Work Text:
Dear Readers, as you know, Harry Potter has defeated You Know Who once again. The war is over. With the Death Eaters and Dark Lord sympathizers now facing their deserved sentences, we can live in peace once again. However, some may argue that not all are receiving enough punishment. Draco Malfoy (18) became a Death Eater during his time at Hogwarts. He utilized his position as a student to spy on staff, ultimately leading to the assassination of the beloved headmaster Albus Dumbledore by the posthumously pardoned Death Eater Severus Snape. Draco Malfoy was tried as a minor for his crimes, despite being of age at the time of his trial. Because of this, the penalties he faces are sorely too few. Other than reparations in the form of money (which we all know means little to the Malfoys) Draco only faced one other consequence: expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Harry stopped reading. Malfoy had been expelled? That hadn’t been stated during his hearing. Harry knew; he’d vouched for Draco after all. The decision must've been made by the school after the trial had ended. Which meant McGonagall had sabotaged Malfoy’s chance at a future in the wizarding world. Malfoy would already have it hard enough with how bad his reputation was, adding to that the fact that he wouldn’t be able to take his NEWTs was just cruel.
Harry sighed. He couldn’t truly be surprised. McGonagall had seen Malfoy a lot more than Harry had during the war. She knew first hand how cruel the boy could be, even if it had been under the pressure of Voldemort.
Harry folded the newspaper and looked out the window of the train. In a couple of hours, he’d be arriving in France to start his school year at Beauxbatons. He knew barely a lick of French and he’d miss Ron and Hermione sorely, but he couldn’t ask them to uproot their lives for him, right as they were finally starting to settle back into routine.
Despite the drawbacks, Harry knew this is what he had to do. He couldn’t stay at Hogwarts any longer. Behind every corner and through every window he could see ghosts. The memories of those who had fallen in the battle were enough to deter him from going back, but the new ghosts solidified Harry’s decision. He would never go back to Hogwarts.
He could have just stayed in Britain with his friends and not gone back to school. That was what Ron had done, but, if he wanted to get his Defense Mastery, he had to get his NEWTs. And if he wouldn’t get his NEWTs at Hogwarts, he’d have to go to a wizarding school elsewhere. Hermione had suggested Ilvermorny, since Harry only spoke English, but the travel restrictions hadn’t lifted by the time his application was due, and he didn’t really want to go through the hassle of trans continental portkeying every time he wanted to visit home. Not only was the French school closer than Durmstrang, but it thankfully wasn’t known for teaching its students borderline dark magic like Durmstrang was. So, Beauxbatons it was.
Term began in three days time. It wasn’t like Hogwarts where everyone had to arrive on the same night. The school would open its doors that evening and allow students time to settle in before classes started, if they chose not to wait until last minute that is.
Harry was eager to start his new life. In a new country. With new faces surrounding him. And no one knowing him and the Gryffindor Golden Boy who the headmaster favored. It was a clean slate. Sure, people here would still recognize his name, but the fanfare and mania surrounding it would be nowhere near the same level as in Britain, where he made the news almost daily.
Harry pulled out his French language workbook and continued studying as the train chugged along.
***
Draco huffed as he sat his book bag down beside him in the library. Beauxbaton was beautiful, and Draco loved the chance to exercise his French skills, but starting a new school was hard. Still, maybe it was a blessing he’d been expelled. Here, nobody knew who he was. At one point, that might have sounded like a nightmare. The Malfoys used to be a very wealthy and influential family. Now, they were just wealthy. If he had gone back to Hogwarts, Draco knew, he’d have been jeered at and threatened on a daily basis. Here at Beauxbatons, however, people didn’t bow down to him like Slytherin house had, or cower away from him like the younger years had, but at least they didn’t shove his family’s fall from grace in his face at every opportunity.
Draco looked out the window at the massive sundial in the courtyard below—well, magic dial, Draco supposed, since it worked no matter the weather—the transfer student he’d signed up to tutor was supposed to have arrived two minutes ago. Draco crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. He glared at the table, remembering the brief letters he’d exchanged with H.P. The student had claimed to be eager to learn, but clearly they were just blowing smoke up his bum; they had no intention of keeping the illicit promise of punctuality. Draco had half a mind to leave the library and leave the stupid stupid floundering for help. But, the main reason he’d signed up for so many extracurriculars this year, including the tutoring, was that he needed to establish a reputation of goodwill and amiability.
“Malfoy?” Draco looked up as someone with a distinctly uncouth accent said his name.
