Work Text:
It starts like this:
Harry really wishes the bad guys of London respected his desire to pursue higher education. It’s always a pain in the ass when he takes a beating before eight in the morning, but today’s bad guy in specific had been on an entirely different level. He’d been wearing a weird-looking silver mask and seemed to have something personal against Harry—well, Spiderman—which is, admittedly, a common occurrence, but. There is something off about this one. It had made his spider-sense tingle in astronomical levels.
To make matters worse, the fucker had escaped. Not unscathed, of course, but escaped nonetheless. Harry is sure he’ll see him again. He hates it when there’s a Bad Guy of The Week. Still, there’s nothing he can do about it now.
He’s running late for class, and his ankle is still throbbing when he rushes into the university campus, shoving his suit deep down his backpack. He’ll have to wash it later today, but that’s also a problem for Future Harry. He runs up the stairs when he gets to his building, and he’s digging into his backpack for his glasses when he bumps into someone.
He stumbles backwards, and bites down a wince when his weight falls onto his injured ankle. His healing abilities should hurry up, really.
“Watch where you’re going, will you, Potter?” An exasperated voice echoes on the hallways. Harry knows this voice very well. He rights himself and comes face to face with Draco Malfoy’s annoyed face. Draco rolls his eyes when he sees Harry looking at him.
This is so weird. Draco has never been late for any of the classes they share before — he’s always there when Harry rushes in gasping for air. It’s something he takes a weird sort of pride in.
“I could say the same thing, Malfoy,” Harry answers. “You also bumped into me!”
“If you think so. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m already late enough as it is.” Draco rolls his eyes again and turns around, rushing towards their classroom. He’s limping, Harry notices. It’s very obvious that he’s avoiding putting any weight on his left leg.
There’s definitely something up. But it’s not any of Harry’s business.
Silver mask guy shows up again on the same day.
It’s night patrol, and Harry’s been swinging across the city for an hour already, spider-senses tingling. It’s not a particularly busy night, and it’s a welcome respite from the insanity of last night and this morning. Harry enjoys nights like this, when he feels the wind through his suit and the city is bustling with life under him. It’s one of his favorite parts of being Spiderman.
He’s resting for a while on a rooftop when the necks on the back of his neck stand up and he ducks down just in time to avoid having his head sliced off. “Really? You back for more already?”
So much for the welcome respite.
Silver-mask-guy doesn’t say anything, just advances against him again with even more ferocity than in the morning. Well, if he wants to play this game, Harry’s more than up for it. His ankle is more or less healed by now, so he leans on it and jumps forward, shooting a web towards the guy’s hand.
They scuffle for a while, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, and Harry's wrist is starting to feel a little sore when he notices it. Silver-mask is leaning heavily on his right side, and every time his left leg touches the ground, his body tenses. Well.
Harry shoots out a web as a distraction, and uses the time window it buys him to kick Silver-mask’s left knee with all the force he has (a lot). He crumbles to the ground, and a hiss of pain escapes from behind the mask. “You should probably go see a doctor about that.”
Silver-mask grunts, trying to get himself up again. “This is not the end, Spiderman,” he spits out. His voice is deep and with an electronic tinge to it that suggests a voice alternator. He gives up on trying to get up and clicks a button somewhere on his suit, and then all of a sudden he’s gone.
Harry shoots a web in the general direction of what he thinks is his shadow, but it’s in vain.
This is a very resourceful Bad Guy of The Week. Maybe the hole is deeper than Harry initially thought. He’ll have to tell Ron and Hermione about it in the morning.
It’s only hours later, when Harry’s tucked into bed in his dorm, that he remembers that Draco’s left leg was also fucked up.
It’s the last thought he has before sleep takes over him.
🕸️
“Let me get this straight,” Hermione raises an eyebrow at him. “You think Draco Malfoy, the world's most spoiled brat, is secretly a supervillain?”
Harry nods. It all makes sense, really. “They both have an injured left leg, and he was late yesterday! And he is never late! And he was so rude to me. Aaaaaand, Silver-mask seems to have something personal against me, well, Spiderman.”
