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Chapter Text

‘To Draco, 

I think this is the most I’ve ever missed you, which is saying quite a lot. Not a single minute goes by where I’m not wishing I was with you up at the top of the Astronomy Tower, or in the Room of Requirement, or even back in our courtyard. 

I think it’s worse because I miss Padfoot, too. Even though I should be used to spending a summer at the Dursleys’ without seeing him, I keep finding myself wanting to talk to him in our mirror or write to him. Hermione told me I should still write anyway, but I think that’d just feel weirder. 

I already think I’m going a bit mad. The Dursleys are too scared to acknowledge my existence, and I spend most days as Mischief, walking around the neighbourhood and sleeping out on the front lawn. It’s about the only time I can manage to get any good sleep. I’ve made friends with a little grass snake I found amongst the flowerbeds a few days ago who can’t seem to work out if I’m human, fox, or snake. He seems to get all cross when I don’t give him an outright answer, which is rather funny. He reminds me a bit of you, actually. 

The only thing that seems to be keeping me somewhat sane, besides writing to you and my friends, are my mirror-calls with Moony. He calls through almost every day, and when he forgets, I call him instead. I think we’re both keeping each other sane, really. He told me that Death Eaters destroyed the townhouse in Brixton, so he’s living at headquarters now with Stella. I only spent one summer in the place, but I’d always hoped I could make it home. Now it’s yet another thing Voldemort and this stupid war have taken from me. 

Sorry, I should stop being so maudlin. I’m fine, really. How are you? I hope it’s not too horrible there in the manor. I miss you, have I said that? 

All my love, 

Your fox’ 

• • •

On his twelfth evening of summer, Harry sat on the chair by his bedroom window, staring out at the blackened street below, waiting. In his hand, he clutched a letter from Dumbledore that had arrived three days earlier, reading: 

‘Dear Harry, 

If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive, this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays. 

If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.

Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday. 

Most sincerely, 

Albus Dumbledore.’

Harry had barely unpacked since coming to Little Whinging, living in the same few items of clothing over the fortnight without much care to change. But his desk remained strewn with discarded papers; the most recent editions of the Daily Prophet , a letter from Hermione telling him that she’d be at the Burrow also and that she was sorry for the destruction of the Brixton house, shorter letters from Draco asking after Harry’s wellbeing but disclosing nothing about his own summer. 

At eleven o’clock exactly, the streetlamp outside his window went out suddenly, and Harry watched as a tall figure appeared on the path below. Taking his time, he got to his feet and packed the last few things off his desk into his trunk, overhearing the doorbell ring and Uncle Vernon shout, “Who the blazes is calling at this time of night?!” 

He hadn’t bothered to warn the Dursleys of Dumbledore’s visit, of course, but he hardly cared about that now. He heard the door open and Dumbledore’s calm voice begin to greet his uncle, haphazardly dumping spellbooks on top of his clothes before closing the lid of his trunk. Then, with his trunk in one hand and Hedwig’s cage in the other, he made his way down the stairs. 

“Ah, good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted from the doorstep, peering at Harry through his half-moon spectacles. 

Harry didn’t say anything, and his Headmaster greeted his Aunt Petunia and Dudley as they also arrived in the entrance hall to boggle. 

“Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?” Dumbledore asked, not waiting for a response before sweeping past them into the next room over. 

“Aren’t we leaving, sir?” Harry asked as he watched the man settle into an armchair by the fireplace. 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded, conjuring a bottle of mead with a flick of his wand alongside five glasses that he began to fill calmly. “But there are a few matters we must discuss first.” 

Harry took his glass and had a curious sip of the amber-coloured liquid as he took the seat opposite his Headmaster. The Dursleys tried adamantly to ignore their own hovering drinks, despite the glasses nudging persistently at their sides. 

“First of all, I must tell you, Harry, that Sirius’ will has been discovered and that he left you most of what he owned,” Dumbledore said, and Harry felt his heart’s pace pick up slightly. “Half of Sirius’ personal fortune has been moved to your Gringotts vault, whilst the other has been passed to Remus Lupin. The contents of the Black family vault, however, belong exclusively to yourself and will be accessible from the moment you turn seventeen. As per Sirius’ wishes, you have also inherited any Black estate still belonging to Sirius’ name. This, of course, includes number twelve, Grimmauld Place.” 

“Hang on,” Uncle Vernon interrupted, looking too excited for comfort. “His godfather’s dead? And he’s been left a house?” 

Harry ignored him. “You can keep using it as Headquarters,” he told Dumbledore quickly. 

“Ah, but there is the small problem of the Black family tradition. Typically, inheritance is passed to the next male with the name of Black. It is possible that, despite Sirius wishing the house to fall to yourself, an enchantment has been put upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone but a pure-blood.” 

“Oh.” 

“Fortunately, there is a simple way to test.” 

Harry leaned forward slightly. “What is it?” 

“I’d like you to call for Kreacher, the house-elf that presides at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

Harry thought he wanted to do anything but summon that slimy excuse for a house-elf, but nodded nonetheless. “Kreacher, come here.” 

It was only a second before a loud crack sounded and Kreacher appeared in the middle of the sitting room. Aunt Petunia let out a terrified shriek, and Dudley went so pale Harry thought he might puke. 

“Kreacher won’t! Kreacher won’t!” the house-elf was croaking loudly, knobbly hands covering his flapped ears. “Kreacher belongs to the Blacks. Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix and Miss Narcissa, yes. Kreacher won’t go with the Potter brat. Kreacher won’t! KREACHER WON’T–!” 

“Kreacher, shut up!” Harry barked, and the house-elf fell silent, hands grappling at his throat as if he was being suffocated. After a few moments of this, Kreacher bent forward to lay face-down on the carpet, fists banging on either side of him as he threw a silent tantrum. 

Harry made a face at his dramatics. “Go back to Grimmauld Place, Kreacher.” 

And the house-elf disappeared with a pop . Harry tried not to dwell too deeply on the disappointment of this meaning that whatever glimpse he’d thought he’d seen of Sirius in his two-way mirror had almost certainly been a figment of his imagination like Ron had suggested. 

“Well then, we can safely assume that you have inherited the House of Black in its entirety,” Dumbledore said contently, oblivious to Harry’s dampening mood. He turned to Aunt Petunia, who was still staring in shock at the place Kreacher had been. “As you will be aware, Harry comes of age in a year’s time–” 

“No he doesn’t,” Aunt Petunia said sharply, surprising Harry, who hadn’t expected her to speak at all. “He’s a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn’t turn eighteen until the year after next.” 

“Ah,” Dumbledore replied with a small smile. “In the wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen, you see. Now, as you know, the Dark wizard named Lord Voldemort has returned to this country again, and the wizarding community is currently in a state of warfare. As I explained in my letter fifteen years ago, Harry continues to be safely out of Voldemort’s reach as long as he can call Privet Drive home. However, the magic that ensures this will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen and becomes a man.” 

The Dursleys looked as though they hadn’t quite understood a word Dumbledore said. 

“All I ask is that you allow Harry to return to this house once more, before his seventeenth birthday, to ensure that the protection continues until that time.” 

None of the Dursleys said anything, and Harry got to his feet again. After a moment, Dumbledore followed, vanishing the glasses still floating in the air with a swish of his wand. 

“Well, we must be off.” 

“Bye,” Harry said over his shoulder as he went to collect his belongings at the front door. 

Dumbledore stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “I shall send these to the Burrow to await your arrival. We will not require them on our stop.” 

Harry nodded, and his trunk and Hedwig’s cage disappeared a moment later. 

“And now, Harry, to meet an old colleague.” 

• • •

“Harry, dear!” Mrs Weasly exclaimed in surprise, tying a worn dressing-gown over her front as Dumbledore ushered Harry inside the Burrow. 

“Hi, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said quietly, accepting her tight embrace. 

Dumbledore took his leave shortly after, and Harry followed Mrs Weasley to their cluttered kitchen. 

“Are you hungry, love?” she asked him, already moving towards the fridge. “You’re frighteningly thin.” 

“A little bit,” Harry said, taking a seat at the table. A familiar ginger cat jumped up then to curl up on his lap contently, and Harry smiled, scratching behind Crookshanks’ ear. “Hermione’s already here, then?” 

“Oh, yes. She arrived the day before yesterday,” Mrs Weasley replied, tapping a pot on the stove with her wand and causing it to bubble. “Everyone’s in bed, of course. We didn’t expect you till the morn’!” 

She served him a bowl of steaming onion soup, setting a knife to cut up a loaf of bread with a flick of her wand before soaring the slices over to Harry. They chatted about Harry’s visit to Horace Slughorn with Dumbledore and Mr Weasley’s promotion at the Ministry, before the man himself arrived and was served his own bowl of soup. 

“Bed,” Mrs Weasley said after Harry had yawned one-too-many times. “I’ve prepared Fred and George’s room for you. They’re sleeping in the little flat above their joke shop now, as they’re so busy.” 

Harry cradled Crookshanks in his arms as he made his way upstairs to the twins’ bedroom, sorely missing Remus’ cat, Stella, who would likely be asleep beside the man at Grimmauld Place. Aethra Siderea came easily without his wand now, after using it almost every night to lull himself into even the shortest of sleeps. He lay on his back and named each constellation in turn, watching them flicker brighter at their mention. Then, when that wasn’t enough, he counted all of the stars that he could see.

It felt like only moments later, but must have been hours, when the sleep that he’d finally been able to manage was disrupted by the bedroom door banging open. Sitting bolt upright, wand held up in mere seconds, Harry squinted at the two moving blurs in the doorframe. 

“We didn’t know you were here already!” Ron’s voice exclaimed, and Harry sighed, tucking his wand away again and reaching for his glasses. “Alright, mate?” 

“Fine,” Harry grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. “You?” 

Crookshanks, who’d been shocked awake similarly to Harry, now contented himself with brushing against Hermione’s legs. 

“Not bad,” Ron said, sitting on a cardboard box by the side of Harry’s bed. “When did you get here?” 

“About one o’clock this morning.” 

“Were the muggles okay? Didn’t treat you awful?” 

Harry shrugged, looking away. “Better than usual.” 

He relayed the night’s events with Dumbledore again and let them tell him what had been happening around the house and with the Order of the Phoenix lately. Apparently, Fleur Delcaour, the Beauxbatons girl that Harry suddenly remembered was somehow related to Draco, had joined the cause after moving to England to work at Gringotts alongside Bill Weasley, who she’d become close with. Hermione said that Mrs Weasley wasn’t hiding her concern that the two might be closer than they let on, and Harry remembered being told by Draco in fourth year that the girl really couldn’t fancy men if she tried. He smiled to himself, looking down, and figured they’d find out one way or another how incorrect their assumptions were. 

The three of them made their way downstairs for breakfast not long after, Hermione fretting anxiously after Harry had informed her that Dumbledore said their O.W.L. results should be arriving today. 

“I know I messed up Ancient Runes,” Hermione was muttering beneath her breath as she paced the length of the kitchen, breakfast plate untouched. “I’m certain I made at least one mistranslation. And the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all –” 

“Oh shut up, won’t you ‘Mione?” Ron whined, pushing away his own plate. “You’re not the only one who’s nervous! Besides, you’ll be getting your ten ‘Outstandings’ any–” 

“Don’t, don’t, don’t!” Hermione shrieked, flapping her hands at him. “I’ve failed everything! I know it!” 

Harry, who hadn’t thought for a second about his O.W.L. examinations since he’d fallen asleep in his final one, felt considerably less anxious than both of his friends seemed to be. He supposed even being back with his friends wouldn’t put a stop to his ongoing apathy anytime soon. He went on slowly eating through his scrambled eggs, when Hermione suddenly screamed, pointing out of the kitchen window frantically. 

“That’s them! That’s them!” 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Ron groaned, joining Hermione by the window. 

Mrs Weasley squeezed past them in time to open the window’s latch so that the three large tawnies could swoop through and land gracefully on the table. Harry leaned forward to untie the envelope with his own name on from the leg of the owl in the middle, as the others reached for theirs. 

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS 

Pass Grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A) 

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D) 

Troll (T) 

HARRY JAMES POTTER HAS ACHIEVED: 

Astronomy E

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms O

Defence Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology E

History of Magic D

Potions O

Transfiguration E

Harry smiled to himself as he read through the letter again. He’d barely been hoping for one ‘Outstanding’ and here he was with three . Actually feeling a little giddy at the achievement, all he wanted was to tell Draco, and Remus, and… He sighed, putting the letter down. 

“Swap?” Ron asked, nudging his side. 

Harry shrugged, passing over his letter and taking Ron’s to skim over. His friend had done well, but hadn’t seemed to manage an ‘Outstanding’. 

“Cor! Three O’s, mate?” Ron exclaimed, looking down at Harry’s grades. “I knew you’d ace Defence. We both failed Divination and History of Magic, no surprise there.” 

“How’d you do, Hermione?” Ginny asked, and they turned to see Hermione still hunched over her paper, teeth chewing anxiously at her bottom lip. 

“Not bad…” she replied quietly, and Ron scoffed. 

“Come off it,” he said, snatching the parchment from her hands and grinning broadly. “Yep, called it. Nine ‘Outstandings’! Only one ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Defence. ‘Mione!” 

Harry smiled proudly at the girl, but she’d twisted her lips and looked off to the side. “You’re still disappointed, aren’t you?” 

She shook her head, and Ron snorted. 

“We’re N.E.W.T. students now!” he grinned, pushing at Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry smiled again, getting to his feet. “I have to write to Remus,” he said quickly. 

“Oh, he’s coming over this evening for supper, Harry,” Mrs Weasley began to say, but Harry was already half-way to the stairs. 

“Too long!” he called behind him, taking the steps two-at-a-time to Fred and George’s bedroom. 

He wasn’t lying, he did indeed write out a quick note to Remus summarising his results. But the main reason for his haste had been to write to Draco. 

‘To Draco, 

I’ve just received my O.W.L. results, so I expect you have as well. I received three (three!) Outstandings – D.A.D.A, Charms, and Potions (I didn’t believe it either). Exceeds Expectations in everything else except Divination and History of Magic (failed those, no surprise). It’s much better than I expected, probably all thanks to you. Thank you for ignoring me when I tried to be lazy. 

I miss you, dragon. I hope you’re okay, and that you’ve done as well as you hoped in your O.W.L.s. Reply telling me what you got, even though it’ll humble me considerably. 

Love,

Your fox’

• • •

Harry divided his time over the next couple of weeks between the Burrow and number 12, Grimmauld Place. As great as it was to be with his friends again, surrounded by the buzzing hubbub of the Weasley family, it was always a relief to spend a night or two cornered away in Islington with the company of Remus and Stella, as well as a handful of Order members that came and went. It felt very different from last summer, though. 

Remus hardly smiled unless out of politeness, and spoke much less than he already did. Almost every night that he stayed, Harry would find the man asleep in front of the fireplace downstairs, a book splayed on his lap and a cold, half-drunk hot chocolate by his side. At least, though, this meant that Harry could change into his fox animagus and curl up beside him to sleep through the rest of the night. 

The most surprising change, however, was Remus’ unlikely inclination towards anger. Harry had always considered the man calm and collected, even in moments of stress, but he’d begun to stumble into more and more situations that had Remus gritting his teeth and slamming down books and striding from the room without so much as an explanation. Harry, who’d always been familiar with his own bouts of inexplicable anger, could understand the change.

“I have said no more than enough times, Harry, do not make me repeat myself,” Remus said sternly on the night of the full moon, walking in a circle around the tiny attic as he cast spell after spell. “It is much too dangerous, and I will not be risking your safety for something so unnecessary.” 

“It’s not unnecessary, Moony,” Harry groaned, standing in the centre of the cramped space. The number of protective charms Remus was casting on the attic made him feel almost claustrophobic; trapped by their weight despite no physical chains yet being in place. “I heard how bad it was last time, even if you didn’t want me to. But I’m here now. And I’m an animagus! You let your friends become animagi in their fifth year just so they could come with you on full moons. You can’t spend it locked up in here again. It’s horrible–” 

“Don’t presume to tell me what is considered horrible , Harry James–” 

“It is! You can’t just be locked up, you’ll go mad! You’ve got to run . I can run with you, please , I want to–”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the middle of Islington–” 

“You can apparate us somewhere else,” Harry said defiantly. “A forest or something. Far away from anyone. And if I think things are going to go bad, I can try do something–” 

The man’s eyes flashed, and Harry tried to ignore the larger-than-normal canines as he grit his teeth. “I will not risk you–” 

“Then I’ll get Dumbledore! Or… or, I don’t know! I’ll get someone who can do something. But nothing will go wrong, I know it. Your wolf just needs some freedom. Trust me, it feels wonderful to run as my fox. It could be helpful!” 

Remus sighed heavily, dropping his wand to turn to Harry finally. “What can I say to make you leave this alone?” 

“Nothing,” Harry said, standing his ground. “It’s happening. This attic is small, and the magic is too dense, and it smells like something died –” 

“Jesus, Harry…” 

“Please, Moony? Please?” Harry was begging at this point. “Just this once. If it’s awful, I won’t ever suggest it again. But it won’t be. Come on, please? Please? Plea–” 

“Fine,” Remus sighed, shoulders falling in defeat. “The second something goes awry you will immediately send for someone. Even if it gets me hurt, you understand?” 

Harry glared. “I won’t let you be hurt.” 

“It’s that or the attic,” Remus said firmly, returning Harry’s narrowed gaze. “I can’t believe I’m even letting you talk me into this. So much like S–” he froze, the name trapped quickly behind sealed lips. 

A beat of silence passed before Harry released a breath. “I know.” 

Remus didn’t speak again, wordlessly taking Harry by the forearm and sending them whirling across two separate jumps until they finally came to a stop in a forest clearing. As far as Harry could see, tall oak trees and moss-covered roots filled the woodland surrounding them. There were no tracks or trails for someone to stumble across them. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked quietly, looking up at the sun-speckled canopy of gold and green as the sky began its descent into night. 

“Wales,” Remus replied, turning to him. “It will be easier if you’re already a fox before I begin to turn. The wolf will still recognise your scent, so though it may be wary, it’s unlikely to want to harm you.” 

“ You ,” Harry corrected stubbornly. “ You won’t harm me. The wolf is you, Moony.” 

Remus scowled, glancing away and up to the darkening sky. “You sound just like your father.” 

“Well, we’re both right.” 

“Turn now, Harry.” 

Harry chewed at his bottom lip, annoyed at himself that he couldn’t find the words to convince the man that his wolf would only ever be something bad as long as he let it. He supposed it might be too late. Nodding slowly, he spun a quick circle and the world grew around him, blue cloak shrinking to its leather collar at his neck. 

“Hello, kit,” Remus said softly, bending at his knees to hold a hand to Harry’s snout. 

The forest was almost black by the time Remus began to shift, the white glow of the moon shining through cracks between the trees. Harry watched anxiously as the man arched forward, bones cracking and skin stretching as his body changed form. It lasted much longer than an animagus shift, and by the agonised sounds Remus was making, it seemed to be a lot more painful. 

Though, eventually, the forest fell silent, and instead of the man who had stood before Harry moments before, there stood a great, panting wolf. In his tiny fox form, Harry felt quite a bit more intimidated by the creature than he had in third year. The tips of his ears would have barely brushed the wolf’s underside had he stood beneath him, and the slow, deep growling that the wolf was emitting sent shivers down Mischief’s little spine. 

Finally, when moments had passed in frozen silence, the wolf looked up, familiar hazel-green eyes staring across at Harry. Mischief kept as still as possible, waiting apprehensively for the giant wolf to step forward and either sniff at him or bite his head clean off. Then, when he’d almost made up his mind to leg it out of there, Moony padded forward on large paws, craning his neck down so that he could reach his black nose to Mischief’s fur and sniff at him cautiously. 

The recognition was immediately obvious in the wolf’s stance, sniffing more eagerly at the fox’s ears and throat as he stepped forward further. Harry relaxed then, finally, moving towards the grey wolf and weaving through his front legs, gekkering excitedly amongst the wolf’s contented chuffs. It was easier to lose more of his human side as he interacted with the other canine, giving into his fox instincts a little as he crouched in an indication to play, bushy tail wagging enthusiastically behind him in a mirror-image of Moony’s own. 

They eventually began to run, wolf and fox tearing through the forest, winding between trees and leaping over fallen logs. Mischief ran faster than he ever had, and the small part of his mind that still stored Harry’s thoughts found that the sensation felt almost like flying. He was so caught up in the rush of wind against his fur and the dry soil beneath his paws that he almost didn’t see it when a third creature flashed amongst the trees beside them, matching their speed. 

Moony, who’d sprinted ahead, hadn’t seemed to notice anything, so Mischief continued to run. It was only moments later, however, that he caught a glimpse of the animal again, disappearing and reappearing between the trees as it ran alongside them. It was larger than Mischief but smaller than Moony, dark, shaggy fur hanging from its frame and pink tongue lolling out of its mouth in a loud pant. It was looking towards Moony ahead before disappearing again, but when Harry caught sight of it again, its head had turned to stare directly back at him, illuminated by the moon’s glow. 

Mischief froze suddenly, recognising the dog’s face in an instant. He barked loudly and Moony whirled around ahead, but Padfoot had vanished again. Mischief barked a second time, cautious this time, as though he were unsure whether he was being trick ed. He picked up speed again, scampering to where he’d last seen the black dog but finding nothing. 

He was sniffing at the surrounding trees and shrubs when Moony caught back up to him, watching him bemusedly. Harry’s mind was racing. Sirius Sirius Padfoot gone gone where Padfoot nothing gone Sirius. 

Moony appeared to become impatient after several moments spent watching Mischief search the area, snapping his jaw agitatedly and turning to run off again. Mischief whimpered, torn between hunting the shadow of his godfather and following the impatient werewolf. After another few minutes of fruitless searching, he huffed angrily and sprinted off in Moony’s wake. 

• • •

“I saw him, I swear,” Harry insisted the next day, sitting cross-legged on Ron’s bed with his friends before him. “I know how it sounds, really, but I know it was him. I’d recognise Padfoot anywhere.” 

Hermione was biting her lip. “But, Harry…”

“If you’re about to tell me I’m seeing things as some sort of trauma response to Sirius dying, forget it–” 

“Well, that’s not entirely improbable–” 

Harry threw his hands up. “I know what I saw!” 

“Mate…” Ron said quietly, the sympathetic look in his eyes telling Harry everything he needed to know. 

“Forget it,” Harry huffed, getting to his feet suddenly. “Forget I said anything.” 

Hermione stood quickly. “Harry, we want to believe you, it’s just– 

He flapped his hands at her. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll bet Mrs Weasley is almost finished with supper, and I think I heard people already arriving.” 

Hermione glanced over at Ron, who was frowning at his lap, but neither said anything. 

“Well, come on,” Harry said instead, striding towards the bedroom door before they could change their minds.  

Harry’s birthday dinner that evening began as a fairly quiet affair, due mostly to the birthday boy’s gloomy demeanour. Quite a few Order members turned up: Bill and Fleur coming together from Gringotts, Tonks and Kingsley Flooing in from the Ministry, and Remus apparating over from Grimmauld Place. The Weasley twins had also arrived half-way through the meal after finishing up at their shop in Diagon Alley, bringing with them a load of much-needed jubilance that spread quickly throughout the rest of the group. 

To Harry’s disappointment, Remus had to leave early due to feeling fatigued from the previous night. Apparently, it seemed that turning back into a human was even harder than turning into a wolf at sunrise. Once the rest of them had all been stuffed with rich chocolate cake and Harry’s gifts had been opened by the fireplace, Mr and Mrs Weasley went off to bed and the other adults bid them goodbyes, leaving Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley siblings spread out across the lounge room. 

“Boring old sods,” Fred scoffed as they left, tossing a sweet into his open mouth. “It’s barely nine o’clock!” 

“It is a weekday,” Hermione reminded him, curled up in an armchair with Crookshanks asleep in her lap. 

“Reckon that means we’re taking tomorrow off,” George said, looking over at his twin, who grinned. 

Ginny glanced between them. “You’re staying?” 

“Got to give Harry his real present, don’t we?” Fred replied excitedly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a miniature bottle. A flick of George’s wand had it growing in size, then Fred was leaning over to plant the bottle of amber-coloured liquid in Harry’s lap. “Happy birthday!” 

“That better not be alcohol,” Hermione said sharply, glaring at the bottle. 

“How come he gets a bunch of products and firewhiskey?” Ron asked enviously. “I only got the products!” 

“Our benefactor gets special treatment,” George shrugged, leaning back against the couch and stretching his arms across the top. “Unless you’ve got a thousand galleons waiting for us?” 

Ron scowled, crossing his arms. 

“He’s only sixteen,” Hermione said crossly. “You’ll get him in trouble.” 

“Only if you tell,” Harry snapped, a little harshly, flushing as soon as he’d said it. “I mean– come on, ‘Mione. It’s my birthday. Don’t you think I deserve some fun?” 

“What if it puts you in even more of a strop?” Ron asked, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Hardly think it can make much difference.” 

George interrupted before either of them could respond to that. “Well, this is getting boring again, I say we drink.” 

And so, drink, they did. The large bottle of firewhiskey was passed around the circle as they all took sips. Even Hermione, despite her initial scorn, took a sip or two after encouragement from the others. For once, Harry wasn’t thinking about Sirius or the Department of Mysteries or Voldemort. He had become pleasantly blissed, sprawled out on his back in front of the fire, taking more mouthfuls of the burning whiskey than the rest of them combined. 

“Slow down, Haz,” Fred suggested after his next large gulp. “I’d prefer if mum didn’t find you chucking up in the loo later tonight.” 

“This stuff’s brill!” Harry exclaimed, beaming up at the ceiling. “It’s like my brain finally shut up for once.” 

“I feel rather dazed, myself,” Hermione said unsurely, and George swiped the bottle from her hands. 

“That’s enough for you both then, lightweights.” 

Harry narrowed his gaze at him, crooking his finger in a ‘come-hither’ motion that had the half-empty firewhiskey zipping into his palm. He took another smug sip, ignoring Hermione’s tut and smiling at the burn coiling in his throat. The only thing that could make this feel better , he thought to himself, is having Draco here. I wonder if Draco has been drunk before? Do they drink a lot in Slytherin? Is he a happy drunk, too? He’d probably be real adorable, all pink-faced and wide-eyed and–

“Merlin, you’re gone. It doesn’t taste that good,” Ron said, snatching the bottle and taking a swig. 

“That’s not the firewhiskey,” Ginny, who’d only been permitted three sips of the firewhiskey, commented, raising an eyebrow at Harry’s lopsided grin. “He’s thinking about his boyfriend .” 

“How’d you know?” Harry asked, mouth agape but still smiling all the same. He didn’t quite catch the surprised looks the others shared between them. 

He did notice Ron’s furrowed brow, though, as he stared down at him. “I thought you just fancied the bloke.” 

Harry nodded enthusiastically, ignoring George’s snort of laughter. “Oh, I do. He is my boyfriend for a reason, Ron.” 

“But–” Ron spluttered, sitting up. “Hang on–” 

“How long?” Hermione interrupted curiously, taking advantage of Harry’s amenable state. He couldn’t blame them, really. He’d completely forgotten why he’d even been keeping it a secret in the first place. 

He released a long, dramatic breath, thinking for a few moments. Draco had tested him on this. “November 16th,” he said confidently, rethinking it quickly then nodding. 

“Eight months?!” Ron squawked, almost dropping the bottle of firewhiskey from his hand. 

“Okay genius,” Fred said, looking genuinely impressed at his younger brother. Ron shot him a scowl before looking quickly back at Harry. 

“Are you really surprised?” Ginny asked. “Am I the only one who remembers Christmas?” 

“ That’s why Cho told everyone you’re in a relationship!” Hermione gasped, smacking her palms dramatically against the armrests beside her. “That long, really? I thought it had to be at least since Valentine’s…” 

Ron leaned forward, shock quickly replaced with excitement. “So, you’ll tell us who it is, then?” 

Harry pressed his lips together, glancing between them all with mounting amusement. “I dunno…” 

“Ron just wants to know ‘cause they’ve all got a bet going,” Ginny admitted, ignoring her brother’s dismayed expression. “But… I’ll admit I’d also like to know. I’ve got my own theory.” 

Harry’s lips betrayed him then, giggles bubbling from them uncontrollably as he rolled on the carpet, clutching at his stomach. “You’ll never gue-essss!” he sang, already deciding that he’ll just tell them and get the whole business out of the way right now. It all seemed much easier in the long run, really. 

“Guys,” George interrupted cautiously. “There might be a reason he hasn’t told anyone yet. Not sure if you should take advantage of him being pissed.” 

“It’s fine,” Ron hushed, wildly waving a hand at him, almost as tipsy as his friend. “We’re his best friends, aren’t we? We should know, I reckon. Come on, Harry, who is it? You can tell us.” 

Harry snorted, shaking his head so hard it made him dizzy. “Guess! Guess!” 

“Do you have any idea how many blokes are in our year alone? At least give us his house.” 

“Ron–” George tried again. 

“Alright,” Harry interrupted, nodding again. “He’s a Slytherin.” 

Ron gaped. “He’s a what?” 

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. 

“Look,” he said, giggling still. “I’ll just tell you, then. It’s–” 

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

They froze, the name on Harry’s lips falling before it could start as they all turned to stare at the front door across the room. They were silent for several moments, before it was interrupted by another series of hard knocks, louder this time than the last. 

Fred stumbled to his feet quickly, making his way over to the window beside the door and peeking through the hangings. When he jumped back as though he’d been shocked, the others began to panic. 

“What?” Hermione hissed as they all ducked behind the cushions of their couches. “Who is it?” 

“It’s– well–” 

BANG, BANG, BANG. 

Fred threw his hands up, moving to grasp the doorknob. “Guess there’s no use waiting.” 

“Wait–!” 

“Fred–!” 

Ignoring their exclamations, Fred wrenched the door open, immediately reaching out to snatch the shirt of whoever was standing out of sight and dragging the intruder into the house. Harry only needed to catch a glimpse of white-blond hair before he was scrambling to his feet, eyes wide. 

“Draco?”

Chapter Text

“Draco?” Harry asked, sobering rather quickly considering the amount of alcohol he’d consumed just previously. “What are you doing here?” 

It was almost comical, seeing Draco in the Burrow, of all places, right when Harry had been so close to spilling his name. Draco was staring right back at him, face white and hair wind-swept in the way apparition typically caused. 

“I–” he started, clearing his throat and glancing quickly around at the room’s occupants. Fred still hadn’t dropped his hand from Draco’s shirt collar, but the Slytherin didn’t seem to notice. “Funny seeing you here.” 

“Harry,” Ron said quietly, and Harry’s heart stuttered anxiously at his friend’s tone. “What is Draco Malfoy doing in my sitting room?” 

Harry couldn’t tear his gaze from Draco’s to look over at his friend, but he already knew what he’d find if he did. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Ron sound more betrayed, and his chest filled immediately with a guilt that made him want to throw up. This wasn’t how they were supposed to find out. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. 

“I don’t–” he stammered, less-than-sober brain still scrambling to put all the pieces together. “I can’t–” 

“I need to speak to Potter,” Draco said tersely, and Harry cringed at the sound of his surname. 

“Whatever you need to say to him, you can say to all of us,” Ron snarled, taking a step forward. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping that this was all just a terrible nightmare. 

“Ron,” he managed, forcing his eyes open again. “It’s okay– let me just– just–” 

He felt it when Ron’s gaze finally flickered from Draco to him, boring into the side of his face with a heat that had Harry’s stomach rolling. “You called him Draco.” 

“Ron–” Hermione started, reaching out to touch his arm. 

He snatched it away sharply. “You did that in Diagon Alley, too. Last year, in Madame Malkin’s. Then I found you both down the alley.” 

Harry finally met his gaze, wincing at the unmistakable pieces all lining up neatly behind his friend’s eyes, fuelling the angry fire that threatened to spill. He’d always been more observant than they gave him credit for. “Ron,” he said weakly, but the boy ignored him. 

“Same way we found you in that classroom after our History of Magic exam. And… and you always leave the train compartment right after he’s come in. Someone’s been taking you to the Sabbat circles, and it wasn’t Neville, or else he would’ve done it years ago. Someone’s been teaching you the Dark Arts, too, and you got an ‘Outstanding’ for your Potions O.W.L. when you hate the subject just as much as me–” 

“Congratulations, Weasley, you can put two and two together like the rest of us,” Draco snapped, and Ron’s heavy gaze shot back to him. “Are you going to let me speak to him or not? I’m not standing here because I want to be, you blithering prat. I had to get away from the psychopathic murderer currently living in my household before he branded me like a fucking farm animal.” 

“ Oh ,” Ron said heatedly, the cold anger simmering beneath his words finally clawing its way out to rear its head. “Because it’s so terribly against your morals, to treat human beings like animals? Isn’t that exactly what you stand for, Malfoy? Shouldn’t you be feeling blessed that he’s giving you such an honour?” 

“Ron, stop,” Harry interjected, stepping between the two of them quickly. “Please, just let me explain–” 

“No, I get it,” Ron said, fixing him with the same glare he’d given Draco. “Defend him, yeah? Defend the git who’s called my family blood traitors for years. Who’s treated all of us like utter shit. Who’s called Hermione slurs and preached about pureblood supremacy and taunted you about your parents’ deaths for years! Tell me this is a fucking joke, Harry, please.” 

Harry’s heart felt like it might snap at any moment, hammering at his ribcage as he tried desperately to think of a way to talk them out of this. To think only minutes ago he’d been a giggling wreck on the floor, goading his friend into guessing that he was in a relationship with the one person he knew Ron would never even consider. He felt like he might vomit at the thought. 

“How about we all just take a seat?” George suggested quietly, but Ron didn’t even glance his way. 

“You can’t, can you?” he asked quietly as he stared at Harry, anger gradually melting to a confused sort-of disappointment. 

Harry couldn’t even bring himself to answer verbally, holding Ron’s gaze and moving his head in the slightest shake ‘no’. After a tense pause, Ron nodded, turning sharply on his heel and heading for the stairs. 

Hermione stood up quickly. “Ron, wait–” 

But he’d already disappeared to the next floor, heavy footsteps fading as he continued all the way up to his room. The rest of the group listened to him go in a silence that stuck even minutes after he’d gone. 

“Well,” Ginny said finally. “I, for one, absolutely called it. I mean, your bickering was blatant flirting–” 

“Ah!” Harry cried, hand flying to his forehead as his scar suddenly seared with pain. 

His eyes squeezed shut of their own accord, anger and betrayal ripping through him as Voldemort forced himself into the blackness of his mind. There were hands touching him from every side, frantic with concern as he hunched over further, face in his palms. 

“Get off,” he groaned, cringing away from the hands and forcing down a mouthful of bile that had dragged up his throat at the slick feeling of Voldemort’s magic leaking into his own. “Get off, get off, get off! GET OFF!” 

The hands disappeared in an instant and he felt himself slump forward against something warm and firm as Voldemort’s anger was ripped away again, leaving only a faint echo in its wake. 

“Fuck,” he heaved, hands shaking as they scrambled to find some sort of purchase on this person who had caught him. Draco , he realised a moment later when the scent of his shampoo became distinct and the feel of his figure became familiar beneath his touch. “I’m– I feel so… so angry. He’s so angry. It’s…” 

“Shh,” Draco was hushing softly, patient as Harry slowly collected himself, distracted hands eventually stilling as they wrapped around the boy’s thin wrists, fingers pressed to his pulse points. “Shh, mon chéri. You’re safe, Harry. We’re safe.” 

Harry nodded, slowing his breathing and opening his eyes to meet Draco’s gentle gaze. He glanced around them and found that the rest of the Weasleys had taken their leave, and only Hermione still stood in the room with them. 

“Sorry,” he sighed. “Did I scare them off or something?” 

“I told them to leave,” Draco answered, pulling his wrists back so that he could hold Harry’s hands properly. “In case there was a chance he could have seen who you were with. Better us than the people who own this home.” 

“I don’t think he sees,” Harry said quietly. “But I saw him. Snape… Snape told him you were gone. And…” 

Draco released a long breath. “He took the punishment, I presume?” 

Harry nodded, grip tightening on Draco’s. “It doesn’t mean you’re going back.” 

“I’m not daft, Potter. I’ve already defied him. In front of his inner circle, no less. Going back now would be a death sentence.” 

Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he could say to that. 

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked softly, speaking for the first time. Harry turned to her, memory catching up on what had been happening before Voldemort had interrupted his mind. 

“‘Mione,” he said, glancing down at his and Draco’s locked hands. “I’m– yeah. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. And Ron–” 

“Ron will come around eventually,” she interrupted, giving him a half-smile that only had Harry’s guilt doubling. “And I’m not upset, Harry. I… well, I’ve suspected for quite some time. You’re not exactly subtle, either of you.” Her gaze flicked to Draco as she spoke. “I’m happy that you’re happy, no matter who it’s with. Ron will be too, he’ll just… take a little longer. But he will.” 

Harry nodded, voice stuck in his throat. This time was different, he knew. He couldn’t say with any certainty that his best friend would come around, but he nodded along all the same. 

“I’ll let you two talk, shall I?” she asked, glancing between them again. 

“Thanks,” Harry whispered. “Goodnight. We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Of course, Harry,” she smiled, before stepping back and disappearing up the stairs.

Finally, it was only him and Draco, drowning in the silence that the others had left behind. Harry tugged lightly on his hands, leading him over to the couch to sit. 

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, suddenly recalling everything Draco had been yelling at Ron beforehand. “Did… did Snape bring you here? What happened?” 

“Yes,” Draco said, looking down at their intertwined fingers. “Severus came to find me in my room and said that… that he was asking for me. He said that the rest of his Death Eaters were already gathered. With my father in Azkaban… he assumed the worst. He apparated me here before I could pack anything or even say goodbye.”

“I’m glad you came,” Harry said honestly, watching Draco brush his thumb over the scars on the back of Harry’s hand distractedly. “I hated thinking of you being there. If he’d done anything to you…” 

He didn’t want to think about how he’d react if Voldemort had laid a finger on Draco, really. 

“Oh, I know,” Draco smirked lightly, though his eyes remained haunted. “Gryffindor’s Golden Boy to the rescue.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence, sharing half-smiles and tracing the lines of each other’s hands as though both in silent disbelief that they were together again. The last time Harry had seen him, he’d been crying on the floor of the Hogwarts Express, listening to Draco quote French poetry and telling him he loved him. 

“How was the start to your summer?” Draco asked quietly. “I know we wrote, but I had a difficult time believing the words ‘I’m fine’ in each of your letters. Did the muggles leave you alone?” 

“I was fine,” Harry insisted stubbornly, though both of them knew it was mostly a lie. “They practically acted like I wasn’t there. And I spent most of the time as Mischief, so they weren’t really wrong.” 

Draco hummed, expression still mildly concerned, which was a rare enough sight on him that Harry felt somewhat guilty at having him so worried. “And your time here? They haven’t been… pushing you?” 

“No, Draco,” Harry assured, smiling. “Everyone’s been fine. They’re my family, you know. Hard not to feel better just being around them again.” 

“And Lupin? How is he?” 

Harry sighed, covering his mouth quickly as it turned to a yawn. “He’s… I don’t know. When I’m at Grimmauld Place with him, we mostly just spend our time sitting together and rarely speaking. Hermione told me it’s probably because I’m his pack, so he feels more settled just being around me, I guess. I’m not a werewolf, but I get the sentiment. I love my family here, but they’re a loud bunch. It’s nice having some quiet but still being around other people. That’s one of the things I love about you, actually.” 

The firewhiskey still in Harry was slowly prying him into a drowsy state, and try as he might, he couldn’t hide the yawns that continued to escape from him. Draco smiled, releasing one of Harry’s hands to trace a fingertip across his brow lightly. 

“You’d think me turning up here would wake you up considerably, but alas…” 

“I’ve actually had a bit to drink,” Harry admitted, cheeks warming beneath Draco’s touch. “Been pretty much seeing in double since before you arrived.” 

Draco laughed, and Harry melted a little at the sound. God, he’d missed it. He’d missed him. “Ah, yes. Happy birthday. You received my gift this morning?” 

Harry smiled, releasing one of Draco’s hands so that he could locate the new piece of jewellery hidden beneath the collar of his jumper and pull it out for Draco to see. 

“I love it,” he said softly, gazing down at the silver disc pendant hanging from his neck. 

If he peered close enough, he could make out the delicate engravings of the Vulpecula constellation in the silver. The card it had come with that morning had explained that it was imbued with several charms– one that would allow it to become a marking in Mischief’s fur so that he wouldn't have to take it off to shift, one that should relieve him of bad dreams, and one that Draco said was for Harry to discover himself. 

“Will you tell me the last charm?” he asked hopefully, playing with the silver chain. He’d never worn necklaces before, but it didn’t feel as unnatural as he might have expected. 

Draco hummed thoughtfully, before leaning forward and taking the disc pendant between his finger and thumb. “Hold it like this.” 

He dropped his hand and Harry replaced it with his own, the pad of his thumb pressed to the back of the disc. The effect was instantaneous–similar to Aethra Siderea , the space around them erupted into a collection of glittering stars, except instead of clustering at the ceiling like the night sky, it was almost as if Harry was standing right in the middle of it all. 

“Did it work?” Draco asked, watching him closely. “You should be able to see all of the stars visible from Earth right now in their accurate positions, except… all around you, instead of above.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Harry breathed, awed by the twinkling array of lights. He found the head of the Draco constellation over his shoulder, reaching out his other hand as if to stroke the curling dragon from its head to its tail. “Hello pretty dragon. Feel that?” he asked jokingly, glancing back at his boyfriend. 

“The charm is not that advanced,” Draco said, smirking. “Unfortunately.” 

Harry shrugged, following the line from the dragon across Cygnus’ wing and down to Harry’s Vulpecula by his knee. "Thank you," he smiled eventually, dropping the necklace. He watched the dancing stars disappear and found Draco’s hand in his own again as he yawned into the other. “Sorry. I think the firewhiskey is getting to me.” 

“I’d say we can sleep, but I’m not sure that I’d fancy the Weasleys finding us here in the morning,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. 

“I’m staying in the twins’ old room,” Harry murmured, leaning forward to tuck his face against Draco’s neck sleepily. “There’s two beds, you can stay in one.” 

“Merlin, I must be doing something wrong.” 

Harry paused, brain foggy. “Hm?” 

“I’ve just run away from my home, Potter,” Draco scoffed, pushing Harry back lightly and getting to his feet. “The least you could do is allow me to sleep in your bed.” 

“Oh,” Harry said stupidly as Draco tugged him along to the stairs. “Right, ‘course, my bed.” 

Draco gave him an amused look. “Come on, then. Lead the way.”  

“Yeah, right,” Harry nodded, taking Draco’s hand a little shyly and turning to lead him upstairs. 

By the time they’d reached the twins’ bedroom, Harry felt half-asleep, adrenaline seeping away and leaving tipsy pliancy in its wake. He collapsed with a poorly-stifled giggle onto the bed he’d been occupying, reaching up to make grabby-hands at his boyfriend, who looked as though he was quickly regretting his choice to follow Harry in here. 

“You’re an utter mess, little fox,” Draco sighed, though Harry could easily make out the affection behind his tone. He beamed, revelling in the fact that he was here, finally , right in front of him, and that he could just reach out and touch him because he was right here . 

“I love when you call me that,” he confessed, watching Draco shamelessly as he bent down to rifle through Harry’s trunk for an appropriate set of pyjamas. “And ‘darling’. It should sound silly but you make it so lovely. I missed you.” 

“Do you have any other pyjamas here? I’m not sleeping in these clothes,” Draco said exasperatedly, ignoring him. 

“Could always sleep without them,” Harry suggested, wiggling his eyebrows as the boy shot an incredulous glance over his shoulder. “I usually sleep shirtless, you should know.” 

Draco sighed long-sufferingly and Harry thought it was a little dramatic. “Ditsy and lascivious, Salazar help me.” 

He eventually resigned himself to wearing one of Harry’s old, too-big shirts and the golden-snitch pants that Harry had received as a joke from Sirius last year. Harry stared blatantly as his boyfriend changed with his back to him, eyes widening at every new stretch of pale skin before they were covered again by his own clothes. The round curve of his arse, especially, had him quite interested indeed. He couldn’t help but grin, watching Draco walk back over towards him, grey t-shirt ending at his mid-thighs despite him actually being taller than Harry. The loose shorts made a little more sense, barely hanging onto his slight waist as he sauntered up to Harry. 

“Have I said that I missed you?” Harry asked, gazing adoringly up at the boy as he reached out to take hold of the hem of Harry’s dress shirt. “Because I did. Merlin, you’re so pretty. Will you kiss me?” 

Draco’s lips twitched upwards, hands gently pulling the shirt over Harry’s head and likely further ruffling his already-messy hair. Before Harry could ask again, Draco leaned forward to plant a small kiss to his cheekbone, sending his heart racing . 

“Again,” he demanded when Draco pulled away. 

“Insatiable,” Draco huffed, shaking his head. “Can I take off your trousers?” 

Harry nodded, still watching Draco as he unbuttoned Harry’s trousers and dragged them off him, folding them to sit neatly on top of his folded t-shirt. 

“You’re always so neat, dragon,” Harry sighed, shifting back to give Draco room to sit beside him. “Sometimes I think it’s a little anal, but I don’t mind. You’re perfect. And you always smell so lovely, like apples– the green, crisp ones, you know? And you’re so pretty, gosh, I just… I just want to kiss you all the time, you know? So pretty. Your eyes and your hair and your skin and your–” 

“Okay, Harry,” Draco interrupted, cheeks a lovely pink that only fuelled Harry’s point. He reached out to take Harry’s glasses off him, setting them down beside the bed before finally climbing in beneath the blanket. “Time to sleep.”

Harry grinned, instantly pressing himself to the boy in any way possible. “One more kiss?” he asked hopefully, tilting his chin up. 

“I hope you feel incredibly embarrassed when you wake,” Draco sighed, making himself more comfortable wrapped up in Harry’s arms and leaning down to press a short kiss to his lips. “Go to sleep, darling.” 

Harry smiled to himself, ducking his head to lay against Draco’s chest. “I love you,” he murmured into the silence, finding Draco’s hand with his own. 

After a few quiet moments, Draco unfurled his hand to lace his fingers with Harry’s, squeezing gently. “I love you too,” he whispered, and Harry thought he could never love the sound of those words more. He pressed a kiss to Draco’s clothed chest, laying his cheek back down and closing his eyes, the steady pulse of Draco’s heartbeat lulling him into a much-needed sleep. 

• • •

“Bloody hell,” a voice cut through Harry’s slumber the next morning. “That’s going to take some getting used to.” 

“Mmwhassup?” he mumbled groggily, forcing his eyes open to peer at the blurry figure beside his bed. “Five mo’ minu’s,” 

“Sorry, Harry, but none of us are getting breakfast until your arses are out of bed, and I’m starving.” 

He grumbled, turning away from the shapeless blob to bury his face into the soft warmth beside him, arms wrapping tighter around the pillow in his grasp. Then, said pillow seemed to jump , somehow, and Harry blinked in utter confusion. “Whass’at?” 

“Morgana’s tits, Weaslette,” his pillow hissed – hissed?– as it shifted in his hold. “Should I be concerned at how comfortable you seem to be walking into my boyfriend’s bedroom whilst he’s still asleep?” 

The voice now over his shoulder scoffed. “I grew up with six older brothers, Ferret, there’s nothing I haven’t seen, unfortunately.” 

“That’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.” 

“Wha’s happ’nin’?” Harry asked blearily, now actively trying to wriggle away from his seemingly-sentient pillow. “Whoss’at?” 

His glasses were suddenly shoved unceremoniously onto his face, and he blinked rapidly as the bedroom finally came into view around him. 

“Wake up, Potter,” his pillow– no– Draco snapped, shoving his chest. “And get off me. It can’t be normal to have that much body heat. I think I’m actually suffocating.” 

Harry stared at him, blinking hard, wondering if this was all just a terrible– or wonderful– dream. But then the memories of last night began trickling in, and he quickly looked up to find Ginny staring unashamedly at them both still tangled up in the bed. 

“You don’t still call him ‘Potter’, do you? That became old like three years ago,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Mm, only when he’s being a prat,” Harry said, brain finally catching up, and just in time to effectively block the actual pillow that came swiping at his face the next moment. “Nice try.” 

“We’re breaking up,” Draco sniffed, turning his head away sharply and crossing his arms. “I will not take slander –” 

“You are so dramatic–” 

“Wow, so nothing’s changed,” Ginny said, still standing there waiting for them to actually make a start with their morning. 

“He’s just offended that you called him cliché,” Harry replied, scrambling out of the bed before Draco could try to whack him again with another pillow. 

Someone cleared their throat from the bedroom door, and the three of them turned to see Hermione eyeing them all with faint amusement. “I knew we shouldn’t have sent Ginny.” 

“Is it typical to have this many women in your bedroom, Harry?” Draco asked, like a git, holding Harry’s duvet up to his chin as though protecting his privacy somehow. “Get them out. I look terrible, no thanks to you.” 

“You look fine, Draco,” Harry said, rolling his eyes and pulling on a random shirt over his head that he was sure had a hole right in the front of it. 

It took him a moment too long to notice the spark grow in his boyfriend’s eyes. “Oh, just fine , hm? What was it you were saying last night? Something about being just so pretty and lovely and perfect… ” 

Harry flushed, wide eyes turning to their little audience. “We’ll be down in a mo’, okay? Is everyone up? Do Mr and Mrs Weasley know?” 

“Yup, they’re waiting downstairs. Ron’s still up in his room, though,” Ginny replied, amused. “I’m hungry , remember. Don’t get too distracted by how lovely and pretty your boy is or anything.” 

And with that, she and Hermione swept from the bedroom, door closing behind them. With the girls done, Draco was quick to drop the duvet, standing up from the bed and arching his back in a long, long stretch that had Harry’s gaze dragging over the entire length of his body. Once he’d relaxed, he sauntered contentedly over to Harry, crooking a finger beneath his chin to tilt his face up and kiss him gently. 

“Ugh,” he said a moment later, pushing Harry away again. “Clean your teeth.” 

“We gonna talk about that little dramatic act or should I just get used to it?” Harry asked in a bit of a drawl, finding a pair of sweatpants to pull on. He cringed as his hopping caused a headache to flare. “You can’t just pick a fight with me whenever you’re feeling embarrassed.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose, though whether it was at Harry’s words or the outfit choices he was currently looking through in the trunk, Harry couldn’t be sure. “I hate you.” 

“You hate that you can’t fool me,” Harry corrected, a little smug, walking over to rest his chin on Draco’s shoulder, arms wrapping comfortably around his waist. If it were up to him, he’d fall right back to sleep right then and there, headache and empty stomach be damned. “But alas, I love it. And you.” 

“Gross.” 

“I’m going to use the loo. It’s just across the landing, yeah? D’you want me to wait to go down with you?” 

Draco slanted a withering look across at him. “No. I need you to go ahead and make sure that I’m not about to be walking down to my murder.” 

Harry sighed, only really half-believing the next words out of his mouth. “No one’s going to be murdering you.” 

• • •

“Remind me why we haven’t already informed Albus that the Malfoy boy is in our home?” Mr Weasley said through gritted teeth, hands clenched into red fists on the tabletop beside his empty plate. “This could be a trap, for all we know. Believe me, I wouldn’t put it past that family–” 

“Morning,” Harry greeted awkwardly, stepping into the kitchen. 

“Oh, Harry, dear,” Mrs Weasley huffed, bustling over to give him a kiss on the cheek and hurry him to his seat at the table. “Breakfast will be served as soon as everyone’s down. I’ve made a bit of everything.” 

It was something she did when she was anxious, Harry knew. Cook up too much food for the house to eat. He bit his lip guiltily, knowing exactly why she was so nervous to begin with. 

“Thanks, Mrs Weasley. I’m not sure Ron’ll be down yet, though. He’s, well… he’s not too happy about… you know….” 

“He’s throwing a hissy over Malfoy,” Ginny summarised, and Harry watched as she swirled her wand beneath the table, mouthing ‘ Accio’ in an attempt to pull a slice of buttered toast into her hand. 

Mr Weasley cleared his throat as though trying to contain a temper, looking hard at Harry. “Yes, about Malfoy–” 

“Oh, Arthur,” Mrs Weasley interrupted, flapping her hands. 

Harry, pitying Ginny’s failing attempt at Summoning the toast, curled his own hand and watched a slice of toast instantly pick up from its plate and sail beneath the table to his hand. 

“Show off,” Ginny grumbled, snatching the slice and breaking off a piece to pop into her mouth.

“Wait till the boy is down and we can talk, yes? Everything is better with a full belly, I always say,” Mrs Weasley was saying. 

Her husband huffed. “Yes, but–” 

“Draco!” Harry exclaimed, louder than necessary, when he spotted the familiar head of blond at the foot of the stairs. 

The others all turned to stare at Draco as he stepped into the room fully, wearing a pair of Harry’s newer sweatpants that stopped above his ankles, and Harry’s favourite grey hoodie. Instead of leaving it out as usual, he’d tied his white-blond hair up into a tiny ponytail at the back of his head, half of the strands already falling out to messily frame his face. He looked, well, cute , Harry thought to himself, trying to contain the need to instantly wrap the boy up in his arms and never let him go. 

“Good morning,” he greeted stiffly, glancing around the room. “Do ignore the attire. Potter owns so little, I’m sure you’re all aware.” 

“Oh,” Mrs Weasley practically cooed, dragging back the chair beside Harry and ushering Draco into it quickly. “You’re so thin, dear. We’ll get some food into you right away, don’t you worry.” 

“Oh, well–” Draco started, looking utterly bewildered. “Yes, I suppose. Thank you… uh, Madam Weasley.” 

“Molly is fine, sweet,” Mrs Weasley assured, flicking her wand and sending platters of breakfast foods flying to fill the tabletop. Draco blanched a little at the mere thought of addressing her by her first name, but didn’t say anything for it. “Have anything you like, there you go.” 

The rest of them watched on, semi-amused and semi-horrified at the sight of Mrs Weasley flitting about and offering different foods to a nonplussed Draco Malfoy. 

“Thank you,” Draco was saying, over and over, accepting each new dish and watching Mrs Weasley pile food after food in front of him. “Really, that’s okay, thank you.”

“Mum, you’ll make him sick with all of that,” Ginny said pointedly, spooning scrambled eggs onto her own plate. “Lay off a bit.” 

“Oh, well,” Mrs Weasley huffed exasperatedly, finally taking her own seat. 

“This is wonderful, thank you,” Draco said again, looking up to hold her gaze so that she’d see his sincerity. “I… I wasn’t quite expecting such a welcome. You’re very kind.” 

All of them, besides Harry, stared at Draco as though they’d never seen him before. Mr Weasley was still yet to put a single thing on his plate, though Mrs Weasley quickly saw to that. 

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, sitting up a little. “I realise it’s not quite appropriate for the breakfast table, but I’d like to apologise to both of you, as sincerely as I can offer, for the way I have treated your family over the years. I can’t speak for my parents, but I no longer hold the opinions and values that I once expressed, and haven’t for quite a long time, now. But in an attempt to… to uphold my safety, I haven’t yet tried to apologise. I was cruel, and proud, and arrogant, and I truly don’t expect forgiveness immediately, but I hope that over time you will come to see that I’ve changed from the close-minded boy I used to be. At least… at least for Harry’s sake.” 

He fell silent then, holding Mrs Weasley’s gaze as Harry glanced between them apprehensively. Even Ginny had stopped chewing down her breakfast to openly gape. 

“Yes, well,” Mrs Weasley said, hands fluttering in front of her. “That’s quite all right, dear. Thank you for saying that. I… yes, it may take some getting used to, I suppose… but, I trust Harry’s judgement. My son may not yet, but he’s sure to come around…” 

“He will,” Mr Weasley added quietly, holding out a hand for Draco to shake. “I appreciate your apology. I suppose I owe you one also, for comments I’ve made towards yourself. Your father and I have never seen eye to eye.”

Draco nodded, shaking his hand firmly, before turning to Hermione. Beneath the table, Harry reached a hand out to settle on Draco’s thigh, squeezing his fingers when they came down to intertwine with his own. 

“Granger, that goes for you, too. Though, I understand that what I’ve said to you in the past has been nothing short of horrible, I hope that I can show you that I’ve changed. I never understood the cruelness behind my words and actions when I was younger. It was all that I had been taught, and all that my father expected of me, but that is no excuse. I’ve since learnt how wrong I was, and I’m sorry.” 

Hermione seemed a little taken-aback, but managed a small smile all the same. “Thank you,” she said honestly. “I’ll admit, when I first suspected that you and Harry might be… well, better acquainted than you were letting on to everyone else, I might have felt more betrayed at the thought. But… I’ve had a while to accept things. And a while to realise how much your behaviour had changed towards Ron and I in recent years. I don’t hold anything against you anymore, Malfoy.” 

“Thank you, Granger,” Draco said formally, dipping his chin slightly. Harry couldn’t help but snort at the action, pulling his free hand up to smother it unsuccessfully, and Draco shot him a glare. 

“Surely you guys can stop using each others’ surnames, now,” he said, and Draco’s look turned into horrified disbelief.

“Absolutely not.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “And why not?” 

“Just because I’ve apologised, doesn’t mean we’re all about to sit in a circle and braid each others’ hair, Potter, really.” 

“I’d actually be all in for that,” Ginny commented airily, raising a hand. “Harry’s become quite good at braiding–” 

“I’m quite aware, thank you,” Draco interrupted coolly, narrowing his eyes at the younger girl, and she threw her other hand up quickly in mock surrender. 

“Alright, message received.” 

Despite his amusement at Draco’s apparent– and completely unfounded– jealousy, Harry still chewed at the inside of his cheek apprehensively, glancing back towards Mr and Mrs Weasley, who were both watching in bewilderment. 

“Er…” he started, clearing his throat. “I should probably clear up, um, well…” 

“Yes, dear?” Mrs Weasley prompted encouragingly, and Draco squeezed his hand lightly beneath the table in a quiet show of support. 

This was it, the first time he’d actually be able to say out loud to someone important to him that Draco was his boyfriend. His friends now knew, or assumed, but he’d not yet had the chance to say the words. And to Mr and Mrs Weasley, no less, two of the most valuable adults in his life. 

“Well, er, you know I’m… that I fancy boys as well as girls,” he tried awkwardly. “Like Charlie.” 

Ginny snorted into her pumpkin juice and her mother threw her an exasperated glance, but both remained silent in wait for Harry's announcement. 

He took a deep breath, gaze flicking between them both anxiously. “Well, Draco’s not just my… friend. He’s my boyfriend. And has been for… a while. I know it probably sounds really sudden, and I’m sorry for keeping it from you, but I hope you can understand why we had to.” 

