Chapter Text
The only thing that kept Harry from blowing up completely over that summer was the fact that he could write to Draco in his notebook and usually get a prompt response. They would share banter and sarcastic remarks, Harry would tell him about his relatives (though he kept the worst details to himself) and complain about how Ron and Hermione refused to tell him what was going on at all, and Draco would tell him how he spent most of his time in the manor library and that his father was rarely ever home, to the relief of the rest of the manor.
Draco also told him more about his father in general, and about his own childhood. From what he shared, Lucius hadn’t actually been present much as a parental figure, and never really in a positive way, but he had clearly been just attentive enough that Draco desperately sought his approval. He admitted to Harry that he’d quoted his father almost word for word when they first met at Madam Malkin’s, and again at the train after he’d introduced himself and Ron had laughed.
During one of their secret meet-ups in the Astronomy tower before they left Hogwarts for the year Draco had very quietly shared that the events of the World Cup the previous year was what had set the first proper alarm bells ringing for him. Harry had been seated between Draco’s legs and leaning back against his chest, Draco’s arms holding him tightly, and the story was spoken into Harry’s hair so softly it was as if he was having to force himself to utter the words at all. Both Draco’s voice and hands had trembled faintly, and Harry knew it was on purpose that they were not having that conversation face to face. Harry couldn’t blame him though, and simply caressed the hands laying stiffly on his ribs, allowing Draco to get the words out.
He shared how the way the drunk Death Eaters at the campsite had treated the muggles, the way they’d laughed, had turned his stomach. He knew at the time that his father was one of them, and it made everything real in a way it hadn’t been for him before. Draco had been very sheltered as a child, had never even met a muggle really, and had very limited experience with other children. Crabbe and Goyle had apparently been introduced to him as ‘alliances’, which was quite common in some pureblood circles. It had not done any good for his social skills, obviously.
At least Harry had had the opportunity to observe other children his own age socialising, and an excellent example in what not do to in the form of Dudley.
Sure, Draco had been a spoiled ignorant brat who believed he was better than everyone else, but he knew that himself and he was working to grow up and become a better person. Which, to Harry, just showed that Draco was already at good person at his core to begin with, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered. When he had shared this view with Draco one late night, both of them kept up by nightmares, it had devolved into a philosophical debate so ridiculous neither could remember what they were even trying to debate the next day. They did eventually agree that at least the mental exercise had helped them fall back asleep afterwards, and therefore it was a success.
It was Draco who made Harry aware of how he was being portrayed in the Daily Prophet.
Harry had only looked at the front page, for some reason thinking that anything relevant would surely be there. Because surely even the Daily Prophet wouldn’t relegate news of renewed activity from the bloody Dark Lord to a half paragraph on page five. He’d even taken to watching the muggle news in hopes that he would gleam something useful about his own world. Neither source had been particularly helpful.
> Have you seen the way they talk about you in the Prophet?
> What do you mean?
> It’s infuriating. They keep making small comments making you out to be a liar.
Harry furrowed his brows and jumped out of bed (as he was still under the protection of his ‘escaped mass murdering convict of a godfather’, which meant no beatings and slightly more food, thank Merlin, he could actually jump out of bed with relative ease, merely sore from his chores and the scorching sun), picking that morning’s paper up from where he’d flung it onto his desk as soon as he’d skimmed the front page headlines.
After reading through half of the articles he could finally tell what Draco meant. The stories themselves weren’t about him, but there would be lines like ‘a tale worthy of Harry Potter’, and others pretty much calling Dumbledore old and senile. Harry had to force himself not to set the bloody thing on fire with his eyes. How dare they! Were they really so scared they’d rather make fun of a bloody teenager than face the truth and fucking prepare?
He tossed the paper back on the desk and took a deep breath. When he turned to pick up the notebook again he discovered that he’d worried Draco by just disappearing the way he had, and just like that the anger bled out of him in less than a second.
> Harry?
> Harry, are you okay?
> Are you there?
> Hey, you know they’re doing this on purpose, right? They’re being awful on purpose, it’s not because they actually believe it.
> Sorry for disappearing like that, I just had to check. I really hate the press. First Rita Skeeter and now this.
> Sorry, I know it’s hard on you. Rita Skeeter is a real cow. At least she can’t write anything now though.
Hermione, the gem, had worked out how Rita Skeeter got her information. The venomous fucking fopdoodle was an illegal animagus! Harry literally cackled on the train to London when Hermione finally told him and Ron that she had caught her in her animagus form, kept her imprisoned in a bloody glass jar, and blackmailed her. She wasn’t allowed to write anything for a year, or Hermione would report her to the Ministry, which would mean at least three years in Azkaban. Which Harry sort of thought was an absurdly harsh sentence considering the crime was simply being an animagus without telling, but okay.
> True. I love Hermione.
> Hey! I’m your boyfriend! Do you love her more than me?
> No, you prat. I love her very differently.
> Good. You better love me the most.
Harry had to grin to himself. Draco was ridiculously possessive, and for some reason Harry liked that.
