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‘Twas the 2nd of September 1993 when Draco Malfoy, the sole heir of House Malfoy, lay wailing in the bed of Hogwart’s Hospital Wing. Maimed, permanently scarred, almost slaughtered by a ravenous, bloodlusting beast. The reason? Mere disobedience, for one second. The beast had let Harry Potter ride on his back without hesitation. Draco does the same greeting, lashes out for a second and gets hurt? What is not biased about that? Mayhaps he was mistaken in thinking everything went his way. Or maybe that beast should be put to rest… No, no, no… too dramatic. God, what was he thinking? Brilliance, his mind is brilliant. The way he so easily could come up with sentences, set scenes, describe and act out what he was thinking. He was so talented. So… what was the word… theatrical . 

And there, in that damned Hospital bed, in the Hospital Wing which smelled of bloody bandages and nasty healing potions, Draco Malfoy had an epiphany. He sat up, acknowledged his peers next to him. Vincent, Gregory and sweet Pansy, whose hands he held and said, “I am a visionaire.” 

Pansy, whose eyes were wide at his sudden movement, merely nodded, though glanced back at a confused looking Vince and Greg. 

“Alright…” she said slowly. “Now lay back.” 

“I have a kind of unmatched vision not seen in this world for ages,” Draco went on. 

“Madam Pomfrey, I think he’s gone mad!” said Greg loudly. 

“My mind is an encyclopedia of brilliance. I think therefore I am, I can be the best playwright the Wizarding World has ever seen.” Draco grasped Pansy’s hands even tighter. “Pansy, Vince, Greg, I am going to write the best musical ever known to man.”

“What about your injury?” asked Vince, nodding to his arm.

Draco looked down at his arm, which, if were to be honest, did not hurt as much. In fact, it wouldn’t do much aside from leaving a scar. He stretched his arms, shaking them slightly. Nope, no pain at all. “Screw the injury, Vincent, we have a musical to write.”

“About what?” wondered Gregory, looking at him with wild amazement. 

Draco put his hands up, widening them to the thin air. “Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus; The Tale of Three Brothers. And I? I'll be playing Ignotus Peverell, the one who lived the longest and possessed the Cloak of Invisibility.”

“Draco…” Pansy began slowly. “What possessed you to do this?” 

“A good bit of thinking,” Draco said, nodding to himself, “and the urge to do something with my life.”

“So, you won’t get Hagrid into trouble for the attack like you swore you would just ten minutes ago?” Pansy asked carefully.

Draco firmly shook his head. “That was the old-Draco, this one is reborn. And you know what, I think I am going to apologise to the overgrown chicken. We can’t have any more distractions from my developing work.” 

“Alright,” said Vince, looking around impatiently. “So can we leave now? I don’t really like this place.” 

“Well, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Madam Pomfrey?” he simpered in the most polite tone he could muster.

The elderly witch appeared a second later, holding a tray with a potion on top. “Oh, that is not at all necessary. You can discharge me.” 

Pomfrey looked at him with a raised brow, her expression bore a mix of skepticism and pleasant surprise. How that was possible, Draco didn’t know, but he certainly appreciated her dramatic expressions. “Do drink this before you go, Mr Malfoy.” 

“I will.” 

And he regretted doing so because it was nasty . 

***

Draco immediately went to work. He made Greg and Vince lend all the library books about the Peverells they could find. Autobiographies, conspiracy books, even translated versions of the storybooks in French and Latin, which he obviously needed to do for if he missed something in the English version. He was serious about this, this was the beginning of something great. So, it meant making dire sacrifices such as writing an apology for Hagrid’s chicken and reading it out loud to him and a bewildered Hagrid. His second sacrifice was leaving the Quidditch Team, and avoiding hexes thrown at him by Marcus for doing so. But Flint didn’t get it, he didn’t possess the eye . No, not Trelawney’s stupid eye, the eye of a visionaire like him. Duh. 

About a week into his pursuit of doing as much research as possible, Draco came back to classes, well rested and ready to focus back on school work again. 

He swaggered in during Double Potions Class, a tad late for his liking but he had to practice dramatic entrances. 

“Does it still hurt, Draco?” Pansy asked in a faux-simpering tone. Though her acting chops weren’t as brilliant yet, she, with Draco’s help, could go quite far. 

“Yeah,” said Draco with a pout, putting on a brave sort of grimace. 

Pansy snorted, shaking her head while rolling her eyes. 

“I told you, I am better,” he said, giving her a slight shove. 

“Settle down, settle down,” said Snape with a slight wave of his hand. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley scowl at one another. Draco scoffed. The dramatics of these boys. Clearly, they were allergic to fun. 

Snape had tasked them to make a Shrinking Solution that day. Draco opened his Potions book before him and began to cut up his daisy roots. 

“Dramatic git,” he heard someone whisper close to him. 

“Well, thank you,” Draco whispered back to this stranger. 

“So you agree,” said Weasley in his normal speaking tone. “You were exaggerating your injury to get Hagrid into trouble.” 

Draco pondered on that for a second. “At first, yes, father could have certainly gotten him fired but lately I’ve found that there is nothing entertaining about that. That is the reason I apologised to the monstrous animal. Besides, a trial would have distracted me from more important endeavours.” 

“Such as?” asked Potter.

“None of your bloody business, well , for now. Time will tell before everyone finds out,” he replied nonchalantly, not trying to give away too much. Keep them on their toes, he heard a Mudblood say once. 

He did not pay heed to them anymore, humming a Celestine Warbeck song as Snape was scolding Longbottom for doing something idiotic again. He was completely in his element until he heard a Gryffindor, Finnigan, he believed he was called, mention his estranged Blood Traitor cousin Sirius Black.

"Not too far from here," said Finnegan, looking far too excited when knowing a convicted criminal was near. "It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."

"Not too far from here..." Weasley repeated, looking significantly at Potter. He turned around and saw Draco watching them. "What, Malfoy?"

Draco’s eyes shone, turning to Potter’s cute little clueless face. He leaned across the table. "Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?"

"Yeah, that's right," said Potter offhandedly, not that interested in what Draco had to say. The audacity! 

Draco smiled. "Of course, if it was me," he said quietly, "I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" said Weasley roughly.

"Don't you know, Potter?" breathed Malfoy, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"Know what?"

Draco laughed in disbelief. Who raised him? Did they not make him aware that Sirius Black betrayed his parents? Everyone knew about that, even Draco’s father. He always talked about the rat who betrayed them right under their noses. He tried giving him a better hint. "Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck," he said. "Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself for what he did."

"What are you talking about?" said Potter angrily, but at that very moment Snape called, "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's... "

Vince and Greg laughed openly, watching Longbottom sweat as he stirred his potion feverishly. 

Draco followed Potter and Weasley as they went to wash their hands. 

“I’m serious, Potter. Black is like the reason your parents died,” he said as he rubbed his nails against his palms to clean under them. “If I were you, he’d be gone.” 

“Literally what are you on about?” Weasley asked, his freckled face all confused. 

“Weasley, you must know too. Or did your parents not tell you?” he asked, frowning. Draco shrugged. “That’s odd.” He cleaned off his hands and walked to Snape when he called for the class to look at Longbottom’s cauldron. 

When everyone left the Potions classroom, he was called to Snape’s office. His Head of House (and godfather, do not forget that!) barely called him to his office. Mostly, Snape would say everything he needed during classes or in letters sent in the Hols. He did appreciate talking with the man. Severus Snape had a kind of brilliant eloquence to his speech most people wish they had at his age. Whatever that may be. Draco guessed around fifty.

“Draco, I have lately been… concerned about your behaviour.”

“Concerned?” Draco echoed. “How come?”

“You don’t really seem like yourself. You’ve become more sporadic in your actions, you quit the Quidditch team. Is there something going on?” Snape asked. The poor old man looked so concerned Draco wanted to cry genuine tears. Wow.

“No, not at all, Sev– I mean, Professor. I have just decided to let go of old passions and embrace my true life’s mission. The amazing, spectacular world of musical theatre. I, Draco Malfoy,” he said as he climbed onto Snape’s desk, the Professor’s face growing concerned as he talked, “sole heir to House Malfoy. A true virtuoso in singing, dancing, acting and costume making am set to direct, star and produce the greatest musical known to man. Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus; The Tale of Three Brothers!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms out. 

Snape looked speechless, a true good sign of being entranced by the talent in front of him. 

“Get off that desk this instant,” Snape said calmly.

Draco rolled his eyes, jumping off it with a slight grunt.

“A musical, hmm… Is that what has become your life passion?” Snape asked with an amused smirk. 

“Yes!” Draco replied excitedly.

“So, who will be paying for the musical? With that, I mean the sets and costumes.” 

“My parents, and I will make the costumes myself with my sewing skills,” Draco replied.

“Who will approve of it?”

“You,” said Draco. “Duh.”

“What about Dumbledore? He’s the Headmaster, everything goes through him even if I approve.” 

Draco hadn’t thought of that. Old Dumbles won’t approve of anything unless he was Harry bloody Potter himself. But, maybe Draco could convince him. Not through money, he was probably some cave-dweller who lived in a shack in his pursuit of humbleness. But promises of good behaviour, yeah, Draco could do that. But he unfortunately also knew that Dumbledore would want him to add Mudbloods in his play. Ugh, why was life never in his favour?

Draco nodded. “I’ll ask him,” he said, albeit reluctantly.

“Do not disappoint me, Draco. I want to enjoy it.” 

Draco grinned at his godfather. “I’ll make you proud, uncle Sev. You’ll even get a seat in the front row!” 

***

Asking for Dumbledore’s approval went surprisingly well. With great difficulty, he had to accept the fact that Muggle-Borns and Half-Bloods would be participating but other than that he was allowed to do it. He even said he’d notify a descendant of Beedle the Bard himself that someone would adapt one of “his” stories. So, with the golden stamp of approval, Draco began to prepare his script and write the songs with the help of Pansy and her flute, Crabbe and Goyle. He’d been so into his element that he even found himself slacking off during classes. One time, in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Lupin pulled Draco aside after class to ask him what he was even writing down in that notebook of his. 

Draco explained away, going on a thirty minute tangent about his brilliant musical that will shake the entire world (but in a good way). Lupin had been so impressed that he’d allowed him, Vincent, Greg and Pansy to prepare it in his classroom whenever they could, as people had complained to Snape about how the falseness of Pansy’s flute distracted them during the evenings. Those three along with the Professor were his entire circle for September and October. He’d even walked past Potter the day after that Potions Class when he tried to approach him. 

Seriously, what a git. Why would he try bothering him when Draco was avoiding him? 

And even today, as his friends headed out to Hogsmeade without him while he finished writing Act One of his script in Lupin’s classroom, Potter just had to be the only other Third Year who didn’t go to Hogsmeade. 

“Malfoy?” he said in a surprised tone when he also walked into Professor Lupin’s classroom.

“I am at work, Potter, please do not bother me,” Draco said without looking up. 

“Don’t mind, Mr Malfoy,” said Lupin. “He is quite busy.” 

“Thank you,” Draco mumbled, changing the lyric of Antioch’s solo line from ‘a wand of power rips the roots of flowers’ to ‘power thrust upon me by he who’s not fond of cheats’ because what an awful line that first one was. 

“Cup of tea?” Lupin said to Potter.

Draco pouted. He also wanted tea. 

“All right,” said Potter awkwardly.

“You too, Draco?” Lupin asked with a knowing smile.

“Well, of course, Professor.” 

Draco willfully ignored Lupin and Potter until he was handed a hot cup of tea. It tasted a bit stale but that was nothing some extra honey could not fix. If he were honest, he was also kind of eavesdropping on their conversation because, well, what did Potter expect? Draco to be in a room and not do that? He comes from a family of three, he hasn’t been that used to many people having conversations aside from dinner parties and galas. 

“Well,” Lupin was saying, “I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.”

Draco coughed to cover up the slight noise that momentarily came out of his mouth. He sipped on his tea, pretending to go over his perfectly written song. 

“Clearly, I was wrong,” Lupin went on. “But I didn’t think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic.”

“But then,” said Potter. “I– I remembered those dementors.”

“I see,” said Lupin thoughtfully. “Well, well . . . I’m impressed.” 

“That suggests that what you fear most of all is fear. Very wise, Harry.” Lupin paused and as did Potter. “So you’ve been thinking that I didn’t believe you capable of fighting the boggart?” said Lupin shrewdly.

“Well . . . yeah,” said Potter. “Professor Lupin, you know the dementors–”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” called Lupin.

The door opened, and in came Professor Snape. He was carrying a goblet, which was smoking faintly. He nodded to Draco, already aware of where he spent most of his weekends, and stopped at the sight of Potter, his black eyes narrowing.

“Ah, Severus,” said Lupin, smiling. “Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?”

Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Potter and Lupin.

“I was just showing Harry my grindylow,” Lupin lied (the audacity), pointing at the tank.

“Fascinating,” said Snape, without looking at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin.” 

“Yes, yes, I will,” said Lupin.

“I made an entire cauldronful,” Snape continued. “If you need more.”

“I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus.”

“Not at all,” said Snape. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful.

Lupin smiled. “Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me,” he explained. “I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex.” He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. “Pity sugar makes it useless,” he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

“Why– ?” Potter began to ask. 

Lupin looked at him and answered the unfinished question. “I’ve been feeling a bit off-color,” he said. “This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren’t many wizards who are up to making it.” Professor Lupin took another sip. 

“Professor Snape’s very interested in the Dark Arts,” Potter blurted out.

“Really?” said Lupin, looking only mildly interested as he took another gulp of potion.

“Some people reckon–” Harry hesitated, then plunged recklessly on, “some people reckon he’d do anything to get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job.”

“Codswallop, Potter,” Draco drawled.

“No one asked you, Malfoy,” Potter snarled back.

Draco faked a dramatic gasp. 

“Boys,” said Lupin, looking… amused almost. “Well, Harry, Draco, I'd better get back to work. I’ll see you at the feast later.”

“Right,” said Potter, putting down his empty teacup.

“Thank you for letting me stay here, Professor,” Draco said politely, collecting his belongings and walking out of the Defence Classroom. But Draco could not be left alone for one second, for Potter was already on his tails following him. 

Draco turned his heel to Potter just as he was about to tap him on the shoulder. “What do you want?” Draco asked annoyedly, dragging the last word out. “I am famished .” 

“I was just wondering –”

Draco held his hand up before he could continue. “No, Potter, you cannot know about my endeavour until it is announced.” 

“I couldn’t care less about your endeavour, Malfoy,” Potter replied honestly. 

Draco scowled, sniffing. “Then I do not find there to be a reason for us to talk.”

“What did you mean by, Black is the reason my parents died?”  he asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Wait, when did I say that?”

“Our first Potions Class.” 

“Really? Hmm… Don’t remember.” Draco had truly been so distracted. Wow. He didn’t even know what Potion they had made. 

“Wha– never mind, I just want to know.”

“Well, from what my mother told me, Sirius Black betrayed your parents to Voldemort once they went into hiding because the lunatic was chasing you. His old friend Peter Pettigrew went to confront him and the madman killed him! However, I am quite confused about it, as is my mother. Because Sirius was disowned at a young age for being a Blood Traitor and if he’d truly switched, my parents would have known because mother is his cousin and all,” Draco babbled along. He talked his arse off about the whole thing and ended with, “So maybe he just went mad after all those years spent betraying his family,” with a shrug.

Potter was staring at him as though he’d grown three heads. “He betrayed them.”

Draco scoffed. “Have you not been listening?”

“Malfoy, you went on for fifteen minutes.”

“Merlin forbid a boy be excited about family lore!” Draco protested. “You’re quite rude, you know. I literally helped you.”

“Yeah, thanks, I suppose.” 

Draco smiled. “You’re welcome. By the way, can you sing?”

