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Chapter Text

Ron Weasley had only intended to pop into Diagon Alley for three things: a new broom polish kit, a bag of Fizzing Whizbees, and the satisfaction of not being dragged into any ridiculous chaos for once in his adult life.

He was halfway to accomplishing that when chaos found him anyway.

It started innocently enough. He was walking past Flourish and Blotts when he saw a familiar blond head inside the window. Malfoy. Of course. Nose deep in something pretentious-looking, probably Advanced Alchemical Theory for Elitist Wankers. Ron was about to keep walking, because why let an old school rivalry interrupt a peaceful afternoon, when the door swung open and another all-too-familiar figure stepped out behind him.

Harry.

Harry Potter, war hero, professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ron’s best mate since they were eleven, and currently walking down the street beside Malfoy.

No, not beside. With.

Ron blinked.

They weren’t just walking. They were strolling. Leisurely. Unhurried. Chatting, laughing softly. Holding hands. Draco Malfoy’s hand was casually looped into Harry’s like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. Like this was just a normal Saturday morning for the two of them.

Ron stared. And stared. And kept staring.

Harry reached out to fix something on Draco’s collar. Draco rolled his eyes, but didn’t swat him away. They stopped by Fortescue’s. Ordered two cones. Shared one.

By the time Draco stole a lick of Harry’s strawberry swirl, Ron had dropped his broom polish.

He bent to pick it up slowly, as if physical movement would help his brain process what he had just seen. He watched them settle on a bench near the Apothecary, side by side, heads tilted together. Harry said something and Malfoy laughed. Not sneered. Not smirked. Laughed, like an actual human being with a soul and a functioning heart.

Ron blinked again.

Then whispered, almost reverently: “Bloody hell. They’d make a cute couple.”

—---------------------------------

“You saw what?” Hermione nearly choked on her tea.

“I know.” Ron leaned across the table, eyes wide. “Just holding hands and walking around like it’s the most normal thing in the world! And they matched, Hermione. Same coat colour. Same smug expressions. And ice cream. Who shares bloody ice cream?”

Neville, who had arrived late to their usual Saturday staffroom tea break, raised a brow as he set down a tray of scones. “Wait. Who are we talking about?”

“Harry and Malfoy,” Hermione said slowly, eyes narrowing as she pieced it together. “Ron thinks they’re dating.”

“They have to be!” Ron insisted. “I mean, you should’ve seen them. They were like—like those coupley couples. The ones who finish each other’s sentences and make everyone else feel single and sad.”

Neville poured himself some tea. “To be fair… they do act like an old married couple sometimes. Remember when we were all at the staff New Year’s party and Malfoy fixed Harry’s tie without saying anything?”

Hermione’s expression shifted. “...And how they always sit next to each other at faculty meetings.”

“And how they leave together,” Ron added quickly, “and how they never date anyone else. Like, ever. When’s the last time either of them went out with someone?”

“Draco turned down that Hit Wizard from the Ministry last month,” Neville said, thinking. “Said he was ‘emotionally unavailable.’”

“And Harry said no to Luna’s friend from the Department of Mysteries. Twice.”

Hermione looked between the two of them, then said slowly, “This… is actually plausible.”

Ron leaned back with a self-satisfied grin. “Exactly. So I propose we make things interesting.”

Neville blinked. “What kind of interesting?”

“A bet,” Ron said, eyes glinting. “We each guess when they’ll finally get together. Closest date wins the pot.”

“Ron, this is so immature,” Hermione said. But she was already pulling out a quill and parchment. “Right, when do we start?”

“Today,” Ron said. “They were already halfway to snogging on that bench. I’m putting down two weeks.”

Neville thought about it, then said, “Nah. I give it until the next full moon. That’s… what, three and a half weeks?”

Hermione tapped her chin. “If we’re going off behavioural trends, I’d say they’ve been in the pre-courtship phase for at least six months. I’ll give them until end of term. Seven weeks.”

“Deal,” Ron grinned. “Wager?”

“Ten Galleons each?” Hermione offered.

“Done,” Neville agreed.

They sealed the betting scroll with a charm and hid it in the transfiguration department’s bookshelf (because even Draco never voluntarily goes near it).

None of them noticed the faint shimmer of an Eavesdropping Counter-Charm hanging loosely from the doorframe.

—---------------------------------

Outside the staffroom, two professors strolled down the corridor, hand brushing against hand.

“Do you think they bought it?” Harry asked with a small grin.

Draco looked smug. “Hermione started calculating. They definitely bought it.”

Harry chuckled. “You know this is morally questionable, right?”

“We’ve been married ten years, Potter. We deserve some fun.”

Draco leaned over, brushed a quick kiss against Harry’s temple, and added with a smirk, “I give them three failed attempts before someone cries.”

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Hermione Granger took more seriously than spellwork and scholarship, it was matchmaking.

Unfortunately, that made her very dangerous.

The moment she signed her name on that betting scroll, something in her brain snapped into high-functioning mischief mode. She was a woman with a mission, and the mission had excellent font formatting, colour-coded contingency plans, and a shared calendar invite.

