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Harry was sitting in the exam room, staring at his paper and wondering if he even had an actual chance to pass this test. It was Potions, for Merlin’s sake. He objectively sucked at Potions, and all the questions Snape made were obviously designed in order to fail him. Snape really outdid himself with this exam. And it was one of the important ones. McGonagall had a very serious talk with Harry just before in the hallway. She considered it her duty to remind him how important Potions are for the future Auror, as if it wasn’t something Harry was thinking about constantly. He was very well aware of how important this class was. It wasn’t his fault he sucked.
He answered all the questions he definitely knew the answer to, and realized it was less than a half. This wasn’t even Acceptable. Harry imagined his paper handed back to him by Snape with a vicious “Dreadful” written across it. He will never make it to an Auror’s career if he gets a D on this test...
He read and reread the paper over and over trying to remember anything else or just come up with the answer logically. He was never good at logic, Hermione was. He shot a fast glance at Hermione, who was forced by Snape to sit in a completely different corner of the room. She was scribbling hastily, head held so low she was almost touching the parchment with her nose. She definitely knew what she was doing, Harry thought bitterly. And even if she could help him, she never would. It was some kind of her own policy – to never help even her closest friends during exams.
Ron was sitting a desk away from Harry, also rereading his paper with a very concerned look on his face. He clearly had no better situation that Harry. Harry turned back to his paper. Still less than a half of answers. He was going to fail. The clock was showing he had a little more than fifteen minutes to the end of the lesson, and he... had no idea what he was doing.
Eyes ran across the room desperately one more time. He had to come up with a way to copy someone’s answer. He had to somehow catch a glimpse of someone else’s paper and copy it, he saw no other way. But who would be willing to help? Parvati... Dean... Neville, maybe... Malfoy.
Harry stared straight at the grey eyes, which were observing him closely. Malfoy was watching him with playful curiosity. He was sitting across the aisle from Harry, leaning on the back of his chair in a relaxed manner and tapping the desk carelessly with the tips of his fingers. His paper was completely filled out, Harry could see that. All the answers, written in a confident sharp Malfoyish handwriting. Malfoy was done with his test. And he was sure of his answers. And he was now watching Harry with nothing but pure interest.
The second Harry caught Malfoy’s sight, Malfoy grinned and raised his eyebrows questioningly. “What is it, Potter?” his face expression clearly taunted, and Harry gritted his teeth bitterly. Malfoy had the answers, and he was paying attention to Harry, unlike Neville or Parvati, who were too caught up in their own papers.
And then it occurred to Harry that he may actually try. This may be his last chance to pass the damn exam. He doesn’t really have anything to lose. And what if Malfoy-
Malfoy doesn’t really seem to mind helping...
Harry slowly raised his hand and showed three fingers to Malfoy. Third question. Come on, please. What the hell do they use to cut the boomslang skin for use in Polyjuice Potion?.. Malfoy stared at him, and a shadow of understanding flickered in his eyes. He shot a quick look at Snape, who was pacing the classroom indifferently, and turned back to Harry, mouthing the words to him.
“Silver... knife,” Harry read his lips and, without thinking twice, grabbed his quill. One question ahead. He still had about a half or so. He threw Malfoy a desperate look again, but the Slytherin was looking out in the window with the most bored expression ever. Snape passed them, watching Harry suspiciously, and Harry had to lower his head and pretend to stare at his questions until Snape was gone. Almost immediately his sight was back on Malfoy. He had to have at least three more answers right – and that would be an “A”.
But before Harry could make some eye contact with Malfoy again, he noticed a small piece of parchment landing on the top of his desk. It was a paper plane, so small and elegantly made it was obvious Malfoy made it. Harry opened it to find a note inside.
“Things are actually that bad for you, Potter? :)”
He was mocking him. It was one of the most important and hardest exams, and Malfoy not only finished his own questions perfectly, he had the nerve to mock Harry!.. Harry squeezed his quill tightly between his fingers. What was he supposed to write back? “Yes”? And then what? He had, like, seven minutes before the end of the lesson.
And then suddenly the previous note disappeared from Malfoy’s paper plane, and a new one showed up.
“You seem pretty desperate, golden boy. Want some hints?”
Harry stared at the note. Malfoy must’ve enchanted the paper for them to communicate without Snape noticing. And that was, for all Harry knew, quite a hard charm to perform non-verbally in the middle of an exam. Harry had to suppress the wave of respect towards Malfoy’s abilities, and pressed the tip of the quill to the parchment.