Hermione sighs. Even Ron is looking at him with doubt in his eyes. “Harry. Draco wears Prada to class. Do you honestly think he spends his free time wearing an ugly silver suit? And wreaking havoc on town?” Ron asks.
“It makes sense! I have evidence!”
Hermione and Ron exchange A Look. “What?!”
“I think you’re just looking for another reason to fuel this weird thing you have going on with him, honestly,” Hermione says.
“I don’t have a weird thing going on with him! What do you mean?!”
Ron is the one who raises his eyebrows now. “Do you really want us to elaborate on that?”
“You guys are not taking me seriously!” Harry exclaims. “I’ll prove it to you, just wait and see.”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried about protecting the city and catching the Silver-mask guy?”
“I can do both. Besides, if I unmask Draco, I will catch Silver-mask.”
Hermione sighs. “If you say so.”
Draco shows up late to class again. Even Harry is already there by the time he rushes in, hair a mess and deep bags under his eyes. Harry narrows his eyes.
Draco goes straight to his usual seat in the front row, and Harry notices his limp is even more pronounced today. Something that does line up with his theory, because he’d kicked Silver-mask really hard on the knee yesterday. And that’s not even mentioning the way Draco looks — he always looks like he should be up on a runaway, but right now, his hair is greasy, he’s not wearing any makeup, and he’s sporting sweats.
Harry can’t think of any other explanation for this other than the one already on his mind. No other thing could dishevel Draco this much. Draco Malfoy is Silver-mask, and that is becoming clearer by the second.
He spends the entirety of Intro to Calculus with his eyes glued to Draco’s back, a thousand different theories running inside his mind. Why is Draco doing this? Sure, they have had some weird sort of animosity between them since high school, and their parents didn’t get along, but is that enough to turn Draco into a city destroying villain? Maybe his parents have something to do with it. Maybe it’s a family thing? Harry doesn’t know. But something in his gut, in his instincts that never fail him, tells him that Draco is up to something. He’s so certain of it that the hairs in the back of his neck stand up.
He’s so deep inside his own mind he doesn’t notice class is over until there’s a shadow looming over him. “Do you have something to say to me, Potter?”
Harry looks up. Draco is standing in front of his desk, one eyebrow raised. Upclose, he looks even worse. Should he say something? Maybe like, hint at the fact that he knows what Draco is up to? “Not really, Malfoy. I was just wondering… did you have a late night yesterday?”
Draco raises his other eyebrow. He looks a little ill. “I fail to see how that’s any of your business, Potter.”
“It’s not,” Harry shrugs. This is so weird. He’s not really good at talking to villains like this, not being upfront and honest and coming face to face with them. “I was just wondering if you’d been… uhm… tangled up with something.”
Draco lets out an incredulous laugh. “I can’t believe you. Just stay out of my business, Potter. Heaven knows you have enough on your plate already.” He looks smug as he says it, an air of victory to him even if his skin is pale and sweaty and his hands are shaking from what is probably sleep deprivation after a night of terrorizing London and Harry.
Did he win this one? Did he let on too much? He’s not sure. He’ll have to wait and see, he guesses.
His answer arrives not long after his last class.
He’s just out of campus when he feels the tell-tale tingling on the tips of his fingers, the goosebumps on the back of his neck. There’s a loud crash from the next block over, and he can hear screams and sirens. Well.
Harry runs into the closest alley, already digging into his backpack for his suit. He hates having to change like this, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. He slips into his suit in the blink of an eye, and he pulls the mask on right before running towards the noise.
The screams sound a little more terrified now.
The scene that greets him is the usual when there’s a villain involved. Rubble on the ground, destroyed public patrimony, and civilians running in all directions. He spots a little girl lost in the crowd, and he swings towards her. “Hey, are you alright?”
“Spiderman! It’s you! Please help me!” Her eyes are filled with tears, and she grabs his hand when he offers it.
“Don’t worry. I will. Now let’s get you somewhere safe, alright?”