“Oh, Harry ,” Mrs Weasley gushed, reaching out to pat his arm fondly. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, we understand, don’t we Arthur?” Her husband was barely given enough time to even nod his agreement before she was continuing affectionately. “Anyone who makes one of my boys happy is family. We’re very happy for you, aren’t we Arthur?” 

Mr Weasley shared an amused look with Harry, clapping his own heavy hand onto his shoulder. “‘Course we are.” 

“Thanks,” he said, flushing and ducking his head. 

He glanced sheepishly at Draco, who met his gaze with a small smirk. “I feel I must meet this dragon-tamer who sounds to be such a role model.” 

“Shut up,” Harry huffed. “Eat something, won’t you? You’re practically wasting away. Isn’t he, Mrs Weasley?” 

“Quite right,” Mrs Weasley said, jumping at the opportunity to make a few additions to Draco’s mountain of a breakfast plate as the boy glared back at Harry. 

Grinning, Harry finally began to dig into his own breakfast and everyone at the table eagerly joined. Despite most of the room’s tension being released, Draco remained fairly stilted throughout the meal, glancing self-consciously around the room every once in a while. Harry kept their hands clasped tightly in his lap, thumb grazing Draco’s knuckles subconsciously as he ate, taking every opportunity to include him in the conversation to attempt a sense of normalcy. 

Of course, it felt anything but normal, sitting beside Draco in front of others and not pretending to hate his entire existence. Draco still frequently referred to him as ‘Potter’, and they bickered over nonsensical things that likely had the others doubting they were in a relationship at all. But Harry couldn’t stop grinning, more elated than he’d felt since before the whole business at the department of mysteries. 

The only thing that was missing was Ron. He didn’t make an appearance at all through breakfast, and eventually Hermione resigned herself to taking a plate up to his room with an apologetic glance back at Harry. Despite how positively the others had reacted, he couldn’t help but still feel guilty for the way Ron had sounded last night. He knew that he deserved it. He’d kept his friendship and relationship a secret from his best friends for so long, knowing that Ron still believed Draco to be the bully they’d once seen. 

He knew he’d have to talk to Ron eventually, force himself into the little attic bedroom and make him listen to his explanation. But that was for later, he decided, smiling to himself as Draco politely nodded along to Mr Weasley’s waffling about muggle televisions. He even made a comment about Harry’s Discman that they’d used a handful of times back at Hogwarts, causing Mr Weasley’s eyes to widen with unbridled excitement. 

It wasn’t normal yet, not by a long shot, but it could be, and that’s what had Harry leaning over to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek in front of everyone, laughing at his surprised splutter and pink cheeks. It would be .

Chapter Text

The night after Draco arrived on the Burrow’s front doorstep, Harry asked Remus to visit and had everyone sat down in the living room after supper. Even Ron, who’d been forced by his mother to eat his dinner at the table, though he’d spent the entire time glaring daggers across at Draco, who swiftly ignored him. Harry hadn’t spoken to him properly yet, but he hoped that this impromptu meeting would at least cover some of it. 

“Knocking,” Remus’ soft voice came from the open front door as he stepped inside, the hatstand by the door promptly taking his coat and scarf. 

“Hello, Remus,” Mrs Weasley greeted warmly, already moving towards the kitchen. “A spot of tea? Biscuits? We have leftovers if you haven’t eaten?” 

“Just a tea is fine, Molly, thank you,” the man murmured, gaze quickly flicking over the room’s occupants and landing on Draco with mild surprise. “I wasn’t aware that you’d be joining us, Draco.” 

“Good evening, Professor,” Draco said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand. “I apologise on Harry’s behalf for inviting you so late, he’s ill-mannered, you see–” 

Harry scoffed loudly and Remus’ lips twitched up in amusement. “Just because I don’t act like bloody royalty, for Merlin’s sake…” 

“I’m nearly as close as one gets to royalty in the wizarding world, Potter,” Draco sniffed, arching an eyebrow at him. “You forget that I’m the son of one of the most influential men in wizarding England. I’m expected to live and breathe manners–” 

“Moony doesn’t care what time I invite him over,” Harry pointed out matter-of-factly, glancing quickly at the man beside them. “Do you?” 

Remus smiled, shaking his head. “No, Harry, not for you.” 

Draco made a disapproving sound, but didn’t argue. A moment later, Mrs Weasley was bustling back into the room with a number of floating teacups in her wake. 

“No, thanks,” Ron muttered irritably, ignoring his cup and climbing to his feet. “I’m leaving.” 

“Ronald Bilius, you sit back down this instant,” Mrs Weasley snapped, eyeing warningly as he sat back in his armchair with a grunt. 

“So,” Remus said after a moment of tense silence, looking at Harry with a small, expectant smile. “I trust this is the reason I was asked over. Should I sit?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, gesturing to a free seat as Draco got comfortable beside him again. 

Surprisingly, despite Harry usually being the touchier of the two, Draco had barely detached from his side since his arrival. Harry suspected he was trying to cling to any comfort Harry could give him in the unfamiliar territory, and he hadn’t held back showing Draco as much of his attention as possible. 

“So,” he started, glancing around the group. “As most of us know, Draco got here last night. Snape apparated him after Voldemort asked to see him. They assumed, and probably rightly so, that Voldemort was planning to punish Draco somehow for his dad’s mistakes at the Department of Mysteries. I don’t want to know what he’ll do if Draco returns home, so it’s not an option. It’s also… not an option to tell Dumbledore just yet.” 

He wasn’t surprised at the confused sounds from the group, continuing on undeterred. “I know you might think that sounds crazy, but…” 

“I don’t trust the man,” Draco said simply, and all eyes fell on him instead. “I don’t trust his inclination towards endangering his students, and I’m not particularly keen on becoming another pawn in his game. If that makes you all mistrust me, so be it, but if I can ask anything of you, it’s to keep my presence here out of his knowledge.” 

“Surely Dumbledore could find a way to help protect you?” Hermione asked, though looking somewhat doubtful herself. 

Draco hummed disagreeably. “For a price, perhaps. I don’t fancy being indebted to anyone, let alone him. I understand the position I’m putting all of you in, and if it’s not possible I can attempt to find other accommodation–” 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Mrs Weasley tutted. “You’re very welcome here, and we won’t let Albus know if you don’t wish it.” 

“Thank you,” Draco murmured, nodding slightly. 

“And I’ve already told you that you have a home at Grimmauld Place,” Harry added. “I bet it’d love to have a little pureblood prince living in it again.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow his way. “Who are you calling ‘little’, fox?” 

“So he does know,” Ron spoke up suddenly, and they turned to give him looks of confusion. “You told him about–” 

“ Ron ,” Hermione hissed, glancing at his curious parents. 

“Oh, sod it,” he scoffed, throwing his hands up. “He’s already told the enemy , hasn’t he? What are my parents going to do? Ground him?” 

“What are we talking about, exactly?” Mr Weasley asked, his question going ignored as Harry quickly got to his feet. 

“He’s not the enemy,” he scowled, hands fisting at his sides as he glared at his friend. “He’s my boyfriend, for God’s sake. He was there when I first bloody turned! If he was going to tell someone about it, he’d have done it by now, wouldn’t he?” 

Mr Weasley’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re an animagus, Harry?” 

“He’s a fox,” Ron snapped, not taking his eyes off of Harry’s glare. “Rather fitting, wouldn’t you say? Everyone knows they’re not to be trusted.” 

“Ron, really–” Hermione tried, frowning. 

“How am I not to be trusted?!” Harry exclaimed, taking an angry step forward. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but how could I?! Whether I told you the moment me and Draco became friends or the moment we first kissed or yesterday-bloody-evening, you’d have still reacted as though I’d done it all just to spite you. Why can’t you just trust me, Ron? Don’t you think there’s a reason no one else here is throwing a fit over him being here? He’s changed–” 

“And how the bloody hell am I supposed to believe that?!” Ron burst, standing to get in Harry’s face. “All I’ve ever seen is him being a stuck-up, poncy git who preaches pureblood supremacy and calls Hermione– our best friend, by the way– a Mudblood! What if he’s just been manipulating you, huh? What if this is all just part of Voldemort’s game? He knows now how easy it is to–” 

“Ron!” Hermione cried, horrified, reaching out to try and grab his arm. 

But by then, Draco had taken his place beside Harry in a flash, wand held aloft and ready to strike. “Choose your next words very carefully, Weasel,” he said coolly, staring at Ron as though daring him to defy him. 

“I’ll fucking show you careful!” Ron yelled, and Draco didn’t anticipate the swing of his fist in time before it had slammed into the side of his jaw and sent him rearing back. 

Harry saw red.

BANG!

The room’s windows burst suddenly, shards of glass flying to the floor as the fireplace roared wildly and books and various nick-nacks across the room were sent shooting into the walls. Crookshanks hissed from one of the couches, tearing up Hermione’s side and making her shriek amongst the alarmed shouts of everyone else in the room. 

“Harry!” Mrs Weasley cried, but Harry’s vision had funnelled to only Ron, who was looking wildly around the room and clutching his hand to his chest. 

He thought for a moment that the snake was back inside him, rearing its viscous head, but this felt more like a fire in his chest, flaring and spitting as he shoved Ron backwards, sending him stumbling back against the armchair. 

“Cub, stand down,” Remus said quietly, but Harry barely heard it over the roar behind his eyes, magic coiling in his palms, hot and red and–

“Harry, stop. I’m fine.” 

Draco’s voice seeped through the fire like an incoming tide, lapping at the burn in his chest and washing the sparks from his hands almost instantly. He blinked, taking in the wide eyes of his best friend, pressed into the back of his seat as though to get as far from Harry as possible. 

“I’m fine,” Draco repeated, voice stern but soft all at once. “But you’ve made a mess of the room, love. Perhaps you can apply some of that unruly magic to fixing it for Mrs Weasley, hm?” 

Harry nodded distractedly, looking around at the sitting room that now appeared as though it had been run through by a tornado. He didn’t even have to speak the word as he wandlessly cast Reparo at their surroundings, the overwhelming weight of his angry magic syphoning gradually as it was used up. Once the room more-or-less resembled its former self, its occupants seemed to release a collective breath. 

Feeling all sorts of ashamed, Harry glanced around at the others, shoulders curling in at their stares. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, gaze falling to the carpet as he tried to dampen the embers still crackling in his chest. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“No harm done,” Mr Weasley said cheerily, rubbing his hands in front of him. 

Ginny snorted. “Except to Malfoy’s face. Bloody hell, Ron, was that really called for?” 

Ron didn’t answer, instead getting to his feet again and storming upstairs the same way he’d done last night. Harry sighed, looking over at Remus. 

“D’you think Draco could come stay at Grimmauld? Give Ron a chance to cool off?” 

Remus’ lips twitched in amusement. “It is your house, Harry. But I wouldn’t oppose it, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

It didn’t take long to get Harry’s things together in the twins’ bedroom to take back to the House of Black. They said their goodbyes, with Harry apologising again for the havoc he’d wrought in the sitting room, then the three of them were stepping through green flames. 

Harry, predictably, toppled out of the fireplace in number 12, Grimmauld Place, in a cloud of ash, turning in time to see Draco step out much more gracefully. “Do you always have difficulty using the Floo?” he asked rather snobbishly, and Harry shrugged, wiping dust from his glasses. 

“I’m just not made for them,” he admitted, and Draco raised his eyes to the ceiling briefly before properly surveying the room. 

“So, this is the Ancestral House of Black,” he said, stepping neatly out of the way as the fire roared again and Remus came through. “Rather less impressive than I imagined, but I’m sure it’s hardly to blame. Surely there’s a house-elf?” 

“Barely,” Harry scoffed. “Kreacher, come here.” 

The old elf appeared with a sudden pop, scowling and muttering beneath his breath. “The half-blood calls?” 

“I say,” Draco said, sounding affronted. “Is that how you speak to your Master, elf?” 

Kreacher turned to the newcomer, eyes lighting up extraordinarily as he took in the sight of Draco Malfoy in his home. “My apologies, sir. Can it be? A son of Mistress Narcissa? I am deeply honoured–” 

“Kreacher, was it?” 

The elf nodded, more enthusiastic than Harry had ever seen him. 

Draco waved a dramatic hand around the room. “What has happened to this house under your care? Surely your late mistress would severely disapprove of seeing her family home in such disrepair. I hardly think that I can spend the night.” 

Kreacher instantly settled a glare on Harry, who felt mildly offended considering he hadn’t been the one to just insult the house. “Mistress’ house is empty, sir. What can Kreacher do? Revolting blood-traitors and half-bloods…” 

“Master’s house, I’ll remind you, Kreacher,” Draco drawled, and Harry had to be some kind of messed up to feel warm just hearing Draco refer to him as ‘Master’. 

“Of course, sir Malfoy,” Kreacher said lightly, scowling in Harry’s direction and muttering beneath his breath. 

Draco rolled his eyes, waving a hand at the house-elf. “Off with you, then.” 

Kreacher disappeared with a snap. 

“Before you set about fixing the house, Draco, can I offer anyone a hot chocolate?” Remus asked mildly, seemingly unsurprised that Draco had instantly taken up the role as head of the house. 

“Sure, thanks, Moony,” Harry nodded, smiling slightly. 

“I take mine with cinnamon, thank you,” Draco said, already sweeping into the next room with his nose wrinkled in the utmost disgust. “Heavens, one could hardly call this a house. The magic has been sucked dry.” 

Harry followed dutifully behind him, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean? My magic works fine.” 

“Not your magic, Harry,” Draco sighed, swiping his finger across a shelf and frowning at the layer of dust it collected. “House magic. This home has been lived in by generations of witches and wizards. By one of the oldest families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, at that. Magic has collected here for years , but clearly it has been dormant for much too long. That’s what Kreacher meant by it being ‘empty’. No wonder he despises you.” 

Harry gaped. “What? He hates me because of my blood. He hated Sirius even more, and he was a Black!” 

“Your godfather hated his home, and it responded in kind.” 

“A house is a house, Draco,” Harry said, feeling less sure by the second. “And he didn’t hate it, he hated the family within it. For good reason, I say.” 

“Precisely,” Draco nodded, as though this made any sense. “Stop thinking of this as the home of the family who shunned your godfather. You will only ever hate it, and it will never show its glory. It is yours , now, Harry, act like it.” 

“I feel scolded, and I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong.” 

Draco sighed long-sufferingly, turning to face Harry. “Don’t be naïve, you’re smarter than that. You’ve seen the magic at the Burrow; the way things appear to work simply on their own. Mrs Weasley doesn’t just keep her magic running at all times, it’s woven into the house. Think of Hogwarts. The moving staircases, the new alcoves that appear in the walls when one is in need of such a space, the library books that jump shelves to their seekers. Even the Room of Requirement. It’s not just Dumbledore’s magic, though his has become quite intertwined with the school’s over time. It belongs to the building. Do you understand?” 

“I guess so,” Harry said slowly, brow furrowing in thought. “So it’s meant to be like that here?” 

“Yes,” Draco nodded, moving around again. “The house doesn’t deem you worthy to see its magic, though.” 

Harry huffed. “I doubt that’s going to change. Half-blood, remember?” 

“How are buildings meant to tell purebloods from muggle-borns?” Draco asked, as though Harry had said something ridiculous. “All it sees is a master who couldn’t give less of a toss about how it appears or provides, and cannot even commit to staying completely over the holidays. It’s your home, so make it so. It’s not going to give you what you do not seek, Harry. You have to make an effort, too.” 

“Well, it’s not as if anyone’s told me that,” Harry said, feeling a little peeved and extremely chastised. “I found out I had the place after Dumbledore told me it was in Sirius’ will.” 

Draco hesitated at the foot of the staircase leading upwards, turning to Harry and softening slightly. “I know. I don’t mean to reprove. I suppose I just… expected it to feel closer to my own home.” 

Harry’s shoulders dropped, bitterness dissipating instantly. He’d almost forgotten that Draco wasn’t here just by choice, that he’d been forced from his house for his own safety. Suddenly, Harry wanted nothing more than for Grimmauld Place to be just what Draco was seeking. A house, worthy of the grandeur that he wanted, and a home, for the safety that he needed. 

“That makes sense. I’m sorry it’s in such a state. I’ll try to fix it, I will. But I need some help to know how.” 

“You’ll find…” Draco said softly, brushing a palm over the bannister and watching as the dark wood beneath glowed a rich brown. “That you’ve already begun.” 

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, following the newly-polished shine of mahogany as it raced up the bannister towards the upper floors, flickers of candlelight from the chandelier above glinting off it with a warmth Harry hadn’t yet felt within the house before. He took a step forward, startling as the floor seemed to move beneath him. When he glanced down, however, he realised a long, oriental runner rug had unfurled from nowhere, nudging at his feet insistently. Feeling utterly bewildered, Harry stepped to the side, watching in awe as the rug unrolled across the length of the entrance hall, reds and golds reminding him fondly of the Gryffindor common room. 

“I love magic,” he sighed, looking from the rug to his boyfriend. 

Draco, however, appeared to have his attention on something further down the hall. “What have you done to the cupboard?” 

Harry followed his gaze, body going cold at the sight of the blanket hanging from the staircase bannister, hiding what Harry knew to be a walk-in cupboard beneath it. Draco made to step towards it, but Harry reached out suddenly, hand curling around his wrist to stop him. 

“I, uh…” he stammered uncomfortably, cheeks warming. “I did that on purpose. I don’t have… well, the fondest memories of cupboards beneath stairs.” 

Draco looked at him carefully. “You mean from your muggle family?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, avoiding his gaze. “I just… don’t want to be reminded every time I see it.” 

“If I ever have the displeasure of meeting those horrid people, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing they ever do,” Draco said, completely serious. 

Harry slanted a half-smile at him. “Can’t wait.” 

“Two hot chocolates, one with cinnamon and both with marshmallows,” Remus announced then, coming up the stairs from the basement at the other end of the hall and levitating two mugs in front of him, a third tucked into his free hand. “I see you’ve already begun to redecorate.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” Draco said appreciatively, taking a sip from his mug. “Perfect.” 

“I’d rather you call me Remus. I haven’t been a Professor in years.” 

Draco pursed his lips, giving a sharp nod. “As you wish, Remus.” 

The man laughed lightly, and Harry smiled at the rare sound. “And try to sound a little happier about saying it.” 

“Now, that’s asking too much of me,” Draco responded, smirking slightly in a show of humour. 

“Worth the try,” Remus smiled, sipping his own hot chocolate. “I’ll be having an early night, I’m still quite worn from the full moon. I won’t try to stop you both from sharing a bedroom whilst you’re here, but if I receive any indication that you shouldn’t, things will be changed.” 

Harry’s face suddenly felt very warm as his jaw dropped open. “I– er–” 

“In any case, I will be talking to you about that at some point. But tonight I’m exhausted, so you’re saved the embarrassment,” Remus continued, as though Harry wasn’t literally melting on the spot. 

“We look forward to it,” Draco said airily, crouching to place his empty mug on the new rug at their feet. “To the kitchen, if you please.” 

And, as if the rug were alive, it began to form rolling waves that carried the mug to the end of the hall, before flicking up and sending the mug neatly down the steps to the basement. Harry shook his head, blinking quickly. 

“That’s bloody brilliant.” 

“Quite,” Draco sniffed, turning to start up the staircase before him. “Goodnight, Prof– Remus. Come along, Harry. I want to see your room.” 

Harry smiled a little to himself, finishing the last sip of his hot chocolate and putting it down on the rug the way Draco had done, watching with amusement as the house carried it away to the downstairs kitchen. 

“Night, Moony,” he said softly, hesitating on the step. “I hope… I hope that you’re okay with Draco being here. Thank you for letting him stay. And we won’t… we won’t do anything. There’s no need to talk to us about it…” 

Remus laughed again. “Nice try, cub. I was sixteen too, once, remember? Just be glad it’s me and not–” he stiffened, lips thinning as he realised what he’d been about to say. 

Harry was silent for a moment, that familiar sadness that had been held at bay most of the day creeping in again. “Yeah,” he said eventually, clearing his throat. “I can imagine who’d have been less mature about it.” 

Remus’ lips twitched upwards, though the light in his eyes remained dim. “As with most things,” he said softly, glancing up the staircase. “Don’t keep Draco waiting. I do know a thing or two about the impatience of purebloods.” 

“Spoilt, they are,” Harry chuckled, finally taking to the stairs. 

“Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well.” 

“You too. Love you.” 

“I love you too, cub.” 

Harry smiled, walking up to find his boyfriend somewhere in the maze of rooms that was the House of Black, eager for another sleep wrapped up in his warmth.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure of it?” Draco asked, staring at Harry intensely as they both sat cross-legged on the bed at Grimmauld Place. “Tell me again what exactly you saw.” 

“It was him,” Harry repeated for the fifth time that morning, desperate for Draco to believe him. “His dog animagus was running in the forest with us, I swear. Same fur, same build, same eyes, same smell. It was him.” 

Draco nodded, looking pensive. “Okay…” he said softly, still somewhat disbelieving, but Harry would take what he could get. “Is that the only time?” 

“No. I saw his face in our two-way mirror before we left Hogwarts. His human face. It was there for barely a second, but I saw it. Whilst I was at the Dursleys I would check the mirror constantly, but I never caught sight of him again and started to think Ron might’ve been right about imagining it. Plus, Kreacher responding to me kind of sealed the deal…” 

“Until the full moon,” Draco finished for him, and Harry nodded. 

“I know it sounds crazy, and you likely think I’m delusional or it’s just my emotions or something, but I know what I saw. I just don’t know what it could mean.” 

Draco was silent for a moment, watching him carefully. “You think he’s still alive.” 

Harry took a sharp breath in, dropping his gaze to his fidgeting hands. There was a part of him that had started to believe it, yes, but he hadn’t dared to voice it. “Sometimes.” 

“I’ll attempt to do some research,” Draco said swiftly, mind already set. “Perhaps it has something to do with the arch in the Department of Mysteries that you said he disappeared through. When we’re back at Hogwarts, you could also try asking one of the ghosts if they have any ideas.” 

Harry blinked, a little taken aback. “Yeah, I– I s’pose that sounds good. You believe me?” 

“Of course I do,” Draco sniffed, waving a hand dramatically. “Who do you take me for? If you’ve seen something, you’ve seen it. We just need to look into it.” 

“Thank you,” Harry sighed, leaning in to kiss the boy’s cheek. “It means a lot.” 

Draco’s gaze softened, lips curling as he looked at Harry. He didn’t say the ‘I love you, remember?’ that was painted so clearly across his pale face, but Harry heard it anyway, swaying forwards again as though drawn by a string into the boy’s arms. They circled around him almost instantly, pulling Harry flush against Draco’s hoodie-covered chest. Harry barely had to tilt his head back before he was being kissed, lips pressing soft to his own in a flurry of close-mouthed busses that had his heart swooping delightfully. 

“Remus will be wondering what is taking us so long,” Draco murmured warningly, but it didn’t sound as though he minded too much. His cold hands had managed to slip beneath Harry’s shirt, tracing delicate lines down Harry’s spine and across his sides. 

Harry huffed a breath of laughter against Draco’s lips, capturing them in another kiss. “I’m sure he can already guess.” 

The boy shivered as Harry moved to kiss at his jawline, hands deftly unclasping the pin from the back of his head and letting white-blond hair fall prettily to frame his face. Harry tangled his fingers in the strands, lips trailing down Draco’s neck to the single freckle settled against his skin, delighting in the feel of his quickening pulse and the sound of shortened breaths. 

“I’d rather not assume that,” Draco said a little breathlessly, leaning his head back to give Harry access to more of his lovely porcelain skin. “I’m supposed to make something of a good impression.” 

Harry hummed, smiling against the boy’s neck. “And why’s that?” 

“Well,” Draco huffed lightly, sinking further back against the bed’s pillows so that Harry was practically lying on top of him. “If I’m going to ask to marry you one day, I’ll need his approval, won’t I?” 

Harry froze, hard breaths sending involuntary shivers down Draco’s body as his mouth remained pressed to Draco’s skin. “Marry me?” he asked, heart stuttering in his chest at the words. 

“Well, you didn’t expect me to toss you out after we graduated school, did you?” Draco laughed, but Harry could feel the unmistakable race of his heart where he was pressed to his front. “And you’d never get approval from my father…” 

“Draco,” Harry breathed, pulling back enough to look his boyfriend in the face properly, feeling embarrassingly soft at the fond gaze that met him. 

“ Harry ,” Draco mimicked when Harry didn’t seem to have anything else to add. He tilted his head in that way he always did, lips curling as he brought a hand up to cup Harry’s face, and Harry almost melted on the spot. 

“I love you,” he said, following the pull of Draco’s hand to kiss him again, hoping that it could convey everything he was feeling in that moment. 

His mind spilled with thoughts of an entire life with Draco. One where he called him ‘husband’ and spent every day of their lives together. One where they woke up each morning in the same bed, wrapped in each others’ arms. Where Draco would learn to put up with Harry’s morning breath and kiss him anyway just because he could. Where they would live at Grimmauld Place and turn it into a home. He could picture making them breakfast in the basement kitchen, Draco’s arms winding around his middle and pressing against his back as he watched. Merlin , he wanted nothing more. 

Draco was kissing him back just as passionately, using his hold on Harry’s face to tilt his head and slide their lips together perfectly. “Je t’aime aussi,” he murmured between hard kisses, and Harry had picked up just enough French to understand the gist. “Mon petit renard.” 

Snap! 

“Kreacher is coming to– oh, apologies sirs, Kreacher isn’t meaning to interrupt…” 

Harry sighed, regretfully pulling back from Draco to sit up properly and look around at the elf standing in the middle of the room. He couldn’t quite figure out what Kreacher’s expression was attempting to resemble. Some mixture between embarrassment and disgust. 

“Kreacher isn’t realising masters are… special friends. Kreacher wonders if this is appropriate for his late mistress’ household…. Mistress would disapprove… yes…” 

“What do you want, Kreacher?” Harry snapped, irritated. “I don’t particularly care what Mrs Black might’ve thought.” 

The elf’s eyes widened. “Mistress is only being addressed as ‘Madam’... horrible, rude little half-blood brats–” 

“Out with it, Kreacher,” Draco sighed, seemingly unperturbed at being caught snogging Harry by the old house-elf and calmly looping his arms back around Harry’s waist. 

“Kreacher is wanting sirs to know that the kitchen is shifting,” Kreacher croaked, eyeing Draco’s hold on Harry distastefully. “Kreacher is hoping that master will not be changing the boiler room, too.” 

Harry shared a confused look with Draco, shrugging a little. “Sure, Kreacher, the boiler room can stay as is. What d’you mean the kitchen’s shifting?” 

“Master must be coming to see for himself,” Kreacher said, disappearing with a click of his fingers before either of them could ask more. 

Harry groaned, dropping his head forward onto Draco’s chest. “Do we have to?” 

“I am quite hungry…” Draco says, raising an eyebrow. “If only my kind, caring boyfriend was here with his wonderful culinary skills…” 

“Such a pity,” Harry agreed, voice muffled. “He sounds like a real keeper.” 

“Seeker, actually.” 

Harry sat up again, rolling his eyes. “Oh, har har.” 

“Up you get,” Draco demanded, pushing at Harry until he had enough space to fling his long legs off the bed and stand up. “Come dote on me like a good petit ami.” 

It was immediately noticeable on the walk down the narrow staircase to the basement that the kitchen really had shifted. What had previously been a dark, cramped space beneath the ground floor, seemed to have broadened considerably. A row of gleaming countertops stretched the length of the room on one side, cupboards matching the warm brown of the stair bannisters from yesterday evening, their brass handles glinting in the candlelight of the overhead chandelier. At the far end of the room, the cast-iron oven and stove top appeared to be double its previous size, and the table down the room’s centre was completely laid for breakfast to be served. 

“Why am I not surprised that the kitchen was the first to receive an upgrade?” Draco drawled, looking pleased for once at the house’s appearance. He opened the door to the walk-in pantry wide, and Harry gaped at the abundance of groceries that neither he nor Remus had been the one to buy. “Ah, Kreacher has sourced you a satisfactory supplier.” 

“Kreacher?” Harry asked, already moving into the pantry to collect an armful of fresh foods for breakfast. 

“Well, you didn’t expect the house to trot off and buy its own produce, did you?” Draco scoffed, and Harry tried not to look embarrassed. He had pictured something along those lines… “Kreacher must have hopped off in the time it took us to come downstairs. I daresay the new kitchen would have excited him to no end. Elves are quite proud of their houses, you see.” 

“He didn’t seem very excited,” Harry pointed out, pulling out a shining pan to set on the stove. 

Draco hummed, taking a seat at the long table and watching Harry contently. “The fact that he came to tell you, despite his clear hatred of you, was indication enough. What are you making me?” 

“A fry-up,” Harry said, already starting on the process. “Eggs, bacon, sausages, beans… etcetera etcetera.” 

“I don’t like beans.” 

“Well, you don’t have to have the beans.” 

“Then why make them at all?” 

Harry gave him an exasperated look. “Me and Moony both like baked beans. Is there anything else his Highness would like that I’ve failed to include?” 

“Scones,” Draco sniffed unhappily, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“I can make some for afternoon tea. You’re lucky I actually enjoy this.” 

Draco hummed. “You’ve rather no need for a house-elf.” 

“Trust me,” Harry grumbled, cracking an egg against the side of the pan and watching it sizzle. “If he didn’t know too much about the Order, I’d have set him free or sent him to Hogwarts ages ago.” 

“Good morning,” Remus greeted then, coming down the stairs and looking around the kitchen with wide eyes. “How long did this take?” 

“It was like this when we came down,” Harry answered, ducking as the man tried to ruffle his hair. “D’you mind boiling the kettle? Draco’s decided to be useless.” 

He didn’t react fast enough this time to duck from the stinging hex that was sent right at the back of his head. “I beg your pardon, Potter, but I am a guest in this household, I’ll have you know–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry laughed, charming the loaf of bread beside him to begin slicing itself neatly. “Can anyone tell me where the salt–?” 

One of the overhead cupboard doors swung open abruptly, revealing salt and pepper shakers practically wriggling to be used. 

“Cheers,” he said to no one in particular, taking them both out. “I guess you’re onto something with this house magic thing, dragon.” 

“ Oh ,” Draco drawled heavily, and Harry could practically feel the eye-roll behind his back. “You flatter me, darling, truly.” 

Harry shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder at the boy. “I try.” 

“You two sound just like James and Lily when they were in school,” Remus said, taking out three mugs and setting them in front of the warming kettle. “Once James stopped trying to sweet-talk her all the time, they’d bicker incessantly.” 

“Really?” Harry asked brightly, always eager to hear any tidbits he could about his parents. 

Remus nodded, pouring tea into the mugs and wordlessly Accio- ing the sugar jar. “Drove us all mad, they did. But I can’t talk, me and…” he paused, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. “Me and Sirius were hardly better.” 

Harry was quick to put down his things and move to give Remus a brief hug. The pull of grief that often accompanied a mention of Sirius’ name wasn’t as strong this time around, and Harry had a feeling it might be due to his theory of Sirius’ not-so-death. 

“Moony, about Sirius–” 

“I know you think you saw him in the forest,” Remus interrupted quietly, sighing as he met Harry’s surprised gaze. “Hermione cornered me in the Burrow the evening of your birthday to tell me what you’d said to them.” 

Harry felt a pang of betrayal at that, wondering why his best friend would feel the need to reveal such a thing to Remus before he could tell him himself. “I wanted to tell you, but you were tired after the full moon, and I wasn’t really sure how you’d react…” 

“It wasn’t him, Harry.” 

The kitchen fell silent all at once, Harry’s magic on the utensils going still with his own body. “What?” 

“Whatever you saw,” Remus continued, voice too gentle, too understanding. “Was either a wild wolf who happened to look similar to Padfoot, or simply your imagination. Sirius is… Sirius is dead, cub. It’s likely that your mind is finding a way to reject it to avoid the pain of accepting it.” 

“It’s not…” Harry felt cold all over, taking a step away from the man. He knew Draco was still at the table watching them both, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Remus to check. “It wasn’t some random wolf, and it wasn’t my imagination. I know what I saw, Remus. I know… I get that it’s probably hard to hear–” 

“Do not presume to know how my own mind works, Harry,” Remus said coolly, so unlike his usual tone, though his expression conveyed a hurt that Harry didn’t understand. 

“Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?” he asked through gritted teeth, moving further back. “I know I saw him. I wish people would stop calling me delusional for it. Draco believes me. Why can’t you?” 

Remus sighed, glancing at the Slytherin still sitting at the table before looking back to Harry. “You’re both just boys. Harry, you’ve been through so much loss already, it’s no wonder that you’d come to create mechanisms–” 

“I’m not crazy!” 

“Harry–” 

“No,” Harry said stiffly, turning around to glare at the finished food on the stove. “I’m not– I’m not crazy. I’m not a freak, or something–” 

He heard Remus take an urgent step towards him, and that familiar angry fire in his chest burned stronger. “Cub, I never said–” 

“Get out.” 

“Harry–” 

“Please,” Harry pleaded over the roar in his head, voice breaking in a way that sounded pitiful even to his own ears. “I don’t want to blow up again. Please.” 

He wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t . 

The sound of Remus’ footsteps finally turning away and fading upstairs sounded so much louder in the silent kitchen. His throat felt raw with the effort of holding back a cry, eyes squeezed shut and fists closed tightly. The sting against his palms hadn’t been felt for quite some time, but the scars broke freely at the new punctures. 

He didn’t hear Draco get up from the table and slowly make his way up behind him; the thoughts in his head and the crackle of flames beneath his skin making the outside world disappear. It was his oversensitive magic that alerted him to the presence at his back, the fingers dancing along the countertop at his side. 

“I think breakfast is finished,” Draco said softly over his shoulder, peering at the pan still on the stove. “It looks delicious, darling.” 

It was enough for Harry to break, then, a weak sob escaping his lips as he hunched further over the counter, arms wrapped tight around himself. Maybe I am crazy, he thought with another cry, salty tears wetting his lips. Can’t have an argument without being completely overwhelmed with the need to just lash out, to strike, to hurt. What is wrong with me? 

“Harry, Harry,” Draco was murmuring by his ear, curling his own arms around Harry and leaning his weight against Harry’s back like a warm blanket. “Shh, mon bien-aimé, shh. S’il te plaît, ne pleure pas mon chéri. Come have breakfast. Mrs Weasley said that everything is better on a full stomach, and I find she’s rather accurate on that count.” 

Harry took a deep breath that shook slightly but otherwise succeeded in calming him down at least a little bit. He nodded, though neither of them made a move to sit back at the table. His head fell back lightly, the familiar warmth of Draco’s touch lulling him into such a sated state it was as though he’d been struck with a Somnus charm. He felt Draco sigh beside his cheek, soft breath tickling at his skin. 

“Perhaps after breakfast I could make a start on that research?” he asked, and Harry could have drowned in the affection that filled his entire being just then. “I trust that you’ll likely be as distracting as usual, so I suggest continuing your efforts with the house. Perhaps you could start with the bedroom? We’re not sleeping in that narrow bed all summer, I hope you know.” 

“But I like being so close to you,” Harry admitted quietly, though this was already quite obvious by the way he’d covered Draco’s arms with his own to ensure he couldn’t move back if he tried. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to ensure you’re still pasted to me without an inch to spare, clingy mutt you are.” 

Harry hummed, amused, the tears that clung to his lashes drying away. “You say such nice things about me.” 

“You’ll never want to let me go,” Draco drawled sarcastically, though he couldn’t have said truer words. 

“No. I love you,” Harry said candidly, finally releasing Draco’s arms and wilting embarrassingly as the boy eventually stepped back. “Let’s eat before this gets cold.” 

• • •

Remus seemed to remain in his bedroom with Stella for company for the rest of the day, whilst Draco became acquainted with the library opposite their own shared bedroom where Harry stood with quite an air of exasperation. 

“I don’t understand. We were doing so well,” he muttered aloud to the room, still dark and dusty and peeling at the walls, even after he’d politely asked for at least a larger bed. “You fixed up the kitchen without me having to say a thing!” 

Hedwig, who was happily perched atop Harry’s shoulder and preening her feathers, gave a short, rasping hoot, and Harry nodded as though this meant anything. 

“You’re right, ‘Wig. Bloody house and its mixed messages.” 

At his words, the room seemed to find it necessary to suddenly blow out all of the flickering candles along the walls and leave them standing in near-darkness, the single grimy window providing little sunlight to make up for it. 

“Right,” Harry mumbled, a little abashed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it. You’re a beautiful house, I’m sure. I just don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Hedwig hooted lowly again, and Harry sighed, reaching up to pet the feathers on her neck. 

“What did I do to encourage the kitchen to shift?” he wondered, still talking out loud like an idiot. He could just imagine Draco finding him like that; ‘Talking to the walls now, Potter? We can only hope that St Mungos might still be able to save you.’ He snorted, then rolled his eyes at himself. “Shut up, Harry.” 

He tried to think of that morning, before Kreacher had popped into the room to tell them that the kitchen had changed. He and Draco had been wrapped up in one another, talking about getting married in their future. Harry grinned again just at the thought. He’d been thinking of living here with Draco, making breakfast for him each morning and having Draco warm at his back… 

“Oh,” he said shortly, a little embarrassed he’d taken so long. “I’m not meant to be asking. I’m meant to be seeing it in my head.” 

Seemingly in agreement, Hedwig hooted brightly, fluffing her feathers. 

Harry nodded again, more confident this time. It wasn’t hard to close his eyes and imagine Draco back in the room with him, tangling together across the room on the bed the same way they had this morning. He kept that picture, but imagined that the bed was much larger and grander, the way he imagined Draco’s own might look at the manor. He imagined himself flicking a hand at the window’s curtains and flooding the room with golden sunlight, watching it spill over an ornate rug and polished floorboards and a crackling fireplace where Stella lay curled in front. He smiled slightly, picturing Draco summoning a book from a large bookcase against the wall, propping it open above Harry’s head where he’d settled it in his lap. 

Satisfied, Harry opened his eyes again, feeling them widen at the unfamiliar sight that met him. The room felt a lot larger than it had a moment ago, the walls a soft grey and floorboards their rich, gleaming chestnut. A king-sized bed sat against the opposite wall, the white duvet and pillow cases making it look like a plush cloud. To one side of him, a section of the room appeared to now be dedicated to a large fireplace, wingback loveseat, and matching armchair. The rest of the wall was taken up by a long stretch of bookshelves, filled with titles Harry couldn’t begin to recognise, but was sure Draco would find plenty of enjoyment in. The other wall housed a very large wardrobe, as well as a dressing table with a shining mirror and a tidy desk with matching wood. 

“That’s more like it,” Harry grinned, reaching out to run a hand over the desk in awe. “Thank you. Draco will love it. Perhaps…” 

He glanced at the bedside tables, wondering if he could make a place for a number of picture-frames. The room, unsurprisingly, read his mind, several rectangles of wood somehow peeling from the tables and propping up as empty frames, ready to be filled with photographs. He smiled, walking over to his school trunk still hanging open at the end of his new bed and crouching to search for his stash of photos. 

He filled the frames by hand, one-at-a-time, the wood adjusting to fit the size of each of his pictures accordingly. One was a moving photo of his parents at Hogwarts, Lily riding on James’ back and ruffling his hair, laughing brightly as his nose wrinkled disapprovingly. Another had been taken by Remus last summer of Harry and Padfoot both fast asleep on the couch, the animagus’ tail flicking over into Harry’s face every other second and Harry’s hand batting uselessly at it in his sleep. There was one of him, Ron, and Hermione as well, taken by Colin Creevey in the Great Hall whilst Ron was mid-mouthful and Hermione threw him a disgusted look, Harry snorting obviously into his goblet of pumpkin juice beside them. 

The last frame he filled with the sketch Draco had given him for Christmas last year, of them at the top of the Astronomy Tower, leaning in for a kiss as they lay against the stone beneath an array of stars. He hoped he’d have the chance to steal Remus’ camera and take a proper photograph of Draco, if not multiple, whilst they were here. He felt giddy just thinking about it. 

“A vast improvement, I’d say,” the boy in question said from over Harry’s shoulder, and he turned to see him standing in the door, gazing around the room in open approval. “I see you’ve included a bookcase, though I can’t imagine you ever deigning to use it.” 

“It’s mostly for you,” Harry admitted, walking over to stand beside him and look at the room again himself. It really was quite a startling difference. “Do you like it? Is the bed big enough for his Highness?” 

“The room could be bigger, but the bed is quite fine.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, looping an arm around Draco’s waist and tugging him close to his side. “You’ll never be truly satisfied, will you?” 

“I quite doubt that it is possible,” Draco replied with a dramatic sigh, shifting to take out his wand and send the stack of books in his other arm floating to the tea table by the fireplace. “Do the library next, please. It’s much tinier than it should be, considering the history of this place, and I know the house is hiding plenty. I’m sure Granger would also thank you for it.” 

“Sure,” Harry smiled, already able to imagine his best friend’s enthusiasm when faced with an entirely new library filled to the brim with all sorts of reading material to entertain her for years. “You two could bond over it.” 

“Ugh,” Draco cringed, nose scrunching quite adorably. “Your silly Hufflepuff notions won’t do.” 

“Sometimes I think you forget I’m a Gryffindor.” 

“Somehow, it’s worse that you are.” 

Harry huffed lightly, leaning in to press his nose to Draco’s cheek. “Liar.”

Chapter Text

SIXTEEN YEAR-OLD DRACO MALOY: MISSING!

“Ah, they’ve given in, then,” Draco mused, eyes flicking back and forth as he read through the article in the Daily Prophet at a much quicker pace than Harry managed over his shoulder. 

“This isn’t great,” Harry frowned as he stared at the word ‘kidnapped’ for a lot longer than necessary. “Everyone’ll be on the lookout for you.” 

“Well, they’re unlikely to check the invisible terrace on Grimmauld Place anytime soon. I suppose it will be quite the surprise when I suddenly turn up on September first.” 

Harry bit at his bottom lip, stepping back to pace restlessly as Draco lazily flipped to a new page. “If they really think you’re missing, they’ll definitely be looking at the Order. What if Snape–” 

“How many times must I assure you that I trust Severus before you actually believe me?” Draco sighed, still peering at the newspaper in his hands. “He didn’t tell them what he saw in your mind during your occlumency lessons, and he will not tell them where I am. He’s the one who brought me to the Burrow, for Circe’s sake.” 

“ Why did he? I don’t get it. He’s always been an arse to me.” 

“Yes, well, I can’t say I’m unfamiliar with that stance. I suppose he must have some semblance of faith in you to drop me into your care so suddenly. Though, if not you, I don’t believe there would have been anywhere for him to take me.” 

Harry frowned deeper, not liking the casualness in which Draco spoke about how different things could have been for him. How he could have been stuck in that manor with that tattoo on his arm had he never become friendly with Harry. “I’m glad he did.” 

“Yes, see?” Draco said, gaze flicking to him briefly. “You must trust him to some degree, at least, for that.” 

“I don’t think I’d call it trust,” Harry said slowly. “But if he’d risk his standing with Voldemort to get you to safety, I can’t say that I hate him. Even if he is an awful professor.” 

“Hmm,” Draco hummed disagreeably, but didn’t say anything more. 

Fairly eager to forget the fact that his boyfriend was currently considered ‘missing’ (read: ‘wanted’) by most of wizarding England by now, Harry distracted himself by moving through the remainder of the house for the rest of the day, encouraging its magic to come alive again. Draco, as expected, had quickly found himself buried deep in the newly-expanded library on the second floor, searching for anything that even hinted at resembling what Harry might have been experiencing with Sirius. 

Remus didn’t venture from his bedroom all day, and it wasn’t until that evening that Harry realised it was only that room and the fourth floor that he was yet to shift. Like the night before, he didn’t make an appearance for dinner, despite Kreacher cooking a truly delicious and over-extravagant roast for them. Apparently, he was so pleased with the house looking so grand and polished again, as well as the presence of a respectable pureblood to dote on, that the house-elf was almost falling over himself in excitement to serve. 

After dinner, it only took a stern look from Draco for Harry to sigh and prepare a plate for the man upstairs, holding it in both hands as he made his way to the master bedroom on the third floor. He knocked gently, waiting for several long moments before the door cracked open and Remus’ tired face appeared. 

“Thought you might be hungry,” Harry mumbled sheepishly, holding up the plate a little unnecessarily. “Can I… can we talk?” 

Remus nodded mutely, stepping back into the dark room as Harry followed. After adjusting to the new look of the rest of the house, it was almost surprising to see the moulding ceiling and moth-ruined drapes again, in the so-called ‘master bedroom’ that now appeared smaller than all of the others that Harry had stepped into today. Books and clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floorboards, picture frames that had once lined shelves now lay face-down to hide the face of the person they’d lost. The bed against the opposite wall appeared to resemble more of a nest, pillows and duvet bunched up to form a crater in its centre, and Harry couldn’t help but stare in confusion at the sight. 

Remus was quick to notice, gaze flicking to the bed then down to the floor. “I couldn’t explain that if I tried.” 

Harry looked back at him, heart dropping as he finally took in his face properly. If Remus had looked worn out before, he looked closer to death now. Harry thought he must have gotten used to seeing him similarly before he’d disappeared into his room, because it couldn’t be possible to look so poorly after barely two days. 

“Are you okay?” he asked stupidly, gaze flicking over bloodshot eyes and black circles and red-raw marks where familiar scars dug into his skin. 

The scruff across his jaw had grown impossibly thicker since just yesterday morning, and when Remus opened his mouth to reply, Harry’s gaze narrowed right onto the noticeably-larger fangs nestled among his teeth. These particular signs weren’t so unfamiliar, but Harry had only seen them in the days before a full moon, never weeks before. 

“Tired,” Remus replied shortly, voice soft as ever and gruff in a way that Harry didn’t like to hear. “And hungry, I’ll admit. It was foolish of me to hide.” 

“I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to,” Harry said, quickly handing the plate over and watching as Remus wasted no time digging into the chicken, fangs flashing as he ate. “I’m sorry for yesterday morning, really. I shouldn’t have yelled, or put words into your mouth, or told you to leave. And I shouldn’t have brought up Sirius–” 

He was interrupted by a low growl, and even Remus seemed faintly surprised at himself for the sound. “I’m sorry, cub, I didn’t mean to do that–” 

“No, sorry,” Harry amended quickly, realising distractedly that that word had become much too comfortable in his mouth lately. “That was too soon. I just… I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re right, that I don’t really have any idea what any of it could have meant, and I shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions and getting everyone else’s hopes up about something that very likely isn’t real.” 

“Harry,” Remus sighed, putting down his already-empty plate. “No one can expect you to experience those sorts of things and keep it to yourself. Of course you’re going to think the best, and hope for the best, and want to share that with others that are hurting the same way you are. I shouldn’t have implied that you didn’t understand your own mind or emotions, that was wrong of me. It was just very hard for me to hear those things when…” 

“When you’re still grieving,” Harry finished quietly, looking down at his fidgeting hands ashamedly. “I get it. It was insensitive. I’m really sorry, Moony.” 

“You were forgiven before I’d even left the kitchen, cub,” Remus said, voice warm and honest. “Hiding away was childish of me. I should be the one coming to you to apologise. I haven’t… quite been myself, lately, I’ll admit.” 

“Your wolf,” Harry said, not quite a question. 

Remus nodded, looking away. “He’s much closer to the surface than he should be. Hence…” he gestured vaguely to the nest of sheets on his bed. 

“It’s been a bit like that since the Ministry, hasn’t it?” Harry asked carefully, thinking of Remus’ unnaturally quick rises to anger recently. “Just without the physical signs, I guess.” 

“I believe so,” Remus said, frowning. “But don’t let it worry you, I’ll sort it out.” 

Harry hummed disagreeably. “You don’t have to do it alone, though. Staying cooped up in here all day can’t be good for it. Come down for a hot chocolate or something and I can spend some time as Mischief, maybe it’ll help calm your wolf down?” 

Remus smiled slightly. “Maybe.” 

• • •

They’d only been sitting by the fire for less than an hour with Stella and Mischief curled up on either side of Remus and Draco buried in a novel in his own armchair, before the fire turned a vibrant green and Hermione’s face appeared in its flames. 

“Good evening, Remus,” she greeted politely, glancing around the room. “Malfoy, Mischief.” 

Harry raised his head, fox ears twitching unsurely. 

“Granger,” Draco replied with a nod, though not looking up from his book. 

“Hello, Hermione,” Remus said warmly, moving to kneel by the fire. “Is something the matter?” 

“I only wondered if I could speak with Harry, but if I’m interrupting something–” 

“It’s okay, ‘Mione,” Harry assured, already back to his human form and wrapping his blue cloak hastily across his body. “What’s up?” 

“Can I come through?” 

“Sure,” Harry nodded, watching as her face disappeared for a moment before being replaced by her whole person, stepping from the flames and into the carpet before them. She glanced briefly at Draco, and Harry gestured for her to follow him out of the room and down to the basement kitchen where he could make them both cups of tea. 

“Sorry to call on you so late,” Hermione said, leaning her hip against the counter as Harry located two clean mugs. “The house looks amazing, by the way. I almost didn’t recognise it.” 

“Tell me about it. You’d love the library. It’s massive, now.” 

Her eyes widened keenly. “Why would you say that? I’m not going to be thinking of anything else, now.” 

“I’ll take you up after we chat, if you like,” Harry chuckled. “Draco gave me a bit of a scolding for how the house looked before, as if I was meant to know it could look like this. I think he forgets I grew up with muggles, sometimes.” 

“The whole wizarding community seems to forget that,” Hermione pointed out with a sigh, before waving her hand. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m here to talk about. You’ve got to talk to Ron, Harry. I know we thought giving him some time would be good, but he’s been behaving like a royal git since you left. I almost want to move here instead.” 

“Has he given any indication that he wants me to talk to him? I kind of blew up on him last time.” 

“No one blames you for that. What he said was awful, and he did punch Malfoy.” 

Harry hummed, adding tea to the strainer and pouring hot water over it to sit. “You hit him too, once, remember? To think how differently I reacted…” 

“That was years ago, I’d honestly forgotten. Besides, it’s not the same. Ron has known for ages how utterly enamoured you are by that boy, even if he didn’t know it was Malfoy. I know he’s feeling confused, and betrayed, and probably a little jealous considering it was Malfoy standing up for you against him, rather than the other way around–” 

“I know, Hermione,” Harry murmured, already feeling guilty. “I get it, I do, even though I reacted like I didn’t the other night. I’m just… I’m worried he’ll never forgive me for it. For being with Draco and not telling him. I’m scared that if I go try and talk with him, it’ll only be to hear him confirm just that. And… I don’t know. I can’t lose him, ‘Mione, he’s my best friend.” 

“Exactly, Harry. You’re best friends. So remind him of that, and talk to him. He just needs help to understand, and that won’t happen by staying away. He’s driving us all mad, and he won’t listen to what any of us have to say about it.” 

Harry sighed, pouring out their teas and adding milk to both. “I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow, okay? But I can’t promise that it’ll change anything.” 

“All you can do is try,” Hermione said, taking her tea. “Thank you. Can we go see the library now?” 

Harry laughed, taking the teapot upstairs with them to leave with Remus before leading his friend up to the library. She gasped as he opened the double doors, candles sparking to life to reveal a library almost as big as Hogwarts’ own, which would have seemed impossible considering the narrow exterior of the house. But, alas, magic. 

“This is incredible,” Hermione said in awe, stepping into the room and looking around with bright eyes. “Last time I peeked in here it was a tiny room with a load of musty shelves. This… how did you even…?” 

“Thinking of you, actually,” Harry smiled, watching his friend move to trace a hand along the nearest row of books. “The house needs me to picture how I want it to look, but it only seems to work if I imagine myself or someone I care about actually living in it. Was pretty easy to picture both you and Draco pouring over books upon books in here, and I only really had Hogwarts as a reference…” 

“It’s wonderful,” she said, gaze falling on the pile of books stacked atop a large desk near the centre of the room. 

She walked over to look at the covers, and it was only then that Harry realised they were likely books that Draco had been using to research their theory about Sirius. It seemed Hermione was just as quick at that realisation, too. 

“Are these…?” 

“Draco’s been doing some reading,” Harry replied vaguely, waving a hand as though this explained anything. “About… stuff…” 

“You told him about seeing Padfoot, then?” she asked carefully, glancing up at him. 

Harry frowned. “Well, yes. Though I might’ve been more careful if I’d known telling you led to Remus finding out.” 

Hermione grew flustered, dropping the book she’d been holding and looking away from Harry in embarrassment. “Harry, I’m sorry… I know it was poor of me to tell him behind your back, but I was so worried after what you’d said–” 

“It’s okay,” Harry sighed, unable to find any of the bitterness he’d held when he’d first found out. “I mean, well, it’s not. I’d rather the things I tell my best friends stay with my best friends in future. But, I can understand why you did, and why you were worried. Me and Moony had a bit of a tiff about it, but we’re okay now.” 

“I see,” Hermione murmured, still looking guilty. “I’m sorry for it, still. What did…?” 

“He said more or less the same things you did. And I get why, I really do. But Draco said he’d look into it, and even though I know I can’t jump to conclusions about any of it, I’m not going to give up trying to find out why. I’m not asking you to help, but please don’t try to talk me out of it. Or tell Remus any more of it.” 

Hermione frowned, brow furrowed in that way she did when her brain was buzzing with thoughts and theories. “I’ll help,” she said determinedly. “But if things get too far…” 

“I know, you’ll always worry about me.” 

“I am your friend, remember?” 

Harry smiled, feeling a little better about where he stood with her again. “I know.” 

“So…” she continued, her own small smile tugging at her lips as her gaze grew cheeky. “Tell me about your boyfriend, then.” 

• • •

Harry wished it had been as easy with Ron as it was with Hermione. He turned up at the Burrow the next day to have lunch with the Weasleys, all the while avoiding Ron’s accusing gaze until Hermione had nudged him enough times for it to be inevitable. 

“S’pose we should talk then,” he said eventually once his friend had finally scraped the last of his meal from his plate. 

Ron’s eyes narrowed, but the moment he opened his mouth to reply, Mrs Weasley loudly got to her feet and began bustling everyone else out of the kitchen. 

“Planned that, did you?” Ron asked sardonically, nodding towards the door that the others had just trooped through. 

“No,” Harry scowled, already regretting coming. “They’re just desperate for us to talk. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been acting like a real prat the last few days.” 

“You wouldn’t really know that, though, would you? Scampered away to hide with your little Slytherin ferret, hm?” 

Harry took a deep breath, forcing it to cool the quickly heating embers of anger that Ron seemed desperate to spark. “Look, Ron. I just want to talk about it, okay? Can we do that without the names and accusations?” 

Ron sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I dunno, can we?” 

“What’s your problem, mate?” Harry asked through gritted teeth. “Is it that I’m dating him? That I kept it a secret for so long? Do you think I actually wanted to keep it secret? I wanted to be able to walk through Hogsmeade holding his hand and to snog him in the corridor like every other couple in that school, but I couldn’t because it likely would’ve got him hurt. Or he’d have been used against me just like Sirius was. We couldn’t tell anyone, Ron.” 

“I’m your best mate, though,” Ron said quietly, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a flutter of hope at hearing the present tense rather than the past. “You could’ve trusted me.” 

Harry met his gaze steadily. “The same way I trusted you to keep the secret of me being an animagus?” 

“That’s not the same. They’re practically your family.” 

“And now it’s just another bit of information that can be tortured out of them if Voldemort ever dares it.” 

Ron’s eyes went wide at the words, and Harry almost felt bad for saying them, but it was the truth. “Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true!” Harry exclaimed. “Sorry, but that’s why no one was meant to know in the first place. And the fact that it’s illegal to even be an unregistered animagus. Besides, this whole secret about Draco wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. I didn’t tell Hermione, did I? The only person that knew for certain that Draco and I were together was Snape, and that’s only because he saw it in my mind during occlumency lessons. He never betrayed us to Voldemort, though, and I guess that means that I can trust him.” 

“Is that why you stopped lessons?” 

“No. He kicked me out after I looked at his memories in this pensieve he kept in the office during our lessons.” He shook his head, waving a hand at the air. “Anyway, that’s not important. I trust you a whole lot more than most, Ron, I never doubted that once. And I guess I was also just scared that… that if you found out you’d hate me.” 

Ron sighed, uncrossing his arms and fidgeting in his seat. “I don’t hate you . I hate Malfoy . And up until a few days ago, I was under the impression that you did, too. It was a bit of whiplash, mate.” 

Harry smiled slightly. “Yeah, I can imagine, I’m sorry. It was never meant to happen like that.” 

“Would you have told us? If he didn’t turn up here the other night?” 

“Of course I would’ve, when it was safe enough. I can’t say when that could’ve been, but I would’ve told you.” 

“And…” Ron hesitated, brow scrunching and lips twisting in thought. “I s’pose I just can’t for the life of me figure out what you see in the bloke. He’s always been a royal git to us. I can’t even see you two being friends, let alone…” 

“Boyfriends?” Harry filled in, chuckling when his friend’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “I dunno if you actually want me to answer that, mate. Draco tends to accuse me of being a Hufflepuff whenever I get started on the compliments.” 

“Merlin, gross. But he’s so… so…” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Slytherin?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Surprisingly, I like the Slytherin parts as much as the rest. He’s still very much the snobby little prince that we saw on the train in first year, just without the pureblood supremacy schtick. And he’s smart, and witty, and he worries about me a lot even though he pretends not to, and he cares for his family even though he can’t agree with them, and he makes me really, really happy, Ron. But so do you, and I can’t have one without the other.” 

Ron still looked mildly disgusted, but nodded all the same. “I get it, Harry. You… you deserve to be happy. I never should’ve said what I said the other night. I wasn’t thinking right at all, and I would’ve said anything to lash out. I’m really sorry, mate.” 

“You’re forgiven,” Harry said, unable to hold back his smile. “As long as I am, too, for keeping Draco a secret.” 

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, catching sight of Harry’s expression and grinning slightly. “Can’t promise I’ll be friends with the bloke, though. He’s still a git, as far as I can tell, and I’m still going to give as good as I get.” 

Harry shook his head, chuckling, and reached over to clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

“Aw, boo,” a voice interrupted from the door, and they turned to see Ginny stride into the kitchen, an anxious Hermione at her heel. “No explosion this time? Where’s the fire? The dramatics?” 

“Believe it or not, we can actually hold a civil conversation,” Harry said, and the girl scoffed. 

“Oh, you two,” Hermione sighed, wringing her hands as usual. “I’ll never know how I landed with two idiots as friends.” 

Ron rocked his chair onto its two back legs, mocking a look of deep thought. “Something about a troll…?” 

