Chapter Text
Harry was in a bit of a debacle. The practical exam for a particularly tricky charms spell was tomorrow, and Hermione had already left for her nighttime Head Girl duties. Yes, Harry had been given a week to prepare, and yes, he definitely could have asked Hermione earlier, but honestly-- who could blame him for not prioritizing learning how to nonverbally make a teacup grow legs and tap dance?
He'd wanted to avoid this last resort, but there was no helping it now. There was only one person in all of Hogwarts who liked to nag him more than Hermione, but annoying help was better than none. Ron had long given up and gone to sleep, mumbling about how he’d “wake up early tomorrow to practice”—as if that had ever worked.
The walk to the Slytherin dormitory is nearly as familiar as the walk to his own, and he offers the portrait guarding it’s entrance a friendly wave.
“Hullo Professor Slughorn. It’s been a while.”
The portly main sighs. “A while? Two days, more like. I guess there’s no point in lecturing you about how sacrilegious this is, is there?”
Harry grins. “I respect the commitment, Professor, but five years is quite a long time for a lesson to stick, isn’t it? And it’s “Ivory”, by the way.”
Slughorn grumbles, but the door swings open for Harry all the same.
The common room is nearly empty, save for a pair of first years playing exploding snap, a few third year girls poring over what seemed to be some very lengthy essays, those poor souls, and ah—good, a minion.
Draco is sitting on a cushy loveseat angled toward the fireplace, reading a Quidditch catalog. A box of chocolates—probably from his mother, from the looks of the packaging—lay half-empty on the side table next to him. Harry walks over, ignoring one of the first year’s startled whisper of “that’s the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, isn’t he?”, and looms over the other boy in silence.
Draco’s eyes flicker to Harry before immediately returning to the catalog. “Go away. He’s not here.”
Harry sniffs and peers down at Draco beneath his glasses “How could you possibly know who I’m here for?”
The chocolates are starting to melt from their proximity to the fire, and he barely manages to swipe a slippery truffle before Draco swats at his hand with the mag.
“Stop polluting our common room with your gross Gryffindor energy already!”
Harry is about to make an offended retort and defend his house honor when he hears Minion #2 pad to the bottom of the stairs and stop at the sight of him.
“Hi, Avery.”
“I believe Tom is in the showers, Potter.”
Harry frowns. “Ugh, so I came here for nothing?” He sighs and pops the truffle into his mouth. “And the Head Boy bathroom is so far from here…” he murmurs to himself. Maybe he can just wait in the common room for Tom to return? No, it’s too cold and drab and depressing in here, Harry decides, and licks the sweet residue off his fingers.
“Well, tell your mom I like this recipe. Nice tang on the raspberry filling.”
“I will not be hassling her with your nonsense,” Draco replies snootily, and Harry offers only a cheeky wave before turning away.
There’s a beat of silence after the portrait door closes behind him. The first year that’d whispered earlier prods his friend again. “…You don’t think he’s going to find Head Boy Riddle in—in the showers, is he?”
Draco groans and tosses the catalog aside. He mumbles something about wanting to be asleep by the time the two return so he won’t have to deal with their “noise”, and makes his way to the dormitory stairs.
The two first years exchange scandalized looks, and Avery can’t help snickering. It’s become a ritual at this point, really, for each new class of first years to become victims of Harry’s attitude. They’d better get used to it quick, because much more was to come throughout the year.
—One week later—
The large eagle owl is already waiting at the Gryffindor table by the time Harry rushes into the Great Hall. It’s standing tall and regal, a large parcel in its beak. As Harry walks closer, he realizes that it’s unmistakably the Malfoy family owl.
Ah fuck. Harry swears that owl always has the most attitude—
The minute he reaches the table and places a finger on the parcel, the owl gives an indignant hoot and drops the package on the table with a clatter. Without another word, he springs up in a flurry of feathers and flies away.
“Seriously?” Ron grumbles, and plucks a large feather from his bowl. Clumps of oatmeal drip down in unappetizing plops. He stares at it for another second, as if debating if it’d be worth eating, before pushing the entire bowl away.
On Harry’s other side, Hermione folds up her own letter and leans over to peer at the package the owl had dropped. It seems to be two boxes, one smaller than the other, wrapped in shining silver paper and tied together with a nearly ostentatiously large green ribbon.
“Another package from Malfoy’s mother? Sirius won’t be happy that she’s still trying to steal his spot as favorite parent.”
Harry flicks a feather off his plate before loading it with toast, and uses his other hand to pull at the parcel’s ribbon. He has to stretch his arm out almost comically far to untie the whole thing in one go.
“Good thing he’s never going to find out, then. Last time he tried to send something homemade I had to take that stupid healing potions for days.”
The larger box is addressed to him, and upon opening, is revealed to be a dozen truffles—large, shiny spheres of ruby chocolate nestled in lacy paper cups. He carefully picks up one of the cups, and realizes that each sweet is printed with an intricate peacock design on top.
