,” Harry said honestly. 

Her eyes narrowed, dropping to his teacup. “Drink up, drink up! You must know where he’s gone, you’ve always been his favourite student.” 

Harry lifted the cup to his mouth again, whispering an ‘Evanesco’ beneath his breath and willing some of the tea to disappear wandlessly. 

“What was that?” Umbridge asked sharply. 

“I don’t know where he is,” he said slowly and loudly, as though trying to communicate to a small child. 

She sniffed, hands clenching slightly in front of her. “Well, then. In that case, you will tell me the whereabouts of Sirius Black.” 

“I don’t know ,” Harry said, voice hard. His hand trembled slightly as he brought the cup to his lips again and vanished more of the tea. The swell of magic in him grew with his frustration, and he tried to dampen it with feigned indifference. 

“Mr Potter. I know he has been trying to contact you. Where. Is. He?” 

“ I don’t know .” 

“I–” 

BOOM!

The office shook, china plates on the walls clinking dangerously and the teacups on the desk rattling. Umbridge looked towards the office door, raising her wand at the ready, as Harry tried to determine if the sound of explosion might have been his own doing.

“Off you go, Mr Potter,” she said curtly, before marching out of the room in quick strides. 

It only took a moment for Harry to scramble from the chair and follow the noises. At the bottom of the large marble staircase, someone– two someones, Harry suspected– had set off a large crate of magical fireworks. Crackling dragons and rockets with tails of glittering stars and fizzling firecrackers were exploding across the entrance hall and up the stairs to the upper levels. Umbridge stood next to Filch, halfway down the staircase, staring at the spectacle in horror. 

“Stupefy!” Umbridge cried as a rocket came streaking towards them. Instead of freezing, however, it exploded in a deafening BANG that sent millions of glittering sparks raining over them. 

Laughing, Harry looked to his side to see Fred and George hidden in the nearest alcove, watching Umbridge and Filch run around wildly. “I’m impressed,” he said with a grin as he joined them. 

“Merlin,” George breathed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “I hope she tries Vanishing them next. They multiply by ten if you try!” 

The fireworks continued all through the day, although the teachers didn’t seem to mind the disruptions to their classes. In fact, they seemed to find great glee in sending for the Headmistress in every class to take care of a stray firework or two. In the Gryffindor common room that evening, Fred and George were applauded uproariously for the whole idea. Even Hermione commended them on their spectacular fireworks, which took most of the room by surprise. 

“Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs!” George declared proudly to the room aloud. “Only downer is that we’ve used up all our stock. We’ll have to start again from scratch.” 

“Worth it, though,” Fred said, who was in the middle of taking orders from their peers. 

“This whole thing has me feeling a bit rebellious,” Hermione said as she made her way over to Harry and Ron by the fireplace. “I think we deserve a night off from homework.” 

They both stared at her in surprise, Ron with his mouth agape. “What’ve you done to Hermione?” 

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione laughed, waving a hand at him. “Don’t be silly.” 

• • •

“You’re late, Potter,” Professor Snape drawled when Harry closed the office door behind him, which seemed to be the typical greeting whether Harry turned up for Occlumency lessons on time or not. “Have you been practising?” 

“Yes,” Harry lied, watching the man draw silver strands of memories from his temple and drop them into the stone pensive on his desk. 

“I suppose we’ll find out, then,” Snape said, turning around to face him. “Wand out, Potter.” 

Harry faced him across the desk, wand in one hand by his side.

“One… two–”

The office door suddenly banged open, and, to Harry’s happy surprise, Draco came striding inside. 

“Sev–” he paused when he’d surveyed the room’s occupants, blinking in surprise as though he wasn’t very much aware of Harry’s lesson nights with Snape. “Professor Snape, sorry to interrupt–” 

“It’s alright, Draco,” Snape said slowly, lowering his wand and smirking slightly. “Potter is here for some Remedial Potions. What is it?” 

Harry rolled his eyes when he was sure Snape wasn’t looking his way, grinning at the amused glint in Draco’s eye as he caught it. 

“Professor Umbridge needs your help, Professor,” Draco continued. “Something about Montague turning up in a toilet on the fourth floor. He’s somewhat confused…” 

“Very well,” Snape sighed. “Potter, we shall resume this lesson tomorrow evening instead.” 

He turned and swept from the office, robes billowing dramatically. Draco hesitated at the door, glancing between Harry and their professor. 

“ ‘Remedial potions’ ,” Harry scoffed, tucking his own wand back into his jeans pocket. “Honestly.” 

Draco smirked. “Certainly wouldn’t hurt.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Draco!” Snape called crossly from down the corridor, and Draco scampered from the office as Harry chuckled after him. 

He made to follow them from the office, but a white light glinting in his peripheral stole his attention. Instead, he walked over to Dumbledore’s pensieve where it sat on the desk, Snape’s memories still snaking through the shallow water. He glanced over his shoulder. Surely Snape won’t be back for a little while , he thought, before turning back to the basin and ducking his face curiously to peek. Only a quick look…  

The scene before him was of Snape himself, except as a teenager dressed in Slytherin robes, his dark hair shielding most of his face as he hunched over an examination paper – his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. examination. A glance around the room showed Harry the rest of the exam participants, and it was only a moment before he’d spotted a familiar head of unruly, black hair. 

He jogged across the hall in excitement, stopping to gaze down at his teenage father, who must have been about the same age as Harry was now. It was like looking down at himself, Harry thought, except with a few noticeable differences. James Potter’s eyes were a dark hazel, instead of Harry’s vibrant green, and there was no lightning-shaped scar covering a third of his face. He seemed quite a bit taller than Harry, too, which was a disappointing discovery, albeit unsurprising. 

Harry watched as the boy ruffled his already-untidy hair, glancing up at Professor Flitwick as he strode between the desks, before turning and grinning at somebody several desks behind him. Harry looked up, chest leaping happily at the sight of teenage-Sirius winking back at James, leaning back on his chair until it sat on two legs. He was really very attractive, Harry thought a little abashedly, dark hair falling into silver-grey eyes, not too dissimilar to the way Draco’s did. 

Teenage-Sirius turned to gaze over his shoulder at who Harry quickly recognised to be 15-year-old-Remus. Unsurprisingly, Remus still had his head buried in his paper, quill flying over the page and bottom lip between his teeth. His brown curls looked as though they’d had a hand anxiously raked through them more than once, and the dark circles under his eyes made Harry wonder if a full moon was near. 

Harry followed the group when the exam ended as they met up in the entrance hall, keeping teenage-Snape in his peripheral vision over the shoulders of a few other students. 

“How’d you like question ten, Moons?” Sirius asked as he hooked an arm through Remus’. 

Remus clicked his tongue. “Loved it. ‘Give five signs that identify the werewolf’ . Great question.” 

James hung off his other arm, grinning cheekily. “Think you got all the signs?” 

“Think so,” Remus nodded seriously, trying and failing to shrug his clingy friends off of his shoulders. “One: he’s sitting on my chair. Two: he’s wearing my clothes…” 

They laughed, and Harry noticed the fourth member of the group– Peter Pettigrew, who he’d adamantly tried ignoring up until now– wringing his hands anxiously. 

“I could only think of three of five–” 

James scoffed in disbelief. “Are you serious, Wormtail–?” 

“No,” Sirius interjected smugly, “ I’m–” 

“He’s Sirius,” Remus chorussed with a sigh that was distinctly long-suffering, and Harry had to laugh. 

He followed them out onto the school grounds, Snape still several feet behind them, buried in his study notes. Harry watched them for a while, content to listen to the teenage boys interact for as long as this memory would continue. He was not so content, however, when the boys eventually took notice of teenage-Snape nearby and strode up to him confidently. When Snape realised who’d interrupted him, his hand plunged into his robes in search of his wand, only for James to shout “Expelliarmus!” and Sirius to follow it up with an Impedimenta . 

Part of Harry wanted to get himself out of this memory immediately, uncomfortable at watching his father and Sirius taunt a defenceless Snape. But then– 

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” 

Another student interrupted the fight, and Harry’s heart raced as he realised he could identify her face. It was his mother, Lily, her large, green eyes immediately recognisable amongst a curtain of thick, auburn hair. 

“Alright, Evans?” James asked, voice noticeably deeper and silkier than it had been moments before. 

Lily Evans’ dislike for James became quickly evident as she glared at him, angrily demanding James leave Snape alone and dismissing the boy’s attempts at asking her out in exchange. 

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” she hissed, and James frowned deeply. 

“Bad luck, Prongs,” Sirius said, before noticing that Snape had reached for his fallen wand in the grass. “HEY!” 

It was too late, though, and after a flash of light, a gash appeared across James’ cheek as he whirled around. Another flash of light had Snape hanging upside-down in the air, robes falling over his face and revealing a lot more skin than Harry had ever wanted to see of his potions Professor, teenager or not. 

“Let him down!” Lily exclaimed angrily, although Harry had thought he’d seen a glint of amusement in her emerald eyes amongst their fury. 

“Sure,” James said breezily, flicking his wand and causing Snape to fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. “You’re lucky Evans is here, Snivellus–” 

“I don’t need help from a filthy little Mudblood like her!” Snape spat from the ground, and Harry flinched, quickly looking back at Lily. 

The face that had been so concerned for Snape only moments ago now glared at him fiercely. “Fine,” she bit out. “I won’t bother in the future.” 

“Apologise!” James shouted angrily, pointing his wand at Snape again, only for Lily to round on him. 

“I don’t want you to make him apologise! You’re as bad as he is!” 

“I would never call you a– a– you know what!” 

Harry never got to hear his mother’s response to that, as a hand had suddenly closed tight over his arm, and he was tugged unceremoniously into the air and right out of the stone pensieve. 

“Enjoying yourself, Potter?” Snape–  adult Snape– asked coolly, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly he thought it might bruise. 

“No!” Harry gasped, trying to catch his breath and free his arm at the same time. 

“Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” Snape growled, face white with fury. 

“I–” 

Harry was suddenly thrown hard against the dungeon floor, arm aching where Snape had finally released him. 

“You will not tell anyone what you have seen!” 

“N–no, of course–” 

“Get out, get out!” Snape yelled, and Harry scrambled to his feet. “I never want to see you in this office ever again!” 

Harry didn’t waste time sprinting from the room, hearing the office door slam closed behind him. He didn’t stop till he’d made it to Gryffindor Tower, collapsing on his bed and instantly spelling the drapes shut around him, casting a Muffliato as well before dragging the mirror from beneath his pillow. 

“Sirius!” Harry shouted at his reflection, waiting for his godfather’s face to appear. 

When it did a moment later, part of Harry wanted to put the mirror straight back under his pillow. Despite the memory having been of fifteen-year-old Sirius Black, the sight of his adult version still made Harry incredibly bitter. 

“Harry!” Sirius said, alarmed. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“ I’m fine,” Harry answered coldly, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm himself. He’d had enough talks with Moony by now that he knew acting immediately out of anger would hardly solve anything. “Sorry,” he said once he’d taken a few slow breaths. “I’m okay.” 

“You sure, pup?” Sirius asked, concerned. “What’s happened?” 

“I saw something– a memory,” Harry started, unsure how to explain. “Of Snape’s. He took some out and put them in a pensieve before our Occlumency lesson. But he was called to do something and… well–”

“Curiosity took over, naturally,” Sirius nodded, as though he would’ve done the exact same, which Harry didn’t doubt. 

Harry sighed, laying back against his pillows and holding the mirror above him. “It was a memory of his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. exam,” he continued. “Well, the end of it. And what came after. I saw you and dad and Moony as teenagers. And… and you were harassing Snape. Calling him Snivellus, or whatever, and jinxing him…” 

Sirius’ expression became very uncomfortable. “Harry… I’m sorry you had to see that. Let me guess, you saw Lily, too?”

Harry nodded. “She came over to stop you and dad. But then, Snape called her a… you know. I didn’t see much after that.” 

“I’m sorry, pup. Things between us and Snape in school were… less than friendly.” 

“That’s putting it mildly,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. The scene of his father jeering at Snape with his wand held in front of him flashed through his mind again, and he cringed. “You guys were… Did that happen a lot?” 

“Pretty frequently,” Sirius said with a frown. “But we didn’t always start it. He often gave as good as he got… but, that’s– I’m not trying to defend what we did. We were idiots. Lily hated us for it for most of our school years.” 

“How did she ever get with my dad? She was so… so angry. And I don’t really blame her. Was dad… always like that? He– well, he just seemed like a bully. And he was so full of himself…” 

“Can’t deny that he had an ego,” Sirius said, somewhat amused. “A lot of what happened with Sniv– Snape was purely so that James could show off his spellwork to Lily. Part of it was jealousy that she’d continue to defend him, despite him being a git. He cooled down eventually, though. He finally got it through his head that Lily was never going to be impressed at anything he did as long as it got somebody hurt. No matter how many others might be. He matured a lot in the last couple of school years. I’m sorry you had to see him like that.” 

“I guess…” 

“It’s like someone asking how you can be with Draco after all the things he’s done.” 

“Well,” Harry spluttered. He wasn’t wrong . “It’s–” 

“Not exactly the same, I know. But it may help to understand.” 

Harry twisted his lips. “Okay, fair.” 

“Are you still upset?” Sirius asked. 

“No,” Harry sighed, rolling onto his side. “I guess not. Thanks for explaining a bit.” 

“Always, pup.” 

“There’s one thing, though…” 

Sirius nodded in encouragement. Harry’s stomach squirmed slightly, unwilling to convey this next bit of information. He took a breath.

“Snape won’t give me any more Occlumency lessons.” 

“He what?!” 

Harry looked away guiltily. “I did look at his private memories without permission…” 

“This is so much more important than that! He better not be serious–”

“No,” Harry interrupted, remembering their joke from Snape’s memory. “ You’re Sirius.” 

His godfather levelled him with a poor attempt at an unimpressed look, lips twitching with contained amusement. “Harry, this is no time to joke,” he said seriously, but his eyes told a different story. “You have to talk to Snape, get him to continue lessons with you. It’s incredibly important you master Occlumency, Harry, you know this.” 

Harry sighed. “I’ll try.”

Chapter Text

“Sit down, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said shortly when Harry arrived several minutes late to her office on Monday afternoon. 

He’d completely forgotten about his scheduled ‘career advice’ appointment with his Head of House until Ron had asked about it ten minutes into Divination. He and the rest of the Gryffindor fifth years had spent most of the weekend reading over all of the career information that had been left for them. 

“I don’t fancy Healing so much,” Ron had said the previous evening as they’d flipped through pamphlets in front of the common room fireplace. “Says here you need at least a N.E.W.T. level ‘E’ in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence. I mean… blimey. No pressure, huh?” 

“You don’t seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles,” Hermione had said distractedly, peering at her own leaflet. “All they want is an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies… ‘ Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun!’” 

Harry had huffed a laugh. “You’d need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle. Good sense of when to duck, more like…” 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione had frowned, giving him a look that Harry hadn’t been quite sure how to read. 

Harry’s idle thoughts were interrupted by a familiar fussy sniff from the corner of Professor McGonagall’s office, and he looked around to see Professor Umbridge sitting there with a pink clipboard perched on her knee, pink quill at the ready. Harry sat with his back to her and tried to ignore the scratch of the quill against parchment. 

“Well, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have and to help to determine what classes you should take in your coming years,” McGonagall continued. “Have you had any thoughts thus far about what you might like to pursue after Hogwarts?” 