> I do, Draco.
> Correct answer, very good.
> Idiot. You’re lucky I like you so much.
> Ugh, it’s way too hot here. This heatwave will be the end of me, I think I’ll have to go out and look for a breeze or something.
> Too bad you can’t do magic where you are. I’d invite you over, but I think we both know that’s a bad idea.
Harry had recently learned that because Malfoy Manor was unplottable and full of magic, it was impossible for the Trace to really do its job there. So Draco could use magic during the holidays whenever he wanted, which Harry thought was entirely too unfair, especially because this was true for most wixen homes. It was true for places like Diagon Alley as well, something Harry desperately wished he had known the summer before third year.
With that they said goodbye, promising to speak again later, and Harry took off to see if he might be able to find somewhere less sweltering hot than everywhere else. It was just as scorching inside as it was outside, and Harry couldn’t even find a hint of a breeze anywhere. In the end he stopped at the playground in the middle of Little Whinging. It was deserted, and Harry sat down on a swing, just looking around and thinking.
It was no joke, Draco being the only thing keeping him from blowing up at the moment. Ron and Hermione had written to him, they even seemed to be in the same place now, but they kept telling him they weren’t allowed to say anything. To him, specifically. Why was Harry, of all people, being kept out of the loop? He was the one who saw Voldemort come back, wasn’t he? Whose ex-boyfriend was murdered in front of him? Didn’t he deserve some information?
It was somehow worse that they kept on reiterating, every few sentences it seemed, that they couldn’t tell him more, that Dumbledore had forbidden it. If they had just said nothing, spoken only about other things it might not have been as bad, really, but being constantly reminded in the few letters he even got from them that he was purposely being kept in the dark and that Dumbledore had this power over him, over his friends? Each instance was another twist of the knife for Harry.
Hell, even Sirius wasn’t saying much, though it was clear he was being more actively monitored to prevent it.
Harry had worked himself into proper despondency by the time he noticed Dudley and his gang of equally awful miscreants walking past the park on their way home in the setting sun, laughing raucously and pushing at each other in some shared, likely juvenile, joke. If he hadn’t Harry would’ve ignored them and hoped they ignored him. He wouldn’t have said anything.
“Beat up another second grader, Big D?”
Dudley turned around and walked the few short metres over towards Harry, his gang following him like the sheep they were.
“This one deserved it.” He gave a smile he clearly meant to be scary, though it fell several levels short of achieving it. Especially for Harry.
“Five on one? Isn’t that a little unfair? Scared you can’t take someone on your own even when they’re a tenth of your size, Duddykins?”
Using his mum’s pet name for him had clearly been a mistake. He sent Harry a nasty sneer, pale imitation of Snape’s though it was, and growled at him.
“At least I’m not ‘fraid of my own pillow.”
“What?” Harry asked with a bemused frown. He had no idea what his cousin was on about.
Dudley made his voice lighter and simpering, clearly trying to imitate Harry.
“Mum, Mum! He’s gonna kill him, Mum!” The rest of Dudley’s posse laughed mockingly, and Harry clenched his jaw, trying to remind himself that Dudley was a spoiled little boy with not an inkling of what he was actually mocking. “No~! Don’t kill him! Don’t kill Cedric!” More laughter followed. “Who’s Cedric then, Harry? Is he your boyfriend?”
The disrespect towards Cedric was the last straw for Harry. He was already in a shitty mood, the weather making it worse, and then this lowlife made jokes about his dead mum and dead ex-boyfriend? Harry stood up, his wand out and pointed at Dudley’s face in less than a second. Dudley’s gang laughed, not knowing any better, but Dudley was staring at the tip of Harry’s wand with a terrified expression.
“You’re not allowed,” he tried to say.
“Watch me,” Harry bit out through clenched teeth.
He was utterly unprepared for it when everything suddenly grew dark and cold around them. It was so abrupt, even Dudley’s friends were all looking around, puzzled.
“What did you do?” Dudley asked in a panic.
“Nothing!” Harry snapped. “I’m not doing anything!”
When the cold began to settle in his very bones he knew with a sudden clarity what was happening, and he turned to Dudley and his friends and yelled at them.
“Run! Go home, NOW!”
Something in his voice or face must have hit home with them, because without even knowing about magic, they turned on their heels and scrambled away. Their homes were on the opposite side of the park from 4 Privet Drive, so Harry pushed Dudley harshly in the other direction.
“Move, Dudley. We need to go!”
Dudley, for once listening to Harry, took off running, and Harry, his wand still in hand, ran with him. They were running through an underpass off Magnolia Lane when they were finally caught up with. Dementors! In Little Whinging! What the bloody hell is going on?? Harry could feel them rapidly approaching and when he glanced over his shoulder they were close behind.
Too close.
“Keep running and don’t look back, Dudley,” he yelled at his cousin.