“This is a terrible idea,” Ron muttered as she paced the staffroom on Tuesday morning, a clipboard hovering beside her.

“No,” she said, “this is a controlled social catalyst with minimal magical interference.”

“It’s entrapment,” Neville mumbled into his toast.

Hermione ignored both of them. “We lure Harry and Draco to The Spindle’s End. Romantic, but not suspicious. We tell each one they’re being set up on a blind date by a ‘trusted friend.’ We don’t say who. They arrive. They see each other. The sparks fly. Love blooms. We win the bet.”

Neville looked up. “Won’t they be mad?”

“Only if they don’t like each other,” she replied brightly.

Ron snorted. “I give them five minutes before they’re shagging in the alley.”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped, scandalised.

“What? You said sparks fly.”

—---------------------------------

It took three days of careful orchestration.

Hermione owl’d Harry an anonymous note, enchanted so it sounded like Luna’s voice, telling him that “a very kind, very brilliant mutual friend” had set him up with someone special at The Spindle’s End this Saturday. Dress nice. Don’t be late.

She sent Draco an identical note, charmed to mimic Theo Nott’s handwriting. “He’ll believe it more that way,” she told Neville.

Ron was in charge of reservations, which turned into a disaster when he accidentally booked them under the name “Weasley, Stupid Date Scheme.” Luckily, the hostess at The Spindle’s End found it amusing and gave them the back booth with extra privacy.

Saturday arrived with the anxious energy of a Quidditch final.

Hermione dressed like she was going undercover in a Ministry raid. Neville wore all green to “blend into the decor.” Ron brought snacks for surveillance. (a paper bag of roasted almonds, which he nearly finished before they even arrived)

They set up in the booth behind Harry and Draco’s, Disillusioned and Muffliato’d, with Hermione holding a charmed mirror angled just-so for spying. She whispered a recording spell into the stem of her wine glass.

Ron snorted. “You’re going to transcribe the date?”

“It’s for emotional data,” she hissed.

—---------------------------------

7:02 p.m.: Harry arrived first.

He wore black robes and a nervous smile. His hair was less messy than usual, which meant he’d actually tried. He smoothed his collar, checked his reflection in the window, and sat.

Hermione sighed dreamily. “He looks adorable.”

Neville nodded. “He’s fiddling with the cutlery. That’s a good sign.”

“He’s anxious,” Ron said. “That’s a terrible sign.”

7:05 p.m.: Draco appeared, cool as always, dressed in steel-grey robes and something shimmery at the collarbone. His platinum hair was pinned back neatly. He looked like a walking bottle of overpriced cologne.

He froze when he saw Harry.

Ron held his breath.

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Draco blinked slowly, then smirked. “So. You’re the mystery date.”

Hermione whispered, “Okay, okay, this isn’t bad. This could be good. This could—”

Draco sat down across from Harry with a sigh. “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve been set up worse.”

Harry’s lips curled. “Remember that time Luna tried to match you with a ghost?”

“He was more emotionally available than most of my exes.”

They both laughed.

Hermione’s quill scratched furiously in midair.

“They’re bonding,” Neville whispered.

“They’re reminiscing,” Hermione corrected. “That’s a soft opening tactic.”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Are they eating already? They skipped the awkward phase.”

“Maybe they’re too comfortable,” Neville said. “Should we… make it worse somehow?”

Hermione slapped his hand. “No magical interference!”

—---------------------------------

Meanwhile, at the other table…

“I think they’re spying on us,” Draco said casually, sipping his wine.

Harry didn’t look up from his menu. “You think?”

“Booth behind us. Booth seven. Too quiet. Smells like Ron’s almond bag.”

“Smells like anxiety and bad planning,” Harry murmured.

Draco set his wine down, leaned closer. “Should we mess with them?”

A slow grin curled on Harry’s face. “Absolutely.”

—---------------------------------

7:20 p.m.: The meal began.

From behind the booth, Hermione’s trio listened intently.

“...So there I was,” Harry was saying, “trapped in a room with a cursed wardrobe, a boggart, and four screaming first-years.”

“And what did you do?” Draco asked, sipping his wine.

“Cried,” Harry said solemnly.

Draco choked on his drink. “You’re lying.”

“I absolutely cried. I cried and asked the boggart for therapy.”

Ron snorted so hard he had to shove his fist into his mouth.

Hermione scribbled: Strong rapport. Humour exchange. Draco is laughing without reserve.

“They’re vibing,” Neville whispered.

“They’re married,” Ron muttered. “This is ridiculous.”

—---------------------------------

7:45 p.m.: Dessert arrived.

Harry ordered treacle tart. Draco got raspberry mousse.

They shared.

Like actually leaned across the table and offered each other bites with their forks.

“I’m going to be sick,” Ron whispered. “They’re spoon-feeding.”

Hermione looked pale. “That’s couple-tier intimacy.”

“Did we set them up,” Neville said slowly, “or… did we just walk in halfway through a real relationship?”

There was a beat of silence behind the booth.

Ron frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re not together. We’d know. They’d tell us. Harry tells me everything.”