“Why?” Potter asked.

“No reason,” Draco said chirpily, turning back to make his way to the Great Hall. 

At dinner, Vincent pulled out a soft felt hat with an indented crown for him that he bought in one of the stores. He claimed he “immediately thought of you when I saw it.” And Draco would admit that it was quite sweet. 

***

The announcement of the musical, which Draco had wanted to do that Halloween night, had to be put on hold after Sirius Black’s crazy arse broke into the school. And the audacity for Dumbledore to let them sleep in literal bags in the Great Hall. Vincent’s snoring was already bad but hundreds of other students sounded harsher than the storms that Scotland was having the week of Gryffindor and Slytherin’s match. Your biggest enemy was truly your family member, Draco thought with a scoff. 

The night before that, Draco sat in the Common Room with his trio, brainstorming about the final outline of scene one when one of his roommates, the ever handsome and unattainable Blaise Zabini joined them on the sofa, soaking wet.

“Did you swim in the Black Lake or something?” Draco asked, curling his lip.

“Worse,” Zabini replied. “I trained for Quidditch.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Draco incredulously.

“Because you quit, Malfoy,” Blaise reminded him, “and Flint quickly had to look for a replacement. I was the next best option.” 

“Oh yes, I forgot about that. Haha!” he laughed to himself. “You know, Blaise, gold would quite suit you. Don’t you agree, Pansy?” 

“What is it with you, Malfoy?” Blaise asked. “You’ve been so… un-Draco for the past few months.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Flint chimed in with a grunt. “Quitting Quidditch? Are you mad?”

“Almost as mad as you,” Draco smiled. 

“Oh, you little–!” Draco screamed and hid behind Vince as Flint began charging at him, only for the Quidditch Captain to be pulled back by Pucey and Higgs. 

“Alright alright,” Draco sighed, putting his quill down. 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Gregory asked to be sure.

Draco nodded. Oh he was sure. In fact, he had been waiting his entire life for this moment.  “My fellow Slytherins,” Draco began, pushing away the books on the table near him, ignoring the yells from the First Year Students they belonged to. “I have an announcement to make,” he said as he climbed onto the table.

“What is it?” asked Cassius Warrington, a Fifth Year, teasingly, looking absolutely delectable in his robes. 

Draco smiled at him. “Listen closely, Cassius, and all of you. I, Draco Malfoy, heir Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa, had an epiphany. Why should I waste my time on all of this?” He gestured to the books on the floor. “School? Quidditch? Annoying Potter and his Gryffindorks? Isn’t all of that just temporary?”

“Quidditch is forever,” Flint mumbled.

“For you !” Draco exclaimed. “But not for me. I am a once in a generation type of talent. My parents didn’t breed me to be a…” He bent down slightly to Vince and Greg, whispering, “What did McGonagall say that one time again?”

“A schoolyard bully,” whispered Greg back.

“A schoolyard bully!” Draco repeated out loud. “That’s not what I wanted to be known as. I wanted to be known as The Draco Malfoy, writer, director and star of the best musical ever performed at Hogwarts! Auditions will be held right after the Yule Holidays. Yes, you heard me correctly, you did. I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, will put out a musical. Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus; The Tale of Three Brothers!” he finished.

The entire common room had fallen silent. Everyone, and with that he meant everyone was looking at him. Some, absolute idiots with no love for the arts, looked amused, almost mocking. Others seemed shocked but the reactions he enjoyed the most were the people who looked to be in awe. One of the first years whose books Draco had knocked over began to clap, which kickstarted a monumental applause being heard all across the Common Room. Draco smiled, thanking people left and right, bowing, sucking all of this up. 

The moment, unfortunately, was ruined by Snape as he walked in and told Draco to get off the table again. Ugh , why did his godfather not appreciate his ways of storytelling? 

***

My dearest son,

I heard the most splendid news from Mrs Greengrass during our weekly brunch. You will be directing a musical? What a brilliant way of exploring yourself and expressing your creativity in not only writing but songwriting and performing! Whatever you may need, you can always come to me with a list and I will deliver.

Yours truly,

Your Mother who loves you so dearly

Draco smiled as he finished his mother’s short but sweet letter, eating the Belgian chocolate praline she had sent with his care package of the week. 

“Did she like it?” Greg asked, taking one praline from the box.

“She certainly did,” Draco said with a smile.

“Now this one,” Pansy said, handing him the second letter the owl had delivered.

Draco groaned, not as excited about this one. He opened the letter, being met by his father’s hand writing.

Draco,

I have received quite a few interesting pieces of news from your mother recently. Not only have you quit the Quidditch team, asked me to dismiss any trial I had planned for Hagrid (which you know we would have won), you are also set to direct and star in your own self written musical. I have always appreciated your love for the dramatics. Mind you that it is I who always brought you to watch plays with me because I cannot stand sitting there for hours listening to people tell stories they did not live. You have changed, my boy, and if this is your way of maturing, I have to reluctantly approve even if it pains me. 

I do have a few rules. Asking for supplies will be to your mother, do not talk about it when I am present and at the opening night I sit in the front row.

I hope these are not too demanding. 

Yours truly, 

Father

Draco smiled, nodding to his friends. “It’s perfect! They both love it. Professor!” he called out to Dumbledore. “It is time.”

Dumbledore, who had been eating porridge it seemed, put his spoon down and clapped his hands together. 

Flyers cascaded from the ceiling. All of which announcing Draco’s musical. People looked up, some picking up flyers from midair while others took them off the floor. At the Gryffindor table he could see Potter take one from the floor, read it with furrowed eyebrows and then hand it to Weasley. The ginger prat let his eyes move from left to right for a second before using it to wipe his mouth!

The audacity! 

Draco had to fix that issue of his. How could he make himself liked enough for people to even want to be a part of this musical?

***

With the help of Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, Draco went on a month-long “redemption crusade” apologising to everyone he had ever wronged, which had surprisingly been quite the list that even included Professors. He hadn’t even remembered cussing at Professor Binns, well, not to his face! And the ghost hadn’t even appreciated the apology. He had merely said, “It’s alright, Septimus,” and continued reading his book in silence. But Draco didn’t let it bother him, in fact he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders after each apology. He wasn’t truly redeemed, like McGonagall had said after Draco apologised to her for saying she was half the Professor that Snape was, but it was a good start to reflect on his actions. He really was a world class prick. Blaise blamed it on not being scolded as a child, which was very untrue. His father even scolded him too much for his liking. 

At the end, these apologies hadn’t just been to get people interested in his musical. They’d become the start of him turning a new leaf. That even meant replying to the wild letter he received from Potter out of all people during the Yule Holidays. 

— 

Hello Malfoy,

I know you must be gallivanting in your Mansion right now and enjoying your Holidays but I wanted to ask you about something regarding Sirius Black.

I recently got a bit of a more detailed account about what Black had exactly done and you were mostly right. He is a nasty traitor and I can’t believe I have to call him my godfather. In fact, I think I’ll probably denounce that. He doesn’t deserve to be after betraying my parents, one of which his best friend. I can’t believe I’m thanking you for telling me the information you knew in advance, and I’m sorry for being such a prick about it to you. You were helping in your own unique way. Also, thank you for apologising about your past behaviour to Ron, Hermione and I. Although we didn’t expect it, it was kind of you.

I also forgot to say that day that Ron and I sort of polyjuiced ourselves into Crabbe and Goyle last year because we thought you were the Heir of Slytherin so tell them we apologise for that.

Anyway, have a Happy Hols! 

H.P

—

Greetings Potter, 

I am not gallivanting in my Manor , by the way. In fact, I have been spending my good time at home studying. Unfortunately, working on my musical meant that I had to put my academics on hold, a shame as I once was quite the excellent student. But you probably know that already. 

I am quite surprised to say the least that I have received this letter from you. I thought that after my apology we had gotten into this unspoken truce between us, (not that I am complaining about it, that would be rude of me.) But I appreciate the sentiment, even if your penmanship could use some help. I recommend, “A beginner’s guide to calligraphy”, I’m sure it’s something Granger would love too. Maybe even your Weasel, I meant Weasley! My apologies, I am trying.

Anyway, about what you said about Black, you’re welcome. It’s terrible news about Black, that I won’t deny but I believe it is a shame that no one told you until this point. They shouldn’t be keeping secrets regarding you. I find that quite disrespectful. And yes, you were a prick but I have been a bigger one so we’re even. You know, along with my studies, I am picking up some books written by Muggle Borns about the history of their discrimination and some debunking of stereotypes regarding them. I am truly trying to educate myself. I don’t care if I’ll be called a Blood Traitor for this, I want to change the world. Not only through my writing but also my words.

Also, why would you have thought me to be the Heir? Potter, you may have been twelve but that kind of idiocy is inexcusable. 

Happy Holidays to you as well. How are yours going, by the way? 

Salucitations, 

Draco Lucius Malfoy the Magnificent

—

To the Magnificent Draco Malfoy, (Draco giggled at that but don’t tell anyone!) 

You were throwing slurs left and right, my apologies for assuming you wanted Muggle Borns to die! And of course you live in a Manor, I am not even surprised. Anyway, I think it is great of you to try and educate yourself. I won’t give you brownie points for doing the bare minimum but it is a start. 

I am quite curious about your musical. I heard it has something to do with The Tale of Three Brothers? Hermione told me it’s a children’s tale so I don’t know how you’ll make it age appropriate but judging from the continuous ink on your hands and previous dramatics, I am sure you’ll give us something entertaining.

My Holidays are quite dull. I’m staying at school with Ron and Hermione (who are pretending that they aren’t staying to be by my side). There’s a few Professors and other students too, a Slytherin also, Warrington I think his name is. Looks like a sloth. We had dinner this evening and Trelawney was talking about this curse of 13, where the person who left our table first would die. Dumbledore did and she started screaming and everything. It kind of scared me. 

Malfoy, I do have to admit something. 

Someone didn’t exactly tell me about Sirius. Not exactly. The truth is that I eavesdropped. During the Hogsmeade trip I snuck in using my… Okay don’t tell anyone this but I have an Invisibility Cloak. I used it to sneak into Hogsmeade and eavesdropped on a conversation some people were having in The Three Broomsticks. Ron and Hermione have been telling me to stop thinking about Sirius but I can’t, especially after knowing what he did. I want to do something and you’ve been the only one to tell me so. 

What should I do, Malfoy?

I hope I am not bothering you with these questions.

Kind regards,

H.P

—

Draco had to admit something. He didn’t quite know how to reply to Potter’s latest letter. Not entirely, because he’d already started writing away but came to a halt when Harry Potter himself asked him whether or not he should hunt Sirius Black and kill him! Okay, he didn’t say that but it was strongly implied. He knew he had to act quickly, so Draco went to the people he knew would give him the best advice. His parents. He strided to his parents’ bedroom, ignoring the frantic House Elves who were popping and disappearing along the way. Whatever was wrong with those things, Draco had no idea. Without knocking (because it was urgent), Draco opened the door. His mother was seemingly holding his father’s tie, mid-kiss, when they pulled away from each other at the sound of the door opening. 

His father, seeing Draco at the door, did not hesitate a second to ask him, “Why are you here and not in your room dressing yourself?” 

“For what?” Draco wondered. 

“Yule Dinner, Draco love,” his mother replied. “We have guests coming over.” 

“We do?”

“Draco…” His father sighed. “I told– Go to your room.”

“No, father, I cannot,” Draco said defiantly. “I think I may have a problem.” 

His parents looked at one another before turning back to Draco. 

His mother’s face was painted with concern. She approached him and sat them down on the bed, holding Draco’s hands. “What type of problem?” 

“Okay, so I have this friend and he has been struggling with ideas that someone may or may not have planted in their head, but completely by accident!” he added, looking at his father. “Anyway, one of these ideas could cause their life to change forever, while the other would mean they chose the morally good idea that may not fully satisfy them.” 

Lucius Malfoy, who had likely been sulking about the stolen kiss, sat on Draco’s other side on the bed. He looked at his son, stroked his cheek fondly and said, “We do not have a problem about your preference for men, Draco. We love you no matter what.” 

“Huh?” Draco said out loud instead of thinking it. What were they on about? Draco had no preference for men. He just didn’t think of snogging girls. But he never even told or showed his parents that. He thought they wanted him to marry Pansy. Oh no, did they think he used to like her? Absolutely not, she was like a sister to him. 

“Lucius, we promised we were going for a more gentle approach once the time comes," his mother whispered sharply. 

“I don’t get it,” Draco said, shaking his head. “What do you mean by preference for men?” 

“Wait…” his father trailed off, looking slightly confused. “You don’t?”

“Lucius,” Narcissa smacked her husband’s arm, “of course he does, we’ve known since he was eight.” 

“Because he fancied Gilderoy Lockhart, everyone is attracted to that man.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you?”

Lucius spluttered, frantically shaking his head. “Of course not. Draco, I have a question for you. Have you ever seen a girl and thought you wanted to elope with her?” 

Draco shook his head.

“What about a boy?” Narcissa asked gently.

“Well,” Draco began, “I won’t say I never thought of eloping with a boy turned man but one problem will definitely be the surnames. Imagine I, for example, marry Cassius Warrington, I would not take his surname because it doesn’t hold any significance. But he cannot take the Malfoy name because then there’d be three Mr. Malfoy’s but Warrington-Malfoy is not aesthetically pleasing, doesn’t roll off the tongue and way too bulky to write but Malfoy-Warrington is not a surname I want my children to go to school with. And then when it comes to the children it will be one big mess. We cannot have any biologically except for when very strong magic is involved and then what, I grow a belly for nine months? I cannot do that, it’s against the laws of nature. I also do not want to adopt. Mayhaps a donor would be nice but who would be perfect enough to bear my child? Cassius does have a sister, though, but she is not as handsome as he is. We can–”

“For Merlin’s sake Draco,” His father cut in with a tired sigh. “She just asked if you want to kiss a boy!” 

Draco looked at his father, mouth agape. Oh wow, was that the question? Hmm, he had totally forgotten. “I’d love to snog Cassius.”

“See, that is your answer,” said Narcissa. 

“Mother, why did we start talking about my preferences?” Draco asked, frowning.

“Because you were talking about this dilemma about a friend ,” she said, air quoting the last part.  

Draco laughed. Oh, no. His sweet parents thought he was talking about himself! He shouldn’t be surprised. Draco did love talking about himself. “Mother, I said it that way because I am talking about Harry Potter, of course.” 

They both turned to him at the same time, their faces bearing identical baffled expressions. 

“Harry Potter?” his father repeated. 

Draco nodded. “He wants to chase Sirius Black after he found out about everything you told me. I kind of told him to do that because I’d thought him to be aware.” 

“Oh,” his mother said quietly. She let out a deep sigh, letting go of his hands to cup both his cheeks. “Draco, love, you’re saying you told Potter to chase and kill a man?” she asked carefully. 

“Yes, but–”

His mother dropped her hands, her face growing angry. “Draco!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco whined, facepalming himself. 

“Don’t apologise, son,” his father said, patting him on the shoulder. “If Potter kills a man he will get a Dementor’s kiss.”

“Well, we don’t want that , Lucius,” his mother said, looking disappointed at her husband for even saying that.

Lucius held his hands up. 

“Exactly,” Draco agreed with a nod. “I think he’s even starting to like me.” 

His mother gasped in delight. “That is excellent, I am glad you put your grievances aside.” 

“I know, right!” Draco said excitedly. 

“But Draco, you need to tell him not to go after Black,” Narcissa said. “As I have told you many times, there are always multiple sides to a story. It is only when you get every piece that you can get the full picture.” 

“So, should I tell Potter that?”

“Not exactly,” his father said, rubbing his chin. “Tell him to try and get a different perspective.”

Draco frowned at his father. “What do you mean?”