She nods, so Harry carefully wraps an arm around her middle and hoists her up on his hips. She circles her arms around his neck, then tucks her head. He shoots out a web the direction he came from, eyes scanning the crowd for anyone who looks reliable enough. There’s another loud crashing noise from behind, and he ducks just in time to avoid being hit.
He spots a couple in the crowd, two women who are desperately screaming someone’s name. The girl in his arms perks up her head when they get closer, and she turns towards the voices. “Mommy! Mommy!”
Harry sighs in relief and lands in front of the couple. “Is she yours?”
The women immediately rush towards the little girl, engulfing her in a hug. “Thank you, thank you. Baby, are you alright?”
“I am, mommy! Spiderman saved me!”
“It was no biggie,” Harry offers, before turning his head back. He sees a flash of silver and yeah, of course it’s him. “Now please, run away. I’ll deal with him.”
He leaves the couple to their daughter and rushes towards the center of the ruckus. Predictably, Silver-mask is the culprit, hovering in the air with the help of some sort of device Harry can’t identify. He has a giant weapon on his hands that he’s using to shoot towards everyone and everything. It looks like a cannon, if a cannon was small enough to be carried like a gun.
Did he go overboard with Draco earlier today? Was he too confident?
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, you know,” Harry says as he swings behind Silver-mask. “I thought you’d be too tired.”
“Spiderman,” Silver-mask turns towards him, stopping his maniacal firing for now. “You’re late.”
“I’m trying to suit your style, you know,” Harry fires back. He needs this guy to know that Harry is onto him, that the ruse is already over. “Your knee feeling better?”
Silver-mask doesn’t answer. He just turns his fucking cannon to Harry and then they start fighting, the well-rehearsed choreography Harry’s more or less used to by now. Swing, duck, shoot out a hundred webs, repeat. Maybe sneak in a punch of two in between. He gets lost in it, mind entirely focused on just doing his thing, trusting his spider-sense to warn him if he needs to switch his focus.
He’s just shot out a web when he feels the tell-tale tingle, but he doesn’t have enough time to do anything before his head swings with the force of impact. His ears are ringing, and there’s blood dripping down his face. He doesn’t know what happened.
Harry falls to the ground, grunting when his hip meets the asphalt. His vision is cloudy, and there’s blood on his eye, but he can see the faint outline of Silver-mask approaching, looming over him. It’s so familiar to the scene from earlier, with Draco maskless in class. “Seems like you’re a bit tangled up, Spider.”
Harry breathes in, tries to get his eardrums to work again. Fuck. He needs to find a way to fight back, do something. He needs to do something. He raises his hand, wipes the blood away from his eyes.
He still has one last card to use. “Careful with what you do now, Malfoy. I know who you are.”
Silver-mask stops dead on his tracks. “What did you just say?”
“I said,” Harry grunts with the effort of staying up. “That your cover is up, Malfoy.”
Harry’s not sure how to describe what happens next. Silver-mask (should he just say Draco?) starts laughing maniacally, hands on his stomach. Then he starts coughing, and spits out something that looks an awful lot like blood.
“You never cease to surprise me, Spiderman,” Silver-mask wheezes out before hopping on top of his weird device and flying away. Just like that.
Harry allows himself one minute to calm down before he has to drag himself away. He can digest everything once he’s inside his dorm and his ears are normal again.
🕸️
Silver-mask doesn’t show up again the entire week. Not a word.
Draco Malfoy doesn’t show up late to class again, but he looks worse each day that passes. His eyebags grow deeper and darker, and he’s still limping. He goes back to using his fancy suits and styling his hair, but he still looks like a mess. He doesn’t answer a single question in class, and he receives a low grade on an assignment he would have aced under usual circumstances. He hasn’t said a word to Harry.
Harry is so confused. He knows Draco. He’d expected vicious words, a surprise attack during class, anything. Not radio silence. And he still doesn’t understand what exactly happened four days ago.
Hermione says he needs to rest. Don’t patrol at least one night. He can’t do that. The city needs him. At least neither her nor Ron have said anything about his Draco-Silver-mask theories — Ron had even offered to help him work through what happened. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Harry’s so frustrated he could die. He doesn’t know what Draco is up to, what tricks he has up his sleeve. He doesn’t understand why he hadn’t reacted at all to Harry knowing about his identity. He hadn’t even looked towards him the entire week.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Harry muffles another scream into his pillow. At least there’s no one around to judge him.