Harry takes a bite, and his heart warms when the sour-sweet tang of raspberry cream hits his tongue. His silly cousin, always acting mean just for appearances.
He’d have to send a letter expressing his thanks later. Maybe during his free period? No, he needed to finish a History of Magic essay due later that day…
Harry’s staring off into space, slowly savoring the decadent flavors, when someone presses up against his back. The body is warm and firm, easily enveloping his own. A large hand reaches over his shoulder to wrap around his own, and thin fingers twist his palm upwards.
“You’re dripping, dear."
If the familiar scent hadn’t already given it away, that voice definitely had. Harry cranes his neck upwards, meeting a pair of dark grey eyes peering directly down at him. They stare pointedly at his hand, eyebrows raised, and Harry follows his gaze. Indeed—raspberry cream had dripped from the uneaten half of the truffle still in his grip, leaving a small trail of light pink cream on his thigh.
“Oh fuck”. He quickly swipes at it with his other hand, but it only smears the filling more.
“Why is it so bloody sticky.”
“Do you need me to clean you up?” Ron chokes and drops his spoon, and Neville frantically turns to thump his back.
Harry rolls his eyes and grabs a napkin to blot at the cream. “I’m not twelve, Tom.”
The other boy only gives a noncommittal hum, and Harry twists in his seat to face him. Tom retracts his hand from harry's own, but he stays pressed close; Harry has to keep his head canted up to meet Tom's eyes.
“What’re you over here for?”
“I received word from Draco that one of these packages here is for me.”
Harry suddenly remembers the other unopened box, and starts brushing aside the small mess of ripped packaging and random crumbs.
“It should be somewhere under here—” The green ribbon starts slipping down the table, but a nonverbal levitating charm reverses its descent before he can slap a hand down to stop it.
“Thanks!”
“Showoff,” Ron mumbles.
“Ahh here it is.” Harry excavates the smaller box, which he now sees has Tom’s name printed on top in flowy cursive.
“Dunno what it is since you don’t like sweets”.
Tom lifts the lid, and Harry hmmps.
“Oh, never mind.”
Tom peers at the chocolate snake inside his box, expressionless. “It’s quite lovely.”
It comes off as impassiveness, but Harry’s sure that he’s probably more confused than anything. Aunt Narcissa should know Tom well enough to remember his ambivalence toward sweets.
Suddenly, as if awoken by the melody of a snake charmer, the serpent rises up and flicks out a tiny chocolate tongue. Harry’s eyes trail down the length of the snake, following the patterns carefully etched into nearly every visible surface.
“Doesn’t it kinda look like—”
“Nagini,” Tom breathes, and Harry knows that if it was anyone else they’d be smiling. The chocolate Nagini scents the air with her tongue one more time before sinking back into a flat coil.
Tom observes the chocolate for another second before replacing the lid, expression flat. Harry can’t help but feel a fondness toward the other boy—the more touched he is by something, the less willing he is to show it on his face when other people are around. His box may have been smaller than Harry’s, but the extravagance of the actual gift easily made up for it. Leave it to Aunt Narcissa to make sure that nobody would say one was favored over the other.
“I’ll have to send Lady Malfoy my gratitude later.”
Harry perks up. “Oh, I’ll be writing to her too! Let’s meet in the owlery after classes and we can find Hedwig?”
Tom does smile, then, a pleased quirk of his lips. His dark eyes shine under the sunlight flickering off the enchanted ceiling. They may be illusions, but Harry feels the warmth all the same.
“Yes. I’ll see you there, Harry. And you’d better get to class before Professor McGonagall comes for your pretty head.”
Harry startles, eyes flying to his watch. He glances around the Great Hall, and realizes that most of the tables are half empty.
“Sorry, didn’t want to interrupt.” Ron quips from his side. Both his and Hermione’s plates are empty, school satchels already slung over their shoulders.
“Oh, Merlin,” Harry groans, and grabs his stack of his uneaten toasts before scrambling to extricate his legs from the bench.
“Um, are you sure you want to leave like that?” He turns to Hermione, confused.
“Like what?”
She casts a mirror charm on a plate that hadn’t been vanished yet, and Harry holds it up to stare into his reflection. Wrapped around his neck and tied into a ludicrously large bow is the giant silk ribbon that had come with his sweets. The tails of the green bow trail down his chest, and he looks like the particularly pampered housecat of a rich Slytherin lady.
Tom must have tied it while he was levitating the ribbon, that absolute tosser! Harry had thought that Tom was admiring the chocolate, but he must have been focused on nonverbally manipulating the silk. And his cheeky little smile!--
Harry whips his head around to glare at the other boy, but he’s long gone, shielded by the crowd of students milling out of the Great Hall.
“I’ll get him back for this!”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you will,” Hermione simpers, and shoves his schoolbag into his arms.
“Only if McGonagall doesn’t get to you first,” Ron adds.
Harry hurriedly slings his bag over his head. “Ugh, yeah, let’s get going.”
“...The ribbon, mate.”
“Right. Thanks.”