His father looked at Draco with a pained expression. “As you may know, the Dark Lord put me under the Imperius spell to do his bidding.”

“But I thought–”

“Draco, it is rude to interrupt,” his mother spoke gently. “Go on.” 

“I was in the inner circle where masks were not removed under any circumstances. Back then, we all went by nicknames either bestowed upon us or ones we made up ourselves.” 

“Which one was yours?”

“The peacock.”

Draco snorted. “Ridiculously on the nose.”

His father ignored him. “There was one Death Eater who The Dark Lord used as his spy for the order. His name was Wormtail, now I do not know who he was beneath the mask, I knew for certain he was not Sirius Black.” 

“You knew Black was innocent? Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Draco asked, looking at him.

“The Dark Lord is gone,” Narcissa replied. “But for many years people believed he would return. So, they piled up everyone they deemed traitors and locked them up, especially after the deaths of the Potters.”

“I myself swore an Unbreakable Vow to never tell anyone what happened in these meetings with The Dark Lord’s most trusted, but he did not make us swear to not speak their names,” Lucius explained. “That is why I can tell you this without dying, but giving the Ministry foolish nicknames would not give me the position in society that I have now. I’m not saying you should tell Potter to believe his innocence, because it’d make his mind go to all sorts of places and the Ministry could trace it back to us. But do distract him by telling him to think of all possibilities.”

“So, I have to lie?”

“It’s not lying, it is omitting information,” his father corrected. 

“It’s for the boy’s own good and you are protecting a lot of people, including yourself,”  his mother said. 

“I don’t like this,” Draco admitted.

“I know you don’t,” Lucius said softly. “Do try to distract yourself too. Now, go get ready. We have guests coming.”

—

Greetings Potter, 

Sorry for the late arrival of this letter. I had to discuss a few things with my parents and dress up for the Yule Dinner our family is hosting tonight. That means that this letter will unfortunately be quite short.

Firstly, I don’t understand why you would give me brownies for trying to redeem myself. Give me Belgian Pralines, those are my favourite! (Write that down). Secondly, the musical will be fantastic, you should come to the auditions, I am expecting quite the candidates. Though I hope not Vincent, I have heard him singing in the bathroom and it is not that great. 

What a sad excuse for a Yule that you are having, though you’re quite lucky that you could stare at Warrington’s absolutely gorgeous face during dinner. I do not get how that boy (who does not look like a sloth, thank you very much!) can be so effortlessly handsome, it should be a crime. Well anyway, don’t mind Trelawney, that woman is a nutter. Father thinks Divination is useless slob too.  

Weasley and Granger are very nice to stay with you, they are good friends. I also already knew you had an Invisibility Cloak, I firstly concluded you were using some kind of invisibility spell to hide and never get caught but then I realised first year magic is not that advanced, even for Granger. Potter, I know you won’t like the advice I am giving to you right now but do not chase Black. Try talking to people who know him and won’t give biased accounts about him. I could ask my mother, for example, who although was greatly disappointed by his actions after disownment, has some fond childhood memories. Try to understand him, see him from a different light than the one that depicts him as a merciless killer. I feel like that could be a distraction from your anger at him. It’s in no way a plea for you to sympathise with him but it could be one to perhaps try to see how he was failed by those around him. 

I don’t know… Wow, this is difficult, I am not good at giving advice. Sorry! 

Happy Yule,

Salucitations, 

Draco Lucius Malfoy the Magnanimous 

—

To the Magnanimous (whatever that means) Draco Malfoy, 

Receiving brownie points must be a Muggle saying, it’s not that you’ll actually get brownies. It’s a metaphorical idiom of getting rewarded for doing a good deed. But Belgian Pralines do sound good! So that’s that. I also found out that your auditions are after the Hols, which I did forget because of how boggled my mind has been. But I’ll be there, just to watch. I promise! But don’t ask me to sing as I cannot do that for the life of me. 

I also didn’t know you were gay or bisexual (I don’t want to assume), not that I have a problem with it! I just hadn’t really expected it. Maybe I did, just a little bit! You did very fondly talk about Lockheart last year despite him being a fraud.  

Anyway! I know it will certainly stroke your ego when I say this but your advice is surprisingly good. I think there are some people, like Professor McGonagall, who I could talk to about him. I trust her and I think that she and I can talk. I think you’ll like to hear that Ron and Hermione agree with your advice, especially Hermione but I am not talking to her at the moment. 

I am still a bit peeved at her as I am writing this but get this, someone gifted me a FIREBOLT for Christmas. A Firebolt! And Hermione got McGonagall to confiscate it to look for “Dark Magic”. I know I haven’t had quite the luck with people trying to sabotage my Quidditch games but the broom looked completely okay. That’s why Ron and I are avoiding her at the moment, with Ron already growing frustrated at her because he suspects that her cat Crookshanks has it out for his rat Scabbers. 

But that’s a long story and I’ve honestly grown tired of it. 

I can’t wait to

Until we meet again

Harry :) 

***

Draco had written one more letter to Potter after that because after finding out about Black’s innocence, he just felt guilty. But was glad that the advice had paid off and Potter could stop thinking about killing people. The “gay or bisexual” thing was a tad confusing to Draco, as he didn’t know what that meant, but he shrugged it off as Potter’s Muggle-isms bleeding through. He was also kind of jealous about that Firebolt but he wasn’t going to mention that out loud. He had more important matters to worry about than Quidditch. Auditions, for example, which would be happening that Tuesday after classes. He had practically pleaded on his hands and knees for Binns to let them use his classroom to hold auditions. 

Binns, again, remained unbothered, saying, “Alright, Septimus,” and let Draco go ahead. He now had a room, a supervising Professor Snape (who Draco had to beg to) and a sea of students lining up in front of the classroom. Not only had a lot of Slytherins come, as did Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and surprisingly quite a big group of Gryffindors. 

Everyone who came to audition received a glittery numbered badge made by Draco himself. Due to a tight schedule he had only managed to make around fifty, which was perfect as there were only thirty four people who came to actually audition.

Draco felt confident, wearing the hat Vincent had bought him and a pink flamingo feathered scarf he had stolen from his mother. He sat in the front row, Vince, Greg and Pansy sitting at his side. With Snape in the back, working on correcting Potions essays. 

McGonagall, ever the perfectionist just like Draco, had gone so far as to transfigure an actual stage at the front of Binns’ classroom, a sight so startling and out of place it made even the most stoic seventh-years blink twice. What had once been rows of dusty desks and cobwebs now resembled a miniature concert hall. Rich velvet curtains in green and silver ( Duh! ) were drawn back dramatically with enchanted ties that swayed occasionally. Floating candles hung low to provide warm, moody lighting. 

Draco stood up slowly, scarf fluttering behind him as he turned to address the crowd that had gathered. His silhouette was framed by a single spotlight, which he made Vincent cast on him. He stepped up onto the transfigured stage, brushing invisible lint off the sleeve of his blazer, a slightly too big charcoal number taken from his father’s wardrobe. “Welcome, welcome!” he said, loudly and dramatically. “To the audition process for A.C.I.: The Tale of Three Brothers.”

A few scattered whoops and claps broke out from the group of Slytherins. Pansy gave a squeal that was frankly unnecessary.

Draco lifted a hand. “Please. Contain yourselves.”

He surveyed the audience. A couple of second-years near the back shrank in their seats. Draco tilted his head toward them and smiled benevolently. “Everyone will take their turn by number,” Draco announced, gesturing to the hand-crafted badges that each auditioner wore. “You’ll sing sixteen to thirty-two bars which amounts to roughly thirty seconds to a minute and a half for our esteemed panel of judges.”

He motioned toward himself and then lazily to Vince, Greg, and Pansy. Vincent raised a clipboard and gave a solemn nod, Greg waved shyly and Pansy blew a kiss to a fourth-year girl from Hufflepuff, who pretended not to enjoy that.

The amateur, she would not get a role. 

“After your audition,” Draco continued, “you may either leave quietly… or stay and watch the rest. But do keep your commentary to a minimum. This isn’t a Quidditch match.” He gave a pointed glance at the Gryffindor section, where Ron Weasley already had his arms crossed in open suspicion. Next to him sat Granger, who barely acknowledged him and vice versa. But Potter wasn’t there to mediate. He wasn’t even there at all.

He’d broken his promise… 

Pretending this didn’t bother him the slightest, Draco flipped his scarf dramatically and settled back into his seat. The room shifted as people sat up straighter, muttering softly, checking their throats and humming under their breath. The excitement was real now. Draco could practically taste it. But before the first person could so much as adjust their tie, two figures sauntered up onto the stage with scary synchronisation. Fred and George Weasley. There was an awkward pause. People around him whispered whether they were truly auditioning and Draco turned to glare at his friends. 

All of them shrugged, Gregory even whispering that he, “didn’t see them line up.” 

Fred took center stage, grinning. George stood on his left, holding a briefcase, yes, a briefcase. One that looked like it was moving. 

Draco sat forward slowly. “ What ,” he began to say and knowing he would regret asking, “are you two doing?”

Fred gave an exaggerated bow. “Draco Malfoy, we come bearing a vision… No! A revolution !”

George snapped open the briefcase, revealing what appeared to be a coiled mess of wires, small potion vials, and something that looked like a rubber chicken with teeth.

“We are not here to audition,” Fred said solemnly, placing a hand on his heart.

George clicked his tongue. “Although we could, and blow every one of these Hogwarts hopefuls out of the water.”

There was a rumble of amused whispers. Even Draco had to admit that they were quite good at stealing the spotlight, even if it was his.

Fred raised a hand. “What this production deserves is spectacle. Lights, smoke, controlled explosions.”

George held up a jar of purple glitter that seemed to be fizzing. “Dancing fog.”

“Levitating chairs.”

“Colour-changing wigs.”

“Magical quick-changes using enchanted buttons.”

“Confetti cannons that don’t set fire to anything, we promise.”

Draco blinked, realising what they were doing. “You want to supply the special effects?”

“We want to run the special effects,” George corrected him with a grin.

“Design the illusions, build the drama,” Fred added. “Engineer the chaos, safely, of course,” he said to Snape. 

Snape hummed before turning back to his essays. 

“You know,” George said, tilting his head, “like stage managers, but with access to highly experimental substances.”

Fred clapped his hands together. “All we need is your approval.”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Whether it was excitement or just anticipation for disaster wasn’t entirely clear. But it was vocal. Even Vince murmured, “That could be… cool?” and Pansy whispered something to Greg about how amazing a levitating costume change would look in the number,  Dancing with Her Ghost . And she was damn right about that. 

Draco sat back, tapping his fingers on his lap. On one hand, this was a serious production. His name was attached to this. He couldn’t afford a mishap and have the boys fall when crossing the bridge. But on the other hand… the twins were creative. Horrifically, impressively creative. And the idea of glitter smoke pouring from the floorboards during the number “Ignotus and his Cloak” had a certain appeal.

“You’re both mad,” Draco said finally.

Fred and George bowed deeply. “That’s part of the charm.”

Draco glanced at the crowd. They were visibly excited. Laughing, nudging each other, already imagining firework-enhanced solos and dramatic entrances through trapdoors. He looked at Vince, who gave a small thumbs-up. Greg looked bewildered but approving. Pansy looked like she was imagining herself in a sequin gown with pyrotechnics exploding behind her.

Draco sighed.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he said.

The room burst into applause, and the twins bowed so low it looked painful. At least they weren’t as lanky as their brother. George snapped the briefcase shut. “We’ll draw up schematics tonight.”

Fred added, “We’ll need a small budget, of course. Nothing unreasonable. Just enough to cover smoke-powered levitation beams and semi-sentient lighting gels.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose but nodded. “Fine. Funded.”

The twins departed the stage to cheers, someone shouting, “This is going to be mental!” from the back.

As they passed Draco, Fred leaned down. “You won’t regret this.”

Draco muttered, “I already do.” But he couldn’t help but smile. He had Special Effects designers! That was one task he didn’t need to burden himself with. Thank Merlin. 

The first actual auditioner, a nervous Hufflepuff girl named Susan Bones, tiptoed onto the stage once everyone calmed down. Susan wasn’t that bad but definitely not good enough. So off the chopping block she was. The auditions stretched out over two hours. House Elves came with snacks and drinks to feed the children. Draco Malfoy sat at the front of it all, half-exhausted and half-ecstatic, wrapped in his flamingo-feather scarf and scribbling furious notes in the margins of a worn parchment program. Some of the performances were decent, some cringe-worthy, and some downright transcendent.

Cassius Warrington, looking gorgeous as per usual in a silk open-collar shirt, walked up the stage with great confidence.

“Number seventeen,” Vince called out.

Cassius sang “Excalibur” from Merlin: The Musical! like he was the titular sword. His voice was rich and smooth as summer wine. The final crescendo of “I am born from the light!”, left the room stunned.

Draco’s mouth was slightly open. His eyes were watery. “Write him in,” Draco whispered to Pansy, who already had because Cassius was perfect. Draco didn’t just see him as a cast member anymore. He saw him in full costume, cloak floating with enchantments, eyeliner subtly glittering beneath stage lights Fred and George would supply him with. As Antioch Peverell, probably. Maybe Cadmus. They’d see who could twirl a wand better.

A few acts later, Cedric Diggory took the stage. He was hesitant, brows furrowed as if he'd just finished Quidditch practice and only remembered the audition halfway through the shower. Still, even with slightly damp curls and a flushed face, the boy could sing . His choice was the ballad “Save the Snitch” from a befitting piece called The Rise of Quidditch, and though he stumbled at the start, by the midpoint, his voice had melted into a warm, romantic baritone.

Pansy elbowed Draco. “Three handsome boys in lead roles? Think of the ticket sales.”

“I am,” Draco whispered back, nodding. “I’m thinking of ticket sales. I’m also thinking about the poster. Me, center frame. Cedric and Cassius by my side, possibly shirtless… I mean, in dramatic cloaks.”

Cedric looked mortified as he bowed and quickly left the stage.

“The girls will love that shy boy energy,” Pansy said, already circling his name.

Then came a string of genuinely good auditions that made Draco both excited and slightly panicked. Eloise Midgen hit every note of “Dragon on the Mountain,” an offbeat number from an old musical Draco had been sure no one would pick. Michael Corner delivered “My Love, Godric” a love song from the Founders Musical with a gentle tenor that gave Draco chills, even if he was far too smug about it. Cho Chang’s rendition of the “Runestone Waltz” had been technically perfect, and she had a dancer’s grace that Pansy could definitely work with. Eddie Carmichael’s voice had a silky rasp Draco desperately wanted somewhere, anywhere , but the roles were almost all set in stone, and his options were thinning.

“I can’t cast everyone,” Draco whispered, clutching his parchment.

“You can give them minor parts,” Pansy said, soothingly. “Or invent new ones. Who says that the fight scene can’t have an ensemble of watchers rooting for either Antioch or the Quarrelsome Wizard?”

“Wait,” Draco hissed, “that idea’s really good,” he said, scribbling it down.

Ten members of Professor Flitwick’s choir came in together, singing a short madrigal in perfect synchronization. Their harmonies were perfectly tight and Draco didn’t even need to discuss it. “Ensemble,” he said instantly, as they hit the final note and beamed. “All ten of you. You’re in.”

Then came a strange interlude where students began sauntering up not to sing, but to audition for production team roles instead. The first was a Hufflepuff sixth-year girl with ink-stained fingers and a nervous smile. “I, uh… I can do calligraphy?” she offered, holding up a small sign that read Scene Three: The Resurrection Stone.

Draco leaned forward, observing her fine writing. “You do this by hand?”

She nodded.

“You’re hired,” Draco said, snapping his fingers. “Title cards, scene transitions, all that. See Vince for the budget.”

Next came a trio of Gryffindors, Quidditch Player Katie Bell, another boy and surprisingly… Hermione Granger.