“Does he, though?” Hermione asked.

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it.

—---------------------------------

8:10 p.m.: The check came.

They split it. Malfoy insisted, citing “principle.” Harry rolled his eyes but agreed. They stood, stretched, and walked out side-by-side.

Ron peeked through the mirror. “They’re leaving. Do we follow?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione said.

“Stealth mode,” Neville muttered, already halfway out the booth.

The three trailed behind, using café umbrellas and alley shadows to stay hidden.

Harry and Draco meandered toward the edge of the alleyway, near the Apparition point.

They stood close. Too close.

“I had fun,” Harry said.

“You always do when I pay,” Draco replied.

Harry grinned. “You paid half, Malfoy.”

“A sacrifice, truly.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Same time next week?”

“Obviously.”

They grinned. Then Apparated away in twin cracks of air.

Behind the trash bins, Hermione dropped her wand.

Ron sank to the ground.

Neville just whispered, “We’re doomed.”

—---------------------------------

Back in Hermione’s quarters, the scroll glowed faintly.

A new note appeared, scrawled in delicate cursive:

Bet Reminder: All participants still in play. Romance unconfirmed.

Next attempt recommended within 7 days.

“Next time,” Ron growled, “we're making it obvious.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Oh, it’ll be obvious.”

—---------------------------------

Meanwhile…

In a flat just outside Hogsmeade, two professors were getting ready for bed.

“You were perfect tonight,” Draco murmured as he pulled off his robes.

“You were better,” Harry said, flopping onto the bed with a sigh. “That mousse stunt? Inspired.”

“I should win an award.”

Harry grinned, reaching out for him. “You realise we’ve created a monster, right?”

“I’m counting on it.” Draco curled up beside him and whispered, “I give them two more tries.”

Harry snorted. “Three. Ron’s not that creative.”

They laughed under the covers, tangled limbs and shared smugness.

The betting game had only just begun.

Chapter Text

It all started with Neville’s breakdown over morning tea.

“I’m losing sleep over this,” he said, clutching a stack of plant catalogues like they were sacred texts. “I’ve repotted fifteen gillyweed plants this week just to cope. I’m seeing Draco’s smirk in my dreams.”

“Alright,” Ron said, halfway through a mouthful of toast. “Time to scale back the fertiliser.”

“I’m serious!” Neville thumped the table. “They’re toying with us! That thing at the Spindle’s End? The little bite-sharing? The way Draco looked at him like he invented sugar?”

“They shared dessert,” Hermione said tiredly, stirring her tea with unnecessary aggression. “You can’t just—just spoonfeed each other like that in public and not be dating.”

“They’re playing us,” Ron muttered. “They know about the bet.”

“How could they?” Hermione frowned. “It’s under magical lock—”

“Draco Malfoy,” Neville said, stabbing his finger in the air. “He would break into a sealed document out of pure spite.”

“Or curiosity,” Ron added. “Or boredom.”

“Or Harry’s moral greyness rubbing off on him.”

“Honestly, they’re both suspicious.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“We need to escalate,” Hermione said grimly.

—---------------------------------

They reconvened that night in Hermione’s office — a cluttered space filled with half-unrolled lesson plans, mismatched mugs, and a chalkboard that currently read: EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION IS BAD (but sometimes necessary).

Neville, cheeks red and guilty, opened a velvet-lined box with a soft pop and revealed a vial of pink liquid.

“This,” he said solemnly, “is not a love potion.”

“Thank Merlin,” Hermione muttered.

“It’s more of an… emotional softener. A brewed blend of aromatic compounds meant to invoke openness, warmth, and vaguely affectionate inclinations. Like putting your feelings on low simmer.”

Ron squinted. “Like magical wine goggles?”

“Exactly.”

“...You brewed wine goggles?”

“I’m a Herbologist,” Neville said, insulted. “And this is subtle. Mellow. No coercion. Just a little nudge.”

“Right,” Hermione said, taking it carefully. “We’ll lace their tea. Harry always has his before duelling class. Draco’s addicted to that earl grey from the potions wing.”

“We’ll time it,” Neville added. “Make sure they get the dose at the same time. And then…”

“We give them a shared task,” Hermione said. “Send them to the Restricted Section to ‘retrieve enchanted artefact reports.’ Dim the lights. Add a warming charm. Maybe sprinkle in some roses.”

Ron blinked. “...You want them to fall in love in the library?”

“No. I want them to admit they’re already in love in the library.”

“Close enough,” Neville muttered.

—---------------------------------

They spent the next day in a haze of strategic planning.

Neville brewed a fresh batch of his emotionally-suggestive infusion, this time with hints of rose petals, yarrow, cinnamon, and a suspicious amount of honey. “Subtle seduction,” he explained. “But comforting. Familiar. Like a memory of being in love.”

“Should we be worried you’re this good at this?” Ron muttered.

Hermione enchanted two flasks and matched the potion’s scent to the tea blends they each knew best, strong black tea for Harry, and an elegant bergamot-vanilla mix for Draco.