“Er,” Harry started, skin crawling at the scratch of the quill behind him. If he was perfectly honest to himself, he’d hardly thought about it beyond glancing through the information with his friends. 

“Yes?” McGonagall prompted. 

“I suppose I thought about maybe being an Auror?” Harry said eventually, although it came out more like a question. 

“Excellent,” McGonagall said promptly, picking a dark leaflet out from the stack beside her. “You’d need top grades for it. They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s and nothing under ‘Exceeds Expectations’.” 

Harry gulped, quite regretting mentioning it at all. 

“Then, naturally, you would be required to undergo a series of character and aptitude tests. It is a difficult career path, Mr. Potter,” she went on, peering at Harry over her oval-shaped spectacles. “They only take the best.” 

They were interrupted again, this time by a quiet cough from over Harry’s shoulder. 

McGonagall shuffled her papers. “You’ll want to know which subjects you should take, I suppose?” she asked a little more loudly. 

“Yes,” Harry nodded, deciding there was no point changing the conversation now. “Defence Against the Dark Arts, I assume?” 

“Naturally. I would also advise–” 

Umbridge coughed again, slightly louder this time, and Harry tried not to laugh as McGonagall closed her eyes briefly before continuing on as though nothing had happened. 

“I would also advise Transfiguration, Charms, Potions–” she smiled a little at Harry’s grimace. “Yes, Mr. Potter, Potions are essential for Aurors to be experienced with. I must tell you, however, Professor Snape refuses to take students who achieve anything other than an ‘Outstanding’ in their O.W.L.s–” 

A third cough came from the corner of the office. 

“May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?” McGonagall asked without looking her way. 

“Oh, no, thank you,” Umbridge replied in her sickly-sweet tone. “I was just wondering if Mr. Potter had quite the temperament for an Auror?” 

“ Were you?” Professor McGonagall replied indifferently. “Well, Potter, if you are serious in his ambition, I would advise you to concentrate on bringing up your Transfiguration and Potions grades. Your Charm work seems satisfactory, and your Defence Against the Dark Arts grades have usually been high–” 

“Hem hem,” Umbridge interrupted yet again. “I’m concerned you might not have Mr. Potter’s most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts grades in front of you–” 

“What, this?” McGonagall sniffed, pulling a pink piece of parchment from Harry’s folder, skimming it quickly, then placing it back amongst the pages. “Yes, as I was saying, Professor Lupin thought you showed a pronounced aptitude for the subject–” 

“Did you not understand my note, Minerva?” 

“Quite well, Dolores.” 

“Well, I’m confused…” Umbridge went on, and Harry had half the mind to spell her quill to dive straight into her eye. “I don’t quite understand how you can give Mr. Potter false hope–” 

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “False hope, Dolores? Harry has achieved high marks in all of his Defence Against the Dark Arts examinations–” 

“As you will see from my note, Minerva, Mr. Potter has been achieving very poor results in my own classes–” 

“You misunderstand,” McGonagall said shortly, finally turning to glare at the other professor. “He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts examinations set by a competent teacher.” 

• • •

“ No ,” Draco gaped as Harry retold the story of his career meeting that evening at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Since the Room of Requirement had been raided, they’d taken to spending their time past curfew there. “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not,” Harry laughed, raking a hand through the boy’s hair where his head lay on Harry’s lap. Draco had finally agreed to a break from studying and spell practice, and they’d settled down on a nest of conjured cushions. “It was the best thing I’ve ever seen, really.” 

“I’ve severely underestimated Professor McGonagall, clearly. I wish I could have seen it. You don’t have a pensieve, by any chance?” 

“Your godfather might.” 

Draco lifted his head slightly, giving him a look. “Careful, Scarhead. If he heard you calling you that, he’d find a way to have you expelled for good, Dumbledore be damned.” 

“He’s probably trying already,” Harry replied, remembering the teacher’s anger after his last Occlumency lesson. “Besides, he won’t have to deal with me for much longer. Did you know he only accepts students into his senior classes that achieve an ‘O’ in their O.W.L.? As if!” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Draco said, reaching up to grab at Harry’s hand and pull it back down to his own head after Harry had used it to wave dramatically at the air. “Isn’t it lucky you’re receiving Remedial Potions, hm?” 

“You know I’m not.” 

“Perhaps if you beg hard enough,” Draco smirked up at him. “Bonus points if you’re on your knees.” 

“I hope you mean to you ,” Harry said incredulously. “I’m hardly getting on my knees for Snape–”

Draco gagged, rolling his body as though preparing to vomit off the side of Harry’s lap. “That’s a picture I could have gone my entire life without thinking, thank you.” 

“You’re telling me!” 

“ Of course I meant to me. Salazar , Potter–” 

“It’s not my fault you didn’t specify–” 

“Am I not doing enough for Gryffindor’s Golden Boy? Thinking of trying for the Head of Slytherin instead, hm? And I meant that literally –” 

Harry pushed the boy’s head off his lap. “Oh my God, Draco!” 

Draco couldn’t reply through his laughter as he rolled over the cushions, arms clutching at his stomach and blond hair strewn across his face. Harry grinned, lunging after the boy to pin him onto his back, knees bracketed on either side of his legs. Draco continued to laugh uncontrollably, hardly noticing Harry’s weight on top of him until a wandless ‘Brachiabindo’  had his wrists bound together by an invisible cord over his own head. 

“Mm, fuck, okay,” Draco coughed, laughter dying quickly. “That was hot.” 

“Thought you might like it,” Harry said smugly, brushing Draco’s hair out of his face and leaning over him to press kisses to his jaw. “Now will you stop insinuating that I want to shag our Potion’s professor?” 

“I’m not sure,” Draco said weakly, head tilting back so that Harry could trail kisses to his neck. “You do have a thing for Slytherins. It’s only the natural progression–” 

His sentence was muffled as Harry distracted his mouth with his own instead. Draco hummed, eagerly leaning up into the kiss despite still being trapped against the floor. Harry placated him for several long moments before pulling away, undoing the charm on Draco’s wrists and rolling off him to lay back onto the cushions. 

“Hey, I was enjoying that–” 

“Exactly.” 

Draco huffed, turning onto his side to glare at him. “Asshole.” 

Harry didn’t reply, and they were silent for a while as they caught their breaths again. 

“What did you tell Snape you wanted to do after Hogwarts?” he asked eventually, staring out at the night sky, gaze almost subconsciously seeking out the north star and following it to Draco . 

“Oh, Snape this, Snape that,” Draco huffed amusedly. “You’re obsessed–”

“Shut up,” Harry groaned, elbowing the boy’s side. “It’s a genuine question.” 

Draco hummed, amusement fading. “He knows I’d be expected to follow in my father’s footsteps. Manage the estates, maintain our connections…” 

“But if you chose a career for yourself, what would it be?” 

“I think I’d likely do something that involved Potion-making. Perhaps in an apothecary. I’d never want to teach it, I don’t think. I don’t know how Severus does it. Or…” 

Harry glanced at him. “Mm?” 

“A Healer, perhaps. They often deal with potions. And I quite enjoy charm work…” 

“I think you’d be a wonderful Healer,” Harry smiled, reaching out to trace fingertips over the boy’s arm. “You’d definitely get the grades for it. And you’d like a challenge. I imagine you’d be great at anything you put your mind to, really.” 

Draco scoffed, and Harry took his hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. 

“It’s true. Plus, it’d be plenty handy with all the trouble I get myself into. Especially if I became an Auror.” 

“Oh? Who said you could have me as your own personal Healer waiting at your every beck and call?” 

“Me,” Harry replied stubbornly, belatedly realising the implications behind his statement. The implication that they would still be together past Hogwarts, that they might live together even, might… 

“You’re sure you’d like to become an Auror?” Draco asked lightly, diverting the conversation and leaving Harry feeling mildly embarrassed. 

He knew it was stupid to assume. To speak as though he’d already decided Draco was it for him. But, well, in the rare moments that he did try to think of his future, all that he could see for certain was Draco, and Ron, and Hermione. He couldn’t imagine how he’d even try to manage without them. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, unexpected relief flowing through him when Draco brushed his thumb over Harry’s knuckles in the way he often liked to do. “Sounds like the kind of thing I’d be good at, doesn’t it?” 

He could see Draco’s head turn to face him from the corner of his eye. “Sure. But I imagine you’d be great at anything you put your mind to.” 

“Now why does that sound familiar?” 

“This idiot said it to me once.” 

Harry scoffed, turning to look back at the Slytherin beside him. “Sounds wise to me.” 

“Mm, that too, where it counts.” 

Smiling, Harry lifted their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Draco’s hand softly. “Honestly, I haven’t put a lot of thought towards life past Hogwarts. I don’t… I can’t imagine not coming back here every year.” 

“That’s understandable. Hogwarts was your first home,” Draco said, as though it were that simple, as though it made complete sense for Harry to feel like life didn’t really exist beyond this castle. “Besides, there’s no rush to choose now. There’s other ways to get into the career you want besides your N.E.W.T.s.” 

Harry hummed, turning back to the stars. “I guess.” 

• • •

“It’ll be my fault they left, you wait,” Ron grumbled in Charms class as the three of them attempted to spell legs onto their teacups. “When mum’s next letter gets through Umbridge’s screening process, it’ll be a Howler just for me. All about how I should’ve stopped them. Should’ve grabbed the ends of their broomsticks and hung on or some rubbish…” 

It had been a week since Fred and George’s escape from the school, leaving behind a swamp in a fifth floor corridor and enough Skiving Snackboxes to nearly send Umbridge to an early grave. 

“You couldn’t have done anything!” Hermione exclaimed, catching her own teacup before it pranced off the side of the desk. “If it’s really true they’ve got premises in Diagon Alley, they must have been planning this for ages.” 

“That’s another thing,” Ron said, hitting his teacup with his wand and sending it spiralling. “How’d they even get the premises? They’ll need loads of galleons to afford rent on Diagon Alley!” 

Hermione nodded. “That occurred to me too. I wondered whether Mundungus persuaded them to sell stolen goods or something awful…” 

“He hasn’t,” Harry interrupted, vanishing the too-short legs from his teacup before trying the charm again. 

“How’d you know?” his two friends asked simultaneously, before giving each other a look. 

“Because, well… because they got the gold from me,” he admitted with a grimace. “I gave them my Tournament winnings last year.” 

Hermione’s teacup toppled over the desk in their distraction and smashed unnoticed onto the stone floor. 

“Oh, Harry! You didn’t !” 

“I did,” Harry nodded. “And I don’t regret it. I didn’t need the gold, and their shop will be great–” 

“This is excellent, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, beaming. “It’s all your fault, then! Mum can’t blame me at all! Can I tell her, then?” 

“I s’pose.” 

Hermione didn’t speak to him again until lunch break, and Harry almost wished the silence had continued when she eventually did speak. “When are you going to go ask Snape about continuing Occlumency lessons, Harry?” 

Harry groaned, looking down at his plate ruefully. 

“You can’t tell me you’ve stopped having funny dreams,” she continued. “Ron told me you were muttering in your sleep again last night.” 

Harry shot Ron a hard glare, and the boy flushed red, glancing away. 

“You were a bit,” he mumbled. “Something about ‘just a bit further’.” 

“I was dreaming about catching the snitch during Quidditch, for your information,” Harry said angrily, which was a lie, but he hardly felt bad about it. 

“You are still trying to block your mind, aren’t you?” Hermione asked sternly. 

Harry nodded, avoiding her gaze. “Of course.” 

There was a tense silence, and Harry almost took back the lie right then, until Ron finally spoke up again. “So, we might have a good chance of winning the Cup if Slytherin loses to Hufflepuff next Saturday.” 

“True,” Harry agreed, gaze sliding to the other end of the hall as he tuned out of Ron’s rambling about Quidditch, contentedly losing himself in watching Draco Malfoy. 

• • •

It was a little uncomfortable watching Cho walk out onto the pitch with her team at the end of the month as Ravenclaw was introduced for the match. He still hadn’t quite forgotten what had happened in the Room of Requirement before Christmas, and how Cho seemed to tell the whole D.A. that he was in a relationship. Luckily, and somewhat surprisingly, Harry hadn’t heard wind of that speculation throughout the rest of the school body as of yet. 

The tension was swiftly forgotten, however, once the teams were up in the air and the match had begun. Harry began his usual circling of the pitch, keeping Cho in his peripheral vision as he searched for the snitch. This match would be purely a race to the golden snitch, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw being third and fourth respectively, both already within a 150-point margin from the winning score. 

“Davies has the Quaffle immediately!” Lee Jordan began his commentary from the stands as Harry only half-listened. “Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet, and he’s going to shoot! And– and– ah fuck, and he’s scored.” 

Professor McGonagall’s stern telling-off for Lee’s colourful language was almost drowned out by the groans from the Gryffindor stands. Harry cringed, glancing briefly at his best friend hovering by the goalposts before continuing his hunt. If Ravenclaw managed 18 more goals in this match, they’d take the Cup even if Harry managed to catch the snitch. Harry crossed his fingers against the handle of his broomstick with the hope that Ron would finally be able to play to his potential. 

“And it looks like Ravenclaw Seeker Chang has spotted something!” Lee shouted, and Harry whirled around to see Cho dive towards the ground. “Get in there, Potter!” 

Harry didn’t waste time tilting his own broom to follow her tail, but realised quickly enough that there wasn’t any golden snitch near the grass to be caught, and spun out of the dive a moment later. 

“She’s a tease, that one!” Lee laughed. “Wasn’t there a rumour about Chang and Pott– Ow! Okay, okay! Gryffindor’s Spinnet has the Quaffle and she’s headed for the goal now!” 

Ravenclaw tried to score again not long after, but at the last second Ron seemed to catch Bradley’s feint and batted the Quaffle away from the hoop with his fist. With this new boost of motivation, Gryffindor clutched two consecutive goals after that, whilst Ron defended against two more attempts from Ravenclaw, leaving the score at 20-10. His team was still depending on him, Harry knew, and he led Cho through a number of feints that had her zipping around the pitch in his wake with no real sight of the snitch. 

Then, finally, Harry spotted it– a glint of gold near the base of Ravenclaw’s goalposts. Cho didn’t seem to have seen it yet, so Harry risked another feint, shooting off in the complete opposite direction until Cho had followed. Three-quarters of the way to Gryffindor’s posts, Harry pulled up sharply, looping until he flew completely upside-down in the opposite direction. The sight of Cho flying towards him reminded him briefly of flying with Draco over the lake, but he shook the distraction from his mind and rolled back upright. 

Leaning flat against his broomstick, he shot towards the gold glint at the other end of the pitch, ignoring Lee’s encouraging commentary and the excited roar of the Gryffindor crowd. He could almost hear the whistle of Cho behind him, but there was no chance of her catching up to him with his headstart, and in the next moment he had the golden snitch clutched snugly in the gloved palm of his hand. The Gryffindor stands went wild and the team swooped down to land near Harry and throw themselves into a celebratory heap. 

‘Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King!’ the crowd started up, and Harry groaned. He thought he’d put a stop to that after the first match. But as he listened further, he realised it was Gryffindor that was chanting, and… wait, were those the right lyrics? 

‘He didn’t let the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King! Weasley can save anything, he never leaves a single ring, that’s why Gryffindors all sing: Weasley is our King!’ 

Ron was beaming as he landed at Harry’s side, and Harry was quick to pull him into a hug, thumping him on the back and yelling in his ear, “I told you! I told you you could do it!” 

