Chapter Text
Stepping into Hogwarts had a different vibe to it now. It was no surprise, given that the war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and their noble headmaster Dumbledore could only be spoken to through a portrait—it would definitely take a while to adjust.
It was worse when Draco Malfoy had stepped through the large doors of the Great Hall. Everyone turned their heads to look at him. His once high and mighty, egotistical demeanor had shifted into that of a frail, always nervous one that had everybody in the room noticing. He looked embarrassed to even be walking through. Harry wanted to feel some sort of pity, though he kept convincing himself that he shouldn’t, and that it’s very acceptable if everyone around hated Malfoy. That it’s very acceptable if he hated Malfoy.
But this time was different. Sure, he had no trouble in loathing Malfoy beforehand. Surely it would be much easier to do so now. But somehow—when the blonde walked past him and his happily chatting friends, with his eyebrows furrowed and head hung low—Harry couldn’t take his eyes off him. He felt a strange feeling, and this feeling was telling him to go up to Malfoy and comfort him. Gross. He thought. Why did he have this kind of feeling? Why the sudden change?
“Look, Harry,” Ron’s voice catches Harry’s attention, pulling him from whatever thought he was drowning in. “Look at Malfoy and that strange hat he’s wearing. I’ve never seen him wear a hat—a beanie, even.”
Ah.
Harry was so lost in his own thoughts (and staring at Malfoy’s face) that he hadn’t paid attention to how odd it was that Malfoy wore a beanie that kept almost all of his blonde locks covered.
“Maybe he had a change of style.” Harry jokes. Ron follows with a slight chuckle, “I thought he was supposed to be elegant and have all of the glamorous garments laid out for him? Why’s he wearing such a cheepskate beanie? And red, on top of that. He’s literally begging to be made fun of.”
Neville hears from across the table and lets out an audible laugh. “Maybe it’s an effort to cheer for Gryffindor’s next match—because, you know, there aren’t any more Slytherins that’ll play.” Neville adds. His comment sends Ron into a round of laughter, earning a giggle or two from Harry. What Neville said was funny, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He almost told him off, but that would make him seem odd too. Hearing someone make fun of Malfoy when he, too, was going through a hard time had Harry feel a little agitated—as much as he wanted to deny it to himself.
After a while, Neville brings in a new topic which distracts Ron, and eventually leads to them forgetting about Malfoy. Maybe them. Not Harry, though, he was still staring at Malfoy from the next table across them just behind Neville. He couldn’t take his eyes off him no matter how hard he tried. He watched as Malfoy lifted his cup, with his pinky raised like how he always did. He watched as he used his cutlery with elegance, laughed to a limit, and occasionally adjusted the ridiculous beanie he wore. He watched as Malfoy’s red, plump lips wrapped around the curve of the glass he drank from—how his eyes narrowed when he caught someone looking at him longer than he would have probably preferred someone looked at him.
“Harry, are you all right?” A feminine voice from his side speaks, snapping him out of focus again. He flinches slightly, almost knocking his juice, which has Hermione concerned. “You’ve been spacing out. I told you if you weren’t ready to come back yet, you could have waited a little longer until your mind fully healed—“
“I’m fine, ‘Mione.” Harry cuts her words as he plops a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Just… Thinking…” he continues. Though, his eyes never leave Malfoy. Hermione seems to notice this because she also tries to look for whatever Harry’s staring at; and her eyes lay upon a familiar, grey eyed pale haired boy.
“Harry, I don’t think Malfoy has any more tricks up his sleeve. Give it a rest,” She says, but it’s all a blur to Harry, because his eyes catch something even weirder when he darts them towards Malfoy’s crimson hat. For a split second, he could see something within shift in its place—causing the bulge on the hat, which Harry thought was probably Malfoy’s hair—move. His view of that was interrupted, unfortunately, when Malfoy reached for his hat and adjusted it again.
“Hermione, did you see that?” He asks, grabbing onto Hermione’s robe. She raises an eyebrow, swaying her head in different directions as she tries to look at whatever Harry’s pointing at. “See what?”
“Malfoy’s hat.“
“Oh, yes, it’s quite ridiculous actually.”
“No, ‘Mione, look closely—agh!”