His inattentiveness resulted in Harry tripping on a loose piece of concrete and falling down. He hit the ground hard, swearing under his breath, but he didn’t have much time to do anything else before one of the two dementors was on him and he could feel all the happiness being sucked out of him, his mum’s screams filling his ears. He only just remembered that he was still holding his wand. He gathered his thoughts, focusing on Draco, his Draco, who calmed him and excited him and cared for him and treated him like an equal.
“Expecto Patronum!” he yelled, and his stag leapt from his wand and hit the dementor straight in the chest, forcing it to flee. Once Harry managed to get up on shaky feet he saw the second dementor hunched over a deadly pale Dudley, and sent his stag to chase that one off as well. He was on his way to help Dudley up when Mrs Figg appeared in the entrance to the underpass, and Harry scrambled to hide his wand.
“Don’t put your wand away, Harry,” Mrs Figg said with an urgent voice, and Harry stared at her. “They might come back.”
~ ~
The world was going mad. Or Harry was. One of the two.
Possibly both.
He was lying on his bed in 12 Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix. And the seat of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Sirius’ family and where he grew up. All the Weasleys were there (those currently in the country, at least), and, to Harry’s true delight, so was Sirius. And Professor Lupin— Remus— when he wasn’t out on ‘missions’.
It had been a surprise for Harry to learn that Sirius and Remus were, in fact, a couple. Though once he was told it was like the pieces of a puzzle he’d picked up and left unfinished ages ago suddenly fell into place. It explained their reaction once they met again, and even their banter. ‘Like an old married couple’, as Snape had said in the Shrieking Shack. And it was true.
Sirius had shown Harry the Black tapestry the day after he arrived, and Harry had been surprised to realise Sirius and Draco were related. Draco’s mother, Narcissa, and Sirius were cousins. And Andromeda, Tonks’ mother, was Narcissa Malfoy’s sister. As was Bellatrix Lestrange, the awful woman who had tortured Neville’s parents and whose criminal trial Harry had seen in Dumbledore’s pensieve just a few months previous. But Harry knew well that who you were related to didn’t define who you were.
Once it had been pointed out to him though, Harry started noticing the similarities between Sirius and Draco. They both had the silver grey eyes of the Black family and the same straight noses and high cheekbones, though Sirius’ chin was more square than Draco’s. They both had the same mischievous glint in their eyes when they made fun of you, both had similar arrogant attitudes too, though Draco’s was posh and Sirius’ was purposely not so.
It was strange in a way. They had never even met, but they had all these similarities in how they moved and spoke. It made Harry wonder how many of his traits, apart from the eyes and the hair, he actually shared with each of parents.
No one really told him much of his parents, and if they did it was mainly his dad. Sirius and Remus had shared some stories since Harry’s arrival, but they were of their days at Hogwarts and the only thing they had really said about his mum was that she thought James was a real toerag up until their final year of school. They never mentioned why, but apparently his Dad had matured a lot over the summer before that year.
A slight glow in his periphery caught Harry’s attention and he turned to his bedside table to see that it was the golden mark on his notebook, indicating that Draco had messaged him. Picking up the book, he pressed his finger on the lock and opened it. It had become second nature by now, and he didn’t even flinch at the needle.
> I got my Prefect’s badge in the mail!
And there was the reason why Harry was squared away in the room he shared with Ron and pondering the insanity of the world. Or at least partially the reason. Harry took a deep breath before replying.
> Congratulations!
> Did you get yours?
He sighed heavily as he wrote back.
> No, Ron and Hermione are Prefects. I’m not.
> What??
> Who in their right mind would make Ronald Weasley Prefect instead of you??
Harry had tried not to think it himself, but did wonder. Had it been Dean or Neville he wouldn’t have thought much of it, really. He was happy for his friends, he really was, but he was also irritated. Choosing Ron was just objectively not what anyone would do if they genuinely wanted someone with a decent academic record who would actually do the job, it felt like it was a way to specifically not choose Harry, in a way it wouldn’t be with any of the other Gryffindor boys.
Professor McGonagall would not do that.
Dumbledore, however, had actively ignored him the whole summer, including during his hearing at the Ministry, where he was refusing to even look at him. And Harry had felt it like a slap to the face.
> Dumbledore, I expect. It’s fine though. At least I’ll get to see you tomorrow x
> Well, it’s a fucking ridiculous decision.
> I almost can’t wait to see you! xx
> I’ll have a hard time not smiling like an idiot the second we meet.
> You’re cute when you smile like an idiot though.
> No, I’m not. I’m handsome. Not cute. I’m handsome and scary.
> Aw, is icky Drakiepoo getting grumpy? I could just pinch your small rosy cheeks.
> You’re awful, Harry.
> So mean.
> I am hurt. Mortally wounded. To the core.
Harry chuckled to himself.
> You’re such a dramaqueen, Draco!
> Dramaqueen? Me?? Never! I am the picture of calm poise.
> In your dreams, you overdramatic git.
> Will you manage to get away from your Prefectural duties to see me on the train?
> I’ll try my best.
> Kudos for the use of “prefectural”. Very eloquent. I must be rubbing off on you.