“That was my first mistake,” she muttered, but she was smiling at them all the same, and Harry couldn’t help but grin back at her twice as brightly. “Now that you guys have made up, could you give us a tour of the rest of Grimmauld Place? Ron won’t believe it’s the same house.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked, him and Ginny giving Harry a curious look. 

Harry sighed, getting to his feet and clapping his hands dramatically. “Tour it is, then.”

Chapter Text

Diagon Alley had changed significantly since Harry had last visited. Moving, black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters covered brick walls and windows, alongside security advice posters from the Ministry of Magic that had been sent to households earlier in the summer. Many of the once bustling and colourful shops along the main street were now boarded up, including Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour, which, Harry mused, Draco would be disappointed about. 

“How about Hagrid takes you three to Madam Malkin’s, and we can pop down to Flourish and Blotts to get everyone’s school books?” Mr Weasley suggested as the group of them ambled slowly down the street. 

“I don’t know,” Mrs Weasley said unsurely, glancing up and down the street.

“Ah, don’ fret. They’ll be fine with me, Molly,” Hagrid assured, patting Harry’s shoulder heavily and almost causing his knees to buckle. 

“Oh, alright,” Mrs Weasley sighed, and they watched her disappear into the bookstore a few doors down with her husband and a begrudging Ginny. 

Once they’d reached Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, Hagrid waited out the front as Harry, Hermione, and Ron made their way inside. 

“Madam Malkin?” Hermione called into the empty shop as they walked further inwards. “Hello?” 

“She will not be long,” a soft voice said from beside them, and Narcissa Malfoy stepped around the shelf nearest to them, blond hair tied into a tight knot at the back of her head and expression carefully blank. Her skin, Harry couldn’t help but notice, appeared paler than even her son’s. “I have asked her to retrieve something.” 

“What’re you doing here?” Ron asked loudly before either of the other two could speak. Hermione shot him an incredulous look. 

“Shopping, Mr Weasley,” Mrs Malfoy answered bluntly, one thin eyebrow raised. There was the barest quiver to her jaw, Harry noticed, though he couldn’t be sure whether it was a result of tension or something else. “Not dissimilar from yourselves, I presume.” 

Ron looked a little affronted. “But Malfoy–”

“Shut up , Ron,” Hermione hissed, elbowing his side as Harry inwardly groaned. 

Mrs Malfoy’s gaze grew impossibly sharper, pale blue eyes flicking between the three of them searchingly. “Do continue, Mr Weasley.” 

“Nothing,” Ron huffed, looking away. 

The four of them were silent for several long moments, and Harry tried not to feel uncomfortable as Mrs Malfoy’s gaze bore into his own. Though a different colour, they were the same upturned shape as Draco’s; held the same sweeping eyelashes. 

“Do you have Draco?” she asked finally, voice so soft they barely caught it.

Harry stared back at her, heart hammering so loud in his chest he swore the whole room must’ve been able to hear it. “No,” he said, a second too late. 

Mrs Malfoy took a small step forward and the tremble of her leg was almost imperceptible.  “Is he safe?” 

“We don’t know where he is, Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione said, but the woman didn’t spare her a glance, still looking at Harry as though somehow he held all the answers of the universe. 

“Is my son safe?” she asked again, barely a whisper. 

Harry felt frozen. “He–” 

“Ever so sorry to keep you waiting, Madam,” Madam Malkin interrupted suddenly, bustling into the room with a flat box in her arms. “Ah! And you lot, too. I’ll be with you in just a moment, dears. Madam, just to the till, if you please.” 

As though she’d never asked a question, Mrs Malfoy swept off to follow the seamstress to the counter, leaving the three of them to gape in bewilderment. They hadn’t moved by the time Mrs Malfoy had paid and made her way swiftly past them to the front of the shop. Harry watched her hesitate at the door whilst Madam Malkin began to chatter away to his friends. When she turned ever-so-slightly to catch his eye, he nodded a single time, and she left. 

• • •

On their way to meet Fred and George, Harry stocked up on both his and Draco’s required potions ingredients at the apothecary, and brought a large box of Premium Owl Treats for Hedwig and Aquila in Eeylops Owl Emporium. By the time they reached the joke shop near the end of the main street, Harry’s sack of coins was feeling significantly lighter. 

“Woah,” Ron gaped as they stopped in front of the colourful windows, glittering with an assortment of objects that Harry couldn’t begin to name the purpose of if he tried. 

When they stepped inside, the shop was so packed with customers that they could barely reach the shelves along the sides. Towers of the Skiving Snackboxes Harry remembered from last year reached the high ceiling all over the shop; trays and barrels of trick wands and quills and wrapped sweets lining the shelves. 

“Harry!” two familiar voices cheered simultaneously from the counter nearby, and Harry turned to face the beaming twins. 

Harry matched their grins, quickly taking the space that had opened up by the counter. 

“We were beginning to worry we’d never see you again!” Fred exclaimed, reaching over to shake his hand eagerly. 

“Nah,” George said, instead choosing to stick his hand in Harry’s hair and ruffle it into a worse state than it already was. “Doubt we’d have been that lucky.” 

Harry scoffed, batting the man’s hand away. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m a treat.” 

“Too right,” Fred winked. “‘M sure your beau would agree.” 

“Shut up,” Harry tittered, flushing as he ducked his head. 

They laughed, both reaching out to ruffle his hair yet again and clap his shoulder affectionately. “Come on, we’ll give you the tour.” 

The two of them led Harry through the bustling crowd of customers towards the back of the shop, pointing at various products as they passed. “Muggle magic tricks,” Fred said, gesturing to a stand of card and rope tricks. “For people like dad, you know, obsessed with muggle stuff.” 

“And through here ,” George continued, pushing aside a curtain to reveal a smaller, less crowded room. “We’ve just developed a bit of a more serious line, getting into the whole area of Defence Against the Dark Arts, you know?” 

“Shield Hats, Shield Cloaks, Decoy Detonators… Look, here’s what we call Instant Darkness Powder ,” Fred said enthusiastically, piling each item into his hands as they went. “Handy if you want to make a quick getaway.” 

“You two,” a pretty witch with baby-blue hair popped her head around the curtain dividing the rooms. “I need help at the register. Some wanker thinks this is a place for bartering and he’s holding up the queue.” 

Fred tutted beneath his breath, flicking another item at Harry before meeting her at the curtain. “Help yourself to anything, yeah? Free of charge for our favourite benefactor,” he said before disappearing into the main area of the shop. 

“How’re you and our favourite reptile, then?” George asked as he perched on a crate, unwrapping a hard candy and popping it into his mouth.  “Reckon mum’s feeling lonely, three of her boys out of the house all in one summer.” 

“I think she’s still got enough to keep her occupied,” Harry smiled, locating a discarded basket and dumping his armful of objects into it. “I can’t have all of this for free, by the way.”

George gave him a look. “Neither of us will let you pay. And don’t dodge the question. He as high-maintenance as I imagine him to be?” 

“Always,” Harry laughed. “But, call me a simp, I actually enjoy it. It’s nice being around each other all the time. We can do like… domestic things. I dunno.” 

“Oh yeah?” George smirked, eyebrows wiggling. 

Harry snorted, tossing one of the items in his basket at the boy’s chest. “I mean like having breakfast and sitting in front of the fire and stuff, prat.” 

George nodded, furrowing his brow and pouting his lips as in sarcastic agreement. “Mm.” 

“But, uh…” Harry started, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden and glancing around the near-empty room. “About… that.” 

“Hit me with it,” George grinned, though the expression was genuine and Harry forced himself to relax a little. “I said you could ask me anything.” 

“Okay, well. I guess I just… God, this is embarrassing.” 

George looked over his shoulder as two customers who’d been browsing in the room together finally left through the curtain, and flicked his wand its way to stop anyone else from coming through. “I know Fred and I seem like we never take anything seriously, but I’d never use this kind of thing to pick on you or anything, yeah? I won’t even tell Fred. I remember how confusing things can be, and I’d have been a lot worse off if Charlie hadn’t sat me down for a chat. We’re brothers, yeah? Ask me anything you want.” 

Harry sighed, looking down at his fidgeting hands. “Well, you know we’ve been dating a while. And we’ve… done… like, some stuff. But it’s all been like… over… our pants… you know…” 

“Mm,” George nodded, trying to look encouraging. 

“Um,” Harry sighed heavily again. “I think he’s ready for more. And has been for a while. He tried it a while ago and I freaked out for some bloody reason that was totally embarrassing.” 

“He wasn’t upset with you, was he?” 

Harry felt his lips quirk upwards slightly despite himself. “No. He was just about ready to kick himself for not asking first. That was a while ago, though, and I… well, I think I’d be fine with more. Well, more than fine, really, I mean–” 

“Don’t need details,” George snorted, holding up a hand, and Harry flushed. “Have you tried again since?” 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “But I’m worried that maybe I just think I’m ready but I’m actually not. Like, what if I freak out again? What if I take too long to be ready and he…”

“Has he ever made you feel like he’s just in it for the shagging?” 

Harry frowned. “Well, no. But…” 

“Yeah, I know. No one will ever be worth pushing your own limits, alright? I know I take the mickey out of him, but he’s got to be a right decent bloke if you’re so worried about losing him. I can’t tell you when you’ll be ready, and nor can he. If you’re snogging or whatever you get up to, and all you can think about is doing more, then try for it. If it makes you nervous, that’s normal. If it turns out it doesn’t, that’s fine too. If you ‘freak out’ like you said, take a break, go back to just snogging, whatever would help you calm you down, yeah?”

Harry nodded, still staring intensely at the ground beneath his trainers. 

“If Malfoy gets pissy about it, then he’s not worth your time anyway,” George continued. “But something tells me he won’t, and I reckon you know that. If you trust him, and he trusts you, it’ll feel natural when it does. And you don’t need to do everything at once, alright. One thing at a time, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded again, chewing at the inside of his lip. “I’ll see. Thanks, George. Sorry for taking you away from the shop.” 

George scoffed. “Don’t be a nit. I told you we’re brothers, didn’t I? The shop can wait.” 

“Thanks,” Harry smiled, finally glancing up at the boy. 

George grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately before hopping down from the crate and patting his jeans. “You good? Any other wisdom I can bestow upon thee?” 

Harry snorted. “No, thanks. The others will be wondering where we got off to.” 

“Ah, bully for them,” George said, swishing his wand at the curtain again and pointing at Harry’s basket. “Don’t let me catch you trying to pay for any of that. Off you trot.” 

“Thanks, George.”

They both ducked around the curtain and George disappeared into the crowd of customers as Harry set out to find his friends. He eventually found them at the shop’s front window, fawning over a bunch of pink and purple balls of fluff rolling about inside a large cage beneath a sign reading ‘Pygmy Puffs’.

“Mum, can I have one?” Ginny was asking, tugging her mother’s arm to get a closer look at the small creatures. 

“Miniature puffskeins,” Hermione filled in for him as he reached her side. “They’re quite cute, but I think Crookshanks would hate me if I got one.” 

“I reckon anything’d piss off that grouch,” Ron mumbled, earning him a hit to his bicep. “Hey, isn’t that one of Malfoy’s lot?” 

He was looking out through the window beside them, and Harry followed his gaze to a lanky figure striding quickly up the street, glancing over his shoulder briefly as he passed the window by. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, watching as the boy disappeared from their sight. “Theo Nott.” 

“Looked a lot like someone who doesn’t want to be followed, don’t you think?” Ron asked, trying to peer further around the window frame. “What d’you think he’s up to?” 

Harry glanced around at the others with them, finding them all suitably distracted, and took out the bundled Invisibility Cloak from his bag. “Let’s find out.” 

It was a lot more difficult to hide the three of them beneath the cloak than it used to be, but they managed to squeeze out of the shop and hurry quickly down the street in search of the Slytherin boy. 

“There he is,” Hermione whispered, just as they spotted him glance around again and slip into Knockturn Alley ahead of them. 

They jogged to the corner and turned into the deserted side-street just in time to see Nott’s black boots disappear into a shop a bit of a ways down. With growing suspicion, the three of them slowed to peer through the windows of Borgin and Burkes, finding Theodore Nott in the middle of the small shop, speaking to one of the shop’s owners. 

“Let’s listen,” Ron muttered, unravelling his newly-bought Extendable Ears and feeding them towards the bottom of the door. 

“You know how to fix it, then?” Nott’s voice suddenly asked as they held up their ends of the strings to listen in.

“Possibly,” Borgin answered slowly. “I’ll have to see it, though. Perhaps you should bring it into the shop.” 

“No,” Nott snapped. “It’s got to stay where it is. Just tell me how I can do it.” 

Borgin’s gaze flickered to the side anxiously. “It would be quite difficult without seeing the object myself. Impossible, I daresay–” 

“Well make it possible,” Nott growled, stepping forwards intimidatingly. “I have a lot of people who would delight in convincing you if I were to ask.” His tone made it crystal clear that by ‘convincing’ he meant closer to ‘hurting’. “I’ll be back, and you better have thought more on it. Don’t forget to keep that one safe, you hear me? I’ll need it.” 

“Of course… sir,” Borgin said, bowing his head as Nott turned on his heel and swept back out of the shop. 

The three of them watched as he strode some ways down the street before stopping to hold a hand up to the brick wall beside him, shoulders sagging slightly as he seemed to sigh out deeply. Without a glance back, he quickly took his hand back and stalked down the remainder of the street. 

Harry looked back at his friends, who met him with the same expression of bewilderment that Harry felt. “What the hell was that about?” 

• • •

“You’re sure it was Theo?” Draco asked for the second or third time since Harry had Floo-ed back to Grimmauld Place and explained the whole thing. 

He sighed, sitting back against the couch cushions and fixing his boyfriend with a firm stare. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve watched you enough in school to learn the faces of your friends by now.” 

“Forgive me, Potter, if I’m not exactly jumping to accuse my friend of sneaking into Dark shops to threaten shop owners about Dark objects,” Draco snapped, eyebrows moving animatedly as he spoke. “I don’t believe you’d enjoy hearing the same of your blessed Weasley.” 

“Well, but that’s–” 

Draco’s gaze narrowed. “If you dare say that that’s any different, I will not speak to you for a week . I had believed that you’d done away with those stereotypes by now, but apparently that doesn’t seem to extend past myself.” 

Harry frowned, feeling slightly cowed. “His dad is a Death Eater, though.” 

“So is mine , I’ll remind you.” 

“Well, it was him,” Harry sighed. “I’m sure of it. Hermione and Ron were there too.”

Draco pursed his lips in thought. “And you have no idea what item he was there about?” 

“None.” 

“I suppose I’ll ask him once we’re back at school.” 

“So you’re definitely going back, then? Even if everyone’s under the impression that you’re missing?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “That half-snake will not make me lose my education. Besides, they’re all quite aware that I’m not really missing, but there’s hardly much that they’ll be able to do about it once I’m inside the castle. I’m sure you wouldn’t allow it.” 

“Too right I wouldn’t,” Harry said quickly, flushing when Draco gave him a knowing look. He looked down a moment later, however, hands fidgeting as he considered how to word his next piece of news. “We saw your mum, too.” 

“What?” Draco asked, gaze snapping to him again. “In the shop?” 

Harry shook his head quickly. “No, no. In Madam Malkin’s. She was picking something up at the same time we went in to buy new robes. She… she asked if you were with us.” 

Draco was staring at him with wide eyes as though desperately clinging to every word. “What?” he repeated, voice a whisper now. 

“She asked if we had you,” Harry reiterated softly. “If you were safe.” 

“What did you tell her?” 

Harry looked down at his hands again. “We were interrupted by Madam Malkin coming back. But I… I nodded to her when she was leaving.” 

Draco didn’t say anything, and after a moment’s silence, he stood swiftly, walking from the room without a word. Harry didn’t try to stop him, but he couldn’t help but feel a little wounded at being shut out so quickly for the first time in quite a while. Deciding to give the boy some time, he reached for the book left open on the coffee table titled ‘Ghosts & Other Apparitions’ to read through. 

When the sun was long sunk and the room only lit by flickering candles, however, Harry was quite finished being patient. Tossing the book aside, he stretched his arms over his head and rocked up onto his feet, moving out into the entrance hall to start up the staircase towards his and Draco’s bedroom. He found Stella on the first landing, entertaining herself with a tiny spider between the bannisters, and lifted her into his arms to take with him. 

“Knocking,” he said quietly once he’d reached the bedroom door, left slightly ajar. 

When there was no response, he pushed it open lightly with his free hand, gaze falling on the Draco-sized lump beneath their duvet, only the top of his white-blond hair visible. He made his way to the bed slowly, setting Stella at the end of it and lifting his side of the duvet just enough for him to slip under it and press himself against Draco’s back, one arm wrapping loosely over his waist. If he wasn’t so attuned by now to the boy’s breathing patterns, he’d have believed him to be asleep. 

“Do you want to talk?” he asked in a whisper, watching a few blond strands of hair shift with his breath. 

Draco remained still and silent. Stella, who’d been cautiously sniffing at the sheets below her paws as though it were uncharted territory, seemed to decide it was safe enough then to pad her way up on top of them. 

“I’ve brought my assistant for cuddling,” Harry said, watching with amusement as Stella began to stretch herself comfortably over the exposed side of Draco’s neck, nose tucking beneath his chin as her tail flicked right into Harry’s face. “Blatant favouritism,” he grumbled, and swore he heard Draco emit an amused sort-of sound in response. 

When he finally spoke, Harry was already almost half-asleep. “My mother,” he started hesitantly. “Was she okay?” 

Harry thought of her paper-white skin and sunken eyes and the tremor that seemed to follow her every movement. “She looked tired,” was all he could say without lying. 

If Draco noticed that he hadn’t quite answered the question, he didn’t say anything. The two of them fell silent again, and, to the sound of Draco’s slowing breaths and Stella’s rumbling purr, Harry was eventually lulled into a deep sleep. 

The sun had barely begun to rise when he woke again, though that wasn’t all surprising considering the early hour he’d fallen asleep. What was surprising, however– although it shouldn’t have been, considering the snippets of his dream Harry could vaguely recall– was the comfortable warmth pressed against his lower half. An experimental shift was all he needed to become very aware of the accompanying stiffness. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, though it turned more to a groan as his hips involuntarily shifted again, chasing the much-needed friction. 

Embarrassed, he quickly made to put distance between the two of them, but a hand swiped back to grip his wrist before it could push himself away. Harry froze as his own hand was pulled back around to Draco’s front, familiar lips planting a kiss to his palm.

“I thought you were still asleep,” Harry murmured, voice rougher than he’d expected.

“ Something woke me,” the boy replied softly, dropping kisses to each of Harry’s fingertips in turn. The press of his arse back against Harry was so slight that Harry thought he might’ve imagined it if it hadn’t sent a flare of heat up the length of his body in response. “I’m a light sleeper, remember?” 

“Mmhm,” Harry hummed, any apology he might’ve said quickly dissipating as Draco’s kiss lingered on his index finger, lips parting slightly to coax it into his mouth. “Oh.” 

He felt Draco’s tongue curl around his finger slowly, slicking his skin warm and wet. With his mind suddenly empty of all English vocabulary, all he could do was groan as a second finger slipped past Draco’s lips; wrist still held tight in Draco’s grip. 

“Can I see you?” he managed to ask, and Draco didn’t stop him as he hooked a leg over his hip, tugging Draco down onto his back as he moved to sit up on his thighs, knees on either side. “God , Draco,” he sighed, almost mesmerised by the sight of his two fingers disappearing past their knuckles into the boy’s pretty, pink mouth. 

Encouraged by the tell-tale bulge in Draco’s pants, Harry began to rock slowly down onto him, all the while pulling his fingers from Draco’s lips and sliding them in again, beyond turned on by the thin line of saliva that seemed to connect them. 

“You’re…” Harry started breathlessly, the pace of his grinding quickening. “ So much. So gorgeous. You have… you have no idea what you do to me, Draco Malfoy.” 

Draco’s silver eyes darkened, and he let Harry’s fingers escape his lips again before reaching up to cup the back of his neck, tugging him down and crashing their mouths together hard. One of his hands tangled roughly into Harry’s hair as he arched upwards, the added friction sending rolling pleasure through Harry’s body. Meanwhile, the other fidgeted at the hem of his own shirt, quickly pulling it up and over his head before their lips were desperately glued back together. 

Featherlight fingertips danced up his bare torso, tracing the lines of his muscle and grazing over sensitive nipples that had Harry whimpering against Draco’s mouth. He felt almost at breaking point by the time Draco’s hand slipped lower to palm at the tight fabric restraining Harry’s bulge, and the sensation had his toes curling pleasurably. He rutted down into the warm touch, mind reeling with the need for more, please, more, more.

“Yes or no?” Draco whispered, out of breath as he finally broke the kiss. He slid the pad of his finger beneath the waistline of Harry’s pants, sweeping curiously over dark curls. “Can I? Yes or no, Harry?” 

Harry groaned, mind flicking back to his talk with George at the shop. Try for it. “Yes. Yes, Draco please .” 

Sliding their lips back together in a messy kiss, Draco’s hand disappeared beneath his pants altogether, and Harry choked on a gasp as long fingers wrapped around his length. He’d pulled himself off more times than he could probably count in the dormitory showers, but that couldn’t begin to compare to the feeling of Draco’s hand on him, pace quickening as it dragged up and down, slick with Draco’s own spit. 

“Still yes?” Draco murmured against his mouth, voice low and rough and fucking delicious . 

“Yes,” Harry moaned, nodding vigorously. God, how he’d put this off for so long was completely beyond him now. His skin was alight with delightful tingles of pleasure that scattered along his nerves and sparked at their ends. He’d never felt so good . “ Yes , Draco, oh my…” 

His hips continued to move of their own accord, pressing down against Draco’s hand as it worked him hard and fast. Their kiss fell apart as Harry buried his face into Draco’s neck, mumbling sweet nothings, breath hot against Draco’s skin and sending satisfied shivers down his entire body. The air around them felt static with Harry’s unrestrained magic, tension curling tighter in his stomach as he neared his climax. 

“I’m going to…” he groaned, and Draco’s hand moved faster. “Draco… Draco .” 

“Mmhm,” Draco hummed, working Harry to the edge until his breath caught in his throat and body suddenly went rigid; coils of pleasure releasing inside him and unravelling across his body in delightful trembles. 

His mind fell utterly and blissfully blank, barely registering the sticky wetness pressed between the skin of their stomachs as he shuddered, going boneless on top of Draco’s body. 

“Draco ,” he sighed again, eyes blinking open to peer dazedly at the boy beneath him, cheeks flushed a pretty pink and lips wet and swollen. “Merlin. That was so…. You’re amazing.” 

He smiled stupidly as Draco sniffed, turning his head to one side to avoid his shameless gaze. “Shouldn’t be news.” 

“Oh, it’s not,” Harry said, amused. Finally finding some strength again, he shifted, then paused when he realised Draco was no longer hard beneath him. “What–?” 

“I finished when you did,” Draco grumbled, face turned to try and hide his burning cheeks in his white pillow. “I couldn’t exactly control it–” 

“Draco,” Harry laughed, pressing a wet kiss to his exposed cheekbone. “That’s kind of hot.” 

“You’d find anything hot, bloody Gryffindor.” 

Harry snorted again, pressing all of his weight down onto the boy like a heavy blanket and ignoring the responding groan. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I do find everything you do ridiculously attractive, so I’ll give you it. Scourgify .” 

He grinned at Draco’s sharp intake of breath as the mess between them disappeared in a cold sweep of magic. 

“Fix the room whilst you’re at it,” Draco said then, and Harry’s brow furrowed as he raised his head, glancing around the room and taking in the mess surrounding them. 

“What happened?” 

Draco huffed. “You did, apparently.” 

“What?” 

The blond gave him a look. “You didn’t feel it? Your magic… burst, or something. I suppose it was quite similar to what happened at the Weasley household.” 

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “I felt my magic, but I must’ve been way too out of it to feel it go off. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“Do I look hurt?” Draco asked sarcastically, and Harry looked away from the room to smile back down at his boyfriend, face still pink and blond hair splayed messily against his pillow. 

“You look very satisfied, if I’m honest.” 

Draco hummed agreeably, stretching his neck up to press his mouth to Harry’s in a quick kiss. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about last night, by the way,” Harry mumbled, kissing him again before pulling back to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to distract me to get out of talking about it, though.” 

“It wasn’t just for that,” Draco huffed, looking slightly scalded. “You’re the one who woke up with his cock quite literally between my arse-cheeks.” 

Harry flushed, burying his face into the crook of Draco’s neck in embarrassment. “Draco!” he hissed as the boy laughed brightly. 

“Poor, innocent little fox,” he cooed mockingly, threading fingers through Harry’s hair and tugging playfully. “You do remember what we just did, don’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Harry grumbled, though he didn’t remove his face from Draco’s neck, quite enjoying revelling in his familiar fruity scent. “Git.” 

“Prat.” 

Crack!

Harry groaned, hands searching blindly behind him for a sheet to pull over their bodies quickly. “Fuck off, Kreacher.” 

“The half-wolf is requesting sirs’ presence in the sitting room,” the old elf’s voice croaked, followed by another snap that had him whisking away into thin air. 

“I imagine we’ll be getting that talk right about now,” Draco said matter-of-factly, and Harry quite wanted the bed to swallow them both whole.

Chapter Text

“I think I’ll start by reminding you both that the walls of this house are not, in any way, soundproof,” Remus began calmly as they made a start on the warm porridge Kreacher had prepared for their breakfast. “And, as wizards in a magical household, you are capable of producing a Silencing Charm should the need arise.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Harry muttered into his spoon.

“I don’t believe I need to be here for this,” Draco pointed out, scooping up his own spoonful. 

Remus briefly raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Neither of you are getting out of this. I know I’m not a parental figure of yours, Draco, but I’m still acting guardian whilst you’re living under this roof. I’m not about to tell you both to sleep in separate bedrooms and suddenly commit to abstinence, but I think this is a good stage to talk about these things.” 

“Those things being…” Draco drawled, raising an eyebrow expectedly. 

“Sex.” 

Harry couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter at the taken-aback expression on Draco’s face. He’d obviously expected Remus to have a similar shyness around the topic to Harry. 

“Believe it or not, I was sixteen too, once. And, as you know, in a relationship with a boy who would do anything he could to rebel against his family’s values,” Remus continued, and Harry’s amusement was dashed as he suddenly found himself fancying the idea of disappearing into the floorboards. George had been bad enough, but Remus…. “It was quite early into our relationship when we first became more intimate–” 

“Fucking hell,” Harry groaned, and Draco flicked him an amused glance. 

“And it hardly lived up to our expectations,” Remus went on casually. “In fact, it was pretty terrible. We were best friends, yes, but that didn’t mean we’d taken any time yet to get to know each other in that way, or talk about how we felt. He was determined to bed someone he knew his parents would never approve of, and I was too busy being stupidly enamoured by this attractive, flirty, renegade-type, to think about anything else.” 

Harry peered at him over his glass of pumpkin juice. “As much as I’m loving your trip down memory lane…” 

“The point is, try not to rush it all just because it’s new and exciting. You will know when it feels completely right to move to the next step, and until both of you are sure , until you’re both doing it for the only right reason, my advice is to wait. And to talk, always, about how you’re feeling, whether it’s about intimacy or anything else. And –” he held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt. “Safety. That’s the other thing.” 

“We’re not even–” 

“ Once you get to that stage, whenever that might be, you need to be safe. That means, like I said, talking . And using the right products and or spells.” 

Draco’s eyes widened. “I can assure you–” 

“I’ve located a book for you,” Remus continued, ignoring their red-faced gawking and dragging over a small book with a colourful cover for them to look at. 

‘So You Want to Have Sex’ Harry read, before groaning loudly again and covering his eyes with his arm. “I’ve died, I’m dead.” 

“I’ll leave this with you both to read in your own time, okay? But do read it. It’ll answer any questions you have. And, worst case scenario, you can always ask me.” 

“No fucking chance.” 

“Language, cub,” Remus chided, though he looked a little too amused for Harry to really care. 

“Thanks ever so much for the talk, Moony, really,” he said loudly, chair scraping as he got to his feet, half-empty bowl clutched in both hands. “I think I’ll just go find a cliff to walk off now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

Draco quickly stood as well, depositing his bowl by the sink before following Harry up out of the kitchen and leaving a chuckling Remus in their wake. 

“Well, you don’t get your naivety from him, that’s for sure,” Draco said as they took to the staircase leading to the upper floors. 

Harry scoffed. “My aunt and uncle would’ve fainted at the mere mention of the word ‘sex’. Not to mention between two boys . That’s just asking for God’s punishment, or something ridiculous.” 

“Punishment sounds exciting,” Draco leered, and Harry gave him an exasperated look.

When they reached the second floor landing where their bedroom was, Draco wrapped a hand over Harry’s arm and guided him to continue upstairs. 

“There’s something I have to show you,” he explained vaguely. “I was supposed to tell you yesterday when you returned home, but…” 

Adamantly ignoring the flutter in his chest at Draco’s casual referral of the place as ‘home’, Harry grew more and more curious as they passed the third floor and finally came to a stop on the fourth floor landing, where he knew only two bedrooms to be. 

“What’re we doing up here?” he asked, frowning at the uncomfortably familiar torn wallpaper and cobweb-strewn ceiling. He still hadn’t made it to this floor to try and shift it. 

“I was bored whilst you were at Diagon Alley,” Draco said, leading him to one of the closed bedroom doors. ‘Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black’ a small sign read in neat, looping handwriting. “Remus was napping– have you noticed how tired that man always is, by the way? That’s besides the point, though.” 

He pushed the chipped door open gently with a press of his palm, and Harry cringed at the loud creak it made as it swung into the room. Inside was a bedroom the size of their own, and it was obvious that it had once been quite elegant; a beautifully carved four-poster bed, adorned by silk, sacramento-green bedding to match the slight details in the large, ornate rug that covered the floorboards. Green, wing-back armchairs sat in front of a marble fireplace, beside a long stretch of wooden bookcases and a desk strewn with papers. The wall above it held a number of newspaper clippings and wilting scraps of parchment that Harry was curious to read. 

However, the most notable item of the room was the large, beautifully-framed portrait that hung above the mantelpiece. Inside it was a face that Harry immediately recognised from the family tapestry in the drawing room below. 

“Regulus Black,” he said, gaping slightly at the painting of the handsome young man who looked so similar to his godfather yet also distinctly different. His dark brown– almost black– locks fell fairly long, though not as long as Draco’s or Sirius’, framing high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He must’ve only been seventeen or eighteen, but he had an air about him that made him seem far older. 

“You must be Harry Potter,” the portrait replied, gazing down at him with curious, grey eyes. “Draco told me about you. You truly do have–” 

“My mother’s eyes,” Harry finished for him, almost rolling the eyes in question. Was his mother remembered for anything else ? 

The boy smirked slightly, looking oddly a lot like Draco all of a sudden. “Well, yes, that too. Though, I was going to say your father’s unmistakably disastrous hair. He never did quite figure out how to manage it, despite his own father being the maker of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, would you believe it.” 

“You knew my dad?” Harry asked, stepping forward. His bowl of half-finished porridge went forgotten in his hands. 

“‘Knew’ is a loose term. He was my brother’s closest friend, as you are undoubtedly aware. I heard all the tales of how wonderful and brave and different James Potter was before he convinced my brother to run away from home.” 

Harry frowned, glancing away. “Sirius told me you both grew apart when you started at Hogwarts. And I rather think my dad did a good thing, getting Sirius out of here.” 

“I don’t disagree,” Regulus said, and Harry’s eyes widened with surprise. “He had no place here with our parents. They came very close to ruining him, and your father saved him. Though, in doing so, they condemned me.” 

“They were teenagers,” Harry said defensively. “And didn’t you choose to become a Death Eater later? Sirius said he wrote to you before you died, asking you to reach out, but you never did.” 

Regulus looked at him carefully. “I was also a teenager. You were fortunate enough to be introduced to a new world, new people, new ways of thinking, at the age of eleven. Sirius was given that same opportunity when he became friends with James. I only ever knew what my parents and my housemates taught me. Draco understands.” 

Harry glanced at his boyfriend, who was frowning slightly as he gazed at the carpet below their feet. Curiously, he looked back up at the portrait. “You call my dad by his first name. Did you know him better than you’re letting on?” 

He felt a little smug at the barest glimpse of surprise in the boy’s expression. “Clever. Though, I never denied being acquainted with him. We were never friends, and I tried to have nothing to do with him, mostly. But he had quite the saviour-complex, and for the last few years of our schooling seemed quite determined to convince me to reconnect with my brother. By then, however, it was far too late.” 

“Harry knows all about having a saviour-complex,” Draco commented with a smirk, and Harry sent a glare at him. 

“Why did you never answer Sirius’ letter?” he asked, looking back to the other Slytherin. 

“I had something important to do,” Regulus answered, looking somewhat bitter. “Which turned out to be fruitless, considering the Dark Lord sounds to still be powerful as ever. If I’d replied, he would have wanted to see me, but I couldn’t yet.” 

“What did you have to do? What do you mean considering Voldemort’s still powerful? Did you have a way to stop him?” 

The boy raised a thin, dark eyebrow in an annoyingly familiar expression of haughtiness, before turning slightly to say something in French to Draco. Harry stared between them both in dismay as they traded a series of French quips that soared right over Harry’s linguistically-untrained head. 

“I know you’re talking about me,” he huffed, crossing his arms and trying to pretend he didn’t absolutely adore Draco’s voice when he spoke French, no matter how many times he’d heard it. “I’d appreciate it if you said it to my face. In English .” 

“Jealousy is a horrid disease, Harry,” Draco said pointedly, and Harry very quickly regretted ever entering into a room where he was outnumbered by Slytherins. 

“I’m not jealous,” he lied. “I want my questions answered. They’re pretty important, I’ll have you know.” 

“And I’ll have you know that I’m quite familiar with the habit Gryffindors have of running their mouths to their friends no matter the consequence. I need to know if this is information I can trust you with, Harry Potter.” 

Harry felt his nose scrunch in irritated confusion. “Draco didn’t tell you that I’m literally the reason Voldemort almost died years ago? That he’s been after me since I turned eleven? That he’s the reason your own brother– my godfather, by the way– died earlier this year? Wait… Did–” 

“No,” Regulus interrupted with a sigh before Harry could ask the question that had just popped into his mind. “He never had a portrait made.”

He sagged slightly, staring at the floor. “Oh.” 

“It’s tradition for pureblood children to have their portraits painted with their magical signature when they come of age. Sirius left home before he turned seventeen, therefore…” 

“Was worth asking,” Harry mumbled dejectedly, brightening slightly at the gentle press of Draco’s arm against his own. “And the rest of–” 

His sentence was interrupted by a groan as his head suddenly flared with sharp pain, and he buckled over with palms pressed to his forehead. Confusingly, the ache was accompanied by a sudden surge of elation, and he would have laughed aloud in glee had he not been biting back a pained whimper. He thought he saw Draco move from the corner of his eye, but his vision quickly slipped into black as his eyes squeezed closed, and then all he could see was Mrs Malfoy and all he could hear was the silky tone of Voldemort’s voice from his own lips. 

“Thank you, Narcissa,” he felt himself say, watching a pale hand escape his own black robes and reach out to touch light fingers to Mrs Malfoy’s arm for the briefest moment. 

Her face remained expressionless as she gazed back at him. “My Lord ,” she said eventually, so quiet it was almost a whisper. 

As quick as it came, the vision suddenly disappeared, and Harry came back to himself in the bedroom on the fourth floor of number 12 Grimmauld Place. 

“Harry, can you hear me? Harry ,” Draco was asking urgently, a hand clutching his forearm and another brushing sweat-damp curls out of his face. “Harry, answer me.” 

“I’m okay,” he answered, the confusing mix of emotions quickly draining from him. “He was happy. Your mum was there–”

“What?” Draco interrupted, stepping closer. “What was he doing to her?” 

“Nothing. He just said thank you and touched her arm. D’you think she told him about seeing us at Diagon Alley? Is he happy because he knows you’re with me?” 

Draco hesitated. “She wouldn’t have told him.” 

“Maybe he used legilimency on her,” Harry suggested instead, if just to erase the slight furrow of doubt between the boy’s eyebrows. “But it doesn’t really change anything, does it? You’ve already defied him by running away. And he’s been trying to get to me for years. You being here doesn’t make that any easier for him.” 

“Perhaps he was showing you that he intends to use it,” another voice added knowingly, and Harry quickly looked at the portrait of Regulus he’d completely forgotten was in the room with them. He was staring back at Harry with narrow, curious eyes, and Harry was a little unnerved. 

“He thinks Draco will betray me? That’s not–” 

“You’re not that daft, Harry,” Draco sighed. There are other ways to manipulate a person without having to gain their consent.” 

“But you can fight the Imperius,” Harry insisted stubbornly. “You did when Moody– or, Crouch– put it on you in fourth year.” 

Draco hummed, sounding somewhat doubtful. “I suppose. I’ve just realised we should have been spending our time teaching you occlumency. Severus taught me the basics of it and legilimency at the start of the holidays. He didn’t say so, but I assume it was with the intention of keeping Voldemort out of my thoughts.” 

“Oh yeah?” Harry teased lightly. “What kind of thoughts would those be?” 

“I believe you can come to that conclusion yourself,” Draco said, smirking. 

“Mon dieu,” Regulus sighed, aggrieved, from his portrait. “Please save it for your own bedroom.” 

Harry groaned. “That bedroom’s not seeing anything after the talk we just got from Moony– Remus, sorry.” 

Despite being a painting, Regulus still managed to look faintly amused. “I’m familiar enough with the nicknames my brother and his friends created for themselves. And familiar enough with their schoolboy selves to call Lupin an utter hypocrite.” 

“I don’t need to know,” Harry said quickly, already flashing back to Remus’ words in the kitchen. “This is besides the point. I doubt I’ll ever be able to learn occlumency, Draco. Remember how it ended with Snape?” 

“Occlumency is the simple part,” Regulus commented airily, his chin tilted upwards slightly. “Legilimency is where it becomes difficult. Though I can’t imagine having Snape as a teacher would help in either regard. He never did have much of a way with others. Hard to see how he became a professor.” 

“ Thank you.” 

Draco scoffed. “Just because his way of teaching doesn’t suit you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t work at all. I learned, didn’t I?” 

“You’re a natural at everything, Draco.” 

“A natural at guarding my emotions behind a thick wall too difficult for most to climb, yes. It comes with the upbringing, I suppose,” Draco joked lightly, and Harry frowned at him. “That’s likely why it’s more difficult for you. You often let yourself be controlled by your emotions, Harry. Under Imperius, for example, this works in your favour. You fight it with your anger, your stubbornness. Occlumency is the complete opposite. You need to be able to control your emotions instead. Why do you think Severus kept reminding you of that? You need to make your mind empty, make your thoughts and your feelings so small and unimportant that if anyone were to go searching for them, they’d never find them.” 

Harry chewed thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek. “I don’t much like the idea of my thoughts and feelings being small and unimportant. People have emotions for a reason, you know.” 

“Mm,” Draco hummed disagreeably. “They can be a nuisance though.” 

“Oh, can they?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at the close distance between the two of them pointedly. 

Draco sighed. “Not always. Just… will you let me teach you? We have the rest of summer, after all.” 

“You should be learning how to defeat the Dark Lord,” Regulus said. He was looking calculatingly at Harry again, as though there were a hundred questions trapped by his lips just waiting to be answered. Harry glanced away uncomfortably. “He has been using the Dark Arts for decades, and you are a sixteen year old boy who is only alive because of blood magic used by your mother.” 

“How’d you know about that?” Harry asked, flicking a questioning look at Draco. “Just how much did you two talk about me while I was out?” 

“Can you blame me for being curious?” Regulus shrugged. “James Potter’s son, Master of the Houses of Black and Potter, committed to the Heir to the House of Malfoy, apparently famously known as the ‘Boy Who Lived’ and now the ‘Chosen One’, wanted by the Dark Lord Voldemort… shall I go on?” 

“Wanted by your former ‘Master’,” Harry corrected, raising an eyebrow. “Since you know all about me, it’s only fair I learn a little more about you. How did you die? Is it true that you got cold feet and tried to run from Voldemort? And what turned out to be fruitless? If you think it’s so important for me to learn how to defeat him, I need to know what you know.” 

“I died being drowned by Inferi in a cave where the Dark Lord hid a treasure of his. I ran from the Death Eaters because I’d discovered what I needed about the Dark Lord and set out to find this treasure to defeat him.” 

Harry stepped forward. “What treasure? How could it have defeated him?” 

The young boy in the portrait gazed down at him, grey eyes giving away none of his emotion. “Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?” 

• • •

“He split his soul?” Ron repeated for the hundredth time since Harry had sat him and Hermione down in front of the fireplace in his and Draco’s bedroom. The members of the Order of the Phoenix were gathered in the basement kitchen, and Ginny was spending the night at Luna’s house, so Harry had jumped on the opportunity to divulge their new knowledge. 

“How many times must he say it, Weasley?” Draco snapped, irritated at the unwanted house guests. Stella, who’d become very taken with Draco and was currently curled up in his lap, blinked open her eyes to peer at Ron reproachfully. 

Harry put up a hand as Ron opened his mouth to retort, glaring between the both of them. “Stop it. Yes, he split his soul, according to Regulus. The only one he knew of was the locket. We don’t know if there’s any others.” 

“Surely he couldn’t split it more than once?” Ron asked, bemused. 

“The diary!” Hermione gasped, clapping her palms to her thighs where she sat criss-crossed on the carpet. “From second year. Do you think…?” 

Harry shrugged. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“So where’s the locket, then?” Ron asked. 

“Regulus said that Kreacher had it. He was meant to find a way to destroy it, but it seems he never did.” 

Hermione looked expectant. “Have you asked? What if it’s here in the house?” 

“I haven’t yet…” Harry admitted, glancing away uncomfortably. “I’m worried that Voldemort might find out if I get in contact with it, or something. This is our advantage, right now. We need to find out how many there are and how exactly we’re meant to destroy them first. If he knows we know, he’ll be more protective of them, won’t he?” 

“I suppose,” Hermione said. “We should tell Dumbledore then, shouldn’t we? If anyone knows how to destroy them, he does.” 

Draco made a tutting sound, but didn’t speak, and Harry shot a look his way. 

“We thought we should try researching it first. If that fails, then we’ll go to Dumbledore.” 

“I’m hopeless at research,” Ron sighed, propping his feet up on the tea table in front of them and leaning back in his seat. 

Draco gave him a look of disgust. “Isn’t it lucky you have Granger and I?” 

“And me,” Harry added, mildly offended. 

“Of course,” Draco amended, lips twitching in amusement. “You can keep us fed.” 

Ron sat up quickly, blue eyes sparking as he glared at Draco. “Harry’s great at research.” 

Harry shared an exasperated glance with Hermione. 

“No, he’s not,” Draco said slowly, ignoring Harry’s quiet sound of protest. “The only book I believe he’s managed to finish without having it read to him aloud is ‘A Complete Guide to Becoming an Animagus’ . Harry learns by doing, not by reading. I’m sure you’re quite aware of this, Weasley, don’t play a fool just to defend his honour.” 

“I’m right here, you know,” Harry interjected, reaching over to tug lightly at the end of the blond’s stubby ponytail. 

Draco gave him an unimpressed look, lifting his hand carelessly to catch Harry’s fingers and intertwine them with his own to settle back atop Stella’s sleeping form. “Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong?” 

Already flushed by the sweet act of affection in front of his two friends, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to even try and argue the point. Instead, he shook his head silently, lips twitching into a small smile as his gaze dropped to their joined hands. 

“Oh, bloody hell ,” Ron groaned, following Harry’s gaze and slumping back against his cushion dramatically. 

“Do you think Regulus is lonely upstairs in that room?” Hermione asked in an attempt to quickly move the conversation along. “Maybe you should bring him down here.” 

Draco arched an eyebrow her way. “Here? Where the two of us share a bed at night? Is it because he’s a Slytherin that you consider him a pervert?” 

It only took Ron and Hermione a moment to understand his meaning, and by then, Harry was already trying to sink himself into the couch in utter embarrassment. 

“Oh, really…” Hermione sighed, gaze averting awkwardly away. 

Ron’s face had screwed up in disgust, almost as red as his hair. “I did not need to know.” 

“You Gryffindors are such puritans,” Draco said, amusement only visible in the slight quirk of his lips. “You wouldn’t survive a minute in Slytherin. They’d eat you alive.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Ron huffed, discomfort quickly replaced by boastfulness. 

“I doubt that very much.” 

Sensing an opportunity to have one-up on the boy, Ron sat forward, smug grin spreading across his face. “Me and Harry’ve already been, actually. Bet you didn’t know about that.” 

Harry watched as an array of emotions flicked across Draco’s face all of a sudden, before the boy was turning to him with an accusing glare. “You’ve what?” 

“It was only really quick,” Harry explained hurriedly, putting up his free hand in an act of surrender. “Back in second year, we just wanted to find out if you were the Heir of Slytherin. It was a complete waste, really.” 

“You– how?” 

“We… well…” 

“We used Polyjuice,” Ron filled in happily. “To be Crabbe and Goyle. Had a whole chat with you, actually.” 

Draco blinked, bewildered. “We always assumed they’d made up that story. Let me guess, Granger brewed the potion? Where did you even keep that? There’s no chance Severus allowed you into the dungeons for it.” 

“In the girl’s lavatory on the second floor,” Hermione answered sheepishly. “No one goes in because of Moaning Myrtle.” 

“How… delinquent of you, Granger. Perhaps you would survive Slytherin, after all,” Draco said, before drawing himself up in a way that very quickly worried Harry. “I must say, though, our common room is so much more dignified than the ghastly, red hotchpotch that is your own.” 

Ron spluttered, the air of superiority that had hung around him dissipating instantly. “ What?”

Smirking broadly, Draco nodded. “Oh, yes. You didn’t know? I’ve spent hours up in that little den you lot call a dormitory.” 

“You’re lying,” Ron declared confidently. “We’d have known if you were in the dorm with us.” 

“You have ‘Chudley Cannons’ bedsheets, a toilet-paper roll on your bedside table that you apparently use as tissues because you’re allergic to Granger’s cat, and a stash of confections in a box beneath your bed that you think is charmed to remain locked.” 

Ron blinked, mouth agape, before suddenly catching up with Draco’s last words. “ That’s where they’ve been disappearing to! You absolute bugger! You broke my charm!” 

“Believe me now, do you?” Draco preened, the epitome of smug satisfaction as he sat back against his cushion and tightened his hold on Harry’s hand. 

“You let him into our dorm?” Ron asked accusingly, frowning at Harry. “And you let him steal my stuff!” 

“I can replace the sweets, Ron,” Harry said exasperatedly. 

Draco sighed dramatically. “A sugar burst is always necessary after such exhausting activities, you understand.” 

“Gah!” Ron cried, throwing his hands up. “I don’t want to hear about any activities! I don’t want to even think about any activities. Especially in my dorm! Harry–!” 

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione sighed, eyes glinting with amusement. “What did you expect, really? Seamus and Dean are usually sharing a bed, aren’t they?” 

Ron frowned. “Well, yeah, but…” 

Harry smiled as Ron continued to complain and Hermione did her best to play devil’s advocate at every turn. He felt Draco’s amused gaze settle on him, and met it with his grin, pulling their joined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Draco’s and feeling his heart warm at the smile he received in return. 

“After the meeting finishes downstairs, could you ask Fleur to come up?” Draco asked quietly, his other hand playing loosely with Stella’s twitching ears. “I’d like to see her again.” 

“Sure,” Harry murmured, kissing his hand again for no reason other than that he could. “Are you going to tell her about… well, us?” 

Draco smiled, grey eyes scrunching adorably. “Yes, though I’m sure she already knows, somehow.” 

“If she tries to pick on you, ask her about Tonks.” 

“Nymphadora Tonks? My cousin?” 

“Tonks is your cousin?” Ron interrupted, having finished his quarrelling with Hermione. 

“Andromeda, her mother, is my aunt. She was cast out of my mother’s family, though, so I’ve not met either of them,” Draco explained. 

“Does that make you Sirius’ cousin, then?” 

“Once removed, yes,” Draco nodded. “You must be the only pureblood who hasn’t had the entire bloodlines of the Sacred Twenty-Eight drilled into him.” 

“My family doesn’t really care for all that pureblood nonsense,” Ron said, a little too pointedly for Harry’s liking. 

Draco was quick to adjust. “I don’t believe it necessary, Weasley. The Sacred Twenty-Eight has bias and inaccuracy written all the way through. Although, I’ve always had an interest for the old wizarding families. The Blacks, Prewetts, Gaunts, etcetera. Even the Potters. Did you know that the Potters and Gaunts descended from the Peverell family?” 

Harry, who’d never heard of either the Gaunts or the Peverells, shook his head. 

“The Peverells are a very old wizarding family; one of the first to die out in the male line. Some say that three of the Peverell men, all brothers, were the inspiration of a well-known wizarding legend, ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’ . Surely you know that one, Weasley.” 

“‘Course,” Ron scoffed, sitting up a little. “Mum read it to us as kids all the time.” 

Draco smirked lightly. “Then you might recall there being three magical objects, one of which went on to be passed down through generations of children. Have you really never thought it curious that Harry Potter, a descendant of Ignotus Peverell, was given an invisibility cloak by his father?”

“You’ve lost me,” Harry said with a sigh. “You’re saying my cloak is some famous magical object from an old children’s tale?” 

“You’re barking,” Ron told Draco. “That’d make the cloak hundreds of years old. And the other objects from the story aren’t real. Imagine if someone was holding onto a wand like that, made by Death himself to win any duel imaginable. Or a stone to bring people back from the dead .” 

Harry sat up. “A stone to what?” 

“It’s not real, Harry,” Hermione said, sounding somewhat apologetic. “No wizard or muggle has ever found a way to bring others back from the dead. It’s just not possible. Besides, the cloak is amazing, but it couldn’t hold up for even a hundred years, let alone several hundred.” 

“Only a theory,” Draco shrugged, looking away from the three of them. And as much as Harry wanted to believe his theory could have some truth to it, Hermione’s logic won out. 

“Speaking of the cloak, what are we going to do once we start back at school? Everyone thinks you’re missing,” he said, prompting Draco to meet his gaze again. “Won’t it be weird if you just… show up?” 

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you didn’t make that connection by assuming that I’d spend the entire school year beneath an invisibility cloak.” 

“I mean… it’s an option,” Harry shrugged, only half-joking. 

“It is absolutely not. And it’s much too late to try for an animagus, so, I suppose I will just ‘show up’ after all. My father be damned.” 

“Bloody hell, I never thought I’d hear that out of your mouth,” Ron said, eyes wide. 

Hermione sat forward. “Are you sure there’d be no way for them to reach you, even at Hogwarts? Are there not students in your house that would, I don’t know… try to hand you over, somehow?” 

“My friends are loyal,” Draco said assuredly, though Harry didn’t miss the slight down-turn to his lips that suggested he might hold some doubt for his own words. “Some have families that are quite neutral over bloodlines, and once the others are aware that they have another option, I expect most will be fairly adaptable. The rest of the house… I can’t be so sure of. I expect not all of them will take kindly to the so-famously called ‘Prince of Slytherin’ suddenly becoming friendly with the Dark Lord’s teenage nemesis.” 

“I think you mean the self-proclaimed ‘Prince of Slytherin’,” Harry pointed out teasingly. “And it sounds stupid when you call me his ‘teenage nemesis’.” 

“That’s precisely what you are, and it is ridiculous when you think about it.” 

“So you’re going to tell everyone about the two of you, then?” Ron asked, very clearly trying not to wrinkle his nose at the mere thought. 

Harry glanced at Draco hesitantly, who seemed to have already lost interest in the conversation and was idly tracing the veins of Harry’s hand. “We haven’t really talked about it. Everyone will find out quick enough that we’re… friends, at least. I don’t plan on pretending to fight anymore. Hopefully that’ll mean people will be less likely to try anything on you.” 

“Lest they wish to face the wrath of their famous Chosen One,” Draco drawled, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“I–” 

He promptly forgot whatever he was about to say as the words were suddenly swallowed by Draco’s mouth, neatly slotting against his own for the briefest moment before disappearing just as quickly. He blinked, face warm, as Draco settled back in his seat as though nothing had happened. 

“Close your mouth, darling,” he said smoothly, and Harry’s jaw snapped closed, a spark of heat travelling quickly down his body. 

Hermione got to her feet suddenly. “We should go. Do talk about it, when you get the chance. Thanks for telling us about the Horcruxes.” 

“Alright, alright!” Ron was huffing as Hermione tugged at his arm, using her spare hand to reach for a handful of green powder from a pouch on the fireplace mantle and tossing it into the flames. “What’s up with you?” 

“Have a good night,” Hermione said brightly, ignoring Ron altogether. “ The Burrow.” 

They were both whisked away suddenly by the green flames, and Harry turned to find Draco’s gaze heavy on his own, lips turned upwards into a triumphant smirk. 

“Sorry, Stella,” Harry said, lifting the cat from Draco’s lap and setting her on the carpet below. He took her vacated spot, then, knees planted on either side of Draco’s thighs and arms wrapping loosely around his neck. “What was that for, hm, darling?”

Draco’s arms wound around Harry’s waist, tugging him in close enough that Harry could feel his breath warm against his own lips. “I got fed up sharing,” he murmured, before he was pressing their mouths back together in a heated kiss.

Chapter Text

“This is hopeless,” Harry sighed, tossing his wand aside and slumping into a chair that had been pushed against the wall of the dining room. 

Since, to Kreacher’s ongoing displeasure, they tended to take most of their meals in the downstairs kitchen, the long dining room on the ground floor had been cleared as a space for Harry and Draco, and sometimes Remus, to practise magic for a period of time each day. Since their first talk with Regulus, it had also become a space for Draco to teach– or, at least try to teach– Harry occlumency. 

“You’re too easily distracted,” Draco said, for the hundredth time. “Your mind is always in a million places at once.” 

Harry groaned. “Tell me something I don’t know, Draco. It’s my mind.” 

“Then control it!” 

“I can’t! I told you that this was a waste of time. We should be duelling or practising wandless magic or reading up about Sirius or something actually productive.” 

Draco’s eyes narrowed, arms crossing over his chest. “This is not a waste of time, Potter. We need to get him out of your head, you know this. We’re not giving up.” 

“Maybe it’s just not possible for me, okay?” Harry said, sinking deeper into the chair and watching Stella slink into the room and brush up against Draco’s legs. He dropped a hand near the floor, clicking and making kissy noises until she eventually turned her attention to him. “Hi sweetheart, have you come to berate me too?” 

“Mrow,” Stella responded, butting her head against his hand. 

“Harry,” Draco sighed, giving up on appearing cross and folding his legs beneath him to sit cross-legged on the floor by Harry’s feet. Stella chirruped happily and climbed upon his lap to begin kneading his thigh with her socked paws. “There has to be moments where your thoughts take a pause. When your mind feels utterly blank. Can you think of any?” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, peering down at the boy on the floor. “I can think of one.” 

“Not during an orgasm,” Draco said, sounding long-suffering and ignoring Harry’s amused snort. “Perhaps when you’ve been completely focussed on something? So much so that nothing could have distracted you?” 

Harry considered. “I suppose when I’m focused on my magic. Especially without my wand.” 

“Are you focussing on the spell you’re trying to perform?” 

“Well, a bit. But… it’s more about concentrating on the feel of it. At my core or when it reaches my fingers or when it's fizzing in the air. If I focus on feeling my magic then it’s easy to manipulate it.” 

He smiled a little at the small crease of concentration between Draco’s eyebrows as he frowned down at Stella, who’d made herself comfortable in a tight ball of fur. “Instead of trying to empty your mind entirely, could you try to focus solely on your magic? Or… or even on mine? The next step from being able to empty your mind is to sense when someone is trying to enter it. But you’re always one to do things backwards.” 

“So… if I try to put all my focus on feeling your magic you won’t be able to get to my mind?” 

“We’ll find out.” 

“Alright, then,” Harry said, getting to his feet. “I won’t use my wand. My magic is automatically drawn to it if it feels as though I’m readying to cast.” 

Draco hummed, relocating Stella to the vacated chair and standing to press a quick kiss to Harry’s mouth. “You’re truly a wonder, Harry James.” 

Harry pulled a face. “Only Remus and Molly call me that.” 

“I find I quite like it. Harry James … it sounds like those muggle music artists we listen to.” 

“It does not,” Harry scoffed, pushing the boy lightly to take his place several paces away. “Draco Abraxas sounds like one of those posh aristocrats that live in giant manors and own albino peacocks and… wait…” 

Draco interrupted him with another kiss, harder this time. “Shut up, Potter. Three… two… Legilimens!” 

Harry jerked back at the familiar jolt of magic, snippets of memories already flinging themselves to the forefront of his mind. Instead of trying to push them away, however, Harry concentrated on ignoring them completely and instead seeking out the thread of foreign magic that was tempting them out. It wasn’t hard to find, given Harry’s familiarity with the feeling of Draco’s magic by now. Cooler than Harry’s; firm, controlled, and without area for fault. It felt like dipping his fingertips into the Great Lake; catching snowflakes on his tongue; watching raindrops trickle down the windowpane in Gryffindor Tower. 

Harry’s, on the other hand, was all heat; untamed and restless and fizzing as though readying to explode. The touch of a lit match to parchment; the static in the air before a lightning strike; the spitting of oil on a too-hot pan. Once the fire had found the liquid of Draco’s magic that seeped into the depths of his mind, it only took mere moments to envelope it, simmer and then boil it until it was forced to evaporate. 

“Ouch, fuck,” Draco hissed, and the delicate stream slipped from Harry’s mind instantly. 

Harry blinked his eyes open, gaze falling on Draco’s wand hand where it had jerked back to his chest. “Shit, did I hurt you?” he asked, stepping forward and reaching for the hand. Draco let him take it, and he unravelled the clenched fingers, watching as his wand rolled against raw-red skin. “Draco! You’re burnt!” 

“Guess it worked,” Draco said through clenched teeth. He picked up his wand with his spare hand, pressing the tip to the burn. “Lenimen.”  

He sighed as the redness faded instantly, wiggling his fingers with satisfaction. “Episkey,” he said then, and the scarred skin repaired itself before their eyes. 

“Draco,” Harry said, flipping the boy’s hand over to check for any more burns. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that would happen. I… I’m so, so sorry.” 

Draco stretched his fingers out wide. “It’s fine, Harry. It’s all gone, see? No harm done.” 

“Are you kidding ?” Harry exclaimed. “I burnt you! I… I–” 

“Harry,” Draco sighed. “We’ve both jinxed each other more times than we can count in this room. The burn is gone and it stung for only a moment. That was great, anyway. I barely had a glimpse of anything before I was shocked right out.” 