Ron handled “delivery,” which mostly involved bribing a few unsuspecting Hufflepuff students with chocolate frogs to deliver the drinks at the appointed hour. (“Do not sniff it, drink it, or ask questions. Just hand it over and run.”)

Hermione arranged the task. A forged note from the Headmistress requesting both professors’ help locating a “misplaced relic from the Founders’ Collection” was slipped into each of their mail slots. She even charmed the parchment to look aged and official, with a fabricated Department of Magical Artefacts seal.

“I feel dirty,” she muttered as she sealed the envelope.

“You should,” Ron said. “You’re committing romantic fraud.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And you’re excited about it.”

He shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

—---------------------------------

Harry was the first to sip.

“Bit sweet today,” he said, leaning against the staffroom counter as Hermione tried not to flinch. “Is this new?”

“Experimental,” she said. “Natural sugars. Neville’s idea.”

Harry sniffed it. “Smells like Christmas.”

“And regret,” Hermione muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He drank.

—---------------------------------

Draco received his tea on a silver tray delivered by a third-year Ravenclaw wearing an expression of deep confusion.

“From your secret admirer,” she said flatly, before darting off.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the steaming cup.

“Sweet, isn’t it?” said Theo Nott, who had been lounging nearby and watching with mild interest.

Draco sniffed. “Oversteeped.”

He drank it anyway.

Ten minutes later, both men received their missions via enchanted parchment. Harry’s glowed warm gold as he read it.

Urgent request: Report to Restricted Section immediately. Do not alert students. Possible disturbance in Founders’ archives.

Draco’s read the same.

He rolled his eyes. “Dramatic.”

But he still went.

—---------------------------------

The Restricted Section was already prepared.

Dimmed lighting, soft ambient glow, and a faint floral scent of Neville’s potion, now wafting gently through the air via charmed diffuser. A warming charm pulsed quietly from the floorboards, creating a cozy, low-grade heat haze. Everything smelled faintly of roses and nostalgia.

Books rustled quietly on high shelves.

A table had been arranged in the center, scattered with aged-looking parchments, sealed scrolls, and a “magical artefacts log” that Hermione had drafted in her neatest, most officious script.

It looked legitimate.

The perfect trap.

—---------------------------------

Harry arrived first. He eyed the setting with immediate suspicion.

“Nice try, Hermione,” he muttered.

He picked up a scroll, unrolled it, and raised an eyebrow. "Inventory of Relics: Sword of Gryffindor, Mirror of Erised, Helga’s Teaspoon?"

“Subtle,” he added.

Draco entered thirty seconds later.

He paused at the doorway. “Let me guess. Another ‘mysterious task’ involving improbable artefacts and strategically romantic lighting?”

Harry didn’t look up. “They’re getting bold.”

“Desperate, more like.”

They stood on opposite ends of the table for a moment, letting the silence settle. The air shimmered faintly with scented magic.

“You smell like cinnamon,” Draco observed.

“You smell like you’ve been dunked in vanilla,” Harry replied.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Did they drug us again?”

Harry took another sniff of his sleeve. “Neville’s potion, probably.”

“I should’ve known. This is what I get for trusting tea.”

There was another pause.

Draco stepped around the table, stopped in front of Harry, and held out a small folded note. “Found this tucked under a scroll. Recognise the handwriting?”

Harry took it.

If you two don’t kiss by the end of this I’m taking back my ten Galleons.

— R

Harry choked on air. “They’re getting reckless.”

Draco smirked. “They’re getting sloppy.”

Then he added, more quietly, “We could have fun with this.”

Harry tilted his head. “How fun?”

Draco leaned in. “Cruel fun.”

Harry grinned.

—---------------------------------

Harry leaned against the edge of the table, casually flipping the note over.

“Cruel fun?” he repeated.

Draco shrugged one shoulder. “You said it yourself. They’re reckless. They think they’re subtle. Let’s… reward them.”

Harry’s grin stretched. “You want to act.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re married to me and you’re surprised?”

There was a long pause. They exchanged a look. One they’d perfected over the years. The kind that didn’t need words, only timing. Trust. The spark of a shared joke.

Then Draco stepped in, closed the space between them, and slid a scroll off the table dramatically.

“We’ve wasted so much time, Potter,” he said, voice pitched low, intense. “Can’t you see what this is?”

Harry blinked. “An elaborate prank on our colleagues?”

“No. It’s fate.”

Draco cupped Harry’s jaw, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. His lips were so close Harry could feel the words more than hear them.

“I’ve fought it for years,” Draco said theatrically. “The glances. The tension. The emotionally fraught duels…”

Harry tried not to laugh. “The library brawls. The stolen broomsticks. That one time you poisoned my Pumpkin Juice.”

“Foreplay,” Draco said solemnly.

They both cracked at the same time.

Harry doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Draco swatted him with the scroll. “Stay in character!”

“I can’t. You called attempted murder foreplay!”

“And yet here we are,” Draco said, all smugness, brushing imaginary dust from Harry’s lapel. “Married. Ten years. I clearly played the long game.”