> You’ve absolutely been rubbing off on me… Quite a lot too…
> Get your mind out of the gutter, Potter.
He could almost see Draco’s smirk through his writing.
> Never.
Harry jumped a little when he heard footsteps outside the door.
> I think Ron and Hermione are coming back upstairs. See you tomorrow? I miss you, and you might even get a reward for that Prefect badge, if you manage to get away.
> I will find a way, I promise. Now you’ve made me hard, well done.
> I miss you too, my darling x
Harry closed the book with a smile on his face. He’d felt himself grow angry so easily lately, and yet Draco managed to calm him down and put a smile on his face. He had only just put the book away in his trunk when the door opened and Hermione and Ron stepped through, looking slightly wary. Shame curled in his stomach at the look, but he couldn’t exactly blame them for it. He’d blown up at them the moment he arrived at Grimmauld Place and been halfway to blowing up more than once since.
“Are you ready to leave tomorrow?” Hermione asked with a tentative smile, and Harry sent her a grateful one back.
“Almost. I ended up taking a break.”
“Writing in your little notebook?” Ron asked, picking up a pair of his trousers from the floor and stuffing it into his trunk, receiving a glare from Hermione.
“Better than blowing up on you when you don’t deserve it.”
He hadn’t been able to hide the notebook from them, but rather than telling them the truth he’d told them it was his journal. Hermione sat down on the bed where Harry’s legs had just been before he pulled them against his chest. She put a hand on his knee and sent him an understanding smile, and he tried not to feel guilty for keeping secrets. After all, they had kept secrets too and this was just as important.
“As long as it helps you work through your feelings I think it’s an excellent idea, Harry.”
“He could talk to us too,” Ron muttered, his back to them as he threw more of his clothes from the floor into his trunk.
“I know, Ron,” Harry replied with a sigh. “It’s just easier to write it down. It’s not actually you I’m angry with, you know.”
“We know, Harry,” Hermione told him, patting his knee, and he caught her hand and squeezed it.
Ron sighed and dropped down his bed too, finally facing them and saying awkwardly, “Yeah, we know. I’m not angry with you either. I just love you, mate. You know that. I want to support you.”
Harry sent his friends a smile, happy that he managed to feel more like himself and less like an angry resentful monster.
“You do support me. And I’m really grateful, mate.”
Ron grinned at him and he grinned back, though they turned into fond eye rolls when they both noticed Hermione was beaming at them both.
“You ready to go back to Hogwarts then?” Hermione asked.
“Honestly? No idea,” Harry replied with a sigh. “I know people are gonna whisper and stare. Talk about me behind my back. It’ll be second year all over again.”
“Well, they can stuff it. You’re right and they’re wrong. They’ll find out sooner or later and then they’ll look quite the fools. And we’ll be behind you every step of the way.”
“Thanks, guys.” They smiled at each other for a moment before Ron jumped up from his bed.
“Right, enough of that! Let’s take a break from all this packing and play some exploding snap.”
Hermione grumbled a bit, pointing out they had barely even started packing, but she was smiling brightly before they’d even gotten the cards out.
The rest of the evening was spent happily chatting and playing exploding snap until they were interrupted by Mrs Weasley, who demanded they finish their packing and go straight to bed. It was wonderfully normal and for once Harry didn’t go to sleep feeling the rage monster and self-loathing warring with each other in his chest.
~ ~
The morning of the 1st of September was hectic at 12 Grimmauld Place. There were six of them travelling with the Hogwarts Express, and in addition to that several of the Order members had joined them at King’s Cross Station, just in case. Sirius ignored all warnings, as was his wont, and went with them as Snuffles, and despite the risk and his initial protests, Harry was glad to have him there. He had gotten to know his godfather better during his time at Grimmauld Place than he had the entire year after they saved him from the dementor’s kiss, and while he was much more chaotic and loud than Harry was usually comfortable with, he was a good man and his mental health had improved significantly since Harry had first seen him, despite the damage the dementors had done to him.
He was also Harry’s godfather, an adult who genuinely loved and cared for him, who would have taken him in if he could; would have taken him away from the muggle hell that was Privet Drive.
Lost in the middle of Weasleys and Order members Harry only got a glimpse of Draco on the actual platform, standing with his ‘Malfoy mask’ of bored indifference on next to his mother, who was wearing a similar look. Maybe it was the ‘Black mask’ she was wearing. According to Draco she was actually very kind and loving, but just like him was used to pretending, especially in public. He didn’t deny that she had grown up with bigoted views, but unlike her husband she didn’t support Voldemort. Draco met Harry’s eyes briefly and winked at him, forcing Harry to look down to hide his blush. Oh, and the dopey smile he could feel taking over his face. Bloody stupidly charming Slytherins.
Harry ended up in a compartment with Neville, Ginny, and a Ravenclaw student from Ginny’s year, Luna Lovegood, who was reading a magazine upside down, for whatever reason. He’d somehow forgotten that Ron and Hermione would have to meet in the Prefects’ carriage, and although he was happy for them he felt strangely alone in a compartment without them, despite having people around him. He was so used to being with at least one of them at all time, that it was only the presence of Neville, who he had become much closer to during the Triwizard Tournament (while Ron was being an absolute git) last year that stopped him from feeling actually lonely.