“I thought the aim was for my concentration to eliminate the thoughts.” 

“The more you get used to feeling an invasion in your mind, the quicker your magic will automatically be able to react. If you can’t empty your mind, you may as well have a rapid defence for it.” 

Harry sighed, curling his fingers around Draco’s own and pulling him close enough to rest their foreheads against each other. “I think that’s enough for one day.”

“Fine,” Draco smiled, and Harry watched in confusion as he tossed his own wand to the ground where Harry’s lay abandoned. “Time for you to teach.” 

“You’ve already got the hang of it, I don’t think you really need me.” 

Draco shrugged, stepping back and facing a stack of books sitting on the dining table against the opposite wall. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered, one hand outstretched. The book at the top of the pile hovered momentarily before dropping back down. “See? Ridiculous.” 

“Give yourself more time to centre your magic first,” Harry said, amused. “Close your eyes, feel it, then try.” 

Grumbling beneath his breath, Draco begrudgingly let his eyelids fall closed, and Harry contented himself with admiring him for the few brief moments it took for them to flutter open again. He didn’t need to close his eyes to feel the magic rippling through the air, wrapping around Draco’s arm and swirling like ribbons through his outstretched fingers. 

Draco took a breath in and let it out quietly, whispering again: “Wingardium Leviosa.”

This time, the top book rose into the air and remained there, to Draco’s obvious delight. He glanced at Harry smugly, and Harry restrained himself from showing off his own wandless magic to spite him. 

“That’s better,” he said instead, smiling approvingly. “Feel your magic that time?” 

“Yes,” Draco nodded, dropping his hand and allowing the book to fall again. “But that’s a first-year spell. It’s hardly impressive.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ll get better with practice, dragon. Don’t set such high expectations for yourself.” 

“Show me something.” 

“Something?” 

Draco nodded, looking expectant. “You need practice, too.” 

Harry hummed, glancing around the room for something to cast on. Then, “Diffindo,” he muttered, followed by “Locomotor.” 

Numerous pieces of crystal broke off deftly from the chandelier hanging above their heads, following the direction of Harry’s swirling hand to dance in delicate circles and spirals around the room. 

“Cute,” Draco murmured, watching them. 

Taking this as a challenge, Harry whispered a Shield Charm to cover them– and Stella, who’d curiously gotten to her feet to watch– before shattering the dancing crystals into tiny fragments that rained down over them. He was readying to sweep them over their heads again and possibly attempt some sort of shape, before they were interrupted by a throat being cleared at the doorway. 

“As exciting as this performance is,” Remus said amusedly as Harry dropped the Shields. “The Weasleys will be arriving any moment for lunch, and as we’re planning to dine in here this time…” 

“‘Course,” Harry said, flicking the crystals to the ceiling and casting a Reparo , before spelling the table and chairs along the wall into the centre of the room again. 

“Fucking show off,” Draco tutted, bending to look for his wand. 

Harry smirked. “Accio Draco’s wand,” he said, catching it as it flew to his hand and holding it out for Draco smugly. 

“Your head has grown too big, Potter,” he sniffed, snatching his wand and pointing it at the table. “Mensa Disponere. ” 

Harry watched in surprise as shining cutlery and crockery flew from the large cabinet across the room to arrange themselves atop linen placemats that had neatly unfurled in front of each seat. He looked at Draco with narrowed eyes. “So all this time, you’ve been pretending you don’t know how to help out, huh?” 

Draco shrugged, tucking his wand up his sleeve. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

• • •

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Harry asked quietly, standing beside Remus as they gazed at the dark wood of Sirius’ bedroom door. ‘Sirius Orion Black’ had been carved messily into it, in true Sirius fashion. “We still have a whole week till school starts back.”

“The full moon is in three days and the rest of the week will be hard enough coming to terms with you two going back. Now is the best time,” Remus sighed, but made no move to open the door. 

Harry smiled, glancing at the man. “You’ll miss Draco, too?” 

“Without him, we’d both have spent this summer much worse off. If there’s one thing those pureblood brats are good for, it’s making others work.” 

“Hey,” Harry laughed. “He’s still my boyfriend, remember.” 

“Then you know I mean it fondly,” Remus said, smiling and ruffling Harry’s hair before he could duck away. “Perhaps I can keep Regulus’ portrait downstairs for some familiarity.”

“He’d probably like that.” 

When Remus didn’t reply, Harry decided they’d waited long enough outside a closed door, and reached out to open it, allowing it to swing open with a low groan. Similar to his brother’s room next-door, the centrepiece of Sirius’ teenage bedroom was the four-poster bed across the opposite wall. Different, however, was the almost-obnoxious level of Gryffindor red and gold covering the room. Harry, who’d spent enough time with Sirius to know that his favourite colour was certainly not red of any shade, was a little surprised. 

“One of his ways of rebellion,” Remus explained without Harry having to ask. “He thought the Gryffindor colours were awfully distasteful, actually, and was quite disappointed that Gryffindor hadn’t been blessed with green or blue instead. But, if he could shove it in his family’s face that he wasn’t like them, he would.” 

“Is that what these are about too?” Harry asked, walking over to a desk layered with dust where the wall held an abundance of still or moving pictures and magazine print-outs of motorbikes and girls wearing bikinis. 

Remus snorted. “He loved women, but definitely not for their bodies. If someone gave him the opportunity to be one for a day or two, he’d take it in a second. I think this was partly him trying to cover up that fact from his parents. Purebloods, huh?” 

“They never knew he was gay?” 

“Not if Pads could help it,” Remus sighed, and his smile seemed bittersweet. “The parents that mattered to him did, though. Your dad’s parents. They never made him hide a thing.” 

“I wish I could’ve seen him like that,” Harry said, gazing at a photo of the four Marauders, arms around each other’s shoulders as they beamed at the camera. “All of you.” 

Remus hummed, looking at the picture for a moment more before wandering over to the fireplace mantle, where more moving photos of the four friends sat. “I wish you could have too. He was never quite the same after Azkaban. With time, maybe…” 

He paused, and Harry glanced at his back, deciding whether he would welcome a hug or not. But then he continued, and Harry pretended it had never happened. 

“Your dad, too. God, the two of them got up to some barmy things. You know Minerva told me the moment Fred and George started their first year at Hogwarts, she knew instantly what she was in for, because she’d seen it all before already.” 

“I can imagine,” Harry said, grinning slightly. “We should bring some of these downstairs.”

He’d followed Remus to the fireplace to look at a photo of James and Sirius at what seemed to be twelve or thirteen years old, Sirius on James’ shoulders and their Gryffindor ties around both of their heads like bandanas. There was another photo of the four of them beside it, sitting in a haphazard pile on a couch in the Gryffindor common room, wrestling and laughing and sharing silent jibes. In another frame was a picture of Remus on that same couch, face buried in a book, with a large, black dog stretched over him lazily. 

“You’re right,” Remus answered finally, reaching out to pick up the framed photographs and set them in a pile on top of one of the dusty wingback chairs. “We can put them with the recent ones.” 

Harry smiled, nodding, and picked up a yellowed postcard resting against the wall. The picture was of what Harry thought might be the Taj Mahal, purposefully made to look more old and vintage-like. He flipped the card over and read: 

Dear Pads, 

You guys are all such babies. You’d think I’ve been away ten years rather than ten days. I’m sure you can find more ways to entertain yourselves than thinking about me, missing me, wondering about where I am and what I’m doing, etc. etc.. Unless it’s flying. DO NOT fly without me under any circumstances, including being supremely depressed and lonely and missing me. 

India is AMAZING so far. The food here is bloody BRILL and I’m going to miss it immensely when I’m back at Hogwarts eating boring mash and soup and pies. Maybe I can talk the house-elves into trying a vindaloo sometime. Despite the postcard, we haven’t actually visited the Taj Mahal yet, but it’s on the list. At the moment we’re in Mumbai, which is really exciting. Some muggle kids taught me this sport called cricket (like the insect? ask Moony) this afternoon - it’s weird, and nowhere near as good as Quidditch, but I had fun. 

Mum and Dad say hi, by the way. They say they hope Hogwarts is okay over Christmas and that they’re sorry we’ll miss out on Yule together. I wonder if wizards in India celebrate Yule? I guess I’ll find out. I hope Yule is still okay without me (it won’t be, it will suck without me). 

I’ll write again soon. Give Moony a good snog from me. 

James. 

P.S. Has Lily mentioned me? Did she go home for Christmas? Has she spoken to you?? How is she????

“My dad travelled to India?” Harry asked aloud, chuckling lightly at the dramatics of his final message. 

“Ah, yes,” Remus said, looking over his shoulder. “In fourth year. The Potters went somewhere new every year. India was always James’ favourite, though, of course.”

Harry nodded, feeling very fond of his father all of a sudden. Sirius and Remus had told him about his cultural heritage, about what they could remember of James telling them of his family, but it was different to see his father’s excitement here in his own words. It struck something in him, then. A desire to find that same excitement, to explore the world like his father’s family had been able to. He’d never even really considered it a possibility, what with the Dursleys always leaving him at home when they travelled outside of London. 

“Perhaps we’ll go one day,” Remus said softly, as though reading his thoughts. 

Harry smiled. “I hope so.”

Skimming the letter once more, he tucked it into the pocket of his jeans, careful not to wrinkle it. Then, he wandered over to the large, dark-wood wardrobe against the opposite wall. Making a face at the abundance of messy spider-web coating the thing, he pulled at one of the handles and the door creaked open to reveal a half-empty set of old clothing. 

“He didn’t clear it all out,” he said, somewhat surprised. 

He began to rifle through the rack, pulling out any items that hadn’t been completely chewed-through by Doxies and tossing them onto the bed in a messy pile. 

“He never came up here after returning to the place. Everything left in there are things he couldn’t fit in his bag when he ran away to your dad’s, most likely,” Remus said, coming over to pick at some of the clothes on the bed, spelling them dust-free one at a time. “Some of it would probably fit you. He never had much height on him.” 

“Ouch,” Harry said with a laugh, picking up a heavy, distressed-leather motorcycle jacket from the floor of the wardrobe and holding it up. 

He didn’t need to ask if Sirius had worn it often. The faint feel of his magic was still recognisable– warm and crackly like Harry’s, but taut with the excited suspense of a firecracker waiting to go off, or the rev of a motorbike before skidding off against the tarmac. Harry breathed in, revelling in the familiar fold of magic. 

“Can I keep this?” he asked, shrugging the jacket on and brushing his hands over the leather reverently. When Remus didn’t answer, he glanced up, finding the man staring at him, gaze heavy with sadness. “I don’t have to.” 

“Of course you can, cub,” Remus said, voice rough. He blinked a couple of times, then turned away and busied himself with opening various drawers in Sirius’ bedside table. 

“I recognise it from the photo of the four of you,” Harry continued cautiously, not wanting to make Remus more emotional but also trying to show that he was open to hearing about it. “It’s… it still feels like him. His magic. It’s like he’s…” he stopped abruptly, keenly aware of the scratch in his throat. 

It’s like he’s hugging me right now , he’d wanted to say. Like he’s got his arms wrapped around me so tight I can hardly breathe, yet I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. His magic is right here, I can smell his cologne, I can feel the scruff on his cheeks against my own, he’s right here . 

Taking a chance, he glanced at the grimy full-length mirror several paces away, and the block in his throat only tightened at the sight of his godfather, right there , tucked around Harry’s body in a bear-hug that Harry could feel. He saw himself open his mouth, to say what, he had no clue, but before his lips could form any words, Remus was talking again. 

“He wore that all the time,” he said softly from across the room, and Harry could feel his gaze on him, even if his own was still stuck on the man in the mirror. 

Sirius had looked up, staring out of the glass in the direction where Remus stood with an expression of desperate longing. It was all Harry could do not to tell the man to just step closer and look into the mirror, to see his partner there. 

“He was so angry at himself for leaving it,” Remus continued, oblivious. “He bought a new one, of course, once he was staying at your dad’s. It’s downstairs in my room now. But it doesn’t have all the memories of its original.” 

“You should have it,” Harry managed to say, tearing his gaze away from his godfather to meet Remus’ stare. 

He smiled. “No, Harry. That one’s yours. Give it some new memories for him.” 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, looking back to the mirror and finding himself alone again, standing in a too-big bedroom with a too-big jacket on his shoulders. He reached up to rub at his eyes, willing his tears away and mostly failing. “Fuck.” 

“Harry,” Remus murmured gently, finally walking over– moments too late– and wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder, prompting him to tuck his face into Remus’ shoulder and try to breathe through shuddering sobs. “Shh, shh.” 

“I miss him,” he choked, feeling the cloth of Remus’ shirt dampening beneath his eyes. 

He felt it as Remus’ breath stuttered, followed by a long exhale. “Me too, cub. Me too.”

Chapter Text

Harry woke on the 2nd of September, like any other morning, with Draco beside him. Different from most mornings, however, was that Draco was still asleep, his long legs tangled loosely with Harry’s own and one arm flung lazily over Harry’s chest. Whilst Harry always took hours to fall asleep and would usually sleep till the middle of the morning, he’d quickly discovered that Draco was a morning person. More often than not, Harry would wake up to Draco lounging beside him, a book propped up in his lap and a steaming mug of tea in one hand. And each time, without fail, Draco would murmur “good morning, darling” , lean down to plant a kiss to Harry’s forehead, and go right back to reading. 

As much as Harry had come to love this little tradition, there was something particularly special about waking up to Draco’s slow breathing against the pillow, pink lips parted just slightly to emit the quietest of sighs. Golden sunlight filtered freely through their bedroom window to paint the pale expanse of his naked back in honeyed hues, and Harry wanted desperately to reach over and press his mouth to every single speck of light. A red bruise stained the slope between Draco’s shoulder and neck, and Harry reached a hand out to brush it gently, lips curving into a smile at the memory of making it. 

His gaze followed his fingers as they trailed over Draco’s shoulder blade, traced the sunken line of his spine until it disappeared beneath white sheets pushed to his waist overnight. Only just visible, two dimples dented either side of Draco’s lower back, and Harry pressed the pad of his thumb to one of them curiously. He couldn’t remember taking notice of them before, and it was all he could do not to trace them over and over in awe. 

“Good morning, darling,” Draco whispered suddenly, voice rough with sleep, and Harry’s gaze flicked up to meet familiar silver-grey. 

Draco didn’t make to remove his arm, instead splaying his palm flat and warm over Harry’s stomach, white against a brown canvas. 

“Morning,” Harry mumbled belatedly, fingers still feather-light against the boy’s back. “D’you know you have two dimples? Here, and here,” he said, pressing gently over each dip. 

“I s’pose it’s only fair,” Draco replied, his usual posh tone slipping lazily. “You have them in your cheeks.” 

Harry hummed. “I like yours better.” 

“You’re biased.” 

“Don’t care.” 

Draco smiled and Harry returned it, glancing down to watch the hand on his stomach rise and fall with his own breaths. 

“You slept in,” he said eventually, laying his own hand on top of Draco’s and intertwining their fingers. “Not like you.” 

“I slept poorly,” Draco replied, proving his point with a yawn, turning his face into the pillow to stifle it. “Perhaps we should spend the day in bed to make up for it.” 

Harry gave him a knowing look. “You’re worried about going back.” 

“There’s hardly room to be worried with the number of ‘security measures’ they’ve lined up for you. Order members… Aurors… One would think you’d never faced the Dark Lord before in your life.” 

“Apparently I’m important.” 

Draco’s gaze went soft. “You are, Harry.” 

“So are you,” Harry said, pulling Draco’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles gently. “Everything will be fine. I’ll stay with you always, I promise.” 

“Harry,” Draco said, trying for exasperation but coming out fond. “I know.” 

• • •

“How will Draco be able to come with us in the Ministry cars if the Ministry is under the impression that he’s missing?” Hermione asked, hands wringing. Her and the Weasleys had come from the Burrow after breakfast to depart together for Kings Cross Station. 

Harry shrugged. “He can sit on my lap while he’s wearing the cloak.” 

“Merlin, please don’t,” Ron groaned. 

“I’ll apparate him to the nearest safe point by the station,” Remus said. “We’ll meet you at the barrier so that we can go through together. That alright with you, Draco?”

Draco nodded shortly. “That’s fine.” 

“Who else are we meeting there?” Ginny asked, absentmindedly stroking the fur of her new purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, where he sat contently on her shoulder. 

“Fleur, Bill, and Tonks. A couple more Aurors, too, just in case,” Mr Weasley answered, pointing his wand at their various items of luggage and shrinking them one at a time. 

“The cars are here!” Mrs Weasley called then, bustling inside the front door to hurry them all outside. 

“You have the cloak?” Harry asked Draco, despite having made sure of this at least ten times already that morning. Draco gave him an exasperated look, the invisibility cloak folded neatly over one arm. “Just making sure. Be safe, okay? I’ll see you on the platform. Love you,” he said, leaning over to kiss him quickly. 

Draco smiled slightly, cheeks tinged pink. “I love you too, Scarhead. Try not to die along the way.” 

“Can’t make any promises.” 

“Godric, you guys are gross,” Ginny interrupted, tone teasing. “Let’s go, Harry, or we’ll never get there.” 

With one last look back at Draco, Harry slipped his shrunken trunk and broomstick into the pockets of his jacket, picking up Hedwig’s cage in one hand and following the others out of the door. He, Hermione, and the Weasleys all bundled into the two Ministry cars waiting outside, neatly ignoring the drivers’ bewildered looks as they all seemingly appeared out of thin air. 

When they reached Kings Cross, it was to find two grim-faced Aurors in dark, muggle suits, alongside the more familiar faces of Tonks, Fleur, and Bill. 

“Wotcha, Harry,” Tonks greeted with a wide grin, her hair a fiery orange colour to rival those of the Weasleys. “The more gingers travelling together, the less weird, right?” 

“I think you might have it the wrong way round,” Harry laughed, hugging her briefly before being tugged forwards by Fleur for a kiss to either of his cheeks. 

“Bonjour, ‘Arry!” she said brightly, peering not-so-subtly over his shoulder. “And where is ton copain?” 

“Moony’s apparating him separately. We thought it’d be safer,” Harry explained, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as his brain unhelpfully supplied a number of scenarios that would prove that statement incorrect. “They should be meeting us at the barrier.” 

Even seeing Remus stood waiting for them at the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 did little to soothe his anxiety. There were too many people milling about for Harry to feel out Draco’s magic, so he just had to assume that the boy was at Remus’ side, hidden beneath the invisibility cloak. 

“All okay?” he asked when they reached the barrier, sighing a little in relief as something– Draco, presumably– brushed against his hand. A couple of wizarding families passing through the barrier glanced his way, but he couldn’t yet see anyone that he might’ve recognised as one of Voldemort’s followers. 

“All fine,” Remus assured, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Arthur and Ginny will go through first, then you’re next with Tonks. I’ll come through right after.” 

Harry nodded, waiting for Ginny and Mr Weasley to pass through the barrier before hoisting Hedwig’s cage up further in his arm and jogging through himself, Tonks at his side. Remus came through immediately after, and Harry felt Draco grip his hand tightly through the cloak. 

“My mother is here,” he whispered right by Harry’s ear, and Harry spotted Narcissa Malfoy a moment later, standing silently across the platform. 

She looked as pale as she had that day in Diagon Alley, hands clasped tightly in front of her and face expressionless. As though she could feel Harry’s gaze on her, she turned ever-so-slightly to meet it, and Draco’s hold on his hand tightened. 

“She can’t see you,” Harry murmured, as though to assure him, but half of him thought that Draco might wish she could. “Come on.” 

The rest of their group had made it through the barrier by then, and Harry kept hold of Draco’s invisible hand as they moved to find an empty train compartment to leave their luggage inside. 

“Ron and I will need to go to the prefect carriage first,” Hermione said apologetically after setting Crookshanks on one of the seats. “And so will…” She glanced at the empty space beside Harry where Draco stood. 

“Not until the train’s moving,” Harry said quickly, glancing outside the window at the group of sixth-year Slytherins and their parents. 

They stepped off the train again to say goodbye to the adults, and Draco dropped Harry’s hand briefly as Harry was swept up in a tight hug by Remus. 

“Please stay safe, cub. Draco, too. And call me in the mirror when you can. The house will be a lot emptier without the two of you in it.” 

“You still have Stella,” Harry said, reaching up on his toes to brush his cheek against Remus’ stubbled one. He knew the man– and especially his wolf– needed all the affection Harry could give now if he was going to make it through the school term without it. “And the members of the Order. And the Weasleys. Please don’t keep to yourself too much, okay? Your pack doesn’t have to just be me. They’re all there for you, too.” 

“I know, Harry,” Remus smiled, but it felt bittersweet. “The same goes for you, even if you’re not a wolf. You’re not alone, not ever. I love you, cub.” 

Harry felt stinging behind his eyes and quickly pressed his face to Remus’ shoulder. “Love you too, Moony. I’ll call tonight after the welcome feast.” 

He was pulled into a hug by Mrs Weasley then, keeping an eye on where Fleur was muttering in what was likely French, seemingly to herself, on the outskirts of the group. Tonks leaned in to ruffle his hair affectionately, and he shook hands with Bill and Mr Weasley before finally moving over to the girl. 

“Au revoir, Fleur,” he said clumsily, accepting a kiss to both of his cheeks again. He smiled at the familiar weight of Draco’s hand slipping back into his own. 

“Salut, ‘Arry,” Fleur said, eyes glinting. “Keep ze dragon safe, oui?” 

Harry laughed at the sound of an affronted sniff from beside them. “Always.” 

The whistle sounded behind them, and they all scrambled quickly onto the train, leaning out of the windows of their compartment to wave goodbye as the train began to move. The moment the platform of waving families disappeared from sight, there was a ruffling sound and Draco appeared beside him, one hand still clinging to his own. Despite the mask of indifference across his features, Harry could tell instantly that he was upset. 

“Well, then,” he said stiffly, handing the cloak to Harry and brushing unnecessarily at his clothes. “We’ll be late to the prefect meeting at his rate.” 

“Draco,” Harry tried, but lost his words when Draco leaned in to kiss his temple, dropping his hand and striding out of the compartment door. 

Harry sighed, shaking his head at his friends’ questioning looks as they followed the boy out. He took a seat by the window, idly wondering where Ginny had disappeared to as Crookshanks curled comfortably in his lap. 

“Hiya, Harry,” a voice greeted, and the door slid open again to admit Neville and Luna. 

“Hey, how’re you guys?” 

“Hello, Harry,” Luna smiled brightly. “Well, thank you.” 

“Am I completely barking, or did I just see Draco Malfoy walking with Ron and ‘Mione to the prefects’ compartment?” another boisterous voice said, and Seamus pushed his way through the door with Dean on his heels. 

“Didn’t the Prophet say the bloke was missing?” Dean asked as the two of them jammed trunks onto the racks and settled onto a seat. “I didn’t see him with his mum on the platform.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, about that–” 

He was interrupted by yet another disturbance by the door, though this time, it was a group of fourth-year girls whispering and giggling as they peered through the glass. 

“You ask him!” one of them hissed, elbowing another. 

“No, you!” 

“I’ll do it!” a third girl declared confidently, long, dark hair swinging as she slid open the door and stepped inside. “Hi, Harry! I’m Romilda. Romilda Vane. You should come sit with us in our compartment.” 

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m sitting with my friends.” 

“Oh,” Romilda frowned. “But– is it true that you’re dating Cho Chang?” 

“No.” 

“Then… Do you have a girlfriend?” 

Harry sighed. “No.” 

“Did you have a reason for being in here?” Seamus said irritably as the girl opened her mouth to say something. “Only, we were kind of in the middle of something.” 

“I…” Romilda glanced at him, then back to Harry, quickly stepping backwards. “No. Bye, Harry.” 

“Bloody hell,” Dean grimaced as the door closed and the girls disappeared. “I reckon you need to get yourself a girlfriend just to shut up the masses.” 

Harry hesitated, took a deep breath, and then, “Well, I got myself a boyfriend instead. Don’t reckon it’ll work that way, though.” 

“Finally!” Seamus cheered, clapping him on the shoulder. “The secret crush you’ve been whipped over for ages?” 

“Yes,” Harry frowned, cheeks warm. “I’m not whipped –” 

Luna laughed lightly and Harry sighed. 

“ Anyways ,” he said, hands fidgeting nervously with Crookshanks’ thick fur. The quicker, the better, he decided. “It’s Draco.” 

He was met with silence. 

“As in Draco Malfoy?” Seamus asked slowly. 

Neville gave him a look. “How many other Dracos do you know?” 

“Blimey, Harry,” Dean said, eyes wide. “Wasn’t expecting that.” 

“When you think about it, though, it kinda makes sense,” Seamus said thoughtfully. “I always thought there was this tension between you two. I mean, if you really hate a guy, you avoid him right? You two were on each other every second. Literally , now, s’pose.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh my God.” 

“Can’t say I blame you,” Dean shrugged. “I reckon he’s got to be one of the fittest blokes in our year.” 

“And between him and Harry…” Seamus continued, sharing a look with his boyfriend that told Harry he didn’t want to know what they were thinking. “I’d join that.” 

“Merlin,” Harry groaned, shrinking in his seat. “You two would fit right in with him.” 

“I think it’s lovely, Harry,” Luna offered airily, face buried in a copy of The Quibbler. “Will he join the D.A., then?” 

“I don’t think we need the D.A. anymore, Luna. There’s not really a point, since we’ll have normal Defence lessons back.” 

“Oh,” Neville said disappointedly. “I quite liked the D.A.. We learned so much from you.” 

“It was like having friends,” Luna added, and Harry frowned. 

“We are your friends, Luna. We don’t need D.A. meetings to hang out.” 

Luna smiled, still reading her article. “That’s kind of you.” 

They spent the next hour discussing school, Quidditch, their summers, and (of course) Harry and Draco’s not-so-new relationship, until there was another sound at the door and Hermione and Ron strode inside. Draco wasn’t with them. 

“I hope the lunch trolley comes ‘round soon,” Ron said, slumping into the seat beside Harry and completely missing Harry’s confused look. 

Hermione was not so oblivious. “Pansy marched him off to the Slytherins’ compartment,” she explained with a grimace, obviously expecting Harry to instantly shoot to his feet, which he likely would have if Crookshanks didn’t still have her claws firmly attached to his thighs. 

“Was she pissed? D’you think he’s okay? I should go check–” 

“Merlin, yeah, I see it,” Seamus said amusedly, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“He’ll be fine, Harry,” Hermione assured, reaching over to scratch Crookshanks. “I’m sure he knows better than you how to take care of himself with them.” 

Harry nodded, chewing at his lip again and forcing himself to stay put. He knew Draco could take care of himself, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry. For what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, the door slid open, this time to reveal a girl who looked to be a third-year. 

“I’m supposed to deliver these to… um, to Neville Longbottom and H-Harry Potter,” she squeaked, handing them each a small scroll of parchment before stumbling back out of the compartment. 

“What’s that?” Ron asked, leaning over. 

Harry unrolled it. 

‘Harry, 

 I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C. 

Sincerely, Professor H.E.F. Slughorn’

“Who’s Slughorn?” Neville asked, reading his own letter. 

“New teacher,” Harry sighed, lifting Crookshanks to deposit on Hermione’s lap and getting to his feet. “I met him over summer.” 

Neville only looked more bewildered. “What’s he want me for?” 

“Let’s find out.” 

As Harry had suspected, the lunch meeting turned out to be a gathering of students with connections to people who were well-known or influential in some way. Marcus Belby had an uncle who’d invented the Wolfsbane Potion and Cormac McLaggen had a famous uncle with connections to even more famous people that Harry didn’t care to hear about. Blaise Zabini, who Harry recognised instantly as one of Draco’s friends, apparently had a famously beautiful mother who’d been married seven times to rich wizards who’d all died of ‘mysterious causes’. Ginny had been invited as well, though this turned out to be a result of Slughorn catching her cast her signature Bat-Bogey Hex at Zacharius Smith on the way to the compartment. 

When he eventually let them all go an hour or so later, Harry left Neville and Ginny to follow Zabini at a distance through the train to his compartment. When Zabini swept open the compartment door and stepped inside, Harry made the ridiculous decision to simply follow him right in. 

“Blaise,” Pansy greeted, cool gaze sliding to Harry. “You seem to have adopted a pet.” 

“I didn’t care enough to tell him to piss off,” Zabini replied, folding himself neatly onto a vacant seat. 

For a moment, Harry wondered how the Slytherins always appeared so elegant and proper, thinking back to the way his own friends had lounged lazily in their own compartment earlier. Then, he had the belated realisation that Zabini had known he was following him the entire way there. 

“Harry,” Draco said with an exasperated sigh. “What on Earth gave you the absurd idea to walk yourself right into a pit of snakes, hm?” 

“My Gryffindor recklessness?” Harry replied weakly, and his boyfriend smirked. 

“Are we calling him Harry now, then?” Crabbe asked through a mouthful of chocolate, and Harry couldn’t help but feel amused as each of his friends cringed simultaneously. 

“Of course not,” Nott scowled from the corner by the window. The way his face was almost entirely obscured by a book reminded Harry of Draco. “Just because Draco’s chosen to be his little bitch, does not make him our friend.” 

“Come now, Theo,” Zabini purred, slanting a half-lidded glance Harry’s way. “I’m quite good at sharing.” 

Draco flicked a wandless Stinging Hex at his friend. “Don’t be a whore, Blaise. Gryffindors tend to take things very literally.” 

“Wandless magic, Draco?” Pansy asked, sitting forward curiously. “How’d you learn that?” 

“Didn’t you hear?” Draco smirked lightly, waving a hand at the air. “Potter’s bitch, and all.” 

Feeling slightly confused and more than a little offended on his boyfriend’s behalf, Harry crossed his arms. “He’s not my bitch,” he snapped, ignoring Draco’s sigh and the others’ sniggers. “Look, I just wanted to check that everything was fine in here, but if I’m not needed…” 

He trailed off expectantly, only to be met with identical raised eyebrows and smug smirks from the lot of them. Scowling, he turned on his heel and stomped right back out of the compartment. He made it at least half-way to his own before he was suddenly pushed into a conveniently-empty compartment, arms winding around his shoulders and a mouth pressing hot and wet against his. 

“Mmph,” he said, whatever words he might have wanted to say disappearing instantly from his mind as he sunk happily into the kiss. 

“You gorgeous idiot,” Draco mumbled against his lips, crowding Harry against the opposite window and bringing a hand to his jaw to close the gap again. 

“There’s–” Harry tried breathlessly, trying weakly to push Draco away. “Someone might walk past–” 

Draco interrupted him with his mouth again briefly, before eventually glancing at the door behind them, its small window clearly visible to the outside corridor. 

“I can’t say I care much,” he said, before sighing and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I sound like a fucking Gryffindor.” 

“Guess that happens when you spend a whole summer surrounded by them,” Harry muttered, dragging his hand through the air and drawing down the window blind. “What’d your friends say? Did you tell them about us? About the summer? They didn’t all seem too happy, or do you just always talk to each other like that?” 

“One question at a time,” Draco said, amused. “Yes, that’s just how we speak. We’ve all known each other since before Hogwarts, so we’ve become very used to each other. They weren’t at all surprised when I told them about you, considering I used to spend most evenings waxing lyrical about how utterly infuriating you were.” 

“Shouldn’t that mean the exact opposite?” 

“I’ll rephrase; waxing lyrical about how utterly infuriating your huge, green eyes and sun-kissed skin and ridiculous, freshly-shagged-looking hair were. Does that help?” 

Harry made a face. “ ‘Freshly-shagged-looking’?” 

“Mm,” Draco hummed, reaching up to rake a hand through said-hair as though it weren’t already dishevelled enough. “Just how I like it.” 

“And they call me whipped,” Harry muttered, mostly to himself. “So you told them you’re my boyfriend, then? And they don’t care? They won’t tell?” 

“I told them in a sort-of round-about way that Greg and Vince wouldn’t understand, and the others settled on their own theories. Pansy is half-convinced I’m just with you to rebel against my parents. Blaise believes we’re just hate-fucking. Theo didn’t voice his opinion and doesn’t seem to care either way, but he wouldn’t tell his father. If you think my relationship with my father is bad…” 

Despite the poor timing, Harry smiled. “So… all of our friends know now. More-or-less. That was easier than I thought it’d be.” 

“None of your little lions gave you grief, did they?” 

“Nah,” Harry shook his head, tangling his fingers with Draco’s before pulling his hand away and moving to the door. “Come on, you’re sitting with us for a bit.” 

“Must I?” Draco asked, rolling his eyes, albeit made his way out of the compartment at Harry’s heel. “I’m sick of Gryffindors.” 

Harry snickered, wanting to kiss the boy another time but keenly aware of the wide-eyed stares of students in compartments that they passed. “Well, you’re stuck with me,” he said, reaching the compartment and sliding the door open to pull Draco inside. 

“Well, if it isn’t the famous lion-tamer we’ve heard oh-so-much about,” Seamus grinned, clapping his hands to his thighs. 

“Hello, Draco,” Luna greeted airily. 

Draco raised an eyebrow, sliding into the seat between Harry and Ron and crossing one leg over the other. “Morning, Lovegood. I feel that my titles are quite contradictory, depending on the audience.” 

“Which one’s more accurate?” Harry asked, only half-teasing. 

“Oh, Harry,” Draco said, sounding almost pitying, as his lips closed into a slow smirk and his head tilted slightly to one side. 

Heat growing in his lower body, Harry glanced away quickly, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Unhelpfully, his gaze settled on Seamus, who’s eyes only seemed to gleam brighter as he looked between the two of them. 

“What happened?” Hermione asked, setting aside one of their textbooks for the coming year that she’d been skimming. “With the Slytherins, I mean.” 

“They’re fine,” Draco replied, waving a hand. “I heard you broke up with Bishop, Weaslette. He always was a little brat, that one.” 

“Guess us Gryffindors have a type,” Ginny smirked, leaning forward and slapping Harry’s offered hand as Draco looked on in offence. “But I wouldn’t call it a break-up if we were never official. The guy only ever thought with his cock, it was tiring.” 

“Bishop or cock?” Draco asked, and Harry really needed to learn to control himself if Draco was going to be saying that word so casually. 

Ginny huffed a sigh, slumping back in her seat and twisting a strand of red hair around her finger. “Both. Maybe I’m over boys.” 

“Couldn’t disagree more!” Seamus said with exaggerated exuberance, lifting a mocking hand in toast, to which an eager Dean and amused Harry imitated with a cheer. 

Draco only raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking to the ceiling. “Fucking Gryffindors.” 

He was met with another cheer.

Chapter Text

DRACO MALFOY RETURNED FOR SIXTH YEAR: WHERE HAS HE BEEN HIDING?

“If only they knew the answer to that was their favourite Chosen One’s bedroom,” Seamus sighed, grinning and ducking as Harry flung a sautéed mushroom across the table at him. “Imagine the field day they’d have with that kind of information.” 

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” Harry warned, skimming the article for any hints that the public may actually know the answer before tossing the paper aside and picking up the next. 

THE BOY WHO LIVED: FRIEND OF DEATH EATERS?

Harry scoffed, trying to ignore the flare of heat in his chest at the words. “What rubbish. Just because his dad’s a Death Eater, doesn’t automatically make him one.” 

“I can’t believe people were taking pictures of you on the train,” Hermione said, glaring at the moving black-and-white photos of Harry and Draco walking down the train corridor together and sitting beside each other in their compartment with the others. 

“You can’t really blame them for being surprised,” Ginny pointed out with a shrug. “They didn’t keep their animosity a secret by any means.” 

A throat was suddenly cleared from behind Harry, and the group of them swivelled in their seats to find Professor McGonagall peering down at them through her square-shaped spectacles. 

“Good morning, Mr Potter,” she greeted breezily, looking at the parchment in her hands as though this were just the start to any other year. “Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration… all fine, yes. Here is your timetable, then. And twenty-four hopefuls have already put their names down for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall send the list your way and you can organise trials at your leisure.” 

“Cheers, Miss,” Harry nodded, taking the offered timetable. 

Once Ron and Hermione’s lists were cleared, Hermione rushed off to her first-period Ancient Runes class whilst he and Ron slowly made their way out of the hall for their free period. Harry couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder at the Slytherin table, where Draco was gazing down at his own parchment, lips thinned and shoulders stiff. 

It had basically been torture, Harry thought, spending their first night back at Hogwarts a castle’s distance away from each other rather than tangled in the same bed as they had been for most of the summer. Harry had almost convinced himself to sneak to the dungeons under his invisibility cloak at one point, before Ron gave him an exasperated look and he chickened out. 

He didn’t see Draco again until second period, as they all gathered in a line outside of their Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. All of the students rushing past to their own classes hesitated to look between Harry and Draco, or whisper loudly to their friends, as Draco sauntered over to him all smug-like.

“You love this, don’t you? Bloody attention-seeker,” Harry muttered, reaching into Draco’s robe pocket to take out his timetable and compare it to his own. “Merlin, you and Hermione are barking. Seven subjects? You’ve hardly got any free periods!” 

“I imagine you’ll live with it,” Draco sniffed, neatly snatching back the parchment and folding it back into his pocket. “Magical Creatures will be as much of a free period as any, I’m sure. Is anyone apart from us and Weasel actually taking the class?” 

“ You’re taking Care of Magical Creatures?” Ron asked, bewildered. 

Draco fixed him with a narrowed gaze. “I quite enjoy creatures, if you must know.” 

“That’s no surprise,” Neville said, slanting a pointed look at Harry, who rolled his eyes. 

Silence fell on the group suddenly as the classroom door opened and Snape stepped into the corridor. “Inside,” he said, gazing at the lot of them, and they were all quick to follow suit. 

Like all of the teachers before him, Snape had decorated the classroom to match his personality. The curtains had all been drawn over the windows; the only light in the room cast by scattered candles. Large pictures adorned the walls showing different people that looked to be in pain or sporting assorted injuries. 

“Given the… range of methods and priorities enforced by your teachers over previous years, I am surprised so many of you managed to scrape an O.W.L. in this subject,” Snape began in his usual slow drawl as he paced among their desks. “I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will, of course, be much more advanced. You are, I believe, complete novices in the use of non -verbal spells. What is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?” 

As predicted, it was Hermione’s hand that shot straight up, and Snape took his time searching the rest of the class before giving in. “Miss Granger?” 

“Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you’re about to perform,” she said clearly. “Which gives you a split-second advantage.” 

“Copied almost verbatim from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6,” Snape drawled. “But correct. Not all wizards can perform non-verbal spells, of course. It is a question of concentration and mind power that some –” his gaze lingered on Harry, “–lack.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, glancing over at Draco and only feeling more annoyed by his boyfriend’s expression of awe that he consistently appeared to possess around Snape. 

“You will divide into pairs,” Snape continued. “One will attempt to jinx the other without speaking , and the other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence . Am I clear?” 

They all nodded, and Snape gave them a bored look. “Well? What are you waiting for?” 

Chairs scraped on the wooden floorboards as they all scrambled to their feet, and Harry’s gaze went straight for Draco’s, who was muttering to a silent Nott beside him. A brief moment later, Draco looked up and made his way over. 

“Is this going to be the new normal?” Ron grumbled, sounding offended. 

“Well,” Harry started, lips twisting guiltily. “We studied Defence together a lot over the summer, so I thought it’d be easier. We can still pair for other classes. I’m sure Hermione wouldn’t mind actually being with one of us for once.” 

Hermione, who was waiting expectantly, hummed agreeably. 

“She’s going to kill me,” Ron whined. 

“Then make the most of it,” Draco said airily, hand curling over Harry’s wrist to drag him to their own space. “Alright Wonderboy, do try not to embarrass me too thoroughly in front of my godfather.” 

“I’ve not even tried non-verbal spells before,” Harry said with a laugh, slipping his wand from the back pocket of his jeans. “Not intentionally, at least.” 

Draco’s gaze flicked to the ceiling. “Salazar help me.” 

Harry smirked, shifting into a duelling stance. “You first.” 

Mimicking his position, Draco held his wand steadily in front of him, lips pressed together tightly and gaze narrowed in concentration. Harry felt the familiar hum of magic to arise, but the following release was so faint he almost missed it when Draco’s wand sparked feebly, the Protego he’d been preparing failing before it could pass his lips. 

“Merde,” Draco muttered, barely audible under the blasts and yelps around them. He peered at the pairs nearby, mouth shaping into a sneer. “Cheaters. It truly is a wonder anyone passes this subject if they hardly care to try.” 

“Don’t worry about them,” Harry said, reaching out to lift Draco’s wand hand again with his spare. “Try again.” 

Draco made several more attempts to silently jinx Harry, each producing only a spark from his wand that had him gritting his teeth. On the sixth try, Harry had almost stopped anticipating the burst of magic to follow the growing buzz, and wasn’t thinking when he exclaimed “Protego!” aloud to deflect Draco’s jinx. 

“You whispered that!” he demanded as Draco shrugged, smirking. 

“Do you remember me telling you that we are practising non- verbal spells, Potter?” Snape’s voice cut in suddenly from behind him. 

Harry turned to face him with a glare. “Yes.” 

“Yes, sir .” 

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir’ , Professor,” Harry quipped before he could stop himself, and several students around them gasped, including Hermione. He was definitely in for a lecture later. 

“ Harry ,” Draco hissed, and Harry tried not to groan aloud. Two lectures. 

“Detention, Saturday night, my office,” Snape snapped. “I will not take cheek from anyone, Potter. Not even from the Chosen One.” 

Harry didn’t reply, simply staring back at the glowering man until he’d turned swiftly on his heel and marched across the classroom again. 

“I don’t recall asking any of you to stop!” he barked, and they all rushed to go back to practice. 

As Draco had predicted, it didn’t take Harry long to get the hang of casting simple charms and jinxes non-verbally. Despite his infamously distracted mind, controlling his own magic was one of the few things he could almost over- focus on. By the end of the lesson, a handful of other students, including Hermione and Draco, had also managed to cast non-verbally; Draco had practically preened when Harry complimented him on it. 

“I’m still cross at you for that slight towards Severus,” he told him as they left the classroom. 

“Yes, you really shouldn’t have done that,” Hermione agreed from his other side, a small frown on her face. 

Ron scoffed. “I thought it was brilliant.” 

“You do know he’s your teacher, don’t you?” Draco continued sarcastically. 

“How can I forget when he loves to remind me every second?” Harry grumbled, stuffing his hands into his robe pockets dejectedly. “Besides, you’re the one who got me in trouble in the first place. You cheated!” 

Draco gave him a look. “I’m a Slytherin, Harry.” 

“Are you?” another voice interrupted, and Zabini fell into step alongside them. “I could’ve sworn those robes looked scarlet just a moment ago.” 

Draco scowled and snapped something back at his friend, though Harry barely heard it, distracted as he was by the sudden image of his boyfriend wearing a Gryffindor uniform, the red of his tie clashing with the pink flush of his cheeks– 

“Harry! Hey, Harry!” 

He stumbled slightly as the new voice interjected his thoughts, ignoring the Slytherins’ sniggers from next to him. Jack Sloper, one of the Gryffindor Beaters from the previous year, was hurrying down the corridor towards him. 

“For you,” the boy panted as he reached him, stuffing a scroll of parchment into his hand. “Hey, I heard you’re the new Quidditch captain. When’re you holding trials?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Harry mumbled, unfurling the letter. “I’ll let you know.” 

“Circe, I almost forgot you were made captain,” Draco said then, but Harry was hardly listening as he skimmed the familiar slanted writing on the parchment. Jack Sloper had already disappeared back into the crowd around them. “You do know what this means, don’t you? Harry?” 

Harry blinked, looking up. “Huh?” 

Frowning, Draco snatched the letter out of his hands and peered down at it. “Private lessons with Dumbledore? At eight p.m.? What on Earth–” 

“Do you often get invited to visit the Headmaster late at night, Potter?” Zabini asked in his smooth, indifferent voice, and Harry spluttered. 

“Don’t say it like that .” 

“Why’s he telling you he enjoys Acid Pops?” Ron asked, leaning over to read Dumbledore’s letter where it was still clutched in Draco’s hand. 

Harry glanced at Zabini, who was still very much listening. “It’s the password to his study.” 

“Ooh,” Zabini drawled, actually looking amused. “I can’t wait to break into it later and sacrifice some lambs and virgins and old men named Albus to become the next Dark lord.” 

“Do run along, Blaise,” Draco said, equally condescending. “I imagine you could find yourself a great number of virgins just waiting to be deflowered elsewhere.” 

Zabini grinned, spotlessly white teeth glinting. Not for the first time, Harry wondered why all of the sixth-year Slytherins seemed to be just that little bit more attractive than the rest of their cohort. 

“Always, darling,” he said, nodding to each of them before sweeping away down the corridor. 

“What d’you think the lessons will be about?” Ron asked excitedly. “Teaching you to duel? Maybe he’ll teach you some rare, powerful magic that they don’t teach us about in class.” 

Draco scoffed, but before he could say anything, Harry spotted a familiar ghostly figure floating around the corner at the end of the corridor. “Nick!” he called, picking up his pace and ignoring the looks from people around him. “Nick!” 

The ghost paused, peering over his shoulder and spotting Harry’s frantic waving. “Mr Potter!” he greeted jovially when Harry had reached him. “How was your summer, my boy?” 

“Fine, thanks,” Harry brushed off. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Ask away! Anything to help a friend.” 

“My godfather, S- uh…” he glanced around at the crowded corridor. “Maybe we can talk in here?” 

He gestured to an empty classroom nearby and ducked inside, waiting unnecessarily for Nearly-Headless Nick to float through before closing the door again. 

“My godfather, Sirius Black,” he continued. “He died at the end of last year. Or, well, we think he did. I’ve been seeing, er, glimpses of him? I guess? I was wondering if he might’ve come back as a ghost.” 

Nearly-Headless Nick peered down at him with a pitying look. “Harry, your godfather is not a ghost.” 

Harry frowned. “Why not? You are! You died and came back and didn’t disappear!” 

“He would have gone on, that Sirius Black,” the ghost sighed. “I was afraid of death and chose to remain behind… in this feeble imitation of life. Very few wizards choose this path, Harry. Your godfather would have been more prepared.” 

“But–” Harry felt a little peeved now. “Can he be something else, then? It’s not really a ghost I’ve been seeing, I guess. I saw his face in this two-way mirror we have, and I saw him as his… um, his animagus once. How d’you explain that?” 

Nick didn’t reply, the far-away look in his eyes telling Harry that he likely hadn’t even heard him speak. “I sometimes wonder if I oughtn’t have chosen this path…” 

Harry sighed. “Thanks, Nick,” he said, turning to leave the classroom.

“Harry.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder again, but the ghost had disappeared through a wall and he was completely alone in the room. He looked around, confused. 

“Harry,” he heard again, except the voice was so quiet now that he would have missed it if he hadn’t been straining for a sound. 

His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he whirled around again, looking for any sign of movement, any glimpse of grey eyes or dark fur or–

“Harry.” 

It was Draco this time, pushing open the door and letting himself in. Hermione and Ron didn’t seem to have followed. Draco stepped forward with a look of concern, reaching a hand out as though Harry might fall over. Harry couldn’t help but think that he might. 

“I heard Sirius,” he said, and Draco’s eyes widened slightly. 

“How? When?” 

“Just then,” Harry answered, glancing around again. “He said my name. Sirius? If you can hear me do something. Make something move or… I don’t know.” 

Predictably, there was no answer, and Harry tried not to make any correlations to old muggle ghost movies he’d seen Dudley watching as a child. It made him feel a little ridiculous. 

Draco took another step forward, close enough to wrap his outstretched hand over Harry’s wrist. “Harry,” he murmured quietly. “Are you sure it was him?” 

“Yes,” Harry said roughly. “Just like I’m sure I’ve seen him in the mirrors and I’m sure I saw Padfoot in the forest. I don’t understand why– what’s happening. Where is he? Why is he trying to get to me? I don’t understand–” 

“I found a book,” Draco said, his grip on Harry’s wrist loosening so that he could slide their palms together and tangle their fingers between them. “At your house. You know that I brought some with me that I didn’t have time to read over summer. I was reading one last night that covered everything on the Department of Mysteries, including what I’m quite certain is the archway you mentioned.” 

“I thought they kept everything about the Department of Mysteries a secret. Aren’t they called Unspeakables because they’re not allowed to speak about what goes on in there?” 

Draco gave him a look. “The Department of Mysteries existed before the Ministry of Magic was even founded. This book was written in the seventeenth century, before it was actually called the ‘Department of Mysteries’ and was located within the Ministry, therefore before it became so hush-hush. Most of the information is likely outdated, but the archway you saw– ‘ the Veil’ they call it– is one of their oldest curiosities.” 

“Alright…” Harry said, a little impatiently. He loved hearing Draco talk, it’s true, but there was somewhat more of an urgency in this case. “What did it say?” 

“The author described it as, well, in its simplest definition, a sort-of gate between the living and the dead. People who had suffered a loss of a loved one reported hearing their voice in the Veil. It often… lured them in, I suppose.” 

Harry frowned, recalling that evening at the Ministry when he’d found that amphitheatre-like chamber the first time. He and Luna had both heard the voices: unintelligible whispers and murmurs that sounded so familiar and yet Harry couldn’t place them. 

“I heard the voices. So did Luna, but the others couldn’t, I don’t think. It was like… there were people whispering just behind the curtain, but no one was on the other side. I think I felt the lure too. I remember wanting to walk through it, but… Hermione reminded me of Sirius…” 

His head felt sort-of foggy the way it had beside the looming arch now. He was remembering the voices… his father muttering something he couldn’t understand, his mother murmuring to him through the curtain… just beyond his reach. And he could have walked straight through… been with them all there in that misty far-away void–

“Harry,” Draco said, and Harry blinked, jolted from his memory. He hadn’t even noticed that Draco had pulled him to the nearest desk to sit atop it as they talked. “You’re here, now. At Hogwarts, with me.” 

“Right,” Harry muttered, nodding, though he didn’t feel right at all. The hand that Draco wasn’t holding had clenched without him realising, and he quickly spread it flat on the desk’s surface. “Sorry. You were talking about the Veil?” 

Draco frowned at him, eyes soft with what Harry could only place as worry, but he gave him a reassuring half-smile and the boy continued. “There were several cases of people being lured through it. All of them disappeared the moment they’d passed through and were never found. They were all presumed dead.”  

“Right,” Harry said again, brow furrowed. “Well, everyone assumes Sirius… died. Going through it. Was there anything about, I don’t know, others hearing their voice or seeing them? After they’d passed?” 

“Only one, though remember this was written centuries ago. One of the scholars who’d been studying the Veil, in fact. A 50-year-old man named Richard Port who’d lost all of his four children to natural causes at some point in their lives. He walked through and was declared dead. His wife, Emily, now a widow and without her children, seemingly went quite mad from there. Of course, her reports of hearing his voice and seeing his face reflected in mirrors or windows were attributed to grief, and she was treated as insane up until her death not many years later.” 

“Is this story going to get any less morbid sometime soon?” 

Draco gave him a half-apologetic half-exasperated look. “We’re talking about a barrier between life and death. Besides, you can see it as a positive that you’re not the only one who experienced the glimpses.”

“Are we calling them ‘glimpses’?” 

“Why not?” Draco shrugged. “You won’t be carted off to some insane asylum for wizarding kind, though, worry not.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thank Merlin for that. Is there anything else your author got from the woman, Emily? A reason, maybe?” 

“Well, I said she was declared insane until her death. But, I managed to locate another book in the school library–” 

“When the hell have you had time to go there?”

“Before breakfast, obviously.” 

Harry shook his head, a smile spreading involuntarily across his face. “You and Hermione really could be best friends.” 

“Hilarious,” Draco said sarcastically. “Stop becoming distracted, Potter. This book was written several decades ago by a witch with an interest in death and what comes after. She wrote about real-life cases to support her various theories, one which happened to be our lovely Emily Port’s fall into insanity after the death of her husband. The author wrote that, despite Emily losing four children prior to her husband’s death, she only ever reported hearing or seeing Richard. Never any of her children.” 

“Like my parents,” Harry said, sitting forward in excited anticipation. Something really had to be said about Draco’s flair for story-telling, even if the suspense of it was ruining Harry’s already-limited patience. “I don’t hear or see them like I do Sirius. Not randomly, at least.” 

Draco smiled, clearly pleased that Harry had made the connection. Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to feel patronised for it. 

“My thoughts exactly. We can infer, then, that it has to do with the way both Richard and Sirius supposedly died: by passing through the Veil. Emily and Richard’s case was used to support one of the author’s theories that after death comes a sort-of Limbo. She hypothesised that every person that dies, no matter the cause, will first experience a brief suspension between life and death. There’s references to a number of muggle religions that adhere to this concept of Limbo or something similar.”

“So you think Sirius is stuck in this… Limbo?” 

“I can’t be sure, of course. The book described Limbo as a brief experience. She theorised that this might be where wizards who choose to become ghosts make that choice. If not, they pass through to complete death. One is not meant to become ‘stuck’ in Limbo. However, this is where she surmised Richard Port to be an outlier. Even after scholars and Unspeakables spending centuries studying that Veil, there is no evidence to suggest that it actually leads directly to death. 

That has just simply been the assumption, since victims have never returned and bodies have never been found after disappearing through it. This author believed that Emily Port was, in fact, truly hearing her husband’s voice and seeing glimpses of his face from Limbo . That, somehow, the Veil leads people to their death, but because there is no actual cause of death, they simply linger at the gate, for lack of a better term.”

Harry was trying very hard not to become lost in Draco’s words, though it was proving difficult. Half of the time, he became too distracted by the eager glint in the boy’s eyes and the wild gesturing of his hands as he rambled to actually take in any of the words that he was producing. He thought he was able to get the basic gist of it, though he’d already decided that Draco would need to repeat all of this to Hermione. 

“Maybe you should be an Unspeakable,” he said when there was a pause in Draco’s explanation, as though he was waiting for Harry to indicate that he was still following. Draco’s brow furrowed, then raised as he rolled his eyes. “I’m listening, I swear, but I’m just saying. You’re really passionate about this.” 

“I thought you said I should become a Healer.” 

“Well,” Harry huffed, swinging his legs beneath the desk distractedly. “You’d be great at that, too. You’re just brilliant, okay? Is that what you’re fishing for?” 

Draco smiled, a little bashfully, and ducked forward to kiss him quickly. “I wasn’t fishing, but it is nice to hear. Besides, if I were to become an Unspeakable, I wouldn’t be allowed to rant about it at all. Quite defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” 

“I’m sure you’d find a way,” Harry laughed, using his spare hand to hold Draco’s jaw and pull him forward gently into another kiss, slower this time, and long enough for Draco to have to shift forward to get comfortable. “I love you. Thanks for looking into all of this. If you want company, you can always read them to me. Can’t promise I’ll understand it all, but still.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Harry,” Draco murmured, breath warm on Harry’s lips as grey eyes held his with a determined sort of gaze. “I would read through the entire library in that house of yours if that was what it took. And not as a mere favour. Whatever you are going through, I am going through, understand? I will always help you, Harry.” 

Harry could barely contain the rush of emotion coursing through him at those words. He was– Merlin, he loved this boy so much, nothing could ever compare. And Draco loved him. He could actually feel it; believe it. And that was what made everything all the more fucking terrifying. He knew Draco would always want to help him, but he didn’t like to think of at what cost that might be. Sirius wanted to help Harry, too. It was why he came rushing to the Ministry that night. It was why he went through that Veil. 

He didn’t know how to say any of this to Draco, though. Instead, he whispered, “I love you,” again, and hoped that could convey all of it. 

Draco smiled, lips stretching where they pressed against his own. “I love you too, little fox.”

Chapter Text

“That’s truly fascinating,” Hermione gushed after Draco had– quite smugly– relayed all of his new knowledge to her and Ron as they caught up with them on the way to their first Potions class. “I mean, I know of the Catholic belief in ‘Limbo’, where people couldn’t enter either Heaven or Hell, or ‘Purgatory’, which is like the intermediate state between life and death that you’re describing, where people can still be purified of sin. But this… what you’re describing is a pause before truly dying, where one can make a choice to come back as a ghost or spirit, or just… to go on, I suppose.” 

“Precisely,” Draco said. Harry glanced between the two of them in faint amusement, before catching Ron’s bewildered look and snorting. 

“It sounds like… well, I suppose you mightn’t have learnt about it, it’s more of a muggle area of study. But the way human beings retain memories. First, experiences will reach the short-term memory, which is sort-of like Limbo; memories will either go on to long-term memory, or will be disregarded and forgotten.” 

“Sorry, what does this have to do with Sirius?” Ron interjected. Hermione and Draco threw him identical looks of irritated exasperation, and Ron put both hands up in the air. “Alright, my bad.” 

“Do you have a book on that?” Draco asked then, turning back to Hermione and effectively ignoring Ron’s question. 

Hermione nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. If you’re interested in psychology, I have a whole load of books on different areas. It’s just so fascinating, it’s a shame wizardkind doesn't take any interest in it.” 

“S’pose you have to if you’re a Mind Healer,” Harry said, trying to pretend he was even following the conversation. 

“Oh,” Draco drawled, lips twitching upwards as he looked over at Harry. “Shall I become a Mind Healer, now?” 

Harry shrugged, wishing he could reach out to take the boy’s hand. “You can be anything you want to be,” he said honestly, only smiling when Draco rolled his eyes in response. 

“So,” Ron interrupted, unwrapping a chocolate frog that he’d found in his robe pocket. “We reckon Sirius is in this ‘Limbo’ thing, then. And he’s trying to get Harry’s attention by saying his name and showing up in random spots, yeah?” 

Draco gave him a withering look. “Quite.” 

Ron bit off the frog’s head, and Draco’s nose wrinkled slightly. 

“Then how do we s’pose we’re meant to get him out? That’s the goal, right? Do we actually know anything about how to get to Limbo, besides the obvious? Or how to get someone out of Limbo?” 

They all glanced at each other silently, all equally as unsure at how to respond. 

“I’d say that’s the next area to research,” Hermione said eventually. “How to reach the dead.” 

• • •

“The Draught of Living Death ,” Professor Slughorn announced, and Harry heard Draco cough lightly beside him. “Is what each of you will be tasked with creating this lesson, using page ten of your Advanced Potion-Making textbooks. The prize for the best Draught will win this tiny vial of Felix Felicis! Good luck!” 

Harry truly had improved his skill in potions with Draco’s help over the last couple of years, but he didn’t think he’d be able to manage the Draught of Living Death if he tried. He did try, of course, along with the rest of the class, but each of them seemed to be experiencing more-or-less the same level of difficulty. As he’d come to expect, Hermione and Draco were the only ones so far in the classroom that had made any progress at all, and that was reason enough for Harry to quite quickly give up perfecting the thing. 