—---------------------------------

Unbeknownst to the drama below, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were once again spying, crammed onto a floating balcony of books that Hermione had transfigured into a semi-invisible platform.

Extendable Ears trailed below. Hermione had charmed one to automatically record. Neville was nervously fiddling with a vial of anti-anxiety mist. Ron was chewing on a Sugar Quill like it owed him money.

“Is he… is Malfoy confessing?” Ron whispered.

Neville’s jaw dropped. “Wait. They’re holding eye contact. Is he…? Oh my god, he’s touching Harry’s face.”

Hermione gasped. “This is it. This is the moment.”

“Shh!” Ron hissed. “We’re gonna miss it!”

Below, Harry’s voice floated up, rich with mock emotion: “I’ve loved you since that first snide comment on the Hogwarts Express.”

“Oh my god,” Neville whispered.

“Since you called me a scar-headed peasant in fifth year,” Harry added.

Hermione clapped both hands over her mouth.

“And even when you ruined my NEWTs by hexing my chair,” Harry continued, voice shaking with clearly fake sentiment, “I knew… you were the one.”

“I was hoping you’d bring up the chair,” Draco said smoothly, pulling Harry into a dramatic embrace. “It was an act of love.”

Ron choked. “This can’t be happening.”

“They’re in love,” Hermione whispered, eyes wide.

Draco dipped Harry suddenly and dramatically. “Kiss me, you beautiful, reckless idiot!”

“THEY’RE GOING TO KISS,” Neville hissed, clutching Ron’s arm.

“THEY’RE GOING TO KISS” Ron repeated.

Crack.

The bookshelf snapped.

In one terrifying moment, the entire floating platform collapsed.

Books went flying. Scrolls scattered. Neville shrieked. Hermione flailed. Ron somehow kicked a lantern mid-fall, which exploded into glittering sparks.

—---------------------------------

They landed in a tangled heap on the stone floor with a thunderous thud.

Hermione’s shoe hit Neville in the face. Ron’s elbow knocked into a suit of armour, which promptly toppled and groaned dramatically before settling into an awkward sprawl.

Above them, two very calm voices rang out.

“Oh look,” Draco said, peering down with mild amusement, “a romantic disaster.”

Harry clapped slowly. “Ten out of ten for commitment.”

Hermione groaned into a copy of Ancient Enchantments and the Idiots Who Try Them. “I hate everything.”

Ron wheezed. “Did they kiss? Tell me they didn’t kiss.”

“I think we missed it,” Neville whimpered.

Draco and Harry descended from the raised aisle, both still visibly trying not to laugh.

“Fancy seeing you three here,” Harry said.

Ron sat up, dazed. “...Is this a dream?”

“No, but you did land on a first edition,” Draco replied, brushing dust from his robes. “Tragic.”

Hermione pushed her hair out of her face. “We were rying to…”

“To emotionally manipulate us using floral tea,” Draco supplied helpfully.

Neville raised a finger. “Technically it was a safe infusion.”

“Didn’t work,” Harry said, cheerfully. “I feel exactly the same.”

Draco snorted. “Which is to say: smug and delighted.”

Hermione looked up at them both, defeated. “You really didn’t kiss?”

Harry and Draco exchanged a look.

“No,” Harry said.

“Not yet,” Draco added wickedly.

Ron groaned into the floor. “They’re torturing us.”

Harry leaned down. “You’re lucky we’re already married, or I’d be insulted by the level of effort.”

Neville blinked. “What?”

“Nothing!” Draco said quickly. “He’s being dramatic. Like you lot.”

They helped them up. Gently, kindly, smugly.

As the trio hobbled off, covered in dust and shame, Hermione muttered, “We’re never going to win this.”

Ron sniffed. “We have one more attempt.”

Neville rubbed his shoulder. “It better not involve a falling bookshelf.”

—---------------------------------

Later that evening, the trio gathered back in Hermione’s office, trying to look composed but clearly nursing bruises — both physical and emotional.

Hermione rubbed her temples. “This has been... exhausting.”

Ron sank into the chair with a groan. “They’re married,” he said again, disbelief heavy in his voice. “They’ve been married this whole time.”

Neville stared at the remains of the basil they spilled during the bookshelf collapse. “I keep wondering how much longer we can pretend this is a game.”

Hermione shook her head. “We didn’t even get close this time. And they know about us. They’re deliberately messing with us.”

Ron frowned. “We need a new plan. Something foolproof. Something that actually forces them to come clean.”

Neville nodded. “Maybe it’s time to be honest with them.”

Hermione gave a bitter laugh. “We’re professors, not kids. But... I’ll admit it. I want to know.”

Ron pulled out the betting slip, now full of doodles and half-hearted curses. “I’m done losing. Next week... we win.”

—---------------------------------

In their cozy flat, Harry poured two glasses of wine while Draco traced lazy circles on the back of Harry’s hand.

“So,” Draco said, voice low and teasing, “how’s the bet coming along?”

Harry grinned. “The fools have no idea.”

Draco leaned in, voice softening. “Let them try. It’s amusing to watch.”

Harry kissed his temple. “It’s our little secret.”