Draco’s eyes widened, and he gaped unwittingly. “Potter?” he gasped incredulously.
“What are you doing at Ilvermorny?” Potter demanded.
Draco rolled his eyes. “If you must know, I came to take my NEWTs.” He eyed Potter appraisingly. “Same as you, I suppose.” His heart dropped. No. “Don’t tell me you’re the one I’m tutoring?!”
Potter groaned, clearly just as annoyed at the situation as Draco was. “I knew you were expelled, but I thought you just weren’t taking your NEWTs—”
“Not take my NEWTs?! Are you insane?! Don’t answer that.” Draco put his head in his hands and muttered under his breath. Of bloody course Potter had followed him here. Now his reputation would be sullied to the French as well. He really didn’t want to have to go to school in America *shudder*.
But, instead of leaving the library, loudly proclaiming for all to hear about the evil force that is the Malfoy family, Potter sat down at Draco’s table. Draco eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”
Potter blinked at him before shrugging and pulling out the workbook Draco had recommended. “I mean, I still need to learn French. And I did already pay you. You’re going to teach me French, Malfoy.”
Draco scowled. “Find someone else. Over half the students here speak English.”
Potter glared at him. “It’s too late for that. Classes have already started, and I’m way behind. I need to learn as fast as possible. I can’t wait to find someone new and set up a schedule.”
Draco pursed his lips and looked around the library. Luckily, no one was paying them any attention, thank Merlin for the silencing wards built in around each table. He looked back at Potter. “Fine. But I want to make a deal.”
Potter narrowed his eyes. “We already have a deal, Malfoy. I agreed to pay you.”
Draco flapped his hand in Potter’s face. “We both know I don’t need the money. What I want is for you to tell people that I’m helping you.”
Potter blinked. “That’s… all?”
Draco raised a brow at him. “Yes. That is all. I want your help repairing my reputation. Helping the Boy Who Lived, instead of trying to kill him, is sure to aid my goal.”
Potter frowned. “I mean, okay? Does that mean… you don’t want the money?”
Draco scowled. “I will happily take your money, Potter, but it means nothing to me if you go around trashing my name.”
The former Gryffindor blinked. “I won’t be going around trashing your name, Malfoy. Why would you think that?”
Draco’s eyes widened incredulously. “Why would I think that?!” he squeaked incredulously, “Because it’s exactly what you’ve been doing for the past seven years!”
Potter just rolled his eyes in response. “You did the same thing to me.” He raise his hand and started counting on his fingers. “And Hermione, and Ron, and Ginny, and all the Weasleys come to think of it, not to mention Luna, and Hagrid, and—”
“Okay!” Draco snapped. “I get it. I was a prat. But I’m nice now!” He gestured toward himself, as if it was evident based on his appearance. “See? Nary a Slytherin or Dark motif in sight.”
Potter actually smirked at that, the little brat. “I know that, Malfoy,” he stated.
Draco blinked. He’d expected Potter to say something along the lines of ‘you’ll never really change’ or ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ but, instead, Potter was agreeing with him? “What are you talking about,” Draco demanded.
Potter’s smirk widened. “I know you’ve been trying to change. Don’t you remember your trial?” Draco winced. Some days it felt like a blur; others he remembered it all too well. “I vouched for you. I’m the reason you’re not in Azkaban right now, Malfoy.”
Draco sneered. “And I suppose you’ll hold that over my head, will you?”
Potter blinked. “No… I just meant I have no reason to go around trashing your name. Then it’d look like I was lying.”
Draco looked down at the table, pursing his lips. “Stupid noble Gryffindors,” he mumbled. Potter chuckled, and Draco looked up at him again. It seemed too good to be true. “Why?” he asked. “Why aren’t you holding it against me? Like you said, I was horrible to you and all of your friends.”
Potter cocked his head to the side. “I think we all want to move on from the war.” Potter winced. “I know I do. I don’t want to think about it. And I know people can change. You know what happened with Snape. And I know that you were being pressured by your father and Voldemort.” Draco still flinched at the use of the Dark Lord’s name.
Draco sighed, giving up. He’d never understand Potter. “Fine,” he mumbled weakly, pulling Potter’s workbook so it sat between them. He pointed to a page. “Tell me what the subject of this sentence is.”
***
“‘Ello, ‘arry!”
Harry craned his head around to see Gabrielle skipping towards him. He smiled and caught her in his arms. She was already twelve, and nowhere near as easy to hold as she had been during the Triwizard Tournament, but Harry managed. “Hello, Gabby. How was your first day?”