Besides, it was distracting enough being as close as they were to the large cauldron of Amortentia; its pale-coloured steam rising in delicate swirls to dance tantalisingly around Harry and fill his senses with the most delicious smells. He recalled Hermione’s explanation that the potion should smell different to each person according to what attracts them, and the way a pink blush had filled Draco’s cheeks and caused Harry to smile stupidly down at his own hands. 

He wasn’t at all surprised that the Amortentia matched the exact scent of Draco’s favourite shampoo, a sweet but subtle combination of apple and elderflower, alongside what Harry thought might be treacle tart and the woody scent of a broomstick handle. Whilst the tart smell was making him feel increasingly peckish, it was Draco’s overwhelming scent that had Harry truly distracted. All that his mind seemed to be occupied with was the thought of running his fingers through Draco’s soft hair and pressing his face to the pale stretch of skin between his shoulder and jaw, breathing in deeply and drowning in warm apple and faint elderflower and–

“Harry, m’boy,” Slughorn interrupted suddenly, and Harry quickly became aware of his frozen stance. “Are you quite alright?” 

“I’m fine, Professor,” Harry said, embarrassed. He couldn’t actually remember what step he’d been up to in his potion. “Just zoned out for a moment, sorry.” 

Slughorn clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. “No harm done!” 

The moment he’d stepped away to glance impressively at Hermione’s bubbling cauldron, Harry caught Draco’s amused gaze and rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, going through his ingredients to try work out what he’d been up to. 

“I wasn’t under the impression that I said anything,” Draco said, and Harry could already see his stupidly attractive smirk and tilted head without even having to look back up at him. 

“What does it smell like to you, then, hm?” Harry asked, feigning indifference as he picked up his knife and made an attempt at cutting the shrivelled little Sopophorous Beans on his board. 

He saw Draco shrug in his peripheral. “Oh, you know… that ashy charcoal scent… freshly baked scones…” 

Harry didn’t bother to hide that he’d paused his bean-cutting to await the third answer. “And?” he said, a little impatiently. 

“Stop talking,” Hermione hissed, at the same time that Ron muttered: “There’s got to be three.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said to Ron, ignoring Hermione’s disapproving huff. 

Draco raised an eyebrow, glancing around pointedly. “I’m just not sure it would be socially acceptable to disclose the third scent where, clearly, people are susceptible to overhearing.” 

Ron coughed loudly, and an embarrassed warmth raced up Harry’s neck to his cheeks. 

“Oh,” he said, looking back down at his beans. 

“Quite.” 

“You idiot!” a voice on the table beside them suddenly cried angrily, and they all looked over to find Theo Nott scowling at Ernie Macmillan, the front of his robes and most of his working desk drenched in the dark purple potion from Ernie’s spilled cauldron. “You’ve ruined my book and my robes! Has no one ever taught you to use a fucking stabilising spell?” 

Draco tutted beneath his breath, moving to their desk to try and salvage any of Nott’s ingredients or belongings, but his friend pushed him away irritably. 

“Do not touch my things, you traitor! It’s your fault this oaf is sitting here in the first place!” 

“Oh dear,” Professor Slugorn was saying, rushing over and spelling the spilled potion back into its uprighted cauldron. Both Slytherins ignored him, Draco drawing himself up stiffly as Nott glared at him. 

“ Fuck you,” Draco snapped, surprising most of the class and especially Slughorn, whose hands fluttered alarmingly in the air. 

Nott opened his mouth to retort, but Draco turned tightly on his heel, robes sweeping not too dissimilarly to the way Snape’s often did, and stalked back to his own desk. 

“I wouldn’t want to make perfect Potter jealous,” Nott muttered to his retreating back, and it wouldn’t have been heard if the entire class wasn’t silently watching the whole ordeal. 

“Now, that’s quite enough of that,” Slughorn interjected hurriedly. “You’ll have to fetch a spare textbook from the cupboard, Theodore, this is quite unfixable–” 

“If you have something to say, Nott, spit it out,” Harry growled defensively, and Draco sighed. 

Nott laughed, though it couldn’t have sounded less amused. “Can’t speak for yourself, Draco? You always were good at that. You know, running away–” 

Wack . 

“Do shut up, won’t you, Theo?” Zabini said smoothly, looking not-at-all guilty for the blow he’d just dealt to the back of his friend’s head. “You’re embarrassing us.” 

Professor Slughorn spluttered, clearly out of his depth. “Detention! You two–” he pointed at Zabini and Nott, before swivelling to face Harry and Draco. “And you two. I’ll provide the time and date in our next class. Harry, I hate to be in this position, but this is a classroom.” 

“S’alright, Professor,” Harry muttered, looking back at his potion and trying not to think about the fact that he’d now procured two detentions in the space of one morning. 

The rest of the lesson was tense, to say the least. Harry spent the entirety trying to read the recipe in his textbook and becoming distracted at every second word, listening to Draco work beside him in complete silence. Nott eventually collected one of the spare textbooks from the corner cupboard, but there wasn’t enough time left in the lesson for him to restart his ruined potion, so he sat there and stared at the book sulkily, much like Harry. 

To no one’s surprise, and Hermione’s disappointment, Draco ended up winning the tiny vial of Felix Felicis, which was deftly tucked away into his robes before he’d turned and stalked right out of the classroom without a glance back. 

• • •

Things remained tense for the rest of the week, to Harry’s growing confusion and, frankly, agitation. Draco was avoiding him, that much was clear. He sat at the Slytherin table at all mealtimes and moved back to sitting with his friends during Potions. They still talked, of course, in Draco’s occasional free periods and during Defence Against the Dark Arts, the only class where Draco hadn’t moved away again. But conversation was slightly stilted, Draco remaining stiff and unaffectionate and quieter than Harry had gotten used to over the summer. Why he was acting this way, Harry couldn’t begin to know. 

“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” Ron suggested after Harry voiced his concern three days after that first Potions class. They were sitting at dinner, and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to his boyfriend across the Great Hall with his Slytherin friends. 

“He doesn’t avoid me when he’s embarrassed,” Harry pointed out. “He just tries to make me equally as embarrassed so he’s not alone.”

“I hate people in love,” Dean said, and Seamus nodded solemnly. 

Harry ignored them. “Why isn’t he avoiding Nott, instead? He’s the one who fucked up! I was trying to defend him! Ugh, I don’t understand.” 

“Maybe, instead of moping to us, you should go and talk to him?” Hermione said, and they all made sounds of agreement. 

“No,” Harry answered stubbornly, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. “Either he can talk to me, or this’ll all brush over.” 

“Boys are such idiots,” Ginny sighed, sharing an exasperated look with Hermione. 

Hermione hummed, picking up her discarded book and flipping to a new page. “Tell me about it.” 

By Saturday evening, neither of these had happened. Feeling both sad and irritable about the whole thing, Harry made his way to Dumbledore’s office at five-to-eight, taking the spiral staircase up to his door and knocking with the brass knocker. 

“Come in,” Dumbledore’s voice drifted through the door. 

“Good evening, sir,” Harry greeted as he entered. 

Dumbledore smiled at him from his desk. “Good evening, Harry. Take a seat. I hope you’ve had an enjoyable first week back at school?” 

“Sure,” Harry said, not sure at all. 

“Two detentions already,” Dumbledore said, eyes glinting. “You must have been quite busy.” 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Er–” 

“I have arranged with Professor Snape for you to do your detention with him next Saturday, instead.” 

“Right.” 

The man’s blue-eyed gaze was sharp as he peered at him. “I do hope it is not young Draco’s influence causing this… misbehaviour.” 

Harry frowned, mood souring at the implication. “We’ve been friends for years, sir. I’d say I’ve had more influence on him than the other way around. Unless you’re trying to imply something more?” 

“Harry,” Dumbledore chuckled, splaying his hands in the air in some demonstration of innocence. “Of course not. I won’t deny that I’m intrigued by this new knowledge, however. Years, you say? However did you fool everyone into believing otherwise?” 

“People believe what they want to believe.” 

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. “Draco has informed me that he stayed with you at Grimmauld Place over the summer whilst he was presumed missing by the wizarding community. I could hardly believe it, considering I was there a handful of times and never caught a glimpse.” 

“You talked to Draco?” Harry asked, sitting forward. “When?” How did he let you?  

“Draco met with myself and Professor Snape on the second evening of term,” the Headmaster answered calmly. “One does not simply reappear at school after being presumed missing by his family and not be asked some questions, of course.” 

“What–?” 

“All is well, Harry.” 

Harry slumped a little, peeved that Draco hadn’t mentioned the meeting at all to him. 

“I’m sure you have been wondering what I have planned for you during these ‘lessons’,” Dumbledore continued, neatly changing the topic. “Am I correct?” 

“I s’pose,” Harry answered unsurely, finally glancing around the office and noting with mild disappointment that there didn’t seem to be space cleared for any sort of duelling. 

Dumbledore sat back, folding his hands over his stomach. “Well, I have decided that it is time for you to be provided certain information.” 

Draco’s words from the end of the last school term slipped to the forefront of his mind: “Always when he decides the time is right. If he ever helped you enough, you wouldn’t have become the person you are today.” 

“At the end of last term, you said you would tell me everything,” Harry said, only partially guilty when it sounded accusatory. 

“I told you everything I know,” Dumbledore replied calmly. From hereon in, Harry, we are merely guessing. I may be as woefully mistaken as Humphrey Belcher, for all we know.” 

Harry, who didn’t know who Humphrey Belcher was and frankly didn’t quite care, said, “Will this new information help me against Voldemort, then?” 

Dumbledore regarded him carefully. “I certainly hope so.” 

It wasn’t duelling or spell practice or even book-reading like his friends had guessed. Instead, Dumbledore led him to his Pensieve to dive into a memory of Bob Ogden’s as he visited the Gaunt family. Harry remembered Draco mentioning the Gaunts over the summer, that they’d descended from the Peverell line along with the Potters. It came as less of a surprise, then, when Mr Gaunt brandished a large, black-stoned ring in Ogden's face and claimed the Peverell coat of arms to be engraved onto it. 

What was a surprise, however, was the gold locket he showed next around his daughter’s neck, which he declared to be an heirloom of Salazar Slytherin’s, from whom the family was also descended from. Harry supposed the Parseltongue the family kept hissing at each other made significantly more sense, then. He wondered if the Potters were also descended from Slytherin in that case, and thought to ask Draco before remembering that they were not quite speaking currently. 

The locket, he also realised, was what Voldemort would eventually use as his Horcrux. Harry recalled Regulus explaining to him and Draco that it had been Salazar Slytherin’s locket. This thought needled him until Dumbledore confirmed Marvolo Gaunt, the father in the memory, to be Voldemort’s grandfather, and thus his daughter, Merope, to be Voldemort’s mother. Harry wondered if, in the case that Voldemort created more than one Horcrux, he would have also used the Peverell ring. 

“That ring, sir,” Harry said when he noticed the ring in question settled atop Dumbledore’s desk. “you were wearing it that night you came to pick me up from the Dursleys.” 

“I was.” 

“Have you always had it?” 

“I acquired it quite recently,” Dumbledore said, watching him over his half-moon spectacles. “A few days before then, in fact.” 

“The same time you injured your hand, then?” 

“Around that time, yes.” 

Harry was staring at his hand now, dark and shrivelled and, honestly, dead-looking. Harry didn’t know much of anything about the effect of Horcruxes on people, but he’d bet a large sum of money that what seemed to have happened to the Headmaster’s hand wouldn't be far off. 

“Goodnight, Harry,” Dumbledore said when Harry was silent for another moment. 

Harry nodded, moving to open the door. “Goodnight, Professor.” 

• • •

“Harry,” a voice startled him, just as he was turning into the corridor with the Fat Lady’s portrait. He was less frightened when he realised he knew this voice, and especially when Draco stepped out from a dark alcove in the wall and took a step towards him. 

“You scared me,” Harry said by way of greeting, unsure whether to move towards the boy or not. Part of him was angry at Draco for avoiding him this week, and he was worried about what he might say should they begin an argument now. 

“Sorry,” Draco said, sounding unapologetic. “I was waiting for you.” 

Harry felt his heart ache a little and couldn’t help but agree with it. This was weird . He should be reaching out to take Draco’s hands and snogging him up against the wall as he was wont to do when they found each other in secret around the school. He hated how uncomfortable he felt. 

“Okay?” he said, a little harshly, and wanted to take it back immediately when Draco winced. 

“We need to talk.” 

Harry’s heart began to race suddenly, his mind filling with implications of what Draco might mean. “That’s what people say before break-ups.” 

Draco’s eyes widened in alarm, but it did little to soothe Harry’s anxiety. 

“I’m not breaking up with you, Harry.” 

Harry released a breath, annoyed to find it coming out shaky. Don’t start crying now, you fucking sop, he thought angrily. He just said he’s not breaking up with you. “Okay, well, what was I meant to think? It’s kind of been feeling like you want to.” 

“I never–” Draco started, stepping forward again. He took a deep breath, and Harry couldn’t decide how he was feeling at all. “I’m sorry, darling–” 

“Don’t,” Harry interrupted, louder than necessary. “I’m meant to be angry at you, Draco. It doesn’t work when you’re calling me that.” 

He didn’t miss the slight twitch of Draco’s lips. “Would you feel better, then, if I called you Potter?” 

“No,” Harry sulked, crossing his arms and looking away pointedly. “I’m just… confused. I’ve been thinking of that Potions lesson all week , trying to remember what I’d done wrong. But I just don’t know. And you’ve been acting like nothing’s wrong, which it clearly is– ” 

“I know,” Draco sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Harry–” 

“Let me guess: it’s not me, it’s you?” 

Draco gave him an odd look. “What? Well, yes, but–” 

“It’s a muggle thing,” Harry sighed, waving a hand. “Go on.” 

“Perhaps we can find somewhere more comfortable. I’ve been sitting on stone for almost an hour,” Draco said, and Harry shrugged. 

He followed as Draco led him to the familiar stretch of wall, pacing three times in front of it and pushing inside the door that appeared to find their usual comfortable lounge area. A fire was already crackling away in front of the couches, and Harry remembered comparing the sound to Draco’s voice on the train back home at the end of term. What he wouldn’t give to be right back there, now. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been… avoiding you,” Draco started once they’d sat down. The empty space between them made Harry feel pained. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t exactly mean to?” 

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. 

“I… had a lot that I was thinking about. It’s no excuse, and I shouldn’t have distanced myself. I– hearing that you had even considered that I might want to leave you… I couldn’t even imagine…” 

“It was dramatic,” Harry mumbled. “I have more faith in us than that.” 

Draco reached out, seemingly without thinking, his palm cold but familiar against Harry’s arm. “No,” he said. “It shouldn’t have even been a thought that crossed your mind. And it’s because of me that it was. I’m so sorry. I was so caught in my thoughts that I didn’t notice how I’d been behaving.” 

“And what… are those thoughts?” Harry asked cautiously. 

He was rarely able to convince Draco to talk about what he was thinking, or feeling, if it was something meaningful. Sometimes, he wondered if he should re-introduce their old habit of trading truths just to get something out of him. Draco didn’t reply for a long while, and Harry was almost ready to speak again himself when he finally did. 

“Theo was right,” he admitted quietly, then, at Harry’s confused look, continued. “When he said I was good at running away. I’m not foolish enough to think that it wasn’t my only option to keep myself safe, running away from my home, from the Dark Lord. But it was… selfish. When I saw my mother on the platform, it was difficult to remember why I’d abandoned her. When Theo reminded me, it was… I could only remember the guilt at seeing her concern then, at hearing you say she asked about me at Diagon Alley…” 

Harry remembered telling Draco that, back at Grimmauld Place, and the way he’d completely closed up, leaving the room and curling up in their bed. He never did talk about what he’d been feeling then, either. 

“I realised that I’d abandoned him, too. Not because… not in the way that we could no longer be friends because I’m with you, or because I don’t agree with our parents’ ways. But his father, like mine, is one of Voldemort’s closest followers. Theo has been stuck in the same position as me since we were born, and now I’ve found a way out of it and left him behind.” 

“You haven’t left him,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand from his arm and curling their fingers together properly. “He doesn’t have to follow his father, just like you don’t. He doesn’t have to be our friend if he doesn’t want, but we won’t just shut him out. If he’s important to you, he’s important to me too, you know?” 

Draco huffed a faint laugh. “Ever the martyr.” 

“I’m serious, Draco.” 

“I know,” Draco smiled, looking down at their hands. His smile seemed sad. “But he doesn’t have a strong enough reason to openly support your side. He has two younger sisters that he cares for more than his father ever would, one who isn’t yet old enough to study at Hogwarts, and my mother who he adores as though she were his own. She’s his godmother, actually, so it’s close enough. It would be too dangerous for him to leave. Too much of a risk.” 

They dipped into silence as Harry thought it over. It made sense that Draco felt guilty, even if he disagreed that he should. He hated to think how it would be if Draco hadn’t left the manor that night in the summer, if he’d allowed Voldemort to make him a Death Eater. 

“Is he…?” 

“No,” Draco said before Harry had to finish the question. “Voldemort doesn’t truly want teenagers in his closer circle of followers, no matter their parentage. One must be of age, at least, and proven their utmost loyalty. The only reason he would have made me a Death Eater would have been as a punishment for my father’s mistake. Taking the Mark is… painful, I’ve heard. Similar to the Cruciatus Curse. And you’re quite literally binding yourself to him. It’s horrifying.” 

“Theo’s dad was at the Ministry, though, wasn’t he?” 

Draco nodded. “But he wasn’t in charge, and he didn’t make the decisions that led to them being imprisoned and the prophecy being broken.” 

“Right.” 

“Harry,” Draco said, and Harry looked up to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry for this week. I think that, besides being utterly distracted, I was trying to… to prove that I hadn’t changed everything. That I hadn’t completely abandoned my friends. It was thoughtless of me.” 

“I forgive you,” Harry sighed, sitting back more comfortably against the sofa’s cushions and gently tugging at Draco to follow until he was fitted snugly between his legs, pressed flush to Harry’s chest. His neck tickled where Draco nuzzled into it, pressing featherlight kisses to his skin and curling his hands into the front of Harry’s hoodie. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, his breath sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. “It’s my own fault, I know, but still. Don’t let me do something ridiculous like that again.” 

Harry hummed agreeably, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist and pulling him as close as he could, just allowing himself to revel in the feeling of having him back in his arms. 

“It only works as long as you talk to me,” he said, knowing Draco likely wouldn’t want to hear it. “You’re so closed off with your feelings, and I understand that it’s the way you are, and that you’re not likely to easily change. But I’m not a Legilimens. I want to know what’s going on inside that head of yours, even if you think it’s unimportant or uncomfortable.” 

Draco was quiet for a few moments, then, “I know. I’ve always been taught to keep my emotions to myself, it’s a difficult habit to overcome. But, as always when it comes to you, I’ll try.” 

Harry smiled, hiding it in the soft head of white-blond hair tucked beneath his chin and becoming instantly reminded of the scent of the Amortentia in their first Potions class. 

“Was it true what you implied about the Amortentia, by the way?” he asked, somewhat sheepishly. “About it being…” 

“I didn’t smell your spunk, Harry,” Draco laughed, muffled against Harry’s neck. “Do you think me obsessed with sex?” 

“No!” Harry spluttered, cheeks hot. “You just– you said you couldn’t say it around other people! What– what was I meant to–” 

Draco laughed again, and despite it being at Harry’s expense, all he wanted was to kiss him. “That’s what I wanted Weasley to think. It was your sweat, you twit. Charcoal, scones, and Harry Potter’s sweat. Such a delightful combination, if I do say.” 

“My sweat?” Harry asked, nose wrinkling involuntarily. “Why?”  

“Well, it’s your natural scent, is it not? It’s only when I’m right up close, like now, which is likely why I love it so. And… it certainly doesn’t hurt that it’s stronger after you’ve gotten off.” 

Harry spluttered again, and if his skin was any lighter it would likely have turned bright red by now. “So it is about sex, then.” 

“I don’t know…” Draco murmured, making his voice low and silky in a way that drove Harry mad. His breath was still warm on Harry’s neck, lips tracing a line up to close over his earlobe. “Should we find out?” 

“Please,” Harry groaned, with all the embarrassing desperation of a boy who’d been deprived of any intimate contact with his boyfriend in almost a week, sinking deeper into the couch and tilting his head back in a silent indication for Draco to, basically, have at it. 

It was safe to say, neither of them made it back to their common rooms until well past curfew.

Chapter Text

“Stan Shunpike?” Harry asked, bewildered. “There’s no way.” 

Draco cleared his throat. “It says here: ‘Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular wizarding conveyance the Knight bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr Shunpike, twenty-one, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home.’”  

“Do they mention what ‘Death Eater activity’ raised their suspicions?” Zabini questioned curiously, using his fork to add a couple of sausages to his plate. 

Since Saturday evening, Harry and Draco had been particularly clingy with one another, to the extent that at least one meal had been spent at each other’s table almost every day since. Both of their friend groups hadn’t held back their annoyance on the matter. Though, Harry thought stubbornly, they were doing wonders for that inter-house unity the teachers were always harping on about. All over the Great Hall, more and more students could be seen sitting at houses that weren’t their own. It had never been an actual rule not to, after all, but they’d never realised how much sway they held over the student body.  

“Apparently, he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans in a pub, which I highly doubt,” Draco went on dubiously, before suddenly jolting in his seat and flinging a Stinging Hex at Harry. “Hoot.” 

Harry, who’d spotted the little scops owl mere milliseconds before Draco had stung him, groaned and rubbed at his arm with more dramaticism than necessary. “I literally had it.” 

“You two still play that?” Pansy asked, giving them both bewildered looks. “It’s a child’s game.” 

“And what of it?” Harry challenged. 

“‘E’s the spotty one that runs the bus, ain’t he?” Goyle asked slowly, as though they hadn’t changed topics. 

Nott, who’d been ignoring them all until now, slanted a withering look his way. “He said that.” 

“Well,” Crabbe joined in matter-of-factly, a forkful of scrambled eggs held up in one hand that the others eyed cautiously. “He’s not a Death Eater.” 

“No,” Draco drawled, though it was kinder than Nott had sounded. “The Ministry is likely trying to appear as though they’re doing something. They’re losing control.” 

“Can’t imagine they’d be any help with control, either,” Harry said, buttering a handful of scones and passing most of them to Draco’s plate.  “Useless lot of cowards, they are.” 

Pansy made a sound of surprise, her dark eyebrows raised. “And we took you to be the Ministry’s golden poster body.”

“We took you lot to be little Death Eater spawn,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Guess we were both wrong.” 

“Draco,” Zabini said, pointedly glancing Harry’s way. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d think the expression in his gaze could almost be described as awe. 

Draco glared at his friend, swiping a scone crumb from the corner of his lip. “Over my dead body.” 

“Sorry,” Harry interrupted, confused and a little unnerved at Zabini’s unwavering stare. “What’re we talking about?” 

“No matter, darling,” Draco said airily, finishing his last scone and sip of tea before swinging his long legs over the bench and getting to his feet. Harry tried not to look so stupidly pleased in front of the group of Slytherins, but Zabini’s knowing smirk indicated that he might not have tried hard enough. “Your Quidditch tryouts are due to begin.” 

“You do know you’re not invited, right?” Harry pointed out, awkwardly waving goodbye to the Slytherins and scrambling to follow Draco down the length of the tables towards the door. “Can’t have you seeing the competition just yet.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Like you won’t waffle on about the entire thing later today.” 

“Well–” Harry frowned. “Shut up. At least the Gryffindors don’t need to know that.” 

“Fine,” Draco sighed dramatically. “If you truly don’t want me there, I’ll occupy myself in the library. I do have homework waiting for me.” 

“Sounds good,” Harry smiled, barely holding himself back from pressing a kiss to the boy’s cheek at the door. “I’ll see you after.” 

“I’ll see you afterwards, my love,” Ron mimicked in a high-pitched voice as he and Hermione joined Harry in the Entrance Hall. Draco gave him a derisive look and strode away. “Don’t forget me while I’m gone!” 

Harry elbowed him in the side. “I don’t sound like that, git.” 

“Hi, Ron!” a voice called out as they were leaving the main doors to head down to the Quidditch pitch. Lavender Brown was standing a little ways away with Parvati Patil, smiling widely at Ron as they passed. 

“Er– hi,” Ron mumbled awkwardly, though Harry couldn’t help but notice the new strut to his walk as they continued on their way. 

“Er– hi,” Harry mocked, and laughed as Ron shoved him. 

Hermione, who was yet to say anything, frowned and pushed past the both of them impatiently. When they reached the pitch, she went off to find a spot in the stands without wishing Ron luck for the tryout. Harry simultaneously wanted to smack Ron over the back of the head and go after Hermione to apologise for making anything out of that barely-three-word-interaction between Ron and Lavender. 

He had time for neither, however, as he’d just found himself faced with what seemed to be at least half of Gryffindor house, clutching broomsticks and peering over each other’s shoulders to look at him. 

“Um,” he started uncomfortably, brushing his hands against his thighs. “Hi everyone, it’s great to see so many of you. To make this easy, can you all get yourselves into groups of ten?” 

There was a bit of scrambling and a lot of shouting as the crowd divided themselves, but eventually there seemed to be mostly-even groups. One at a time, Harry asked each group to mount their brooms and fly a lap of the pitch, which turned out to be a brilliant way of eliminating about a third of the group. 

“If anyone here is not a Gryffindor–” he yelled after the fourth group turned out to all be Hufflepuffs. “– then bugger off! Please!” 

Tryouts lasted until lunch, and Harry thought he was quite pleased with his new team. Three Chasers: Katie Bell, which was no surprise, a new find called Demelza Robins, and Ginny, who’d outflown all of the competition brilliantly. His new Beaters were no Fred and George, but Jimmy Peakes had a particularly ruthless strength and Ritchie Coote aimed quite well enough. And, to both his and Hermione’s great pride, Ron had managed to snag the Keeper position, outdoing Cormac McLaggen by only one penalty. 

“His sister gave him an easy save,” McLaggen scowled after Ron was declared Gryffindor’s new Keeper. 

Harry scoffed. “That was the one he nearly missed. Ron won fair-and-square.” 

McLaggen took a step closer to him, and Harry was keenly aware of just how much taller and broader the other boy was than him. He could likely knock Harry out in one blow if he wanted to. 

“You shagging him too, huh?” he muttered lowly, so that Harry was pretty sure no one else could pick up his words. “Give special treatment to all your little fuck-buddies, do you? Don’t think everybody doesn’t know the only reason you’re so-called ‘friends’ with that Death Eater prick is because he’s an easy shag–”

He grunted loudly as his knees seemingly buckled of their own accord, dropping his weight hard to the grass and likely sending a shock up his entire body. Harry glowered down at him, not making to move back even a single step despite the awkward position. McLaggen wasn’t paying attention to him, rather staring down at the grass below him as though confused as to how he’d ended up there. Annoyed, Harry flicked his fingers a second time without even thinking of a particular spell and sent the boy’s head wrenching back at an almost-dangerous speed. 

“He’s not easy , McLaggen, and he’s not a Death Eater,” he growled, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. “Ron won Keeper because he wasn’t stupid enough to miss a shot. Can’t say the same for you.” 

McLaggen scowled, head still forced back. “Let me the fuck up, Potter.” 

“Hmm,” Harry considered mockingly, feeling out his restless magic and directing it to McLaggen’s mouth, spreading his thumb and index finger apart slowly and watching as his magic stretched the boy’s lips apart in an involuntary grin. “But you’re starting to look like you enjoy being down there.” 

A part of his mind told him that Hermione would definitely be calling him off at this point, but the thought was only fleeting. The glint of genuine fear in McLaggen’s eyes was only spurring on Harry’s anger. He shouldn’t be afraid . He should be sorry.  

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice reached out tentatively from behind him. She must have just reached them from the stands. “What’s happened?” 

“McLaggen was just about to apologise,” Harry answered without glancing her way. “Weren’t you?” 

He couldn’t help but feel a touch amused as he forced the kneeling boy to nod with a lazy drag of his fingers. It was so much less restrictive using his magic without trying to think of the spell to use; simply thinking of his intention and allowing it to play out. 

“You’d have to let go of whatever hold you have on him for him to do that, Harry,” Hermione said, stepping beside him so that Harry could see her in his peripheral vision. 

“Fine,” he said, reluctantly drawing back his magic and watching McLaggen slump slightly. “Go on, then.” 

The Gryffindor slowly got to his feet, dragging his gaze up again, on his own this time, to glare harshly at Harry’s expectant expression. “Fucking queer ,” he spat, loud enough for everyone in their vicinity to hear it this time. 

‘Can’t have you looking like a little queer , boy,’ Uncle Vernon growled, wrenching Harry into the wooden chair so that Aunt Petunia could hack at his too-long hair. 

‘What’re you lookin’ at, freak? You a pervert? You a queer ?’ a boy four grades above Harry spat after he’d gone in to use the boy’s lavatory and found a group of older boys sharing a cigarette. 

‘Who you moaning ‘bout in your sleep, hm?’ Dudley asked, grinning maliciously as his friends laughed behind him. ‘ ’Ooh Cedric!’. Cedric your boyfriend, hey? You a ponce, Potter?’

“Ron!” Hermione cried out suddenly and Harry blinked quickly as though coming out of a daze. 

McLaggen was stumbling back from him with a loud grunt, one hand clutched close to his nose. Ron, who’d evidently swung at him only a moment ago, was stepping forward again to shove at him roughly. 

“You wanna fucking say that again?” he barked. For the first time, Harry was very appreciative of the growth spurt his friend had been granted over the summer. At least he didn’t need to make people kneel to feel small. “Come on, say it! Try it again, you fucking shit-for-brains waste of fucking–”

“Ron,” Harry interjected, reaching out for his arms before he swung either of them at McLaggen again. “It’s okay–” 

“Where’s Ginny?” Ron spun around wildly. “She’s got a mean Bat-Bogey that I’m sure would fit right in–” 

Ginny, who was standing by with the rest of the team, swiftly pulled out her wand. 

“Stop! Stop it!” Hermione snapped, stepping in front of McLaggen to face them. “The Professors are coming over, and you’ll all get detention if you carry on!” 

“I don’t need this shit,” McLaggen scoffed from over her shoulder, still holding his nose as he spun on his heel and marched off the pitch, broomstick clutched in his spare hand. 

“And stay away, arsehole!” Ron yelled after him. 

There was a light touch to Harry’s lower back, and he turned to find Draco standing there, confused and concerned wrapped in one. “What happened?” he asked, gaze boring into Harry’s as though searching for something. 

“Nothing,” Harry assured, then, when Draco’s eyes narrowed, he added: “Just McLaggen being a prat. And I might’ve gone a bit overboard, myself.” 

“Hm,” Draco responded doubtfully, his gaze falling to Harry’s hands, clenched tightly at his sides. He loosened them quickly, only for Draco to take them both in his own and brush over his palms. “Granger, what happened?” 

Hermione glanced uncomfortably between the two of them. “Well, McLaggen was upset that he didn’t get the Keeper position, I imagine. He said something to Harry, none of us could really hear, then… well, he was on the ground–” 

“He said Ron and I were shagging, and that’s why I was giving him Keeper,” Harry sighed, avoiding looking anyone in the eyes. “Then accused me of shagging you , and said some shitty things. Look, it’s fine–” 

“Bloody git called Harry a name, too!” Ron interrupted, waving his hands wildly. “If I see that fucker ever again…” 

“I see,” Draco said darkly, glaring over Harry’s shoulder where McLaggen’s figure was likely retreating hastily in the distance. 

“Don’t you do anything,” Harry warned, tempting the boy’s gaze back to his. Professor McGonagall and Professor Hooch were mere steps away from them by now, and he didn’t want to risk anything. “He’s not worth it, and I’m fine. It’s only a word.”  

Draco hummed, rocking back on his heels and glancing away– a very obvious tell, if Harry ever saw one– before looking him straight in the eye again. “I won’t do anything.” 

• • •

This, as Harry had expected, had been a blatant lie. Not only had Draco taken the insignificant spat much more personally than necessary, but it seemed his Slytherin friends had all taken it on as their issue, also. They started innocently at first; harmless tricks and jinxes that had McLaggen’s hair turning mustard-yellow during supper, or his fingernails growing excessively and rapidly whilst he was using the boy’s lavatory, or even finding various frogs in his breakfast cups of tea for an entire week. 

None of these times had Harry actually seen any of the Slytherins do anything to cause it, but it was none-too-clear by the smug smirks on each of their faces when one of their pranks was underway. He was there, however, when the boy received a letter one morning in early October and, moments after opening the envelope, shrieked loudly and jumped to his feet, hands shaking wildly. They’d been covered by a gross, yellow-green pus and were quickly growing numerous fat boils that made it look as though the hands were swelling themselves. 

Draco, who’d been sitting at the Gryffindor table for breakfast that morning, glanced up only once before lazily flipping to the next page of his book and continuing to read, unperturbed. Harry might have bought the act if it weren’t for the distinctive hissing sound growing steadily louder from the abandoned envelope, still oozing with the disgusting Bubotuber pus. If he didn’t know any better, he might’ve thought there was a snake in the thing, but it wasn’t the first time he’d heard the ridiculously cliché message from a Slytherin to, effectively, watch one’s back . 

“Draco,” Harry sighed as McLaggen was hastily ushered from the hall, still yelping and shaking his hands as though to rid them of the ugly, bursting boils. “When is this going to end, exactly? I think he’s got the message.” 

“I’ve not the faintest idea what you might be on about,” Draco said calmly, turning to the next page. 

Harry gave him a look. “Yes, you do. I’m grateful that you’re defending my honour and all, but don’t you think it’s getting a bit much? He hasn’t gone to the Daily Prophet or anything, and it was just a name.” 

“Nothing is just a name, Harry.” 

Harry remembered the unexpected flash of memories he’d experienced after hearing the insult and conceded the point. Still, he was thankful when the harassment seemed to stop after that. The physical harassment, that is. Hermione reported that Zabini had still managed to make McLaggen look like an utter fool with only his sharp tongue and charming personality in the most recent of Professor Slughorn’s ‘get-togethers’. Harry almost regretted having to miss it. 

And, speaking of: “Harry, m’boy!” 

“Oh dear,” Harry muttered. 

He and Draco turned where they stood, backs remorsefully to the deliciously stocked shelf they’d been pursuing in Honeydukes. They’d intentionally slipped away from Ron and Hermione the moment they’d entered the busy shop, with the thought process being that warmth and sweets would always result in an overly-friendly Ron, and thus a very smitten Hermione. As much as it sort-of pained Harry to try and set up his two best friends, he was tired of watching them dance around each other and had decided– with some convincing from Draco– to do something about it. 

 “Do you know,” Draco mused as they turned around and waved at the approaching teacher. “You’re beginning to sound like myself.” 

“You wish,” he mumbled beneath his breath, turning his grin up a notch. “Hello, Professor!” 

Slughorn reached them finally, a large paper bag of crystallised pineapple clutched in one hand. “Harry! That’s three of my suppers you’ve missed now! What is keeping you, m’boy? I’m determined to have you!” 

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I’ve had Quidditch practice, you see,” Harry said honestly. He didn’t mention that he’d been strategically scheduling practices on the evenings he received a little invitation to one of the suppers in question. 

“Ah!” Slughorn cried, waving his lolly bag around wildly. “A little recreation never hurt anybody! How about Monday evening? The weather is sure to be too dreadful for Quidditch. And you’d be welcome to join us yourself, Mr Malfoy, of course…” 

Harry tried not to look too relieved. “Er, sorry, Professor. I’ve got a meeting with Professor Dumbledore then. And Draco is…” 

“I have a detention, unfortunately,” Draco lied smoothly. “What can I say? Born and bred for troublemaking.” 

Slughorn regarded him with a mixture of horror and concern. “I see, yes. Well… next time. You can’t evade me forever, Harry!” And with a jovial wave, he disappeared into the crowd of shoppers. 

“Terribly transparent, that man,” Draco said, turning again to pick through a selection of Deluxe Sugar Quills. “Is that what you received at the doors this morning before I reached you? Another invitation from the Headmaster?” 

“Yes…” Harry replied cautiously. The topic of his private lessons with Dumbledore had been somewhat taboo since the first one. Draco still didn’t trust the Headmaster and Harry wasn’t about to prompt an argument over it anytime soon. “You don’t really have a detention, do you?” 

“Of course not. Theo does, however. Apparently he hasn’t been completing homework, which isn’t like him at all.”

Harry still hadn’t decided what he thought about Theo Nott, and it seemed the Slytherin was in the same place in regards to him. More often than not, he seemed content with ignoring Harry completely and disappearing behind a textbook in his company. Other times, he would throw Harry scathing remarks that he claimed to be intended as jokes and glare at him when he thought Harry wasn’t looking. Then, on rare occasions, he seemed to have a complete change of heart and would slip into casual conversation with Harry as though it were any other day. Harry had no idea what to think of any of it, really. 

“Doesn’t seem like him,” Harry agreed with a shrug, adding a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees to Draco’s paper bag. “But I can’t really say.” 

Draco glanced at him. “You don’t like him.” 

“What d’you mean? He’s fine.” 

“I never imagined myself saying this, but you seem to have been getting along quite well with the others. Theo, however, you never talk to, or even really look at. This is perfectly alright with me, of course, I’d never consider myself friends with Granger and… Weasel. But I do wonder.” 

Harry gave him an exasperated look. “First of all, you definitely are friends with Hermione by now. Don’t think I don’t know you’re getting half of those Sugar Quills to give to her. And Theo’s the one who ignores me! Half the time, I’m convinced he hates me, and the other half I don’t think he even registers that I’m there.” 

“Hm,” Draco hummed shortly. “Perhaps the two of you need incentive. After the Samhain bonfire, we often continue the celebrations in the common room after-hours. It’s typically only Slytherins allowed, but perhaps they could make an exception for Sir Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived to be Chosen by the Dark Lord, etcetera, etcetera.” 

“Don’t call me those,” Harry quipped, following him to the register. “And I’m not a knight. And I’m not sure these ‘incentives’ will make much of a difference, but if you somehow manage to convince them to let me into the common room, I’ll join. Might help to get my mind off things, anyway.” 

Draco smiled at him before stepping up to the counter and paying for his bag of confectionery. As they were leaving the shop, Ron and Hermione managed to squeeze through the crowd to meet up with them. 

“I cannot believe you,” Hermione muttered beneath her breath as she hooked an arm through Harry’s. “Do not do that to me again, Harry James.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said, grinning. “Didn’t you have a nice time looking at sweets?” 

“I had a hard time even thinking about the sweets when I kept being pushed into that oblivious idiot and had to watch his annoying face light up stupidly before being dragged this way and that by my wrist!” she hissed, pressed close to Harry’s ear so that Ron, who was looking very satisfied with his haul and striding along in front of them, wouldn’t overhear. 

“Why, Granger,” Draco drawled, looping his long scarf around his neck at least three times. “It almost sounds like you enjoyed it.” 

Hermione huffed, cheeks a warm pink, though she would have put it down to the cold. 

“Where’re we off to, then?” Ron asked, a large lollipop already hanging from his mouth.

“Anywhere with warmth,” Draco responded, shuddering dramatically and sparing a jealous glance at Harry’s blue cloak. 

“The Three Broomsticks, I think,” Hermione suggested. “They’ll have fires going” 

All eager to get out of the bitter cold as quickly as possible, the four of them walked so fast to the pub that it could almost be considered a jog. Once they neared the doors, however, Harry couldn’t help but take notice of a familiar, hunched figure a few paces away, rummaging through a large suitcase at his side. 

“Mundungus!” he called, and the suitcase fell to the ground, its contents spilling out onto the cobbled street as the man looked up in surprise. 

“Oh,” Mundungus Fletcher said, sounding somewhat nervous. “‘Arry, good to see ya. Don’t let me keep ya.” 

Ignoring the words, the group of them stepped closer to peer at the objects being shoved back into the shabby-looking suitcase. 

“Are you selling this stuff?” Ron asked, leaning forward to pick something small and silver that had rolled by his foot. “Hang on. This looks familiar–”

“Gimme that!” Mundungus snapped, reaching out to grab at it, but not before Harry had also recognised the object and stepped forward to yank the man by his collar, pinning him to the pub’s brick wall. “Oi!”

“Why do you have Sirius’ things?” he asked darkly, his face so close to Mundungus’ that he could smell the strong tobacco on his breath. “And don’t try to lie.” 

Mundungus spluttered, trying to shove at Harry to no avail. “What? Sirius? You’re mistaken–” 

“I believe he said not to lie,” Draco drawled, bending to pick up more of the fallen items. “These are certainly from the house. Enjoy ransacking the homes of dead men, do you?” 

“What?!” Mundungus cried, hands scrambling at Harry’s grip as it tightened slightly around his throat. “Ya don’t know what ya talkin’ about!” 

Ron scoffed. “Give it up, Dung. This’s got the Black family crest on it.” 

“Harry, you’ve got to let go of him,” Hermione said, glancing around at the few people out on the street staring curiously in their direction. 

“If I let you go,” Harry growled, leaning close to the man still struggling against the wall. “You’ll leave all of this behind, and I won’t hand you over to the Aurors for theft.” 

Mundungus looked stricken. “It don’t belong to anyone anymore, dunnit? It ain’t even all from the ‘ouse!” 

“Are you being purposefully dense? I inherited that house, so it all belongs to me –” Mundungus opened his mouth to correct him, but Harry interrupted: “ All of it. Understand?” 

“But– but a man’s gotta make a living, ain’t ‘he?” 

“Find another way,” Harry said dismissively, finally dropping his hold and stepping back only far enough for Mundungus to slip awkwardly to one side. 

He sent a despairing glance at the suitcase and its items, but at Harry’s cold glare, seemed to give in and turned on his heel, disappearing with a crack. 

“Must be the only reason he turns up to Order meetings. Rotten git,” Ron spat, handing the silver ring in his hand to Harry. “S’pose this belongs to you. Don’t go using it all rashly now or anything.” 

“No?” Harry asked, affecting a disappointed tone. “Are you saying you don’t want me to propose to you, Ron? After everything we’ve been through?” 

Ron rolled his eyes, shoving Harry’s hand away from him. “Oh, shut up. I meant your actual boyfriend, you prat.” 

“Ah, but that wouldn’t have been a joke,” Harry said, a little too honestly, sending a small smile at the Slytherin beside him.

“After that delightful performance, I doubt I’d be at all opposed,” Draco said, gaze heavy on Harry’s and sending a flicker of heat down his body. He reached forward and took the ring from Harry’s hands, peering down at it. “But alas, this ring is meant to be worn by the Master or Heir to a house. Certainly not used for marriage proposals. Surely your eldest brother wears one, Weasley? The eldest child receives it when they come of age.” 

“Bill wears plenty of rings,” Ron said with a shrug. “Hard to keep track. But I reckon I remember him being given it on his seventeenth.” 

Draco looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Technically, you’re not of age yet, Harry. But the ring is yours to wear.” 

Harry looked at the silver band being offered back to him, considering. He’d never tried wearing any jewellery, really, but he thought he wouldn’t mind it. The ring was large and a little heavy, but it wasn’t as gaudy as he might have thought. A wide, silver band held a flat, black onyx stone with the Black crest printed in silver in its centre. And, Harry realised as he peered closer, a tiny silver snake framed the stone, its head biting the end of its tail. Okay, so it was a little ostentatious, but he didn’t feel that he minded. 

“Shouldn’t it be yours? You’re the real heir, I guess. Sirius just chose me,” he said, glancing up again at Draco, who was frowning slightly. 

“Well, wizarding inheritance is not as strict as it used to be. If you were chosen as Black’s successor, and the house responds to you, then it is yours.”

Harry nodded. “Okay,” he said, sticking his hand out and wiggling his fingers in a wordless command. 

Draco’s eyebrow quirked upwards slightly, but he didn’t say anything as he supported Harry’s hand with his own and slipped the heavy ring onto Harry’s middle finger. Harry smiled a little to himself. It felt like another small piece of Sirius. 

“Harry, you might want to look at this,” Hermione interjected suddenly, crouching near to the ground and peering at something gold glinting on the cobbled pavement. “I think this is…” 

The moment Harry stepped closer to get a better look, an intense shock of pain rushed to his head and he cursed loudly, clutching a hand to his scar. 

“The Horcrux?” Draco hissed, stepping forward. “We need to move it from here. Harry, are you alright?” 

“Fine,” Harry grunted, the pain soothing to a dull ache at his forehead. “Don’t touch it.” 

“Ron, empty that bag,” Hermione ordered, waving her hand at the paper bag full of Honeydukes sweets still clutched in Ron’s hand. 

He quickly upturned the lot of them into the pocket of his winter jacket and handed the crumpled bag over as Hermione took out her wand and floated the golden locket into it. 

“I’ll take it,” Harry offered, snatching the bag from Hermione before she could protest and stuffing it into his own pocket. An odd, queasy-sort of feeling began to settle in his stomach, but he ignored it stubbornly. “We’ve got to get this somewhere safe.” 

“Should we take it to Dumbledore?” Ron asked, glancing around to check if anyone had noticed their actions. 

Draco’s lips thinned disapprovingly. “I don’t think–”

“If it isn’t our resident lion pride,” a deep but gleeful voice interrupted them, and Zabini sauntered over to sling an arm lazily over Draco’s shoulders. “Harassing beggars now, are we? You really are the saviour of us all, Potter.” 

“He’s a thief,” Harry said defensively, waving a hand at the scattered objects on the pavement and sending them rolling back into their brown suitcase before anyone else decided to start asking questions. Unfortunately, the brief use of magic seemed to up his nausea ten-fold. “These items belong to me.” 

“Ah,” Zabini purred, leaning over to gaze pointedly at the new ring adorning Harry’s finger. “Early inheritance is lovely, is it not?” 

Harry felt his brow furrow. “No, not at a cost.” 

The group of them were silent for a beat, before Zabini swiftly collected himself. “Forgive me, Potter, all of the inheritance I have collected has certainly been worth its cost. I forgot my company.” 

“That’s alright,” Harry said, blinking in surprise at the apology he, admittedly, hadn’t expected to receive at all. The nauseous feeling was becoming somewhat overwhelming now, not at all helped by the remaining throb of his headache. He needed to be rid of this Horcrux. “Uh, actually, we were all just–” 

“You should join our Samhain after-party,” the other boy cut in jovially, ignorant to Harry’s discomfort. “You truly haven’t lived until you’ve attended a Slytherin celebration. The house will be in an uproar over it, naturally, but that’s all the fun of it, no?” 

“Blaise,” Draco said, sounding like a warning for some reason Harry didn’t have the brain-power to determine at the moment. He thought if he opened his mouth to ask, he might just throw up instead. “I’ve already invited him.” 

Zabini made a ‘tsk’ sound, still smiling charmingly. “Spoilsport. Well, we’ll see you in the common room for Samhain, then. Granger, Weasley, you two as well. Potter, are you quite alright?” 

Harry nodded slowly, though when Draco touched a gentle hand to his back, he leant into it heavily and almost stumbled backwards. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, something in what Zabini had said that was important, but he couldn't begin to try and figure it out. He swayed dazedly. 

“Harry,” Draco said, but his voice had gone all muffled and quiet, and Harry thought someone might have removed his glasses at some point because the world had suddenly become a blur. “Harry, can you hear me?” 

“Samhain,” he mumbled, feeling his whole body go completely lax.

“What are you–” 

“–out of his–” 

Harry blinked very slowly. “Huh?” 

“–down, Harry–”

“-ry? Harry? Sit– oh shit–”

Chapter Text

“Welcome back, Mr Potter,” a voice greeted with mild exasperation as Harry blearily blinked his eyes open, squinting at the bright light. 

“‘Lo?” he mumbled, before his glasses were unceremoniously shoved onto his face and Madam Pomfrey swam into vision. 

She pursed her lips sternly. “I say, Mr Potter. You may as well reserve yourself a permanent bed here at this rate.” 

“Not a bad idea,” another voice drawled, and Harry turned to see Draco leaning over at his other side. “May I ask why you refrained from a simple Rennervate ?” 

“After a certain amount of time, I would,” Madam Pomfrey explained, handing Harry a small, green vial to drink. “But one should regain consciousness naturally within a short amount of time. No need to force it to right itself too quickly. How are you feeling, Mr Potter?” 

“Er…” 

He thought about the vision he’d just awoken from; the flash of green light as a family of Muggles was murdered at what appeared to be his own hand holding Voldemort’s wand and the delighted cackle that had spilled from his own lips. He’d almost perfected throwing the chilling, slimy invasion of Voldemort’s magic from his mind during consciousness, but the Dark wizard still seemed to take pleasure in giving him a glimpse at the suffering he was causing outside their walls whilst he was asleep. Harry wished the charmed necklace he’d been given from Draco stretched to strange possession-visions as well. 

“Fine, thanks.” 

He glanced at Draco, but the boy was distracted by the now-empty vial still in his hand. 

“You created that potion yourself, if I’m not mistaken?” he asked, and Madam Promfrey nodded with a proud sort-of smile. “Brilliant.” 

“If you’re going to become a Healer, Draco, you’re going to have to work on your bedside manner,” Harry grumbled, raking a hand through his hair and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Am I alright to go, Madam Pomfrey?” 

“For now,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “Remember to hydrate yourself, Mr Potter. And get some food into you. Come back to me if you start feeling abnormal.” 

Harry nodded and she bustled away to another occupied bed, leaving him to look back at Draco with a frown. “What happened?” 

“You fainted,” Draco sighed, looking quite like he wanted to do away with the talking and just kiss him instead. “Hagrid happened to be coming out of the Three Broomsticks right as you went down, and carried you back here.” 

Remembering everything suddenly, Harry swung around to the discarded cloak at the end of the bed and began patting down the pockets. “Where is it?” 

“With Granger,” Draco replied vaguely. Harry gave him an expectant look and he continued. “It didn’t seem to have the same effect on any of us as it did on you, to nobody’s surprise. It really is always you, little fox.” 

There came a sudden squeak from the bed beside them, and they turned simultaneously to a first or second-year girl, blushing bright red and pressing her hands to her mouth. Draco disregarded her immediately and turned back to Harry. 

“They’re in the library,” he said, reaching for Harry’s wrist and ignoring the muffled sound from their onlooker. “We’re to meet them. Come on.” 

“What’re they doing in the library?” Harry asked, quickly falling into step beside his boyfriend as he strode from the Hospital Wing with Harry’s wrist gripped in his hand. 

“You said something before you lost consciousness. Do you remember?” 

Harry, who couldn’t remember anything before Zabini inviting him and his friends to the Slytherin Samhain get-together, shook his head. “No.” 

“You said ‘Samhain’.” 

Harry blinked, confused, then it came back to him. “Oh! Samhain! I remembered when Blaise mentioned it, I was already thinking about Sirius, and, well, I realised–” 

“Yes, we figured it out,” Draco interrupted, his pace quickening as they neared the library corridor. “I have no idea how I hadn’t thought of it before. Granger is beside herself, though I hardly would have expected her to know considering she doesn’t adhere to the Sabbats.” 

“She likes to know a bit about everything,” Harry explained, pushing open the library door and stepping into its eerie silence. 

“Shh!” Madam Pince hissed from her desk at the front, and they shared an eye-roll. 

They spotted Ron and Hermione quick enough, half-hidden behind a stack of old-looking books and whispering to each other. When they reached their table, Harry wordlessly threw up a Muffliato so that they could talk. 

“Harry!” Hermione cried, leaning over to hug him briefly. “You’re alright! I’m so sorry we weren’t there when you woke, but we thought this was too important not to get started on right away.” 

“Of course it is,” Harry said, taking a seat and looking at the selection of books on the table. “What’d you do with… you know what?” 

“It’s in here,” Hermione answered, patting her book bag. “I’ve put a Notice-Me-Not charm on it in case anyone goes snooping for some reason.” 

Harry nodded, unsure how comfortable he felt about his friend carrying the Horcrux around the school in a tote. “Alright… So then, how’d you guys figure out the Samhain thing?” 

“Well, I suppose Sirius was already on our minds after Mundungus and the ring. When we got to thinking about what on Earth you could have been trying to tell us with ‘Samhain’ on the way back to the castle, Draco eventually made the connection.” 

Harry grinned, sending a fond look at his boyfriend. “So clever.” 

“Not clever enough,” Draco grumbled, sitting beside Harry and taking a book into his hands, swinging both legs up to perch atop the desk, one ankle over the other. “Honestly, how long have we been looking into methods of breaching the veil between life and death? Every wizard that is raised practising the Sabbats knows that Samhain is used to do just that!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Harry said with a frown. “Sirius told me about it during Yuletide last year and I completely forgot.” 

Ron raised his hand. “I was there too, so we’re all dumb, really.” 

“I didn’t say I was dumb,” Draco said, appalled. 

“Oh, shut up you three,” Hermione sighed, waving a hand. “Tell us what you know about it, Draco. We’ll know what to look for.” 

“I saw it done every year at Samhain before I began attending Hogwarts. The students that celebrate aren’t too eager to spend the celebrations with ghosts, even if that is the traditional purpose of the circle.” 

Hermione sat forward, an excited glint in her eye. “They mentioned Sabbat circles during History in third year, but only in the basic sense. That’s when rituals are performed, right? Or spells?” 

“The circle is when we become closest to Earth’s magic. Light and Dark magic. We reach out to our wizarding ancestors and say one or more rituals dedicated to the Sabbat we’re celebrating. On Yule, we ask for things like protection and strength as these would traditionally support wizards through the longest night and carry over into the year. On Beltane, the strongest day of spring, witches would traditionally cast fertility rituals. Obviously, young students aren’t typically seeking fertility, so some often ask for romantic or sexual blessings. Harry just goes for the flower crowns, obviously.” He shot Harry a small smirk as he said the last bit, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“On Litha, we usually ask for things like happiness, positive blessings, good grades, and a break from stress, really. It falls in June around exam time, you see. Samhain, which is what we’re all here for, is the time when the veil between life and death is at its thinnest. When I celebrated with my parents and other wizarding families before Hogwarts, rituals were performed that enabled the ghosts of wizards that had died to briefly return to the living world and speak to their loved ones. If one didn’t wish to receive ghostly visitors, they could simply honour their memories and ask that they rest peacefully. That’s typically what we ask for at Hogwarts celebrations.” 

“Do they work?” Hermione asked. “Like… could asking for good grades essentially be considered cheating?” 

Draco laughed lightly. “Of course you’d ask that. Things like that can’t be cheated, unless one chooses to use particularly strong rituals, but I doubt Dumbledore would allow that to happen. They can help someone to feel less stressed or anxious about their exams or grades, to have a clearer mind or better memory when sitting an exam, to be more accepting of poor grades should they come. Things like that.” 

“How about the other things you mentioned? Asking for strength or romance or fertility or to see the dead?” 

“I’ve never attempted to ask for romantic matters, so I wouldn’t know about that,” Draco said airily. Harry, to his own disappointment, couldn’t work out if he was lying or not. “If it counts, I once tried to ask to find girls fanciable, when I was in second year. Clearly, that didn’t work.” 

Harry frowned, looking at him. “Really?” 

Draco shrugged, as though it was all very normal. “I knew I’d have to marry one someday, and I felt a bit left out when the other boys talked about them. I must have had a queer ancestor that put a stop to that blessing coming to fruition, though, thank Merlin. Anyway, I know the fertility rituals work. It’s likely the only reason I was able to be born.”

“Your mum used a fertility ritual to have you?” Ron asked, eyebrows raised, and Draco took on an expression of offence. 

“Well, not all women are lucky enough to produce an entire Quidditch team of children without magic,” he said coldly, taking his legs off the table and sitting up stiffly. “It was a true blessing that my mother was able to have me at all.” 

“Hey,” Harry interrupted softly, because Draco was getting a far-away look that told Harry he was thinking again about his mother at the Manor without him. He reached out to rest a hand on Draco’s arm and hoped their various onlookers wouldn’t think too much of it. “I’m grateful she was.” 

Draco cast him a half-smile. “Anyway, of course the rituals work. It’s magic that existed long before wizards used wands.” 

“So… how far can the Samhain rituals go? You’re saying we could see Sirius as a ghost or something, but do you think there’s any way to actually get him back?” Harry asked, unsure if he even wanted to hear the answer. 

“They can’t be used to truly bring people back from the dead,” Draco said. “But I can’t say the same rules would apply to a person trapped in Limbo. This is… a fairly unique situation. But it can’t hurt to try and find something.” 

And so, the four of them spent the rest of their evening scouring books, hoping to find something that might be helpful. When they reached curfew and the library closed, Draco followed them back to the Gryffindor common room and they continued their search at their usual fireplace, ignoring the looks and whispers from their housemates. At eleven o’clock, Harry gave up and joined Ron in laying by the fire, rubbing at his sore eyes behind his glasses. 

“I’ve got a headache,” he grumbled, and Ron grunted his agreement, already seeming half-asleep. 

Dropping his hands, Harry stretched his head up to glance around the common room at the few scattered students still chatting or studying. He sighed, letting his head thump back to the carpet and mindlessly gazing up at his boyfriend where he’d curled into an armchair and buried his face into an old book. 

“Stop it,” Draco said without looking up and turned a page. “I can feel you staring.” 

“Mm,” Harry hummed. The close fire was making him warm and drowsy, and all he wanted was to tuck himself snug around the boy and drift off to sleep, the rest of the room’s occupants be damned. 

Draco huffed. “I mean it.” 

Harry sighed, sitting up again and glancing around once more. He deliberated for a brief moment, before slipping out his wand and dragging it through the air with a muttered Ilusio , watching with satisfaction as the recognisable shimmer stretched around the circle of couches. Smiling to himself, he got to his feet and moved to Draco’s armchair where the boy was watching him suspiciously. 

“What can they see?” Draco asked, and Harry shrugged, moving aside the book between them and climbing onto his lap, wrapping his arms loosely around his torso and tucking his face into the crook of his neck. 

“Just us studying,” he mumbled, kissing Draco’s soft skin and drawing in his scent in a long inhale. “‘M tired.” 

Draco hummed, re-settling his open book on Harry’s back. “I can see.” 

“Let’s go to bed.” 

“My bed is in the dungeons, remember?” 

Harry whined, ignoring Ron’s pointed cough from down on the carpet. “Do you have to?” 

“Go to sleep here, little fox. You’ll be too asleep to notice later when I have to leave.” 

“S’already past curfew.” 

Draco turned a page in his book with a small sigh. “I’ll use your cloak. That was the plan, remember?” 

“Mm.”

“Go to sleep,” Draco was whispering now, and with that and the steady thump of his heart, Harry was quickly lulled into a contented slumber. 

• • •

“ Harry ,” Draco’s voice hissed, hands jostling his shoulders. “Wake up, Harry. We found something.” 