Harry’s words suddenly come to a stop when he feels Ron grab onto his shoulder harshly, causing him to stumble slightly towards Hermione and almost knocking her over.
“Ronald Weasley!” She shouts in annoyance. Ron, in response, snorts and utters a sorry in between laughs. It seems as though someone from the table had cracked another joke, because Ron’s back into his spiral of laughter.
Harry huffs. He steadies himself again, now sitting upright giving him a clear view of Malfoy—and he finds grey orbs staring into his green ones. Harry’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and so did Malfoy’s as he quickly looked away, diverting his gaze and looking Pansy in the eye instead. Harry does the opposite. He doesn’t take his eyes off the blonde’s, not even for a second. He’s far too swallowed in curiosity now to stop himself from looking above Malfoy’s face and at his weird red beanie.
And there it is again.
It’s that small movement from underneath the beanie that happens whenever Malfoy’s cheeks turn pink. Harry guesses it was from a comment Zabini made, because Malfoy’s suddenly pushing him playfully. Similar to earlier, when his cheek was pinched by Pansy, was when Harry also spotted that slight shift underneath Malfoy’s hat. It was too weird for him to handle, and it was even weirder that he was putting so much thought into it.
“Are you coming, Harry?”
For the third time, he’s snapped out of his thoughts. He gets a glance at his surroundings and he sees some of his friends already standing up and some ready to leave. He looks up at Ron, who had just called him, and he sighs.
“You all right, mate? You’ve been acting differently since earlier,” Ron says, earning an elbow to the side from Hermione. “Ronald, you shouldn’t say things like that. Harry’s just… he’s still got a lot of things in his mind.”
Harry knits his eyebrows as he stands up from his seat, patting his robes and fixing his hair. “Don’t treat me like a baby, ‘Mione. I’ve long since healed.” He counters. He didn’t deny about having a lot of things in his mind, because he did have just that—and all of it was embarrassingly his bully of several years.
*
It’s when Harry’s sat down in Potions when he notices the severity of things. He doesn’t feel that same chill he had always felt years ago in fear that Snape would somehow call on him. Because it won’t happen again, and walking into the Potions classroom with a completely new and joyful teacher was something he would have never imagined happening. His classmates seem to have felt the same as him, because the room was quiet; it was not because they were afraid of not pleasing a scary Potions teacher. It was because said Potions teacher was no longer around. No longer alive.
The silence was so incredibly audible that Harry could hear Ron’s heartbeat next to him. The way it was pumping fast had only supported Harry’s theory; nobody was still fully mind healed. His attention shifts when he hears footsteps entering, and he turns around with some doing the same, only to be greeted by the sight of a tall, skinny, platinum blonde boy walking into the room. Malfoy walked in with his eyes to the floor, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He takes a seat along with Parkinson on the second row just across from Harry.
Fuck.
Harry wonders how he’s supposed to focus now. He could barely listen to whatever Hermione was saying just moments before, and it was all because he was too busy staring at Malfoy. He thought he would have escaped from that happening again, purposely sitting near the front so that Malfoy would sit where he always used to sit; the last row, and Harry wouldn’t deal with his newly developed staring problem. Though, it seems that not only had Malfoy’s style changed, but also his choice of position.
The brand new teacher finally walks in, and he tries his best to lighten everyone’s mood, but they are no longer naive children excited to be wizards. They just want everything over with so they could take their NEWTS, graduate, leave, then go on with their lives. Not as much for Harry. He wanted to savour his final moments in Hogwarts, because this was his first escape from his horrid life back with the Dursleys—the first place he actually considered as his home. And now, he was meant to leave. He wasn’t fully ready to let go of such a huge part of his life just yet. And so, he had told himself to just live to the fullest (like he hasn’t already) before stepping foot back.
Then he finds himself staring at Malfoy again. His eyes roam the blonde’s back, his arms, and most of all—his weird hat. Harry could swear he saw something inside moving around from time to time. It even falls lower because of the movement, and so Harry was definitely sure that Malfoy was hiding something. Malfoy was constantly pulling it back up, probably hoping to cover something, but it was useless to Harry. He was already on to whatever Malfoy was hiding since the moment he stepped foot into the Great Hall.