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Ugh, ‘arry. The Opening Feast is so boring when you are not ze ones being welcomed. Ze first years are so annoying! Zey keep asking questions and forgetting what floor ze dorms are on.”
Harry chuckled. “I’m sure you were just as curious when you first came, too.”
The young girl huffed. “No. I don’t zink so.” She paused for a moment, looking out the window, before turning back to him, eyes wide. “Avez-vous pratiqué votre anglais ?” [Have you practiced English?]
Harry blinked. “Uh…. Je non sais?” [I no know]
She huffed. “‘Onestly ‘arry. Why did you even ‘ire zat tutor if you aren’t going to learn?”
Harry puffed out his cheeks. “I am learning!” he defended. “You just speak too fast!”
She looked at him, unimpressed, before turning away. “Goodbye, ‘arry. I am going to fix my ‘air.”
Harry frowned. “Your hair looks fine,” he muttered, but it was no use. Gabrielle just liked obsessing about her appearance, Harry had learned. He turned away and walked towards his library where he was meeting Malfoy to review his lessons again.
***
“Close. Try again.”
Harry groaned and face-planted the book. “Why is French so hard?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s not,” he stated simply. “Try again.” He poked Potter in the ribs.
Potter swatted his hand away and sighed, looking back at the workbook. “Ça commence dans une heure?”
Draco nodded. “Good. Now this one.” He shifted his finger to a new sentence, and Potter sighed.
Potter peered up at him, looking dejected. “How did you learn French?” he asked.
Draco looked at him. “It doesn’t matter. But, if you must know, my father’s family is French, so they raised me to speak both languages.”
Potter huffed and crossed his arms. “Lucky,” he pouted.
Draco almost cracked a smile, but held it back. He stood up and stretched. “Well, if you need a break, I’m going to go freshen up in the restroom.”
Harry squinted at him. “What are you talking about, freshen up?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Potter. Not everyone is fine looking like they use troll toe-jamb as shampoo.”
Harry snorted but eagerly accepted the break from studying. “Whatever. See you in five?”
Malfoy nodded before sauntering off. Harry watched him go. Well, all the work Malfoy put into his appearance certainly paid off, he supposed
***
Gabby twirled her new dress in front of him. “Comment me trouves-tu ?” [How do I look?]
Harry smiled. “Tu as l’air bien.” [You look good.]
She gasped. “Tu as étudié !” [You’ve studied!]
Harry nodded. “Oui. Mon professeur est bien. [My teacher is well]
Gabbrielle giggled. “Bon, Pas bien.” [Good, not well.]
Harry groaned. “I can never remember the difference!”
The French witch smiled at him. “I can never remember ze difference between learn and teach.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, I keep thinking I’m getting that wrong in French too. English makes way more sense!”
Gabbrielle shook her head. “You only zink zat because you already know eet.”
Before Harry could respond, a voice called out, “Potter!”
Harry turned around. Draco was walking towards them. “Êtes-vous prêt pour le cours?”
Harry groaned. “Oh, not you too! English, please!”
Malfoy chuckled. “I asked if you’re prepared for transfiguration."
Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh shoot! I’ll see you there!” He waved as he darted off to his dorm to grab his forgotten textbook.
A quick glance back showed Gabby and Malfoy talking familiarly. Huh, Harry wondered. Were they related? It would make a bit of sense. They’re both french, blond, annoyingly obsessed with their hair. Not to mention the Veela blood. Harry doubted the Malfoys would ever admit it, but he had a suspicion that Draco wasn’t as pure-blooded as he claimed. There was no way a human could look that good naturally.
***
“Is it true you were expelled from your old school?”
Draco’s heart rate picked up and he glanced up at his classmate. “Er… technically.”
She rolled her eyes. “Technically, you’re a war criminal, isn’t that right?”
Draco flushed and looked around. Everyone in the hall was looking at them now. French people weren’t exactly known for being quiet. “Uh—”
“He’s not a war criminal.” A voice stated firmly. Draco turned to see Potter striding toward them. “I testified for him during his trial. He’s a good person.” He glanced back at Draco. “He’s even helping me learn French.”
The girl raised her nose at Potter. “I heard he was a Slytherin, and that they always have an ulterior motive. If he’s helping you, it’s just because he wants you to help him back.”