Draco smiled. “For now.”

They settled into the quiet comfort of routine, a peace the outside world could only guess at, and a game the friends outside still couldn’t win.

Chapter Text

The air in Hermione’s office was thick with tension—and an uncharacteristic scent of desperation.

“We’ve tried everything,” Ron muttered, pacing like a caged animal. “Draco and Harry are too clever. They know we’re watching. They’re laughing at us.”

Neville sat hunched over a pile of books about the Room of Requirement, tapping a finger on a page filled with complex charms. “The Room can adapt to your needs, right? Maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

Hermione didn’t look up from the half-finished blueprint sprawled across her desk. “Exactly. The Room responds to the deepest need of the seeker. If we can convince it our deepest need is to find out if Harry and Draco are actually… you know.”

“Together?” Ron finished grimly.

Hermione nodded. “We just need to find a way to lure them in.”

Neville frowned. “And once they’re inside?”

Hermione’s eyes glinted. “We enchant the Room to make it impossible to leave until the truth comes out.”

Ron blinked. “You’re talking about a magical truth trap?”

“Theoretically,” Hermione admitted, “though we’ll have to soften the magic so it doesn’t cause undue trauma. We want to encourage honesty, not extract confessions at wand-point.”

Neville smiled. “Sounds like an emotional polygraph.”

Hermione smirked. “Exactly.”

—---------------------------------

Hermione’s office was quickly transformed into a makeshift war room. She covered every surface with notes, diagrams, and charms extracted from ancient tomes. Neville hovered nearby, occasionally consulting his Herbology references, while Ron alternated between pacing and staring blankly at the piles of parchment.

“We need the Room to create a space tailored to our needs,” Hermione explained. “It can manifest anything the seekers truly desire. If we present it with a need for truth—a need to reveal hidden feelings—it should conjure an environment that makes deception difficult.”

Neville frowned. “Is it safe, though? Last time, the potion almost backfired.”

“It’s a subtle magic,” Hermione reassured him. “More of a psychological nudge than a compulsion. But it should be effective if the participants are emotionally vulnerable.”

Ron looked unconvinced. “We’re counting on them to get emotional?”

“That’s the idea,” Hermione said. “They’re under a lot of pressure already. The Room will amplify that tension.”

Neville bit his lip. “What if they sense the trap?”

Hermione’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Then the game becomes even more interesting.”

—---------------------------------

Over the next two days, the trio brainstormed excuses that could bring Harry and Draco together in the Room of Requirement.

Ron suggested, “We could say there’s a rare artifact that needs their expertise.”

Hermione nodded. “Good. I’ve drafted a letter from the Headmaster. Something about a confidential matter requiring both their attention.”

Neville added, “And it needs to be urgent enough so they can’t easily refuse.”

They finally settled on a message:

Dear Professors Potter and Malfoy,
The Headmaster requests your immediate presence in the Room of Requirement regarding a matter of utmost confidentiality. Your combined expertise is essential.
Please attend promptly to ensure the security of the university’s magical assets.
– Deputy Headmistress McGonagall
The letter was carefully sealed and slipped into their mailboxes late at night, enchanted to glow faintly so the recipients would notice it immediately.

—---------------------------------

On the day itself, Hermione arrived early at the entrance to the Room of Requirement, heart pounding. Neville and Ron followed shortly, each carrying small enchanted objects designed to monitor the Room’s effects remotely.

“We’ve tested the charms,” Hermione said, casting the final protective wards around the entrance. “Nothing can leave without our permission.”

Ron checked the Extendable Ears. “This is it. No more slip-ups.”

Neville took a deep breath. “May the magic be on our side.”

—---------------------------------

Minutes later, Harry was the first to enter. His eyes scanned the space warily as the Room shifted fluidly, walls transforming into shelves of ancient books and softly glowing candles.

Draco appeared moments after, smoothing his robes with an air of cool confidence.

Both professors exchanged a glance—one of those looks that spoke volumes without words.

Hermione watched through a concealed port, gripping her wand tightly.

The Room began to subtly shift, warmer light suffusing the air, a faint scent of lavender and rose teasing their senses.

Harry’s lips twitched. “I’m not sure I like this.”

Draco smiled thinly. “It’s… cozy.”

Hermione whispered, “Now.”

—---------------------------------

The Room of Requirement was not just a room. It was alive, sensing, molding itself to the needs of those who entered. Tonight, it hummed quietly with magic designed to pry secrets from the hearts of two professors.

Harry shifted his weight, glancing around at the glowing candles and the soft scent of roses that filled the air. He felt a curious warmth creeping up his neck but pushed it aside.

Draco stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He scanned the room but did not speak.

Hermione, Ron, and Neville were hidden nearby, monitoring every subtle shift in the room’s enchantments through magical devices concealed just outside the door.

Suddenly, the temperature rose slightly, and the air thickened with a heady perfume. The room began to gently pulse, like a beating heart, as the enchantments activated.

Harry frowned but met Draco’s gaze with a small smirk. “So, what do you think? Is this the universe’s idea of a date night or an interrogation chamber?”