“Wassat?” Harry mumbled, eyes blinking open sleepily. He couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour, and the common room seemed to have emptied of any other students besides themselves. 

Hermione was leaning over the arm of the couch, hitting his arm frantically. “Wake up!” 

Harry groaned. “Alright, alright! I’m awake, Jesus.” 

“Who’s Jesus?” Ron muttered, though Harry couldn’t determine if he was actually awake or not where he lay curled up on the rug at their feet. 

The others ignored him. 

“I found a ritual that may work,” Draco said quickly, planting a book in front of Harry’s half-lidded eyes and tapping persistently at a paragraph of writing with the scrawled subheading ‘Reversus de Mortuis’ . “It’s a blood ritual designed to bring one back from the brink of death.” 

“‘Brink of death’?” Harry asked, squinting at the page. “But Sirius is already…” 

“It’s been used to resuscitate people who have only just passed,” Hermione continued, folding her legs beneath her to sit up on her knees. “Like how muggles use CPR. It rarely ever works, and it’s very old magic, and it’s blood magic, which is technically Dark–” 

Draco scoffed. “You already know Harry uses Dark magic–” 

“Wait, wait,” Harry interrupted, sitting up on Draco’s lap and adjusting his glasses. “Sirius hasn’t just died, remember? He’s been dead– or, in Limbo– for months now. Besides, I thought it was impossible to use magic to actually bring back the dead.”

“Except it doesn’t truly bring people back from true death,” Hermione answered. “If someone has only just died, they’d still be in the brief state of Limbo before moving on, remember?”

“And since we believe my cousin is stuck in his Limbo, it may still be possible for this to bring him back,” Draco continued. 

Hermione nodded. “It was used back in the Middle Ages, which is risky enough since it definitely hasn’t been tested or approved by any modern Ministry of Magic–” 

“And it’s so specific that most people don’t have the opportunity to use it,” Draco interrupted then, ignoring Hermione’s look. “We already know it typically has to be used only moments after a person has passed. It’s blood magic, so it requires a blood relative of the victim. It has only been known to work on Samhain, very likely because the barrier between life and death is naturally at its thinnest–”

“And it has to be performed in a place that was meaningful to the person you’re trying to revive,” Hermione hurried to say as Harry tried not to roll his eyes at the two of them. “Somewhere they’ll have had a strong connection to.” 

“Would Hogwarts work?” Harry asked, already feeling hopeful about the idea. “Or d’you think we can find out where my dad grew up? Moony said Sirius always felt like it was more his home than Grimmauld Place ever was.” 

He felt Draco’s free hand squeeze gently at his waist. “The Potters have always lived in Godric’s Hollow,” he said softly. “It would have been the same house that you lived in as a baby.” 

Harry stilled, heart racing at the thought of visiting the house that he could only remember now as the colour green. “Godric’s Hollow?” 

“It’s a village in Somerset,” Draco explained. “Many of the old wizarding families have lived there. the actual Gryffindors, the Dumbledores, the Potters after Ignotus Peverell settled there. I think Bathilda Bagshot lives there still. The Ministry would hardly question any use of magic there.”

“S’pose it won’t be difficult to convince Professor McGonagall to let us visit, being the 31st and all,” Harry muttered. 

Draco’s grip tightened on his side again briefly. “I heard they were buried there. Your parents. We could visit if you’d like.”

Harry released a long breath. Why hadn’t he ever thought to mention the whereabouts of his parents’ graves? He’d never even considered the fact that they might be somewhere, waiting for him to visit. “I never knew.”

The others were silent, unsure how to respond. 

“I’m tired,” he sighed, turning his face into Draco’s neck again and half-wishing he’d never been woken. He knew he should be happy that they’d found a potential way to bring Sirius back, but the thought of returning to the place his parents had died for him was turning a sick feeling in his stomach that he didn’t want to think about. 

“Come on,” Draco said, voice soft and touch gentle as he nudged Harry off of his lap and got to his own feet, palms pressed to either side of Harry’s waist. “Bed.” 

“It’s late,” Hermione agreed, stacking their books and prodding Ron with the socked toe of her foot. “Get up, Ronald. We’re all going to bed.” 

Ron grunted and Hermione rolled her eyes, shooting Harry and Draco an exasperated smile. “I’ll get him to come up in a minute. Night, you two.” 

“Goodnight, Granger,” Draco said, guiding Harry via the grip on his waist to the stairs that would lead them up to the dorms. 

“Night ‘Mione,” Harry mumbled, granting her a lazy wave. 

Once they’d reached Harry’s dorm room, it was to find Neville still awake and reading a novel in his bed, and Dean and Seamus asleep in Seamus’ four-poster. 

“Longbottom,” Draco greeted with a polite nod, hands moving to push Harry’s jumper and shirt up over his head. “Don’t fret. This isn’t what it looks like.” 

Neville scoffed, barely glancing up from his book. “I’m plenty used to it with those two,” he said, jutting his chin in the direction of Seamus’ bed across the room. “Just use a Silencing Charm, at least.” 

“I’m only putting him to bed,” Draco said, unzipping Harry’s jeans and tapping pointedly on his backside. “You can take those off yourself, fox, I’m not a manservant.” 

Harry hummed noncommittally, stepping out of his jeans and falling heavily on top of his mattress. “Stay,” he said. 

“I’m sure that breaks a number of rules,” Draco pointed out, beginning to undress anyway. 

“When have you cared for rules?” 

Draco huffed a laugh, locating one of Harry’s large hoodies and pulling it over his head. “Not since I started seeing you, it seems.” 

Harry smiled, shifting over on the bed to give his boyfriend room. He’d never get over seeing Draco in his hoodies, he thought. And the way they ruffled his perfect hair only helped to make him look that much more endearing. 

“If Snape has a problem, he can take it up with someone who cares,” he said, tugging the duvet up to cover both of them and wrapping himself around Draco comfortably, legs tangled and face pressed into fluffy, apple-scented hair. “I miss sleeping with you.” 

“Silencing Charm,” Neville chimed from his bed, and Harry leant up enough to toss a scrunched bit of parchment at him from his bedside table. 

Ron stumbled into the room then, rubbing at his eyes and squinting blearily around the room. “Seconded,” he mumbled, nose wrinkling at the sight of Harry and Draco wrapped up together and wandering over to his own bed to fall face-first onto it. “G’night.” 

“Night,” Harry sighed. “D’you mind if I put out the lights, Nev?” 

“Nah, I’ll sleep,” Neville said, folding a dog-ear on the page of his book and setting it on the bedside table. “Night, you lot.” 

Draco, already contentedly half-asleep with his face in Harry’s neck, mumbled unintelligibly, and Harry flicked a hand at the room, effectively putting out the candles still lit. 

“Thanks,” he whispered into Draco’s hair as he settled back down, wrapping an arm over Draco’s back. 

“For what?” Draco murmured. 

Harry huffed fondly. “Staying.” 

“Mm,” Draco hummed sleepily. “G’night, darling.” 

“Love you, dragon.” 

“Love you.” 

Harry smiled, finally taking his glasses off to put on the bedside table and tucking himself tightly around the boy in his arms, his previous discomfort quelled enough to allow him to drift into a– hopefully– much longer sleep than the last. 

• • •

“Er,” Harry said, glancing around awkwardly as he walked with Ron and Hermione to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. Draco had slipped out of bed and returned to his own common room at sunrise, but he may as well have been walking right beside them for all the staring they– mainly Harry– were receiving from the student body. “Did I miss something?” 

“The owl post must have already arrived,” Hermione muttered, glaring at a huddle of fourth-year girls whispering together as they passed. “What’s the bet you’re in it?” 

Harry sighed, ignoring the stares until they reached the hall to find their group of friends pushing papers across the table towards them. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron scowled, piling food onto his plate and eyeing the nearest paper. 

THE BOY WHO LIVED… TO BE GAY?

“Point for creativity,” a voice mused, and Harry turned in his seat to face his boyfriend, who somehow looked as though he’d managed a perfectly lengthy sleep. “But they lose it again for no mention of the Death Eater’s son that he’s shagging.” 

Neville shifted over and Draco took the vacant space beside Harry, who reached over to flick his forehead sharply. “Really, Draco.” 

“These’ve got you,” Seamus said, dragging two more papers from the pile, both with blown-up pictures of Harry and Draco printed across the front. 

THE CHOSEN ONE HAS CHOSEN THE DEATH EATER’S SON! 

THE WIZARDING WORLD’S SAVIOUR: IN LOVE WITH A DEATH EATER?

Draco hummed approvingly. “Better.” 

“I wish they’d stop calling you that,” Harry grumbled, forking a couple of sausages onto his plate and folding one of the papers to read more comfortably. “At least there’s nothing in here that actually confirms anything. It’s just speculation, as usual.” 

“Is it really speculation if there’s a picture of Malfoy slipping a ring onto your finger, mate?” Dean asked, reaching over the papers for the strawberry jam. “You weren’t exactly being subtle.” 

“ ‘An anonymous source close to Potter’ ,” Harry read aloud in a mocking voice as Draco deposited a large helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate before sticking some with his own fork and eating contentedly. “Draco, you’ve got your own plate for a reason. Everyone knows McLaggen’s the one who fought with me on the Quidditch pitch. Bloody git.” 

“I’m not very hungry,” Draco said, buttering a toast triangle on Harry’s plate and biting into it whilst ignoring Harry’s unimpressed expression. “I hope he knows this means all of the unfortunate mishaps that have been occurring to him will continue.” 

Hermione matched Harry’s look. “Oh, ‘unfortunate mishaps’ are they?” 

“ ‘Disagreement with a peer led to Potter revealing previously-disclosed information about his relationship with Draco Malfoy, implying that the two boys had been more intimate than the Wizarding World had first expected,” Harry continued from the same paper. “At least make your own tea, dragon, you’ll regret it later. That fucking liar!” 

“Delicate way of saying shagging,” Seamus commented. “This one’s just blatant about it. ‘Harry Potter was heard defending claims of his Slytherin lover being an ‘easy shag’, suggesting the two are involved beyond just the bedroom’ . Quite the assumption.” 

“He called me easy?” Draco asked, affronted. “I’ll show that half-brained self-obsessed prat of a con artist easy–” 

Harry sighed, pushing away the papers and deciding to pour himself another tea as Draco had already downed half of his first. “I don’t even think I want to know what that’s supposed to mean.” 

“‘Draco Malfoy, eldest and only son to Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater to You-Know-Who, was seen outside of the ‘Three Broomsticks’ Inn in Hogsmeade presenting Harry Potter, famously known as the Boy-Who-Lived, with a ring’,” Hermione read from another paper. “‘Could this have been a proposal?’ Oh, how ridiculous. ‘ Both Hogwarts students remain underage at this time–’ Exactly! ‘–but early commitments are seen frequently in times of war. In fact, this was seen in the First Wizarding War between James Potter and Lily Potter (née Evans), parents of Harry Potter, who chose to wed shortly following their graduation from Hogwarts. Is their son following in their footsteps?’ No, you imbeciles. Honestly, they find any reason to talk about your history, Harry.” 

“Tell me about it,” Harry grumbled into his teacup, looking up as a large owl suddenly swooped down from the rafters to perch neatly on Draco’s shoulder, a letter tied to one foot displaying the unmistakable Malfoy crest stamped in black wax to the fold. 

Draco sighed, “And here’s mother.” He scooped a treat from a pouch on the table and supplied it to the owl before untying his letter, allowing the owl to soar back off out the small ceiling window with the treat clutched in her beak. 

“Will she be upset?” Harry asked, glaring at a couple of students who’d bravely leant over to peer around their shoulders. A wave of his hand had a Muffliato cast on their surroundings. 

“I’m quite certain she already suspected that I had no interest in girls,” Draco said indifferently, though he tucked the letter into his pocket without opening it. “I… would have preferred her to find out a different way, at a better time, but it’s done now.” 

“Voldemort won’t… punish her, will he?” 

He watched the bob of the boy’s throat as he swallowed sharply. “No,” he answered after a moment. “She’s too well-respected.” 

Harry didn’t completely believe him, but he knew it wasn’t something Draco would talk about openly in front of company. “Okay,” he said, reaching beneath the table to intertwine their hands. 

Ron groaned suddenly as the new barn owl the Weasley’s had adopted since Errol’s passing promptly landed beside his breakfast plate. “Oh, Merlin. Mum’s written.” 

“I should call Moony,” Harry realised rather belatedly, chancing a hopeful search of his robes and finding the small two-way mirror in one of the pockets. He held it up to his face and muttered, “Remus Lupin.” 

He waited for a long moment, propping the mirror against his teacup and finishing Draco’s discarded half of the buttered toast-triangle with his free hand. When two minutes had passed without a response, Harry frowned. 

“ Remus Lupin, ” he said again, louder this time. Another moment passed, and just as Harry was readying to call out again, Remus’ face appeared in the glass. 

“Harry?” the man asked, his voice sounding tired and croaky with disuse. 

Harry felt his brow narrow in concern, picking up the mirror again to get a closer look at his godfather. Similar to the time he’d shut himself away in his bedroom after their disagreement, Remus looked as though the full moon might be that night, despite Harry knowing that it wasn’t for another week. The man scratched irritably at the thick scruff across his jaw, bloodshot eyes sliding away from the mirror to daze un-focussed at something past it. 

“Hi Moony,” Harry said gently, completely at odds with the anxious panic inside his ribcage. “You look… rough.” 

Remus huffed a tired chuckle, dragging his gaze back to Harry’s through the glass. “It looks worse than it is,” he assured gruffly. “Just tired, cub. And the moon is coming up and all… Nothing to worry about. How are you? Draco too, I can see you there.” 

“Come off it, Lupin,” Draco said crossly, taking the mirror from Harry’s hand and peering into it sternly. “You look an utter wreck. Why haven’t you called, hm? Have you seen anyone the last few days? And no, Stella and Kreacher do not count,” he added as Remus opened his mouth to respond. “I’m writing Fleur to tell her lot to visit. If the next time we call, you look more wolf than man, I will be taking the Floo myself, you hear?” 

“Christ,” Remus grumbled, scratching his face again. “You’re lucky I can no longer deduct house points. I’ll have you both know that Albus came to speak to me just yesterday, actually.” 

“What for?” Draco asked as Harry jostled his shoulder to fit himself in half of the mirror’s view. Their original purpose for calling was completely forgotten. “Not asking you to seek out the werewolves again, I hope.” 

Remus sighed deeply, and that was answer enough. 

“No,” Harry said before the man could speak. “You’re not doing it. What’s he playing at, asking you again when you already said no the first time? He can go visit the werewolves, since he hardly seems to be spending much of his time here. It’s dangerous, and you’re still grieving, and I need to know you’re at Grimmauld Place. You said no, didn’t you?” 

“Harry–” 

“Absolutely not,” Draco interrupted. “Write to him and say no. In fact, where is that senile fool of a Headmaster, anyway? I’ll tell him no for you.” 

“Look,” Remus sighed. “We need a spy among them, and who better to do it than me, a ready-made werewolf? I’m of no use here, anyway–”

“No use?!” Harry exclaimed, ready to jump from his seat. His friends were shooting him looks of concern as they tried to appear engaged in their meals. “You’re keeping an eye on Headquarters! And you go out with the Order when they need! Why do you have to be doing more than everyone else?”

Draco sat forward, equally as angry. “You’re barely holding on to your humanity as it is. If you start hanging around other werewolves you’ll lose it completely. Then what will we do?” 

“I won’t lose my humanity,” Remus said, looking as though he was trying to refrain from rolling his eyes. “I’m fine , honestly. And it’s necessary for this war, okay? I am a grown man, you two, I can make my own decisions.” 

“Not if it’s deciding to waste your life away hanging around full-fledged werewolves!” Harry said loudly. By now, his friends had abandoned their breakfasts to watch, and Harry was quietly glad he’d put up that Muffliato . “You won’t be able to write or call, and you’ll be pretty much cut off from human life. You’ll turn into the exact thing you’re afraid of being! You don’t need to do this, Moony. We can win the war without the werewolves on our side if we have to.” 

Remus only looked more exhausted, if that were possible. “I’ve already said yes, and you’re not changing my mind on it. I need to feel like I’m doing something purposeful. Without you two here to be responsible for, it’s my best option. I’ll try to write when I can, okay? It’ll be scarce, I admit, but–” 

“You’re not going,” Harry demanded, tugging the mirror from Draco’s hand. “You have to be at home, okay? When we get Sirius back, you’ll have to–” 

“Excuse me?” Remus interrupted, finally sounding angry rather than the tired tone he’d affected the entire call so far. “I hope I just misheard you, Harry James, and you aren’t planning on doing something utterly reckless–” 

Harry groaned, dragging a hand across his face and ignoring Hermione’s wide-eyed stare his way. “I didn’t mean to say that–” 

“Explain yourself, Harry. What do you mean by ‘get Sirius back’? He’s dead . He’s not coming back, cub, you need to do away with these ridiculous notions before you or somebody else ends up hurt–” 

“They’re not ridiculous,” Harry said through gritted teeth, mind unhelpfully bouncing back to their argument in the kitchen during the summer. “Look, there’s a lot we haven’t told you, and I wasn’t planning to because I know how you feel about it, but we think there’s a way of–” 

“ No , Harry!” Remus barked, and Harry flinched as though the man were standing right in front of him, sharp fangs flashing dangerously. “There’s no way of anything . Magic cannot bring back the dead. He’s gone . Please just– just stop trying to pretend otherwise–” 

“I’m not pretending! We really–” 

“I can’t hear this today, Harry,” was the last thing Remus said before cutting off the mirror’s connection and disappearing from the glass. 

Ron heaved a loud sigh. “Well, shit.” 

Harry couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

Over the next two days, Harry and Draco neither openly confirmed nor denied to the school body that the articles were true about the two of them. They spent the rest of Sunday hidden away in the Room of Requirement with Ron and Hermione, finishing homework and practising wandless spells, as these had become a requirement for all classes that involved spellcasting. Despite Harry’s protests, Draco slept back in his own dormitory Sunday night as they’d have to wake early for classes, and they spent Monday outright ignoring any students that attempted to question them on the news. 

Neither of them heard from Remus again, to both of their deep displeasure. By eight o’clock on Monday evening, Harry was just about prepared to break down the Headmaster’s office door to give the old wizard a piece of his mind regarding his request for Remus to leave Grimmauld Place. 

“Come in,” Professor Dumbledore called through the door after Harry knocked, and Harry wasted no time pushing into the office to face the tired-looking man at his desk. “Good evening, Harry.” 

“Evening, sir,” Harry muttered, taking the offered seat. “Where have you been?” 

“Impertinent,” a voice muttered from behind Harry, and he turned to see Phineas Nigellus Black peering down at him from his portrait. “If one of these brats ever dared to question me in my day–” 

“Thank you, Phineas,” Dumbledore interrupted without looking away from Harry. “I shall tell you in due course. I’ve heard that you have been in the papers again whilst I was away. How is our young Draco?” 

Harry tried not to cringe at the use of ‘our’ in reference to Draco, whom they were both likely aware resented Dumbledore more every day. “He’s fine,” he said shortly, deciding that both of them could keep secrets if they liked. 

The Headmaster watched him in silence for a moment. “I trust a wedding isn’t truly in order?” he asked then, tone amused. 

“No,” Harry laughed, keenly aware that he wasn’t answering the real question. “I’m only sixteen. The ring already belonged to me. It’s a Black signet ring. Mundungus stole it from Grimmauld Place.” 

He held his hand out to display the ring to Dumbledore as Phineas made a choked sort-of noise from his frame. “How dare–!” 

“Thank you, Phineas,” Dumbledore repeated sharply. “Perhaps you should return to the Black household and see to it that no more family belongings have been purloined.” 

The ex-Headmaster grumbled darkly before stalking out of the side of his portrait. 

“I talked to Remus on Saturday morning,” Harry said, taking back his hand. 

“Ah.” 

“You asked him to go find the werewolves again,” he continued in a no-nonsense sort-of manner. “Why? He already said no the first time.” 

Dumbledore crossed his hands. “Remus understands the importance of the task, Harry. I would not have asked it of him if I did not think it would help the war efforts considerably. I understand why this might upset you, but he is able to make his own choices.” 

“Respectfully, sir, he’s still grieving Sirius, and me being back at Hogwarts hasn’t helped him any. His wolf was a lot closer to the surface than usual over the summer, and it only looked worse when I spoke to him on Saturday. If he spends time with other werewolves, I’m worried he’ll lose any bit of his normal self that’s still there.” 

“Harry,” Dumbledore sighed, wearing a half-smile that Harry could only glare at. “Remus is an adult, and he has dealt with his lycanthropy for many years longer than you have known him. If he believed he would lose himself amongst the werewolves, he would have refused.”

Harry didn’t say anything, worried that if he opened his mouth it would only be to yell at the man. 

“Anyway, Harry. What concerns me now is our lesson,” Dumbledore continued, picking up a glistening vial and pouring new memories into the Pensieve beside him. “This time, we are going to enter my own memory. After you, Harry.” 

So Harry dipped his face into the glittering pool and found himself following a young Albus Dumbledore to an orphanage in London where, for the first time since his second year, Harry set his eyes on Tom Marvolo Riddle before he had become Lord Voldemort. It was uncomfortable enough, recognising the unmistakable similarity between the eleven-year-old’s living conditions and his own at that age, but it was made worse by the pang of empathy that Harry couldn’t help but feel for the boy that wasn’t yet his evil elder self. 

Like Harry, Tom had been utterly unawares of his magical abilities until the younger Dumbledore informed him so. Though different to Harry, who tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve, Tom seemed to have an eerily steady control over his emotional openness beyond the initial burst of excitement he’d shown at hearing of magic. Harry tried not to compare it to Draco’s own emotional discipline. 

The last thing Tom said to the young Headmaster stuck with Harry as he was tugged back out of the Pensieve. ‘I can speak to snakes. They find me, whisper to me… Is that normal for a wizard?’. 

‘It is unusual,’ Dumbledore had said to him then.‘But not unheard of.’  

“Sir,” he started once Dumbledore had gestured for him to take a seat again. “Are the Potters related to the Slytherins? Or to the Gaunts?” 

Dumbledore watched him carefully, the same way he’d looked at Tom when he’d boasted of his ability to speak Parseltongue. “There may have been a crossover that I am unaware of, but I do not believe so. You remember, Harry, that I told you it is likely your abilities were obtained via Voldemort’s curse on you as a child.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. His twelve-year-old self had been quick to believe that reasoning, but now, he couldn’t be quite sure if that was even a possibility. 

He mentioned this to Draco later as they bundled together at the top of the Astronomy Tower, overlooking the dark grounds of the school as Harry prattled on about Dumbledore’s lesson. 

“What other possibility could there be?” Draco asked with a frown, his back against Harry’s chest and a wool blanket tucked snug around the two of them. “He was correct in saying that there are no known direct connections between the Potters and Slytherins. There is always the chance that you were simply gifted with the ability for no other reason than that the universe is desperate for you to be as exceptional as possible.” 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Harry sighed, putting the thought to rest. “Dumbledore wanted me to focus on the fact that eleven-year-old Tom tended to keep souvenirs of his bullying. He had to be referring to the Horcruxes, right?” 

Draco scoffed. “That man will do anything but give you the answer outright. Horcruxes are, by definition, souvenirs of torment. One has to literally kill another to create one.” 

“The ring was missing from where I saw it last time,” Harry remembered belatedly. “Do you think he found a way to destroy it?” 

“Perhaps he acquired some Basilisk venom,” Draco mused, pulling a parchment and self-inking quill from somewhere beneath their blanket. “That’s how you destroyed the diary, isn’t it?” 

He began to write a neat list on the parchment of the Horcruxes they knew of so far, which only served to dishearten Harry when he saw how short it was. 

Diary – Destroyed (Basilisk fang). 

Peverell Ring – Destroyed or otherwise with A.D.

Slytherin Locket – With H.G.

“Perhaps if he used a Slytherin artefact, he may have acquired other significant heirlooms of the Hogwarts founders?” Draco asked, brushing the end of his quill distractingly across his bottom lip. 

“He was a Slytherin, though,” Harry pointed out, carding his fingers through Draco’s hair; silk-soft against his palms and smelling pleasantly of shampoo. “Maybe he only cared for his own one.” 

Draco hummed. “We can put them down as options.” 

Hufflepuff’s Cup? – Whereabouts unknown. 

Ravenclaw’s Diadem? – Whereabouts unknown.

Gryffindor’s Sword? – With A.D. 

“What’s a diadem?” Harry asked, peering down at the parchment. “And what do you mean by ‘Hufflepuff’s cup’? How do you know this stuff?” 

“I told you I had an interest in old wizarding families. Each of the Hogwarts founders were well-known before the creation of the school,” Draco explained patiently. “A diadem is a type of crown. Rowena Ravenclaw was born into a family of royalty, though that’s not why she was so famous. As her house suggests, she was an incredibly powerful and intelligent witch. She charmed the diadem to enhance the intelligence of its wearer. The problem is, her daughter stole the diadem and hid it somewhere shortly before her death. It’s known as the ‘Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw’ for that reason.” 

Harry, who was beginning to think he’d never stop being put in awe by Draco’s wealth of knowledge, could only nod in astonished understanding. “And the cup?” 

“A drinking cup. Helga Hufflepuff invented the first piece of crockery charmed to infinitely duplicate its contents. Those are common now, but in her day it was a rare piece of magic. The cup was the very first, and it was passed through the bloodline as a treasured heirloom. It’s possible that, if Voldemort didn’t take it, it currently resides with her last descendant.” 

“Do we know who that is?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

Harry made a curious sound. “Who?” 

“Zacharius Smith,” Draco said with a tone of regret, and Harry blinked. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I wish I was.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle, tucking his face into the crook of Draco’s neck to muffle his laughter. “He’s the least Hufflepuff-like Hufflepuff in this school. Maybe it’s because of the Horcrux.”  

“I’ll get Daphne to ask him if his family has it,” Draco decided. “He’s been nursing a ridiculous crush on her since fourth-year.” 

Harry laughed again, and he felt Draco shiver with the feeling of it against his neck. “Him and at least two thirds of our year. What if Voldemort took it and hid it instead?” 

“The diary was with my father. There’s a chance he may have given it to another one of his inner circle for protection.” 

“Maybe we’ll wait for Dumbledore to find that one,” Harry sighed, setting his chin on Draco’s shoulder to look back down at the parchment. “How would we find the diadem if it’s been lost for centuries?”

“We’ll ask Helena, of course,” Draco said matter-of-factly. “Or perhaps you could persuade Lovegood to ask. I’ve seen the two speak often.” 

Harry frowned, confused. “Sorry… Helena, as in Rowena Ravenclaw’s daughter? Is she a ghost here?” 

“Everyone calls her the Grey Lady. The Ravenclaw ghost, remember?” 

“I didn’t know she was literally a Ravenclaw ghost.” 

“ Hogwarts: A History,” Draco chimed, sounding unnervingly like Hermione. “I’m having second thoughts about the sword. You’ve wielded it– did it feel like a Horcrux?” 

Harry could barely remember what he’d had for breakfast that morning, let alone what holding the sword of Gryffindor had felt like four years ago. “It’s hard to say when I was pumping with adrenaline the whole time then dying because of a Basilisk fang in my arm. The sword would’ve been coated in venom though, and if that’s meant to destroy Horcruxes, it didn’t do anything to the sword. Besides, he wouldn’t have thought it worth being a Horcrux, would he? Slytherins notoriously hate Gryffindors.” 

“Oh,” Draco said amusedly, turning his face to press the cold tip of his nose to Harry’s cheek. “Is that so?” 

“You’re the exception,” Harry smiled, kissing the boy briefly. “Any other ideas of what else he might’ve picked?” 

Draco hummed, leaning in for another kiss and shifting around in Harry’s arms to face him. “I’ve had enough of thinking.”

“Me too,” Harry whispered, gripping the boy’s thighs as they came to straddle his hips, the quill and parchment falling forgotten to the stone floor. 

Diary – Destroyed (Basilisk fang). 

Peverell Ring – Destroyed or otherwise with A.D.

Slytherin Locket – With H.G.

Hufflepuff’s Cup? – Whereabouts unknown.Possible whereabouts: Z.S. or a Death Eater.

Ravenclaw’s Diadem? – Whereabouts unknown, ask R.R.

Gryffindor’s Sword? – With A.D.  

• • •

As Harry had thought, it wasn’t difficult to gain approval from Professor McGonagall for him, Ron, and Hermione to visit Godric’s Hollow on October 31st. Her only requirement was that they have at least three Order members accompany them, and Harry wrote to Tonks and the Weasley twins right after their meeting to request their presence. Draco, who’d quickly decided that asking Professor Snape for permission would be out of the question, was to come along beneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. 

“Hiya, kids,” Tonks greeted cheerily as the four of them met her at the Hogwarts gates after classes had ended for the day. “The boys are meeting us there.” 

“Hi, Tonks,” Harry smiled, despite his nerves for the evening’s plans. “Are we apparating?” 

“Too far,” she said, shaking her head and holding out a pink rubber glove. “I’ve got us a Portkey. Grab hold.” 

They each pinched a section of the glove between their fingers, and Harry felt Draco squeeze his other hand, still hidden beneath his cloak. Then, they were being tugged sharply and whirled through space before landing in what looked to be a narrow, deserted alleyway. 

“‘Lo, you lot,” George greeted from where he stood leant against the brick wall. “No issues?” 

“No,” Tonks replied, tucking the glove back into her pocket. “You’ve checked the area?” 

George nodded, leading the group out of one end of the alley. “Nothing weird. Fred’s waiting at the gates for us. You alright, Haz?” 

“As much as I can be,” Harry replied vaguely. 

With every step in the direction of where Harry assumed the town’s graveyard would be, his heart weighed heavier and heavier. Half of him wanted to turn around, and the other half was ready to take the distance at a sprint. He was going to be seeing his parents’ graves. Where they lay. Dead. And, at the same time, he’d be getting Sirius back. Maybe. Hopefully. He exhaled slowly and Draco’s grip on his hand tightened. 

It was a quaint little village, Godric’s Hollow. The sun was close to setting, casting pretty yellow ribbons of light through gaps between cottages to warm the cobblestone beneath their feet. Children could be seen approaching doors to chime“Trick or Treat!” and stuff sacks full with lollies before scampering back to clutch a parent’s hand. Harry’s heart ached with the thought of a childhood he could have led living here. 

“You should see something first,” George said softly as they moved through the square, nearing a tall, stone obelisk in its centre. 

Hermione gasped as they got closer, the obelisk suddenly changing to instead form a statue of a family that was unmistakably Harry’s own. He froze, gazing up at the stone faces of James and Lily Potter and willing the tight block in his throat to go. His mother was cradling a small baby, bundled in a blanket, and Harry had a hard time recognising it as himself with the absence of a scar. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered, reaching out to hold his other hand. 

Harry felt the invisible weight of Draco’s head rest against his shoulder, his presence warm at his side. He wanted to say something, but he feared any words would come out in a sob, and it was much too early to start crying, he thought. 

“Come on,” Tonks murmured eventually, after they’d been standing for several long moments at the statue. “We can come back afterwards, if you’d like.” 

Harry nodded, and they continued through the square towards a small church, where a number of gravestones were just visible in the area of land behind it. Fred, who’d been sitting atop the brick wall at its entrance, hopped down to greet them all. 

“We’ll stay here,” he explained quietly, nodding at the two other adults. “Give you some space. Shout if you need us, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Harry managed to reply, allowing Hermione to guide him inside the walls and around the church, coming to a stop as they reached the graveyard. 

He glanced over his shoulder to check that the three chaperones were still at the entrance, before slipping out his wand and casting an Illusio over the space between them. 

“We can’t do it here, can we?” he asked as Draco took off the invisibility cloak, folding it neatly over his arm. “It has to be at the house, right?” 

“It can wait, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “We’ll ask to visit the house afterwards. For now, we can find your parents.” 

Harry heaved a sigh. “Right.” 

“Should we split up?” Ron asked, gazing around the graveyard. 

“Only into pairs,” Draco decided, recapturing Harry’s hand. “Signal if you find them.” 

They split off to the opposite side of the yard, leaving Ron and Hermione to start the search from their end. 

“I can’t even tell if I really want to find them,” Harry admitted quietly as he and Draco walked between rows of headstones, peering at each of the names. “I… I feel like it’ll be so… so real.” 

“It will,” Draco agreed. “But you’ll regret it if you don’t. My father’s mother, Adeline Malfoy, was always my favourite family member as a child. She had a brilliant mind and a complete no-nonsense attitude about everyone and everything. I looked up to her more than I did my father. I was twelve when she passed, and, mon Dieu, I was inconsolable. I refused to admit that she had truly passed, and thus refused to attend her funeral, despite it being on our own land. Afterwards, I hated myself for letting her down in such a way. I returned to school and was in a right mood for the better half of a year before I finally wrote to mother and confessed that I wanted to visit. I spent an entire day sitting by her headstone once I was home. It was embarrassingly soppy, and my father would have turned his nose if he’d seen such a display of unfettered emotion, but I felt much better for it.” 

Harry smiled despite himself, picturing the proper, priggish little twelve-year-old Draco falling apart over his grandmother in a way that he would have teased anybody else for. “You never talk about your family.” 

“I suppose I didn’t know I should. There’s not many of them that I’d ever want to talk about.” 

“Well, I like hearing about the ones that you do.” 

Draco glanced at him. “It doesn’t make you feel…?”  

“No,” Harry answered, already knowing his question. “I mean, I’ll always be sad that I never got to know of my real family, and the family that I do know is… well, you know.”

“A right lot of bastards,” Draco filled in with a scowl, and Harry huffed a laugh. 

“But I know my family, even if it’s not by blood. Sirius and Remus, the Weasleys, Hermione… you. And I like learning about the people you’ve chosen as your family, that shaped the person you are. ‘Cause, I’ll let you in on a secret,” he tugged Draco to a stop and rose to the balls of his feet so that he could reach the boy’s ear. “I’m a little bit in love with that person.” 

He rocked back onto his heels with a small grin, enamoured by the rosy flush on Draco’s cheekbones. 

“He’s a little bit in love with you too, I’m sure,” Draco murmured, raking a gloved hand through Harry’s mess of hair until it settled at the back of his neck and coaxing Harry back up onto his toes to press a slow kiss to his lips, the warm of his mouth at odds with the frigid air around them and sending spirals of heat down the length of Harry’s body. 

“Harry!” Hermione suddenly called from across the yard, and they broke away from the kiss to look over towards her and Ron. “We found them.” 

Harry felt his heart stutter anxiously, his grip unconsciously tightening around Draco’s hand as they began to make their way over. A single white marble headstone stood at his friends’ feet, its top surface still lit by a slice of waning sunlight through the trees behind the graveyard. As they grew closer, Harry could make out his parents’ names engraved onto either side of the marble face, beneath which lay their date of birth and date of death. 

“‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’,” Draco read aloud from the inscription at the base of the gravestone as they came to a stop in front of it. He squeezed Harry’s hand, drawing his wand with his other and conjuring a bouquet of mixed white lilies and golden sunflowers to settle amongst the array of flowers and candles already gathered atop the grave. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, voice barely a whisper. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Would you like a moment alone, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly.

He considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, stay. They… they should meet you.”

Hermione made a sound that sounded like a muffled sniffle, and Harry held out his spare hand for her to take. 

“Hi mum, dad,” he said then, gazing down at their names. “I’m sorry it took me so long to visit, I didn’t… I didn’t know you were here. But I’m here now, and… uh, there’s some people I want to introduce you to. They’re… just about the most important people to me, and I don’t think I’d be here without them, so…” 

He glanced at his two friends on his left and Ron gave him a half-smile that he returned. “This is Ron. A Weasley, if it wasn’t obvious, but I’m sure you already knew. He’s been my best mate since the first day of school, and his family is practically my own, so… so don’t be worried about me not having one.” 

“He’s a Weasley in every sense if we don’t look at the hair,” Ron assured with a light chuckle. “Nice to meet you both.” 

“And this is Hermione,” Harry continued, feeling her squeeze his hand tightly. “She’s been my other best mate since me and Ron saved her from a troll in the girl’s lavatory on our first Halloween at Hogwarts. It’s a long story. Everyone says she’s the brightest witch of her age, which is true, but she’s also the most loyal, and the most patient when me and Ron are being stupidly slow with our homework, which is pretty often. Sorry, mum.” 

Hermione laughed, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Hello Mr and Mrs Potter. He’s better than he gives himself credit for, don’t worry. You made a brilliant son.” 

Harry released a shaky breath, trying to will away the block in his throat that threatened a sob that he wasn’t yet ready for. His eyes were wet, and he let go of Hermione’s hand to rub at them beneath his glasses. 

“You’re probably most curious about the head of Malfoy-blond hair next to me,” he said eventually, voice rough. “This is Draco, my boyfriend of… almost a year. I know our families weren’t exactly friendly in your day, not much has changed, but Draco and I kind of have a knack for breaking the rules.” 

“Mostly Harry,” Draco interrupted, a smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. “He’s a terrible influence, you see.” 

Harry rolled his eyes with a smile. “Fine, we can blame it all on me if it means you’ll like him more. But I know you’d like him anyway. He’s insanely clever, and he challenges me in a good way, and he’s more protective of me than he’d ever admit, and he makes me… so fucking happy, so… yeah, you’d love him, because I do.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Potter,” Draco said, smirk softening. “Hermione was right, you made a brilliant son. He’s everything and more than you could have asked for. He loves with all of himself, and it’s… it’s truly a blessing to feel even a fraction of it.” 

“It’s true,” Hermione whispered, recapturing Harry’s hand and taking Ron’s with her other. “He cares for everyone so strongly, and he’s so brave, and smart, and curious. He takes absolutely nothing for granted, and he sees the good in everybody.” 

“And he’s a bloody good flyer,” Ron piped up, trading a grin with Harry. “I’m sure you were holding out for that one, Mr Potter. He’s the Quidditch captain, and he’s brilliant at it. It’s like no one can help but want to listen to him and follow him. And not just ‘cause he’s famous, he just… draws people in, I s’pose.” 

By then, Harry had fully given up on holding back any tears, and they slid freely down his cheeks to wet the crease of his lips and the slope of his chin where he tried to wipe them with his shoulder. Draco’s hand left his, instead looping around his waist to pull him into his side, head tilting to lay atop his own. 

“I miss you guys so much,” Harry whispered, his heart aching with the feel of it. “I didn’t know it was even possible to miss something I’ve not had, but I do. I wish you guys were here.” 

“They’re here,” Draco said softly, muffled as he turned his face to kiss Harry’s hair. “They know.” 

They didn’t say any more for a long while, standing in a close huddle at the headstone of James and Lily Potter as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

Chapter Text

“Oh, how terrible,” Hermione said as the group of them peered at the wooden sign that had erected in front of the two-storey cottage as they’d approached. “People have scribbled all over it.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry said softly, reading the various names and messages wishing him luck and strength and support. “I think it’s nice.” 

He pushed gently at the front gate and allowed it to creak open, passing the sign and stepping onto the paved pathway that led up to the door. The grass and plants on either side were overgrown and riddled with weeds, bits of brick and plaster scattered through it from the ruins of the house’s top floor. 

“I don’t know if it’s safe to go in, Harry,” Tonks voiced from behind him. 

He shrugged, knowing they’d have to go in to perform the ritual whether their chaperones liked it or not. 

“I’ll be fine,” he assured, continuing up the path until he’d reached the door, wrapping a hand around its handle and taking a deep breath in before turning it open and exhaling. 

“We’ll be just out here!” George called as Harry stepped inside the ruined house, his friends close at his heels. 

As expected, the cottage’s interior was cluttered and dusty, spiderwebs dangling from corners and a chilling draft sweeping down from the destroyed room upstairs. But even with the marks of neglect, Harry could tell that it had once been a cosy space, not too dissimilar to the Weasleys’ Burrow that Harry was so fond of. The walls were painted white with a delicate trim that matched the white kitchen and living space, and the floor, though now covered in a thick layer of dust, would have once been beautiful wooden floorboards, just lighter than the ones in the Black household. 

“Do you want to see upstairs?” Draco asked as Harry followed his gaze to the wooden staircase. “It may be too ruined.” 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, glancing away from the stairs and trying not to imagine his father on them, moments before the telling green light. “We should start. I can always come back.” 

“I’m quite excited to experience a ritual circle,” Hermione mused as the four of them moved into the sitting room, Draco casting a number of cleaning charms on the space that had the dust and cobwebs dissipating instantly. 

Ron nodded, walking to the fireplace where several framed pictures sat on the mantel. Harry followed, peering at photos of his one-year-old self and his parents and the group of marauders with a warm feeling in his chest. 

“D’you think they’d be mad if I took these?” he asked no one in particular, already reaching out to pick up a photo of his mother in the middle of a green grass lawn, a small, raven-haired toddler sitting between her legs and laughing brightly, hands clapping in front of him as his mother held them in her own. 

“Of course not,” Hermione answered, looking over his shoulder. “They belong to you, Harry.” 

She offered her bag for him to tuck the frames into as Draco swept his wand at the rug beneath their feet, causing it to roll up to one side. Hermione took the candles from her bag– two white, two black– and handed them to Harry to set around the space in a circle as the others sat in each of the gaps. He placed the largest candle– a dark, charcoal-grey colour– in the centre before taking his own seat between Ron and Draco. 

“Let it be known that the Circle is about to be cast,” he said, gesturing to each of the candles and wandlessly lighting them in turn, feeling his magic surge stronger in anticipation. “I summon Custodes Lucis to watch over us on this haunted night, so that the living may be healed from grief, and that the dead may be guided back to us safely and without apprehension. So mote it be.” 

“So mote it be,” the others chorussed as the familiar wave of cool air washed through him and travelled the circle, leaving the candles flickering in greeting and dispelling the anxious curdle in Harry’s stomach in a blink. 

“I summon Custodes Tenebris to watch over us on this haunted night, so that the living remain protected from the shadow of Death, and that the dead are permitted manifestation without fear of retribution. So mote it be.” 

“So mote it be.”

Harry inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the cold was washed away by an intense heat that mingled compatibly with his own magic, simmering and crackling together like the embers of a growing fire. When he opened them again, he could see the Dark and Light magic in tendrils of black and white, dancing and interweaving as it circled the group. 

“Harry,” Hermione gasped, staring at him across the circle. They’d forgotten to warn her about his eyes and their unnatural glow. 

“It’s normal,” Ron assured, happy to know something she didn’t. “For Harry, at least.” 

“Quite mesmerising, aren’t they?” Draco asked with mild amusement and Hermione nodded. 

Harry huffed a laugh. “Okay, let’s continue. We’d like to ask the Light and the Dark to open the veil between life and death on this Samhain and reveal to us these names. James Fleamont Potter. Lily Jane Potter. Sirius Orion Black. Liberabo eos. ”

“Liberabo eos.”

There was a brief moment in which nothing happened, then, suddenly, two transparent figures began to seep from the flame of the candle in the circle’s centre. 

“Mum,” Harry whispered as he stood to greet them, recognising the long stream of translucent hair and freckled skin and wide eyes of Lily Potter. The ghost that followed could have only been his father, with his messy hair and rectangular glasses. “Dad.”

The two ghosts stared back at him with identical expressions of surprise and affection. 

“Harry,” his mother said, voice soft and echoey in the way that ghosts often sounded. She took a step towards him, feet floating barely off the ground, and reached out with a hand to cup the side of his face tenderly. “Oh, my boy.” 

She couldn’t really touch him, but Harry could almost imagine the feeling of it; the warmth of her small palm pressed to the curve of his cheek. She smiled, bright eyes glistening, and Harry returned it shakily. 

“Hi mum,” he said softly, looking away only when his father took up the space beside her. 

“Let me have a look,” the man demanded lightly, throwing his wife a chiding glance before it melted to a grin as he turned to look at Harry. “Oh, we did good.” 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at his father’s smug expression as he attempted to ruffle Harry’s hair with an incorporeal hand before gazing around the circle at the others still seated on the floor. 

“And these must be the best friends and the boyfriend,” he said, blinding grin still across his face. “It’s nice to meet you lot, too. Us Potters always pick the pretty ones, don’t we?” 

Draco looked a little startled by that grin being directed his way, flushing pink and glancing back towards Harry.

“You could hear us at the graveyard?” Harry asked, making the connection quickly. 

His father met his surprised gaze fondly. “Of course, Prongling.”

“We said no to that,” Lily sighed, rolling her eyes at her husband, and the warmth in Harry’s chest only grew tenfold. “And he’s hardly a child anymore.” 

“Moony still calls me cub,” Harry pointed out. “And Sirius– wait. I asked for Sirius, too. He’s not…?” 

“Sirius isn’t with us, sweetheart,” his mother said gently, smiling at him. “You’re on the right track.” 

Harry released a breath, relief washing through him. If Sirius wasn’t with them, he was in Limbo as they’d guessed, which meant the ritual might still work. 

“I wish I could bring you back too,” he whispered, tilting his head as though he could rest it against his mother’s palm. “I’m so… I'm so sorry.” 

 “Shh,” Lily hushed, thumb almost brushing his cheekbone. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for, darling. We’re always with you, even if you can’t see us, I promise.” 

“And you’ve got the boys,” James added. “Tell Moons to get his shit together and stick around, yeah? And let Pads know that it was a nice attempt, but I still beat him and he’s just going to have to accept it for a little longer.” 

Harry scoffed, nodding, throat tight. 

“And take care of your friends,” his mother continued. “Stick close to them, always.” 

“Don’t break his heart, kid,” James pointed at Draco. “This one’s got a mean Stinging Hex, even in the afterlife.” 

“I don’t plan on it,” Draco replied softly, looking at Harry and melting his insides with his smile. 

“Get your mutt of your godfather back, Prongling,” his father said, reaching out to brush a hand over his hair once more before stepping back to the grey centre candle, flicking a two-fingered salute to the room and disappearing into the flame. 

Lily smiled sadly, leaning in to press the ghost of a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “We love you, Harry. Be safe.” 

“I love you too,” Harry murmured, before she was following in her husband’s wake and Harry was left standing by himself, staring at the flickering flame with an ache squeezing at his heart. 

“This is going to work, Harry,” Hermione said from the floor, and Harry nodded with a renewed determination, retaking his seat in the circle and looking at his boyfriend. 

“All yours, dragon,” he said, taking his and Ron’s hands on either side of him to re-strengthen the circle. He knew his eyes must be glowing again, the Dark and Light magic from earlier slipping from the flames of their representative candles to dance in circles around them once more. 

Draco began to murmur lowly– a string of perfect latin made pretty from his lips– as Harry wandlessly carved lines into the floorboards beneath them: a circle, smaller than the one they formed with their bodies, around the grey candle in its centre, with four straight lines stretching out from the candle to each of the four candles in the spaces between them. 

“Guided by Light; luce conductus,” Draco said then; a cue for Ron and Hermione to take out their wands. 

“Expecto Patronum,” the two of them said in unison, a shining jack russell terrier and sea otter leaping from their respective wands to join the magic looping the circle. Representations of the Light magic they were instilling into the ritual. 

“And strengthened by Dark; tenebris confortatus,” Draco continued, sharing a glance with Harry as they both slipped out their own wands. 

Harry lay the tip of his at the end of the wooden groove beside him. “Funemfyre,” he cast, watching the rope of bright flame stretch along the line of wood until it had reached the centre candle and wrapped around its base like a coiling snake.  

He watched uncomfortably then as Draco pointed his wand at his own left palm, taking a deep breath before: “Seco.” 

A deep gash suddenly cut itself into the white of his palm and Draco hissed loudly, dropping his wand to clutch his wrist to stabilise the shake of his hand. Harry felt his lips twist in discomfort at the sight, impatient to have this part of the ritual over with. 

“Blood of kindred; Sanguis cognatus, ” Draco murmured then, leaning forward to hold his clenched fist over the centre candle, allowing red blood to drip down and seep into the melted wax. “I call on the magics of the Ancestors of House Black and House Malfoy–”

“And House Potter,” Harry added. 

“And House Weasley,” Ron said also, sharing a look of determination with Harry. 

Draco nodded, bleeding hand clutched close to his chest. “I draw on the magics of the Light and magics of the Dark…” 

Harry watched as coloured ribbons of magic drew from the various demonstrations to swarm in wait at the charcoal candle; silver-blue from the circling Patronuses, dark bronze from the snaking rope of flame, clouded black pulled from the gash in Draco’s hand. 

“Help us to release Sirius Orion Black, blood of my blood, from Death’s entrapment in the veil between realms. Return him to his place and to his kin, in flesh and blood…” 

The flames of the circle’s candles flared bright, a strong wind flooding from open windows to surround them. Harry didn’t dare to even blink, so at awe by the show of Earth’s magic, the rush of it through the length of his body to speed up his heart and pull at his hairs and simmer at his palms. 

“ Liberabo eum, ” Draco finished, barely a whisper. He cleared his throat, raising his voice. “Liberabo eum. ”

“Liberabo eum, ” the others chorused, reaching to clutch at each other’s hands; Draco’s blood uncomfortably warm against the skin of Harry’s palm. “Liberabo eum. ” 

At first, nothing happened. Then, as Harry stared, the stone-grey wax of the candle, still shrouded by swirling magic and painted red with shining blood, began to melt in a resemblance of flowing magma. The grey wax blushed dark as it mixed with Draco’s blood, the expanding puddle bubbling and trembling with the overwhelm of magic. The rope of fire in the floor’s grooves was swallowed up as the melted wax flooded Harry’s markings, seeping to the circle’s edge until it was filled entirely. 

Then, after minutes felt as though they’d stretched to decades, a figure began to emerge from the wax pool; a head, followed by shoulders and bare back, each bone of his spine visible through paper-white skin painted dark with dripping wax. It so closely resembled the rebirth of Voldemort that Harry had witnessed so many years ago that he couldn’t help but shudder, hands trembling where they tangled with Draco’s and Ron’s. 

“Sirius,” he whispered, voice desperate yet relieved; heart a hard, rapid thump against his rib cage. 

The naked figure was slumped against the floorboards, shoulders hunched and legs tucked, red-black wax covering him like a second skin. His hair was as long and dishevelled as it had been that night in the Department of Mysteries, ink black lashes brushing wax-coated cheeks to hide the unmistakable silver of his eyes. Slowly, Harry shrugged the jacket from his shoulders to drape over its original owner, still shaking and shuddering with the imprint of that night’s pain. 

“Sirius,” he said again, louder this time, and the man finally opened his eyes 

“James,” Sirius croaked, disbelieving. 

Harry shook his head, holding the man’s jaw and pressing their foreheads together. “It’s Harry. You’re alive, you’re home.” 

“Harry,” his godfather breathed, followed by another painful shudder. There were scrapes across his face where Harry had brushed away the melted wax, made by the explosion of the stone dias that arch had stood upon that night. It was as though it had only been mere moments, rather than months. “Harry… my boy…” 

“It worked,” Harry sighed, relieved beyond comparison. “It worked. You’re alive. I’m so sorry we took so long. I can’t believe it worked. I knew… I knew you were there.” 

Sirius released a breathless laugh. “I know. I know, pup.” 

The surge of power that had taken over them throughout the ritual was quickly falling, Patronuses fading and Funemfyre unravelling from the blackened floorboards, where wax seeped through the cracks and sunk into its wood as though it had never been. Harry felt himself sag with the drain of magic and saw Hermione droop to support herself on Ron’s shoulder.

It was this that made him look to Draco in time to reach back and catch him by the arms before his body slumped forwards to the floor, grey eyes rolling to the back of his head into unconsciousness. His skin was white and ice-cold, and panic crawled like a restless creature up the inside of Harry’s chest. He pressed gentle fingers to his cheekbones and to his temples, skirting the chilled span of his neck to settle over a faint pulse. 

“Harry,” another voice said then. Hermione, Harry realised, coming back to himself some. “His hand.” 

Harry swore beneath his breath, both hands enclosing Draco’s still-bleeding palm, dredging up whatever magic hadn’t yet been drained from him. “ Vulnera sanentur, ” he murmured, over and over until the blood flow had stopped and the skin had knitted to hide the gash. 

A drawling creak sounded from the cottage’s front door, and with it a gasp of surprise as Tonks pushed into the house and laid her eyes upon the group of them. She rushed over, gaze flicking disbelievingly over Sirius and then with alarm to Draco. 

“What the bloody hell?” was all she seemed to manage, staring at Sirius as though he were a ghost. There was a moment of pause as realisation settled in, then she was rushing forward to wrap the man in a tight embrace, uncaring of the wax sticking to her skin. “What the hell? What the fuck? You were dead. You were dead.”

“Nice to see you again too, Nymph,” Sirius wheezed, grinning and cringing at the same time. “Watch the ribs.” 

She jerked back quickly, looking both concerned and alarmed. “Shit, sorry. Holy fuck . How… what even…” 

“It’s a long story,” Harry interjected, adjusting Draco slightly. “Look, we’ll explain everything back at Hogwarts.”

Tonks raised her eyebrows at him, before tossing her head back to the house’s entrance and hollering; “Both of you get in here, now!” 

Fred and George thundered inside a moment later, wands held aloft in preparation for a fight, then dropping in surprise when gazes settled on the man who was presumed to be dead. 

“Sirius?” Fred asked, bewildered. 

George was scanning the room, the candles and engravings and drying wax still clinging to Sirius’ bare skin. “So… this was more than your average Samhain, I take it.” 

Sirius, the only one readily capable of humour yet, chuckled lightly, before it teetered into a pained groan, hands clutching at his sides where bruises and scrapes were bound to taint him beneath his wax coating. 

“We need to get back to school,” Harry said impatiently, standing and taking Draco’s limp body closely into his arms, draping the boy’s legs over his hips and wrapping sturdy arms around his back. “We’ll explain everything there.” 

“Fuck,” Sirius wheezed, attempting to stand with the large jacket still draped over him. “We need Poppy.” 

“At Hogwarts,” Harry repeated assuredly, momentarily distracted by the sight of his godfather alive and breathing and standing as though he’d never been gone at all. 

Tonks sighed, pulling the pink rubber glove Portkey from her pocket again to offer to the group. “We’re going to be in such deep shit.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Ron said matter-of-factly as they all reached for a part of the glove, Harry cringing as the movement jostled Draco in his arms. 

Then, before any of them chanced a response, they were being pulled in a rush through the air, landing right in the centre of Professor Dumbledore’s office. 

“Good evening,” the Headmaster greeted calmly, seemingly unsurprised by the additional members of their party, one meant to be in the Slytherin dormitory and the other meant to be dead. “I see you’ve been busy.” 

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said hurriedly, already turning to the door. “We’ll explain later. We need to get to the Hospital Wing.” 

He wandlessly swept open the office door and stepped out into the corridor, hearing Fred say something resembling ‘teenagers, hey?’ that he couldn’t be bothered to think about before he set off at a jog in the direction of the Hospital Wing. 

“Madam Pomfrey!” he called after barging through the large doors. 

The witch came bundling out of her office at the opposite end of the room, hastily wrapping a robe around herself as her slippers smacked across the stone. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, gesturing to a bed for Harry to lay Draco onto. “What’s happened, then?” 

“He’s lost blood,” Harry explained, rolling his shoulders. “From a deep gash in his hand that wasn’t healed fast enough.” 

“One must lose a significant amount of blood to become unconscious, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said sceptically, examining Draco’s newly healed palm. “Might I–”

She was interrupted as the doors opened again to reveal Sirius supported by both Fred and George now, the rest of the group at their heels. Sirius now appeared to be unconscious, also, and Madam Pomfrey was quick to sweep a hand at the bed beside Draco’s. 

“Merlin and Morgana both,” she spluttered, alarmed. “Have you brought a dead man to my infirmary?” 

“He’s alive,” Harry answered quickly, jumping over to help the boys settle Sirius onto the white sheets. “When did he pass out? And… he’s in clothes.” 

“Right after you left the office,” Fred said, slumping into a seat at the bed’s side. “Dumbledore spelled him clean and dressed. Can’t say I even noticed the state he was in before we got back.” 

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that, we didn’t have much time.” 

“Doubt he cared,” Tonks shrugged, dragging more chairs over. “He’s never been exactly modest.” 

“Would anybody care to explain in exact detail what has happened to these two?” Madam Pomfrey asked sternly, and they all had the grace to look abashed. 

“Blood magic,” Hermione said candidly, fretting hands the only thing giving away her anxiety. “Harry, Ron, Draco, and I performed a blood ritual to bring Sirius back from Limbo. He was trapped there, you see. Draco’s his cousin, so it was his blood that we used. I think that Sirius has remained in the state that he would have been when he went through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries.” 

Harry had to give Madam Pomfrey credit for her ability to not look utterly appalled at the explanation. She nodded in her no-nonsense manner that he’d often admired, flicking her wand in an intricate pattern at Sirius and then at Draco and causing various colours to appear over their bodies. She peered at them closely, muttering to herself and casting a number of unidentifiable spells as she went. 

“How long has he been unconscious?” she asked suddenly, blue eyes flicking to Harry’s. 

“Er–” he stammered, trying to think. “Fifteen minutes at the most?” 

She frowned. “Rennervate,” she cast, and Draco’s eyes fluttered open. 

Harry immediately moved to his side, stroking gentle fingers over his face and through his dishevelled hair. “Draco,” he murmured, smiling as his confused gaze settled on Harry. “You’re okay, love. We’re at the Hospital Wing.” 

“What happened?” he asked, voice hoarse. He shivered, arms wrapping around himself. “It’s freezing.” 

“Can you tell me today’s date, Mr Malfoy?” Madam Pomfrey asked, showing no surprise at the revelation of Harry and Draco’s apparent relationship, and summoning a couple of glass vials from the cupboard across the room. 

“Thirty-first of October, 1996,” Draco answered, attempting to sit up some and sagging against the cushions behind him. 

The healer held up her wand in front of him. “Follow this,” she said, and Draco’s gaze followed as it moved from side to side. “Count backwards from ten for me.” 

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.” 

“Do you recall what was happening before you lost consciousness?” 

Draco’s eyes flicked briefly to Harry, who nodded in assurance. “We were in the Potter household at Godric’s Hollow. We’d just performed a ritual that involved using my blood, likely hence the fainting.” 

“Take this,” Madam Pomfrey instructed with a sharp nod, passing him a small vial of scarlet-coloured liquid. “It is a Blood-Replenishing Potion. You’ve lost quite a bit of blood, young man, and the effects were made stronger by your magic’s exhaustion.” 

He nodded slowly, bringing the vial to almost-blue lips and swallowing it down in two mouthfuls. The witch handed him another vial then that Harry recognised as a common Pepper-Up, which Draco downed just as quickly. 