Potter tilted his head. “Yeah? So? That’s how friendships work. We help each other.” Everyone gaped at him, Draco included. Potter didn’t stand down. He turned to Draco and nodded him forward. “C’mon, Draco.” He grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the crowded hallway.
Draco was powerless to do anything to stop him. He was dreaming, surely. Potter would never in his right mind call Draco a friend. Although, Draco thought with an eyeroll, Potter was never quite in his right mind, was he? Despite the brains and dedication he obviously had, based on how quickly he was picking up French, he always put them towards the wrong goals, like fighting Defense Professors and sucking up to Dumbledore.
Soon, they reached an empty hall, and Potter stopped, dragging Draco to a stop. THey looked at each other. “Are you okay?” Potter was the first to speak.
Draco blinked. “Uh. Yeah?” He rubbed his neck. “Er… Thank you? You really didn’t have to say that, y’know.”
Potter shied back. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I know you never gave me permission to use your first name. Sorry.”
“What?” Draco looked at Potter incredulously. “I wasn’t talking about my name. I was talking about you calling me your friend. The agreement was you tell people I’m tutoring you. I didn’t expect you to lie.”
Potter now blinked at him blankly. “I wasn’t lying?” He pursed his lips, looking away. “I… don’t exactly know a lot of people here. Other than Gabby and my roommates, you’re the only one I really talk to…”
“Whose Gabby?” Draco blurted. Did Potter have a secret French girlfriend? The Golden Boy being lonely was surprising too, but Draco found himself focussing on the other part of the statement instead.
Potter frowned. “Umm… Don’t you know her? She’s the blond second year? Fleur Delacour’s sister? Part Veela?”
Draco frowned. “You mean that girl who was fishing for compliments the other day?”
Potter snorted. “Yeah. Her. I thought you two were related?”
Draco laughed. “I know my entire family tree, and she is definitely not on it. Don’t you know the meaning of pureblood, Potter? It’s rare to be truly pure-blooded, but the Malfoys are.”
Potter frowned. “I thought…”
“Thought what?” He argued, probably a bit too defensive to play it off as casual. “Did you think there weren’t enough chromosomes in the gene pool?”
“Ew what?” Potter looked at him. “No. I just thought you were part Veela.”
Draco blinked, then burst out laughing. Just as he was calming down, he looked at Potter’s face again, and broke down again. “Oh, Merlin, Potter! If you think I’m hot, you could’ve just said that.”
Potter flushed bright red. “That wasn’t what I meant!” he claimed. “I mean— Well…” He flushed some more, and Draco smirked at him. “I just meant because of your hair!”
Draco’s smirk widened. “Sure you did, lover boy.” He started to walk past Harry, feeling unprepared for where this conversation might lead. “Thanks again for your help! See you around.”
“Sure,” he heard Potter murmur. “See you around…”
***
Harry smushed his pillow against his face and groaned loudly.
“Whaz wrong wiz you?” His roommate, Raphaël, asked.
“I’m an idiot.”
The younger boy snorted. “I won’t deny zat, Monsieur ‘I forgot cleaning charms exist.’ But why do you say eet zis time?”
Harry groaned some more. “How common are Veelas?” he asked.
“Hmm.” Rapha thought for a moment. “I zink the Delacours are ze only family I know who ‘ave Veela blood. Pourquoi?”
“Because I might have accidentally suggested that I find someone irresistibly attractive by asking if they have Veela blood.”
Raphaël burst out laughing, and Harry threw the pillow at him. “It’s not funny!” he exclaimed.
“Let me guess,” Rapha smirked. “Eet was zat blond tutor you’re so smitten wiz.”
Harry sputtered. “What are you talking about? Give my pillow back!” The boy obliged, and Harry immediately threw it back in his face. “I’m not smitten; you’re smitten.”
“Good comeback. But yes,” Raphaël sighed wistfully. “I am smitten. Esmée is simply wonderful.”
Harry fake gagged. “Whatever. Okay, just give me my pillow back for real this time.”
The boy eyed him for a moment, before hesitantly returning the pillow. This time, the pillow went back into Harry’s face, instead of Rapha’s. Harry was not smitten. Not at all.
***
“Veux-tu aller à un rendez-vous ?” [Do you want to go on a date?]
Draco sputtered and looked at Potter. “What?!”
Potter blushed. “That’s what it says! I’m just reading it!”
Draco commanded his heart to calm down. “Oh. Right. Of course.” He straightened his shirt and ran a hand over his hair.
Potter snickered. “You look fine, y’know.”
“Clearly, if you’re asking me on a date.” Draco smirked at him.