“Yes. Will you help?”
He looked up at Malfoy, who was also sitting with a piece of parchment in his hand. A quill carelessly pressed between his thumb and middle finger. Thin lips curled into a smirk. Malfoy rolled his eyes to the ceiling, as if pretending to think about it, then started writing.
“Give me the questions you don’t know.”
Harry’s heart missed a beat. Five minutes left to the end of the test... He looked through his paper once more. The sixth, the twelfth, the seventeenth, the twenty-first would also be nice... He started scribbling the questions onto the piece of parchment. As soon as he finished the first one, the answers began to show up a little lower. Malfoy's confident hand was writing word after word; sharp letters with a slight slant to the right appeared and disappeared from a small piece of paper, and all Harry was left to do was copy it down as fast as he could. He leaned closer to the table, just like Hermione did, and hastily wrote the answers. He only managed to glance at Malfoy once. Malfoy sat, imposingly leaning back in his chair, and was writing effortlessly with his quill barely touching the surface of the paper. He didn’t look at his own paper sheet once. Just sat there, eyebrows slightly furrowed, and wrote the answers straight from his head.
When the bell rang, Malfoy was one of the first to get up from his seat. He put his paper on Snape’s table, grabbed his bag and left without looking at Harry.
***
Harry did get an “A+” on that test, and when Snape threw his paper onto his desk, with a huge “Acceptable” written across it in a furious handwriting, Harry’s heart sank. He had passed. He now could proceed with his Auror training.
He took his eyes off his paper and caught a sight of Malfoy watching him silently from across the aisle. Grey eyes narrowed a little, and was that... concern in them?.. Harry gave him a small nod, and Malfoy turned away with the most indifferent expression. Harry’s sight slipped onto Malfoy’s form, which was lying before him on the desk. “Outstanding” was written in Snape’s handwriting. How could Harry even doubt.
When the class was over, Malfoy again was the first one by the doors. Harry had to throw a few quick words to Ron for him to go to the Great Hall without him and hurried away from the classroom. Malfoy was standing by the door in the hallway, watching Harry with the same sneering expression he had during the exam.
“So I can see you passed, Potter,” he noted, as the two of them went down the hallway. Harry nodded.
“Thanks to you.” Harry looked at Malfoy suspiciously. “Why would you even help me?” he asked after a pause.
Malfoy shrugged, “Just for fun. I was done with my questions anyway.”
That was such a Malfoy thing to do. He was always like that. A total mystery. Only Harry managed to notice that only then. Before he never actually thought of Malfoy like that. He was always just a rival. A school bully, the guy who talked shit about Ron’s family and kept throwing offensive words at Hermione’s back. Harry never actually considered Malfoy to be at least somewhat of a good guy.
And yet here he was, with an “Acceptable” on his Potions exam. Harry took a deep breath. He stopped and, when Malfoy stopped too, looked him straight in the eyes.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said. “You know I would have never asked you if- Well, it was an important test.”
Malfoy suddenly smiled at him, and this time there was no contempt in his eyes. It was just... a smile.
“I know, Potter,” he said quietly. “That was your career-deciding test. So... I know it was important.”
He turned on his heels and walked down the stairs towards the Slytherin dungeons.
***
Neither Hermione nor Ron could believe their eyes when they saw Harry actually helping Malfoy out during their next Charms assessment. Professor Flitwick couldn’t measure the room with steps the way Snape did, noticing everything and everyone, so Harry was able to even take a glimpse of Hermione’s Charms notes. The theoretical part was the easiest one. Harry always liked Charms. And then Professor Flitwick started to call them one by one to his desk. It was the practical part – they had to perform some charms for him. Harry was just finishing writing his theoretical essay, when he realized it was Malfoy at Flitwicks desk, clearly struggling to remember a charm.
Professor Flitwick was watching him sympathetically.
“Now, now, Mr Malfoy,” he squeaked, tapping his wand encouragingly against the table and causing a few shiny sparkles to escape its tip. “You were always handling these type of Charms just fine. I can see you’re getting nervous.” Malfoy managed a polite smile in return, but Harry could see that Professor Flitwick was right: Malfoy was starting to panic. Harry was now observing them carefully, trying to figure out what spell Malfoy was told to do.