🕸️
It’s Monday morning and Harry’s sipping his coffee outside his building when Draco Malfoy materializes in front of him, dumping his bag on top of the table and settling down across from him. “We need to talk, Potter.”
Harry hadn’t been anticipating their confrontation going like this. He’s not really sure what moves he should make now, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t want to risk a full blown fight in school premises. Too many people could get hurt. “Uhm. Right now?”
Draco rolls his eyes. “Of course not, you idiot. I can’t be late for class again. Meet me at Brooms after your last class.”
He doesn’t even wait for Harry’s answer before he grabs his things and vanishes just as suddenly as he’d appeared.
Well. Looks like Harry is finally going to get to the bottom of this, one way or the other. At least he has the time to prepare himself for the fight this time.
As Harry turns left on the street the café’s located, suited up under his clothes, the only thing on his mind is how most definitely walking into a trap. It’s not like he has any other choice, but it still leaves him feeling a little off. He didn’t even tell Hermione and Ron what he’s doing — he’s pretty sure they would have been extremely against this entire thing.
He gets to the front of the café and nothing happens. He opens the door, gets inside, and nothing happens. His eyes find Draco in a booth hidden in a corner, and he waves him over as soon as their eyes meet. This is not going how Harry expected it to. He slides into the seat across from Draco. “What do you want, Malfoy?”
Draco rolls his eyes. “Is there really a need to talk like that, Potter? Is a little politeness too much for you to handle?”
“Excuse me,” Harry exclaims. “Why would I be polite towards you?”
“Because it’s basic decency?”
“You’ve been terrorizing me and this city for the past week! I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it’s over, Malfoy.”
Draco gapes at him. “I beg your pardon? What on earth are you talking about, Potter, for Christ’s sake?”
“Stop playing dumb!”
“I’m the one who’s been terrorizing you all week? You’ve been watching over me like a stalker! I can’t even focus on class with your eyes glued to my neck.”
“And I can’t focus on class because I’m too worried you’re going to do something! Like blowing something up! Again!”
“Potter, I cannot stress this enough, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Draco’s eyes are very wide. Somewhere deep inside his mind, Harry feels sirens starting to go off. They’re very distant, though. It’s like his brain is putting together a puzzle piece and he’s too far behind to follow.
Harry opens his mouth to answer, but he’s cut off by the tell-tale tingling on his body that tells him there’s danger. He whips his head towards the window just in time to see a car flying across the street, the sound of the crash resonating even through the windows. Draco makes a questioning sound next to him.
What the fuck. Harry turns to look at Draco, who’s standing right next to him, so he can’t be the one causing the ruckus outside. What the fuck.
“Uhm. Malfoy. I have to go. But we’ll, ah, talk again later.” He doesn’t even wait for Draco’s answer before running out the door. Harry hasn’t the slightest idea what’s going on, but he knows he has a duty to fulfill. He’ll stop this mess, whatever it is, and then he’ll worry about logistics.
He runs behind the café and takes off his shirt and trousers before slipping on his mask and swinging towards where the villain (Silver-mask?) is. There’s another car being thrown across the street when he gets there, and sure enough, there’s Silver-mask hovering above ground on his weird device, laughing maniacally and screaming for Spiderman.
It shouldn’t be Silver-mask, because Silver-mask is Malfoy and Draco Malfoy is currently inside the café, where Harry had left him. But it is Silver-mask, right in front of him, and Harry really should start listening to Hermione. This makes no sense.
“Spiderman, finally! Let’s finish this, once and for all.” The guy doesn’t even give Harry time to respond before he’s raising the goddamned cannon from last time and firing it towards him. He ducks down and shoots a web towards one of the buildings before it can reach him, but it’s a close call.