Potter blushed. “I wasn’t…!” He trailed off awkwardly, staring at Draco in silence.
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Something you want to say, Potter?”
The boy cleared his throat. “No… Um. Just that you can call me Harry.”
Draco blinked. “Okay…” he agreed hesitantly. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to be on a first name basis with the savior of the wizarding world. “You can call me Draco then.”
Potter beamed up at him, a reaction Draco thought was a little out of proportion to what Draco had said.
“Alright… Harry.” Draco said the name slowly, testing it out. “Go on to the next sentence.”
“Sure,” Harry agreed. “Ma petite amie est très jolie.” [My girlfriend is very pretty.]
Draco’s heart constricted, and he told it off. “I don’t care about your girlfriend, Pot— Harry.”
Harry looked up at him. “I’m just reading the page. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Draco blushed. “Oh… right. Carry on then.”
***
“Some of these sentences are so weird,” Harry snorted. “I mean, honestly, when will I ever need to say ‘There’s a horse loose in a hospital’?”
Draco bit back a laugh. “You might be surprised…”
Harry looked up at him. “Yeah sure. Go on, then. When might you use that sentence?”
Draco raised a brow. “Perhaps when there’s a horse loose in a hospital?”
Harry swatted his arm. “Oh shut up.”
Draco laughed at him. “It’s not my fault you’re an idiot.”
Harry glared, but said nothing in return.
***
“Uff!” Draco patted down his hair. “I hate the wind!”
Harry smirked and reached up to ruffle Draco’s hair some more.
“Get your grubby hands off me!” Draco screeched.
Harry smiled wickedly and threw himself at Draco, ruffling his hair with hell-bent focus. “Never!”
“Ack! You barbarian!” Draco fell back onto the floor and fought to get Harry off of him.
“Aha!”
Harry stopped in his assault on Draco’s hair to look up at the voice. “Oh. Hi, Rapha.”
“I knew eet!” his roommate exclaimed. “I knew eet! I told you you were smitten, but you said non!”
Harry scrambled to get off of Draco. “What are you talking about, Rapha?” He sent his deadliest glare towards the boy, daring him to answer honestly.
The Frenchman was unphased. “I knew you two would end up togezer. I knew eet!”
“Woah, what?” Draco exclaimed from behind Harry. “We’re not together.”
The boy just smirked in satisfaction. “Not yet, maybe. But you will be,” and then the prat walked off, leaving Harry alone with Draco.
“Umm… Sorry about him. He’s… weird.” Harry needed to change the subject. He needed to come up with something before Draco—
“Are you?”
Harry looked up at him. “What?”
Draco blushed and looked. “Are you smitten?”
Harry’s eyes widened and he waved his hands out in front of him. “No! I mean—”
“Oh.” Draco fully turned away from him now. “Okay.”
Harry paused. “Wait… Do you want me to be smitten with you?”
Draco scowled and turned to Harry again, glaring. “No, you prat. I would just like to know if you are!”
Harry swallowed. “Okay…” He supposed it was fair that Draco wanted to know. Harry would want to know if someone had a crush on him, even if he would never be interested. It might affect how he acted around them, even if it probably shouldn’t. “Um… In that case…” Harry’s heart started hammering inside his chest, and he worked up all the Gryffindor courage he had. Why was this so nerve wracking?! “Uh. Rapha was right. I… Okay, well, I wouldn’t say smitten, but I… like… you…” Harry stared as his shoes and wished for the floor to eat him whole.
“Wait, really?” Draco asked.
Harry winced at his tone of surprise. Of course Draco would be surprised. He’d probably be mad too, thinking Harry only befriended him for that reason.
Instead, Draco stepped closer. “Harry,” he said gently. “Look at me.” Harry took a deep breath before meeting his eye. “I like you too,” the blond said with a sweet tiny smile on his face.
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Wait, he wasn’t being rejected. “You— you do?!”
Draco laughed. “I do, you idiot. You’re the only one who actually likes me, even though you have every reason not to. You’re stupidly noble and very dedicated when you put your mind to things. You’re… brave. There’s so many things I like about you, Harry.”
Harry felt like his brain was short circuiting, so he blurted out the sentence that had been in his mind on repeat for weeks. ““Veux-tu aller à un rendez-vous ?” [Do you want to go on a date?]
Draco blinked and laughed. “Oui,” he responded, leaning in closer to Harry.
Harry beamed and closed the gap between them, joining lips in a kiss.