“Katie is very good at designing and making things out of clay such as wands,” Granger said. “I can make the calculations and measurements so that everything is in proportion to the podium. Ritchie can cut them all up. So, if you’ll allow it…”

“I’ll take anything that doesn’t blow up my stage, Granger,” Draco said. “You’re in for Prop Masters.”

Then came Luna Lovegood. He didn’t know Looney that well, only that she was a little odd but he’d seen her walk around the school wearing eclectic jewellery. She walked forward barefoot, yes barefoot, having what appeared to be a pair of carrot earrings, her wand behind her ear, wearing a blue robe that sparkled at the hem like enchanted moonlight.

Draco looked at her clothing in awe before eyeing her. “You’re not here to sing, are you?”

“No,” she said serenely. “I’m here for the costumes.”

“Do you know how to sew?” Draco asked skeptically. 

“I do,” she said, lifting a folded parchment. “But I thought this might help.” She handed it to him.

Draco’s stomach did a small flip as he saw the familiar looping script of his mother.

My Dearest, ever talented Draco,

I hope the auditions will go well. I hear your little cousin Luna is interested in helping with your production. You may not know this, but she’s extraordinarily gifted with a needle and thread. She made me a brocade dressing gown that I wore this Yule that’s better than anything from Twillfit and Tattings. You’d be a fool not to take her on as Head of Wardrobe.

With affection and great pride,
Your Mother who loves you eternally 

Draco stared at the letter. Then at Luna, who was absently twirling one of her earrings.

“Head of Wardrobe?” he said. 

She nodded. “I already have some ideas. Especially for the Death motifs.”

He slid his sketchbook over without hesitation, knowing his mother would (kindly) skin him alive if he didn’t pick her. And that dressing gown she wore this year was simply sublime . “These are the designs. Go wild. Just don’t make Cassius wear fur. I want his collarbone visible.”

Luna smiled. “Naturally.”

As she floated away to talk with the newly formed production crew, most of whom were now huddled in a corner, Draco sat back in his chair and finally exhaled. The auditions had gone on for nearly two hours. The energy in the room had calmed down; only about twenty students remained, most of them chatting, a few still hopeful they might be called. Snape had already left. Vince had slumped so far in his seat he was almost a puddle, and Pansy was idly humming one of the audition songs. Greg, naturally, was fast asleep.

Draco rubbed at his temple with the feathered edge of his scarf. He could feel his voice starting to rasp from all the whispering and exclamations, his hands cramp from the note-taking. “All right,” he said, standing again. “If that was everyone–”

He was rudely interrupted by the door swinging open. Every head turned. And there, framed in the doorway, windswept and pink-cheeked, stood Harry Potter out of all people. His glasses were askew, hair was messier than usual like he'd run here and his jumper was half untucked. He looked like he didn’t know how he got there. Or why. Or if he even meant to walk in. But there he was and the room went silent.

“Potter?” Draco finally said, voice low and sharp.

“The auditions are in here, right?” Potter asked, sounding out of breath.

“Yes,” Pansy replied, her voice sharp, “but we’re wrapping up.”

“Go sing, Harry!” Fred Weasley, who sat in the back, exclaimed. 

“What?” Potter panted. “No, I can’t.”

“You just barged in, Potter,” Draco said, gesturing towards the stage. “It’s only fair of you to give us a show.” Maybe it’d be a good final laugh, but in a good way. Draco expected that to happen…but well, who knows? Maybe Harry Potter was secretly a siren whose voice entranced us all. He hoped not, Draco still had to be the best singer. That’s why he needed to rest his voice after this. The yelling definitely did some damage. 

“I told you I can’t sing, Malfoy. I was here to support you.”

A coo of teasing “awes” came from his newly formed production crew. Potter stuck two fingers up at them with both hands. 

Draco put a hand to his chest, pouting. Touched, but not too much though. “That’s very kind but you can support me by singing a little song!” he said chirpily. “It’s nothing serious.”

Draco heard someone behind him snort. He turned around to no one in particular. “Let’s not make fun of him. We should make him feel welcome.” He looked back at Potter. “Go ahead, number thirty five, the limit is one minute and in your vocal range.” 

Without much choice in the matter, Potter stepped on the stage. Fred and George put an exaggeratedly sharp light on him that almost blinded him (and Draco. Ugh!). When Potter complained about it, they dimmed it, but all eyes were still on him. “Umm, I only know one song,” Potter admitted. “I don’t have any sheet music for it.”

“That’s alright,” Draco said softly, “sing ahead.”

Potter cleared his throat, ignoring the sniggers coming from a few Slytherins and Ron Weasley telling them to shut up. “I had to let it happen, I had to change. Couldn’t stay all my life down at heel,” Potter began to sing in a surprisingly good tenor tone. The entire classroom grew silent as he kept singing, tapping his foot to the melody he had in his head. There was something unpolished about Potter’s voice. Not that great breath control and a stability he certainly needed to work on but it had heart . The kind of raw tone that could be so powerful. His foot tapped in imperfect rhythm, his brow furrowed in concentration, but his voice shone. 

“Don’t cry for me Argentina!” Potter’s voice cracked slightly, and somehow that made it even more devastating. “The truth is I never left you, all through my wild days. My mad existence,” he now sang passionately, eyes closed to avoid looking people in the eye. 

There was a silence so deep it felt like a spell had been cast. Pansy clutched her chest like Potter had physically gripped her heart. “Oh my god,” she whispered, and Draco could see the shine of tears in her eyes.

Vincent sniffled loudly, wiping at his cheeks with the sleeve of his too-small jumper. “I don’t even know where Argentina is," he sobbed.

Gregory, who had been asleep for most of the second act of the auditions, woke up, rubbing his eyes. “What happened?” he mumbled. “Why is everyone crying?”

And still, Potter sang on. Eyes still squeezed shut, hands at his sides until he got to his final line. 

“The answer was here all the time,” Potter finished. His eyes opened again, looking awkwardly at Draco, who stared back, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Umm, I’m finished.”

“Why Argentina?” was all Draco could ask in a breathy voice.

“Dunno,” Potter shrugged casually, “I’ve never seen it, just heard it off the telly.”

Draco rose to his feet. He didn’t remember when he decided to, he was just on his feet, hands moving before his brain caught up, clapping sharply, deliberately, once, twice, then again. Everyone else in the room followed. Applause burst like fireworks across the classroom. The Weasley twins leapt to their feet, shouting, “Bravo!” and “Encore!” so loudly it echoed down the hall. Some whistled, others like Vincent cried.

Potter just stared dully at Draco, looking mildly terrified.

“I– what?” he muttered.

“You’re joking,” Draco said, stepping forward, practically enchanted. “You, and I quote, ‘cannot sing’ and yet you walk in here and give us that?” 

Potter shrugged. “I don’t know. Look, you got what you want, Malfoy.”

Indeed, because he had found his final important role. Draco never thought he’d say this (in his head, not out loud! Are you mad?!) because he never truly kept his eyes off Potter over the years, but now he knows what certain people feel when they encounter Veela. Draco couldn’t stop looking at him, and now he finally has an excuse for it. 

The applause was still going when the heavy wooden door swung open. The light dimmed and entered Professor Snape. He was draped in black like a shadow, surveying the crowd with a scowl. “Out,” he said, his voice cold. “Unless you all want detention until next year’s musical.”

Immediately, the energy evaporated. Students scrambled to gather cloaks and sheet music, whispering frantically as they darted for the door.

***

The role distribution was put on the notice board the week after. The four Slytherins had slaved away with the role distribution until they had their line up. All of it was written on a poster made by Draco and his new calligrapher, Nora Abbot. 

DIRECTOR/PRODUCER/ STAGE MANAGER: Draco Malfoy and his family vault 

ANTIOCH PEVERELL: Cassius Warrington ( Kenneth Towler as understudy) 

CADMUS PEVERELL: Cedric Diggory ( Michael Corner as understudy) 

IGNOTUS PEVERELL: Draco Malfoy ( Eddie Carmichael as understudy) 

DEATH: Harry Potter ( Blaise Zabini as understudy) 

QUARRELSOME WIZARD: Ronald Weasley (Kevin Entwhistle as understudy)

MURDEROUS WITCH: Millicent Bulstrode (Padma Patil as understudy) 

PERSEPHONE (CADMUS’S FIANCEE): Cho Chang (Eloise Midgen as understudy) 

IGNOTUS’S SON: Chester Summerby (Colin Creevey as understudy) 

ENSEMBLE: All 10 Members of Flitwick’s school choir 

SPECIAL EFFECTS: Fred & George Weasley 

COSTUMES: Luna Lovegood, Penelope Clearwater & Peregrine Derrick (supplied by Narcissa Malfoy) 

PROPS MASTER: Katie Bell, Ritchie Coote & Hermione Granger

CHOREOGRAPHER: Pansy Parkinson & Gregory Goyle 

CALIGRAPHY: Nora Abbot

MAKEUP/PROSTHETICS: Daphne Greengrass & Lavender Brown

The majority of people were content with the roles given. Fred and George even high fived one another, talking about the special effects they were planning to use to make Harry float. All but two particularly annoying people were excited. 

“Malfoy!” he heard Weasley practically yell at him as Draco made his way to Ancient Runes. He was followed by Potter, who had a sour expression on his face. 

“Yes, Weasley?” Draco said politely. 

“Why are we in your musical?” Weasley asked furiously. 

“Weasley,” Draco put his hands on the taller boy’s shoulders, “you don’t even have to sing. All you have to do is fake a wand duel with Cassius and die!” 

Weasley shrugged him off. “I didn’t even audition.”

“Well, I assumed you would be quite bored spending hours alone while your best friends worked on my art piece so I put you in.” 

“Ha,” Weasley said quietly, “that’s actually quite considerate of you…” He cleared his throat, glaring at Draco once again. “But I don’t want that.” 

“And my audition was a joke,” Potter added. 

“A joke?” Draco was aghast. “Potter, you were brilliant !”

“Yes, you were quite good, Harry,” Weasley admitted quietly.  

“See! So, toughen up, Potter,” said Draco, pinching his cheek. “You have an important role to play”

***

There were a few hiccups before they could finally start practicing. Such as a Quidditch match that had some cast members unable to come and Sirius Black breaking into the school! Again, ruining his plans. The first full week of rehearsals for A.C.I: The Tale of Three Brothers was, to put it lightly, chaos dressed up in dramatic robes and dipped in self made glitter. The Great Hall had been transfigured each afternoon into a makeshift stage, the enchanted ceiling now showing spotlights instead of stars, courtesy of Fred and George Weasley. Draco was, what Hermione Granger called, a “drill sergeant”, whatever that meant. He hoped it was positive. He was everywhere at once: directing, yelling, sketching revisions, barking cues, and occasionally swooning. Because frankly, there was a lot to swoon about. Especially Cassius Warrington’s impeccable biceps.

Cassius was delivering his lines as Antioch Peverell with a tragic intensity that would have brought tears to a stone, if the stone, of course, wasn’t like Draco, who was admittedly too busy admiring how Warrington's tunic sleeves rolled just enough to reveal tanned arms that clearly spent time in the Quidditch pitch and possibly lifted for fun. Draco, pretending to fiddle with notes, watched as Cassius raised the clay makeshift Elder Wand made by his Prop Masters and intoned, “No man shall defeat me with this wand carved of elder wood.”

“Brilliant,” Draco muttered to himself. “Utterly brilliant.”

Pansy, walking by, rolled her eyes. “You’re going to faint during opening night, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, if Luna makes the fabric around his waist tighter.” 

Meanwhile, across from them practicing their lines were Cedric and Cho. They had a very different kind of chemistry that had been woken up (say thank you, Draco Malfoy!). A dreamy, blushing, "accidentally holding hands too long" kind that made the ensemble whisper and giggle behind parchment. Cedric, as Cadmus, was noble and brooding; Cho, playing Persephone, brought genuine tears to her eyes in every run-through of their flashback engagement scene.

Draco noticed the palpable tension, of course, because he noticed everything .

“I swear,” he murmured to Pansy again during one of the breaks, sipping a butterbeer, “If they kiss before the second act finale, I’m rewriting the script.”

Pansy, who was correcting Gregory’s posture in the funeral dance number, waved him off. “They’re adorable. Let them be in love.”

Other cast members did great as well. The Weasley twins, who would’ve been rubbish at acting (despite their protests of the opposite being true) were geniuses in the art of special effects. Their brother, on the other hand, was a particular pain in Draco’s backside. His role as the Quarrelsome Wizard, which Draco had simplified for his sake, mostly consisted of loudly shouting things like “You there!” and “This is an outrage!” but somehow he still managed to sound like he was trying to read aloud from a Potions textbook while being hexed in the shins.

“Ronald,” Draco groaned, massaging his temples. “You don’t have to yell at me . Yell at Cassius. He’s the one your character’s meant to be quarrelling with.”

“Right,” Weasley said, nodding, awkwardly moving around like a giraffe.

Cassius tried again. “No man shall defeat me with this wand carved of elder wood.”

Weasley replied, pointing a crooked finger, “You there! I didn’t think you’d ever return!”

Draco slapped his script shut. “Weasley, for Merlin’s sake, it’s a duel, not a pub brawl!” Tragic, absolutely tragic. Did he hate him? Okay well… Scrap that, better question, did he still hate him? Why was he pushing his buttons with takes that were tragically bad at worst and mediocre at best? 

If Weasley was bad, the true trial of this production was catastrophic. Just like his character in the book, Death gave him the worst headache. Harry Potter himself. The test makeup Daphne and Lavender had put on him was perfect, like a heartthrob vampire. Potter looked quite handsome (in a platonic way!!!!) in the long black robe. The haunted green eyes, messy black hair. But when he moved on stage, it was like watching a house elf try ballet which was about as graceful as Potter himself riding a broomstick. Completely killing the excitement Draco had upon first seeing him.

“You’re Death, Potter,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “Try to be... I don’t know. Majestic . Not like you’re trying not to step on your own hem.”

Potter groaned and dragged his hands down his face. “I told you I couldn’t do this. I only came to support you. Let my understudy perform.”

“Nonsense,” Draco shook his head, knowing Flint would flay him if he found out his Seeker was spending even more time out doing Draco’s ‘stupid musical’ . One less ticket to make, good riddance. “I already have Witch Weekly run an article and you’re in it! You’re the lead antagonist in my play and rehearsals, so congratulations on that failed plan.”

Many takes of stiff, uncomfortable line reading came along as the minutes passed and Draco felt his throat go raw by the minute after continuously shouting, “Again!” 

Finally, Draco couldn’t take it anymore. “Potter,” he barked, motioning him off stage. “With me. Now.” They left through the side curtain, into the quiet corridor outside the transformed Hall. Draco turned on him. “What is your problem?”

Harry leaned against the stone wall. “I don’t get him.”

Draco wanted to bash his head into a wall because what was he on? Alihotsy leaves? He needed to have another stern talk with the Weasley twins about how they didn’t need those. Snape would flip. “Get who?”

“Death. I don’t understand why he didn’t deny Ignotus a gift that would have him be undetected. Why doesn't he just take him like the others? And it’s all connected to Black, isn’t it?”

Draco frowned, feeling a pit of guilt growing in his stomach. “...You mean Sirius Black?”

Harry nodded, hands clenched in his sleeves. “I tried to understand like you said. Really, I did. But after he broke into Gryffindor Tower. After he tried to kill Ron… How am I supposed to... to play this character who shows mercy when I don’t feel it myself?” 

Was he method-acting? He’d warned Vincent about those stupid Muggle acting books. STRICTLY FORBIDDEN FOR A.C.I. ACTORS! 