The Quidditch Cup was passed along from Angelina to Harry, who pushed it proudly into Ron’s hands and tugged his wrist to loft it into the air. Their house went crazy again, screaming and cheering, and Ron’s face was almost as red as his hair. 

“Where’s Hermione?” he yelled to Harry over the noise, searching the crowd for the third member of their trio. 

Harry shrugged, looking around for her as well. “I dunno!” 

Ron wasn’t able to respond, as he’d suddenly been hoisted up into the air by Gryffindors and the crowd moved with them as they marched him off the pitch towards the castle. 

“Hermione!” Ron called out moments later, waving the Cup in his hands to a figure coming up the slope towards them. 

Harry turned to see his friend grinning back at Ron, but he could tell something was off by the way her hands fidgeted anxiously in front of her. He slowed to fall into step beside her, and Hermione could tell by his look what he was about to ask. 

“Later, Harry,” she assured, waving her hands at him. “You won! Congratulations!” 

“Thanks,” Harry beamed, letting her off the hook for now and swinging an arm around her shoulders. “Ron’s plenty chuffed. He deserves it, though. Finally figured out that he got Gryffindor Keeper for a reason.” 

They managed to get Hermione’s news out of her the next afternoon, after Ron had stopped rambling about their triumph and Gryffindors had stopped coming up to pump him on the back or start up a chorus of the revised ‘Weasley is our King’ . 

“He brought one back and hid it in the forest?!” Ron exclaimed after Hermione had finished the story of following Hagrid into the Dark Forest and meeting Grawp, Hagrid’s half-brother, and also a giant. 

“Is he mad?” Harry hissed, waving at Ron to keep his voice down as they were outside on the grounds and anyone could listen in if they wanted. 

“Yes,” Ron answered in Hermione’s place. “He can’t have!” 

“He has,” Hermione said with a frown. “He’s about sixteen feet tall, enjoys ripping up pine trees, and refers to me as ‘Hermy’. ” 

They both stared at her incredulously. 

“And Hagrid wants us to…?” Harry began. 

“Teach him English, yes,” Hermione nodded. 

“He’s lost it,” Ron said firmly. 

Hermione huffed, turning the page of her book. “Yes, I’m starting to think he has. But he made me promise. And he wanted me to make you both promise, too. I mean, honestly!” 

“No way,” Ron said, shaking his head. “We’ve got exams coming up! And we’re about this close–” he held up his hand, showing his thumb and forefinger millimetres apart, “–from being thrown out as it is.” 

“But we’re going to do it anyway, aren’t we?” Harry said, less of a question than a statement, and Hermione grimaced. 

“I promised.” 

“Well,” Ron sighed, sitting back on his elbows. “Let’s just hope Hagrid doesn’t get sacked.”

Chapter Text

June crept up on them quickly, and with it, their O.W.L. examinations. Teachers were no longer setting homework, and classes were dedicated solely to revision of topics likely to come up in the exams. Harry saw Draco less and less, due to the Slytherin’s need to seemingly be constantly studying. Harry thought he and Hermione were becoming more alike each day. Draco had even forgotten his own birthday when the time came, and had been utterly confused for an embarrassing number of minutes when Harry presented him with a gift the morning of. 

It was a simple black leather case that opened up to a blank sketchbook on one side and a collection of muggle-made pencils and charcoal sticks on the other. With some (read: a lot ) of help from Remus over the two-way mirror, Harry had managed to etch a small replica of Draco’s constellation into the front of the leather with his wand. It was this part that he was most worried about, for the reason that it would likely be much too cheesy. It was too late to take back now, though, and he didn’t regret it a single bit when Draco traced a fingertip over the little engraving in quiet awe. 

“Is it okay?” Harry asked shyly when the silence continued too long for comfort. 

“I love it,” Draco murmured, flipping gently through the sketchbook and trailing fingers over the new pieces of stationery. “Are these muggle?” 

“Yeah, but you should be able to still cast magic on any of it as you like. I’m not sure if you’ve ever used these things before–” he slipped one of the unsharpened lead pencils from its band as he spoke “–but they’re usually used for sketching. For writing too, but it seems the wizarding world hasn’t quite progressed past quills and ink in that regard. They should be fairly easy to get used to, and there’s charcoal block-thingys which I know you’re more familiar with.” 

Draco nodded as he listened, surprisingly quite accepting of the new muggle tool that he’d have to try. “I suppose I could allow a brief respite from studying…” 

He ended up spending the next hour trying his new stationery and sketchbook as Harry watched happily, leaning over every once in a while to kiss his cheek. It was about as peaceful as things got before the  Gryffindors received their examination schedules in their next Transfiguration class, and 'constant study' suddenly became an understatement. 

They spent almost every minute of the weekend studying under Hermione’s stern supervision. Most of the fifth-years in the Gryffindor common room appeared to be turning slightly insane by the time Monday came crawling. They didn’t talk much over breakfast that morning, and once it was over, the fifth-years milled around outside the Great Hall until they were eventually called back inside class by class. 

The four house tables had been removed, and instead replaced by a number of desks, all facing the staff table at the front of the hall. Once all of the students were seated and quiet, Professor McGonagall said, “You may begin,” and they all hunched over their papers and began to scribble. 

Harry thought he did alright enough in the theory examination for Charms, and tried desperately to tune-out Hermione’s anxious rambling, lest that opinion begin to change. They ate lunch with the rest of the school at the usual time, then all clambered into the small chamber beside the Great Hall to wait for their names to be called for their practical exam. 

“Parkinson, Pansy. Patil, Padma. Patil, Parvati. Potter, Harry,” Professor Flitwick called out eventually in his squeaky voice. 

“Good luck,” Ron said as Harry got to his feet and followed the girls into the hall. 

Harry was assigned to an examiner named Professor Tofty, an old wizard sitting in the far corner. He didn’t miss the fact that he would be closest to Draco, who seemed to be half-way through his own exam. Once again, he was satisfied with his performance, though he’d certainly noticed how much Draco had been impressing his own examiner nearby, and tried to shoot him a proud smile as he left the hall. 

The Transfiguration and Herbology exams went as well as Harry could have hoped, but the exam he was most eager for was Defence Against the Dark Arts on Thursday. At last, he felt certain that he had passed both the written and practical exams of the subject. He took extra pleasure in performing all the defensive spells and counter-jinxes required right in front of Umbridge as she fumed near the front of the Great Hall. 

Professor Tofty, who Harry had been assigned to again, even asked at the end of his practical examination if Harry might perform the Patronus Charm for an extra mark. He felt extremely smug when he pointed his wand directly at Umbridge and said, “Expecto Patronum!”, watching his stag burst from the end of his wand and gallop the length of the hall. 

Harry had Friday off from exams, and he somehow managed to talk Draco into spending part of the morning together. Their courtyard was occupied by several groups of fifth-years studying on the lawn, so they sprawled out in the rays of sun spilling over the stone floor of the Astronomy Tower, Draco’s head in Harry’s lap and Harry’s hand in his hair. 

“I heard about you showing off in the Defence practical,” Draco said, voice soft and drowsy in his half-asleep state. “I’m sure Umbridge enjoyed it.” 

“She was smiling, for some reason,” Harry recalled, threading part of the blond threads into a loose plait the way Hermione had taught him years ago. “And I wasn’t showing off. Professor Tofty asked me to do it.” 

Draco hummed, a light smirk playing across his lips. “Sure, little fox.” 

“Speaking of Mischief–” 

“I was speaking of you, but go on.” 

“Well, same thing. Will you let me stay while you study later if I turn? I know you don’t want distractions, but I miss you,” Harry said, abandoning the tiny plait and tracing fingertips lightly over Draco’s face. “And it’s been a while since I spent some time as Mischief.” 

Draco’s lips pursed in thought, eyes still closed. “Fine, but you really should be using the time to study yourself. Aren’t you aiming for an ‘Outstanding’ in Potions?” 

“I figure if I don’t know it now, I never will. Maybe you can read your notes aloud to me?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Please,” Harry added, finger grazing Draco’s bottom lip. “I’d listen if it’s your voice.” 

Draco groaned, rolling to press his face against Harry’s stomach. “You’re so much.” 

Because I love you, Harry wanted to say. The words sat at the tip of his tongue, caught by the curve of his closed lips. Not yet, he thought. For now, he just hoped the message was conveyed well enough in the way he bent at the waist, hand gently tilting Draco’s jaw to kiss the him, slow and sweet and soft. 

Draco did end up agreeing to meet back at the tower after lunch, under strict instructions that Harry remain in animagus form and did not once interrupt Draco’s reading aloud, lest he be abandoned quite quickly for the library. He hadn’t lied when he said it had been a while since transforming into Mischief. He had committed to running the edge of the Dark Forest as his fox at least every few nights, partly as a way to have a break from thinking for a while, and also to tire himself out enough to fall asleep easily on the nights that it felt too difficult. 

Since O.W.L.s had started, however, he hadn’t yet had a chance to transform due to Hermione’s rigorous study schedule. So, it was quite a relief to feel his meddled emotions shrink to the back of his mind as he ran a few laps of the tower on four legs and eventually curled up in Draco’s lap to listen to him talk about potions for the next few hours. 

• • •

The Potions exams did end up going quite a bit better than Harry had expected, though he hardly dared to hope that he’d procured the ‘Outstanding’ that he’d wanted. His Care of Magical Creatures examinations both seemed to go well also, and the theoretical Astronomy exam on Wednesday morning went well enough. The Divination exam, on the other hand, went as badly as Harry had expected, with him informing Professor Marchbanks that, according to her palm reading, she should have died the previous Tuesday. 

Still, none of these turned out to be as dramatic as their Astronomy practical exam that Wednesday evening. Harry was almost finished charting the constellation of Orion, when he glanced down towards the school’s grounds to see half a dozen shadowy figures walking across the lawn. If Harry squinted, he could almost make out the easily discernible waddle of Professor Umbridge as she led the group. 

It wasn’t long before most of the students had taken notice of the situation down below, following a loud BANG as the door to Hagrid’s hut burst open suddenly, and the six dark figures began shooting red Stunning blasts at the half-giant as he brandished his fists. When a Stunning Spell appeared to hit Fang– the entire class was standing over the edge of the Astronomy Tower by this point to watch– and he fell to the ground, Hagrid could be seen picking up the person who’d fired and throwing him across the grounds with an outraged roar. 

Another figure burst from the castle’s front doors then, quickly recognised as Professor McGonagall by her shrill voice. “Leave him alone! Alone, I say! He’s done nothing to warrant such an attack–!” 

Some of the students screamed then as not one, but four bright red Stunners shot from the group of cloaked figures towards Gryffindor’s Head of House, lifting the woman clean off her feet and slamming her back hard onto the grass. She didn’t appear to move after that, and Hagrid disappeared not long after, a limp Fang hoisted over his shoulders as he charged towards Hogwarts’ front gates. 

They didn’t have too much time to think about the events of that night before their final exam on Thursday afternoon. Harry was already exhausted before sitting down, and was finding it extremely difficult to concentrate on the History of Magic paper in front of him for longer than a few minutes at a time. His eyelids kept blinking slower and slower, eyes watering with the need to rest them as he tried to scrawl out answers to the confusing questions. 

He let his eyelids drop closed again, just so that he could try to picture Hermione’s notes from earlier that day. He could still hear the scratch of quills on parchment from the desks around him… the sand trickling slowly through the large hourglass at the front of the hall… the flickering blue flames lining black-tiled walls… and he was walking swiftly now along the dark corridor towards the door to the Department of Mysteries. The door swung open easily, and he was inside the circular room with many doors… through one door… then through a second… and into a long room filled with shelves upon shelves of glass spheres. This time was the one… he was going to get it… this would be it… he reached number ninety-seven and turned left… 

But there was a figure on the stone floor this time. A black shape writhing on the floor as though it were in pain. A cold voice spoke from Harry’s own mouth, “Take it for me… I cannot touch it… but you can…” 

And then, “Crucio!” 

The man curled on the floor screamed in pain, writhing against the stone as Harry cackled. A flick of his wand had the curse lifted, and the man fell limp again for a few moments. 

“I’m waiting…” Harry hissed, jeering. 

With trembling arms, the man lifted himself very slowly so that his face was finally visible. Harry felt all at once hot then cold. 

“You’ll have to kill me,” Sirius whispered. 

And then someone was screaming. Harry fell sideways off his desk and hit the cold ground with a start, still yelling and clutching his burning scar with his hands, and the Great Hall erupted into panicked noise around him. 

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Tofty startled, bustling over with robes billowing and wand in one hand. “Mr. Potter, are you quite alright?” 

“Harry!” Hermione called from somewhere ahead of him. He thought he could make out more familiar voices saying his name from all directions. 

Mr Tofty reached him quickly, helping him to his feet and hurrying him out of the Great Hall before anyone could try to ask him what had happened. “I will take you to the Hospital Wing at once, Mr. Potter. You’ve been overworked, dear boy…” 

“I don’t need the Hospital Wing, Professor,” Harry mumbled, still holding a hand to his forehead and trying half-heartedly to tug himself from the examiner’s grip. “I’m fine, really. I just fell asleep… had a nightmare…” 

“Ah, pressure of examinations!” Professor Tofty nodded, patting Harry on the shoulder. “It happens! A nice glass of cold water, and perhaps you may be able to return to the hall for the remainder of the examination?” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, before catching himself. “I mean, sorry, sir. No, thank you. I think I’ve done what I can.” 

Professor Tofty nodded again. “Very well. I’ll go collect your paper, and I suggest a nice, long lie-down.” 

The moment the old man disappeared back into the hall, Harry was sprinting in the direction of the Hospital Wing. 

“Mr. Potter!” Madame Pomfrey greeted in surprise as he burst through the large doors. “May I help you?” 

“I need to see Professor McGonagall,” he explained quickly. “It’s urgent.” 

“She’s not here, I’m afraid. She’s been transferred to St. Mungo’s. Four Stunning Spells straight to the chest at her age! I say!” she went on, hands fretting anxiously in front of her. Harry found it quite similar to the way Hermione’s worry always seemed to show in her hands. “It’s a wonder they didn’t kill her!” 

“She’s gone?” Harry asked, heart dropping. 

No, no, no. 

McGonagall was gone… Dumbledore was gone… Hagrid was gone… Who would he tell? He spun on his heel, partially dazed, and walked right back out of the Hospital Wing and into the busy corridor. Draco found him first. A flicker of white-blond hair amongst the mass of black robes before Harry was being dragged down the corridor and shoved into the nearest empty classroom. 

“Draco!” Harry said belatedly, blinking rapidly at the pale face that had appeared in front of his own. There were familiar hands slipping into his own; tracing frantic fingers over the lightning-shaped scar across his face. “Draco, Draco.” 

“Harry,” Draco finally replied, sounding relieved. “You’re okay. I thought you’d been hurt.” 

Harry started shaking his head, images of his godfather being tortured on the floor of the Department of Mysteries flipping through his mind. “No, no. Draco– Sirius–” 

“Was it your scar?” Draco interrupted, cool fingers still running over the spider-web of scarred skin as though he could remove the pain with just his touch. 

“It hurt, yeah, but that’s not it,” Harry said quickly, desperate to explain. The palm that wasn’t being held by Draco stung at his side. “Voldemort– Sirius, he’s got Sirius, at the Department of Mysteries. I need to get to him–” 

Draco’s expression of relief quickly turned to concern. “Stop, stop, what? Start again. The Department of Mysteries? You had another vision?” 