“You require plenty of rest,” Madam Pomfrey said, vanishing the empty vials. “Absolutely no direct use of magic for at least twenty-four hours, understand?” 

“Yes,” Draco sighed, colour returning to his face and shivers lessening. “Thank you.” 

“Now,” she huffed, turning to her second patient. “We will not rennervate Mr Black. He is incredibly fatigued and would benefit from the rest whilst I heal the multiple bruises and grazes over his body. He has bruised many of his ribs and will require at least a month of good rest.” 

Harry nodded, gazing at the sleeping face of his godfather. “Remus will take care of him at Grimmauld Place.” 

“Remus is not presently residing at Grimmauld Place, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore’s voice reminded gently from behind them. He hadn’t even realised that the man had come in, and seemingly with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape at his heel. 

A spike of irritation ran through him. “Right,” he bit, avoiding the Headmaster’s gaze. “Well, can we find him? He needs to know Sirius is back.” 

“We are unable to communicate with him until he is able to safely make contact without being noticed,” Dumbledore responded, in the same calm voice as always. “I could not tell you when that may be.” 

Draco scoffed at Harry’s side. 

“Draco,” Snape said then, stepping toward his godson. “A word.” 

“He’s not leaving this bed,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly. “You may speak with him tomorrow, Severus.” 

Snape’s cool gaze flicked to her irritably, but his lips remained sealed. 

“I confess that I cannot wait until tomorrow to hear at least of the night’s events,” Dumbledore sighed, conjuring three elegant chairs for the three of them. “It was everyone’s understanding that Sirius had passed. How is it that our friend has returned?” 

Harry shared a look with his friends, fingers twisting in Draco’s bed sheets beside where he perched. “He was never dead,” he admitted, glancing at the sleeping man. “We figured out that he was stuck in… well, Limbo. He’s been trying to make contact with me ever since he went through the Veil, through reflections… saying my name….” 

“We discovered that this wasn’t a unique case,” Draco continued. “That Limbo was a brief state that preceded true death, and that it may be possible to bring one back from it.” 

“Which is how we found the ritual,” Hermione said. “ Reversus de Mortuis. ” 

Snape’s lip curled, gaze flicking to Draco’s hands. “A blood ritual.” 

Draco looked almost ashamed, glancing down at his own palms. “It needed to be performed at a place that was meaningful to the person one was attempting to revive. Thus, Godric’s Hollow– where Sirius lived with the Potters in his later teenage years.” 

“And it had to be on Samhain,” Ron added. “What does it matter how we did it, really? He’s back, and I reckon that’s bloody brilliant.” 

“Because, Mr Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said sharply. “Only three of you were permitted to leave the school, and this was an extremely dangerous activity to participate in as minors without supervision or experience. You’re quite lucky none of you were killed.” 

Harry sighed. “Professor, with all due respect, this was our only option. No one would’ve believed us or permitted us to do it if we’d asked, and we would’ve lost tonight’s window for an entire year. We knew there was a risk, but we knew what we were doing, and it’s not our first experience with Dark magic.” 

“I say,” Pomfrey huffed, exasperated, and shared a look with McGonagall that Harry couldn’t quite decipher. 

“I am sorry that you felt you could not come to myself or another member of staff,” Dumbledore said regretfully, and Harry tried not to roll his eyes. When has that ever worked out for them? “I believe that you owe your three chaperones an apology for your duplicity, however, no matter the intention.” 

“Sorry, guys,” Harry said, abashed, gazing at the twins and Tonks in turn. 

“Ah,” Fred shrugged. “What’s not to love about a bit of rule-breaking?” 

McGonagall made a tsking sound but otherwise didn’t comment. 

“Bed, I think,” Dumbledore said eventually. “You have had quite the eventful evening, and these two patients require a good night of rest.” 

Knowing he’d be coming back just shortly afterwards, Harry nodded agreeably and got to his feet with the others. 

“Night,” he said to Draco, smiling at his knowing smirk as he leant down to kiss his cheek. 

“Goodnight, mon chéri,” Draco murmured into his ear, sending a delighted shiver down Harry’s spine. 

The group of them left with a goodnight and thank you to Madam Pomfrey, the younger three splitting from the adults to return to the Gryffindor common room where a handful of students still remained scattered across the couches. 

“I suppose you’ll be going back, won’t you?” Hermione asked, and Harry assumed it was rhetorical. 

“Just going to get the cloak and map,” he said, ducking up the staircase to the dormitory and leaving his friends to settle in front of their usual fireplace. 

“Alright, Harry?” Neville asked when he’d pushed open the door. “You weren’t at Samhain. Were you at the Slytherin rager? Seamus tried to sneak in earlier.” 

Seamus shrugged. “No luck.”

Harry shook his head distractedly, rummaging in his trunk and finally finding the two items squished on one side. “McGonagall let us go to Godric’s Hollow,” he answered eventually, nodding at Seamus and Dean before making his way back to the door. 

“Oh,” was all Neville could say in the time Harry gave him before he’d disappeared back down the staircase, the Marauder’s Map spread open in one hand. 

It made him glad to remember that there was only one version of this map once he’d spotted Sirius’ and Draco’s names in the otherwise empty Hospital Wing. He could just imagine the disaster of someone seeing ‘Sirius Black’ scrawled there on the paper, whether he was believed to be dead or not. 

“I’m off!” he called to his friends, grinning at their exasperated looks before crawling right back out of the portrait entrance and slipping the invisibility cloak over his head. 

With another quick check that Madam Pomfrey was safely in her personal quarters, he jogged lightly back in the direction of the Hospital Wing and snuck back in through the large double-doors to find not only Draco, but now Sirius as well, sitting up in their white beds. 

“Sirius!” he whisper-cheered, the cloak falling off him as he scrambled over to wrap arms around his godfather’s shoulders in a tight embrace. “When did you wake up?” 

“Only a few minutes ago,” Sirius replied, still slightly hoarse, as he returned the hug with just as much strength. 

“Careful,” Draco advised, shifting to face them better. “He only just took his first potions, he’s still got a ways to go before his ribs are healed.” 

Sirius waved a hand at him over Harry’s shoulder. “This one’s a bit of a fuss, I’ve learnt,” he told Harry, who snorted and pulled back to grin at Draco’s offended expression. 

“Says the man who was fussing about the trouble we went to to get you back only moments ago!” he exclaimed, before Harry hushed him with an alarmed glance at Madam Pomfrey’s closed door. 

“We’ve put a Muffliato on it,” Draco drawled as though this should have been obvious, which, Harry conceded, it probably should have been. 

“So you two have… been acquainted?” Harry asked, sitting on the edge of Sirius’ bed and smiling as his godfather reached forward to ruffle his hair in the way that he’d always done. 

“Oh, definitely,” Sirius answered, sending a smirk at Draco who rolled his eyes in response. “The apple of my pup’s eye. You can trust that I had a lot of questions.” 

“God, do I want to know?” 

“No,” Draco said, at the same time that Sirius replied: “Yes.” 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, looking between the two of them and filling with such a fondness he thought he might implode with it. “Fuck,” he whispered, shaking his head and gazing at his godfather. “I…” 

“I know, pup,” Sirius said softly, hand falling from Harry’s hair to brush affectionately across his cheek. 

“No,” Harry shook his head again, throat scratching as he fought down a sudden wave of emotion. “You were… I… I thought we wouldn’t get you back. I didn’t… I…” 

Sirius tugged lightly at Harry’s wrists so that he fell against his chest, cheek pressed to the cotton of his hospital pyjamas so that he could hear the steady beat of his heart. Hands raked gently through his hair, over and over, until Harry lost the fight against himself and felt tears cling to his eyelashes and slide to wet the shirt beneath him. 

“It’s been a long night,” Draco explained with a small sigh that Harry was able to vaguely translate to concern. 

He huffed a wet sort-of laugh, sitting up to wipe his face in embarrassment, more than a little fed up with the emotional rollercoaster of that night. “How pissed d’you think Pomfrey would be to find a fox here in the morning?” 

“That’s what the cloak is for,” Sirius said with a grin. “How do you think Moons and I did it?” 

“I’ll be glad to never hear about how you two did anything again if I can help it,” Harry mumbled, only half-joking, and went to collect the invisibility cloak from the floor. “Uh, speaking of Moony though–” 

“I know,” Sirius interrupted, expression falling. “He’s with the werewolves. You weren’t the only one I tried to reach” 

Harry felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. “He… he got glimpses of you too? He wouldn’t believe me when I mentioned it.” 

Sirius nodded. “And called it a coping mechanism. I remember. Any time I was able to get to him, he’d become angry. I’d say he thought the same of himself.” 

“He…” Harry paused, chewing at his bottom lip. “He was really losing himself, Pads. What if…” 

“We’ll get him back,” Draco said resolutely. “He’d be a fool to throw away the chance to have his partner back for the sake of his wolf.” 

“We’ll get him back,” Sirius agreed. “Come on, kids. Poppy will have my head if she realises we haven’t slept a wink.” 

Draco scoffed, albeit settled down against his pillows begrudgingly. “Fox,” he said softly, demanding enough for Harry to get the hint and move over to the side of his bed. 

“Goodnight,” he smiled, bending over Draco and pressing his mouth to those pretty open lips, half-wishing his godfather wasn’t currently occupying the next bed over so that he could tire himself with some decent snogging. 

“Keep it PG,” Sirius warned, and there was rustling as he got comfortable behind Harry’s back. 

Draco made a disappointed sound as Harry pulled away. “I don’t even know what that means,” he muttered, cupping a hand at the back of Harry’s neck to tug him down for a last quick peck. 

“ Goodnight, ” Harry said pointedly, smiling apologetically as he made himself step back and shift into his animagus form, leaping lightly onto Sirius’ white sheets to curl up at his side. 

“Goodnight, traitor,” Draco grumbled and Sirius snorted. “And you, thief.” 

Sirius’ hand settled in the black of Mischief’s fur and the fox contentedly pressed his pointed nose to the space over Sirius’ chest where his heartbeat could be felt the strongest. He felt the invisibility cloak be tossed over him and tucked to his sides, covering Sirius’ hand and part of his torso with it, but he wasn’t about to point that out. 

“Goodnight, pups.”

Chapter Text

“Sirius Black,” Madam Pomfrey sighed early the next morning as she levitated a breakfast tray to his bed. “I hoped I’d never see you back here.” 

Draco, who’d been awake at least an hour more, was already digging into his meal as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks as Harry– back to his human form and perched on the end of his boyfriend’s bed– snuck pieces of it when he wasn’t looking. 

“Oh Poppy,” Sirius grinned, sitting up and raking a hand through his dishevelled head of hair. “Who do you think you’re fooling? I know you missed me.” 

Pomfrey scoffed, though she couldn’t seem to shake the exasperated smile from her face as she set out a number of vials on the table between their beds. “I usually have my hands plenty full with your godson, as it were. I’m sure I know who to thank for that.” 

“Surely not the Dark wizard that’s been trying to kill me since I was born,” Harry said, heavy with sarcasm. 

The medi-witch raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t think I don’t know you spent the night here, Mr Potter. Any more cheek will have me setting wards in the future.” 

“Now, now, Poppy dear,” Sirius chuckled, rubbing at his chest with one hand as the other occupied itself with forking scrambled eggs. “Can you really blame him?”

Pomfrey sighed, stern expression softening. “No. But rules are rules. Not that you’d recall.” 

Sirius shrugged, the grin on his face taking away almost all of the sickly fatigue that had been painted there the previous night. “Ah, well. I’ve heard the damage is in the ribs, which checks out. Hope one of those vials contains some pain-relief.” 

“Indeed,” Madam Pomfrey nodded, handing him two vials. “To reduce pain and inflammation. You will have these with each mealtime for three days. There is also a paste for the bruising. Apply it twice a day– morning and evening– for at least two days or until the bruising has gone.” 

“Is he being discharged?” Draco asked, finally putting down his fork for a moment. “I thought he needed to be in someone’s care.” 

“Unfortunately, Mr Malfoy, this wing is needed for students of this school, and I don’t believe it would be favourable for a student to find a known murderer, who has suddenly returned from the dead, in the bed beside them. The Headmaster has informed me that he will visit shortly to discuss arrangements.” 

Draco’s nose wrinkled slightly, but he managed to hide the expression by continuing to finish off his breakfast until the medi-witch left them. “Let me guess, back to Grimmauld Place with no Remus to keep an eye on you, I presume.” 

“Circe, you’re a worrier,” Sirius laughed, picking up the small pot of bruise paste and peering at it apprehensively. “I’ve got my potions and my… whatever this is. I’ll be right as rain in no time, and I’m sure once Moony gets word of what has happened…” 

“If he’s still human,” Harry muttered, putting down a piece of toast as his appetite suddenly vanished. 

Sirius gave him a look. “He’ll come back, cub. He’s stronger than you seem to think, believe me.” 

“It’s not that I think he’s not strong,” Harry said, frowning down at his hands. I find it hard enough to stay in control, he wanted to say. And I don’t have a wolf in me to compete with. 

“He’ll come back, Harry,” Draco assured, watching him carefully. You would too, went unsaid. 

The doors to the Hospital Wing opened then, and Professor Dumbledore strode inside to greet them all with a calm smile. If he noticed Draco’s glare on him, he didn’t show it. 

“Good morning,” he said serenely, hands folding in front of him. “You all look as though you’ve had restful sleeps. I do hope both of our patients are feeling better.” 

“Getting there,” Sirius replied, doing up the buttons of his pyjama shirt after applying some of the bruise paste to his skin. “Poppy tells us you’ve made arrangements for my discharge.” 

Dumbledore tipped his chin in a slight nod. “I’ve come to discuss the option of you returning to Grimmauld Place. As it is almost the weekend, Professor McGonagall has permitted Harry to accompany you until Sunday evening, after which, if Remus has not yet been in contact, Nymphadora will take his place.”

“Really, Professor?” Harry asked, sitting up in happy surprise. “That’d be great! Can Draco come, too? Madam Pomfrey said he needs just as much rest.”

The Headmaster was silent for a moment, unreadable gaze flicking to Draco once before meeting Harry’s again. “That would be for Professor Snape to decide.” 

Harry bit back the impolite ‘but you’re the Headmaster’ that threatened to escape his tongue and nodded reluctantly. “Right.” 

“You are both dismissed from classes today,” Dumbledore continued swiftly, mouth curved into an amused half-smile. “I’m sure Miss Granger will provide you with the necessary notes and assignments. Good day.” 

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode from the Hospital Wing, unknowingly– or, perhaps knowingly– leaving a frowning Harry and glaring Draco in his wake. 

• • •

As expected, Draco was not given permission by Snape to leave Hogwarts at all, let alone spend the weekend at Grimmauld Place, so it was with mild reluctance that Harry bid him and his friends goodbye at lunch and took the Floo with Sirius. He’d almost forgotten that the house had been refurbished until they stepped out of the fireplace and Sirius blinked at their surroundings in confused surprise. 

“Have we got the right place?” he’d asked, before Kreacher had appeared to croak out some bemused ramble about his former Master returning from the dead and ‘ oh, how Kreacher wished it had been Master Regulus instead’, which led to a conversation over tea about Regulus’ upstairs portrait and everything he’d taught them about Voldemort’s Horcruxes. 

Harry explained everything about how they’d brought him back as well as he gave Sirius a tour of his own home, though the man already knew most of it after watching them work it out from Limbo over the months. It was… confusing, to say the least. The house itself appeared to be as puzzled as its elf had been at Sirius’ reappearance, rugs and tapestries flickering between colours; wooden beams and floorboards darkening and brightening again with the conflict of two Heads of House with two different tastes. Sirius, who despite the house’s changes would never learn to love the place, spent most of the tour waving his hand at the place and trying to convince it all to stay put. 

Apart from the fourth floor, the master bedroom was the last place they came to, and Harry had hesitated at the door for a few moments before eventually opening it. As he’d expected, the room was quite a wreck, with clothes and items strewn haphazardly across the floor and blankets heaped like a nest atop the bed. As Sirius began to tidy, Harry wrote to Andromeda Tonks, who had apparently been looking after Stella since Remus had run off, informing her that the cat could come home. 

She arrived the next day with both Andromeda and Ted Tonks, who had wanted to see Sirius with their own eyes and ended up joining them for breakfast. The same thing happened several times over that weekend, with Order members turning up at the door or in the Floo to blink wide-eyed at Sirius, alive and well, and welcome him back with happy bewilderment. The Weasleys even came to visit on Sunday, bringing with them a cake for Sirius’ birthday, which both Harry and Sirius had completely forgotten even fell on the day. 

Evening came quickly after their guests had left, and Harry was in the middle of repacking his bag to return to Hogwarts when the familiar knock at the door sounded. He cast a Tempus , brow furrowing at the late hour before he was making his way downstairs to ask why someone had decided nine o’clock was a reasonable time to visit. When he reached the door, however, the answer was clear as his dormant magic subconsciously sought out the familiar warm pull of a magic he knew all-too-well; gentle as a caress; the relieved slide into a hot, soapy bath; the pleasant burn of hot chocolate settling in the pit of one’s stomach. But, also there, the warm pulse of fresh blood, the dangerous press of a dog’s nose against a barred throat. 

“Moony,” Harry breathed as he opened the door and saw the man, gaze downcast and shoulders hunched with an uncomfortable tension that Harry shared. 

His hair had grown startlingly fast, hanging in curtains of rugged, tawny-brown to cover what of his sun-freckled face hadn’t already been taken over by his messy beard. He was panting heavily, and Harry’s gaze fell to fresh gashes over the skin of his neck and to his exposed arms. 

“Moony,” he said again after moments of silence, and Remus finally lifted his head to cast a heavy-lidded gaze back at him, eyes blood-shot and smudged black beneath them. 

His lips cracked open, one of them split clean and pooled with blood. “Harry–” 

“Remus,” a third voice interrupted, and Harry turned to find Sirius standing in the entrance hall behind him, expression unreadable as he stared at the man on their doorstep. 

“How about we get inside?” Harry suggested weakly, going completely ignored as the two men continued to stare at each other in tense silence. “Or not.” 

“Harry…” Remus began, voice hoarse. “Get behind me.” 

Harry frowned, confused. “What?” 

“ Who are you?” Remus asked deeply, almost a growl, staring unblinkingly at Sirius. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house? With my cub?” 

Sirius stepped forward. “Moon–” 

“ WHO ARE YOU?” Remus roared, eyes flashing and sharp canines bared. His arm came out to snatch at Harry’s bicep and tug him out onto the doorstep, long nails digging painfully into Harry’s skin. 

“It’s Sirius , Moony,” Harry gasped, hand flying to the man’s wrist in an attempt to relax the tight grip on his arm. “Your best friend? Your partner? Sirius–?” 

The low growl that sounded from deep in Remus’ throat was dangerous, and Harry hissed as his nails began to pierce clean through the surface of his skin. “That’s not Sirius, Harry. Sirius is dead. Sirius is dead . Who are you and why are you using his body?” 

“It is me, love,” Sirius said, much gentler than Harry thought the situation called for. “Let go of Harry, now, you’re hurting him.” 

Remus’ head turned sharply to where he still held Harry’s arm, grip releasing suddenly. He blinked at the four visible punctures, eyes widening in alarm as they flicked to Harry’s. 

“Harry,” he croaked, the previous threatening tone to his voice diminishing instantly. “I’m sorry, cub, I’m so sorry–” 

“It’s okay,” Harry assured, cupping his hand over the cuts and trying to ignore the sting of them. “Can we please just get inside? I’ll explain everything.” 

Remus almost looked apologetic as he shook his head roughly. “No, Harry, he–” 

“Moony,” Sirius interrupted with a sigh, risking another step forward and reaching past Harry to grasp the man’s shoulders. “Shut up.” 

Instead of shoving the man away like Harry had expected, Remus suddenly appeared to lose all of the furious heat that had been spilling from him and slumped into the embrace, arms wrapping around the shorter man’s torso and pulling him so tightly against his chest that Harry thought it might just bruise more of Sirius’ ribs. 

“Careful,” he muttered half-heartedly, knowing neither man was going to listen. 

Remus’ face buried into the side of Sirius’ neck and Harry knew the werewolf was trying to confirm the scent to be that of his partner. He smiled, rubbing distractedly at his sore arm and stepping back into the house. 

“Come on,” he sighed. “Get inside so we can fix you up. I’ll go make hot chocolates.” 

Leaving the two at the doorstep, he made his way downstairs to the basement kitchen, pantry and cupboard doors swinging open without command. With a wave of his hand, he had a saucepan flying over to the stovetop as the flame lit of its own accord, and three mugs floating out of an overhead cupboard as he collected the milk and cocoa. 

Snap. 

“The unclean werewolf is being back in Master’s house,” Kreacher spat scathingly as he popped into existence at Harry’s side, setting a stool in front of the stove and peering disapprovingly at the saucepan of milk. 

Harry scoffed, gladly leaving the drink-making to the house-elf and peering at the cuts on his arm with a frown. “Do werewolf cuts do anything?” 

“Master is being tainted by the half-wolf?” Kreacher asked in alarm, stumbling on his stool in a frantic attempt to get a look at the little punctures. Harry held his arm out for the elf to pull close to his face, muttering angrily beneath his breath as he glared at the cuts. “Dangerous, unnatural, half-blood mutt. Kreacher is killing him in his sleep, he is. Kreacher is stabbing holes in his arm. Kreacher is–” 

“Alright,” Harry interrupted, giving him an exasperated look. “Kreacher isn’t killing anyone, thanks. He didn’t mean to.” 

“Those cuts is staying,” Kreacher told him gravely, large ears flapping as he shook his head. “Master Harry is always having them, now.” 

Harry sighed, hardly surprised at the news. “Can’t say I’m not used to it.”

“Harry!” Sirius called from upstairs. 

“Coming! Thanks, Kreacher.” 

Kreacher muttered something unintelligible, filling a small dish with a dash of the milk still on the counter and climbing off his stool, presumably off to find Stella. Harry filled the three mugs quickly, levitating them in front of him as he made his way back upstairs to find the two men sharing a couch in the front sitting room, mouths very much distracted. 

“Ugh.” Harry’s nose wrinkled, turning away from the two of them to set the mugs on a table. “You called me for this?” 

“Sorry,” Sirius replied, leaning away from his partner and grinning unapologetically at his godson. “‘Course not. Moons needs a hug.” 

“You're awful,” Remus grumbled from beside him, reaching for his hot chocolate and hiding his face in its steam as he took several large gulps. 

‘Get over here,’ Sirius mouthed at Harry, who rolled his eyes and allowed his godfather to tug him into the space between them on the couch. At close range, it was easy to see that Remus had certainly been crying, and Harry gave him a sympathetic smile, curling his arms around him to hug him tightly. 

“We missed you,” he said, voice muffled against the man’s shirt. “I can’t believe you left. I didn’t want to believe it.” 

“I know, cub,” Remus sighed, spare hand rubbing circles on Harry’s back. “I’m sorry. I’d convinced myself it was for the best. I didn’t… I never knew…” 

Harry hummed. “I know.” 

“I’m so sorry, Harry. For speaking to you the way I did, and for not listening when you tried to tell me. God, I never thought I’d be so grateful for you not listening to me. To think…” he sighed again. “I can’t explain it, cub, I’m sorry. I couldn’t have believed it if I’d tried. I don’t even… I can’t tell if I believe it now.” 

“I know,” Harry repeated. “I accepted a long time ago that he wasn’t really gone, so I think it’s been less of a shock. I can’t imagine.” 

“I am here, you know,” Sirius said, and Harry thought he might’ve been trying for sarcasm, but it only ended up coming out as genuine. Because it was hard to forget that, really, he hadn’t been for so long. 

“Yeah,” Remus said, voice wet. “We know.” 

Harry felt a warmth at his back as Sirius leaned in to embrace them both, Harry’s head tucked beneath their chins as though he were a small child. 

“We know where you get your softness from, pup,” Sirius teased fondly above him, followed by the sound of a kiss against skin before his own hair was being kissed affectionately. 

“Shut up,” Harry and Remus responded simultaneously, and Sirius gave an amused snort. 

Harry smiled against Remus’ shirt, picking distractedly at the frayed slashes in the fabric. “We should really do something about these,” he mumbled, eyeing a particularly nasty gash curved around the man’s side, visible only through the gaping hole in his shirt. 

“Later,” Remus sighed. “There’s not much to be done about them. The other weres weren’t too pleased by my sudden change of heart.” 

“Ah,” Harry realised somewhat bitterly. “Because you needed more scars.” 

Sirius huffed, breath blowing through Harry’s messy curls. “Perfect skin is overrated.” 

“Coming from the only one here with perfect skin,” Harry laughed, finding his godfather’s stomach with his elbow and shoving half-heartedly. 

“Now, now,” Sirius chuckled, pushing at Harry’s arm. “Jealousy is a disease, pup.” 

Harry groaned. He could hear Draco’s voice saying the exact same words in the back of his mind, and wished that the boy was there with them now. 

“McGonagall’s going to be peeved,” he huffed, not making to move at all. “I was meant to be back by now.” 

Sirius hummed, pointedly leaning all of his body weight onto him so that he couldn’t have gotten up if he tried. “She can wait.” 

Harry hummed, pressing his face to Remus’ warmth and feeling his smile broaden despite himself. “That she can.” 

• • •

To Harry’s irritation, McGonagall was anything but forgiving for his belated return to Hogwarts much later that night, and after that and the trip to Godric’s Hollow, he managed to land himself three consecutive night’s of detention. This would have been at least somewhat manageable, if Snape hadn’t had a similar idea and kept Draco in his own detention every single evening until late for the entire week, to both of the boys’ growing frustration. 

By Saturday morning, Harry felt so deprived of time with Draco that he was almost tempted to skip the first Quidditch match of the season just so that he could spend it snogging his boyfriend in the locker rooms instead. The match was between Gryffindor and Slytherin, however, and the thought of competing against Draco up in the air again was enough to have him rolling eagerly out of bed to drag Ron awake and catch an early breakfast. 

The Gryffindor table, as expected, greeted them both with a loud cheer as they entered the Great Hall, rivalled only by the chorus of hissing that arose similarly from the Slytherins. Harry grinned, spotting the familiar head of white-blond already at his bench across the hall and sending a playful wink his way. 

“I love game days,” he sighed, raking a distracted hand through his mess of hair and feeling uncharacteristically smug as more than a few groups of Gryffindor girls instantly began whispering amongst themselves. 

Ron didn’t respond, glancing awkwardly away from their hollering peers and beelining for their usual spot at the table. 

“You’ll be fine, mate,” Harry said as he sat beside him, piling his plate high. “I made you Keeper for a reason, alright? You’re a brilliant player, you just don’t believe in yourself.” 

“We’re gonna lose,” Ron grumbled dejectedly, picking at the food in front of him with a frown. “We’re gonna lose, and I’ll make a right fool of myself. I’ll take myself off the team after this, Harry. I can’t do it.” 

“Sweet Salazar,” a voice drawled, and Harry smiled at the feel of familiar fingers brushing across the nape of his neck as Draco leant over his shoulder to snag one of his toast triangles. “No one wants a pity party, Weasley. If you think you’re pathetic, it’s because you’re making yourself so.” 

Ron grunted, gracing the Slytherin with a half-hearted glare. “What do you care, Ferret? I’ll be handing you the win.” 

“If we win,” Draco said, pausing to kiss crumbs from each of his fingertips. “It will be because our team is simply superior, not because you were too distracted wiping snot from your nose to block a fucking ball. So do away with the whinging, will you? You’re making people lose their appetites.” 

Harry, who had been pleasantly distracted by the boy’s delicate fingers and pink lips, jumped as Ron suddenly kicked him beneath the table with an aggression that suggested it wasn’t the first attempt. 

“What?” he asked, forcing his gaze away from Draco’s smirking mouth and kicking Ron back just as hard. 

“Tell me what he’s up to,” Ron demanded, slanting a suspicious look at Draco as though he weren’t standing right at Harry’s side. “You can read him, can’t you?” 

“I’ll just pretend I’ve fallen temporarily deaf, shall I?” Draco asked sarcastically, eyes rolling to the hall’s ceiling. “I am speaking English, unless the language has suddenly escaped you, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Harry isn’t your interpreter.” 

Ron raised an eyebrow. “He is when you’re involved. Shouldn’t you be calling me clumsy and pathetic, or some rubbish?” 

“Circe,” Draco muttered. “I hope I don’t have to remind you, Weasley, of the beratement Harry received when he chose his best friend as Keeper. Do him a favour, of which you certainly owe him at this point, and act like you deserve the position he presented to you, because despite how much I utterly despise your presence on my playing field, I prefer it to that of McLaggen , who would be taking your spot the moment you fled from it. You are the Gryffindor Keeper, so act like it. Is that clear enough for your addled brain, Weasley?” 

The light touch at Harry’s nape disappeared suddenly as Draco swept off down the length of the table without waiting for a response, leaving both Harry and Ron blinking in surprise. Hermione, who’d just walked into the hall to join them, passed the Slytherin with a friendly wave before settling on the bench opposite them. 

“How are you both feeling?” she asked, eyeing Ron apprehensively. 

“Fine,” Harry answered, turning back to his breakfast. “Draco’s just given Ron a good scolding.” 

“What?” 

Ron, shaking out of his bemused daze, finally reached for a couple of sausages to add to his still-empty plate. “Wasn’t a scolding. M’ not a child,” he said, mouth already full. 

“I dunno,” Neville said, joining the conversation after being an amused bystander. “Sounded like a scolding to me.” 

Harry snorted as Ron sent the boy a scathing look. “Time to go, then.” 

Despite the frigid temperature, the skies were as clear and blue as they could have hoped for for their first match, and the white-gold sun was already melting through the worst of the frost still clinging to the grass beneath their feet as they made their way down to the pitch. Harry stripped down to his thermal and joggers once in the changing rooms, fastening his scarlet Quidditch robes and guards over the top as the rest of the team streamed inside to get ready. 

“Right, you lot!” he called eventually as he finished tying his boots, stepping up onto a bench to address them all before they had to be out on the pitch. “First match of the season, and you best believe we’re going to kick it off with a win.” 

“Heck yeah!” Ginny cheered, thumping her hand against the metal locker behind her. 

“This isn’t the first season for some of you, and I already know you’re going to give this one your absolute all. For the fresh meat,” Harry teased, grinning as their three newest team members earned light-hearted punches from the others. “Today is for you to prove that you all deserve your spots on this team. Not to me, I’ve seen what you can do in practice, but to the rest of the school who’re yet to see how bloody brilliant you guys are.” 

Ginny wrapped an arm around Demelza’s shoulders as Ritchie and Jimmy received playful ruffles to their hair by Ron and Katie on either side of them. From outside the locker room, they could hear the stadium filling quickly with chattering students, and Harry’s excited anticipation only grew. Ron, thankfully, seemed to have lost his miserable attitude and met his gaze with a similar spark in his eye. 

“Alright, team!” Harry cried, banging a gloved fist loudly against the lockers. “Let’s get out there and show them what we’ve got, yeah?!” 

“YEAH!” the team chorussed, getting to their feet to cause a ruckus against the floors and lockers. 

“Let’s show them how us lions ROAR!” Ginny added, earning a thunderous mash of roars and cheers from the team as Harry climbed onto Ron’s back, hoisting his broomstick into the air and beaming as the others followed. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” the commentator from outside called through the megaphone, and the team jogged out onto the pitch amidst a collection of roars and hisses. 

The sea of red and gold in the stands at their end of the pitch was going wild in their seats, feet thundering against the wooden floor and fists thumping the barricades enthusiastically. Harry could hear the distinct roar of Luna’s lion-headed hat amongst the shouts, and he grinned broadly as he waved at them all from Ron’s back. 

“AAAND SLYTHERIN!” the booming voice at the commentator’s podium sounded, and Harry had the sudden depressing realisation that Lee Jordan’s usual position had been replaced by none other than Zacharias Smith. 

The Gryffindor stands took their turn booing as the Slytherin team emerged from their own tunnel, trading smug looks and sharp grins as the green and silver half of the stadium went up in cheers. Harry’s gaze immediately went to Draco, who’s blond hair was practically gleaming in the sun’s rays as he tugged leather gloves onto his hands using only his teeth, catching Harry’s look and smirking. 

“Captains to me!” Madam Hooch called, and Harry dropped off Ron’s back to meet the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart, in front of her and have his hand promptly crushed in the larger boy’s grip. “Mount your brooms! On the whistle! Three… two… one…!” 

The sound of the whistle pierced the air, and the two teams kicked off hard from the ground, zipping away to their positions as the quaffle was hoisted up for the Chasers to race after. 

“And they’re off!” Smith began through the megaphone. “I think we’re all surprised to see the team that new Gryffindor Captain Potter has put together this year. Given Weasley’s patchy performance as Keeper last year, I know I wasn’t the only one who thought he was due for a replacement. I suppose a close, personal friendship with the Captain does help some…” 

Harry scowled as he was met with applause from the Slytherin stands, soaring in his usual perimeter of the pitch with one eye on Draco and the other searching for the snitch. 

“Here comes Slytherin’s first attempt on goal,” Smith narrated, and Harry turned to watch the three Gryffindor goalposts in anticipation. “It’s Urquhart streaking down the pitch… and Weasley actually saves it! There’s a first for everything, I suppose.” 

“Who picked that idiot?!” Harry called out when Draco veered near enough on his own search for the little golden ball. 

Draco threw him a quick shrug, barely allowing his gaze to land on Harry for even a second. “Seems your Weasel managed to get his head out of his arse.” 

“Yeah,” Harry grinned, glancing over at his best mate as he thumped his own chest to the cheers from Gryffindor. “Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“Now if your team wins, it’ll be thanks to me,” Draco smirked, catching his gaze again and playfully looping his broom beneath Harry’s to appear on his other side. “Suppose I win either way.” 

“Oi!” Ginny called as she passed below them. “Stop flirting and find that snitch, Cap!” 

Harry rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand her way and turning back to Draco. “What say the real winner gets off first in the lockers later?” 

Draco grinned, cocky as ever as his gaze seemed to catch on something ahead of them. “Hope you enjoy having bruised knees, then, Potter!” he taunted, before shooting forward and leaving Harry to splutter in his wake. 

“Prat!” he yelled, flattening against his own broomstick and chasing the boy’s tail. 

The snitch was indeed glinting in the air three-quarters down the pitch, and Harry cursed himself for not having spotted it first. He caught up with Draco quick enough, and they barrelled towards the flitting ball shoulder-to-shoulder, both pressed so tightly to their broomsticks that they were likely to have bruises no matter the match’s outcome. 

“Only ten minutes into the game, Potter and Malfoy are racing towards the snitch!” Smith shouted, sounding eager despite himself. “And Malfoy’s about to reach for it! Potter is right on him! And… oof! What was that for?!” 

Harry grinned, swinging around in the air after abruptly swerving to cut Draco off from grasping the gold snitch and allowing it to zip off out of sight again. 

“Too early!” Harry called as Draco opened his mouth to berate him. “My team’s going to wrack up some points, first!” 

“Fuck you, Potter!” 

“Later!” Harry laughed, blowing a teasing kiss to the scowling boy before shooting away across the pitch again. 

Twenty minutes later, Harry was confident he’d made the right move. Gryffindor was leading sixty points to zero with Ron having made some brilliant saves, and Zacharias Smith bitterly moved to ragging on their Beaters instead. 

“Of course, Coote isn’t really the usual build for a Beater,” he drawled airily from the podium. “They’ve generally got a bit more muscle to them–” 

“Hit him with a Bludger!” Harry called out to Ritchie as he passed him, and the boy grinned, instead aiming his next Bludger at one of Slytherin’s chasers and causing him to fumble the quaffle just as he was nearing the goal. 

At the forty-five-minute mark, Gryffindor was up ninety points to Slytherin’s twenty, and the Gryffindors sounded with a boisterous chorus of Weasley is our King after Ron made another spectacular save. 

“I think Malfoy’s spotted the snitch!” Smith exclaimed suddenly, and Harry swung around to locate the blond boy racing through the air just above him. 

Just as he was trying to work out if Draco was feinting or not, one of Slytherin’s Chasers suddenly slammed into his side unprovoked, and Harry cried out as the boy went speeding away with a smug expression. The Gryffindor stands filled with roars of anger, and Draco veered out of his feint to cuss out his teammate before shooting in Harry’s direction. Before he’d reached him, however, Harry spotted the familiar golden glint of the snitch over his boyfriend’s shoulder, fluttering tantalisingly near one of the Gryffindor goalposts. 

“Are you okay?” Draco asked, slowing as he reached Harry’s side and peering accusingly at his arm as though it was at fault for its pain. 

“No,” Harry hissed, only a half-lie, as he played up the act and massaged his aching arm with a frown. “Fucking git.” 

Draco made a chiding sound, glancing away only briefly to glare in his teammate’s direction and thus entirely missing Harry’s sudden jolt forward as he flattened on his broom and sped towards the snitch, wind whistling loudly in his ears. He could feel Draco on his tail, and he almost laughed aloud in excited delight as the golden snitch suddenly zoomed upwards and the two boys both turned up sharply, so close now to the snitch that Harry readied his grip to reach out… 

“YES!” Harry cried, feeling the fluttering ball curl snug in his closed fist just as Draco managed to catch up with him. “Ha!” 

“You fucking cheat!” Draco yelled, leaning over to shove at Harry as Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded below. “I thought he’d actually done some damage!” 

Harry grinned, the ache in his arm far from his mind at the moment. “Not enough to stop me from playing you!” 

The rest of the Gryffindor team caught up with them then, crowding around Harry in the air and shouting their praises above the thundering roar from the stands below as Draco flew away to meet his own team. Once they’d all landed and jostled into the changing room, the air was euphoric as they talked over each other about the match. 

“Party up in the common room!” Ginny shouted as she and the others began to leave, arms slung around each others’ shoulders. 

“See you up there!” Harry called out, deliberately taking longer to shed his gear. “I’m going to shower,” he told Ron once they were the only ones left. “Don’t wait up.” 

“I don’t mind,” Ron said obliviously, slinging his robes over his shoulder and leaning against the lockers with the intention of waiting. 

Harry gave him a look. “No, Ron–” 

“Get out, Weasel,” a third voice demanded, and Draco slipped into the change room, still dressed in his green Quidditch robes with his shin and arm guards missing. 

“Oh,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose and glancing between the two of them. “Really?” 

“Yes, really,” Draco responded before Harry could say anything. “Out.” 

Grumbling beneath his breath, Ron wasted no time collecting up his gear and striding out of the locker room without a look back. “See you up there, Harry!” he called out, voice echoing somewhat in the tunnel. 

“Don’t hold your breath!” Draco yelled back, before pointedly closing the door and turning to lean his back against his, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “So, Potter–” 

Whatever he had planned to say was swallowed up suddenly as Harry closed his mouth over his, pressing himself up against the taller boy and bracing his arms on either side of his shoulders. Draco groaned, arms automatically wrapping around Harry’s waist as he kissed back just as hard, tongue licking into Harry’s mouth to elicit a satisfied moan of his own. 

“I’ll have you know–” Draco said breathlessly between open-mouthed kisses. “I’m still very pissed off–” 

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, distracting Draco’s mouth with his own again as one of his knees slid between the boy’s legs, and smirking as his breath hitched, body slumping slightly against the wall. 

Feeling a warm sort-of satisfaction run through him at having Draco so deliciously pliant in his arms, Harry broke the kiss to graze his lips across the sharp line of his jaw, stopping to suck lightly where the skin sloped suddenly to his neck, then again over the freckle at his pulse-point, and further still to the jut of Draco’s collarbone. 

“I thought the winner was to be treated first,” Draco said between quick breaths, fingers winding tightly in the fabric of Harry’s thermal as Harry dragged his knee slightly higher, pressing against the growing hardness in Draco’s riding breeches. 

Harry hummed, feeling Draco shiver beneath his weight. “I changed my mind,” he murmured, hands falling to untie the black strings of Draco’s robes and drag them off his shoulders to drop to the floor. “You just look… so fucking good in this uniform.” 

Draco made a breathless sort-of whine, and Harry’s desperate desire only grew. “And on that broom,” he continued, pulling Draco’s own thermal up over his head and ruffling his already-wind-swept hair further. “ God , Draco. Do you know how fucking distracting it is watching you flit around on that thing?” 

“Tell me,” Draco sighed, hands scrabbling at the hem of Harry’s shirt in an attempt to shrug it up, before Harry was casting a wandless Brachiabindo and Draco’s wrists flew to the wall above his own head, bound together by in invisible cord. 

“Very,” Harry answered smugly, leaning back slightly to watch the boy squirm without purchase for his hands and dragging his shirt over his head himself. “Your arse in these tights–” 

“They’re jodhpurs–” 

“And your legs ,” Harry groaned, leaning in to kiss at the fresh marks across Draco’s neck. “I’m surprised I didn’t fall off my own broom just looking at you.” 

Draco whined again, rolling his groin impatiently against Harry’s thigh. “If you don’t–” 

Harry kissed him roughly, effectively cutting off his sentence and swallowing the moan that followed. “You’re not exactly in a position to give threats,” he said lowly, moving his mouth to Draco’s throat again as his fingers worked to undo Draco’s trousers, pushing them down far enough for him to press his palm to the boy’s length, fingers wrapping at its base to pull him off achingly slow. 

“H-Harry,” Draco stuttered, a delighted shiver wracking his body as he slouched further against the wall, hands still held by Harry’s magic. “Please.” 

“What was that, love?” Harry taunted, as though his hearing wasn’t sharply attuned to every minute sound the boy made. 

Draco groaned, cheeks flushed a pretty pink as his eyes squeezed closed. When he didn’t immediately repeat himself, Harry forced his hand to stop in its movements and Draco huffed in frustration. 

“Again, Draco.” 

“ Please , Harry,” the boy sighed, sounding almost pitiful. “Merlin, when did you become such a glutton for beg– fffuck yes oh my…” 

Harry felt himself grin, hand pulling quickly at the boy now, moistened by a wandless lubricating spell that the two of them had started using of late. It didn’t take much longer then, Harry’s face buried in the soft slope between Draco’s shoulder and neck as his hand worked faster and faster, until Draco was crying out loudly, warmth spilling over into Harry’s fist. He dropped all of his weight onto Harry’s thigh, body trembling as Harry slowly rode out his orgasm, pressing gentle kisses to his skin and murmuring sweet nothings against the shell of his ear. 

“My…” Draco sighed, out of breath, barely tilting his head to nod up at his pinned wrists. “My hands…” 

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, releasing his magic and allowing Draco’s arms to fall, winding lazily around his shoulders as Draco continued to catch his breath, eyelids fluttering sleepily as he tried to peer at Harry from beneath them. 

It was one of Harry’s favourite states to see Draco in, dazed and drowsy and quiet in post-orgasmic bliss, and Harry simply smiled at him, brushing sweaty strands of white-blond hair from his forehead and dropping delicate busses to his flushed cheeks. When Draco came to a few moments later, it was to pull Harry close and kiss him, long and slow and sweet, as he gradually regained some energy. 

“Baby,” he murmured quietly, and Harry was so surprised by the unusual term of endearment that he almost didn’t notice Draco squirming with the intention of pushing back Harry’s knee still between his legs. “Let me down.” 

“Sorry,” Harry said, moving back slightly. 

Draco slanted him a half-lidded look. “Don’t lose that dominance thing you had going yet,” he warned, and instead of standing up fully like Harry had expected, he sank to his knees between Harry and the door, tucking two fingers beneath the waistband of Harry’s joggers and tugging him forward again. “It very much suits you.” 

“Yeah?” Harry mused, caught between considering this new bit of information and concentrating on Draco’s hands as they pulled his joggers down to his ankles. “I thought you liked being pushy.” 

“Sometimes,” Draco said, shrugging. “I thought I preferred it, before…” 

Harry hummed, somewhat distracted by the sight of his boyfriend kneeling in front of him, so close that he could feel the warm puffs of breath across the front of his pants. “Before…?” 

Draco huffed, gaze flicking up to meet his. “Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy making you flustered in front of our friends. But you seem to sometimes get these spontaneous bursts of confidence when we’re alone, that… well… that drive me quite crazy.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, grinning broadly. “That have anything to do with why you like the wrist thing?” 

“Yes,” Draco sighed, as though it pained him a little to admit it. 

Harry chuckled, shuffling slightly closer as he braced one hand on the door in front of him, the other reaching down to curl loosely in Draco’s hair. “Okay, then. Are you planning on starting any time today?” 

Draco rolled his eyes, fingering the waistband of Harry’s boxer shorts. “I didn’t mean be a brat– oof.” 

His breath was jolted out of him as Harry used the hand in his hair to suddenly force his head back against the door, leaning down slightly so that Draco would hear him even at the low volume of his voice. “I asked, Malfoy, if you were going to start any time today.” 

Draco’s eyes widened, head nodding before he likely even knew he was doing it. 

“Good,” Harry smirked, taking his hand off the wall for a moment to push down his pants and watching Draco’s eyes darken. “Then start.” 

He was already achingly hard by the time the boy’s lips found the head of his cock, parting to flick his tongue against its tip before starting to suck it slowly into the warmth of his mouth. Harry groaned, leaning his elbow against the door so that he could press his head to his forearm, gaze still trained on Draco’s pink lips closed around him. 

“Fuck, Draco,” he muttered, fingers tightening in the blond’s hair as his head began to bob, tongue flat against the underside of Harry’s length and sending jolts of pleasure up and down Harry’s body with every thrust. “So good, fuck. You’re so good. So perfect, Draco, so… mmh...” 

Draco hummed appreciatively, vibrations dancing up Harry’s length as he huffed a breathless moan into the space between them. He shifted forward further still, until Draco’s head was practically pressed between him and the door with no room to back out, and began to jerk his hips in time with Draco’s movements. His legs, already tired from the match, began to shake with the effort of it, breaths coming out short and sharp as the air around them grew warm and static-y with his unbridled magic. 

“God,” he groaned, muffling it in his arm. “M’ close, shit, let–” 

Already understanding, Draco stilled his motions and let the back of his head fall against the door behind him as Harry essentially used his mouth, jerking forward over and over and over until– “Fuck,” he grunted, a low keen ripping from his throat as his hips shuddered to a stop, mind falling blissfully blank as rolls of pleasure unravelled across his body. “ Draco, Draco, Draco…” 

Distantly, he felt Draco’s mouth slip off of him, and he blinked dazedly down at the boy as he wiped a streak of pearly-white from his bottom lip, brushing it off on his breeches absentmindedly. Muscles exhausted, he allowed himself to sink down to the floor, knees on either side of Draco’s thighs as the boy stretched his own legs out beneath him. 

“Baby, hm?” he teased, taking Draco’s chin in one hand and kissing him softly, nose wrinkling slightly at the taste. “That’s new.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” Draco mumbled, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist once again and burying his face into the crook of his neck. “I could nap.” 

Harry made an amused sound, tracing mindless patterns into the nape of Draco’s neck with his thumb. “Not keen on joining the Gryffindor after-party?” 

“Not bloody likely.” 

“Can we at least shower first?” Harry asked, eyeing the mess across both of their stomachs. 

Draco hummed, and Harry took it as a yes. They showered together quickly, before dressing back into their Scourgify- ed clothes and carrying their Quidditch gear back up to the castle. After parting with a brief kiss at the bottom of the marble staircase, Harry took it slowly up to the seventh floor. As expected, the corridor outside the common room appeared to be empty, but as he passed one of the closed classroom doors he just managed to pick up on a sniffling sound from behind it. Hesitating for a moment, he brought a fist up to the door and knocked lightly, half-hoping no one would answer and he was just imagining things. 

But then, “This room is occupied!” came a muffled call that sounded very much like Hermione, and Harry was swinging the door open without a second thought. 

“Hermione?” he asked, finding the girl sitting alone on the teacher’s desk, a small ring of twittering little birds circling the air above her head. “What’re you doing in here? Has something happened?” 

“Hello, Harry,” she said stiffly, looking pointedly up at the birds. “I was just practising.” 

Harry closed the door behind him, walking over to sit on the desk beside her. “They’re good,” he said, not knowing what else to say. 

“Have you been into the party, yet?” 

“Er, no, not yet. Why?” 

“Ron seems to be enjoying it, is all,” she said, sniffing again in a way that suggested something had definitely upset her. 

“Did he do something?” he asked, mind spinning with thoughts of what exactly Ron could have done wrong in the time he’d been down on the grounds with Draco. 

“Well, he–” 

The classroom door burst open all of a sudden, and to Harry’s complete surprise, Ron stumbled inside dragging Lavender Brown, of all people, along by her hand. 

“Oh,” the boy said, stopping as he realised who was in the room with them. There was a bright grin on his face that was quickly slipping the longer everyone stared at each other in silence. 

“Oops!” Lavender giggled, backing out of the room. “Come on.” 

“Just a sec,” Ron called as she disappeared, the door swinging shut behind her. “Hi, Harry. Wondered when you’d be getting back.” 

“Ron,” Harry started uncomfortably, staring at a smudge of pink lipstick at the corner of his mouth. “What the–” 

“Oppugno!” Hermione cried, and the golden birds above her head suddenly shot in Ron’s direction, swarming his head and pecking at his skin as he yelped and tried to shield his face. 

“Hermione!” he exclaimed, but the girl had already jumped off the desk and stormed out of the classroom without so much as a glance back. 

Pointing his wand at the flock of attacking birds, Harry vanished them wordlessly, before fixing his friend with an accusatory glare. 

“What the fuck did you do?”

Chapter Text

Harry spent the following week trying to bridge the tear between his two best friends and failing miserably. Draco, who had heard the news of Ron snogging Lavender at lunch later in the day, was quick to fall on Hermione’s side and took to pointedly ignoring the boy any time he was with Harry. If there was any silver lining to the situation, Harry had thought, it was that Draco and Hermione’s tentative friendship strengthened tenfold over just the few days. So much so, that Harry began to get the distinct impression that the two of them were keeping some sort of secret from him, which served to both please and annoy Harry in a very conflicting mix. 

On Saturday, however, any thoughts Harry had of the fight between his two best friends or the secrets between Draco and Hermione were as far from his mind as they could be, and he was determined to keep it that way right up until the clock turned to midnight that night. 

“Fuck off,” Ron groaned as Harry threw open the curtains across the window by his bed. “It’s too early.” 

“I don’t care,” Harry sing-songed, grinning at the white-gold of the sun as it streamed through the glass to warm his face. “I’ll be spending the whole day with Draco, so maybe take the opportunity to figure out your shit with ‘Mione, yeah?” 

He strode over to his trunk, flicking his hand and summoning the clothes he’d already chosen the day before into his arms to carry over to the shared bathroom for after his shower. 

“Off to Hogsmeade, then?” Dean asked from his bed, always the earlier riser to his boyfriend, who was still splayed over two-thirds of the bed and snoring into his pillow. 

Harry grinned over at him. “Yep. It’s our anniversary,” he replied, before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. 

He made his way down to the school’s Entrance Hall fifteen minutes later with a skip in his step, ignoring Hermione’s stifled laugh from behind him. Draco, as expected, was standing against the wall by the open doors of the Great Hall, arms crossed as his gaze lazily trailed various passers-by into the hall for breakfast. As if he could feel Harry’s own on him, he looked up to meet it, and Harry promptly missed the next step and went tumbling right down the last few, his glasses flying off to clatter to the floor. 

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, racing down to the base of the staircase where Harry was now sprawled, groaning as his hands found a sore spot on his hip that would definitely bruise. 

Another pair of footsteps was quickly drawing closer and Harry dragged himself to his feet with the help of the bannister, attempting to hide a grimace as another burst of pain flared in his side. 

“You idiot,” Draco murmured as he reached him, voice a mix of exasperation and affection. He pushed Harry’s hand away from his hip, pointing his wand at the painful spot and muttering an Episkey.  

Harry grinned despite himself, cupping his palm over the boy’s jaw and leaning in close so that his boyfriend’s face would unblur. “Guess you could say I fell for you,” he said cheekily, laughing as Draco batted the hand away from his face with a blushing scowl. 

“Gross,” he reprimanded, though his own hand still ghosted Harry’s hip where the pain had now thankfully subsided. “Was that all?” 

“My elbow, too,” Harry said, holding out the offending limb for Draco to heal, despite being perfectly capable of his own healing charms. He lifted two fingers to his mouth then, tapping his lips hopefully. “And here. I think a kiss should fix it.” 

“God,” Hermione huffed amusedly from beside them and handed Harry his glasses. “I’m going to breakfast. Happy anniversary, you two. Have a nice day.” 

They bid her goodbye, and Harry almost missed the wink she sent Draco, distracted as he was by the light kiss Draco landed on his cheek. “Happy anniversary, idiot.” 

“Happy anniversary,” Harry beamed as he wrapped his arms around the taller boy’s shoulders, Hermione utterly forgotten. “You look incredible.” 

“I didn’t think you had the chance to notice before you went hurling to the ground.” 

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes then, pointedly stepping back and trailing his gaze down his boyfriend’s full attire. He hadn’t lied, he truly did look incredible, as usual– black knitted turtleneck tucked neatly into grey, tapered trousers and pulled tight by a belt that showed off the pinch of his waist so delectably that Harry couldn’t help but reach out to grasp either side. 

“Up to standards?” Draco asked, allowing Harry to tug him forward slightly by the waist and tuck his face into his neck. 

“Perfect,” Harry murmured, lips dragging across rose-scented skin. “You’re perfect, dragon.” 

There was a comically-loud gag from somewhere in their near vicinity, followed by a “Get a room!” as Seamus and Dean wandered past them. 

“Bite me, Finnigan,” Draco scowled over Harry’s shoulder, pointedly rolling his head back slightly to present Harry with a larger stretch of skin to dance his mouth over. “They say jealousy is a disease.” 

“Why be jealous when we can all share?” Seamus joked– or, at least, Harry hoped he was joking. 

Draco scoffed. “Join the line.” 

“Don’t you two have somewhere to be?” Neville’s voice interrupted as he reached the bottom of the staircase too. The look he gave Draco was distinctly knowing , and Harry suddenly got the feeling that everyone knew something that he didn’t. 

“Hogsmeade?” he asked, confused, and Neville only graced him with a smile as he passed them by. 

“Have fun!” 

Frowning, Harry turned to his boyfriend. “Are you hiding something?” 

“Of course not, darling,” he drawled fondly, glancing at his watch and pulling on the black trench coat that had been hanging over one arm. “Come on. We’ll eat there.” 

“Alright,” Harry muttered, still mildly suspicious as they left the building and made their way to the gate that would lead them on the path to Hogsmeade. 

His scepticism only grew when Draco came to a stop just outside the village, and instead of leading them onto the main cobbled street, he pulled Harry to duck behind a tree. 

“You’re definitely hiding something!” Harry protested, watching the boy pull a silver teaspoon, of all things, out of his coat pocket and holding it out between them. “What’s that for?” 

“That is for me to know, and for you to find out,” Draco smiled, shaking the spoon slightly. “It’s due for about ten seconds from now, so I’d take hold if I were you.” 

Giving him a wide-eyed look, Harry took the offered handle of the teaspoon, noticing that a delicate sketch of a cat was engraved into the silver. “It’s a Portkey,” he said. 

“Very good.” 

“Where is it–” 

He was abruptly interrupted as they were both suddenly yanked through space, spinning and whirling until they landed a moment later in what seemed to be a little shop, or office, perhaps. Bewildered, Harry glanced around, noticing a number of receptionists at a long desk on the other side of the place and realising with surprise that they weren’t speaking English. 

“Bonjour!” one of the ladies greeted, and Draco stepped over to her, dragging Harry by the loose hold on his hand. “Vous venez d'Ecosse, oui?” 

“Er–” Harry stammered, utterly taken-aback. 

Draco made an amused sound beside him. “Oui. Désolé, mon copain ne parle pas français.” 

“Ah, bon! English?” the receptionist asked, looking back at Harry expectantly, who nodded with what he hoped was an apologetic sort-of look. “You are from ‘Ogwarts. You ‘ave Portkey?”  

Draco handed over the silver teaspoon as Harry practically gawked, wondering what on Earth they were doing in a Portkey Distribution Office somewhere in France . 

“Come back at six o’clock,” the receptionist smiled. “Do you need a pamphlet?” 

“Non, merci,” Draco replied, returning her smile politely before tugging Harry to the door. “Come on, Harry, there’s so much to see.” 

“Merci beaucoup!” Harry called awkwardly over his shoulder, waving towards the receptionist before he was pulled out of the little office and into a bustling street. “Woah. This is like Diagon.” 

Draco nodded, slowing so that Harry could fall into place beside him and gazing bright-eyed at the shops around them. “Place Cachée,” he said. “The wizarding district of Paris. So, yes, basically the French Diagon Alley.”

“We’re in Paris?!” Harry exclaimed, drawing curious glances from some of the witches and wizards passing by. “ The Paris? As in, in France?” 

“No, as in Paris in Australia,” Draco responded sarcastically, tugging at Harry’s hand to lead him further down the high street. “We’re sure to be recognised here eventually, so we’ll be spending the day in Muggle Paris.” 

“Bloody hell,” Harry said, still a little stunned. “We’re in Paris . Draco!” 

Draco gave him a fond look. “Harry.” 

“No, you don’t understand. I’ve never been outside of Britain before, and by Britain I only really mean England and Hogwarts. This is insane , Draco. How did you get permission for this?” 

“I know, and I didn’t.” 

Harry laughed brightly, shaking his head. “Of course you didn’t. McGonagall is going to kill us.” 

“Mm,” Draco hummed agreeable, still smiling down at him. “I believe it’s worth it. Now, I’ve a few items on our agend–” 

“Hoot,” Harry interrupted loudly, pointing at the scops owl hopping about out the front of a sweet-looking shop with the name ‘ Le Corbeau Mystique’ hung above the door. He smirked at the tsk Draco made, pressing his fingers to his lips and blowing him an air-kiss that wandlessly carried his earned Stinging Hex. 

“I’ve just decided I’d much rather go home, actually,” Draco said, nose up-turned in indignation as he massaged distractedly at the stung spot on his neck. “To think I planned all of this for the likes of you.” 

Harry grinned, pressing closer to the boy and eyeing the little pink flush against his pale cheek from his hex. “Aw. Should I kiss it better?” 

“Fuck off,” Draco scowled, picking up his pace towards where Harry assumed they could leave the wizarding street from. “I’m uninviting you from this date.” 

“Too late,” Harry teased, catching up and sliding his hand back into Draco’s. “I’ve at least got to see the Eiffel Tower first.” 

Draco sighed long-sufferingly, coming to a stop in front of a lovely bronze-coloured statue of a woman on a pedestal in the centre of the bustling square they’d wandered into. “If we must,” he drawled, nodding politely to the stone woman as she quirked a pretty smile at them, stretching out one leg and with it the skirt of her dress. 