He sits there in awe when Malfoy suddenly turns his back, looking Harry in the eye sharply. His grey eyes remained unmoving, fixed on Harry’s. Harry felt like he was being lured into Malfoy, falling deeper inside his grey irises with every second that passed—not until Ron hit him with his elbow.
“Harry!” He whispers. Harry begins to blink rapidly, returning to reality as he shakes his head and glances at his surroundings. Everyone had turned to look at him, not just Malfoy. He grabs hold of his glasses, adjusting it as he looks up and is greeted by the sight of the new teacher looking directly at him—and Harry gulps.
“As I was saying, Mr. Potter, what is the first correct measure you take when a Calming Draught begins to turn violet instead of blue?”
Harry’s face pales. He looks around nervously, sweat almost dripping from his forehead. He wasn’t listening at all. He was busy studying Malfoy instead of Potions. He steals a glance at Hermione, hoping she would give some sort of hint, but she’s instead looking at him with concern in her expression.
“I… I don’t know, sir,” he mutters. The class evolves into a sea of whispers. He’s the Savior of the Wizarding World, for Merlin’s sake. He should know this. Or, rather, he doesn’t have to know this. He should have been given a pass! Does the teacher not know who he is? The teacher doesn’t reply anything back, fortunately. He only straightens his posture and begins to answer his own question himself. With that, Harry catches himself returning his eyes to Malfoy’s back.
It trails all the way down to the chair Malfoy’s sitting on, and Harry notices his robes let loose behind. Malfoy isn’t sitting on it, a very unelegant move of him—but Harry’s in no position to have a say. Whether or not Malfoy was sitting on his robe is something he isn’t supposed to be thinking about. It’s such an irrelevant issue—yet, it lingers in his mind longer than it should. Perhaps Malfoy truly changed his style. That he no longer cared if he was deemed as an elegant pureblood, even going so far as to wear an absurd hat the old Malfoy would never have worn.
*
The day passes by in a blur, and all Harry remembers is Malfoy’s damned hat. He lies flat on his back atop his soft mattress with his arm propped on top of his forehead. He shuts his eyes forcefully, trying to erase all images of Malfoy in head—but he just couldn’t. His mind wanders back to earlier that day, thinking about how something was moving beneath the beanie, wondering whatever it might be. Never in a hundred years would he have thought he’d be lying in bed not being able to sleep because of Malfoy, of all people.
“Harry,” Ron says, emerging from underneath his covers, his eyes droopy and tone hoarse. “Close the lights, will ya? We haven’t got any assignments yet. Whatever’s keeping you up, forget it, I’m exhausted.”
Harry sighs as he tilts his head sideward after staring blankly at the ceiling, turning to look at Ron. “Yeah, yeah.” He says before uttering a spell beneath his breath, turning off the room lights.
But Ron doesn’t lay back down. He stays there, his entire body weight supported by the singular elbow holding him up, curls disheveled and eyes half lidded. Harry notices the pair of eyes glued onto him, and he asks, “What?”
“You know— er, Harry, you’ve been a little weird. I know you’ve been going through a lot since… uh, you know. But I want you to know that I’m here… If you need someone to talk to about anything," says Ron.
He was right. In fact, Harry had no one else to talk to at the moment; only few returned for their final year, and so the dorms were not so tightly packed as it was years before. It led to Harry sharing a room only with Ron, not that he would have chosen to be alone.
A brief silence swallows them both. Ron, figuring Harry’s got nothing to say, brings himself back down and underneath the covers, finally closing his eyes in hopes of drifting into slumber.
“Have you noticed Malfoy’s weird hat?”
Ron’s peace is short-lived as he hears Harry’s voice from the other side of the room. He groans, “Yeah mate, I’m pretty sure we cracked a few jokes about it earlier.” Ron replies sarcastically.
“No, but, it’s far beyond weird. I mean, have you ever seen him wear a beanie before? I’m sure the old Malfoy would have laughed at the current one. The old him would have thrown a tantrum at how messy his hair would end up being after he’s spent so much time gelling it back,” Harry rambles. “And you know, earlier, whatever’s underneath that hat—it moves! I’ve seen it. Earlier, in the Great Hall, then during Potions. And maybe during Charms, but I didn’t get that good of a look. Hannah Abott was in the damn way, you see,”
He adjusts his glasses to glance at Ron, who’s looking back at him with an unamused look.