Draco was quiet for a long time. That was some profound thinking about a children’s tale. But when Draco looked at him, truly looked instead of letting his eyes wander, he knew this was serious (no pun intended). Potter had let all of it go through his head and Draco wasn’t helping by being a prick to him. But he wasn’t going to tell him to sort it out. He would help him even if it meant keeping a secret from him. That’s what a good person did and that’s exactly the type of person Draco is trying to become. Then he sat down on the stone bench and gestured for Potter to do the same.

“You know,” he said slowly, “when I was writing Death’s arc, I kept thinking about my father.”

Harry turned to him, surprised.

“Not because my father takes lives,” Draco added, “but because he thinks he knows what’s best. That he’s right about everything and can choose the correct ending for everyone. But Ignotus... he outsmarts him by not fighting at all. And that’s what Death respects. The person who doesn’t try to cheat or conquer him.”

Harry looked down. “You think that’s what I should do? Not fight?”

“I think,” Draco said, choosing his words carefully, “that Sirius Black is probably more complicated than any of us know. And maybe... some battles aren’t yours to avenge but to acknowledge and let explode themselves because they can’t be fixed. Look, Harry, your job isn’t to understand Death. It’s to be him. To let the audience feel that he could understand mercy, even if he doesn’t show it easily.”

Potter gave a small, crooked smile. “That was... surprisingly good advice.”

Draco grinned bashfully. “Yes, well, I am brilliant.”

“Yeah, Draco,” Harry agreed. “You kind of are.” 

Draco smiled, not only because he was called brilliant but because Potter had become Harry and Malfoy became Draco. He also noted to himself how the green colour of his eyes perfectly complimented the eyeliner. He’d look so good with that on the daily… Draco shook his head, such silly thoughts! 

They sat for a moment longer, Harry staring at his calloused hands while Draco stared at him like a madman. That was until Harry stood up. “Alright. Let’s go try again.”

Back inside, the others were resetting the scene. Fred and George were adjusting a lighting charm while Luna and Penelope draped new fabric across the back curtains.

Draco called for quiet. “Places, everyone. Let’s take it from Act Three, Scene Four. Ignotus and Death. Harry?”

Harry stepped onto the stage, looking more confident. This time, when he moved, it was fluid and powerful. And finally, Draco saw it. Death had come to them. 

*** 

When the Easter Holidays came, Draco allowed everyone to take a break from the musical. The Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch team members were especially happy to be allowed to strategise for the House Cup. All except for Harry Potter it seemed as he struggled to balance school and Quidditch due to Oliver Wood’s continuous pressing. Katie Bell even said it was worse than Draco sometimes, which Draco actually thought to be an impressive feat. Perhaps he should try the Oliver method. It could do everyone some good. His cast was talented, but maybe a bit of Wood’s manic enthusiasm would sharpen their tempo in Act II.

But all that was for another day. For now, Draco lay stretched across the Slytherin common room’s emerald velvet sofa, one leg propped up against the curved armrest. The fire crackled lazily, casting shadows against the serpentine architecture of the room. The evening light barely filtered through the enchanted lake ceiling, turning everything a deep aquatic green. It was the kind of rare, uninterrupted quiet he didn’t realize he craved until he got it. Because Oh God, directing was a tiresome job. 

The rest of Slytherin was either asleep, still at dinner or studying in their dormitories after Draco kicked them out. He said he wanted to review musical notes, but truthfully, he just wanted a bit of quiet. A creak of leather interrupted the silence. Someone had entered. Draco didn’t need to look up, he recognized the footsteps. Cassius, looking lush as ever even in his night clothes, sat down next to him. 

“Hey, Draco,” Cassius greeted him. Draco let out a soft yelp when Warrington took his legs away and put them on his lap.

Draco, trying to act casual, shifted in his seat, his head angling slightly toward him. “Hi, why aren’t you doing late strategising with Flint?”

“He’s a right nightmare,” Cassius replied, rolling his eyes.  “I can’t stand to be around him.”

Draco smirked. “Oliver and Marcus are more similar than I thought."

Cassius laughed, low and pleasant in a way that made Draco’s stomach pull strangely. “Except Oliver isn’t sexist. Once I am captain next year, Edie will be a part of the team.”

“It’s sweet how you care for your sister.”

“I always try.” That last line held a softness that surprised Draco. Who knew he was such a big softy?

Draco’s eyes dropped to the Charms Book in his lap. He hadn’t turned a page in a while. He glanced back at Cassius, who was watching him now with eyes the colour of Belgian Praline. Not tiredly but with an intensity that made Draco’s chest tighten. But it wasn’t from his eyes, in fact he rather wanted those eyes to be brighter. But Cassius smelled good and his abs were slightly visible under his shirt. 

“You always sit like that?” Cassius asked suddenly, nodding toward Draco’s reclined posture.

“Usually it is more impeccable than this but I do like sitting this way when I want people to admire my angles,” Draco quipped.

Cassius’s heart shaped lips tugged into a grin. “Well, it’s working.”

Draco snorted and sat up properly, folding his legs underneath him. “Is this a flirtation, Warrington? Because if it is, I must warn you that I do not engage in romantic affairs with my actors.”

“Do not engage,” Cassius repeated, clearly amused. “That’s hard to believe.”

“It’s the truth,” Draco replied, quieter now. “I’ve been rather occupied.”

“With the musical?”

“With balancing everything.”

Cassius tilted his head. “You carry too much, you know. You’re quite mature for your age but some things can be a lot, even for you.”

Draco merely stared at him. The words were unexpected, and maybe that’s why they hit harder than they should have. He put on his mask and shrugged, feigning ease. “Someone has to carry the load.”

“But it doesn’t always have to be you.”

Their eyes locked again. Cassius leaned back against the couch, arms spread comfortably across the top. His fingertips brushed the edge of Draco’s shoulder. “I read the entire script on the day I got the role,” he said. “You’re something else, Draco.”

Draco wished he had that scarf so he could flick it dramatically behind him, like Daphne does with her hair. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Cassius said. 

Draco exhaled, unsure whether to smile or scoff because what kind of answer was that? He crossed his arms, nose stuck in the air. “I want a better one.”

Cassius chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling. “Alright, I think you look quite cute when you boss everyone around.”

“Cute?” Draco echoed.

Cassius nodded. “Yes, cute. If you’d be a bit older, I’d say hot.”

Ugh Rude! Draco could be hot. But he didn’t stay offended for long, watching as Cassius reached up and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. Draco’s breath hitched, his whole body was tingling. 

“You okay?” Cassius asked softly, his fingers still warm against Draco’s skin.

“I– yes,” Draco said, though it came out more breathy than he wanted. Then, without hesitation, Cassius leaned in and kissed him. It was not rushed. There was no grand firework, no theatrical sweep of emotion you’d have at a significant kiss in the script. Cassius’s lips were warm, tasting faintly of mint and whatever sweet he’d had earlier. It wasn’t desperate, hungry or passionate. More like a chore, if he were honest. And that was… off.  The moment didn’t spark the way he’d imagined it would. There was no tingling. No heat rushing to his ears. No swooning symphony swelling in his chest. Cassius’s lips were soft and fine and well-practiced, but–

But this wasn’t what Draco wanted. This wasn’t a kiss that stopped time. 

Cassius pulled back, and Draco was still holding his breath, waiting for the part where everything shifted. Waiting to feel different. Instead, all he felt was the heaviness of disappointment curling up inside him like smoke.

Cassius was smiling at him, playing with Draco’s hair in a way that felt demeaning. And just like that, Cassius’s perfect face seemed… less perfect. His hair too styled. His smirk too deliberate, abs Draco had regarded as perfect, now too bulky. The firelight caught his jaw wrong, and suddenly Draco wasn’t enchanted. He was tired.

The flirting from earlier… it hadn’t been clever, had it? Not really. It was quite weird actually, all that emphasis on his age. Yucky ! He’d confused attention with connection. He’d confused Cassius’ perfection with genuinity. 

“I–” Draco started, and in a panic stood up far too quickly. “I have to go.”

Cassius frowned. “Draco?”

“I’m sorry. I– I need to–”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know what it was supposed to be. All he knew was that he was already halfway up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, the kiss clinging to his mouth like a sticky sweet. He pushed through the door to the Third Year’s dorm. The room was quiet, lit only by candlelights. Greg sat on the edge of his bed, polishing his wand with an old bit of cloth. He looked up as Draco entered, breathless and wild-eyed.

Gregory frowned at him. “You all right?”

Draco stood there, still stunned, still full of embarrassment. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them. “I just had my first kiss and it was awful!”

Gregory stared at him for a moment too long, then nodded once and patted the bed beside him.

***

Two weeks had passed since that awful kiss, and the musical rehearsals had shifted into something decidedly strange. Not worse, thankfully, as Cassius was far too professional for that. He still delivered his lines perfectly, still showed up five minutes early in whatever costume was last handed to him, and still wore that infuriatingly handsome expression on his face. But it didn’t have an effect on Draco anymore. Just like how Cassius no longer looked to Draco for anything. Not notes. Not approval. Not even a snide word about Harry’s range. 

No, his needs for validation now had to come from Pansy, of all people, who had clearly been too flattered by the attention to notice how grating it was for Draco. He’d watched it develop day by day! Cassius lingering after scenes to ask for “outside perspective,” laughing a little too loudly when she made a joke, even helping her untangle her hair ribbon once. And all of it, Draco was sure, was done to agitate him. (The childish little prick.) 

Draco tried not to sulk. He was the director, the composer, the star, and a Malfoy! Sulking was beneath him. It was so unfortunate that Cassius wasn’t terrible. In fact, he improved every day. He lived, ate and slept Antioch, playing him with real complexity. If anything, the awkward tension between them somehow made his performance better, and that was just unbearable. Draco had thrown himself into stage blocking and prop-building to distract himself. He insisted the magical props be finished by hand, (because it looks better, duh !) which was how he found himself, on the Friday before the Quidditch Cup final, in their rehearsal room, surrounded by parchment, paints, and people who kept trying to psychoanalyse his pouting.

Pansy set her paintbrush aside delicately and leaned toward him. “What’s been on your mind, Draco dear?” she simpered. 

“Nothing,” Draco said with a perfected Malfoy pout, the one where he absolutely wanted to be further interrogated. For dramatic effect, he did not even bother to look up from the wooden fish he was painting. 

“Really?” Gregory said, looking skeptical. He, of course, knew about the kiss. Not that it was Warrington. Draco hadn’t told anyone about that. Unfortunately, Gregory’s protective instincts had turned entirely in the wrong direction. Instead of being annoyed at Cassius (who had remained blissfully untouched by his wrath), Greg had taken it out on Harry. Despite the fragile truce they'd built throughout the year, Greg had accidentally stepped on Harry’s cloak yesterday, making him fall over. But that was Greggie: loyal, misguided, and incapable of misdirecting subtlety. Can’t do much about it! 

Draco sighed and threw his paintbrush down with unnecessary drama. “Okay, he kissed me!” 

Harry’s hand faltered mid-brushstroke, cheeks pinkened slightly. “Wait… what? Who kissed you?” 

“Cassius,” Draco said airily, flicking fins onto his little wooden fish with half-hearted precision. 

“Warrington?” Potter asked, straightening up.

“What other Cassius do you know, Harry?” Hermione asked dryly without looking up from her own prop, the green resurrection stone she was painting the Deathly Hallows sign on. 

“But he’s ancient!” Harry sputtered.

Draco rolled his eyes. “He’s sixteen.” 

“And you’re what age?” Weasley asked from beside him, brow raised in judgmental concern.

Draco exhaled like he was being terribly unreasonable. “I’m almost fourteen.” 

Weasley muttered, “Yeah, exactly.” 

Draco waved a hand. “Okay, I’ll admit that it’s weird especially as he kept going on about how mature I was for my age and bla bla bla. And when it happened, I wasn’t as excited about it as I thought.”

“No fanny flutters?” Pansy teased with a wicked smirk.

“How can he have fanny flutters if he doesn’t have one?” Vince asked, genuinely confused. 

"It's a figure of speech,” Hermione explained, her brush not missing a beat. 

“Oh.”

“So, you don’t fancy him?” Harry asked, his tone surprisingly careful. 

Draco actually stopped to think about it for a second, which was rare for him (an applause is in order). He looked down at the fish again, then slowly shook his head. “Nahh, I just like imagining him shirtless.”

Weasley made a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“And you’ll tell him he’s a creepy git?” Harry pressed, now looking vaguely hopeful.

Draco scoffed. “No, are you mad? I still want him to perform!”

Draco ignored how annoyed Potter looked at that and kept painting alone. There was a pleasant moment of silence, followed by Hermione lowering her brush and tilting her head at Draco. “You know,” she began, “I’m quite surprised the wizarding world is so accepting of people from the LGBT community.”

Draco raised a brow at her. “The what ?”

“The LGBT community,” she repeated. “It’s a Muggle acronym which stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender. Basically, it’s people who don’t fit in the mould of straight or cisgender. It’s still a bit controversial in some Muggle societies, depending on where you live. But no one here seems to care that you fancy and kiss boys.”

There was a collective pause as everyone processed that.

Ron squinted at her. “Why would we care?”

Hermione looked genuinely flummoxed. “Well… I mean… in the Muggle world, it’s a bigger issue. There are protests. People are denied rights. Marriages are banned in some places.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Pansy said immediately, scrunching her round nose. “What does it matter who you fancy?”

“Exactly,” Vincent added. “Snog who you want.”

“Are you telling me,” Hermione said slowly, looking around, “that the wizarding world doesn’t even have a label for being gay?”

“Well, we have the word,” Draco said thoughtfully, though couldn’t come up with the name for it. That was obviously because they didn’t use it. “But no one panics about it. Not at the places I have been, anyway.”

Pansy nodded in agreement. “My aunt’s married to a witch. They threw a massive reception and no one blinked twice seeing two women elope.”

Hermione seemed to deflate slightly. “You have no idea how lucky that is. In the Muggle world, acceptance is rare.”

“Wait,” Draco said suddenly, his mind going back months. He looked directly at Harry. “That’s what you meant in your letter, isn’t it?”

Harry looked confused, looking up from when he’d previously been picking at the dry paint of his fingers. “Which letter?”

Draco’s lips parted, thinking. “When I wrote to you about Cassius and I said I thought he was fit. You said… what was it… ‘ I also didn’t know you were gay or bisexual, not that I have a problem with it! ’”

“Oh,” Harry said, blinking. “Yeah. I just wanted to reassure you since people in The Muggle World have it harder…”

Draco stared at him. “Like you?”

Harry’s face turned a concerning shade of red for his generally tanned skin. “Not because of that!” He turned to Ron and Hermione. “Not that– There’s nothing wrong with it, I just… Nevermind.”

Greg blew a raspberry. “Umm, alright…” he said encouragingly. “Be who you are, Potter. We don’t judge. Also, sorry for accidentally making you fall on your face yesterday.” 

Harry gave a small, very awkward smile. “Thanks, Goyle.”

Everyone laughed at that, even Ron, who was now painting the gravestone of Ignotus a weird lilac shade.

“I think that’s sort of beautiful,” Hermione said quietly, returning to her brush. “That in the magical world, people can just be themselves. No labels or laws against it. Just… fanny flutters or not.”

Draco smiled. “Yeah, that’s nice.”

“Actually, I lied, Draco, I’m bisexual!” Harry blurted out, eyes already set on Draco.

Hermione dropped her brush, Ron nearly knocked over his paint jar and stared at his best friend wide eyed, Draco’s friends all had expressions varying from surprise to disinterest and Draco himself? Well, from his understanding, this meant that Potter liked blokes. Draco liked blokes too. Oh Merlin, did that make them TGBL (or whatever the acronym was) mates? Could they swap stories? Was there a badge?

“Bravo, Potter,” said Draco with a pat on his shoulder, not knowing how else to respond.

“Bravo?” Harry repeated. “Is that what you’re going to say?” 