Draco chuckled softly. “A bit of both, perhaps. But I suppose we have to play along if we want to get out.”

Harry laughed quietly. “For once, I’m on your side.”

The warmth between them grew more intense, as if the room itself wanted to spark something undeniable. Harry could feel his defenses lowering. Draco’s presence was a comforting shield.

Hermione’s voice barely escaped a whisper through the Extendable Ears. “It’s working. They’re responding.”

Ron muttered, “Come on, say something.”

Neville nodded anxiously. “Just a little more.”

Harry took a slow breath and looked at Draco with mock seriousness. “Draco, I feel like we should clear the air. The truth. Are we… just friends? Or is there more?”

Draco smiled, lips twitching. “I think it’s time we put the rumors to rest.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “I was going to say ‘Are we best friends?’ but your version sounds much more dramatic.”

Draco stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Best friends who happen to share a bed, a broom closet, and a penchant for pretending we’re not married.”

Harry smirked. “Right. Just roommates with a lot of history.”

The trio outside froze, their hearts pounding.

Hermione whispered, “Did they just—?”

Ron’s voice cracked. “They’re playing us.”

Neville clenched his fists. “This is… a fake reveal.”

Draco and Harry exchanged an amused glance before turning back to the trio’s magical surveillance devices.

Harry grinned. “If you wanted to know, you should have asked.”

Draco’s voice was light but firm. “We’re not hiding anything. Just not sharing everything.”

Hermione sighed in frustration. “They’re toying with us.”

Ron muttered, “Yeah, like cats with a laser pointer.”

Neville rubbed his temples. “Do we try again? Or do we finally accept that we’re outmatched?”

Harry and Draco, meanwhile, settled into comfortable chairs that had appeared from the shadows of the Room. They looked as if they were ready to wait out any number of hours.

“Tell them,” Draco said softly.

Harry smiled. “Not yet.”

—---------------------------------

Outside the Room of Requirement, Hermione, Ron, and Neville gathered in a small side chamber, shielded from view but fully aware of everything happening inside.

Hermione’s face was pinched with disbelief. “They’re married, and yet they just acted like it was nothing. Like they’re casually sharing a flat or something.”

Ron paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe they played us like that. For all our scheming, they’re always two steps ahead.”

Neville leaned against the wall, arms folded. “It’s like they’re daring us to find out, but on their terms.”

Hermione clenched her fists. “This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. They’re hiding behind that joke, but we’ll find the truth.”

Ron stopped pacing and gave a humorless laugh. “We’ve been chasing shadows for months. It’s exhausting.”

Neville gave a quiet nod. “Maybe it’s time we stopped chasing and just asked.”

Hermione shook her head. “We can’t. Not yet. We’re too far in. This needs to be their choice to reveal.”

Ron groaned. “So what now? We go back to Dragon Alley, drink ourselves silly, and hope they slip up?”

Hermione gave a small smile. “Maybe that’s exactly what we’ll have to do.”

Neville’s eyes brightened a little. “And maybe, just maybe, this time we’ll get our answer.”

—---------------------------------

Back in the Room, Harry and Draco relaxed, their playful facade settling into genuine warmth.

Draco looked over at Harry. “Think they bought it?”

Harry chuckled. “Like a pair of clumsy first-years.”

Draco smirked. “Good. Let them keep guessing a while longer.”

Harry nodded, eyes softening. “Our secret. Our game.”

—---------------------------------

As the trio left the castle that night, nursing bruised egos and empty mugs, none of them knew how close the truth really was.

But soon enough, the game would change forever.

Chapter Text

The warm glow of Dragon Alley spilled onto the slick cobblestones as evening descended. Neon signs buzzed softly, and the chatter of late-night patrons echoed from cozy taverns and lively booths.

Hermione, Ron, and Neville arrived together, faces flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves. After weeks of frustration and fruitless scheming, tonight was their last chance to break the stalemate.

Ron grinned, slapping Neville on the back.
“Alright, team. Tonight, we either get the truth, or drown in shame.”

Hermione shot him a pointed look.
“Try not to get arrested.”

Neville adjusted his glasses and looked around.
“I hope they show up soon.”

They slipped into their favorite corner booth at The Drunken Dragon, the smells of spiced cider and roasted chestnuts filling the air. The place was packed with familiar faces of professors unwinding, students celebrating, and the occasional rogue wizard weaving between tables.

Not long after, Harry and Draco entered the tavern, immediately catching the trio’s attention. Harry’s unruly hair was damp from a light rain, and Draco’s sharp features were softened by a rare, genuine smile.

Ron nudged Hermione.
“There they are. Showtime.”

Hermione took a deep breath and signaled Neville to steady himself.

The evening promised to be long and unpredictable.

—---------------------------------

The drinks arrived swiftly—thick mugs of frothy butterbeer and rich spiced cider. The trio raised their glasses, a silent toast to courage, curiosity, and the hope for answers.

Ron, cheeks flushed from the first sip, grinned at Hermione and Neville.
“Alright, let’s do this. We’ve danced around this for too long.”