Malfoy was trying to do a Protego shield on the small music box Professor Flitwick placed on the table, but that was clearly not it: the box stayed opened and the soft quiet melody kept pouring out of it. Harry furrowed. If he’d only heard what Malfoy’s assignment was!..
“You’re very close, Mr Malfoy,” Professor Flitwick said kindly. “All you need to do is to make the box inaccessible for anyone to open. I’m sure you know the spell, you just need to think a little harder...”
Harry didn’t need to hear anything else. He was now staring at Malfoy, trying to catch his attention. Malfoy just got confused, and then started to worry and forgotten everything. He indeed was close: the music box could be sealed with “Protego Diabolica”, there was no way Malfoy didn’t know that spell.
Harry shot a look at Professor Flitwick, who kept his motivational speech going, and leaned forward, closer to the teacher’s desk.
“Malfoy!”
Ron flinched and stared at Harry in disbelief, but the important part was: Malfoy heard him. He looked up at Harry from underneath his eyebrows, and Harry made a wand movement with his hand, mouthing “Diabolica”. Malfoy’s eyes sparkled, and he grabbed his wand.
Harry felt a wave of shame with himself as he realised he could sit here all day, admiring the confidence with which Malfoy pointed his wand at the music box. Only Malfoy could draw such a curly rune in the air with such grace and close the music box shut with such dominance. He tossed his head, brushing his blond hair from his forehead, received an approving "Excellent, Mr Malfoy, ‘Outstanding’ is yours!" and walked to his seat, giving Harry just one quick glance. It was merely two seconds, but Harry could see genuine joy in his gaze.
“What are you doing?” Ron gave him a pretty hard nudge afterwards. “Helping out Malfoy like that?!”
That was when Harry told him and Hermione about the Potions class. And he didn’t care, they both could feel angry with him as much as they liked, he actually wasn’t sorry for any of that.
When they weren’t on their exams, Malfoy was the same scumbag he always was. He continued to provoke Ron and Hermione, throwing insults and jokes, and left amidst the collective laughter of the Slytherins. And meanwhile, he and Harry had developed some kind of unspoken agreement: they were on the same side during classes. They even started to sit at the same desk from time to time, when Ron and Hermione felt like sitting together, and Harry was left without a partner. They started carrying just half of the books per each. And Harry has already lost count of how many times he caught the inquisitive gaze of gray eyes and heard a whisper into his ear, “Hey, Potter! You want a hint?”
They were paired together at McGonagall’s class, who clearly could sense something mutual between them. She gave Ron and Hermione a separate assignment and then said that Harry will be with Mr Malfoy. Harry threw a quick glance at Malfoy, who seemed amused. And he also thought it was lucky: Malfoy was way better at Transfiguration than Harry. Malfoy approached Harry’s desk and threw his bag on it, earning McGonnagal’s prickly look.
“Well, Potter, let’s deal with this,” he said, opening the textbook. “I will be looking for all the necessary sources for the essay, and you test the spells I will be telling you. This way we cover theoretical and practical parts at the same time.”
Harry nodded. Malfoy was actually working really fast. He took out a quill and began underlining some sentences in the book he found interesting. At the very start he told Harry to try out the new enchantment he found on the page thirty, and Harry spent at least ten minutes trying to turn his quill into a needle. And then he noticed Malfoy closed his book already and was observing him with an expression of clear condescension.
“You want a hint, Potter?”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“Yes, please,” he turned to Malfoy, clasping his hands in a mocking prayer gesture. It was Malfoy’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Don’t be cute with me, Potter, I’m trying to help,” he snapped. “You’re making too soft motions with your hand,” he repeated Harry’s movement with his hand. “Try to make it sharper on the edges, like this,” he took Harry’s hand in his own and made a sharp movement. “See that? Now you try.”
Harry repeated Malfoy’s movements, following it with the spell, and his quill became silvery and shrunk to the measures of a needle.
“Do it a few more times, you’ll catch up,” Malfoy said, returning to his book.
They had to present their research results the very next week, and Harry had never felt more confident in his work. He and Malfoy went to the teacher’s desk, Malfoy waved his wand masterfully, creating a resemblance of a huge screen right next to them, and Harry could swear they were the most kick-ass team in the history of the school. At least, he’d never seen McGonagall look so impressed and proud at the same time.
***
Harry did not care about winning the Felix Felicis bottle – winning something in Potions for the first time in his life, anyway – if it meant Malfoy was mad at him. Because during the whole lesson Harry could see him struggling, actually struggling to win that prise. Malfoy went out of his way to create the best potion, and Harry took that chance from him just because he had a fraud book.