He really needs to get his head in the game. There can’t be a repeat of last time. Silver-mask seems different this time, a lot more agitated and frenetic. It shows in how he fires his cannon without a second to breathe, in how he chases Harry around air and cackles maniacally even when Harry lands a hit on him. After a few minutes, there’s blood dripping down Harry’s lip and they’re both heaving, but Silver-mask shows no intention of stopping anytime soon.
They exchange more blows, and Harry finally gets a good punch in, and Silver-mask’s head whips to the side with the force of impact. He hadn’t meant for the punch to be that strong, but he’s not mad about it. He takes a second to survey their surroundings: the street’s in shambles, shards of glass and car parts strewn around everywhere, but it’s entirely empty. Thank god.
Well, except for—“Harry, watch out!”
Harry’s hand reaches out just in time to wrap around the blade that came out of fucking nowhere and stop it from sinking into his guts. Jesus. Silver-mask keeps pushing it forward, intent on driving it to its target, and Harry trembles with the effort to push it back. His hands are bleeding, the blade digging into them, and he really would like a fucking break.
The next sequence of events happens in a blur. Silver-mask pushes his entire weight forward, sending them both to the ground and the blade dangerously closer to Harry’s stomach. Silver-mask’s on top of him, pressing him to the ground, pressing the blade down, and Harry’s hands really fucking hurt and he can’t breathe and he needs to do something and— Silver-mask topples to the side with a grunt, and doesn’t get up. Draco Malfoy’s heaving when Harry looks up, a stained red metal bar on his hands and hair slightly rumpled. He looks gorgeous. Harry’s so confused. And exhausted.
“Well, we really need to have that talk, Potter.”
🕸️
“So, um, how’s your dad?”
Draco rolls his eyes and kicks Harry on the shin. “Still insane. Or something like that, I think, I’m not sure,” he shrugs.
Harry looks down at him. Draco looks so pretty like this, well-rested and lying in bed next to him. “Cool. And your mum?”
“Oh, she cried the entire visit. It was hell, honestly.”
Harry can only imagine. Lucius Malfoy has been in prison for two months, after being unmasked as the villain Silver-mask. Harry hadn’t been that far off with his identity theory, after all. At least that’s what he tells himself and Hermione when he’s trying to defend himself.
“I still can’t believe you thought I was him, Potter,” Draco nudges him with his foot, shuffling closer.
“You had the same injury! And you looked like hell the entire week! And you looked at me weird! It’s not my fault, Draco. It really isn’t.”
“I don’t know how you’re still alive, honestly,” Draco sighs fondly. “How can Spiderman be this dumb? Can’t even tell the difference between finals stress and being a super-villain. Or a guy who’s just been run over by a bike and, again, an evil super-villain he fought with. I’m surprised you can tell a robber and a lamp post apart during the night. And you’re not even good at disguising yourself.”
“You’re so annoying,” Harry bites down on Draco’s shoulder. He gets a slap in retaliation. “I am very good at disguising myself. It took Ron like, six months to find out I’m Spiderman.”
“It took me less than half a year of sharing classes with you to find out your dirty little secret.”
“That’s because you’re obsessed with me. And because your dad’s obsessed with Spiderman.”
“Ugh, stop talking about him, it kills the vibe,” Draco whines. “I don’t want to think about my crazy super-villain dad who tried to kill my boyfriend when I’m in bed with said boyfriend. And I’m not obsessed with you. You’re obsessed with me.”
He is. He really is. “Well, one last thing. I’m thinking of sending your dad a gift basket thanking him for getting me a boyfriend, what do you think of that?”
“Harry, shut up, I am not into Freud stuff.”
“Come shut me up, then.”
“I’m going to expose your identity on the internet,” Draco threatens, but he leans forward and kisses him anyway.
All in all, not a bad way to end the entire situation. Harry honestly counts himself very lucky Draco had forgiven him for thinking he was his dad. His evil super-villain dad. Well, not only forgiven, but took him out on a date after talking his ear off for a whole hour and then kissed him silly in front of his dorm room.
Maybe Harry will really look into the gift basket thing. Draco doesn’t have to know.
(Draco does find out, two weeks later, and if Harry patrols the city with a slightly sore ear, then that’s no one’s business.)