“Harry, mate, when I said you could talk to me about anything, I didn’t mean chatter about Malfoy’s hat and how there’s supposedly something inside it.” Ron snaps.
“Give it a break, he’s probably up to nothing, he just wants to finish his last year like the rest of us. Let him rest, let yourself rest.” He adds.
For a while, Harry takes a moment to bring Ron’s words to mind. Perhaps he was overthinking this, and Malfoy just wanted some peace and quiet for his last year, and that he did change his style to distract him from his old ways. Maybe. Harry had no clue, and it was no point delving into it for any longer.
*
Though, all his convincing that it was probably nothing was completely thrown out the window when he was coincidentally partnered with Malfoy during DADA.
All of their classmates started whispering when both their names were drawn at the same time, telling the entire class that they’d be partnered up. Considering the background of the two, the folks knew it would end up sort of messy. But they’re no longer children who play cat and mouse. Malfoy and Potter were young adults now, and their minds have reshaped maturely. Surely nothing would happen.
All Harry could think of when Malfoy stood in front of him was that red hat on top of his head, how distracted it made him, how it gave him the strong urge to just rip it off then and there and expose whatever Malfoy’s hiding.
“How funny,” Malfoy says, pulling Harry out of his trance.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Harry sighs, drawing his wand and pointing it at the blonde in front. Malfoy returns the gesture, aiming it at Harry’s head.
And as the other pairs beside them clash, Harry starts off with a loud expelliarmus which Malfoy dodges quickly, eyes following the light orb passing him at an insane speed. With a swift flick of his wand, he deflected it with a Protego, the shield shimmering silver before fading. He didn’t waste a second. His wand lashed out with a flurry of spells—Rictusempra, Stupefy, and a bright Flipendo—forcing Harry to duck, leap, and parry in rapid succession. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. He tried to anticipate Malfoy’s movements, but the blonde was fluid, almost impossibly quick. Every dodge, every pivot felt precise, calculated—like Malfoy had memorized Harry’s rhythm before the duel even began. Sparks of magic collided between them, casting flickering shadows across the walls as their classmates continued their own battles.
It somehow reminds him of a specific moment just months before, in a familiar bathroom.
It’s when Harry’s wand blasts a fast strike that Malfoy stumbles slightly, his robes getting caught in one of the floorboards—exposing what seems to be a pale, silvery string that hangs on his lower back.
If Harry was stupid, he would have thought it was a tail, because it seemed so similar to that of a cat’s.
Though his view of that was cut short as Malfoy immediately pulled his robes along, uttering a spell that Harry had barely dodged. He was visibly distracted, and even the professor had noticed.
“Giving up, Potter?” Malfoy snarls.
“You wish.” Harry replies before pointing his arm up sharply, pointing his wand towards Malfoy at a blinding speed before uttering another spell.
Though, Harry’s mind was far away from his body—all he could think about was that odd thing on Malfoy’s back. He tries to get a glance at their professor, see what he might say about it, but he doesn't move a finger. He watched the battle intently, instead, as well as the duels of other pairs.
What the fuck?
It was so exposed just moments before. Any one with eyes could have seen. There’s no way the professor hadn’t seen that. Malfoy wasn’t slick with it, either, he was also somewhat distracted as though he had accidentally uncovered something. As they fought, Harry could see a pinkish hue creeping its way into Draco’s cheeks—and there it was again.
In between fast movements, Harry could still clearly see the moving bulge underneath Malfoy’s beanie. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he wasn’t. Definitely not, because during the last few minutes of their duel, Malfoy grabs on to his beanie again when it almost falls. It wasn’t because of how fast he was dodging Harry’s attacks, but because of the movement beneath it. Harry knew that well. He was practically paying more attention to that than the actual duel.
He’s caught off guard when Malfoy stumbles roughly onto the ground, though he catches himself safely—and Harry sees it again. That same pale, long, tail-like thing on Malfoy’s lower back that had the color similar to his hair’s. Though it was only for a split second that it was out in the open, and if you weren’t Harry Potter, then you definitely would not have seen it.