He waved Ron and Hermione “see you later” and rushed after Malfoy, who stopped for a moment, when he caught Harry’s sight, and then walked past him without a word. Harry walked out into the corridor and quickly followed, clutching the bottle of potion in his hand.
“Malfoy! Hey, Malfoy!” he called, breaking into a run. Malfoy didn't even look back, he just clutched his book bag tighter and sped up. Something was wrong, Harry could feel it. He finally caught up with Malfoy and put his hand on his shoulder: “Oh come on, no need to run like that!”
Malfoy stopped and turned to Harry, tears sparkling in his eyes.
“What?” he barked, blinking hastily and squeezing his lips tight. “What the hell do you want?”
Harry startled. Was Malfoy actually that mad at him for winning? This couldn’t be it. Something different was going on. Harry remembered how often he had caught Malfoy's haggard gaze in class, how he had become withdrawn and distant. Eyes were often red from lack of sleep, the face - whiter than chalk. He even began to slouch, a habit he had never had before. Even now he stood in front of Harry, clinging to his bag tightly and looking at him from under his eyebrows, tense, as if at any moment expecting... pain?.. Like he was beaten every damn day, and it became a part of his everyday life.
Harry stretched his arm, giving him the bottle with clear liquid inside.
“Here. You obviously wanted that.”
Malfoy jerked his hand away as if he could burn it by touching the bottle.
“No,” he shook his head, looking up at Harry and taking a step back. “No, Potter. Leave me alone.”
He turned and made another try to walk away, but Harry grabbed him by the shoulders, “Hey! Malfoy... oh god...” he felt Malfoy’s whole body trembling under his touch. Malfoy was shaking, slouched over and tightly grasping the bag with thin fingers. Grasping so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Harry grabbed him tighter and tried to look into his eyes: “Malfoy, what is happening to you? Talk to me, come on. I saw you at Slughorn’s class, you clearly need that luck potion for something. Here,” he tried to shove it in Malfoy’s palm, but he pulled away from his grasp.
“I don’t need you to help me, Potter,” his voice broke into a low whisper. “Not this time.”
He turned and went away, leaving Harry just standing there, staring after him.
***
“Ron! Cover for me!”
Harry rushed around the nearest corner of the house and only heard a cutting spell whistle near his temple. Ron immediately took his position, fighting for the whole group. Harry pressed his head against the brick wall and took a deep breath. They needed to act carefully, and avoid taking out all the attackers at once. They needed the leader alive for sure.
This was their win or lose fight. They caught almost the whole syndicate, they had the greatest dragon smuggling group of the whole England cornered right next to their hide-out, all they had to do was stun them all and take them alive...
Harry quickly identified the leader. A tall figure in a long cloak, concealing the fragility of his body, and a deep hood hiding his face, moved rapidly across the battlefield. He fought off his own people while defending himself. This man was more dangerous than all his followers combined—he was the mastermind behind the organization.
Each swing of his wand was executed with cold, calculated intent, and Harry, even though he'd heard a lot of stories of this man, shivered at the thought of his power. Despite his apparent fragility, he fought with a ferocity that belied his physical appearance, his every action dominating the battlefield. His eyes, hidden beneath the hood, seemed to survey the chaos with a detached, almost clinical focus, mastering the fight as if it were a grand, dark symphony.
Right next to Harry, smoke suddenly billowed up in a column, and a tall figure cloaked in a dark hood emerged from it. Harry tightened his grip on his wand and, without hesitation, cast a cutting spell. This was the man who, for ten years, had been organizing the dragon trade through secret underground meetings. He held all the strings, knew each of his operatives intimately, yet remained a mystery to everyone. Even the Aurors had no idea who was concealed beneath that hood.
Harry’s group now finished off almost all the enemies and was now hurrying towards him. He didn’t care. He was duelling the goddamn ringleader, and he wasn’t doing to stop. He would have to bring down this dark knight and finally see his face.
“Stupefy!”
“Seco!” the hooded man shouted, and Harry jerked away, narrowly avoiding the cutting curse. He saw his partner’s figure blocking him from the gangster and continuing the fight. Coughing and trying to stabilize his breathing, Harry finally got to his feet.
“Don’t kill him, he’s mine!” he ordered shortly, attacking the man with renewed intensity. “I just-” he blocked another curse and shot a stunning spell back at him, “I just wanna know who that bastard is!”
