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Hogwarts, Year 8, after the War
Minerva McGonagall stood at the head of the Great Hall, her voice carrying through the enchanted ceiling as she addressed the students and faculty.
"To ensure that Hogwarts remains a place of unity and growth," she announced, her tone firm but kind, "I have decided that, for the remainder of the year, no one is to address each other by their surnames. This will help eliminate any lingering prejudices and foster an environment of equality. Again! I hope you get what I mean” she stare at Draco and Harry. “No surnames calling allow."
There were a few murmurs throughout the hall, but no one dared argue with McGonagall’s logic, especially after everything Hogwarts had been through. This was a new era, a time to rebuild, to heal.
Harry Potter, seated between Hermione and Ron, shrugged. "I don’t see the problem," he said as they all tucked into their breakfast.
"Right?" Hermione agreed. "It’s a great idea, actually. Helps everyone move on."
Ron, with his mouth full of toast, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, sure, but imagine Snape still being here for this. He’d have hated it."
Harry chuckled. "True. But I guess it’s time to leave all that behind."
Yet, as Harry said this, his gaze wandered to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was sitting, surrounded by his usual crew. The thought of calling him Draco felt… wrong. It was like admitting that Malfoy—no, Draco—was an actual person with feelings, not just an arrogant git who had tormented him for years.
Draco, on the other hand, was having similar thoughts. He poked at his eggs with his fork, his brow furrowed. Being forced to call Potter… Harry ? It made his skin crawl. Potter was a concept, a symbol of everything that had annoyed Draco for years. Calling him by his first name would feel too personal. Too familiar.
The next day, the new rule was in full effect, and it wasn’t long before Harry and Draco ran into each other in the corridor.
"Morning, Golden Boy ," Draco sneered, putting an exaggerated emphasis on the words.
Harry turned, narrowing his eyes. "Morning to you too, Ferret Face ."
Draco’s lip curled. "Creative as always, Scar Head ."
"Look who’s talking, Blondie ," Harry shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.
Their exchange attracted a few confused glances from passing students. Neville Longbottom, walking with Seamus and Dean, looked particularly baffled. He stopped mid-stride and turned to Harry. "Why don’t you just call him Draco?"
Harry didn’t miss a beat. "I’d rather eat Blast-Ended Skrewts for breakfast, thanks."
"Besides," Draco added, smirking at Harry, "calling him by his name would be far too… domestic."
"Domestic?" Seamus repeated, bewildered. "What are you two on about?"
Draco gave an exaggerated shudder. "Can you imagine? It’s bad enough being in the same school as him, but to have to call him that? Utterly revolting."
"Agreed," Harry said, grinning despite himself. "So, Ferret Face , what brings you here today?"
"Just avoiding looking at your hideous mug," Draco replied smoothly. "But it seems I’m too late for that."
Seamus exchanged a look with Neville. "You lot are mental. Wouldn’t it just be easier to call each other by your names and be done with it?"
"That’s what we’ve been saying," Dean muttered, shaking his head.
But Harry and Draco both shook their heads vehemently. "No way," Harry said. "It’s more fun this way."
Draco nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. Why settle for boring when we can have… this ?" He gestured between them with a flourish.
From the corner of the hallway, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini watched the whole exchange unfold. Pansy raised an eyebrow. "They’re both idiots."
"Yeah," Blaise agreed, "but this is kind of amusing, isn’t it?"
Pansy sighed. "Well, at least McGonagall’s rule is working in a way. No more Potter and Malfoy . Instead, we get… this."
Back in the corridor, Harry and Draco had started walking side by side, continuing their verbal sparring.
"Admit it, Insufferable Git ," Harry said, "you enjoy this as much as I do."
Draco scoffed. "Please, Chosen Prat . You’re just a source of entertainment."
"Right, just like you’re a… perpetual headache," Harry shot back.
They both smirked, secretly enjoying the banter far more than they’d like to admit.
As they reached the end of the hallway, they both turned, going their separate ways. But before they parted, Draco called out over his shoulder, "See you later, Scar Head ."
Harry grinned. "See you, Blondie ."
As they disappeared around different corners, Neville shook his head again. "Unbelievable."
Hermione, who had witnessed the whole thing, just rolled her eyes. "Boys," she muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.
The weeks went on, and Harry and Draco’s peculiar nickname game only intensified. It became a spectacle within the school, something students of all houses would look forward to witnessing. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike would place bets on what bizarre nickname the two would come up with next.