“Yes, yes. I was Voldemort again, I made it to the room with all of the glass balls. And Sirius… Sirius was on the floor, he looked like he was hurt… and– and Voldemort was asking him to pick something up for him, then– then–” 

“Breathe, Harry,” Draco said, lifting Harry’s hand to press lips to his knuckles. “Breathe.” 

Harry took a deep breath before continuing, heart still racing in his chest. “He Crucio’d him, Draco, and he was screaming– I– and he said Voldemort would have to… would have to kill him before he got what he wanted. I need to– I need to find him, I need to rescue him–” 

Draco kissed his hand again. “We have to tell Severus.” 

“Sev–” Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What? No–” 

“He’s the only Order member left here, isn’t he? We can trust him, I know it. I’ve talked to him, since he saw us in your head that time–” 

“What? And you’re telling me now?”

“Look, we’ll talk about it later. But we have to tell him, he can figure it out.” 

Harry shook his head. “We don’t have time, Draco. Sirius could be dying right now. He could be dead, and it’d be my fault! I can’t– I can’t lose him. I can’t. Not him. I need to get to the Ministry now.” 

“Harry, we don’t even know if that vision was real,” Draco said desperately, pulling Harry back as he tried to tug them both towards the classroom door again. “A very strong Legilimens can plant false visions in a person’s mind. Sirius could be at home right now, and you could be running into a trap!” 

“I can’t take that chance–” 

“You have a mirror to communicate to him through, for Merlin’s sake!” 

Harry gaped, as though he’d been slapped. “You’re right! I forgot–” 

“Well, let’s go get it, then we’re going to Severus.” 

“I have to tell Ron and Hermione.” 

Draco threw him a slightly exasperated look as they both hurried towards the closed door, but before he could even open his mouth to reply, the door swung open in front of them. 

“Harry!” Ron exclaimed as he, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna Lovegood of all people, burst inside. “We thought we heard your– what’s Malfoy doing here? Get off him!” 

“It’s alright!” Harry said, waving his hands wildly. “Malfoy was just leaving, weren’t you?” 

He stared at Draco, who’s expression had melted into one of cool indifference. “Whatever, Potter,” he spat, and Harry glanced down. Even if it was a facade, he didn’t particularly want to face an antagonistic Draco right at the moment. 

The Slytherin strode from the room without a look back, and the group watched him go with mixed expressions of anger and bewilderment.

“What was he doing in here with you?” Ron asked, partly accusatory. 

“He was picking on me for what happened in the exam,” Harry explained briefly. This was the least of his problems right now. “Doesn’t matter, I have to tell you guys, I had another vision–” 

“Harry! You said you’d stopped those!” Hermione said crossly, throwing her hands up. 

“Well, I had another one. Sirius is at the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort’s got him. And he’s going to kill him if I don’t get there–” 

“What? Department of Mysteries?” Ron asked, confused. “Sirius?” 

“You’ve just got to believe me, okay?” Harry went on hurriedly. “I’ve got to–” 

“Harry, I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but what if it’s a fake?” Hermione said tentatively. “Voldemort knows you’re… well… you have this saving-people-thing…” 

Harry forgot what he’d been about to say, a burst of anger flitting through him. “A ‘saving-people-thing’? You mean I try to help people in danger? Oh, my bad–” 

“It’s not a bad thing!” Hermione squeaked. “It’s just– well, Voldemort knows about it, alright? What if he’s just put this vision in your head to lure you into a trap?” 

“Funnily enough, I’ve already thought of that, thanks,” Harry said angrily, before taking a breath and closing his eyes briefly. “Sorry, 'Mione. I’m going to try reach Sirius through my mirror, and if he’s not there, well–” 

“Your mirror? How fascinating,” Luna mused dazedly, and Harry ignored her. 

He brushed past the group of them and out of the classroom in a rush, hearing their footsteps behind him as he ran to Gryffindor Tower. When he’d made it to his dormitory, he reached under his pillow for the small mirror Sirius had given him and yelled his name. He stared at his own reflection for several moments before throwing it back onto the bed in frustration. When he’d made it back to the Common Room, his friends were just coming in through the hole in the wall. 

“He didn’t answer,” Harry told them, stomach rolling anxiously as he thought about all the things Voldemort could be doing to his godfather at that very moment. “I’ve got to go.” 

“There’s another way you can check,” Hermione said, reaching out to grab his arm. “Umbridge’s fireplace is the only one still open to the Floo network, surely you can try it? Maybe someone could cause a distraction…” 

“I’ll tell Umbridge that Peeves is up to something in the Transfiguration Classrooms,” Ron volunteered, stepping forward. 

Harry gritted his teeth, mostly convinced that this was all just a huge waste of time. “Fine, okay. The rest of you can stand watch whilst I go in. I’ve got my Cloak here.” 

Less than ten minutes later, Harry was crouched in front of Umbridge’s fireplace, head in the green flames as he called out for Sirius at his and Remus’ flat. When there was no answer, he groaned, glancing over his shoulder and throwing more powder into the flames before calling out for Grimmauld Place. Rather than Sirius or another Order member, it was Kreacher the House Elf who met him, shuffling his feet and muttering darkly beneath his breath. 

“Kreacher!” Harry hissed quickly, and the elf’s head jerked up. “Where’s Sirius? Is he there?” 

The grin the elf gave him was maniacal. “Master has gone out, Harry Potter.” 

“Where’s he gone? Where’s he gone, Kreacher?”

Kreacher cackled loudly. 

“What about Remus? Mad-Eye? Are any Order members there?” 

“Nobody here but Kreacher!” the elf said gleefully. 

“Has Sirius gone to the Department of Mysteries, Kreacher? Tell me!” 

Kreacher eyed him, grin growing wider still and eyes glinting with a mirth that Harry overlooked. “Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries,” he said slowly, before throwing his hands up in triumph. “Kreacher and his Mistress and Master are alone again–!” 

Before Harry could yell at him again, there was a sharp tug at the back of his head and suddenly he was dragged back out of the fireplace by his hair, coming face-to-face with Umbridge. 

“Foolish, foolish boy,” she hissed, twisting his hair painfully. “Take his wand!” 

Harry couldn’t see who had reached inside his pocket and pulled out his wand, but he immediately recognised the brush of cool skin against the back of his hand when the person pulled away. 

“Why are you in my office?” Umbridge asked harshly, shaking his head so hard his body went with it. 

“I–” Harry said wildly, mind racing with excuses before he was interrupted by a commotion from outside the office. 

Several of the Slytherins clambered inside then, each holding his four friends that had been involved in the plan, as well as– strangely enough– Neville. 

“Got ‘em all,” Warrington snarled before pointing at Neville. “ This one tried to stop me from taking her,” he pointed at Ginny next. 

“Good, good,” Professor Umbridge said, beaming. She looked back to Harry then. “Clearly, Potter, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Who was it?” 

“None of your business,” Harry spat, grimacing as Umbridge pulled sharply at his hair again. He glanced to the side where Draco stood clutching Harry’s wand and caught the not-so-subtle scowl the boy was sending at their professor. 

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge said sweetly. “I will get it out of you by force. Draco, fetch Professor Snape, won’t you?” 

Draco nodded, pocketing Harry’s wand and leaving the room quickly, and Harry tried hard not to smile. The original plan had been to go to Snape, afterall, and now Draco had a chance to tell his godfather everything that was happening before he even reached the office. Umbridge had no idea that she was helping them, rather than hindering. 

Harry stubbornly remained silent as Umbridge continued to question him, until Draco walked back in with Professor Snape on his heel. “You wanted to see me, Headmistress?” 

“Yes, Severus,” Umbridge said promptly. “I’d like another vial of your Veritaserum.” 

“You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,” Snape drawled in his usual bored tone, glancing around the room. “I do recall mentioning that three drops would be sufficient. Surely you didn’t use it all?” 

Umbridge flushed as pink as her cardigan. “Well–” she said, flustered. “You can make some more, can’t you?” 

Snape nodded. “I can have it ready for you in a month’s time.”

Harry ignored Umbridge’s squabbling, staring hard at Draco to try to ask his question without words. Does he know? When Draco finally caught his eye again, he gave Harry the barest of nods, and Harry almost sagged with relief. 

“–get out of my office!” Umbridge was yelling as Harry tuned back in, and Snape turned to leave with a curt nod. Umbridge began to pace then, muttering to herself, until eventually, “Yes, yes. The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue.” 

“No!” Hermione shrieked, trying to tug at Millicent Bullstrode’s arms on her own. “No! You can’t!” 

Even Draco seemed to be having difficulty hiding the alarm in his expression. 

“That’ll hardly work with me, Professor,” Harry said, trying for indifference. “I’ve been under it plenty of times already by Voldemort himself. I doubt yours will–” 

“DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME, BOY!” Umbridge screamed, aiming her wand right at Harry’s forehead, which Harry thought was awfully dramatic. He tried not to think about how Sirius had writhed under the same curse.  

“Or what?” he taunted, fingertips rubbing together at his sides as he tugged at his magical core. He wasn’t going to risk exposing Draco’s allegiance by trying for his wand, but the D.A. practices had been for a reason. 

Umbridge looked close to exploding with rage, face red and eyes blown wide as she brought back her wand to flick, lips moving to form her next word, “Cruc–!” 

“Protego Horribilis!” Harry shouted before her curse could reach him, a streak of vibrant red ricocheting off of the invisible barrier and smashing a picture frame on the wall over Umbridge’s shoulder. 

Draco had taken a step forward when it happened, but if anyone noticed, they would have been distracted by Harry’s movements a second later. Keeping his shield up, he reached behind him for a handful of the Floo powder on the mantelpiece and threw it into the flames yelling, “Ministry of Magic!” 

“How dare–!” Umbridge started, but Ron had finally struggled free from Warrington and toppled right into the headmistress’ side, knocking her into her own desk. 

Harry took the distraction to gesture at Draco for his wand, which the boy flicked to him in a way that could have been played off as a wandless Expelliarmus if anyone might’ve been paying attention. Chaos seemed to break loose then, as the other Slytherins began to panic about what to do, and Harry’s friends managed to make their escape. It wasn’t what Harry had wanted, but he couldn’t stop them from clambering towards the fireplace together, and it was with only a quick glance back at Draco that Harry stepped back into the green flames, the office disappearing around him in a spiralling rush.

Chapter Text

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and into the Ministry atrium, interrupting the eerie silence with his footsteps. He glanced around helplessly for a sign or something that could lead him to the department, and a second later Ron came crashing into his back out of the flames. He was followed quickly by the rest of the group, and had to hush them before their sound alerted whoever was likely to be waiting for them. 

“Come on,” Harry whispered, leading them down the dark hall and past the large water fountain that stood in the centre. 

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s a little strange how empty the place is?” Ron asked as they reached the golden lifts and Harry jabbed the nearest ‘down’ button. “You’d think there’d be security or something.” 

“And employees working late, surely,” Hermione agreed as the lift arrived and they all crammed inside. “Haven’t they just closed?” 

“I’d say Voldemort’s done something about that,” Harry said grimly, and a second later the golden grilles of the lift rattled open again.  

“Department of Mysteries,” a female voice announced aloud, and Harry’s heart began to race all over again. 

This was the dark corridor that he’d dreamed about for nights on end, with its black tiles and blue torches… the dark door at the end of the corridor… 

He turned to the group before they could step out of the lift behind him. “Look, guys, maybe a couple of you should stay here as a lookout–” 

“Nice try, Harry,” Ginny said, stepping past him as the others followed. 

“We’re coming with you,” Ron agreed firmly. 

Harry sighed, turning back to face the door at the end of the corridor. “Right.” 

The first room was one Harry had seen before; completely circular, walls lined by a number of identical, handle-less black doors. Someone closed the door behind them as Harry stared at the doors across the room, trying to determine which one he’d walked through in his dreams. Before he could decide, however, the walls began to rumble and rotate around them, faster and faster until the blue torches began to blur. Then a moment later, it stopped. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron hissed. Harry could feel Hermione’s hand gripping his arm tightly where it hung at his side. 

“Probably to stop us knowing which door we came through,” she answered quietly. 

“So…” Neville started nervously. “Where do we go now?” 

Harry stared around at the doors unsurely. “In my dreams I walk through this room and into another that kind of… glitters. I guess we should just try them until we find it.” 

They tried three doors before finding the correct room behind the fourth. Harry instantly recognised the room of glittering, ticking clocks, all reflecting the dancing light of a crystal bell jar at the other side of the room. Harry led the group to the light and through the door behind it,  breath catching in his throat as he took in the new room around them. Shelves upon shelves of small, glowing orbs lined the giant hall, cold creeping up Harry’s arms and scattering them with goosebumps. 

“Row ninety-seven,” Harry whispered. 

“We need to go right, I think,” Hermione said beside him, squinting to the next row. “Yes… that’s fifty-four.” 

They made their way past the rows of shelves, counting up the numbers one-by-one. Harry thought anyone waiting for them in the room would already hear the pounding of his heart against his chest. It was almost loud enough to drown out the thoughts filling his mind as he led the group. What if Sirius is still in pain on that floor? What if he’s already dead? What if Voldemort has what he wanted? What if–

“Ninety-seven!” Hermione hissed suddenly, and they turned. 

“He should be here,” Harry muttered, squinting between the shelves as they crept down the row. “Anywhere here… he has to be…” 

“Mate…” Ron started. 

They’d reached the end of the row, and Harry spun around, gaze searching wildly. 

“Harry, I don’t think he’s here,” Hermione said quietly. 

“But… but I–” 

“Harry,” Neville interrupted, stepping towards one of the spheres on a nearby shelf. “Take a look at this.” 

They all crowded closer. 

“Oh!” Luna said lightly. “It’s got your name!” 

Harry leaned forward to squint, and read:

'S. P. T. to A. P. W. B. D.

Dark Lord

and (?) Harry Potter'

“What’s your name doing here?” Ron asked. 

“I don’t think you should touch it, Harry,” Hermione said sharply as he began to reach out his hand. 

Harry ignored her. “But it’s got my name…” 

It was in his hand before any of them could stop him, surprisingly warm beneath his fingertips. 

“Very good, Potter,” a cold voice drawled behind them. “Now turn around, nice and slow, and give that to me.” 

Dark figures began to emerge from the shadows surrounding them, eyes glinting beneath hoods, and wands held up to point directly at their group. Harry spun around to face the satisfied smirk of Lucius Malfoy. 

“Here, Potter,” he said slowly, holding out a hand, palm up. 

Harry tightened his grip on the orb. “Where’s Sirius?” 

A few of the Death Eaters laughed at that, and someone to Harry’s left stepped forward. “Stupid, itty Potter,” a raspy, female voice cooed. “The Dark Lord always knows.” 

“Always,” Lucius said coolly. “Now, the prophecy, Potter.” 

“I want to know where Sirius is,” Harry said determinedly, glaring at the man. He could hardly find the resemblance to Draco anymore. “I know you have him.” 

The witch squealed with laughter. “Itty, baby Potter thought what he dreamed was true!” 

“It’s time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter,” Lucius drawled. “Give me the prophecy, and no one needs to get hurt.” 

“Yeah, right!” Harry spat, clutching the glass sphere to his chest. “I give you this, and you’re all just going to skip off home, are you?” 

He felt the magic in the air shift slightly at his left. “Accio pro–” 

“Protego!” he yelled, throwing up his wand and blocking the witch’s spell. 

