Chapter Text
The Goblet of Fire had been lit, and everyone was talking about the upcoming tournament. Harry walked towards the courtyard, listening to the other students as he passed. Some were debating putting their name in the goblet, while the younger ones were upset they couldn’t.
Draco Malfoy stood with his usual entourage. Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Blaise. He was lounging near the fountain as if he was waiting for someone to provoke.
“Potter,” Draco called, loud enough to draw the attention of people nearby. “Hoping your name magically ends up in the Goblet? It’s not like you’d stand a chance against a real champion, it would give us all a good laugh.”
Harry kept walking. Ron muttered, “Git.”
Draco stepped forward, his voice full of mockery. “Face it, Potter. You’re not special anymore. All you’ve got is a scar and a sob story.”
Harry stopped and turned. His eyes locked onto Draco’s, cold and sharp.
“Better a scar than a father who looks at you and sees nothing but disappointment,” snapped Harry.
Draco’s smirk twisted, his shoulders stiffened. “At least I don’t need a dead parent to get attention.”
Ron stepped forward, but Harry didn’t hesitate. He shoved Draco hard, sending him stumbling back into Blaise. Gasps rippled through the crowd as students turned to watch.
Draco recovered fast, eyes furious. He lunged, tackling Harry to the ground. They rolled, fists flying and robes tangling. It wasn’t elegant, it was messy and brutal. Crabbe and Goyle moved to intervene, but Blaise held them back with a lazy shake of his head, watching the scene unfold like it was theater.
Draco had a fistful of Harry’s collar. “You think you’re better than me?” He spat.
Harry shoved him off, panting. “I don’t think, I know. Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Malfoy,” he said evenly. “Though I suppose you’re used to second place by now.”
Harry pushed Draco into the gravel, and the two continued punching, grappling, and kicking. Students had gathered fast, forming a loose circle around them. Some cheered, while others gasped. Hermione tried to push through the crowd.
Draco landed a punch to Harry’s jaw. Harry twisted, elbowing Draco in the ribs. They broke apart for a brief moment, then lunged again, crashing into the stone edge of the fountain.
“Harry, stop!” Hermione cried out.
Professor Flitwick shoved through the crowd. His wand was raised, and his voice was sharp. “Boys! Stop this at once!”
Neither of them listened. Draco grabbed Harry’s collar again and slammed him against the stone. Blood smeared across Harry’s cheek. Harry landed a punch that knocked Draco sideways, gravel scraped across his skin. The crowd gasped, and Harry rolled on Draco, pinning him down. Draco clawed at him.
“I said stop!” Flitwick shouted, voice cracking with urgency.
Still nothing, they could hardly hear him. The fight raged on, they were too far gone. Caught up in the heat and pride, both were determined to land the final blow.
Then a figure sliced through the crowd. A shadow fell over them.
“Enough!”
Snape’s voice was like thunder. He stormed into the circle. Without hesitation, he yanked Harry back, dragging him upright. Harry staggered, breath ragged, fists still clenched.
Snape’s other hand shot out and seized Draco’s arm, dragging him to his feet. Both boys froze, panting, bruised, and wide-eyed.
Snape’s eyes burned with fury. He leaned in, his voice low and venomous. “Ridiculous. If you want to fight like animals, then I’ll treat you like animals.”
Flitwick stepped back and lowered his wand, visibly relieved.
Snape didn’t blink. “Detention, both of you. Tonight. Thirty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin.”
Draco opened his mouth, but Snape’s glare silenced him.
Harry wiped blood from his lip, refusing to look away.
Snape released them both and turned on his heel, robes snapping behind him.
The crowd scattered, murmuring. Ron rushed to Harry’s side, while Hermione looked pale.
Draco stood alone, brushing dirt from his sleeves, jaw clenched. His friends quickly surrounded him.
Harry didn’t speak. He just stared at the spot where Snape had stood, the echo of his voice still ringing in his ears.
—————
Harry sat slouched on the couch in the common room, legs stretched out. Ron sat on the rug, flipping through a magazine about quidditch. Seamus Finnigan leaned against the arm of a chair, while Hermione sat near a table that had textbooks scattered across it.
“Bet you ten galleons Krum enters the tournament,” said Seamus, his eyes gleaming. “He’s already here, isn’t he? Why else would he come if he wasn’t going to?”
Ron snorted. “Of course he’ll enter. There's supposed to be one champion per school.”
“Imagine it,” Seamus pressed on. “Krum diving into a dragon pit or something.”
“I heard the tasks are brutal,” said Ron, lowering the magazine. “Dad said one year someone nearly got eaten by a giant creature.”
Seamus whistled. “Brilliant. I’d enter if I could.”
“You’re too young,” Harry muttered.
“So are you,” Seamus shot back with a grin. “You thinking of finding a way to enter?”
Harry shook his head. “It would be amazing, but not a chance. I’ve had enough near-death experiences for one lifetime. And it would be impossible to get past Dumbledore's age line.”
Ron chuckled. “Yeah, like the basilisk wasn’t enough.”
Seamus leaned in. “But if you could, you’d win. You’ve got the whole ‘Boy Who Lived’ thing going for you.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s not a skill, Seamus. It’s just something people say.”
“All this talk about the tournament is making me hungry. How about we sneak into the kitchens?” announced Ron, already standing up.
Seamus and Harry followed, but before they reached the door they were stopped by the sound of Hermione clearing her throat.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” she asked, sitting with her arms crossed.
“To the kitchens. I just said that…did you hit your head?” asked Ron.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not you, Harry. Snape’s expecting you,” she stated. “You’re supposed to be in detention.”
Harry groaned, “Brilliant.”