From "Speccy Git" to "Prancing Peacock," no insult was too outlandish. And though it was technically breaking McGonagall’s rule, no one intervened. Because, in a way, it worked. Harry and Draco were talking—not with hatred, but with a strange sort of camaraderie hidden beneath the insults.
It wasn’t peace, exactly. But it was something. And for Harry and Draco, that was more than enough.
…….
Hogwarts, Year 8, Month 3 of the "No Surnames" Rule
It had been months since McGonagall’s decree, and the peculiar dance between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy—or as they now exclusively referred to each other, "Golden Boy" and "Blondie"—had become an ongoing source of bewilderment and entertainment for the entire school.
The first time Harry had called Draco "Blondie," it had been a spur-of-the-moment insult, one of many in their endless stream of banter. But something about the way Draco had flushed—just a faint pink tinge in his pale cheeks—had given Harry a strange, almost mischievous sense of satisfaction. So, naturally, he had continued to use it.
Draco, on the other hand, had found that calling Harry "Golden Boy" not only annoyed him in all the right ways but also gave him the upper hand in their little game. Every time he said it, there was a flicker of something in Harry’s eyes—irritation, yes, but also something else, something Draco didn’t dare name.
One particular afternoon, they found themselves crossing paths in the library. Hermione had dragged Harry there, insisting he needed to study for their upcoming exams, while Draco had slipped in quietly, hoping to escape Pansy’s incessant nagging about the state of his hair.
"Well, well," Draco drawled as he spotted Harry at a table, surrounded by books. He leaned against the nearby shelf, arms crossed. "If it isn’t our resident Golden Boy , pretending to be intellectual."
Harry looked up, his eyes narrowing as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "And if it isn’t Blondie ," he shot back, his tone teasing. "Come to grace us all with your overwhelming charm?"
Draco’s blush was barely noticeable, but Harry caught it, and it made his grin widen. Draco rolled his eyes dramatically, though his heart wasn’t in it. "Careful, Potter—I mean, Golden Boy —too much flattery might make me think you’ve finally fallen for me."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I’m not sure I could handle that, Blondie . You’d be far too high maintenance."
"Please," Draco scoffed, his smirk betraying him. "You’re practically in love with my hair. Admit it."
"Maybe in love with mocking it," Harry countered, leaning back in his chair. His eyes roamed over Draco, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. "But I’ll admit, it’s impressive how much time you put into making it look that ridiculous."
Draco snorted, but his cheeks reddened again. "Ridiculous? Please. You’re just jealous because your hair looks like a nest of flobberworms on a good day."
From across the room, Hermione watched them, her quill hovering over her parchment as she tried—and failed—to focus on her essay. "What are they doing?" she whispered to Ron, who was flipping through a comic book.
Ron didn’t even look up. "Bickering, as usual."
"It’s not just bickering," Hermione said, frowning. "They’ve been like this for weeks. It’s almost…"
"Flirty?" Neville suggested, leaning in from the other side. He had been attempting to read his Herbology textbook but had given up once Harry and Draco started their usual exchange.
Hermione blinked. "Exactly. But that doesn’t make sense. Harry and Draco… flirting? No, that can’t be it."
"Can’t it?" Neville asked, glancing over at the two of them. Harry was now leaning closer to Draco, his voice low but still audible enough to carry.
"You know," Harry said, "if I didn’t know better, Blondie , I’d say you keep coming around just to see me."
Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk still in place, but his eyes betrayed the faintest hint of nervousness. "And if I didn’t know better, Golden Boy , I’d say you enjoy the attention."
Ron finally looked up from his comic book, squinting at Harry and Draco. "Blimey, they’re at it again. D’you think they even realize what they’re doing?"
"No," Hermione said firmly. "They can’t possibly be aware. Otherwise, they’d stop."
"Or kiss," Neville muttered under his breath, causing Hermione to gasp and Ron to choke on his pumpkin juice.
Across the castle, in the Slytherin common room, Blaise Zabini was having a similar conversation with Pansy Parkinson. They both sat in front of the fire, watching as Theo Nott paced in front of them, clearly troubled.
"I don’t understand it," Theo said, raking a hand through his hair. "Draco’s been acting so… weird. I mean, he’s always been strange, but now he’s…"
"Flirting with Potter?" Blaise offered lazily, lounging in his chair.
Theo stopped pacing and gaped at him. "That’s what I’m afraid of!"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Theo, darling, it’s not flirting. It’s denial. Painful, ridiculous denial."
"Exactly," Blaise agreed. "They’re both pretentious idiots. The whole school can see they’re head over heels, but they refuse to admit it."