“Umm… yeah? Wait, should I kiss you? Is that a part of the Muggle custom?” 

Ron burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, nearly knocking over the entire wooden tombstone he'd just painted. Pansy doubled over. Vince clutched his stomach. Even Hermione had to cover her mouth with the back of her hand to hide her grin as Harry’s face turned a deep, tortured crimson. And why were they laughing now? Draco thought. What did he say that was so wrong this time? He is trying. 

“N-No, you d-don’t,” he stammered, visibly panicked. “That’s not how it works!” 

“I don’t really know how it works, Harry,” Draco said, hand to his chest, “but I am very happy for you. Aren’t we all?”

Everyone nodded enthusiastically. Ron wiped tears from his eyes and choked out, “Yes, definitely.”

The tension, already thin, broke completely then. Someone, probably Vince, accidentally spilled paint on Draco’s trousers in his fit of laughter. Pansy gasped and magicked it clean, only to enchant it the wrong color and turn them bright pink. Draco cursed her dramatically. Harry tried to help and instead splashed glitter everywhere! And through it all, laughter echoed off the walls of the castle like the happiest kind of spell. Draco couldn’t help himself to stop glancing at Harry every so often. Not out of suspicion or rivalry, but something else. Something he’d perhaps been suppressing for a very long time. 

***

Gryffindor’s victory was loudly heard, and the lunatics were celebrating the entire week, even during practice! It didn’t matter how many times Draco rolled his eyes, threatened to cut scenes, or reminded them that no one would be clapping for them during their O.W.L.s, the Gryffindors were seemingly determined to be utterly unbearable. The Slytherins, to their credit, remained calm and collected, mostly sneering in response, but even they had to admit the Quidditch Cup Final had been a spectacular game. Draco had, despite himself, gasped in awe when Harry caught the snitch. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. Especially not to Harry. 

Rehearsals carried on. In fact, in the oddest twist of all, the musical had somehow transformed from an academic side project that most didn’t take as seriously as Draco did into a comfort activity for students panicking about exams. Studying Ancient Runes was soul-crushing but singing about the Deathly Hallows with papier-mâché props and glittery cloaks? Peak entertainment. Even the professors, save for his eternally grumpy godfather, seemed to appreciate the focus shift. Dumbledore shouted Draco out during dinner to express gratitude that he’d unified the students in a way he had never seen before. McGonagall and Lupin offered their classrooms for extra practice. Flitwick taught them how to amplify vocals. Even Sprout helped with props. 

This specific rehearsal had been a very good one, especially from his Cadmus and Persephone. Cedric and Cho performed their duet with such passion and feeling, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if they aggressively snogged after practice. When their hands reached for one another during the climax of the song, the room collectively held its breath. Their voices twined, tight harmonies, and everyone in the cast knew something more than stage chemistry was happening.

"They’re definitely snogging," Pansy whispered to Draco during the applause. 

Fred and George, not ones for romantic sap, found Draco and Harry just after rehearsal, eyes shining with pride. "Right, listen," Fred began.

"We have an idea that doesn’t involve pyrotechnics or conjuring giant spiders this time," George added.

“Which I have told you is completely unnecessary,” Draco droned. 

"What if," Fred said, dramatically drawing out the words, "instead of using that floaty spell you planned for Harry, he just, you know, actually flies."

Draco spluttered. "Excuse me?"

"Not all the way," George said. "Just enough. We rig the stage so he can mount his Firebolt, balance on it midair and he can then zoom around a bit before the blackout."

Harry's eyes widened excitedly. "You mean... I fly when I am on stage?"

"Exactly," Fred grinned.

Draco stared at them. The image was immediately magnificent: Harry, as Death, soaring above the stage as the brothers (including him) stared in awe. The audience would lose their minds. It was dramatic… magical… 

"Brilliant," he whispered. "Absolutely brilliant. I’m putting it in the script."

The twins high-fived. Harry grinned at him and Draco felt something flutter deep inside. 

But while Draco was generous with praise for Harry, he had become increasingly unrelenting with Cassius just for the fun of it. He truly took every opportunity. The moment he missed a beat, hit a wrong note, or turned too far upstage, Draco would stop everything.

"No, again," he would say coldly. "You’re not angry, you’re passionate. That’s a completely different emotional tone!"

Cassius would put on a stoic face, offer a clipped nod, and repeat the line. He didn’t argue. He didn’t complain. But he no longer sought Draco’s nods of approval either, which he now absolutely did not care about. (Over his dead body!) Instead, he still turned to Pansy with a forced smile, waiting for her encouraging thumbs-up. Pansy, for her part, gave them freely just to not upset him, but it didn’t take someone with 12 O’s to see that the energy had shifted. Draco was less enamored, less flustered, and far more critical. Meanwhile, Harry fumbled an entire monologue during rehearsal, stumbling over his lines and accidentally stepping on a prop. 

Draco said nothing. Only raised an eyebrow, then quietly told him to try again when he was ready. No one mentioned it, because Draco would scream at them. Duh! 

The rehearsal finally ended with Chester delivering his final note in the wrong tone. Draco let it go, too tired to react. As students packed up their things, Draco stayed behind to restore everything. Harry stood nearby, gathering his notes, and hesitated when he saw Draco still standing. 

"Hey," he said, approaching slowly. "You alright?"

Draco glanced at him. For a moment, he considered casually brushing him off, offering a comment about his improvement. But something about Harry’s face made him pause.

"Yeah," Draco replied, softer than intended. "Just tired."

Harry nodded and then sat down beside him on the edge of the stage. The others were gone, their laughter and song still echoing faintly down the corridor.

"I wanted to say thanks," Harry said quietly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"The musical. The rehearsals. All of it has been helping a lot."

Draco frowned slightly. "Helping with what?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "The Sirius stuff… Every bad thing that is going on, really." He paused, then exhaled. "You know, when I first heard about having a godfather, I was thrilled. I finally had someone I could call family. Someone who wanted me. But then, I felt awful for being excited because it’s Sirius Black. It felt as though I was betraying my parents just by hoping. And with my mother’s relatives…" He trailed off, swallowing hard. 

Draco watched him. "What about them?" he asked. These were the same people who didn’t tell them about Sirius ‘betraying’ his parents. He truly wanted to know who they were. 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "They aren’t exactly nice."

"Define 'not nice’, Harry. I was once not nice to you," Draco reminded him. “Was it worse than that?” 

Harry let out a weak chuckle. "Most times, yes, but that’s mostly uncle Vernon. I don’t think he’s ever spoken to me without hurting me in some way. You were more like my cousin Dudley, a spoiled prick.  But you didn’t call me a freak and beat me up so thank you for that. Aunt Petunia, my mother’s sister, just watches and makes me cook and clean around while pretending she’s doing it. If I misbehave, I get no meals and until last year I was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs."

Draco’s stomach turned. "And when you came to Hogwarts, another spoiled prick was trying to make your life miserable because he couldn’t handle rejection..."

Merlin, what a terrible person he was. The Draco of before would have laughed at this, made fun of “Stupid Potter” who can’t even fight back against filthy muggles. Draco didn’t say anything for a moment. He was horrified. More than horrified, he was disgusted by them and himself. Here was this boy who had saved the school twice, wasn’t arrogant at all, who had lost his parents, who had more pressure than anyone Draco knew… and he’d lived like that ? Abused by people who are supposed to protect him? His own family. Draco used to think the Saviour lived like a prince, because that’s what he thought he deserved. But Harry probably didn’t think that, he just wanted to be loved. 

And Sirius could be that, a guardian who loves him. But Sirius had no way to prove his own innocence because Wormtail had vanished into thin air. 

Harry took his hand. "The difference between you and them is that you’re changing. You saw your wrongs and went on a whole crusade, for Christ's sake."

“Who’s Christ?” 

Harry grinned, shaking his head. “No one important, you won’t really get it.” 

"Why are you telling me this?" Draco asked quietly. “When I prevented you from escaping abuse for two years.” 

Harry gave a lopsided smile, Draco’s eyes watching him as Harry’s hand moved to cup his cheek. Not like Cassius, but in a tender way. "Because I feel comfortable around you. And because you’ve grown to care about me, even if you pretend not to."

Draco looked away, blinking away the tears welling in his eyes. It felt as if his stone cold heart was melting away. He looked back at Harry, who was watching him with that stupid, honest expression of his. Without thinking, Draco moved forward and wrapped his arms around him. Harry melted into the hug. He rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder, the warmth of his breath ticking the back of Draco’s head. 

"I do really care about you," Draco whispered honestly, caressing the back of his head.

"I care about you too," Harry replied.

Neither of them moved, the world around them disappearing. All Draco could feel was Harry and he didn’t mind it one bit. 

***

Thanks to Theodore Nott and Hermione Granger running the exam week study sessions like  “drill sergeants”, Draco was certain he performed good to excellent on each and every one. And after weeks of intense practice, they had finally done it. One perfect runthrough of the entire musical. Everyone had performed as though it was the premiere night and Draco felt his tears well up as Chester Summerby delivered the final note of “My End has Come” with the perfect fake-sob. When the second year saw the tears in Draco’s eyes, he walked over to him and gave him a hug. This caused a chain reaction of people joining in until Draco felt suffocated by the people he was now surrounded with. 

In his (now) fourteen years of life, Draco had never felt this kind of companionship before. Sure, he had his parents and his core four but he had Ravenclaw friends now, Hufflepuffs and most surprisingly, Gryffindors. Harry Potter was his friend! All Draco had to do was get his head out of the sand and do a whole lot of growing up. And he was glad he did. Hmm, who knew Hagrid’s little chicken hybrid could have changed the course of his life. He should kiss the thing. 

Okay, on second thought he was absolutely not doing that. He’d already apologised to the thing, he was never interacting with it again. 

On one particular exam-free day, Draco decided to go to Lupin’s classroom. His Defense Professor had told him a week earlier that he wouldn’t be able to come to the premiere night. It devastated Draco but he decided to just give Lupin the script so he could still read it. 

“That is great work, Draco,” Lupin complimented him, turning the last page of the script. “I am again so sorry I cannot be present for the premiere night.”

“It’s alright, Professor,” Draco reassured him. “You can come to the other showings.”

“I hope Harry won’t mind,” Lupin said. “He was actually hoping I would come.”

That was sweet. They had talked about it together. But Draco felt sad. He clearly wanted an adult there who he cared about. Harry’s relatives were the exact opposite of that but Lupin, someone he clearly liked, couldn’t come. Draco had to do something. He needed to figure out how to clear the name of a man without any proof. 

“Professor, I have a question.”

“Yes,” Lupin handed him the full script back, “what is it, Draco?”

Draco’s eyes moved to that which his script had just been covering. It resembled a map, one of Hogwarts to be exact. All the classrooms and hallways were written on it. But right outside, in the courtyard, he read a familiar name. “Is that Harry?”

“What?” Lupin pulled the piece of parchment away.

Draco gaped at the Professor, scandalised that he had just tried to hide it from him. “I saw that, Professor, do not try to lie to me.”

“Draco,” Lupin said in a tone that was gentle yet stern. “I don’t think you should talk to me like that. I am still your Professor.” 

“Alright,” Draco sighed, “I’ll drop it if you could answer my question,” he promised, though still kept that map in the back of his mind. “If Sirius Black is proven innocent, could there be a way for Harry to live with him?”

Lupin gave him a confused look. “I don’t know what you mean, Draco, he isn’t innocent.”

“Well, his trial was never that fair to begin with,” Draco argued. “They just threw him in, no veritaserum, nada.”

“In times of war, desperate measures should be taken.”

“But what if Black was misunderstood?” Draco pressed on, desperately trying to get him to understand him. “Look, I am not sure if you’re aware but my mother was his cousin. She always said that Sirius was an outlier, a Muggle ally. He was kicked out, burned off the family tapestry and his mother did not believe in his guilt. Pettigrew may have had the wrong guy, he could have acted irrationally and grief stricken and started pointing fingers. Maybe there was a rat amongst them, it’s like a plot twist.” Lupin raised his eyebrow at him. “It’s basically, when in a story—” Lupin held his hand up.

“I know what a plot twist is, Draco.”

“Then you must know that the story doesn’t make any sense.” Lupin was looking at him as though he had grown a second head. So, Draco started to think, his eyes wandering around. They landed on the map the Professor had tried to hide, and Draco read something off it that made him snatch it away from the Professor to see if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?” 

“I think you should give that back,” Lupin said calmly, extending his arm.

“I know that name,” Draco said, his eyes burning on Wormtail. 

“What–?”

“Wormtail, he’s the rat. Worm tail, ha , now I get it. My father always said a rat betrayed the Potter’s, it’s been right in front of me this entire time. I need to tell Harry.” He gave the Professor the map back and frantically ran out of the classroom. He ignored Lupin’s pleas for Draco to come back. Not now Lupin, he had to tell Harry this. He could explain the story to Harry, get the map from Lupin and they could figure out who these so-called Marauders were. That wouldn’t be so complicated, would it? And if they figured out who Wormtail was and got proof of his guilt, Sirius would be free, Harry could have someone to live with and Sirius could watch the musical. 

Draco looked for Harry for half an hour. Going from the Gryffindor Common Room (which was hideous , by the way) to the library, Great Hall, even McGonagall’s classroom where some of his castmates were practising harmonies. He’d asked everyone, his friends, Harry’s friends, other Professors, even Cassius . Who knew that the only person in the school with a lightning bolt scar could be so invisible? He was growing frustrated, his legs hurt from all the running and he was completely out of breath when he made his way to Hagrid’s hut (as per Ginny Weasley’s suggestion). There, near the Whomping Willow, he saw an incredibly odd sight. 

It was petrified. Completely unmoving. And right next to it were Harry and Hermione. 

Draco was instantly excited, yelling, “Harry!” as he ran to him. 

“Not now, Draco!” Harry yelled back.

Despite running, Draco still scoffed and rolled his eyes. When he reached them, he could see that there had been an opening leading to a tunnel that they had seemingly been wanting to enter. “What are you doing?”

“Not now!” Harry snapped frustratedly. 

But Draco stubbornly followed Granger and him.

Draco squeaked, holding the nearest thing he could reach, which happened to be Harry’s hand. Harry didn’t pull away and instead held his hand tighter. 

Draco followed, raising his wand too as he let his eyes roam around the room. The room was a disaster. Dusty, paper peeling from the walls, questionable stains all over the floor, boarded up windows and every piece of furniture broken with large scratches on the wood, chunks ripped off chairs, legs scattered around the room… A door to their right was open, leading into a dark hallway. 

“Boys,” Hermione whispered, “I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack.”

“Why, exactly?” Draco wondered. 

“The Grim took Ron,” Harry said vaguely, which didn’t help at all . 

They heard something creak upstairs and Draco’s eyes went to the ceiling. “Let’s go,” Draco whispered, trying to act cool and collected while draining the colour out of Harry’s fingers. 

As quietly as they could, they walked out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs. 

They reached the dark landing. “Nox, ” they whispered together. As they slowly walked towards the sound of the noise, they heard movement from behind it; a low moan, and then a deep, loud purring. They exchanged one last look before Harry kicked the door wide open. On a four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay a hideous looking orange cat, purring loudly at the sight of them. On the floor beside him, clutching his very broken leg, was Ron. 

Harry’s hand slipped away from Draco’s as he and Hermione went straight to him. But Draco didn’t look at him. His eyes were on the floor, following the fourth pair of footsteps which led straight to the door. 

“Harry–!” said Draco, eyes wide at the sight he was seeing. 

“Not now, Draco,” Harry said impatiently. 

“Yes, now , turn around, damnit!” 

Harry and Hermione wheeled around. And with a bang, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them. He had filthy, matted black hair hung to his elbows and if his eyes hadn’t been shining, Draco would’ve thought him to be dead. But he wasn’t. They were now face to face with a very alive Sirius Black. “Expelliarmus! ” he croaked, pointing Ron’s wand at them. 