“Oh,” she purred, stepping closer. “Baby Potter knows how to play! Very well, then–” 

“NO!” Lucius barked. “Bellatrix, if you break it–” 

Harry glanced anxiously at the group behind him. He had no idea how he was going to get his friends out of this. He’d led them all to their deaths… following a stupid dream that he’d been stupid enough to believe was true… he should’ve listened to Draco…

“Take the little girl,” Bellatrix ordered, stepping forward again so that her face was finally in the glow of the nearby prophecies as she pulled back her hood. 

Azkaban hadn’t been kind to the eldest Black sister, hollowing out her cheeks and turning her skin to a sickly-white similar to how Sirius had looked when he’d first come out of hiding. Her long, dark hair hung in thick curtains across most of her face, but the silver gleam of her eyes was unmistakable beneath hooded lids.  

The group closed in quickly around Ginny, and Harry stepped in front of the leering witch. “You’ll have to smash it if you want any of us. Why does Voldemort want it so bad, hm? What kind of prophecy is it?” 

“You dare speak his name?!” Bellatrix shrieked, and Lucius took a step forward before she could flick her wand at Harry. 

“Did you know he’s a half-blood?” Harry asked idly, ignoring their glares. He heard Hermione groan behind him. “Yeah, his mum was a witch but his dad was a muggle. Has he been telling you lot that he’s a pureblood?” 

“STUPE–!” 

“PROTEGO HORRIBILIS!” 

Harry’s shield caused Bellatrix’s spell to rebound against an orb over their shoulders, and ghost-like figures drifted out. 

“Do not attack!” Lucius shouted. “We need the prophecy!” 

“Tell me about this prophecy,” Harry said again, searching with his foot for one of his friends’. 

“What’s this?” Lucius sneered. “Dumbledore never told you the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the Department of Mysteries all this time?” 

“What?” Hermione whispered from behind Harry as his shoe caught hers. 

“Smash shelves,” he muttered quickly, before saying louder. “What about my scar?” 

“Well, well,” Lucius continued with his smug smirk, nothing like the attractive slip of his son’s lips  that Harry loved so much. “That explains why you didn’t come earlier.” 

“Why’d he need me to come?” 

“Because , Potter. The only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries are those about whom it was made. Haven’t you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby, Potter?” 

Harry stared at him, the prophecy still warm in the palm of his hand. This held the answers? About why Harry’s parents had been killed? Why he lived with this scar across his forehead? 

“So he’s made me come and get it, then?” 

“The Dark Lord–” 

“Now!” Harry yelled suddenly, and five voices called out “REDUCTO!” over his shoulder. 

The spells exploded against shelves on either side of them, hundreds of glass spheres shattering and releasing ghosts that spoke nonsense as they floated upward. 

Harry grasped Hermione’s arm beside him and tugged. “Run!” 

The group split into two as they sprinted in different directions out of the shower of glass shards. Hermione and Neville ended up with him in the room with the light from the bell jar, but the others had disappeared somewhere in the chaos. 

“They must have gone the wrong way!” Hermione cried, hands fretting. 

“What do we do?” Neville asked, ear against the door. 

“We can’t stand by the door or they’ll find us,” Harry reasoned, leading them to the other side of the room where the door to the circular room stood ajar. 

Before they could make it, however, the door they’d come through opened with a BANG , and the three of them dove behind the nearest desks. 

“Illusio!” Harry hissed, waving his wand in a complicated swirl across the space in front of them and forming a long stretch of shimmering mist. 

“Check under the desks,” one of the Death Eaters said, and they watched anxiously as the wizards bent to peek right in their direction. 

To Harry’s immense relief, however, they seemed to look right past them. 

“Wasn’t there another door?” the other Death Eater asked, and Hermione gave Harry a bewildered look. “Whatever, they’re not here.” 

The two sets of shoes made to move from the room, and they were almost gone when something smashed at Harry’s side and they came thundering back. 

“Sorry!” Neville whispered, flustered as he tried to pick up broken pieces of a wooden clock that he’d knocked from the desk above. 

“We know you’re the-ere…” one of the men sang. “Come out, come out!” 

“Stupefy!” Hermione called, hitting one of the Death Eaters and sending him crashing into a grandfather clock, unconscious. 

Harry’s mirage was shattered by the spell, and the other man laid eyes on them instantly. He pointed his wand at Hermione, “Avad–” 

“Oscausi!” Harry shot, and his words quickly became muffled as the skin on his face began to stretch over his mouth, covering it completely. 

Harry was used to seeing the gross sight during practices with Draco, but the others wore horrified expressions as they stared at the Death Eater. He flicked his wand again, “Petrificus Totalus!” 

The three of them ran to the circular room, but before they could reach the door that would take them out to the dark corridor, two more Death Eaters came sprinting towards them. Forced to veer off to the side, Harry dragged his friends into the closest room and slammed the door shut behind them. 

“Collo–!” Hermione began, before the door shot open again. 

“IMPEDIMENTA!” the two Death Eaters roared, and they were all thrown off their feet. 

“We got him!” one of them yelled excitedly. “In an office–!” 

“Silencio!” Hermione snapped, flicking her wand, and the man’s voice disappeared. 

“Stupefy!” Harry shouted next, hitting the other in the head. 

But before any of them could aim for the silenced one, he’d slashed his own wand through the air and shot a streak of purple flame right at Hermione’s chest. She crumpled instantly to the floor and lay there motionless. 

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, lunging for her as Neville shot a Petrificus Totalus towards the wizard. 

“What’d he do to her?” Neville asked, crawling over to them. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said, staring down at the lifeless face of his best friend. “Is she… is she alive?” 

Neville reached for her wrist. “I think so.” 

The others found them only moments after they’d crept back into the circular room, springing out from a door to their right. Ron was giggling nonsensically, eyes dazed and something dark trickling from the corner of his lips. 

“What happened to him?” Harry asked as his friend clung to his robes. 

Ginny sunk down against the wall beside them. 

“I think her ankle’s broken,” Luna said, leaning down to Ginny worriedly. “We were in a room full of planets…” 

“We saw Uranus, Harry!” Ron cackled. “Get it? Uranus!” 

“I don’t know what they hit Ron with,” she continued, looking at him pitifully. “He’s gone a bit funny.” 

Harry reached down to stretch the boy’s arm over his shoulders. “We’ve got to get them out of h–” 

A door across the hall suddenly burst open and three more Death Eaters ran inside. “There they are!” Bellatrix shrieked gleefully, followed by a Cruciatus that Harry was only just able to throw up a Protego Horribilis for. 

The three of them lunged for the next door, and Harry locked it behind them with a Colloportus , but it wasn’t long until the Death Eaters had made it through one of the other doors that led inside the room. 

“Oh, Potter!” Bellatrix shrieked excitedly as they charged inside. 

“Hey, Harry!” Ron laughed brightly, utterly unawares. “There are brains in here! Look, Harry! Accio brain!” 

Even the Death Eaters froze to watch as a brain burst from one of the large green tanks nearby, spinning towards Ron in the air with tentacles unravelling like ribbons of film. 

“Ron, no!” Harry yelled, but it was too late. 

Ron reached forward and captured the brain with his two hands, and the tentacles immediately began to wrap themselves around his arms like ropes. 

“Harry, look–! No, no, Harry, I don’t like it,” Ron began to whimper, scrambling to get the thing off him as the tentacles reached his chest. “Stop! Stop!” 

“Diffindo!” Harry tried, but it was useless against the bonds. “Diffindo Duo! Lacero! Ugh! ” 

“Harry!” Ginny called, on the floor clutching her ankle. “It’ll suffocate h–” 

A red jet of light hit her square in the face and she went unconscious. Harry glanced around the room, taking in all of his friends’ states. He had to get the Death Eaters away from them, or they’d all be dead by the end of the night. Acting quickly, he shot a Stunning Spell at one of the Death Eaters and whirled around to sprint from the room, hoping that Neville would stay with Ron and find some way of detangling him. 

The Death Eaters all ran after him, and suddenly Harry felt the ground vanish beneath him, toppling down a steep set of stairs before landing with a crash in the pit in the middle. He’d found this room before with the others; the one with the stone arch in the centre that whispered and hissed. The Death Eaters laughed above him, and he looked up to see them descending in groups from every direction, leaping down the stone benches hungrily. 

“It’s over, Potter,” Lucius’ cool voice broke through the laughter, and Harry stumbled back onto the dais that held the stone archway. “Hand over the prophecy like a good boy.” 

“Don’t do it Harry!” Neville yelled then, and Harry looked around to find the boy scrambling down the benches towards them. 

“No, Neville!” Harry shouted, waving his hand. “Go back to Ron!” 

“Stupe–” Neville was seized by one of the Death Eaters before he could finish, arms pinned to his sides. 

Bellatrix perked up a little ways away, wand twirling around a lock of her dark hair as she swayed towards the two. “Neville, is it? The Longbottom boy? I had the pleasure of meeting your parents, you know…” 

“I know!” Neville spat, still struggling against the Death Eater’s hold. 

“Let’s see how long Neville lasts before he cracks like his parents!” Bellatrix laughed, eyes dancing with excitement. “Unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy?” 

“No, Harry, don’t giv–” 

“Crucio!” 

Neville screamed, collapsing to the ground and twitching in agony as Bellatrix cackled, wand still trained on his writhing body. Harry’s heart dropped, stomach turning horribly at the sight of his friend suffering a pain Harry was much too familiar with. 

“So, itty Potter,” Bellatrix said, lifting the curse and turning to grin at Harry. “What will it be? Give us the prophecy, or your friend will die the hard way!” 

Harry was reaching out with the prophecy before he even had to think about it, and Lucius leapt forward to take it from him, before doors burst open high above them. They all looked up, and five more people came spilling into the room: Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Moody, and Kingsley. 

Chaos broke out again all around them, and the Death Eaters forgot all about Harry as the Order members began to rain spells down on them. Harry ran to Neville where he lay trembling on the ground, own hands shaking as they hovered hesitantly over his friend’s body. 

“Reparifors,” he whispered amongst the havoc surrounding them. It was one of the only healing spells he knew of, and he wasn’t sure if it’d even work against the lingering ache of a Cruciatus Curse, but Neville’s scattered breaths seemed to slow, and his trembles lessened slightly. “I have to help the others, go–” 

He was interrupted as Sirius leaped in front of the two of them to block a spell aimed their way, and Harry quickly scrambled to his feet. Sirius lured the Death Eater away from them again, spells flying back and forth so quickly they appeared to blur. 

“Come on,” Harry said, leaning down to help Neville to his feet. Without his mind distracted by thoughts of healing spells, he didn’t miss it this time when the air began to with anticipation, and whirled around in time to throw up a Shield Charm as a shot of pale-yellow light came streaking towards Neville. 

It was Dolohov, Harry recognised vaguely, bearing down on the two of them and grinning viciously. He moved his wand in the same slashing movement he’d used on Hermione, but Harry was ready again with Protego Horribilis , nudging Neville back behind him with one arm. 

The Death Eater growled. “Accio Proph–”

But then Sirius was back, slamming into Dolohov and sending him flying. Distracted by Sirius’ curses, the Death Eater didn’t notice in time to shield Harry’s Petrificus Totalus , and promptly fell to the floor, stiff as a board. 

“Nice one, pup!” Sirius shouted, flicking his wand to block another spell their way. “You need to get Neville out of–” 

They both ducked as a green jet of light shot over their heads, and Harry saw Tonks fall limp against the stone steps across the room. Bellatrix cackled happily before jumping to join the fight again, and Sirius gripped Harry’s shoulder, readying to go after her. 

“Harry, get Neville and the prophecy out of here,” he said quickly, before sprinting off. 

Harry turned quickly. “Neville–” 

“Give me the prophecy, Potter,” Lucius’ voice snarled in his ear, and he felt a wand-tip jam between his shoulder blades. “The prophecy! Now!” 

“Neville!” Harry shouted, tossing the glass ball and watching with relief as his friend caught it. “Stupefy!” he then aimed over his shoulder, and felt the man jump back to block it. 

“You little–!” Lucius hissed angrily, raising his wand again. “Cruc–” 

“Protego Horribilis,” Harry said quickly, followed by, “Mergi,” aimed at the ground beneath the wizard’s feet. 

The stone turned soft and swamp-like, grey hands reaching up and grasping at Lucius’ robes the way they’d grappled at the Blast-Ended Skrewt in the maze the previous year. The expression on Lucius’ face was shocked, and he scrambled to reach stable ground, fixing his wand back on Harry. but then Remus had jumped in from somewhere to cut him off. 

“Harry!” he yelled without glancing Harry’s way. “Get out of here!” 

Harry turned to grab Neville’s arm and they began to sprint towards the stone benches leading back up to the exit. It was on the third step up, however, that a blast crumbled the stone beneath them and they went tumbling back down. Neither of them saw the prophecy slip from the pocket of Neville’s robes and crash to the floor until it was too late. A ghost-like figure drifted up from the smashed glass, mouth opening and closing as it spoke, but Harry couldn’t make out the words over the shouting surrounding them. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry!” Neville cried, head turning between the glass and Harry. “I’m so so sorry!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said quickly. “We’ve got to get out of–” 

“Dumbledore!” he interrupted, looking at something over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry spun around, relief melting into his bones as he saw Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway, staring down at the fight with his wand held high. As the nearest Death Eaters began to realise also, they shouted to the others. One tried to scramble up the benches opposite them, but Dumbledore made a tugging motion with his wand as he made his way down to the pit, and the wizard came tumbling back down. 

“Ha!” Harry heard a familiar yell, and caught sight of his godfather still duelling Bellatrix across the room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore turn to watch them also. “You’ll have to do better than that!” 

Harry felt the witch’s next curse before he could see it. 

It was as though he were the one in front of her, a crack of magic so harsh and distinctive that Harry leapt forward without a second thought. The first word was barely out of Bellatrix’s lips before the stone dais beneath the two went up in an explosion that blasted most of the room’s occupants clean off their feet. Harry, though, remained unscathed, watching in horror as his godfather flew back into the misty veil beneath the stone arch behind him and disappeared.

Chapter Text

“Sirius!” Harry screamed, sprinting towards the stone arch and ignoring the others as they climbed to their feet around him. “Sirius! Sirius!” 

He tripped over rubble and rock beneath him as he climbed onto the broken dias, barely taking notice of the scrapes he acquired across his skin. Sirius wasn’t lying on the other side of the still-standing arch when Harry frantically searched; wasn’t hidden beneath the broken stone, alive and breathing and waiting to be dragged out. 

“Sirius,” Harry said again, voice raw from his screams, staring back through the swirling curtain as though his godfather would fall through it at any moment. 

Quickly running out of options, he thrust a hand out with the intention to grab at Sirius through the mist, but someone had run up beside him and snatched it away before he could touch the surface. 

“Harry–” Remus’ familiar, quiet tone started, and Harry felt tears begin to well in his eyes. 

“NO!” he yelled, ripping his wrist from the man’s grip, only for arms to then wrap around his torso and hold on tight. “ Get off! I need to save him, I need to get Sirius, he’s just through there–” 

Harry could feel the pounding of Remus’ heartbeat against his back as it was pulled into the man’s chest, comforting and secure and everything that Harry couldn't face right now. This was a dream, this wasn’t happening, Sirius was going to pop right out of the arch at any moment. 

“You can’t, Harry–” 

“ Let me go! Sirius is– Sirius…” 

“He’s–” Remus’ voice broke before he could finish his sentence. 