"So, what are we supposed to do?" Theo asked, looking utterly lost.
"Nothing," Pansy said with a sigh. "They’ll figure it out eventually. Or they’ll just keep hurling ridiculous nicknames at each other until one of them snaps."
***
Meanwhile, in her office, Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, watching the castle grounds through her window. Her usual stern expression was softened by a deep, weary sigh as she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small bottle of firewhiskey.
She poured herself a generous glass and took a long sip before muttering to herself, "Eight years of teaching Potter and Malfoy… You’d think I’d be used to it by now. But no. No, this is a whole new level of nonsense."
Taking another sip, she leaned back in her chair and gazed out at the distant Gryffindor tower, where, she imagined, Potter and Malfoy were probably in the middle of another verbal sparring match.
"Just once," she said to no one in particular, "I’d like a normal day at Hogwarts. But no, instead I have to deal with this absurd courtship ritual they’ve concocted. Pretentious idiots, the both of them."
With that, she downed the rest of her whiskey and reached for the bottle again. If this was how the rest of the year was going to go, she was going to need a lot more of it.
……
Hogwarts, Year 8, Christmas Season
As the festive decorations began to light up Hogwarts, and snow dusted the grounds, something else was sparking within the castle walls—something other than Christmas cheer. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had continued their relentless back-and-forth, with no one in their respective friend groups able to make sense of it. The nicknames had only grown more ridiculous over time, and with each insult thrown, there seemed to be a lingering undercurrent of something that neither of them were willing to acknowledge.
It had gone on long enough. Something had to be done.
Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson, though rarely on the same page about anything, had come to a silent understanding that the absurd tension between Harry and Draco had to end—preferably before the holiday break.
“I can’t take another day of them throwing flirty insults at each other,” Pansy groaned, throwing herself into a chair in the Slytherin common room. “It’s like watching a pair of pretentious peacocks trying to out-preen each other.”
“Agreed,” Hermione muttered, rubbing her temples as she thought back to Harry’s latest spat with Draco in the library. “It’s exhausting.”
Blaise nodded sagely. “Idiots, the both of them. Just shove them together and let them sort it out.”
Pansy’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Actually… that’s not a bad idea. Why don’t we?”
“Why don’t we what?” Theo asked, looking up from his Potions textbook, completely lost as usual.
“Shove them together,” Pansy said with a grin. “Literally.”
Hermione, who had been deep in thought, suddenly looked up. “Wait… you’re suggesting we—oh. Oh! That might actually work.”
Blaise smirked. “Operation ‘Push Draco Into Harry’?”
“Or Harry into Draco, whichever works,” Pansy said with a wave of her hand. “We’ll lure them into a broom closet, lock them in, and force them to—well—deal with whatever this is.”
Theo blinked slowly, clearly still confused. “And… you think this will work?”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Of course it will work. They’ve been flirting like idiots for months. One hour in a confined space, and they’ll either snog or kill each other. Either way, problem solved.”
Hermione bit her lip, clearly torn between her usual rule-following instincts and the desperate need to put an end to the madness. “It’s a bit… underhanded,” she admitted. “But at this point, I’ll try anything.”
And so, the plan was set in motion.
---
The Next Day: The Broom Closet
Harry had been lured to the scene with some nonsense from Ron about a missing Quidditch strategy book, while Draco had been told by Blaise that his favorite broom polish was mysteriously stashed away nearby.
The moment the two of them rounded the corner, they were simultaneously shoved into the broom closet by Pansy and Hermione, the door slamming shut behind them with a resounding click.
“Oi!” Harry shouted, banging on the door. “What the hell, Hermione?”
“Let us out!” Draco demanded, his voice a mix of annoyance and panic. “Pansy, I swear—”
But their voices were met with silence. On the other side of the door, the two girls exchanged satisfied looks and quietly walked away, leaving Harry and Draco to their fate.
Inside the dimly lit closet, Harry and Draco stood awkwardly, bumping into each other as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. The small space was cramped with old brooms, cleaning supplies, and various other magical odds and ends.
“Well, this is cozy,” Draco muttered sarcastically, trying—and failing—not to notice how close Harry was standing.
Harry chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Looks like we’ve been set up.”
“No kidding,” Draco replied, crossing his arms. “Probably their ridiculous attempt to get us to stop… you know.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “What? Flirting?”
Draco’s cheeks tinged pink, but he didn’t look away. “If you can call it that, Golden Boy .”