It made him wonder though why he hadn’t thought to owl Neville during the summer. While Neville knew nothing about the Order of the Phoenix it would have helped to have someone from their world besides Draco to talk to. Of course, the other boy hadn’t owled him either, but now that he considered it, knowing how insecure Neville was the other boy probably assumed letters from him wouldn’t be welcome. The same way he seemed surprised whenever Harry chose to talk to him about something instead of Ron. It made Harry scowl, thinking of the appalling behaviour of his friend’s Gran and Uncle Algie. Not that he had been a great friend either, he hadn’t even sent a birthday card to the boy whose birthday was the day before him. He would have to use owl order to get a belated birthday present for Neville, and one for Hermione too, since her birthday was just later that month.
Deep in thought, letting the sounds of Ginny and Luna’s weird conversation about some invisible creatures and the loving hums Neville directed at his Mimbulus Mimbletonia wash over him, the door to the compartment being opened made him jump a little in his seat before turning around and blinking once at the sight of the person standing there.
“Hi, Harry,” a gentle voice said.
“Hi, Cho,” he replied politely.
Cho was a nice girl, and a more than competent seeker, but it was terribly awkward to see her, really. She was his dead ex’s last girlfriend. He hadn’t actually spoken to her since the Yule ball. She had tried to get him to dance with her, but Harry was too mortified after the opening dance with Parvati to attempt it. Instead he’d watched as Draco waltzed about like a pro, for some reason scowling at Pansy, whom he’d been dancing with. And that was before Draco had first approached Harry, which had Harry now wondering when he’d really started liking the git.
“How was your summer?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat while Neville and Ginny looked bemusedly between Harry and Cho, and Cho’s friend, whom Harry had no idea what was called, looked more sour than usual behind her. He wasn’t sure whether she just had resting bitch face, or just a generally sour-looking face (the way Snape always looked slightly suspicious) or what, but from what he remembered she always looked extremely sour, even when giggling (ugh) with Cho she looked more bitchy and mocking rather than… well, rather than giggly.
“Oh err… It was fine, I s’pose,” Harry replied awkwardly. “How was yours?”
“Oh, you know,” Cho said timidly, blushing a little.
Just then Draco appeared next to her. Harry blinked at him. Draco looked between Harry and Cho coolly and Harry had to work hard not to ask him what was wrong. It was probably not a good idea. People would definitely find it weird if Harry Potter gently asked Draco Malfoy if he was alright.
They all stared at each other, the only ones not looking uncomfortable being Luna Lovegood (who looked completely absorbed in her upside down magazine), Cho’s friend (who now looked even more sour than ever), and Draco (who looked disdainful in a way that frankly made Harry want to laugh despite himself, but which he knew would not be a good idea). Draco made a gesture that most would think was just him whipping the hair out of his eyes, but Harry recognised as a sign, and so nodded back minutely, once.
Hermione and Ron appeared behind Draco at that moment, all having clearly come from the Prefect meeting, and Draco glanced back and gave them a short but polite nod before walking off. Ron and Hermione stared after him for a moment before slipping by Cho into the compartment.
“Hello, Cho,” Hermione greeted cheerily once she’d sat down.
“Hullo, Hermione,” Cho replied with an awkward smile. She glanced over at Harry. “Well, we better get back to our own compartment. It was nice seeing you, Harry. Talk later, yeah?”
“Erm, sure?” Harry replied, and Cho’s friend basically dragged her away. “That was odd,” he said once they were gone.
Hermione and Ginny snorted, and Harry looked over at them where they shared the bench oppsite him with Luna, and raised his eyebrows in silent question.
“You can be so oblivious, Harry,” Hermione said with a heavy sigh.
“What?” he asked, still confused. Ginny laughed.
“She fancies you, Harry! Honestly, it’s so obvious.” Ginny shook her head, expression a strange mix of exasperation and amusement.
“Pft, I’m sure she doesn’t,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes. There was no way, she had been dating Cedric.
“Of course she does! What else could that be about?” Neville said from next to him, looking at Harry with wide eyes, as though genuinely shocked that Harry hadn’t realised.
Ron had sat down on the other side of Neville, looking around somewhat bemusedly and stuffing his face with what seemed to be chocolate frogs. Deciding to simply ignore what the others had said, Harry leaned around Neville’s Mimbulus and looked at the pile of chocolate frogs in Ron’s hands instead.
“Where on earth did you get all of those?”
The trolley hadn’t been there yet as far as Harry knew.
“Confiscated them from a bunch of second year Hufflepuffs,” Ron replied with a chocolatey grin, and Harry snorted a laugh at his friend while Hermione huffed and mumbled something scathing under her breath.
“Well done, Ron,” Harry said, grinning back before stretching out a bit. “Anyway, I’m gonna go to the loo real quick. I might as well change while I’m there too.”