“LET ME GO!” Harry roared, making to pull away from Remus again before a movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye, and he focused in on Bellatrix half-way up the stone steps towards the exit. “I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill her!” 

His words must have shocked Remus enough for his embrace to slacken just enough for Harry to shake loose and sprint after the witch. 

“Harry, no!” 

He shot a Stunning Spell at her as he ran, but she defected it and disappeared back into the room with the brains before Harry could try again. He barely noticed his friends still on the floor as he sprinted through the room behind Bellatrix into the circular room. He watched her disappear behind a door and slam it behind her, then the room behind to rotate as Harry looked around wildly. 

“Where’s the exit?!” he shouted desperately, and the room answered, a door behind him flying open. 

Bellatrix was gone by the time he reached the lifts, but he’d heard the rattling and scrambled inside, slamming a hand down on the button for ‘Atrium’. When he’d made it to the top, Bellatrix was skipping towards the nearest fireplace, firing her wand in all directions and blasting tiles and desks apart. 

“Funemfyre!” Harry yelled before she could reach it, and a long whip of bright orange flames burst from the end of his wand, flicking out to strike her across the front, sending her careening back with a shriek. 

He made a quick circular motion with his wand and the flames became a lasso, encircling Bellatrix as he stalked forwards. “You killed him!” he roared, watching with gross satisfaction as the lasso circled tighter, close to searing the witch’s arms. He was going to make her pay. He was going to hurt her so badly that she would no longer talk, no longer move, no longer breathe–

“Well, well,” she purred as he came closer, the flames’ reflections dancing in her eyes. “Wittle Potter has been learning some Dark magic, hm? Surely Dumbledore didn’t teach you this.” 

“He doesn’t know,” Harry said coldly, an ugly emotion still curling in his chest that he didn’t have time to name. “And you’ll be dead before you get the chance to tell him.” 

“Blame me all you want, darkling,” Bellatrix laughed, seemingly barely affected by the fiery rope that burned a red streak across her skin. “I didn’t send off that explosion that killed your precious godfather…” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Harry barked. “Crucio!” 

She flinched away from him, but was cackling seconds later when it was apparent the pain wasn’t coming. “Not all Dark, then,” she taunted. “You have to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain… to enjoy it… I can show you!” 

Harry squeezed the lasso of flames again and she screamed as they burnt her, but the spell was draining his magic quickly, and it was only a moment later that he was forced to drop it, shoulders drooping in exhaustion. 

“Poor, itty Potter,” she crooned, glancing at her burnt arms with a scowl before raising her own wand. “Too weak to keep playing Dark wizard… Crucio!” 

He leapt behind the fountain in the centre of the hall, the jet of vibrant red barely missing his shoulder. 

She laughed, high-pitched and taunting. “You can’t win against me, Potter! Hand over the prophecy and I may spare your life!” 

“Too late!” Harry yelled, peeking out from around the stone statues. “Confringo!” 

She jumped back as the tiles beneath her burst. “It’s already gone!” he shouted, ducking behind the fountain again to avoid her next curse. 

Pain began to sear across his forehead, and his hand came up automatically to cover his scar, a surge of fury that wasn’t his own coursing through him. He laughed almost maniacally, still clutching his head. “He knows! Voldemort knows it’s gone! He’s not going to be happy with you, is he?” 

“What?!” Bellatrix hissed, sounding truly fearful for the first time. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s gone! It smashed when I was trying to get up the steps!” 

“LIAR! You’ve got it! Accio Prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!” 

Harry laughed again, eyes filling with tears again, his head aching as though it had been split in half. “Too late!” 

“No!” Bellatrix shrieked. “Master! I tried! I promise, I TRIED! I–” 

“Don’t waste your breath!” Harry called. “He can’t hear you!” 

“Can’t I, Potter?” a cool voice asked then, and suddenly the pain in Harry’s scar made sense. 

He peered around the fountain statues again and Voldemort stood in the middle of the hall, pale and thin and swallowed by long, black robes, his red, slit-pupiled eyes staring directly at Harry. “You broke my prophecy, did you?” 

Harry’s breaths became sharper again, hands shaking with the memory of the last time he’d come face-to-face with Voldemort. 

“He’s not lying, Bella,” he said softly, patronising. “I can see it right here in his mind. How fortunate that after I have killed you, its contents will no longer matter.” He laughed, though it could not have sounded less amused. “I have no time for tricks and dances tonight, Potter. We’ll make this simple, shall we? AVADA KEDAVRA!” 

But before the curse could reach him, one of the statues had leapt from the fountain and landed in front of Harry, the jet of green ricocheting off its chest. Harry looked behind him and found Dumbledore standing at the lifts, wand aloft. 

“It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom,” Dumbledore said calmly. “The Aurors are on their way…” 

Another of the statues broke off from the fountain and leapt forward to pin Bellatrix to the ground beneath its weight. 

“By which time I shall be gone,” Voldemort responded with slightly less composure. “And you shall be dead!” 

The two moved around each other as they began to duel, and Harry was only mildly satisfied when he recognised the whip of flames that Dumbledore used against Voldemort. Though, it meant that the man did knowingly use Dark magic, despite his open disfavour for it. It hardly lasted, however, as Voldemort quickly turned the whip to a serpent that turned to hiss in Dumbledore’s direction. As it lunged, Dumbledore flicked his wand and had it flying high into the air, using his other hand to swipe at the fountain, sending its water to cover Voldemort like a cocoon. 

Then, suddenly, Voldemort was gone, and the water fell back to the fountain with a loud splash. Harry made to step out from around the statue, but Dumbledore threw up his hand urgently. “Stay where you are, Harry.” 

Harry looked around, confused. Voldemort was gone. Surely– 

He screamed as his scar suddenly felt as though it had burst open; dropping heavily to his knees and clutching at his head. His whole body flared with unbridled pain, so much so that Harry thought his insides had been set alight somehow and his body was burning from the inside out. He felt his eyes roll back and thought he might be passing out, but then there was another feeling, one he couldn’t explain or understand if he tried. It was as though his insides had been covered in a wet, sticky substance, and suddenly the pain in his head had increased tenfold. Harry thought it felt like there was an entire second brain inside his skull, pushing and pressing against his own so viciously Harry felt his head might explode with it. 

“Kill me now, Dumbledore…” a voice hissed, and felt the ache in his own jaw as the creature inside him forced it open. His chest was on fire, his skull had split open– “Kill the boy…” he said again. 

Yes, he thought desperately, please, kill me, end it… please… death is nothing compared to this… 

“Kill me, old man,” he crooned, throat raw. “Let it be done… I am nothing… kill me… kill me!” 

Please, Harry thought, shuddering over and over as pain similar to, if not worse than, that of a Cruciatus wracked his body. The creature in his head continued to shove, and his insides twisted and bound so tightly to the unfamiliar slick feeling through it he couldn’t tell what parts belonged to himself anymore. Let me die. Please. I don’t want to live with this. I can’t live with this–

“KILL ME!” he screamed now, and he couldn’t be sure whether the creature had forced it from him this time. All he knew is pain and hurt and anger and– and Sirius– Sirius was… he’d never… “Please,” he sobbed. Let me die. Let me be with Sirius… with my parents… 

He thought he could almost see them all in the blackness behind his eyelids. His parents smiled the way they did in the Mirror of Erised so many years ago, the way they did in the photo that Harry kept beside his bed. Sirius gave him that crooked grin, reaching out to ruffle his hair and pull him close and warm and loved, he was so loved, he could stay here with them forever, no pain, no hurt, no anger, just–

The creature’s coils around him loosened suddenly as his chest filled with emotion for his family, and Harry released a gasping breath. The pain was gone, and he was lying on the cold tiles, trembling from head to toe, glasses gone. 

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, rushing towards him. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m–” Harry coughed, trying to lift himself but falling back down as his arms shook. He opened bleary eyes, the echo of Voldemort’s curse still painfully present and sending uncontrollable twinges down his body. “Where’s Voldemort… where’s… who–?” 

The Atrium was suddenly full of people, green flames bursting as witches and wizards emerged from fireplaces. Dumbledore put an arm around him and pulled him to his feet just as Harry caught sight of Cornelius Fudge, standing in shock. 

“He was there!” one of the unrecognisable wizards yelled, pointing to the statue that Bellatrix had been trapped beneath moments ago. “You-Know-Who! I swear it! He grabbed a woman and disapparated!” 

“I know! I know!” Fudge blubbered, flustered. “Here! In the Ministry of Magic!” 

“If you proceed downstairs to the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius,” Dumbledore addressed, releasing Harry and striding forward. Harry stood for a moment longer, still shaking, before promptly sinking to his knees again. “You will find several escaped Death Eaters in the Death Chamber.” 

“Dumbledore!” Fudge exclaimed, bewildered. He looked around at his employees frantically. “Well– someone– someone grab him!” 

There was more yelling, but Harry’s eyelids had begun to blink closed, too exhausted to understand what was going on around him. The last thing he heard was his own name, before his face was against the cold tiles and the world disappeared around him. 

• • •

“Rennervate.” 

Harry blinked awake, looking around in confusion at the familiar office he seemed to be in. But… hadn’t he been at the Ministry? What happened? Where was everyone–? 

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, and Harry quickly looked his way. “You’re safe.” 

“What–?” Harry began, taking note of the comfortable armchair he was strewn across. Someone– Dumbledore, presumably– had found his glasses and put them back onto his face. 

“Madame Pomfrey is patching everyone up now in the Hospital Wing,” Dumbledore continued as though Harry hadn’t spoken. “Nymphadora Tonks may need some time in St. Mungo’s, but she will likely make a full recovery…” 

Harry nodded distractedly, staring at his hands as he curled them into fists, nails pricking scabbed skin. Because of me , he thought. I led everyone into the trap, I was stupid enough to fall for Voldemort’s trick, I got my friends hurt, got Sirius… 

As though he’d read Harry’s thoughts: “Sirius–” 

“Don’t talk to me about Sirius,” Harry interrupted, moving so that his back was to the Headmaster. “I know. It– it’s all my fault. I–” 

Dumbledore’s voice was calm as ever, and it made anger boil inside Harry like nothing else. “Harry, do not blame yourself.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it! About ANY OF IT!” 

“I understand, Harry, but–” 

Objects burst off the office shelves as Harry threw his hands up. “No you don’t understand! YOU DON’T! I KILLED HIM!” he screamed, books flying to the floor as Dumbledore simply watched. “I DID THIS! I’M– I WANT IT TO BE DONE! I’M SICK OF GETTING PEOPLE HURT! OF GETTING PEOPLE KILLED! I DON’T WANT ANY OF THIS!” 

“Harry, suffering like this shows that you are still a man. Pain is a part of being human–” 

“LET ME OUT! I DON’T WANT THIS PAIN! I DON’T WANT TO BE HUMAN! I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANY OF IT ANYMORE! I DON’T CARE! ” 

“Yes, you do, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, and Harry’s anger only fueled his magic more, objects crashing against the walls opposite and splitting into pieces on the floor. “You have lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known–” 

“STOP ACTING LIKE YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL!” Harry roared, and the office windows smashed. “I WANTED YOU TO KILL ME. WHY DIDN’T YOU KILL ME? YOU– I KILLED –” he heaved a breath, running to the door and trying to wrench it open, but finding it strongly locked. “Let me out,” he said harshly, not looking over his shoulder. 

“No.” 

Harry glared at the door, his wand fixed on the lock as he cast; “Alohamora! Alohamora! Aberto! Liberare! Liberare Duo! PORTABERTO! PORTABERTO DUO!” 

“Harry, stop,” Dumbledore sighed, and Harry almost growled in response. “Your magic appears to be quite exhausted.” 

“My magic is fine!” 

And it was. Better than fine, in fact. Harry could feel it coursing hot and angry through him in waves, desperate to lash out, desperate to–

“I will let you out once I have had my say.” 

Harry threw a glare at him over his shoulder. “Do you think I give a fuck what you have to say?” 

“It is my fault that Sirius died, Harry,” Dumbledore said, calm still. “If I had been open with you, you would have known Voldemort might try to lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. Sirius never would have gone after you.” 

Harry stared at him for a moment, hand still on the doorknob. 

Dumbledore sighed. “Harry, let me talk, then you may leave.” 

So Harry sat, finally, and Dumbledore talked. 

He explained that the reason he had avoided Harry for a year was so as not to give Voldemort any more incentive to manipulate Harry’s mind. He hadn’t wanted Voldemort to think that Harry and Dumbledore held anything more than a typical Headmaster-and-student relationship. Hadn’t wanted to give Voldemort any reason to use Harry to spy on him. To possess Harry. Harry asked if that was what had happened before he’d lost consciousness in the Ministry, and Dumbledore told him he thought as much. 

He told Harry that Kreacher had lied when they broke into Umbridge’s office to use her Floo. The house elf had been working under Bellatrix’s instruction and sent Harry to the Ministry on purpose. When Snape left Umbridge’s office, he’d contacted Sirius to check that he was still safe at his and Remus’ house, then went back to the office to find Umbridge unconscious and the rest of them gone. Harry was slightly surprised to hear that Snape hadn’t disclosed Draco’s involvement in communicating Harry’s intentions at all, and instead, Dumbledore was under the impression that Snape had simply worked it out after seeing the Department of Mysteries in their Occlumency lessons. 

When Dumbledore made the mistake of implying Sirius was partially at fault for Kreacher betraying him, it was just about the last straw for Harry. He’d been through all of it that night, and he didn’t think he had to sit quietly whilst Dumbledore– the man who’d chosen to use Grimmauld Place as the Order’s headquarters, despite Sirius hating the place and hating its house elf just as much– talk badly on Harry’s godfather. 

It was this that brought Dumbledore to explaining the reason why he’d left Harry with the Dursleys throughout his childhood. He admitted that he’d known Harry would suffer in that house, that he’d known he was condemning Harry to a “difficult ten years” (Harry had scoffed at the understatement) in doing so. Dumbledore’s reason, in his own words, was to keep Harry alive. It was ironic enough for Harry to actually laugh aloud, which the Headmaster pointedly ignored. He then went on to use his explanation of his mother’s love for him leaving a lingering protection that remained in his Aunt Petunia due to their shared blood. Harry recalled his and Draco’s brief conversation about his mother using Blood magic, and the suggestion was only reinforced by Dumbledore’s words. 

Then, finally, he came to explain why Voldemort had tried to kill Harry all those years ago. “Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He did not know its full contents, but he thought he would fulfil it by setting out to kill you when you were only a baby. He discovered, as you know, that he was mistaken. So, since returning to his body, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking: the knowledge of how to destroy you.” 

“The prophecy was smashed,” Harry said numbly.. 

“That was merely a record kept by the Ministry, but the prophecy was made to somebody who has the means of recalling it perfectly.” 

Harry suddenly remembered the inscription below the orb. ‘S. P. T. to A. P. W. B. D.’

“Sixteen years ago, I visited a room at the Hog’s Head Inn in search of an applicant for the post of Divination teacher. The applicant was the great-great-granddaughter of a very gifted Seer, but I was disappointed when it seemed she had not a trace of the gift herself. Until…” 

He stood from his chair and walked to a dark cupboard, opening the door and taking out a familiar stone basin. He placed the pensieve onto his desk and withdrew a silvery memory from his own mind, dipping it into the basin then raising his wand again so that a figure rose with it, one that Harry recognised immediately as his Professor Trewlawney. 