“Oh, I’d definitely call it that, Blondie ,” Harry said, his voice dropping to a lower, more playful tone. He stepped closer, his grin widening as he noticed the way Draco’s eyes flickered down to his lips for the briefest of moments.
Draco huffed, trying to maintain his usual haughty demeanor, but his pulse quickened as Harry closed the distance between them. “What are you doing, Golden Boy ?” he asked, though his voice wasn’t as steady as he’d have liked.
Harry tilted his head, his fingers brushing casually along Draco’s arm. “What’s the matter, Blondie ?” he teased, leaning in just a little closer. “You seem flustered.”
Draco’s breath hitched, but he forced himself to hold his ground. If there was one thing Draco Malfoy never did, it was back down from a challenge.
“Oh, you think I’m flustered?” Draco whispered, stepping forward until there was barely an inch of space between them. His hand slowly trailed up Harry’s chest, fingers grazing over the fabric of his shirt. “I think you’re projecting, Golden Boy .”
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, but he refused to let Draco have the upper hand. Summoning every ounce of Gryffindor courage he had, he leaned in, his lips brushing just above Draco’s ear as he whispered, “You wish, Sweetheart .”
Draco’s breath caught at the new nickname, his blush deepening. But instead of pulling away, he smirked, his hand sliding up to the back of Harry’s neck. “Is that the best you’ve got, Darling ?”
The tension between them crackled like electricity. Their hearts beat in unison, fast and loud in the confined space, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.
And then, without thinking, Harry closed the gap and kissed Draco.
It was bold, brash, and completely reckless, but Harry didn’t care. He half-expected Draco to shove him away, maybe hex him into oblivion, but instead, Draco responded with equal intensity, deepening the kiss and pulling Harry closer by the collar of his shirt.
The broom closet seemed to melt away as they lost themselves in the kiss, all the months of tension and ridiculous banter culminating in this one, explosive moment.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to process what had just happened.
“Well,” Draco said, his voice slightly hoarse, “that was… unexpected.”
Harry grinned, still trying to catch his breath. “Unexpected, but not bad?”
Draco smirked. “Maybe.”
They stood there for a few more moments, the air between them charged with something entirely new. But before they could say anything else, the sound of a lock clicking open echoed through the small space, and the door swung open.
Pansy and Hermione stood on the other side, looking far too pleased with themselves.
“Time’s up,” Pansy announced, smirking at Draco’s slightly tousled hair and Harry’s dazed expression.
Hermione, meanwhile, was trying to maintain her usual composure, though she couldn’t help the small, triumphant smile on her face. “Did you two… come to an agreement?”
Harry and Draco exchanged a glance, both of them still slightly flushed but now with matching smirks.
“Oh, we came to an agreement, all right,” Harry said, stepping out of the closet and brushing off his robes as if nothing had happened.
Draco followed, straightening his collar and raising an eyebrow at Pansy. “But we’re not sharing the details.”
The girls exchanged knowing looks but said nothing, letting the boys keep their newfound understanding to themselves.
---
The Next Day: The Great Hall
When Draco and Harry walked into the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, the entire student body held its breath, waiting for the inevitable round of bizarre nicknames to fly across the room.
But instead of the usual insults, Harry grinned at Draco and said, in a voice loud enough for several tables to hear, “Good morning, Sweetheart .”
Draco, not missing a beat, leaned in and replied, “Good morning, Darling .”
The entire hall seemed to freeze. Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs alike gaped in stunned silence as Draco sat down next to Harry at the Gryffindor table—completely unbothered—and Harry pulled him into a kiss, right there in front of everyone.
Ron Weasley, who had just taken a bite of toast, went pale. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, his face turning an alarming shade of green. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Hermione, for once, was speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, then opened it—only to let out a strangled sound of disbelief. “I… I… well… this is… unexpected.”
Neville looked like he was about to bolt from the table entirely. “I think I need to—uh—check on my plants,” he mumbled, edging away.
At the Slytherin table, Blaise and Pansy exchanged a look of triumph.
“Well, would you look at that,” Blaise said with a smirk. “They’ve finally stopped being idiots.”
Theo, however, looked utterly bewildered. “So… they’re… together? Just like that?”
Pansy rolled her eyes and patted Theo on the shoulder. “Just like that, darling.”
Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, who had been observing the scene from the staff table, let out a long, exasperated sigh. Reaching under the table, she retrieved her hidden flask of whiskey and took a big gulp.
“Merlin help me,” she muttered, watching as Harry and Draco continued their display of affection. “I should’ve retired years ago.”
And with that, she took another swig, resigning herself to whatever madness awaited in the months to come.