Their wands all flew out of their hands and Black caught them without much trouble. He took a step closer, eyes were fixed on Harry. “I thought you’d come and help your friend,” he said hoarsely. “Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful . . . it will make everything much easier. . . . ” 

Harry’s arm pulled Draco back with great force, making him land straight onto the floor in his brand new trousers! But he had no time to dwell on that, as Hermione pulled Harry away from almost charging at him. 

“No, Harry! ” Hermione gasped in a petrified whisper. 

Ron, however, bravely spoke to Black. “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too! ” he said fiercely, though the effort of standing up had drained the colour in his face and he struggled as he spoke. 

Something resembling concern flickered in Black’s eyes. “Lie down, ” he said quietly to Ron. "You will damage that leg even more. ” 

“Did you hear me? ” Ron said weakly, though he was clinging onto Harry to stay upright. “You’ll have to kill all four of us! ” 

Umm, not Draco, thank you very much.

“There’ll be only one murder here tonight, ” said Black, and his grin widened. 

Draco, who had been practically paralysed to the floor, stood upright. He took Harry’s arm as Harry spat, “Why’s that?” at Black. “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew... What’s the matter, gone soft in Azkaban? ” 

“Harry! ” Hermione whimpered. “Be quiet!” 

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD! ” Harry roared, and with the same strength he had when pulling Draco back, he broke free from all three of them and lunged forward. Yes, you heard it correctly! The short and skinny thirteen year old Harry Potter lunged at the tall, full-grown man and began to attack him. 

Black didn’t raise the wands in time as one of Harry’s hands fastened over his wrist, forcing the wand tips away. The knuckles of Harry’s other hand collided with the side of Black’s head and they fell, backward, into the wall. Everything was chaos, Hermione and Ron were screaming and yelling and Draco was shellshocked, practically immobile The wands in Black’s hand sent a jet of sparks into the air that missed Harry’s face by inches; Harry’s other hand punched every part of Black it could find. 

Black’s free hand began to choke Harry. “No, ” he hissed, “I’ve waited too long–” 

Seeing this made something snap in Draco, and he ran forward, trying to pull Harry off the man because no matter how innocent he was, he has likely gone mad . Hermione tried to kick, Ron had thrown himself on Black’s hand and then Draco heard something clatter. His eyes moved to whatever had caused the sound, seeing that ugly cat sink her claws into Harry’s arm. Harry threw the cat away, the motion making Draco fall back. 

“Get out of the way! ” he shouted at Ron and Hermione too. 

They were quick to listen. Hermione, hair even more of a mess than usual, lip bleeding, moved aside, snatching up her and Ron’s wands. Draco quickly took his wand too. Ron crawled to the four-poster and collapsed onto it, panting, both hands clutching his broken leg. Black laid at the bottom of the wall. His chest rose and fell rapidly as Harry walked nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart. 

“Going to kill me, Harry? ” he whispered. 

Harry stopped right above him, his wand still pointing at Black’s chest. “You killed my parents,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. 

“Harry, wait a second!” Draco’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Harry turned, eyes blazing. “Stay out of this!”

Draco was already stepping between them. Wormtail was at Hogwarts this entire time. He wasn’t chasing Harry, but the rat. But who was Wormtail? 

“Tell Harry who you’re actually here for.” 

“What are you on?” Harry snapped. 

“Yeah, Malfoy,” Ron said, still managing to sound annoyed despite his pain. “Not helping.” 

“Answer the question, Black,” Draco said, his voice shaking. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Are you seriously trying to see his perspective now?”

“Look–” 

“Shut up!” Harry barked. Draco flinched at the venom in his tone. “You were the one defending him the entire time,” Harry spat, stepping closer. “Talking about how ‘complicated’ he was. You’ve been trying to get me to understand him. And all that time– what? You were helping him sneak into the castle?! Is that what this musical is? Some elaborate, glitter-coated distraction while you and your homicidal cousin break into Hogwarts?”

Draco actually spluttered. “The musical?! Are you serious—” he stopped, groaned, and waved his arms. “No pun intended! Merlin’s pants, Harry, I put on the musical because I want to be the pillar of musical theatre, not a spy!”

Sirius, looking somewhat terrified and very confused, glanced between them and muttered, “Harry is not wrong.Your plans did help me to get into the castle.”

“Not helping!” Draco hissed at him.

Harry looked between the two of them. “You... you know each other.”

Draco's eyes widened. “ Nooooo !” he replied, dragging out every last o. “We’re just related. Don’t look at me like I’ve betrayed you, I’ve told you this!”

“Yeah, and I shouldn’t have ignored that,” Harry said, his voice icy. “You’re blood-related to the man who betrayed my parents.”

“I did,” Sirius cut in, stepping forward at last, voice rough. “But if you knew the full story, Harry…”

And then came a new sound. Muffled footsteps echoed up through the floor, the sound of someone moving. 

“WE’RE UP HERE!” Hermione screamed suddenly. “WE’RE UP HERE – SIRIUS BLACK — QUICK! ” 

Black made a startled movement; Harry gripped his wand. 

The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Draco turned around as Professor Lupin came into the room, face bloodless, wand raised and ready. His eyes went over Ron, Hermione, Draco and finally Harry, his wand covering Black. “Expelliarmus!” Lupin shouted. 

The sound of it made Draco’s hand fall to the floor, Black quickly picking it up. Harry, Ron and Hermione’s wands all flew into Lupin’s hand. The Professor moved into the room, staring at Black. Then Lupin spoke in an odd voice, “Where is he, Sirius?” 

Draco looked at the Professor. Was Wormtail in the room? But how could he hide so easily? 

For a few seconds, Black didn’t move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised his empty hand and pointed straight at Ron. 

“Huh,” Draco whispered quietly, looking at a bewildered Ron.

“But then…, ” Lupin muttered, staring at Black, “...why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless…” Lupin’s eyes suddenly widened, “unless he was the one… unless you switched… without telling me? ” 

Very slowly, his gaze never leaving Lupin’s face, Black nodded. 

“Pardon me, but if he’s here how can we not see him?” Draco asked loudly, interrupting whatever Harry was about to say. 

But he wasn’t given an answer as Lupin, to everyone’s surprise, lowered his wand. He walked to Black’s side, seized his hand to pull him up and embraced him like a brother. 

“Okay, what in the ever loving–!”

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT! ” Hermione screamed, the sound muffling Draco’s words. Lupin let go of Black and turned to her. 

She had raised herself off the floor and was pointing at Lupin, wild-eyed. “You– you–” 

“Hermione–  ” 

“-- you and him! ” 

“Hermione, calm down–  ” 

“I didn’t tell anyone! ” Hermione shrieked. “I’ve been covering up for you— “

“Hermione, listen to me, please! ” Lupin shouted. “I can explain — ” 

“I trusted you, ” Harry shouted at Lupin, “and all the time you’ve been his friend! ” 

“You're wrong, ” said Lupin. “Let me explain… I haven’t been Sirius’s friend, but I am now.” 

“NO! ” Hermione screamed. “Harry, don’t trust him, he’s been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too and he’ s a werewolf! ” 

There was a deafening silence. Everyone’s eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale. “Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione, ” he said. “Only one out of three, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don’t want Harry dead… But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf. ” 

Draco sprung away when he said that, his hands grasping the nearest object he could find, a wooden leg and held it tightly. A werewolf? How could he be a werewolf? There were ferocious beasts who hurt everyone in their way. But Lupin… he’d been so kind. 

Ron made an attempt to get up again but fell back with a whimper. Lupin made toward him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, “Get away from me, werewolf! ” which made Lupin stop dead in his tracks. 

With an obvious effort, the Professor turned to Hermione and said, “How long have you known?” 

“Ages, ” Hermione whispered. “Since I did Professor Snape’s essay…” 

Draco had truly been distracted. How hadn’t he noticed? He was practically saying, Lupin is a werewolf! That entire class. 

“He’ll be delighted, ” said Lupin coolly. “He assigned that essay hoping someone would realise what my symptoms meant. . . . Did you check the lunar chart and realise that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the boggart changed into the moon when it saw me? ” 

“Both, ” Hermione said quietly. 

Lupin forced a laugh. “You’re the cleverest witch of your age I’ve ever met, Hermione. ” 

“I’m not, ” Hermione whispered. “If I’d been a bit cleverer, I’d have told everyone what you are! ” 

“But they already know, ” said Lupin. “At least, the staff do. ” 

“Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf? ” Ron gasped. “Is he mad? ” 

“Yes, of course!” Draco yelped. “He’s over a hundred years old, people.” 

“Some of the staff thought so,” said Lupin. “He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I’m trustworthy—” 

“AND HE WAS WRONG! ” Harry yelled. “YOU’VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME! ” He was pointing at Black, who suddenly crossed to the four-poster bed and sank onto it, still holding Draco’s wand. The cat stepped onto his lap. 

Ron edged away from both of them, dragging his leg. 

“I have not been helping Sirius, ” said Lupin. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain. Look, Sirius, give Draco’s wand back. ” 

Black grunted before throwing the wand back at Draco. Draco instantly dropped the wooden leg and sighed in relief, kissing his wand like a lost lover. 

Lupin gave Harry, Ron and Hermione their wands too. “There,” said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt. “You’re armed, we’re not. Now will you listen? ” 

“We’re listening,” said Draco. “Can someone answer my question please?”

“Wait,” said Harry. Draco groaned, throwing his hands up in despair. 

Harry ignored him. “If you haven’t been helping him, ” he said, with a furious glance at Black, “how did you know he was here? ” 

“The map, ” said Lupin. “The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office examining it — ” 

"You know how to work it? ” Harry said suspiciously. 

“Of course I know how to work it, ” said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. “I helped write it. I’m Moony, that was my friends’ nickname for me at school. ” 

“So, you know who Wormtail is the entire time?” Draco asked, scandalised. Why didn’t he tell him? 

Harry turned to Draco. "How do you know about Wormtail?” 

Draco felt five (and maybe six) pairs of eyes on him. 

“That was exactly what I was wondering too,” Lupin replied, “but you ran away before I could ask.” 

With a heavy sigh, Draco began to explain. “I was told my entire life that a rat betrayed the Potters.” Draco pointed to Black. “At first I thought it was you because it usually came from my father.” Sirius grunted an insult directed at Lucius. “But then, I was told that the spy of the Order was referred to in Death Eater circles as Wormtail.”

Harry gave him a confused look. “What are Death Eaters?”

“Servants of You-Know-Who,” Black supplied.

“So, you knew this the entire time and didn’t tell me?” Harry asked Draco calmly. 

And there it was, that huge feeling of guilt exposing itself to everyone present. “I have only known about Wormtail since Yule.”

“You knew for that long?!” Harry screamed at him.

“I was trying to tell you but you were all, not now, Draco! ” Draco said, doing his best Harry Potter impression. 

“He’s a Malfoy, they are liars by nature,” Black said in a disgusted tone.

Draco gasped. “Oh, shut up, you! I am defending you!” 

“Let’s all be calm,” Lupin cut in, mediating the growing frustrations brewing around him. “Are you saying that there is a group of people who knows Sirius is innocent?”

Draco nodded. 

“They’re Death Eaters, they could all be lying,” Ron pointed out. 

Offended, Draco exclaimed, “My father isn’t a liar!” 

“Ehhhh…” came from Hermione out of all people. 

Draco threw his hands up in defeat, letting them dramatically fall next to him. “Okay, maybe he is not always truthful about certain matters but to be honest,” He turned to his fellow students, “you would have not believed me if I told you about Wormtail, correct?”

“Yes, I probably wouldn’t,” Ron mumbled. 

“I kept it a secret because at first I didn't have the full details and because I care… about you ,” he said to Harry. 

Despite the bad lighting in the shack, Draco could still see Harry’s cheeks pinken as all he could utter was a quiet, “Oh.”

“Yeah…” Draco could truly stare at those eyes for hours but he had to put his priorities straight. “Okay, now we’re getting off subject. Are you going to reveal yourself, Wormtail?” he asked, eyes looking over Ron to see if he was perhaps missing a Disillusionment Charm. 

“I agree,” Black grunted. 

“Where is he, Sirius?”

“In the friend’s pocket.” Lupin’s eyes moved over Ron. “Do you think I could have a look at the rat?” he said evenly. 

“What? ” said Ron. “What’s Scabbers got to do with it?” 

“Everything, ” said Lupin. “Could I see him, please? ” Ron hesitated, then put a hand inside his robes. An ugly old rat emerged (these Gryffindors had horrendous looking pets), moving around frantically. Ron seized his long bald tail to stop him escaping. The cat stood up on Black’s leg and made a soft hissing noise. Lupin moved closer to Ron. 

He seemed to be holding his breath as he gazed at Scabbers. “What?” Ron said again, holding Scabbers close to him, looking scared. “What’s my rat got to do with anything? ” 

“That’s not a rat, ” croaked Sirius Black suddenly. 

“What d’you mean–  of course he’s a rat–” 

“No, he’s not, ” said Lupin quietly. “He’s a wizard. ” 

“An Animagus, ” said Black, “Wormtail,” He glanced at Draco, “and his name is Peter Pettigrew.”

“You three are mental,” Ron said. 

“Peter Pettigrew is dead!” said Harry, turning to Sirius. “He killed him twelve years ago!” 

“I meant to,” Black growled, “but little Peter got the better of me… not this time, though!”

“Peter Pettigrew framed you?” Draco asked, but he was ignored as Black lunged at Ron’s ugly rat.

“Sirius, NO!” Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again.

“WAIT! You can’t do it just like that. They need to understand and we’ve got to explain —”

“We can explain afterwards!” snarled Black, trying to throw Lupin off. One hand was still clawing the air as it tried to reach Scabbers, who was squealing like a newborn baby, scratching Ron’s face and neck as he tried to escape.

Lupin managed to convince Black to calm down. The man launched into a story about his life. Being bitten, becoming a werewolf as a child, going to Hogwarts. The Marauders, which consisted of him, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and James Potter. Four best friends who caused mischief, made a map of the school all by themselves and became unregistered animagi to accompany Lupin during his transformations. And as his extremely long story seemed to reach its completion, Snape barged in.

A lot happened afterwards and it was too much for Draco’s pretty little head to summarise, so here is a little debrief. Okay, so Snape walked in, wearing Harry’s invisibility cloak and yelled and screamed in a way Draco had never seen of him before. (Scary!) Bellowing things like, “Out of my way, Potter! I know the truth!” and “I told Dumbledore! Did anyone listen? Nooo!” or whatever, Draco’s mind is a bit frazzled. Harry, being his stupidly cute self, tried to argue (because naturally, he knows better than everyone who has actual qualifications), but Snape wasn’t having it. He was talking about getting an Order of Merlin, being hailed as the hero of Hogwarts, and dragging Sirius off to the Dementors personally. It was dramatic and Draco was eating it all up. 

Black baring his teeth like a hound, Lupin looking two seconds away from fainting, and Potter’s just standing there trying to lecture Snape on morality out of all things and then suddenly, after his godfather snarled one too many threats, he was literally stunned (pun intended) by Harry, Ron and Hermione. Like actually stunned him. Blasted him. Draco wanted to say something but Harry told him to be calm in a very gentle voice which made him smile like an idiot. Most surprisingly was the lack of panic (aside from Hermione). They just tied him up like it was nothing, stuffed a rag in his mouth, and acted like they'd just cleaned the room.