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…”

Chapter Text

The first place Harry went to after leaving Dumbledore’s office was the Astronomy Tower. He should have gone straight to the Hospital Wing to check on his friends, to apologise for dragging them into danger once again. He should have asked after Remus and apologised for Sirius, for believing Voldemort’s tricks, for being the one to kill his partner. But he couldn’t find it within himself to speak to any of them, to look his friends in the face, to see Remus’ sadness. He felt utterly and completely numb. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice said from the top of the stairwell, and Harry didn’t need to turn around to know Draco stood there. 

He’d been laying on the sun-soaked stone in animagus form, nose nestled between his two black front paws, so he’d instantly picked up on the sound of the Slytherin’s shoes as they made their way up the tower towards him; the familiar shampoo scent of apple and elderflower. Those same footsteps started towards him then, before coming to stop by Mischief’s tail. He felt his ear twitch slightly– the only indication that he was aware of the boy’s presence– as Draco folded his legs beneath him and settled on the warm stone beside him. 

“Darling,” he breathed, soft and quiet and sweet as the scent that followed him. 

Harry couldn’t remember ever being called darling. It was a name he’d heard Uncle Vernon call Aunt Petunia when asking her a question over breakfast; Mr Weasley chiming to Mrs Weasley, followed by an “I’m home!”; Sirius… Sirius crooning to Remus as he sang along to a song on his radio in the kitchen, or to tease him for something that likely made Sirius feel too fond for real words. He and Draco were alike in that regard. 

Even as a fox, he could understand the ache in his chest at his thoughts. It made him want to escape further still; close the hesitant space between him and Draco and bury himself in his favourite scent; forget the world and its ugliness. Instead, he stayed perfectly still. 

It was a long while before Draco spoke again. Almost an hour had passed in complete silence, with Draco sitting cross-legged beside Mischief’s curled form, only a hair’s-breadth apart but not touching. Then, eventually: 

“The Daily Prophet has already run a story on what happened. You missed breakfast, but I brought you some,” Draco said, taking a napkin-wrapped parcel from his pocket and setting it between them. 

Harry ignored it. 

“It’s okay if you want to be your fox for a while. You explained once that your emotions become simpler in that form, more black-and-white. You’re sad, but you don’t have to think about why. You’re angry, but it just becomes… predatory instinct, I suppose.” 

He paused for a moment, though he didn’t seem to expect any sort of response. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to analyse you. I’m just trying to say it’s okay if you don’t want to turn back for a short while. You don’t owe anything to anyone.” 

Sad, Mischief thought, feeling himself huff a sigh. He couldn’t place whether he thought the feeling came from himself, or Draco, or both. 

“Longbottom came to speak to me,” Draco went on to say, and that did surprise Harry enough for his big ears to swivel towards the boy. “I know, can you imagine my thoughts when he cornered me outside the Great Hall? It’s been a while since we made flower crowns together on Beltane. I honestly thought he had it in for me…” 

Harry huffed. 

“I was wrong, of course. He gave me a more detailed, less exaggerated version of what happened in the Department of Mysteries. And asked me to assure you that your Gryffindors are recovering well under Madam Pomfrey’s care. That none of them blame you for what happened. None of it.” 

He paused again, and Mischief growled slightly. As glad as he was to hear that his friends were okay, he didn’t believe that they wouldn’t blame him. They should blame him. Bad, bad, bad. 

“Don’t cry, Harry,” Draco hushed, and Harry hadn’t even realised he’d begun to produce pitiful whines as he berated himself. “They don’t blame you. You’re not the person you’re telling yourself that you are.” 

Harry fell quiet. 

“Will you let me touch you?” 

It was several minutes before Mischief’s nose shifted against his paws in Draco’s direction, then a hand was raking gently through his thick fur, massaging at the base of his left ear and stroking along its shell. Draco, Draco, Draco , was all Harry’s canine mind could manage to think, sighing heavily against his paws as his eyes slid closed. 

“I’m not pleased with the way Dumbledore is able to manipulate your life,” Draco murmured, but Harry could barely hear him anymore over the sleepy contentment in his fox’s mind at receiving such soothing affection. “Longbottom mentioned that there was a prophecy. Knowing Dumbledore, I’m sure he already knew of its contents. And I’m also sure that if he hasn’t already told you, he will soon.” 

Somewhere in his drowsy state, Harry wanted to make some sound of agreement, but he was so tired, and Draco’s hand through his fur was lulling him further and further into a much-needed slumber.

“Always when he decides the time is right. If he ever helped you enough, you wouldn’t have become the person you are today. I suppose that’s always been his objective. Give a boy a happy life, and he wouldn’t be so willing to risk it.” 

Harry huffed, and the fingers that had been delicately stroking between his ears stilled as Draco leant forward to press a kiss to the space beneath them. 

“Stay like this for as long as you need if it hurts less, Harry,” he said quietly, voice muffled against Mischief’s fur. “You don’t owe anyone. I promise.” 

• • •

Hermione and Ron were able to leave the Hospital Wing three days before term ended. Madame Pomfrey hadn’t been able to identify the Dark curse that Hermione had been hit with, but she figured she had been lucky it was only cast nonverbally. Harry had seen his friend take at least ten different potions every day he’d visited as Mischief, though it led to a full recovery that she couldn’t complain about. 

Ron, however, hadn’t been so lucky in his recovery from the brain tentacles that had attacked him in the Department of Mysteries. The stinging rash that had covered his arms since the attack had eventually been soothed by one of Madam Pomfrey’s ointments, but they’d left behind thin, red-purple scars, wrapped around each of his forearms, that wouldn’t seem to fade. 

“Guess we’re matching now,” Ron said as he packed his trunk on their last day, gazing down at his arms with an unreadable expression. 

Harry couldn’t point out that he’d rather his scar be on his arms than across half of his face. He hadn’t yet turned back from his animagus form since leaving Dumbledore’s office three days earlier, which meant that all of his dormmates were quickly made aware of his ability. Any teachers that may have wondered of Harry’s whereabouts knew not to ask. 

“Still not as cool,” Seamus added from his side of the room, sorting through a huge pile of clothes and designating them to either ‘his pile’ or ‘Dean’s pile’, which none of them had questioned. 

Harry huffed from the end of his mattress, and Seamus shot him a guilty look. 

“Did you see Umbridge leaving earlier?” Neville asked a few moments later. “Peeves chased her out of the grounds with a walking stick!” 

“Apparently it belonged to McGonagall,” Ron said, and the others chuckled. “Good riddance.” 

“Hear, hear!” Seamus cheered, holding a crumpled sock up in one hand. 

“Hermione said she’ll come by after supper and we can pack your things,” Ron said before he left the room, frowning over at Harry as he watched them all leave for the end-of-year feast. “If you’d like.” 

Harry felt a twinge of shame at the reminder that he couldn’t even bring himself to turn back just so he could pack his own trunk. Even in his fox form, he was guilty for recognising the heavy relief in himself when Ron nodded to himself and left the dorm, leaving Harry alone. 

After several moments of stillness, he climbed down to the floor, pushed his way through the door and slunk down to the common room, ears up and alert in case any other students were still running late to the feast. When he pushed past the Fat Lady’s portrait, she made a confused fuss behind him that he ignored, running carefully down the corridor towards the nearest staircase. He slowed once he’d reached the third floor and hadn’t yet seen any student or teacher, padding quietly down the stone corridors with no particular destination in mind. 

Walking the school’s corridors had never been as relaxing as a human as it was as a fox. Mischief only tended to care about trivial things; Mouse? Mouse? Smell, smell… mm… mouse… food…

“Oh!” 

Who? Who? Smell, smell… mm… flowers flowers fruit mmm tart… 

“How did you get in here, little friend?” a girl asked softly, crouching at the end of the corridor and holding out a hand. 

Mischief peered at her, then trotted forward to bump his nose tentatively to her hand when he recognised her face. Luna, Luna, Luna. 

“Is that you, Harry?” Luna asked, as though this was very typical, fingers raking over the orange marks in the fur over the right side of his face. “I didn’t know you were an animagus. That’s why no one has seen you for a few days. I thought perhaps you might have left. Your fox is so cute– oh, yes, I can scratch there…” 

Mischief chuffed lightly at the attention Luna was giving his fluffy ears. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered what the Ravenclaw girl was doing here, instead of at the feast, but he wasn’t about to turn back to ask. 

“I’ve lost my possessions, you see,” Luna began to explain aloud, as though Harry had asked after all. “People take them and hide them, which is fine, but I would like to get them back before we leave tomorrow.” 

It didn’t take much to recognise the too-familiar twinge of sadness in her tone. Sad, sad, sad… Luna, Luna…

“They always come back in the end,” Luna continued, still scratching dutifully at Mischief’s head. “It was just that I wanted to pack tonight…” 

Harry huffed crossly at the thought of students teasing the girl that had become somewhat of a friend over the last year. He pushed his head a little more insistently into Luna’s palm. 

“You shouldn’t avoid everyone for too long,” she went on, smiling fondly down at the fox. “Everything feels worse when you’re on your own, you know. It’s not quite as bad with your friends.” 

Harry considered Luna’s sentiment as he padded quickly back to his dorm before the students let out from the feast. He hadn’t felt as though he’d been avoiding everyone, only himself, really. But, he supposed, turning oneself into an animal that couldn’t communicate to his friends wasn’t a particularly good demonstration of “not avoiding everyone”. Though, he couldn’t imagine feeling any less isolated sitting amongst his friends as a human than he did as a fox. 

In the end, it wasn’t his friends returning to Gryffindor Tower that convinced Harry to turn back. Before his dorm mates had come back, Harry had returned to his spot on his four-poster bed and gazed miserably down at his unorganised trunk. Then, as though he’d only imagined it, there was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Foxes were quite colour-blind, but Harry didn’t need to see colour to recognise the cool-grey gaze that flitted across the mirror on the floor below. 

He barely even thought of turning back to his human self before it had already happened. Securing the blue cloak that had materialised around his shoulders, he swiped at the small mirror on the floor and brought it close to his face, staring at his own dishevelled hair and tired, desperate eyes. 

“Sirius!” he hissed, forcing himself not to blink so as to not miss a chance at glimpsing his godfather again. “Sirius, are you there? Sirius? Sirius?” 

“Harry!” a voice exclaimed, and Harry jumped, head swivelling to find Ron stood in the doorway. “You turned back! Good to see you again, mate. I was beginning to think…” his sentence faded as his gaze dropped to the mirror clutched in Harry’s faintly-trembling hands. “What’re you doing?” 

“I saw Sirius,” Harry answered, voice soft and gruff from disuse. “In the mirror. It was only for a split second, but I saw him, I swear it–” 

“Mate,” Ron sighed, stepping forward hesitantly. 

Harry instinctively took a step back, legs hitting the end of his bed. He recognised his friend’s expression better than any other. Pity, he thought, stomach rolling. 

“I’m not making it up, Ron,” he said shakily, pressing the mirror to his chest as though Ron would reach out and take it from him. “I saw him.” 

“But… Sirius is–” 

“Harry!” they were interrupted, as Hermione stepped into the room and brightened at the sight of Harry in human form again. “Oh, Harry, I’ve missed you!” 

She came forward, hoping for what Harry assumed would have been a hug, but a light touch from Ron to her shoulder had her stopping a few steps away. She looked back over her shoulder and an entire conversation seemed to take place between Harry’s two friends without a word being spoken. 

“I came to help you pack, since you were Mischief…” she began to explain, looking between the two boys now. 

Ron looked uncertain. “Harry thinks–” 

“I think I’ve got it,” Harry finished, slipping the mirror in his hands into the pocket of his cloak. “Thanks, though.” 

“Oh,” Hermione said awkwardly, fingers twisting in front of her. Harry glanced away guiltily. “Of course. Are you… are you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harry lied, tugging his cloak tighter around him and turning to find clothes to pull on beneath it. “Sorry. I’ve got to pack.” 

Hermione’s voice was small when she answered, “Of course.” 

• • •

Harry turned back into his fox before sleeping that night, and remained that way all through the trip on the Hogwarts Express, curled up on the seat beside Hermione as she stroked his fur absentmindedly with one hand. It earned their compartment a few confused glances as students walked past, but Hermione had quickly covered the window in the door before anyone could start asking questions. Though, not before she spotted Cho Chang pass by with her friend, Marietta, and seemed to remember something.

“Oh, Harry. I heard Cho is going out with somebody now, you’ll be happy to hear.” 

Harry sniffed, not moving from his position. He didn’t much care for Cho’s love life, considering he’d never been much of a part of it anyway, but he wasn’t going to stop his friends from gossiping. 

“Who’s she with?” Ron asked Hermione, but it was Ginny who answered. 

“Michael Corner.” 

Ron looked at her. “What? I thought you were going out with him!” 

“Not anymore,” Ginny said, shrugging. “He got all pissy about Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw in Quidditch, and I mean, really? Anyways, I’ve been speaking to another boy now.” 

“Oh?” Hermione asked, surprisingly intrigued. Harry supposed idly that the two girls had grown closer together over that year. Luna didn’t seem to show a similar interest, although it was likely she’d already known. “Who?” 

“Harper Bishop,” Ginny answered. “He’s a Slytherin in my year. Used to be a bit of a prick, really, but we’ve been speaking quite a bit and he’s not so bad.” 

“A Slytherin?” Ron exclaimed heatedly, as though his sister cared at all for his opinion. “They’re the enemy!” 

Harry growled at the same time that Hermione scoffed. “Oh, Ronald. They’re students , just like us. Ginny can date who she wants.” 

“Not if they’re a Slytherin! What, you’d just be fine if she went and started going out with Malfoy?” 

At this point, Harry had half the mind to leave the compartment, but he was feeling much too lazy and Hermione’s petting was much too soothing to make the effort. 

“I don’t think Malfoy has said a single word against me all school year,” Hermione said with a small shrug. “If Ginny thought he’d changed, I don’t see why not–” 

“We’re talking about Malfoy here!” Ron shouted, almost knocking Neville’s Mimbulus mimbletonia off the boy’s lap as he threw up his arms, and causing Hedwig and Pigwidgeon to hoot angrily from their cages. Harry felt rather miffed at the fact that they were, in fact, not talking about Draco, but he’d somehow been dragged into the conversation nonetheless. 

“Why is it that I find you talking about me so frequently, Weasley?” a drawl came from the compartment door after it was dragged open by the Slytherin in question. “You’re beginning to sound infatuated.” 

Harry raised his head, body wriggling slightly in half-hearted excitement at the sight of his boy. 

“I hope you don’t mean with you,” Ron gaped, offended at the implication. “I care more about the dirt on the bottom of my shoes than I ever would for you.” 

“Oh, thank heavens,” Draco replied smoothly, grey eyes rolling briefly towards the ceiling. “I was beginning to think you’d never take notice of that filth.” 

Ron made an aggressive move to get up, but Mischief snapped his jaw loudly and his friend begrudgingly sat back down. This, in turn, made Draco’s gaze fall on the fox at Hermione’s side. 

“This isn’t a menagerie, for Salazar’s sake,” he said snobbishly, though he didn’t seem to bother acting surprised. “I don’t recall seeing foxes on the list of pets permitted in Hogwarts.” 

“They make exceptions when you’re on the right side,” Ginny scowled, and Harry hid his snarl beneath a paw. 

“And who’s side is that, Weaslette?” Draco asked sarcastically. “Your precious Chosen One seems to have run off.” 

Hermione looked up at him sharply. "‘Chosen One’?” 