What the action unveiled looked to be just the other side of the square, but when the two of them stepped through it, Harry quickly realised that they’d instead appeared on a cobbled street with no wizarding shops in sight. 

“Bienvenue à Montmartre,” Draco said with a smile, nodding again at the statue before striding off to the right and tugging Harry along with him. “And, conveniently, to the best view of Paris.” 

“Really?” Harry asked in awe, simultaneously hurrying to keep in step with Draco’s longer strides and trying to get a good look at the view on their right side that seemed to only show the roofs of the nearest buildings so far. 

Quickly enough, however, the nearby buildings suddenly ceased and Harry’s eyes widened at the breathtaking view of buildings upon buildings down below, as far as the eye could see. He quickly became the one pulling Draco along, breaking into a jog so that he could take the stone steps down to the lookout and gaze in awe at the cityscape. The sun had only recently broken the horizon, and was beginning to cast pale-yellow rays over the city below through a spattering of delicate white clouds. 

“Woah,” he breathed softly, taking as much in as his eyes would allow. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” 

“Nice, isn’t it?” Draco asked, and Harry could tell just by the sound of his voice that he was smiling. 

He glanced at him to confirm his theory and found the boy already gazing right back, the tell-tale curve of his lips only widening at Harry’s sudden attention. Harry nodded, mind vacant of any words that might have been suitable, and dipped forward to press their mouths together instead. Draco’s spare hand curled against his waist, pulling him closer until their chests were flush, warm mouth taking Harry as utterly undone as the view had. 

“Sort of weird being close to you like this without all of the gasps and mutterings around us,” Harry said breathlessly, chest warm and mind spinning as Draco released him. “I was almost getting used to it.” 

“Mm,” Draco agreed, catching his lips again quickly. “Is it strange that I miss the drama?” 

Harry snorted, shaking his head and looking back out at the endless sea of buildings below them. “Only you, Draco Malfoy.” 

“Come on,” Draco said after a few moments, squeezing Harry’s hand and moving away from the stone balustrade. “Only one stop before I need caffeine.” 

Their first stop turned out to be the large church behind them that Draco told him was the Sacré-Cœur , followed quickly by coffee and croissants at one of the cafés surrounding a cobbled square bustling with an assortment of artists and their stalls. 

“One of Paris’ most famous squares,” Draco told him as they finished off their croissants. “The central square for Montmartre when it was its own village. Apparently, it’s always been quite a hub for creatives.” 

“Cool,” Harry mused, glancing around at the various art styles. “You could sell your sketches here.” 

“Ha,” Draco laughed, despite Harry being entirely serious, and gestured for their bill. “You’ll need to help me with this muggle currency.” 

Harry gave him a look. “I grew up in muggle England , Draco. They use Euros here, I’m pretty sure.” 

“Make sense of this all, then,” Draco huffed, pulling a little leather wallet from his coat pocket and emptying its contents onto the table. 

“Draco!” Harry chided, gathering the notes and coins into his hands before someone could come by and snatch it. “Even I know not to show off my money around here.” 

Draco shrugged, unbothered, and took the bill from their waiter with a polite smile. “There’s always more.” 

“You can be a real snob, you know,” Harry said, finding the correct notes to hand over before they took their leave. 

Draco dragged him to the next place soon enough. Musée de Montmartre, he introduced it as, and watched with a satisfied smile as Harry grew giddy at his first ever opportunity to visit an actual museum. When he was in primary school, the kids had an excursion to the British Museum, but Harry had been forced to stay back at the school with an unsigned permission slip and never got the chance to visit again. 

“This isn’t anything like the British Museum,” Draco had to remind him. “That would be the Louvre, though I’d rather not waste our hours in line for that. This is more of a quaint gallery, but it’s quite nice.” 

“I’ll love anywhere you take me,” Harry said cheesily, and he was happy to confirm the statement once they’d begun to explore the museum’s interior. Harry had never been very passionate about art that hadn’t been made by Draco, but watching his boyfriend’s face light up with awe at each artwork and poster they came across more than made up for it. 

“It would be so incredible to paint here,” Draco sighed as they admired a handful of paintings adoring a little studio room. “Paris herself is just… so inspiring.” 

“Mm,” Harry hummed agreeably, leaning against the wooden door frame and watching the boy peer closely at one of the framed pieces. “You suit it.” 

And he did. Harry could so easily picture Draco wasting away hours of his day in a little studio, shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows and hair falling from his ponytail to frame his face as he surveyed an unfinished canvas; paintbrush held lightly between charcoal-stained fingertips and flecks of sunlight glowing against pale cheekbones. He almost wanted to curse at how perfect the scene was in his mind’s eye. 

“Perhaps we’ll come to live here, one day,” Draco mused quietly, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. He smiled at him over his shoulder, and Harry wanted nothing more than to duck forward and kiss it from his mouth. 

“Let’s just stay,” Harry murmured. “Forget school and the war. Just hide away here in France where no one can touch us.” 

Draco’s smile turned bittersweet. “If I thought that you could ever live with yourself after doing so, I would have it happen in a heartbeat.” 

“Let me guess, because I’m a Gryffindor?” 

“No,” Draco huffed a laugh. “Well, yes, but because you’re good. You still believe that you owe it to the world to save them all. I wouldn’t feel a smidge of guilt if I were to hide you away from them all for the rest of our lives, except that I’d know it would kill you anyway.” 

Harry frowned, knowing he was likely right. 

“Come on,” Draco said before Harry could respond. He’d joined him at the doorway and taken up one of his hands in his own. “Still much to do.” 

• • •

“I can’t believe we have to go back to Hogwarts tonight,” Harry sighed, head in Draco’s lap as they lounged on the lawn by the Eiffel Tower, belly full with a late lunch from one of the nearby restaurants. “As though we didn’t literally spend the day in Paris. I still don’t quite believe we’re even here.” 

“Perhaps we’re not,” Draco said mysteriously, wiggling his fingers over Harry’s face. “Maybe this is all just a dreeeam… I’ve trapped you here foreverrr…” 

“Oh, thank Godric for that,” Harry joked, tilting his chin and pretending to bite at the boy’s dancing fingers. “Mm, delicious, thank you.” 

Draco snorted, flicking his nose affectionately. “Idiot.” 

“Love you.” 

“I love you, too,” Draco murmured softly, and Harry grinned up at him. 

“You were right before,” he said after a moment’s silence. “About me not being able to live with myself if we just up and abandoned the war.” 

Draco hummed, waiting for him to continue. 

“But after it’s finished. After the fighting’s done and Voldemort’s gone for good. We’ll come back and live here. At least for a little while.” 

“You hardly know a word of French.” 

“You’ll teach me,” Harry said matter-of-factly, closing his eyes as Draco’s hand raked gently through his hair. “I’m sure Moony and Padfoot would love to visit, too. And you can do your art. And I’ll cook for us every evening.” 

Draco’s voice was soft as silk as he murmured above him. “And what will happen to your Auror plans, hm?” 

“They can wait. I want to… experience the world, before any of that. You know, my dad and his parents used to travel to a different country each year? I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” 

“We can do that.” 

“And then I’ll marry you,” Harry said, grinning. “And make you a Potter. And we can live in France until we miss everyone too much.” 

Draco scoffed, hand stilling in Harry’s hair. “I will not be a Potter. You can take Malfoy.” 

“God, no. Maybe we can hyphenate. Potter-Malfoy has a nice ring to it, I guess.” 

“Malfoy-Potter, you mean.” 

“I don’t think I do.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

Harry chuckled, opening his eyes again to catch his boyfriend’s look of exasperation. “So are you. It’s like we’re perfect for each other.” 

“Mm,” Draco hummed in reluctant agreement. “I cannot wait to marry you, Harry James.” 

“Same to you, Draco Abraxas.” 

Draco’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Especially if you grow up to look any more like your father. Your mother did so much right having a child with him.” 

Harry spluttered, shielding his eyes as the sun escaped from behind a white cloud to glare down at them. “You think my dad’s fit ?” 

“Absolutely,” Draco laughed, covering Harry’s eyes for him instead. “The facial scruff, the shoulders, the smile–” 

“Okay, okay!” Harry cried, hands flapping to smack at Draco’s chest over his head. “God, no more. That’s my dad .” 

Draco sighed, and Harry couldn’t see him as he leaned down until lips were warm against his own. “Lucky me.” 

They lay there until the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon and the time began to trickle closer to six o’clock. The journey back to Montmartre on Paris’ public transport was quite the affair; Draco, predictably, left it all up to Harry after getting into a heated argument with the ticket vendor and remained in a huff until they’d made it back to familiar cobbled streets. 

“Au revoir, Paris,” Harry sighed sadly as they ducked back into Place Cachée through the same statue as that morning. “See you after the war.” 

“Soon, I hope,” Draco added, leading them both back down the still-busy street to the Portkey Distribution Office. 

The same receptionist greeted them with a new Portkey– a brass monocle, strangely– and wished them well before they were spinning back to the shabby little office in Hogsmeade where snow had just begun to fall softly onto the familiar cobbled streets. 

“Stay in my dorm tonight,” Harry said as they strode back towards the castle amongst scattered groups of students. “It’s the weekend.” 

“Weasley will have a fit,” Draco smirked, sounding no less inclined towards the idea. 

“If luck’s on our side, he’ll have made up with Hermione by then and be in a good mood.” 

Draco scoffed. “I doubt our chances.” 

“We’ll see.” 

• • •

“You were in Paris?” were Ron’s first words to Harry as he entered the dormitory after, presumably, walking up from the Great Hall. Harry and Draco had been full enough from the abundance of food they’d treated themselves that day that they skipped out on dinner and had gone straight to Gryffindor Tower. 

“How’d you know?” Harry asked, already on his bed and waiting for Draco to finish in the bathroom. 

Ron nodded in Neville’s direction, and Harry slumped with disappointment. 

“I hoped you’d have made up with ‘Mione,” he admitted. 

“Why do you lot keep acting like I’m the one ignoring her?” Ron asked, brow furrowed irritably. “As far as I can tell, I’ve not got anything to make up for.” 

“Come off it, Ron,” Dean sighed across the room. “Everyone with eyes can see that she fancies you, and up until last week, we’d all been under the impression that you fancied her.” 

Ron looked scandalised. “ What? Hermione– I– no–” 

“Oh, pull your head out ya arse, Ron,” Seamus groaned from his own bed. “You two’ve been dancing around each other since third year.” 

“It’s true,” Neville added with a nod. “Remember the Yule Ball in fourth year? Everyone knows you had a fight with Hermione because of Victor Krum.” 

“Because he was Harry’s competition!” Ron defended, cheeks blooming crimson.

“You do not honestly still believe that, do you?” Draco drawled as he stepped out of the adjacent bathroom and set his uniform on top of Harry’s trunk. “Try to picture it, her and Krum dancing at the ball together… holding hands… snogging in the corridor…” 

Ron’s nose wrinkled in disgust, angry blush spreading down his neck. “I’d rather not.” 

“Exactly,” Harry said, though even he wasn’t particularly enjoying the mental image. Hermione was practically his sister, for Godric’s sake. “Why’re you even with Lavender, mate? You’d never looked her way twice before she started throwing herself at you this year.” 

“I’m not really with her,” Ron defended uncomfortably. “We just… snog… sometimes.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right, sometimes. Trust me when I say the snogging is a whole lot better when you actually like the person.”  

“Mm,” Draco purred, climbing onto Harry’s bed beside him and pressing his nose affectionately into the crook of Harry’s neck. “How’d you find that out?” 

“Ugh,” Ron mocked a gag, turning away from them. 

“I can hardly think why I’m even encouraging this, Weasley,” Draco sighed. “But grow some bollocks and ask Hermione out. For some extremely bizarre reason, she likes you, and I’m truly tired of seeing her so disheartened by someone as rude and boring and insignificant as yourself.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Ron grumbled. 

“He’s right,” Harry said, and Ron spluttered. “Not about the rude and whatever, but about Hermione. Honestly, I’m just about fed up seeing the two of you be all timid with each other one second and bickering like a bloody married couple the next. Invite her to the next Hogsmeade weekend or something. And talk about it. You both deserve to be happy.” 

“I’m perfectly happy snogging Lavender, thanks. Hermione doesn’t fancy me, and I don’t fancy her. We’re just friends.” 

The others groaned, Neville shooting Harry an exasperated look and Seamus falling dramatically against Dean. 

“You’re an utter pillock,” Draco countered, staring concentratedly at the hangings surrounding Harry’s four-poster. “Figure it out, Weasley, before she loses interest.” 

And with that, he swept the hangings shut with a flick of his finger, turning to look expectantly at Harry for praise. 

“Brilliant,” Harry murmured, gesturing lazily to the hangings himself and casting a Muffliato , before climbing onto the boy and pressing a rough kiss to his mouth, feeling him go utterly pliant beneath his grip. “You’re brilliant, future Draco Potter-Malfoy.” 

Draco’s spluttered protest went unheard as Harry caught his lips in another hard snog, and it wasn’t long before the thought was swept away entirely.

Chapter Text

As the year began its slow crawl to the end, the war outside of Hogwarts’ walls only seemed to grow, with the Daily Prophet detailing new attacks on muggle homes and disappearances of witches or wizards almost every morning. Whilst this meant that many parents began to urge their children to return home for the holidays, just as many seemed to think that Hogwarts was the safest place for the students to be, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. 

“I don’t think I should go home over the break,” Hermione was telling him in subdued tones as Ron and Draco glared at each other over a game of wizard’s chess one evening in the Gryffindor common room. “What if I somehow draw the Death Eater’s attention? Someone sends me an owl or something… they’d know it was the house of a muggleborn. I can’t put my parents at risk of an attack.” 

“As much as I want to say it wouldn’t happen,” Harry sighed, raking her long, bushy hair out of her face to braid it loosely the way she liked before bed. “You’re right. Maybe if you just visit for Christmas day? You wouldn’t have to leave the house if you Floo, and you can have your owls directed to Hogwarts still for when you get back.” 

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, gazing over at the two boys as Ron’s bishop took a brutal swing at one of Draco’s rooks, earning him that famous Malfoy scowl. “I’ll think about it.” 

They fell silent then, Harry deftly threading her hair between his fingers as the two chuckled at the others’ competitive antics. 

“Hi, Harry!” a voice interrupted brightly, and Harry swallowed an irritated sound as Romilda Vane appeared beside them, leaning provocatively over the back of the sofa. “You’re going to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party tomorrow evening, aren’t you?” 

“Er–” Harry mumbled uncomfortably, pointedly staring at the back of Hermione’s head to avoid getting an eyeful of cleavage that he honestly couldn’t have been less interested in seeing. “I was invited.” 

“So you’re going,” Romilda said, not really a question. “Have you thought about who to take as your date, then?” 

Harry glanced over at Draco. “A little,” he responded vaguely. 

“Well, you should ask someone soon,” she continued, and in his peripheral vision, Harry could see her leaning further still over the couch to try and gain his attention. “Don’t want to miss out on all the good options.” 

“Right.” 

She rocked back suddenly, turning to search in her book bag. “I have something for you!” she chirped, pulling out a box and thrusting it at him enthusiastically. “Chocolate Cauldrons. They’ve a dab of Firewhiskey in them.” 

Harry glanced awkwardly at the offered box and then to his hands still occupied in Hermione’s hair. “Um, thanks.” 

She smiled widely, dropping the chocolates into his lap. “It’s no problem! You should really try them, I’ve had them before and they’re quite nice.” 

“Er–” 

“Harry’s in the middle of something, Romilda,” Hermione said politely, turning to regard the girl. “Perhaps you could chat later? We’ve had a long day, you see.” 

Romilda shot her an ugly look. “Of course. You work so hard in your classes, Harry, it’s good to relax. I’ll see you later!” 

Granting him another smile, she left to disappear up the steps to the girls’ dormitories, and Hermione let  out a sound of disgust. 

“They’re definitely spiked with love potion, by the way. I heard a few of them talking about it in the girl’s lavatory earlier today.” 

“They had love potions and you didn’t confiscate them?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose at the offending box in his lap. 

Hermione scoffed. “They didn’t have the potions with them. They were just discussing tactics. Honestly, Harry, when are you going to just be open about dating Draco?” 

“It’s not as if we’re really hiding it,” Harry defended with a frown, tying the end of her plait with a black band from his wrist. “It was already in the papers, not my fault they don’t believe it.” 

“The papers didn’t confirm it, though, and you know how people have been about them since they called you a liar and turned out to be wrong. Now it’s just… an ‘are they, aren’t they?’ situation. People still think they have a chance. I guess when he turns up as your date tomorrow they might get the hint.” 

“People will believe they have a chance regardless of whether they think the Chosen One is taken or not,” Draco drawled, having finally admitted defeat against Ron and made his way over to their couch. “Budge over, Granger.” 

Hermione gave him a look. “Get your own seat.” 

“Fine,” Draco shrugged, and to no one’s surprise, decided to toss the box of chocolates on Harry’s lap aside and take their place, long legs dangling over the arm of the couch and arms wrapping around Harry’s neck. Ignoring their audience of friends entirely, he ducked his head to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s jaw. “Historians will call us bosom buddies.” 

“What?” Harry laughed, glancing around the room and noticing more than a few students giving them curious looks. 

Draco’s mouth moved to the side of his neck, intentionally parting his lips to graze his teeth over the skin teasingly. Cheeks flooding with warmth, Harry shifted beneath his weight and pretended not to feel the boy’s huffed laugh against his neck. 

“Like Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Best mates my arse. Everyone knows they were shagging.” 

“ What?” Harry exclaimed in surprise, eyes widening. “Dumbledore’s gay? And who’s Grindelwald?” 

“As if you’ve never thought that,” Seamus said, joining the conversation after climbing in through the common room entrance and settling in an armchair. “Have you seen what he wears?” 

Harry paused, thinking back to the admittedly quite flamboyant robes and suits he’d seen the old wizard wear from time to time. “I didn’t think that automatically meant he was queer.” 

“Well, it doesn’t,” Hermione added. “But…” 

“Am I the only one who hasn’t spent time thinking about our Headmaster’s sexual preferences?” Harry asked, bewildered. Draco, who’d been biting gently at Harry’s skin with zero regard for the others, chuckled softly again and sent a tingling shiver down his spine. 

“I’m with you, mate,” Ron said from the rug at their feet, sending suspicious looks to the back of Draco’s head. “D’you mind?” 

Draco dug his teeth especially hard, eliciting an embarrassing squeak from Harry, before lifting his head to meet Ron’s disapproving gaze. “Not particularly,” he said airly, but settled for resting back against Harry’s shoulder instead. 

“Young love,” Seamus sighed wistfully. “Dean and I used to be that shameless…” 

“Don’t remind us,” Ron grumbled.

“Now you’re practically an old married couple,” Harry joked, slipping a hand beneath Draco’s shirt to trace idle patterns against the baby-soft skin of his stomach. “Did he take you anywhere exciting for your anniversary this year?” 

“If you call shagging in the Prefect’s bathroom exciting…” 

Draco visibly brightened, turning to look at Harry. “We keep forgetting to try that.” 

“How did you get in?” Hermione asked Seamus reproachfully. “Neither of you are Prefects. Or Quidditch Captains.” 

Seamus shrugged, looking far from apologetic. “We’ve got our ways.” 

Harry, who’d been talked into giving them the bathroom’s password the moment everyone heard he’d been made Quidditch Captain at the start of term, snorted quietly, hiding the sound in Draco’s hair. 

“We should make a visit after the party tomorrow night,” Draco whispered to him as Hermione continued to berate Seamus and Ron tried weakly to defend him. 

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to the boy’s hair. “Sure, love.” 

• • •

Harry was reminded of the Yule Ball back in fourth year as he dressed into his formalwear the next evening– black dress robes and slacks that reflected a deep blue colour when hit by light, over a white dress-shirt and white, single-breasted waistcoat that Draco had gifted him with clear instructions to wear “no matter what”. At first glance, Harry had thought the waistcoat was decorated in a typical paisley pattern, but upon further inspection he’d realised the material was covered in delicate satin stars that literally twinkled when he moved. Draco hadn’t given him even a hint towards what his own outfit would be, but Harry had a strong suspicion that the waistcoat would somehow allow them to match in a way. 

He remembered how enchanted he’d been by Draco’s appearance at the ball almost two years ago, and smiled fondly to himself at the thought of everything that night had led to. Despite his lack of talent for it, he hoped there’d be an opportunity to dance at Slughorn’s party to make up for the desperate ogling Draco had had to endure from him last time. 

“Harry!” Hermione interrupted his thinking as he made his way down to the common room to meet them. “You look great!” 

“So do you,” he grinned, admiring her gorgeous sage-green dress and turning around to catch Ron’s expression as he came down the steps behind him. 

The boy had already frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at Hermione as she smiled and twirled a little for Harry, the light, flowy fabric of her dress swaying prettily around her. 

“Oh,” she said then, stopping abruptly as she realised Ron was on the staircase. “Well, Harry, we should be off.” 

“‘Mione–”

But she had hooked her arm through his and dragged him towards the portrait before he could finish his sentence. Harry shot a pointed look over his shoulder where Ron stood dejectedly on the bottom step. 

“Can’t you just talk to him?” he muttered as he had a thousand times before, climbing through the exit and helping Hermione through behind him. “This is ridiculous.” 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Hermione said in a clipped voice, and Harry sighed. 

“Fine. Has Ginny already left?” 

Hermione nodded, smiling. “She said she was meeting her date at their common room.”

“Her date? ” Harry asked curiously. “She’s got a new boyfriend?” 

“No comment,” Hermione answered mysteriously, an excited glint sparkling in her eye. “You’ll just have to see.”

Professor Slughorn’s office was only on the floor below them, so they didn’t have far to walk before the sound of music and loud chatter was audible as they approached the corridor. Draco didn’t seem to be waiting for them as of yet, so Hermione offered to stand outside the office door with Harry until the boy eventually appeared. Despite a number of students coming down the corridor to enter the party over the next few minutes, Harry’s gaze immediately drew to his boyfriend the exact moment he turned around the corner, Parkinson and Zabini both at his heel. 

“Ah, if it isn’t our favourite golden lions!” Zabini bellowed cheerfully as the three of them approached, but Harry barely heard it, for his hearing seemed to have inexplicably escaped him as his eyes avidly tracked the boy beside him. 

He’d been correct in his assumption that the waistcoat would somehow link the two outfits, he realised distractedly, gaze roaming over the snow-white robes that billowed at Draco’s wrists and around his ankles as he walked, tiny satin stars twinkling with every stride. His hair, which was almost as white as the material covering his shoulders, had been swept into a half-up, half-down fashion, and Harry noticed as the boy turned to say something to his friends that it was held by the silver dragon hairpin that Harry had gifted him last Christmas. 

“Oh my God,” Harry breathed, heart positively racing inside his chest as the Slytherins reached them. 

With his hair prettily framing his face and those flowy robes dragging along the floor, Harry thought for a brief moment that his boyfriend looked almost like a girl, and instead of putting him off, the thought only seemed to fuel his arousal. 

“No, just your boyfriend,” Draco drawled, lips twitching upwards, and Harry’s gaze zeroed on them instantly as they gleamed with what could have only been some type of glossy balm. “You wore the vest, good. We match, you see?” 

With those words, he did a small spin, and Harry’s jaw only dropped lower as he realised that, unlike typical robes, Draco’s appeared to split at a point between his shoulder blades, revealing a wide stretch of pearly skin that disappeared into the waistband of his white, tailored slacks. 

“I’ve died,” Harry decided aloud, still fixed on the point where Draco’s back had been exposed despite the boy facing forward again. “I’m dreaming.” 

“Why didn’t you react like that to me?” Parkinson asked, and Harry was confused for a moment before he realised she was addressing Zabini. “He looks as though he’s seen a bloody angel.” 

“I’m still considering that a possibility,” Harry said, voice coming out more hoarse than he’d expected. 

The girl slanted an amused look at her friend, curling her arm around Zabini’s and moving towards the door. “Don’t ruin his face before everyone else has seen him, Potter!” she called, before they disappeared into the party with Hermione at their heel, and the two boys were left standing in the deserted corridor. 

“You cleaned up nicely,” Draco purred, smirking as he dragged his gaze up the length of Harry’s body. “Are we going inside at any point tonight, or shall we continue to stand and gawk?” 

“Draco,” Harry said breathlessly, only vaguely aware of his arms reaching out to grasp the boy’s waist and pulling him in closer. He was slim enough for Harry’s fingertips to reach the bare skin across his back, and he brushed it almost reverently as he drank in every inch of Draco’s face. “You look…” 

“Like an angel?” Draco suggested, amused. “A deity, perhaps?” 

Harry nodded, likely too many times to be necessary. “Yes. To all of the above. You’re so beautiful, dragon… Merlin, I can’t even remember how to speak.” 

Draco’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, his smirk softening to a smile as he blinked long lashes at Harry in a way that drove him positively mad. Forgetting Pansy’s departing warning, Harry brought one of his hands up to cup Draco’s jaw, drawing his lips to meet his own in a long, gentle kiss. He could feel the quick patter of Draco’s heart beneath his robes, and smiled against his mouth, overrun with warm affection for the boy. 

When he pulled back slightly, it was only to gaze at the face in front of him in awe. “Are you wearing makeup?” he asked after a moment. 

“Only a little,” Draco admitted, glancing away as though he thought Harry might not like the answer. “Pansy talked me into it.” 

“I love it,” Harry assured, guiding his gaze back to him. “I mean, you always look good, but this… it’s like… wow…” 

Draco huffed an amused laugh. “‘Wow’,” he imitated. 

“Ethereal. That’s the word.” 

“Keep talking like that and we’re never going to make it into that office,” Draco mumbled, blush growing. 

Harry grinned. “What would we be missing, really?” 

“Everyone being jealous of both of us.” 

“Ah,” Harry laughed. “Jealous of me, I think. If you could see yourself…” 

“Yes, yes,” Draco huffed, turning to hide his smile. “You’re just embarrassing yourself now, Potter. Escort me inside, won’t you?” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Harry said honestly, and Draco didn’t seem to know how to answer that, so he gave in and offered his forearm for the boy to take. 

Finally, they pushed open the office door and stepped into the room, catching the attention of many of the party guests in seconds. This was especially helped by Professor Slughorn’s booming greeting as he swept towards them. 

“Harry, m’boy! Come in, come in! So many people here to introduce you to!” the man expressed loudly, reaching for Harry’s arm and leading him into the crowd of people as Harry dragged Draco along behind him. 

The office was much larger than Harry had expected, and he suspected that it might have been done temporarily by magic. The ceiling and walls had been draped with green, gold, and scarlet hangings, giving the impression that they were all congregated beneath a large tent. A golden lamp hung from the ceiling’s centre, containing what appeared to be actual fairies that fluttered around within it and emitted brilliant light that cast red colouring across the room through the lamp’s stained glass. 

“I’d like you to meet Eldred Worple, Harry, an old student of mine,” Slughorn was saying as they came to a stop in front of two men. “The esteemed author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires . And of course, his friend, Sanguini.” 

Worple, a short, bespeckled man who appeared overall eager to be there, grasped Harry’s hand and shook it enthusiastically, whilst the tall, bored-looking vampire beside him merely nodded. Harry couldn’t help but notice his narrowed gaze slide interestedly to Draco at his side, and pointedly tightened his grip on the boy’s hand. 

“I was just saying to Horace the other day, Mr Potter!” Worple exclaimed. “ Where is the biography of the great Harry Potter that we're all eagerly awaiting?” 

“Er–” 

“I would be delighted to write it myself, of course. People are craving to know more about you, my boy, simply craving! We could have the book finished in mere months if you were to grant me several interviews!” 

Harry grimaced. “Well…” 

“What a charming idea,” Draco said suddenly, holding a hand out for Worple to take with poorly-concealed befuddlement. “Draco Malfoy, pleasure. If Harry is ever interested in reliving all of his life’s trauma with a stranger such as yourself, we’ll surely be glad to contact you.” 

Worple blinked, slowly realising that despite it sounding so, Draco had not been granting him a compliment at all. “Well– yes–” 

“And do remind your friend to keep his hands to himself,” Draco continued politely, casting his gaze pointedly to Sanguini’s long-fingered hand where it was reaching subtly towards him. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ve just spotted a friend of ours.” 

With that, he pulled Harry away from the three bewildered men and across the room to where their friends had indeed made home by the drinks table. As they neared them, Harry realised belatedly that both Ginny and Luna were standing with them, and he glanced around for someone who might’ve been Ginny’s aforementioned date. 

“Draco, darling!” Parkinson interrupted as she spotted them. “You made it inside, I see. We were worried Potter would keep you.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow at the smirking girl. “I’m right here, you know.” 

“Oh, we know,” Zabini leered, and Harry couldn’t help but feel confused at the implication. 

“Are you two actually together?” he asked, looking between the two Slytherins. 

“Yes, but we’re very open,” Parkinson answered matter-of-factly as she reached for a sip of Draco’s punch before pouring herself a glass. “Blaise is at liberty to shag anyone he likes, and so am I. Why, interested?” 

“No,” both Harry and Draco said simultaneously, and she rolled her eyes, downing her punch in one. 

“Who’d you come with, then?” Harry asked Ginny, and she and Hermione gave him identical looks that told him he was being very stupid. 

“Who do you think, genius?” Ginny asked with a roll of her eyes, pulling up her hand to shake in his face as Harry belatedly realised it was holding one of Luna’s. 

“Wait–” he looked between the two of them, wide-eyed. “You two are together? You like girls? When did that happen?” 

“Oh, I’ve always found Ginny quite pretty,” Luna said serenely, smiling at the girl beside her. “I was really very happy when she invited me to this party.” 

Ginny smiled at her before turning to shrug at Harry. “I said I was over guys, didn’t I?

“Congratulations, Weaslette,” Draco said, filling two glasses of peach-coloured punch and handing one to Harry. “Do try to hold on to this one, won’t you?” 

“That sounds almost like a blessing, Ferret,” Ginny responded, amused, and clinked glasses with him when he raised his. 

“Harry!” Professor Slughorn called then, seemingly appearing from thin air and dragging a mousy-haired man by his sleeve. “Have a picture with me, m’boy! This is Adrian Spindle, you might be familiar. Photographer for the Daily Prophet , and one of my students back in… what was it, Adrian? ‘77?” 

“‘78” the man muttered as an aside, before lifting a large camera in both of his hands. “A delight, Mr Potter. Stand together now.” 

Harry begrudgingly allowed himself to be manhandled into a suitable position beside Slughorn, squinting uncomfortably at the camera as it flashed. His group of friends snickered over Spindle’s shoulder and he shot them all a withering look. 

“Give us a smile, Potter!” Zabini cried dramatically, and Spindle blinked as though only just realising there were other students in the vicinity. 

“Mr Malfoy!” he said brightly, spotting Draco in an instant, whose arms were crossed and eyebrows raised expectantly. “Positively charmed! Would you be so kind as to stand with Mr Potter for a picture?” 

Pansy sniffed indignantly. “And what’s so special about him?” 

“Well–” the man spluttered, glancing fervently between Draco and Harry. 

“Ah,” Draco drawled, lips twitching into a smirk. “The chance for an exclusive of the famed relationship between the Golden Boy and the Death Eater’s son, I presume.” 

Harry sighed. “Sorry, Mr Spindle, we’re not really interested–” 

“Nonsense,” Draco interrupted, waving a hand at him and stepping closer. “We’d love to pose for a picture or two.” 

“And… a quote, perhaps?” the man asked hopefully, hands practically shaking around his camera at the excitement of the opportunity. 

Draco’s smirk broadened as he stepped up beside Harry, looping an arm confidently around his waist and drawing himself into Harry’s space. Professor Slughorn, who was looking more than a little put-out by the fact that he was going ignored, seemed to make a big deal of spotting someone in the crowd to go and speak to. 

“We can give the man a quote,” Draco said, smiling as Spindle’s camera flashed and turning to face Harry. “Can’t we, darling?” 

“Draco…” Harry murmured hesitantly, trying to ignore the obnoxious flashing in front of them. 

The boy’s eyes narrowed playfully and he leaned in to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek, clearly revelling in the excited sounds their photographer was making. 

“You can tell the Prophet ,” he said brightly, turning back to the man. “That whatever relationship that exists between Harry and I is, quite frankly, none of their damn business, and maybe they should focus less on where their Chosen One might be sticking his Chosen Cock, and more on stopping the Dark Lord that is currently deriving pleasure from pounding the Ministry of Magic’s indolent arse .” 

The flashing stopped as Spindle gaped at Draco, utterly aghast at his words. 

“Thanks for your time, Mr Spindle,” Harry inputted hurriedly, hand wrapping around Draco’s wrist to pull him quickly into the crowd before the man could locate any choice words. “What the fuck was that?”  

Draco began to laugh, depositing his and Harry’s empty glasses onto a tray being carried around by a house-elf and draping both arms over Harry’s shoulders so that Harry’s own hands fell subconsciously to his waist. 

“A quote,” he answered, still laughing as he closed the distance between their bodies. 

Harry, who was nothing if not wholly and unconditionally in love with this boy in front of him, felt his own laughter bubble out of him, pressing his forehead to Draco’s shoulder and drawing his hips flush against his own. 

“You’re really something else, Draco Malfoy,” he chuckled, encouraging Draco’s body to sway with his own in time with the strumming of what sounded like a mandolin as a new song started up. “Hey, I know this song.” 

The raspy-sounding singer started up then, and Harry picked up his head to try to get a glimpse of the band that was playing. “This is a muggle song.” 

“And you are not me… the lengths that I will go to… the distance in your eyes…” the singer crooned and Harry grinned, beginning to mouth clumsily along with the lyrics. “Oh no, I’ve said too much… I set it up…” 

“Those cannot be muggles,” Draco pointed out, barely giving the band a glance as his gaze trained on Harry’s moving lips. “Perhaps it’s a cover. Have we listened to this before?” 

“Don’t think so. I’ve listened to it with Padfoot,” Harry replied. “Losin’ my religion…” 

Draco rolled his eyes, albeit fondly. “Merlin, here we go. That godfather of yours had been a terrible influence.” 

“Trying to keep up with you… and I don’t know if I can do it…” Harry continued uncaringly, holding Draco’s front firm against his own as he leaned forward teasingly. “Oh no, I’ve said too much… I haven’t said enough…” 

“They’re playing muggle music!” Hermione chirped as she appeared beside them. 

Harry beamed at her. “I know! They’re good!” 

It didn’t take long for the remainder of their friends to join them, creating a bit of a circle as they danced foolishly. Harry felt light as a feather, his magic buzzing happily beneath his skin as he pressed against Draco’s warmth, laughing at the ridiculous moves his friends were attempting around him. 

“Theo!” Parkinson gasped suddenly as the song was nearing its end, and the flame of happy affection in Harry’s chest flickered out as they turned to see Nott being dragged by the ear into the office by Filch. 

“Professor Slughorn,” Filch wheezed as he reached their potions professor only several paces from the group. “I’ve just discovered this little worm lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party. Is this true?” 

Before Slughorn could open his mouth to answer, Nott wrenched himself free of the man’s grip and glanced uncomfortably at his watching friends. 

“I wasn’t invited,” he scowled, looking at the floor. “I was trying to gatecrash. Happy?” 

“Oh-ho!” Filch cried, positively gleeful. “You’re in trouble, you are! The Headmaster’s said that nighttime prowling’s out, unless you’ve got permission! Did’n’ ‘e?” 

“That’s quite alright, Argus,” Slughorn assured heartily, waving a careless hand. “It’s Christmas, and wanting to party is no crime. We’ll forget punishment just this once, shall we? You may stay, Theo.” 

Theo, for some unclear reason, seemed as displeased as Filch at this invitation. “Thank you, Professor,” he said stiffly, sounding distinctly un -thankful. “Sorry for interrupting.” 

“Not to worry, my boy!” Slughorn exclaimed, patting him heavily on the shoulder before turning to re-engage in his previous conversation with a guest. 

“Theo!” Zabini called out, and Theo begrudgingly joined them as Filch disappeared, grumbling angrily beneath his breath. “You didn’t say you wanted to come to this.” 

Draco, who Harry noticed had narrowed his gaze searchingly at his friend, stepped away to approach him. “Theo, come,” he said without question, taking Nott’s wrist and dragging him to the office door from which he’d just come in. 

“He’s such a bitch,” Parkinson scowled, turning to look at Harry. “How do you put up with him?” 

“How do you?” Harry returned pointedly, glancing back towards the door as the two boys vanished. “Um… I’ve got to use the loo.” 

“Harry–” 

But Harry had already ducked away from them, making for the door and slipping out into the corridor silently. He knew, objectively, that this was a bad idea. He’d never felt compelled to listen in on Draco’s interactions with his friends before, but there was a feeling deep in his gut that told him that, for whatever inexplicable reason, Nott wasn’t to be trusted. The fact that he’d been sneaking around the corridors after curfew and had clearly lied about wanting to gatecrash the party, only reinforced the feeling. The corridor appeared entirely deserted as he strode quickly down it, but as he reached one of the closed classroom doors at the end, he could hear the distinct voices of the two Slytherins. 

“–got to tell me what it is, Theo,” Draco was saying in a hushed tone as Harry pressed his ear to the door. “I can help you–” 

Harry heard a muffled scoff. “You can’t, and you don’t want to. You made it plenty clear you wanted nothing to do with any of it when you ‘went missing’ over the summer.” 

“You can get out of it, too. I can–” 

“You know I can’t, Draco!” Nott hissed, and Harry had to consciously stop himself from rushing in. “You can’t help me, okay? No one can–” 

“I can help!” Draco insisted. “Just tell me what he wants you to do. No one else has to know–” 

Harry frowned, hoping that sentiment didn’t include himself, and then: 

“You’ll go off and tell your boyfriend straight away.” 

“I won’t. I promise. Theo, if there’s a way I can make things easier for you–” 

“You don’t even know what you’re promising,” Nott said, laughing bitterly. “You got out of it, Draco. Stay out.” 

There were footsteps then, and Harry had just enough time to slip into a dark alcove in the wall before Theo came striding out, walking quickly down the rest of the corridor and turning the corner. With the classroom door still closed and no audible indication that Draco was making to move yet, Harry ducked out of the alcove and jogged back to Slughorn’s office, hearing the door behind him open just as he’d slipped back inside to the party. 

“Draco back yet?” he asked as he reached his group of friends, and found himself briefly distracted by the realisation that he had counted both Zabini and Parkinson under that title.

“No,” Hermione answered him, though she didn’t look as though she believed the lie that he’d been in the bathroom. “Oh, there he is.” 

Harry turned, watching Draco slip back into the office and gaze around searchingly. Feeling all sorts of conflicted, Harry raised a hand to wave and tried to remain relatively expressionless as the boy made his way over. His insides were turning uncomfortably at the thought that Draco had been so willing to keep a secret from him, the guilt at following his boyfriend now gone from his mind. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet, though, and made himself reach for Draco’s hand as he stepped in beside him. 

“Everything okay?” he asked, feigning indifference. 

“Fine,” Draco replied, sounding completely honest. “Just checking on Theo. What an idiot, getting himself caught by Filch.” 

“Did you find out why he was out and about?” Parkinson questioned. 

Draco shrugged, looking away. “He wouldn’t give. Maybe he was seeing a girl.” 

“Ha!” Zabini laughed aloud. “It’s about time!” 

Ignoring the others as they began to chatter again, Harry leant in close to Draco’s ear. “You sure everything’s alright?” 

“Yes, Harry,” Draco said, smiling slightly as he met his gaze. 

Stomach twisting, Harry pushed a little further. “You’d tell me if it wasn’t, yeah?” 

“Of course,” the boy assured, and Harry felt himself go cold all over. “I’m parched. More drinks?” 

“Sure,” he nodded, voice sounding distant to his own ears; muffled beneath the dull pound of his heart against his ribcage, the restless buzz of his magic as it filled the air around him. Draco smiled at him again, and Harry watched him move through the crowd towards the drinks table, white robes dancing in his wake, with a mix of emotions stirring painfully in his chest.

Chapter Text

“No,” Sirius declared, crossing his arms defiantly. “Over my dead body.” 

“Been there, done that,” Draco muttered, and Harry snorted despite himself. 

“They shared a bedroom all summer, love,” Remus reminded gently, ever the peacemaker. He’d mellowed significantly since Samhain, Harry noticed with an overwhelming sense of gratitude; the irritable, aggressive front he’d been shackled with in the months prior having shed like an old skin. 

Sirius, who seemed to have less appreciation for that fact in the moment, shot him a look of reproval. “And whose fault is that? They’re practically children–” 

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” Harry asked with a sigh, already setting about unpacking his trunk.

“Dramatic?!” Sirius cried, indignant. 

“Mon dieu,” Draco murmured, opening his own trunk and charming their clothes to spring onto the clothes hangers in the shared wardrobe as Harry sent their shoes to sit in rows by the door. 

Sirius watched the proceedings with a furrowed brow. “I thought I said no.” 

“We’re almost seventeen, Pads,” Harry pointed out. “We shared over summer and we’re sharing now, whether you like it or not.” 

“ Almost seventeen–” 

“Sirius,” Remus chided, putting a hand on his arm. “They sleep on different sides of the school during the year. We had the luxury of sharing a dormitory. Let’s cut them some slack for the holidays, yeah? Besides, I gave them both a talk in the summer.” 

Sirius glared at the three of them, hands on both of his hips in a scarily uncanny imitation of Mrs Weasley. “Fine. But if I get an inkling–” he settled his hard gaze on Draco. “That you are defiling my pup in any way–”  

“Oh my God,” Harry groaned. “Why would you even put it like that–” 

“You’d think you were his blood relative,” Draco said to him, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s because you’re a Black that I’m pointing at you,” Sirius clarified. 

Draco smirked, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose you’ve never been in bed with a Potter before, then.” 

“Can we stop talking about this now?” Harry asked over his godfather’s splutter, pointedly turning to spread a number of various knick-knacks along his bedside table. 

“Come on,” Remus said, lips twitching in poorly-concealed amusement as he tugged gently at his partner’s arm. “We’ll speak to Kreacher about lunch, shall we? Let the boys settle in.” 

Sirius scowled, begrudgingly following him to the door and calling over his shoulder: “This is not the end of this conversation!” 

“And you call me dramatic,” Draco laughed once they were alone in the bedroom, picking up a mewling Stella from the floor and cradling her in his arms. “Isn’t he a silly man, chérie? Yes he is. Yes he is.” 

Harry scoffed, leaning over the bed to scratch the cat’s ears affectionately. “I can picture you saying exactly the same things to your own children.” 

“Oh?” Draco smirked, head tilting knowingly. “Think a lot about my future children, do you, Potter?” 

“Har har,” Harry muttered, turning away to hide his blush at the truth of it. “Get back to unpacking. I’m starving.” 

“Mmhm.” 

The two of them had arrived through the Floo at number twelve, Grimmauld Place only half an hour prior to spend the Christmas break with Sirius and Remus, whilst Hermione chose to remain at Hogwarts and Ron went off to the Burrow. The girl had eventually decided to stay at the school up until Christmas Eve, when she would Floo to her parents’ home for the night to celebrate. Harry remembered her telling them over breakfast the morning after Professor Slughorn’s party and watching Draco’s expression shutter closed beside him. 

He hadn’t spoken yet about his parents or the fact that he would be spending Christmas without them, and Harry hadn’t pushed him to try, remembering their conversation at the beginning of the school year and trying to give Draco the opportunity to talk to him when he was ready without Harry needing to prompt it. It had also helped to soothe the bitter sting of Draco trying to keep him out of things with Nott, recalling Draco feeling as though he’d betrayed him by running from the Manor. He didn’t like it, by any means, but he couldn’t find a reason to scorn the boy for wanting to help his friend, even if he felt he needed to keep it from Harry. 

“Where have you gone in that head of yours, darling?” Draco asked, interrupting Harry’s train of thinking as he stepped up behind him, arms wrapping around the front of him as his chin made its home on his shoulder. “Somewhere good, I hope.” 

Harry smiled, sinking into his boyfriend’s hold. “Neither good or bad, really.” 

“Hmm,” Draco hummed, dropping a kiss to the skin above his shirt collar. “Sickle for your thoughts?” 

“I was just thinking about Christmas,” Harry said, only partly lying. “It’ll be nice seeing the whole Weasley family again. You’ll get to meet Charlie.”

There was a brief pause before Draco was speaking again. “Oh, the real dragon tamer, hm?” 

“Only if we’re talking about actual dragons,” Harry smirked lightly, tracing his fingers down Draco’s forearms where they overlapped at his middle. “In regards to you, I’m afraid I have him beat.” 

“We shall see,” Draco teased, and Harry wrapped his hands over both of his thin wrists pointedly. 

“You will.” 

They were silent for a few comfortable moments, enjoying the warmth of each other’s body pressed to his own. With no more words to distract him, however, Harry’s mind slipped right back to Draco and the issue of his parents. 

He sighed. “Draco…” 

“Mm?” 

“I’m sorry that you won’t be with your parents for Christmas,” he murmured, as though speaking any louder would only serve to upset the boy more. “I know you’ve thought about it, even if you won’t say.” 

A breath of warm air brushed over Harry’s shoulder as Draco released it. “How long have you been waiting to bring that up?” 

“A little while.” 

Draco’s grip around him loosened, and Harry tried not to frown. 

“You’re not at fault for it,” he sighed, voice quiet. “My father wouldn’t have been in attendance, regardless. And my mother…” 

“You miss her,” Harry said, not exactly a question. 

“I do, but I cannot go back there and she knows it. I don’t regret being here, Harry. You’re here, and…” 

“And Remus and Sirius,” Harry supplied. “And the Weasleys. You have family here, too.” 

He felt it as Draco nodded slowly. “I suppose, yes. It will be a much louder affair than I’m used to, I imagine. My parents always held their Yule ball, of course, but Christmas was always a quiet event. Mother would have us take tea in the conservatory in the middle of the morning, with French pastries and finger-sandwiches, of course. The next meal wouldn’t be until a large roast at supper.” 

“That sounds nice,” Harry said, smiling. Draco’s arms had wrapped themselves more firmly around him once again, and he picked back up his mindless tracing of soft skin. 

“The last couple of years, I was allowed to stay up late with them and grow tipsy on whatever rare elven wine father had gifted mother that year,” Draco continued quietly. “They were always a shade different in those few days. Softer, I suppose. More inclined to show affection, if just for a moment.” 

Harry hummed, smile fading as the boy’s tone grew sadder. 

“You’re right,” he said, sounding reluctant. “I will miss them. Even father, if you can believe it. It’s all I can think about. And I know that it’s spiteful to envy Granger for being granted what I wish, but I find I can’t help it. It is wonderful being able to spend the holiday with you, but…” 

“It’s not the same,” Harry finished with a sigh, brain scrambling for anything that could help, anything that could fix Draco’s heartache, and coming up empty-handed. “I’m sorry, dragon.” 

Draco released another long breath, silent as he nested his chin atop Harry’s shoulder for a few moments more, before he was standing and drawing away with resolve. “Come on,” he said, louder now. “They’ll be waiting for us to come down to eat.” 

“Right,” Harry agreed distractedly, having just snagged on a thought scratching at the back of his mind. A reckless, idiotic thought, but…. “Yeah,” he said, making up his mind. “Lunch.” 

• • •

“Morning,” Harry greeted on the twenty-fifth, eyes blinking open sleepily to gaze at the blurry shape of his boyfriend seated beside him in their bed. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, mon chéri,” Draco murmured gently, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips as his hand found Harry’s glasses on the bedside table, and then sitting back enough to tuck them onto Harry’s face. “Did you sleep well?” 

Finding the silver chain against his bare chest with his fingers, Harry smiled and nodded. “Yes. And you?” 

“I woke a fraction earlier than I expected.” 

“Oh? How long have you been awake?” 

Draco glanced away from him, fingers toying at the corner of the novel in his hands. “Three… four hours, perhaps? Five, if we reach?” 

“Draco!” Harry frowned, casting a wandless Tempus and glaring at the golden digits. “Since four A.M.? Did you have a bad dream?” 

“Something like that,” Draco replied, giving up on his book and setting it aside. “It’s no matter now, though, darling. Shall I ask Kreacher for tea?” 

“Please,” Harry sighed, sitting up against the headboard and running a hand through his dishevelled hair, eyeing the empty mug on Draco’s bedside table. “How many have you had already?” 

Draco shrugged slightly. “Only three. Kreacher!” 

Crack. 

“Master Draco is calling?” the old house-elf croaked as he appeared, already looking weary at the thought of boiling the kettle a fourth time. 

“Two teas, please,” Draco requested. “And please inform Remus that we will be ready for breakfast in… hmm, say forty minutes? I’m sure he won’t mind a sleep-in after the full moon.” 

Kreacher vanished the empty mug beside him with an air of exasperation before bowing low to the ground. “As Master wishes,” he sighed, before disappearing again. 

“It doesn’t take me forty minutes to get ready to walk down some stairs,” Harry pointed out, stifling a yawn with his fist. “How long’s it going to take you to realise they don’t care– mmph .” 

His words were quickly muffled by Draco’s lips sliding warm against his own, body slumping back with the force of the boy’s push as he suddenly leant over him, pressing him into the bed as he continued to lick into his mouth. 

“Five hours I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” Draco panted as he pulled back to catch his breath. “Five long hours watching you murmur and writhe in your sleep because it seems to be impossible for you to remain still for any extensive length of time.” 

“Oh, woe is you,” Harry laughed, pulling Draco closer to kiss him again. “I guess forty minutes will be enough to make up for it, then.” 

Draco huffed a pitiful sort-of whine, ducking his head to kiss and bite along the barred length of Harry’s throat. “It will have to do.” 

There was a crack and an outraged splutter as Kreacher apparated into the room then, depositing their cups of tea hastily onto the nearest bedside table before vanishing without a word as Draco chuckled breathlessly against Harry’s skin. 

“Poor him,” Harry said, sounding less than sympathetic as Draco went back to his ministrations on his neck. “We’ve scarred him enough times I’m sure he would’ve run away if he could.” 

“Mm,” Draco hummed. “Woe is he.” 

Harry chuckled, tilting his head back and dragging Draco’s mouth back up to meet his own by the grip on his hair. “Merry Christmas, Kreacher.” 

They ended up making it down to breakfast forty-five minutes later, cups still full and tea cold. Unlike Yuletide, when Kreacher had eagerly made the four of them a hearty breakfast to celebrate, the house-elf seemed to find Christmas much less significant an affair and had left them to their own devices. Most of the rest of the morning was spent lazily about the house, Harry and Draco finishing some of their holiday homework with guidance from both Remus and Regulus’ portrait– which the boys had found had been moved downstairs to the sitting room since their last visit– as Sirius lounged in his animagus form on the rug at their feet. 

“Are you sure I’m invited?” Draco asked doubtfully as Remus and Sirius disappeared through the Floo to the Burrow for Christmas lunch. “I know Mrs Weasley appeared welcoming, but is it not…” 

“It’s not weird,” Harry interrupted, taking up both of his hands and kissing his knuckles lightly. “I keep telling you, you’re family now. The only one who hasn’t met you already is Charlie, and he’s very unlikely to kick any sort of fuss over you being there. It’ll be fine, I promise.” 

Draco frowned, and Harry leant forward to kiss it off him. 

“Besides,” he added with a knowing grin. “You’ll miss out on presents, otherwise.” 

“Fine,” Draco huffed, batting away Harry’s hands and reaching for the sack of Floo powder. “If you insist.” 

Harry snorted, taking a handful of powder for himself and scattering it into the flames. “The Burrow,” he said clearly, stepping into the fireplace and sending the world around him spinning. 

“Harry!” a number of voices cheered as he stumbled out into the Weasley’s sitting room. He ducked as a hand predictably reached for his hair, only to be caught around the shoulders by another arm and dragged into a knuckle rub to the head. 

“Piss off,” he groaned, half-heartedly aiming his elbow into Fred’s stomach as the older boy released him with a bark of laughter. 

“Oh, Harry,” Mrs Weasley cooed, crowding him into a tight embrace that filled his nostrils with the scent of roast turkey and christmas pudding. “Merry Christmas, dear. Is Draco behind you?” 

“Should be,” Harry answered, turning in time for the boy in question to step neatly from the bright green flames and into place beside him. 

Mrs Weasley flung her arms out again to hug him just as closely. “Draco, dear, it’s so lovely that you’re joining us. I hope there’s enough for you to eat, skinny thing. I did ask Harry what you like.” 

“I’m sure it will be lovely,” Draco replied earnestly, patting her back before he was released.

“Ah!” a cheery voice interrupted loudly as the second-eldest Weasley son suddenly stepped out from the kitchen and spotted them. “I was told there’d be a dragon at the party!” 

He winked at Draco as he reached them, and Harry pretended he didn’t feel the irrational spike of jealousy as the boy’s cheeks flared a bright pink. 

“Charlie Weasley,” he introduced, holding a hand out to shake Draco’s. “You must be Draco.” 

“Pleasure,” Draco answered, sounding like he meant it. 

“And you ,” Charlie grinned at Harry, reaching out to further mess with his already-dishevelled hair. “You little devil! A boyfriend?! Didn’t you just turn thirteen or something?” 

Harry hit his hands away with a splutter. “I’m almost seventeen!” 

“Rubbish!” George cried, jostling Harry’s shoulder. “You’re still as short as you were under that sorting hat!” 

“Oh yeah?” Harry shoved him back lightly. “ You’re still as single as you were at the Yule Ball.” 

“Oooh!” the surrounding Weasley siblings chorussed loudly, arms reaching over to smack at George as he attempted to shield himself. 

“Mon dieu,” Draco murmured quietly, only for Harry’s ears to pick up. “They’re mental.” 

Harry grinned at him, heart full of warmth at being surrounded by all of his family again. “Yeah,” he agreed with a shrug. “You get used to it.” 

“Get in here, you lot!” Mr Weasley called from the kitchen. “We need plenty of hands!” 

Lunch was just as boisterous an affair, with at least five different conversations happening at any given time across the table and dishes being levitated over heads as they all went for second helpings of everything. Harry found himself caught in a loud debate with Ron, Ginny, Sirius, and Charlie over Quidditch teams, keeping Draco in his periphery as the boy held a seemingly pleasant conversation with Mr Weasley over the topic of Harry’s muggle Disc-man. 

The presents came between lunch and dessert, and everyone made themselves comfortable– or, as much as one could when squished amongst fifteen other people– in the sitting room around a large Christmas tree, bursting with colours and lights. Remus and Molly passed around glasses of eggnog as the younger bunch of the group debated over who should hand out the gifts, eventually conceding to the twins as they conjured matching white beards and Santa hats. 

“You look like ginger Dumbledores,” Ginny laughed, reaching up to tug the fluffy pom pom at the end of Fred’s hat as he slapped her hands away. 

“First up…” George began, picking up a squishy-looking parcel wrapped in the same paper as the majority of the gifts beneath the tree. “Harry!” 

Harry grinned, catching the gift and immediately knowing it to be his annual Weasley jumper by the feel of it. Presents continued to be handed out around him as he unwrapped his first gift– a forest-green jumper with a golden snitch worked onto its front– including a surprisingly high number being piled at his feet. 

“Just how many things did you get me?” he asked Draco as he counted at least four wrapped gifts holding his name scrawled in his boyfriend’s neat cursive. 

“‘Bout the same amount you got him, seems,” Ron said exasperatedly, sending a pointed look to the collection of gifts in Draco’s lap with Harry’s handwriting on the labels. “Honestly. You give a couple of lovesick idiots vaults of Galleons…” 

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley,” Draco was murmuring softly as he unwrapped his own jumper, a soft grey colour to match his eyes, with a small, green dragon stitched onto the breast. Harry felt his insides go all sorts of soft as Draco instantly pulled the jumper over his head, admiring it on himself for a brief moment before meeting Harry’s gaze with shining eyes. 

Smiling, Harry leant over to kiss his cheek. “Suits you, dragon. And it matches the gloves.” 

He gestured to the pair of (embarrassingly expensive) grey gloves splayed across Draco’s knee that had been one of Harry’s gifts. To both of their amusement, Draco had also gifted him a pair of charcoal gloves along with a matching scarf, both charmed to stay warm. Harry worked his way through his pile from Draco, adding to the list a cookbook of Indian recipes likely inspired by Harry’s experiments with curries over the summer, a tied bundle of sketches depicting Harry or Mischief or the both of them, and what seemed to be a wizarding genealogy book that Harry was sure would include all sorts of information about his father’s side of the family. 

“Oh, Draco,” he sighed in awed surprise as he opened his last gift from the boy– a beautiful set of silver cufflinks with delicate lily flowers etched into their faces. “They’re lilies.” 

“For your mother,” Draco explained, sounding hesitant, and Harry’s heart was positively bursting as he beamed over at him. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, tucking a hand to the nape of his neck and drawing him in to kiss his mouth, soft and slow and sweet. “Love you.” 

Draco’s gaze was heavy with affection as he smiled back at him. “I love you, too. And thank you for your gifts.” 

“You’re yet to open the last one,” Harry pointed out, somewhat apprehensively. 

His other presents had been easy– the gloves, a set of lip glosses that had Draco smirking over at him, a round tin of scones that he’d baked the day prior whilst the other boy had been distracted, and another hairpin, dark gold this time and in the shape of a ring with golden wings spread on either side to look like a golden snitch. The last gift, however, was something Harry couldn’t be as sure about. 

“It feels like… a mirror,” Draco guessed with a curious little smile as he felt the small gift through its paper, before he was ripping it off to reveal just that. “Are you trying to call me vain?” he joked, holding up the silver-framed piece of glass. 

“No,” Harry said honestly, and he could feel Sirius’ gaze on the two of them from one of the nearby armchairs. “I had to enlist ‘Mione’s help finding the right charms for it, and Dobby ’s help getting its other half to the right person…” 

Draco blinked slowly, lips parted in surprise as realisation set in. “You…” 

“It works,” Harry murmured, feeling as though no one else was in the room around them any longer. “Try saying her name.” 

It was several moments before Draco finally turned back to the small mirror with a mixed expression of awe and apprehension. “Narcissa,” he whispered, and waited for a beat to pass before his mother’s face swam into view inside the glass, eyes wide with concern and quickly softening as they met her son’s. 

“Mother?” Draco gasped quietly, staring back at her as though he thought he might have been imagining it. 

“Draco,” Narcissa Malfoy responded, voice soft and laced with an emotion that Harry couldn’t place. Relief, perhaps, and hesitation. 

Remembering that he wasn’t alone, Draco glanced around and got to his feet quickly, gaze flitting to Harry as he nodded encouragingly before he was hurrying from the room. 

“What’s the matter with him?” Ron asked, chewing happily on a Honeydukes caramel and glancing towards the staircase Draco had just disappeared up. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Harry assured.