His mind began replaying the fight. He didn’t want to talk about it. The tournament was a safer topic. Something that was more new and exciting.
Ron winced. “Rather you than me, mate.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked between them. “You know, you shouldn’t have hit him.”
Harry didn’t respond. His knuckles were still sore, and the memory of Draco’s smirk was etched into his mind. He wondered if Snape was already planning something cruel. All he could do was wait and find out.
Seamus laughed, patting Harry on the back. “Good luck.”
Harry gave a mocking half-smile. As he walked out the warmth of the common room faded behind him, replaced by the cold dread of whatever Snape had planned.
The dungeon was quiet, besides the occasional drip of water echoing from some hidden pipe. The air smelled faintly of mildew. Professor Snape stood at the front of his classroom with his arms folded.
“You will sort every jar, and wipe down each shelf. No magic will be allowed. If I so much as hear a whisper of bickering, I’ll have you both scrubbing cauldrons until morning.”
Draco muttered, “This is ridiculous. Potter tackled me first.”
“You deserved it. And don’t forget that you fought too,” said Harry.
“I was defending my honor,” explained Draco, crossing his arms.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two are insufferable. I’m going to my private storage to grab some ingredients. You better be working by the time I get back.”
Snape left the room before they could protest, leaving them in silence. Harry immediately started sorting through the jars, saying each ingredient under his breath. Draco leaned against a desk, twirling a quill between his fingers.
Harry glanced over. “Are you going to help or what?”
Draco smirked. “You seem to be handling everything just fine. I’m supervising.”
Harry slammed a jar of porcupine quills onto the table. “Can we just get this over with? You’re in detention too, so help me.”
Draco stood up and walked over, inspecting the jar. “You know if you break one of these, Snape will probably make you stay all night.”
“Then I’ll make sure to aim for your head next time,” replied Harry.
Draco scoffed. He picked up a jar and purposefully put it in the wrong spot. Harry stared at it for a long moment.
“Are you serious?”
Draco smiled. “I’m only doing what you asked.”
Harry groaned. “You are supposed to be helping. This is the opposite of helping.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound was the clinking of glass. Then they reached for the same jar and their hands brushed. Both of them instantly recoiled.
“Ew. I need to disinfect my hand now,” stated Draco.
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
Harry looked over the list of ingredients. “We’re missing the ashwinder eggs. Have you seen them?”
“No, are they on the shelf over there?” Draco asked, pointing lazily.
“No, I checked already,” replied Harry. He looked around the room, but there was no sign of the ingredient. His eyes landed on a small closet. “Do you think it’s in there?”
Draco looked at the door and shrugged his shoulders. They both walked over. Harry opened the creaky door. The room was barely wider than the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley’s. It was lined with shelves of dusty jars and flasks, filled with various ingredients that glowed or squirmed.
“I am not going in there,” stated Draco, his face scrunching in disgust.
Harry sighed and stepped inside, scanning the shelves. “Just help me look.”
Draco leaned against the doorframe. “I’m supervising, remember?”
Harry turned, opening his mouth to retort, but the door suddenly slammed shut behind Draco with a loud thud. Draco stumbled forward, crashing into Harry who quickly steadied him. They both froze. The only light in the room was the faintly glowing ingredients inside a few of the jars.
Harry lunged for the handle. “It’s stuck.”
Draco tried it too, rattling the knob. “No, it’s locked. Brilliant.”
“Stupid old door,” Harry muttered.
They stared at each other. The closet was barely big enough for one person to stand comfortably. Now they were shoulder to shoulder, pressed awkwardly between shelves and crates of dried ingredients.
Harry groaned. “Move over.”
“There’s nowhere to go,” Draco snapped, elbowing him. “You’re the one breathing directly in my ear.”
“Then turn your head!”
“I can’t, Potter, unless you want me face-to-face with a jar of horned slugs.”
They struggled for a moment, limbs tangling as they tried to reposition themselves without knocking anything over. A jar wobbled dangerously.
“Careful!” Harry hissed.
Draco steadied it, then looked at Harry. They were too close now, their faces inches apart.
“This is very uncomfortable,” said Draco in a low voice.
Harry swallowed. “You think I’m enjoying this?”
Draco’s gaze flicked down, then back up. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Harry shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”
Draco smirked, but his voice was quieter. “If we die in here, I’m blaming you.”
They stood in silence for a beat, the tension growing. Draco cleared his throat. “Try kicking the door.”
Harry did, and nothing happened.
Draco sighed. “Well, looks like we’re stuck. Alone, in the dark…”
Harry leaned back slightly, trying not to pay attention to how close Draco was. A few minutes passed, and they were breathing heavily from their failed escape attempts.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Snape stood in the doorway with his arms folded and one eyebrow raised.
Before he could speak, the boys stumbled forward. Harry tripped over a crate, while Draco tried to sidestep but failed. They tumbled out, landing on the cold stone floor. Harry’s hand was braced awkwardly on Draco’s chest. Draco’s leg was hooked around Harry’s ankle.
Then, realizing their position, they scrambled apart. Their faces were flushed, and they avoided eye contact.
Snape stared, blinking slowly.
“I see,” he said dryly. “A simple task turns into a dramatic romance novel.”
Draco opened his mouth. “We were locked in—”
Snape held up a hand. “Spare me the details. I’m not sure I want them.”
Harry stood, brushing the dust off his robes. “It wasn’t, we didn’t—”
Snape sighed. “Just hurry up and finish sorting the jars so I can forget about...whatever that was.”
He turned, robes billowing, and walked away muttering something under his breath.
Draco glanced sideways at Harry, still pink in the cheeks. “That was mortifying.”
“Agreed,” Harry replied, his cheeks just as flushed.