Draco shrugged, head tilted and lips spread in a grin. Even in his animagus form, Harry couldn’t mistake the wave of wanting that rolled through him at the smug expression. “Isn’t that what they’re calling him these days?” 

Harry’s friends didn’t get the chance to reply as Draco swept out of the compartment, the door sliding shut behind him. Harry waited a total of three minutes before leaping deftly from the seat and turning back to his human self, blue cloak unravelling around him. 

“Loo,” he mumbled without looking back, leaving the compartment also. 

“Is it just me or does he always need the loo right after Malfoy comes in here?” he overheard Ron asking over various sounds of confusion through the door before he’d moved down the corridor. 

He’d only passed a handful of compartments before one slid open beside him and he was tugged unceremoniously inside. 

“You turned back,” Draco said by way of greeting, before Harry had twisted in his hold and pressed him back against the closed door. “Oh–” 

“Draco,” Harry murmured heatedly, leaning forward to press eager kisses to the boy’s lips, hands grasping either side of his face. “You’re so…”  

Draco kissed him for a short while, before pushing Harry back slightly and fixing him with a conflicted look. “As much as I love the enthusiasm, Harry, I don’t think–” 

“Please, just kiss me,” Harry sighed, tilting forwards again and groaning when Draco ducked out of the way. “I don’t want to talk.” 

“You’re upset, Harry, I don’t know if…” 

“I’m not upset. I’m… I just…” Harry let out a noise of frustration. He just wanted not to think, for a while. “Please? I want you.” 

Draco’s gaze softened slightly, and he trailed gentle hands down to Harry’s own, leading him to sit beside him on one of the seats. “You have me, little fox. Always.” 

Harry glanced away, cheeks flushing at the endearment. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Too soft?” Draco smirked and Harry nodded. “Okay, mon chéri. Baby, then? Handsome? Chosen One?” 

Heat spread the length of Harry’s body and he pushed the boy back roughly, forcing his back against the seat as he leaned over him. “I hate that name,” he grunted, voice low. “That shouldn’t sound hot.” 

“My Chosen One,” Draco said cockily, slipping his hands beneath Harry’s cloak and running them up his naked chest. “Just for me.” 

“Just for you,” Harry echoed distractedly, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses to Draco’s neck and revelling in the shiver it sent through the boy’s body beneath him. “God, Draco…” 

Draco’s eyelids had dipped closed, quickly losing himself in Harry’s drawn-out kisses over his collarbone and throat. “Lock the door,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Before we forget.” 

Harry didn’t even bother looking behind him as he pulled Draco’s wand out beside them, pointing it over his shoulder and casting “Colloportus. Muffliato.” 

“Did you just use my wand?” Draco asked as Harry dropped it onto the seat beside them, hands moving back to roam over his boyfriend’s chest and tangle in his hair where it splayed out over the cushioning. 

“Mmhm,” Harry hummed, nodding. He’d moved his lips back to Draco’s mouth, licking inside desperately as hands rucked up Draco’s shirt, grazing fingertips over perfect, porcelain skin and pressing bruises into his sides. “Think it likes me.” 

Draco groaned, lifting his hips so that his body pressed flush to Harry’s. “I daresay I share the sentiment.” 

Harry chuckled lowly, fingers working to undo Draco’s uniform. 

“Do the–” Draco sighed heavily, rolling his hips up again. “Do– my hands–” 

“Tie them?” Harry asked, thoughts running wild with images of the Slytherin tied up beneath him, desperate and aching and– 

He jumped back suddenly as if he’d been shocked, the picture in his mind switching smoothly from pleasure to torture, Draco writhing not from Harry’s attentions but from a red curse aimed at his chest. He blinked quickly in an attempt to rid himself of the sight, breaths coming out sharp and shallow as he scrambled further across the seat. 

“Harry–” Draco tried, sitting up quickly and reaching out. 

Harry batted his hands away, clutching his own to his chest as he tried desperately to slow his heart, to take a goddamn breath– 

“I’m here, Harry, it’s–” 

“You–” Harry choked. “I– I saw– you were–” 

“It’s not real,” Draco said patiently, maintaining his distance. “I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re safe, Harry. It’s just us, just you and me.” 

“I thought– what if–” 

“Shh,” Draco hushed softly, and Harry nodded, gulping down frantic breaths. “Can I do anything? Get anything?” 

Harry shook his head, still pressing a hand to his chest. I want Padfoot, he thought miserably, tears involuntarily springing to his eyes. He’s gone… he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s dead, oh my God– 

“Aethra siderea.” 

He’d barely heard the spell being cast, but it was difficult to miss the spattering of stars that suddenly filled the compartment above their heads, blinking down at them as Harry tried desperately to control his stammered breaths. 

“Come,” Draco said softly, gesturing with his hand as he slid to the train floor and lay on his back. 

Harry followed almost subconsciously, laying on the hard floor with his arm pressed to Draco’s side and following the boy’s gaze to the stars above. His heart still hammered beneath his palm, chest rising and falling rapidly with his quick breathing. 

“Shall we find our constellations?” Draco asked, calm as ever. “There’s Polaris, of course,” he continued, tracing the air with his finger as he spoke, the stars glowing bright as they followed. “Ursa Minor… and Edasich. There’s my dragon. And then Lyra, Aquila and Cygnus… and right in between… there’s your fox.” 

Harry managed a small smile despite his body’s state of panic, watching the five tiny stars that made up his constellation shine brilliantly against the ceiling. 

“And if we find Orion’s belt…” Draco continued, and the stars rearranged themselves slowly to account for the distance. “There. Now it should be easy to follow it down to Canis Major… which is where we’ll find Sirius.” 

Despite knowing it had been coming, Harry’s heart still stuttered sharply at the name; a rough sob wrenched from his throat as his tears rolled freely down his cheeks. 

“Shh,” Draco soothed, his hand curling around Harry’s where they lay between their bodies, fingers tangling comfortably. “You’re safe, Harry. Darling.” 

Harry continued to cry, his free hand still tightly gripping at the front of his cloak over the frantic beating of his heart. He wanted to tell Draco that he loved that name, that it made him feel loved, that it reminded him of Sirius and that that was simultaneously comforting and saddening all at once. His panic was subsiding, slowly, but there seemed to be no end to his tears. Draco wasn’t hesitant with his touches, as people often were when Harry was in such a state where it wasn’t certain whether it would help or hinder. Harry’s hands were safe now, he knew, and he turned on his side to cover Harry’s clenched fist with his, brushing a thumb deliberately over his paled knuckles until Harry was convinced to smooth it flat. 

When Draco spoke again, it was in French. “Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne, je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends. J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne. Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.” 

Harry sighed as his heart began to settle, his breathing finally coming out slow and mostly steady. His eyes stung, he realised, and tears had started to dry across his face; in the dip of his neck where they’d trickled without him noticing.  

“Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées, sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit. Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées. Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.” 

Draco’s voice was so delicate, Harry thought. If Harry had any hand in poetry, he’d somehow compare it to the gentle patter of rain on a windowsill on a still-sunny day, the brush of paper in the turn of a book, the soft crackle of dying flames beneath a mantel. He didn’t, of course, but that’s what he thought. 

“Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe, ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,” Draco continued to murmur, and Harry gazed up at the star above that outshone the rest. 

He wondered if Sirius knew French. He’d never thought to ask. He wondered if he’d known Draco, they would have spoken secretly together, the way Draco had with Fleur. And there was that pang of sadness again. That he’d never have the chance to know. That two of his favourite people would never meet, and would never see it in each other how important they both were to him. If his eyes weren’t empty of tears, he thought he would have cried again. 

“Et quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.”

Draco fell quiet, and it was a long while until Harry was able to find his voice again. 

“Thank you,” he whispered eventually, voice hoarse, still looking up at the starry ceiling.

“Mother used to take me to watch the stars from the balcony when I woke from nightmares as a child,” Draco replied softly, squeezing Harry’s hand. “She’d read me poetry in French, or sing me a lullaby, when I was smaller. I’ve always found them calming.” 

Harry hummed, smiling at the thought of a little white-haired Draco pointing up at the night sky, face filled with awe, sounding out the unfamiliar sounds in French. He cleared his throat. “They are. I’m sorry for–” 

“No,” Draco interrupted with a tut. “I won’t hear any apologies. You’re only human, Harry. Humans don’t go through the things you’ve gone through and come out trauma-free. I mean, really, to believe yourself so above human nature that–” 

“I love you.” 

“–you get to skip out on– what?” 

Harry’s heart rate barely raised as he repeated calmly, “I love you, Draco.” He’d never been more sure of something in his life. “You don’t have to say it back. I just…” 

“I love you too,” Draco said then, and Harry finally turned his head to look at the boy, whose pale complexion had flushed a pretty pink. 

He quickly followed the reply with a string of muttered French that Harry couldn’t understand but thought sounded distinctly exasperated. It didn’t matter, though, as Harry’s mind had sailed sky-high and he couldn’t have understood another word of English, even. He’d already known that Draco loved him, in the way that he brushed the scars on his hands and called him darling. But it was something else to hear it. He smiled at the boy’s blushing face, pulling his hand up to kiss it the way Draco often did. 

“Can we safely agree now, then, that your Patronus is a fox because of me?” he asked, half-teasing, laughing softly at the glare that followed. 

“Absolutely not, you fiend,” Draco huffed, blowing away strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes at the quick turn of his head. “It’s a completely different fox.” 

“Hermione said some Patronuses can be complementary. And we know if mine hadn’t been connected to my dad it would’ve been a fox.” 

“A ridiculous myth designed by people whose brains have been rotted by sickening romance–” 

“You love me,” Harry interrupted, gaze trained on the brief twitch of Draco’s lips that suggested he was holding back a smile. “You, Draco Malfoy, love me, Harry Potter. Merlin,” he laughed, heart warmer than it had felt in days, despite the cold depths it had only just been dragged from. “You love me.” 

• • •

When they eventually reached King’s Cross Station, it was to find quite a larger group waiting for them on the platform than expected. Harry had reluctantly gone back to his group’s compartment not long before, dressing into clothes and wrapping his cloak up in his trunk whilst avoiding his friends’ questions completely. Mad-Eye Moody and Tonks stood near the back on the platform, the latter chattering away to Fred and George as Mr Weasley conversed with Hermione’s parents and Mrs Weasley waited eagerly for the train to stop. But Harry only had eyes for Remus, who stood slightly to the side of the group and looked as though he hadn’t slept a wink since the Department of Mysteries. 

“Ron, Ginny!” Mrs Weasley cried out, hurrying forward to embrace her children. “Oh, Harry dear, how are you?” 

“Fine,” Harry lied, accepting her hug before greeting the others in the group. 

“Hi, cub,” Remus greeted quietly when Harry eventually stopped in front of him. 

The happiness he’d felt on the train with Draco felt like years ago, now. Remus wasted no time pulling him into a tight embrace, one hand cradling the back of his head so gently Harry thought he might cry right there in front of everyone. He was feeling a little fed up with his mood swings. 

“Moony–” he began, but Remus hushed him, squeezing him tighter still and draping Harry in his excessive warmth. 

“Please don’t be sorry,” Remus whispered into Harry’s hair. “You have no reason to be sorry. Dumbledore has told me you’ve agreed to stay with your aunt for the first two weeks of summer. We’ll talk after that, okay? However much you need.” 

“I don’t want to go back to them,” Harry said, voice catching in his throat. “I want to be with you. I– I know I have to. But I don’t want to–” 

“I know,” Remus soothed. “Only two weeks, cub. Then you’ll come back with me. I promise. Hang on until then, okay?”

Harry sniffed against the man’s shoulder, nodding despite hating the thought. “Have you seen them yet?” 

“Hard to miss,” Moody grunted from behind them, and they finally broke from their hug, though Remus’ hand stayed clutching Harry’s wrist. 

Harry turned to find the ex-Auror glaring over Harry’s shoulder at the three unmistakeable Muggles that were the Dursleys, each looking distinctly appalled at Harry’s welcome committee. 

“Time for a little chat, I reckon.” 

“Uh…” Harry intervened, wiping hastily at his eyes with the end of his sleeve. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” 

“Oh, it is,” Moody growled and began to limp over to the startled trio. 

The rest of the group followed, and Harry couldn’t find it in himself to feel even a little amused at the frightened expressions on the Dursleys’ faces. 

“Afternoon,” Mr Weasley greeted jovially. “You might remember me, my name’s Arthur Weasley.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, considering the last time they’d met Mr Weasley, he’d demolished most of their living room and Dudley’s tongue had grown long enough to touch the floor. They certainly remembered him. 

“We thought we’d have a chat about Harry,” Remus said then, stepping forward, and Aunt Petunia actually whimpered. 

“About how he’s been treated at your place,” Moody finished, and Harry quietly wondered if they’d rehearsed it. 

Mr Dursley looked from Moody to Remus. “Aren’t you the one who took the boy last summer? What happened? Sick of the brat already?” 

Harry looked down at his shoes in embarrassment, but he didn’t miss Hermione gasping quietly from his side and the others sharing concerned looks. He had warned them. 

“Quite the opposite,” Remus replied smoothly, though Harry could see the flare of anger behind his eyes. “If it were legally permitted, I’d very quickly adopt Harry myself, but, as it were–” 

“What?” Harry breathed, eyes wide as he stared at the man before him. He knew that Remus’ home felt as much Harry’s as it was his, after the summer he’d spent living there, but he’d never even thought to hope for the possibility that it could all become official legally. And with Sirius… with– with Sirius… 

“That’s no secret, cub,” Remus said fondly, glancing at him with a small smile before turning back to stare coolly at Harry’s uncle. “Unfortunately, as you’ve been made very clearly aware of, Harry must spend a period of time at your home before I am able to take him back.” 

“And if we find out, that in that time, you’ve been horrible to Harry–” Tonks began. 

“And make no mistake,” Remus interjected with false politeness. “We will hear about it.” 

“If we get so much as a hint that Potter’s been mistreated in any way, you’ll have us to answer to,” Moody growled. Harry was relieved that they didn’t seem to be mentioning the death of his godfather at all. Knowing the Dursley’s, they would have only used it against him. 

Uncle Vernon’s face quickly grew bright red with rage, chest swelling. “Are you threatening me, sir?” 

“Yes,” Moody grinned, “I am.” 

“And do I look like the type of man that can be intimidated?” Uncle Vernon huffed, outraged. 

Pushing back his hat to reveal his revolving magical eye from beneath it, Moody’s grin stretched wider as Uncle Vernon leapt back in horror. “Yes, I’d have to say you do, Dursley.” 

“If we don’t hear from you for three days in a row, Harry, we’ll send someone along,” Remus said, turning to look at Harry again. “But you’re welcome to write to me whenever you need. And I have the mirror.” Harry tried not to reach out and wrap his arms around the man in another much-needed embrace. 

“Bye, then, Potter,” Moody said gruffly, grasping Harry briefly by the shoulder.

“We’ll see you soon, mate,” Ron said, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Harry tried not to look at the winding scars over his friend’s forearms, knowing it’d only dredge up another wave of guilt. 

Hermione was the last to hug him, wrapping her arms around him tightly as he buried his face into her bushy hair. “Really soon, Harry, we promise. Stay safe.” 

“You know me,” Harry said quietly, and Hermione gave him a look as she pulled back. 

There were a few more scattered goodbyes as Harry turned to follow the Dursleys down the platform away from the group, and he raised a hand in farewell, despite every part of him wanting to stay. Soon, he thought with a sigh. Soon.