“Be careful, Harry,” Hermione warned as Harry stood to get his robes out of his trunk. “A bunch of sixth year Slytherins were hexing anyone who passed their compartment.”
“I’ll take care,” he promised, and slipped his folded invisibility cloak into his pocket with his notebook, just in case.
“Speaking of Slytherins,” Ron began. “Guess who the new Slytherin Prefects are?”
Harry knew perfectly well who the Slytherin Prefects were, but he shrugged his shoulders anyway.
“Malfoy and Parkinson!” Ron shook his head, as if this was ridiculous. Sure, Harry wasn’t a fan of Parkinson, but…
“Well, that makes sense, I suppose.”
Ron gaped at him with his mouth still full of chocolate, making Hermione huff and hiss, “Honestly, Ron, that’s disgusting”.
“They’re a nightmare!” Ron argued, ignoring Hermione.
Harry rolled his eyes, unable to hold himself back. “Sure, but they’re still the most obvious choices for Slytherin Prefects in our year. The only other real options would be Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, but Nott is quiet bordering on antisocial and Greengrass seems too focused on her studies and her sister to care much about anything else, let alone the responsibilities that come with being a Prefect. Anyway, I’m off.”
He stalked out of there before they could delay him further. He felt a little guilty for lying and for leaving just when Ron and Hermione were back from their Prefect’s duties, but seeing Draco had fired him up somewhat, and any thought besides Draco was soon out of his mind.
Almost shaking with excitedment he knocked on the door to the lavatory they’d agreed as their meeting place the night before. Draco barely popped his head around the door to confirm his identity before he pulled Harry inside and locked the door, pushing Harry back against it and ripping his spectacles off in one move, not even saying hello before his mouth was on Harry’s, kissing him senseless.
Harry moaned and arched his body as if that might help him get closer, his hands travelling up from Draco’s elbows, feeling his lean arms and firm shoulders, before reaching his hair and burying his fingers in it. Draco groaned when he tugged it a little. He wasn’t as sensitive to it as Harry was, but he did like it. Draco wasn’t burly, but he wasn’t skin and bone either. He had lean muscles, and broad shoulders that hinted at the strength to come. His body didn’t look like that of a 15 year old, really. A part of Harry was deadly jealous about that, because his own was still stuck as a 12 year old, it seemed, or at least his height and width were. But he also couldn’t help loving it. Feeling small and protected in Draco’s arms did funny things to Harry.
When Draco drew back, Harry’s stayed put leaning against the door with his eyes closed, breathing hard. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know Draco’s expression, but he did so anyway, slowly, and was met with a mischievous smirk that made his legs feel like they’d been hit with a Jellyleg Jinx.
“You look way too pleased with yourself, Draco,” Harry said with a huff. Draco’s smirk only broadened, and he looked positively wolfish.
“Anyone would be if they made Harry James Potter look as wrecked as you do right now.”
“Git,” Harry said with a laugh, feeling like he was flying.
“You like it,” Draco replied against his mouth.
“Merlin help me, I do,” Harry replied, holding Draco in place and leaving several tiny kisses on his mouth, stopping Draco from deepening any of them. Then he leaned his forehead against Draco’s and sighed, his eyes closing.
“What was that in the compartment?”
“Don’t know what you mean,” Draco replied too lightly, attempting to kiss Harry again, but Harry stopped him by cupping each side of his face with his hands, still keeping their foreheads connected.
“When Cho and her friend was there?” Harry specified, and felt Draco’s jaw clench beneath his hands. He opened his eyes and tried meeting his gaze, but Draco avoided it. “Draco?”
“She likes you,” he said with a small growl.
“Not you too,” Harry said with a sigh. “My friends seem to think the same thing. I think she just feels a connection to me because of Cedric or something.”
“She does not, Harry. It’s obvious she fancies you. You cannot possibly be this oblivious.”
“I’m not being oblivious, I’m being realistic.”
“Sometimes I wonder who the hell you think you are.” Harry drew back a little, giving Draco an offended look. Draco chuckled, but he sounded more exasperated than amused. “You seem to think you’re this less than desirable person, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You seemed to have trouble believing that I liked you even after I’d pushed you against walls and snogged you twice, even coming in my pants.” Harry felt his face heating up. “In reality you’re not just Harry fucking Potter, Boy Who Lived — however much you hate that —, but you’re also kind and brave and clever and so good looking that even when you’re wearing clothes that would make anyone else look shabby and awful, you just look cute and adorably mussed up.”
“You’re just calling me short,” Harry deadpanned.
“Compared to me, yes,” Draco replied with a grin, and Harry had trouble not returning it. He gave it a good enough effort though. “But you’re not that short really. What are you… 160?”
“About that, yeah,” Harry replied with a shrug, though in reality he was more like 155.
“Well, most witches our age are shorter than that, and you’re not even the shortest wizard in Gryffindor. Finnigan is even shorter than you, just way less good looking.”
Harry blushed and looked away.