Then it was more nonsense. Firstly, everyone apologised to Draco (and the room claps! Yes, they do) and then Pettigrew was revealed. All crying and snivelling like a baby. Sirius was giving monologues and clearing his name, Lupin was trying to parent everyone and Snape was lying just there unconscious. It was such chaos and Draco was still recovering from it all, in the Hospital Wing after Lupin had transformed into a werewolf and Pettigrew escaped. Draco had even tried running after him but in his Animagus form, the rat was too quick. He was currently thinking a lot of things but Draco knew one thing for certain, he was never ever going to follow Harry Potter somewhere again. Way too exhausting, pfft . 

“Draco, come,” Hermione Granger suddenly said to him. Draco was brought out of his daydream, eyes moving up to them. She and Harry stood in front of him, Hermione holding something vaguely resembling–

“A time turner?” Draco almost exclaimed. “Who gave you that?”

“I’ll explain later,” Hermione said urgently. “Come on.”

Draco did as told, letting Granger tie the chain around their necks. Hermione turned the hourglass over three times. The dark ward dissolved and Draco felt as though he was flying backwards,  a blur of colors and shapes rushed past him, his ears were pounding… 

And then he felt solid ground beneath his feet, and everything came into focus again. 

He was standing next to Harry and Hermione in the deserted entrance hall. 

“Hermione, what– ?” Harry began to say. 

“In here!” Hermione took Harry’s arm, which made Harry take Draco’s and they were dragged across the hall to the door of a broom closet. She opened it, pushed him inside among the buckets and mops, then slammed the door behind them.

“What–- how– Hermione, what happened?”

“We’ve gone back in time,” Hermione whispered, lifting the chain off their necks in the darkness. “Three hours back . . .”

“But–”

“Shh! Listen! Someone’s coming! I think — I think it might be us!”

The next three hours were perhaps even more exhausting than the ones he just had. And a lot of running and hiding ensued. And when it came to the moment where the moon appeared in the sky, Draco had to make a decision. The scene played out in front of them again. Lupin noticing it was a full moon, Black screaming at everyone to run, Pettigrew diving for Lupin’s abandoned wand and Harry trying to stop him. Back then, it had all happened so fast but Draco now saw it go in slow motion. Would he chase? Would he stay behind to not change the timeline? He looked at the scene in front of him, then at the hand which was entwined with Harry’s and the pained expression on his friend’s face.

Yeah, that decision was easy. 

The Draco of an hour ago ran after Pettigrew, as did the older version, letting go of Harry’s hand to chase the rat.

“Draco!” Harry whisper-yelled.

But Draco wasn’t listening, he chased the stupid rat until he had his aim right and stunned him.

Past Draco looked at him, wide eyed and terrified, his wand pointed at him as though he wanted to attack. 

Draco merely put his finger in front of his mouth, shooting him a wink. And wow, Draco thought to himself. The dishevelled hair really suited him.

He grabbed the rat’s stunned body and ran away, avoiding the past people on his way back to the current Hermione and Harry. 

“If I still despised you, I would slap you right now,” Hermione said angrily. “I can’t believe you messed with the fabric of time!” 

“But you don’t despise me, so you don’t have to,” Draco replied, shooting her a wink. He turned to Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going back to the castle before the spell wears off. The Aurors were called, so they can get Pettigrew instead of Black.”

Harry gave him a warm smile, taking the hand that had been on his shoulder and holding it with both of his. “Thanks, Draco.” 

He looked so sweet that Draco could kiss him. But he had to push those thoughts aside. He had to prove his (very rude) cousin’s innocence right now. 

***

Draco’s mission had been completed. He caught Pettigrew, brought him to the castle where was arrested by the Aurors present. Black had been detained as well, even after all the explaining they had done! The news of Pettigrew’s arrest had been kept a secret for three days until it was revealed to the world. Sirius would be getting a re-trial which would prove everything that Black and Lupin had told them. After that, Sirius would be free and Harry wouldn’t need to live with his relatives anymore. Draco was so happy for him! He could finally have a life he always deserved. It was the perfect atmosphere for the premiere night. Draco had to bully his father into pulling strings for Sirius to be there at the grand opening of the musical. He succeeded. Sirius was allowed to go but had to be followed around by Aurors the entire night.

It wasn’t as noticeable, though, as they sat in the row behind Sirius. They were all in the completely transformed Great Hall. Rows of pristine velvet-cushioned seats had replaced the usual house tables, the enchanted ceiling dimmed to a starlit night, dark green velvet curtains resembling those of audition day framed the gleaming stage. 

Draco Malfoy stood behind said curtains, peeking out to see those present. Students from every year and every house filled the rows (even Marcus Flint, prick!), dressed in their smartest robes. Professors sat together in the front blocks, even his godfather was leaning over to whisper something with a smile to McGonagall. And then there was the first row where his parents sat proudly, his mother’s gloved hand resting gently on Lucius’ sleeve, her eyes already glassy. The Minister of Magic was seated next to them. And Rita Skeeter, the most famous writer for Witch Weekly, sat close by, quill in hand, looking at every detail of the transformed hall. She may twist words but she was an expert at getting people to read her things. 

The curtain fell back into place and Draco breathed in deeply through his nose. Everything had led to this. A year of composition, direction, singing, producing and walking around like a headless chicken had amounted to this musical. Somehow he managed to balance it with school and Sirius Black drama. Not to mention the time travel.

Thankfully that was over, otherwise they’d cause his stress lines Daphne could not glamour over. 

Draco almost sprung back when someone tapped his shoulder.

He turned to see Harry standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his costume’s robes (he should’ve also asked for pockets!), grinning. “Hey,” Harry said.

Draco smiled. “Hey, you’re looking good.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “Thanks,” he said. “Umm, I just wanted to say thank you. For Pettigrew and for Sirius. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, though he felt his chest tighten (in a good way) at the words. “It’s no bother,” he said breezily, as though catching a Death Eater and altering timelines was just another Wednesday.

Harry smiled again, a little lopsided. “Still, I am grateful.” Then, with a grin that Draco didn’t quite understand, he added, “Break a leg.”

Draco stared at him and then at his legs. “Why on earth would you wish that on me?”

Harry frowned. “It means good luck.”

“What kind of backwards Muggle superstition is that?”

But Harry merely winked at him before walking away. Very confusing! Draco scowled after him, confused but not entirely displeased because Merlin, that eyeliner. Wow . He turned back towards the corridor, where Daphne Greengrass was probably sharpening an eyebrow pencil with the ferocity of someone ready to murder a Hippogriff.

He sped to the makeup room.

Daphne barely glanced up as he burst in. “You’re late.”

“You wouldn’t believe what Harry just said—”

“Did he finally confess his love to you?”

“What do you–?” Draco began to say but was sharply interrupted. 

“No? Then sit, shut up and close your eyes.”

He obeyed without argument. The cast preparing could be heard even here. Cedric practising his song down the hall, Ron reciting his lines with surprising fervour. The nerves were so strong Draco could practically taste them from the tip of his tongue. His hand trembled slightly in his lap, but he kept still as Daphne lined his eyes and dabbed at his cheeks.

“You’re going to be brilliant,” she murmured.

“I know,” he replied. 

Daphne grinned, finishing his makeup before sending him away. Draco ran across the hall, snatching Cassius and Cedric with him and speeding back to behind the podium. The props were there. Three gravestones, behind it three open spots perfectly aligned. They had to hide underneath them before the twins made them disappear into the ground and the boys rose on the stage. 

When the opening chords of “Strength of a Brother” rang out and the curtains lifted, the room hushed. For a moment, Draco waited and then his cue came and the show began.

From the very first number, a Weasley twins-led extravaganza of colour and stage trickery, the audience was instantly hooked. Fred and George had worked with multiple Professors for weeks on the special effects, crafting illusions, explosions and effects. The twins had truly done better than Draco had expected from what he saw during the final rehearsals and the audience was loving it. 

Draco, Cedric, and Cassius took centre stage. The three voices danced around each other in perfect harmony and when they hit the final note together, which happened after they did a dramatic float across the bridge, the applause was immediate and thunderous.

There were highlights every few minutes. Harry’s last-minute stunt, flying across the entire hall on his Firebolt during his introductory song, although something Draco had not approved, was a particularly beloved moment and Draco swore he heard someone say they’re asking their parents for that broom. McGonagall had actually gasped .

Ron, who had struggled endlessly with bad delivery, somehow pulled it together. His comedic timing was on point and the audience ate it up. Even Rita was scribbling furiously as he delivered his monologue and some people were even cheering him on during his duel with Cassius as Antioch.

What changed everything was Cedric and Cho’s duet, Dancing with Her Ghost. The ballad Cadmus sings with the ghost of his lover was definitely Draco’s best work. The stage had been dimmed, lit only by two lights shining on them in different colours, separating them from the land of the living and dead. Cedric’s mournful voice intertwined with Cho’s beautiful soprano. Their hands never touched, but the emotion was there and it was exactly as Draco imagined. By the end, as Cadmus joined Penelope in the afterlife, his light of the living disappearing, silence fell until it was broken only by the sound of someone sniffling.

It was his father, handkerchief in hand, dabbing his eyes.

He wasn’t the only one in tears when the song drew to a close but it was the most noticeable. 

Draco still thought of it, even as he sang the last note of Ignotus’ song before ‘dying’. Chester as the son mourned. A final note held for twelve full seconds and a devastated sob in the end before he draped Harry’s invisibility cloak around him and disappeared.

It ended in absolute stillness and the curtains fell.

For a moment, there was only silence. Draco heard someone he firmly believed was his mother let out a, “Goodness!” before applause erupted like thunder.

Draco got to his feet, his heart pounding, feeling every applause hit him. The cast gathered around him, hands reaching for one another instinctively. Draco found himself between Pansy and Harry, their palms clammy but firm. The curtain rose again for the bows. One by one, each cast member stepped forward. Fred and George made sure to shout themselves out, announcing the start of their business Weasley Wizard Wheezes , which Draco had indeed approved of, he wasn’t evil!  Cedric bowed deeply, looking dazed by the reception. He gave Cho a kiss on the cheek before she stepped forward to give a polite courtesy. Ron almost tripped but managed a grin. Even the rest of production, costumes and makeup were clapped for.

At the end, Draco started to step forward, only for Harry to place a hand on his back and push him into the centre. “And lastly, an applause for the director, writer, and producer,” Harry said, loudly enough for the whole hall to hear. “The magnificent Draco Malfoy!”

And Draco felt something strange rise in his chest. The crowd leapt to their feet. Not just students, but everyone . Professors, journalists, The Minister… His mother with her hand over her heart, even his father had stood up, clapping like Draco had never seen before. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy was not hated, not dismissed, not sneered at. He was being celebrated and loved. And it was nearly too much to take in. He bowed, unsure what his face was doing but it didn’t matter. Because Draco is a star! The curtains fell again, the cheers still loud. The cast all attacked him with hugs, shouts, tears and laughter.

And Merlin, he loved it. 

The cast left the podium and hurried outside, getting unready and dressing up in their evening clothes. The stage had been cleared and the guests ushered into the celebratory feast in the beautifully decorated courtyard. Draco stood alone for a moment in the now quiet Great Hall. The floating candles had dimmed, the velvet curtains still up. He can’t believe it actually happened. His one true dream had come true. 

Harry approached from the back. He was wearing a handsome set of dress robes, looking absolutely gorgeous with two Butterbeers in hand. He passed one to Draco, who took it without a word.

“Did you see your father?” Harry asked, grinning.

Draco took a sip. “He didn’t fall asleep this time,” he said with a mild shrug. “That’s as good as it gets.”

“Come on. He was crying,” Harry said with a laugh. 

“He has allergies,” Draco said smoothly, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

Harry’s mouth fell into a grin. “You were incredible, you know.”

Draco gave him a sideways look. “I know.”

Harry chuckled. “Do you always have to act like you don’t care?”

Draco considered it for a second. He swirled the Butterbeer in his hand, watching the foam catch the candlelight.  “It feels dramatic.”

“Draco, you are dramatic,” Harry said. 

Draco nearly choked on his butterbeer. “Oh no!” 

Harry, laughing, reached forward and took his hand, thumb brushing lightly over Draco’s knuckles. “No, it’s alright. I like that about you.” 

“You do?” 

Harry nodded, suddenly serious. “Yeah… I do,” he said softly, his eyes on his. Grey and green and it was one beautiful combination. “Draco?”

“Yes?” he replied, and his voice came out much smaller than he expected.

“I fancy you.” 

Draco stared. For a full second, his brain simply refused to process the words. The Butterbeer was forgotten now, dangling limply from his hand. Then it caught up to him because Merlin’s beard, Harry liked him. And wait– “I just realised I fancy you too!”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “You just realised?” 

“Okay, not just now,” Draco said hurriedly, “but that’s what I have been feeling,” he explained. “I have fancied you for months but suppressed it for so long.” 

Harry grinned. “So have I.”

Draco put the butterbeer down and cupped both of Harry’s cheeks. “We are perfect for one another!”

Harry leaned in just a little, their foreheads almost touching. “Yeah?” he grinned. “Do you want to see if our kisses are perfect too?” 

Draco nodded excitedly. 

And then Harry kissed him and Draco kissed him back. It was soft and hesitant at first, neither having that much experience to know what they’re doing. But it didn’t matter, because Draco finally felt the sparks he had wanted from the kiss with Cassius. Harry Potter was making fireworks erupt inside him and it was the best feeling in the world. Salazar, it was even better than the applause. 

“No, Draco, not him !” They heard a voice from behind him.

Eyebrows raised, Draco pulled away from Harry, turning to see his parents standing there with a bouquet of flowers. His mother was beaming, wearing an absolutely darling shirt that read “my baby boy is a master of many crafts” in sparkling letters. His father was glaring, not at him, but at Harry.

Draco was confused. “What do you mean, no?”

Lucius took a slow step forward, his voice oddly gentle. “Draco,” his father began, “we said we would be okay with you eloping with a man in the future.”

“Wait,” Draco glanced from Harry to his parents, “but what’s wrong with him, then?”

“We said we’d be alright with boyfriends,” Lucius continued, “but him?”

Harry looked properly scandalised. “Excuse me?”

Draco frowned. “What’s wrong, Father?”

Lucius gave a weary sigh. “Why couldn’t you have chosen someone respectable? A nice, non chaotic, pure-blood wizard from a stable lineage? Someone like... like Cassius Warrington.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry snapped, eyes wide. 

“Hello everyone!” came a booming voice, cheerful and utterly unconcerned with the tension in the air. Sirius Black strode into the room, his long coat swinging behind him, grinning like he’d just walked into a pub. He looked more alive than he had in years, despite the two Aurors hovering near the entrance.

“Hi, Sirius!” Narcissa happily greeted him. 

“Cissy,” Sirius said with a wide grin, giving Narcissa a brief, familiar hug. “Good to see you again. Lucius.” He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder like an old friend. “Thanks for pulling those strings to get me in tonight, I really appreciated it.”

Lucius looked as though he’d swallowed something sour. “Of course,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Sirius turned back to the two boys, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “You two did brilliantly ! Harry, I didn’t know you had those pipes on you.”

“Neither did I,” Harry replied sheepishly. 

“You should’ve seen his audition,” Draco said, beaming. “It nearly brought me to tears. That was definitely the moment I knew I fancied him.” 

Narcissa made a delighted little noise. “How sweet, darling.”

Lucius looked between them all incredulously. “Am I the only one who has a problem with this entanglement?” Lucius asked the group.

“Yes!” Everyone else chorused in unison.

Lucius sighed as if the weight of wizarding society had settled on his shoulders. He very slowly, almost reluctantly, turned back to Harry and extended a pale, gloved hand. “Very well, I suppose you have my blessing, Potter.” 

Harry took the hand with a firm shake. “That’s very kind of you, Mr Malfoy.”

“I said blessing , not enthusiasm,” Lucius muttered.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned to Harry, slipping his fingers into his once again. “Thank you, father. Harry, shall we celebrate our accomplishments?” 

“I’d love to.”

THE END