Hermione gave a half-smile, steeling herself.
“Remember to stay calm. Don’t let it get messy.”

Neville adjusted his sleeves nervously.
“I just want to know.”

Across the table, Harry caught their eyes and gave a knowing smirk. Draco followed with a subtle raise of his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

Ron’s heart hammered.
“Okay, here goes.”

He cleared his throat loudly enough to catch their attention.
“So, uh… Harry, Draco—when exactly are you two going to stop torturing us and just say it?”

The table fell quiet.

Harry’s smile widened.
“Say what?”

Draco tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
“That we’re secretly in love? That’s a well-loved rumor.”

Ron threw back the rest of his butterbeer, then winced.

Hermione pressed her lips together, staring at the ceiling. Neville’s fingers drummed anxiously on the table.

Ron tried again, slurring slightly,
“Come on. We know you’re hiding something. It’s about time you told us.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Draco, their amusement barely contained.

Draco leaned forward, voice low but clear.
“We’ve told you everything you need to know.”

Ron narrowed his eyes.
“No, you haven’t.”

Hermione sighed.
“Ron, maybe we should—”

“No,” Ron said firmly, voice cracking.
“Tonight’s the night.”

—---------------------------------

The tavern’s chatter dimmed, glasses clinked, and the flickering firelight cast long shadows on the walls. Ron’s heart hammered in his chest like a drumroll.

He leaned forward, eyes locked on Harry and Draco, who sat with their usual composed grace, though now there was a spark of something different—amusement? Anticipation?

“So,” Ron said, voice thick with liquor and nerves,
“how long have you been hiding it? The whole married thing. You’ve been playing us the entire time?”

Harry’s mouth twitched into a sly smile.
“Ten years.”

The words landed softly but firmly. The table seemed to still in that moment. Hermione’s fork paused midair, Neville blinked rapidly, and Ron’s jaw dropped.

“Ten years?” Hermione breathed, disbelief mingling with a hint of awe.

Draco gave a slow nod.
“We were younger, naive. Wanted to keep it private, keep it safe.”

Ron rubbed his face.
“And the betting, the pranks, the constant baiting? You were just messing with us?”

Harry’s grin deepened.
“You could say that.”

Draco added,
“We knew the minute you started the bet. Thought it was endearing.”

“You let us bet on you?” Neville’s voice cracked.

Harry shrugged.
“We’ve always liked a good game.”

Ron looked between them, stunned.
“You’ve been married all this time, living like this, and never told anyone?”

Draco’s voice softened.
“We wanted to protect our life. Hogwarts is complicated.”

Hermione leaned in, curiosity overwhelming caution.
“But why now? Why tell us tonight?”

Harry’s eyes twinkled.
“Because we trust you. Because maybe it’s time.”

Draco reached out, a rare, warm gesture, placing his hand briefly over Harry’s.

Ron finally broke into a relieved laugh.
“Well. That explains a lot.”

Neville shook his head, laughing through tears.
“I don’t know whether to be mad or happy.”

Hermione smiled softly.
“Both, probably.”

The weight of the secret lifted, replaced by a new understanding.

And for once, Harry and Draco weren’t just professors, not just colleagues—they were two people, finally free.

—---------------------------------

Ron shook his head, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.
“So you two were hiding a whole marriage? That’s the biggest prank of all.”

Hermione smirked.
“I’m still half convinced you both enjoy making us chase ghosts.”

Neville chuckled, raising his cider.
“Well, here’s to Harry and Draco— the sneakiest couple at Hogwarts.”

Harry raised his mug.
“Cheers to that.”

Draco gave a mock bow.
“I expect a lifetime supply of teasing from all of you.”

Ron grinned.
“You’ll get it— with interest.”

Harry glanced at Draco.
“You know, maybe next time we should just invite you all to the wedding.”

Draco smirked.
“And spoil the surprise? Never.”

They all laughed, the tension melting into warmth and good humor.

As the night wore on, the stories grew wilder, the jokes even cheesier, and the bond between them all grew stronger than ever.

For once, secrets felt like inside jokes — the best kind of magic.

—---------------------------------

Later that night, after the tavern had emptied and the cobblestones outside glistened under a soft drizzle, Harry and Draco walked side by side, their arms casually brushing.

Draco smirked.
“Well, Potter, I suppose we’ve officially broken the curse of secrecy.”

Harry chuckled.
“About time. Though I’m not sure if our friends will ever stop teasing us.”

Draco grinned.
“Good. They should suffer a little. We’ve earned it.”

They reached their flat, the door creaking open to reveal the quiet sanctuary they’d kept hidden for so long.

Harry paused, looking at Draco.
“You know, maybe we should’ve just told them sooner.”

Draco shrugged, winking.
“Where’s the fun in that?”

Harry laughed softly and pulled Draco close.
“Fair point. But next time, maybe we skip the decade-long guessing game.”

Draco pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s temple.
“No promises.”

They slipped inside, the warmth of home and each other wrapping around them like a spell far stronger than any magic in the halls of Hogwarts.

And finally, they were just Harry and Draco—no secrets, no pretenses, only love and laughter.