“My point is,” Draco continued, grabbing Harry’s chin like he did sometimes, forcing him to meet Draco’s gaze. “You are very desirable, and the Chang girl definitely likes you, but she can’t have you because you’re mine.”
His voice dipped into that low seductive growl that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He drew in a sharp breath and moistened his lips, noting how Draco followed the movement with his eyes.
“I believe I promised you a reward for that shiny new Prefect’s badge.” He lightly tapped the badge in question with a finger.
“I believe you did,” Draco replied with another wolfish grin.
Harry stepped around the Slytherin before he could react properly, switching up their positions so that Draco was the one with his back pressed against the door. He threw up a Silencing Charm for safety’s sake before slowly dropping to his knees, keeping up the eye contact with Draco.
Harry had never actually done this before, but he’d fantasised about it all summer really. Draco was clearly interested as well, if his dilated pupils and deep groan were any indication.
“Fuck,” he whispered, as in awe, eyes glued to Harry.
Harry pushed open Draco’s robes and began undoing his belt. His hands were shaking a little, but he managed well enough and soon the only thing covering Draco’s hard cock was his pants. Harry cupped it through the fabric and Draco groaned again, the sound reverberating through Harry. Then he pulled the pants down to join Draco’s trousers around his knees.
This was his first time truly seeing another person’s cock up close before. He’d touched them, both Cedric’s and Draco’s, but not like this. He’d forgotten how big Draco was. Or rather, he hadn’t realised just how big he was until he actually saw it like this.
“You don’t have to.”
Harry looked up at Draco. He seemed to have taken Harry’s pause as hesitancy rather than admiration. He did not, however, seem to actually want Harry to stop.
“Just admiring the view,” Harry replied, smirking, before wrapping his fingers around the cock in front of him. Sure, Harry’s hands weren’t particularly big, but he could barely get his hand all the way around it.
He tugged once, experimentally, and Draco groaned again. Then he leaned forward and licked a fat stripe up the underside, swirling his tongue around the head once while he revelled in the noises Draco was making, before he took it into his mouth properly.
“Oh fuck,” Draco breathed.
Harry bobbed his head, taking more and more into his mouth every time and making sure to cover it with enough saliva, using one hand for what he couldn’t reach and the other to hold Draco’s hips in place like he’d read was a good idea to begin with. The public library really had the most useful books, it had all been very educational.
Making sure his teeth were covered and focusing on breathing through his nose, Harry swirled his tongue over the glans every time he drew back, dipping into the slit to get a small taste of the salty precum gathered there. He looked up at Draco as he hollowed out his cheeks, creating suction, and took him deeper. Draco was giving Harry that intense look, as if looking right through to his soul, his irises nearly taken over by his pupils. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing laboured, small sounds escaping him constantly.
He looked wrecked and beautiful.
Harry moved the hand keeping Draco’s hips in place and grabbed one of Draco’s hands instead, moving it from where it had held onto the door as if grounding him and into Harry’s hair instead. Draco’s breath hitched and Harry felt a pleasant swoop in his gut at the sound.
“Are you sure?” His voice was rough, his mouth slack. Harry nodded and Draco groaned, his other hand joining the first and fisting Harry hair.
When he began moving Harry’s head however he wanted, carefully at first, testing the waters, Harry moaned around his hard cock, the vibrations of it forcing a broken groan from Draco. Harry pushed and pulled a little on Draco’s hips until Draco got the message and began fucking his face. He didn’t go terribly deep, though Harry still held his hands loosely on his hips, just in case. Draco slowly went deeper until he hit the back of Harry’s throat and he had to work not to gag. It went surprisingly well, actually. He was enjoying the weight of the erection in his mouth, the taste on the back of his tongue, Draco’s hands in his hair holding him in place and creating tingles from his scalp down his spine.
“Fuck, you’re a vision, Harry,” Draco ground out, speeding up.
Harry was moaning around Draco’s cock near constantly, the pressure on his hair and the feel of Draco in his mouth, using his mouth, was almost enough for him to come undone completely. He could feel Draco getting close, could see it on his face as well, and he only got a “fuck, I’m gonna—” before Draco’s hips stuttered and he spilled down Harry’s throat, his hands tightening in Harry’s hair, and Harry found himself coming with him without even having touched himself.
Draco’s cock was so far back in his throat he hardly got a proper taste of him, but it was nice, actually. The taste. Harry had read a few descriptions of the taste of semen and always thought it sounded weird, but it really wasn’t. He moved his head slowly up and down a few times while Draco got down from his high (and he himself did too), until Draco was almost softening in his mouth. Then he pulled off, coughing just a bit, and stood up on shaky legs, Draco supporting him as well as he could before drawing him into a deep kiss. Harry wondered if Draco could taste himself on him. The thought made his spent cock twitch with interest.
“That was,” Draco began, refusing to take his mouth off of Harry’s for a second to talk, “mind blowing.”
Harry snorted and wound his arms around Draco’s neck.