The hooded figure turned to him fully and flicked his wand.
“You want a hint, Potter?”
Harry froze. And then raised his wand. And struck. And then had fallen to his knees beside the defeated figure, twitching on the ground from the severity of Harry’s Diffindo. He waved his wand, and the leader’s wand snapped out of his thin fingers and landed onto Harry’s palm.
He could hear muffled whispers of his partner behind, but he didn’t even look at them.
“You?..”
He reached and took the hood off Malfoy’s face. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
Harry stared into the same cold eyes, flickering with mockery. He watched Draco shaking his head, brushing his overgrown bangs off his forehead. Still the same platinum hair though crumpled and matted after the fight. Face covered in sweat and dust. Thin lips tremble slightly.
“Hello, Potter,” Draco groaned, trying to stand up. He really struggled with that – must’ve had a sore knee, Harry thought, watching his sharp movements. He hadn’t seen Malfoy since the Battle of Hogwarts. They’d lost each other in all the chaos and mourning, and desperation, and after the Battle ended and the country was trying to recover, neither of them bothered to reach out for the other.
And now...
Malfoy got to his knees and tried to step on the injured foot, just too hiss in pain and fall back onto the ground. Harry, feeling his hands going numb, reached towards him and helped him up, ignoring Ron’s protests.
“Malfoy-”
He caught Malfoy’s sight, filled with hatred, as he squeezed Harry’s hand and tried to stand on his unstable legs. Harry felt as if this was all just a very bad dream. A nightmare, and he has to wake up soon. Because it was Draco Malfoy leaning on his elbow. He leaned with all the weight of his slim fragile figure. Sharp shoulders were still proudly straightened, the body trembled slightly from overexertion and the stun thrown by Harry.
He was the outlaw they all were trying to catch all this time.
“Malfoy-” he had to say this. Just to make things right. “I want you to know this was never personal.”
Malfoy slashed him with an absolutely scathing sight, and his lips, now a painful shade of bluish, twisted into a smirk.
“This was always personal, Potter,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. “For me, at least.”
Harry, moving as if in a very slow motion, raised his wand one more time. He had to do this. He had to cuff him. Malfoy was a criminal. Not just any criminal – the one that sent the economy of the whole of Britain reeling. A scoundrel distributing killing curses here and there and slaying people left and right. The head of a criminal organization of such magnitude that even knowing about its existence, Auror Office could not do anything. They caught him. Alive. Harry caught him. And he had to follow through with the instructions to the end. He had to-
“You want a way out? I can give you a way out, Malfoy...” he heard his own hasty muffled whisper.
Draco gave him one of his most scornful looks. Smiled caustically: “Fuck yourself, Potter.” And then suddenly leaned forward, his dry, ice-cold lips crushing onto Harry’s. Draco easily, as if playfully, opened Harry's mouth with his lips and slid his thin tongue into it, hastily exploring everything inside. Harry tasted cigarettes and whiskey on his lips as Draco's tongue carefully slithered over every inch of his mouth. Harry suddenly realized that he was squeezing Malfoy’s fragile body in his arms... and how could he not crumble under the strength of Harry’s trained hands? But Malfoy kept standing straight and proud, and only gently, carefully kissed Harry. Thin lips pressed against Harry’s tenderly, and Harry suddenly thought that he liked it. Draco had never been so gentle with him before. Always full of jokes, insults, desires to hurt him where it hurts. And after all that, after ten years of forgetting each other’s existence – here it was, the calm, deliberate kiss of bluish lips, the light touch of the sharp chin with veins visible beneath the translucent skin.
Draco suddenly pulled away slowly. His transparent eyelids covered his eyes slightly, and he silently stared at the glittering handcuffs that had just closed around his wrists. Harry squeezed his wrists in his and also looked at the chains. Even the kiss couldn't make him forget what he had to do.
He looked back at Draco, who merely shrugged his shoulders indifferently, still not taking his eyes off those fragile wrists of his.
And then Harry noticed those thin lips moving. Forming words, barely audible in all this wind, and blood throbbing in Harry’s ears, and the creaking of the handcuffs.
“Always wanted to do that,” Malfoy whispered as if to himself. Harry stared, feeling Malfoy’s cold hands gently squeezing his. He looked at Harry, and a light smile touched his mouth. “ Always wanted to kiss you, Potter. You just... couldn’t take a hint.”