“You turn,” Draco said, but Harry shook his head, prompting Draco to draw back a little to frown at him. “No?”
Harry blushed and looked down, unable to meet Draco’s eyes.
“I kinda already…,” he began, though he didn’t finish the sentence. It seemed he didn’t have to either, as Draco had understood perfectly.
“You came untouched with my cock lodged down your throat as I fucked your face?” His voice sounded rough, as if he was the one who’d had a surely larger than average cock down his throat. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
Draco grabbed Harry’s head by the hair in the back and dragged it back so he could plunder his mouth, and Harry could do nothing but whimper into it. He loved it when Draco was forceful. And when he swore. There was just something about hearing him swearing in that posh accent of his that did stuff to Harry. Also because he rarely swore around other people.
They stood there snogging for a few minutes, the kiss going from rough to soft and languid, until Harry was beginning to feel too sticky and had to clean himself up. Since he was already up and moving, he figured he may as well change into his robes, receiving his spectacles from Draco.
Draco had already been wearing his robes, with his shiny Prefect’s badge fastened to his chest, so all he had to do was tuck himself in and close the robes.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Harry couldn’t help but flush at how well shagged he looked. His hair was in a worse state than ever, his lips were kiss swollen, his pupils were still dilated, and his neck was full of hickeys. He met Draco’s eyes in the mirror, Draco smirking as his eyes roamed over Harry.
“You really should place hickeys in less obvious spots.”
Draco walked the one step needed to be right behind him and snaked his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him back into his chest.
“Why?”
“So that I don’t have to heal them.”
Draco’s smile widened, and Harry suddenly realised what he’d admitted to.
“So you do like it when I mark you.” Harry hid his face in his hands with a mortified groan, and Draco laughed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “That’s good, because I like marking you. And don’t worry, kitten, I’ll leave new ones.”
Draco did end up leaving another mark on him, further down his front so it was more easily hidden, and then helped him heal the other ones. Then they sat down together on the floor, Harry on Draco’s lap, just to talk a little before Harry would have to return to his friends.
Of course they had talked a lot through their notebooks over the summer, but it was different talking face to face, getting to hold Draco’s hand or kiss him just because he’d wanted to. They had had such a short amount of time together before leaving Hogwarts, and so much of it had been coloured by what happened in the graveyard, that being able to relax like this together was a rare treat so far in their relationship.
“I’m still serious about teaching you the Patronus Charm,” Harry said during their discussion of how Harry and Dudley had been attacked by dementors. Draco had seemed to be both furious and scared in equal measure over the summer, and he still clearly was, especially because Lucius had apparently laughed about the prospect of Harry Potter being thrown out of Hogwarts.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I am. If anything, meeting two dementors in Little Whinging taught me how important it is to know. And I’d like you to be safe.”
“Aww, my hero,” Draco replied with a fake pout, making Harry snort.
“Prat,” he told him, kissing him chastely and not letting Draco deepening it. “We need to find somewhere to practice it though. I thought maybe an old classroom, but that would be easy for professors to discover, and hard to explain away. Unless we told them we were duelling.”
“Which they would probably believe,” Draco said with a chuckle. “But I’m sure there must be somewhere suitable. I’ll try to come up with somewhere too, and I’ll just write to you if I find somewhere.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Harry replied, nuzzling his face into the crook of Draco’s neck, his spectacles on the floor next to them, just so he could be close and smell him.
“Speaking of professors though,” Draco began, sounding wary. “There’s a new DADA professor — obviously — and I am under strict instructions to suck up to her. Or to ‘ally myself with her’, as my father put it.” His voice sounded bitter by the end, and Harry cupped his face with a hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb. He was relieved when he could feel Draco smiling a little into it.
“Do you know anything about them? Maybe it won’t be so bad?”
“Not much, really, but considering my father seems to like her she’s probably awful. I also know that it wasn’t Dumbledore who hired her.”
Harry drew back to look at Draco’s face. He looked annoyed and vaguely apologetic. For some reason he still thought his father’s actions were his fault.
“Who’s hired her then?”
“The Ministry,” Draco replied bitterly. “Apparently they passed a decree or something that stated they could hire professors if Dumbledore is unable to find someone. And the DADA position is notoriously hard to fill since people believe it to be cursed.”
“Well, since the last 3 out of 4 DADA professors have attempted to kill or maim me I am inclined to agree,” Harry deadpanned. Draco shook his head incredulously.
“Never a quiet year at Hogwarts with you there.”
“I aim to please.”
When Harry finally returned to his friends, after Draco had checked and double checked to make sure no hickeys were visible and he didn’t look completely shagged, they were already nearing Hogsmeade Station.
“You’ve been gone for ages, mate,” Ron complained. “Where were you?”
Harry shrugged as he sat down.
“Oh, you know. Just feeling a little queasy and overwhelmed.”
Ron sent him an understanding look that made him feel guilty for lying, though it wasn’t completely a lie, and Hermione bent across to lay a hand on his knee.
“It will be fine, Harry. We’re right there with you.”
Harry managed to send her a smile.