Harry’s eyes widen as he searches for it beneath Malfoy’s robe, and he’s so distracted that he doesn't notice the incoming strike that’s aimed at his face.
“Protego!”
Shouts the professor, countering the spell before it had completely broken Harry’s head. Harry stands there panting, eyebrows furrowed as his gaze meets Malfoy’s, whose expression is contorted into a mocking look.
“Your reflexes need some sharpening, Potter,” The blonde sneers, smirking to distract himself from the very visible pink hue he could definitely feel burning in his cheeks. His grey eyes glint, sharp and teasing, and Harry could have sworn he saw something twitch beneath the crimson.
“Shut up, Malfoy.” He replies, not paying any mind to Malfoy’s piercing gaze on him.
When I find out whatever it is you’re hiding, we’ll see if you can still run that fucking mouth of yours.
Malfoy scoffs in response, reaching yet again to adjust his hat and his robes. Harry watches his every move with prying eyes, not even bothering to hide his staring anymore. He’s sure Malfoy sees him, and that’s exactly what he wants—it’s an indirect way of saying he’s on to him.
The professor decides that it’s a wrap from them two, and calls on another duo to have a duel in their place.
*
The small glimpses don’t stop there.
As they sat in the Great Hall for dinner, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off Malfoy again. He watched his every move. To how Malfoy’s hat twitched whenever Parkinson even slightly grazed his skin, when he yelped in pain when Zabini sat down, when he stretched too far back and Harry could see that tail-like thing again.
“This reminds me of back then,” Hermione says as she brings her fork to her mouth. Harry turns his head sharply towards her, “What?”
“You’re becoming obsessed with Malfoy. Again.”
Harry purses his lips, “What? I just want to figure out whatever he’s up to.”
“That’s what you said last time.” Hermione replies, her eyebrows knit as she turns to look back at Harry. He sighs as he fails to think of a response.
Though, once he’s made sure that Hermione’s dropped the topic, his eyes dart towards Malfoy again, who’s now laughing along slightly with his friends. When he calms, his eyes look downwards—then at Harry. Though, unlike yesterday, it’s Harry who breaks the contact. Pressing his lips together and looking at his food, Harry pretends to ignore Malfoy’s gaze. And he does, successfully, because when he turns to look at Malfoy again, he’s now chatting with his friends.
*
“It’s only the third day of school and you’re already throwing a party.” Hermione sighs as she places her rather heavy book on the table, barely missing Harry’s fingertips. She looks at Ron with a scowl on her face, and he seems to busy himself with the book he’s looking at, trying to avoid Hermione’s eyes.
“It’s Seamus’ party, not Ron’s, and we’re adults now, ‘Mione. A drink or two here and there isn’t all bad.” Harry replies, his elbow on the table with his cheek resting on his palm. He winces when Hermione looks at him with an agitated look, “So? You said it yourself, you’re adults now. Have some restraint and self discipline.”
“You say that but you also chugged the night away to butterbeer back at Hogsmeade.” Ron joins, covering his face with a large book. Hermione doesn’t need to say anything for Ron to feel that angered look on her face. Harry chuckles at the sight.
It was after school hours and he and Ron for sure would have been in bed sleeping right now, if it weren’t for Seamus’ sudden invitation to this ‘interhouse’ party that they call. One that isn’t hosted by the school itself, but for an actual change for once; throwing a students party where all houses were invited. And so, Ron and Harry were very eager to join (with all the intentions to get laid, on Harry’s side), and they had planned to study after school so they wouldn’t have to tomorrow, so that they could waste themselves into the night. They didn’t need to inform Hermione about them studying, either, because she was already at the library surprised to see them when they came.
“Anywho, Harry. Didn’t you mention needing help in Transfiguration?” Hermione asks. Harry nods his head in response, “Yeah. I don’t think the new lesson is doing me any good…” He says, grazing the old parchment with the heel of his palm.
“Well you should have told me you both were coming to the library today—“She says with a hint of displeasure in her tone. Harry purses his lips when he feels Ron shift slightly in his place next to him, cutting Hermione’s words when he speaks. “Well, we were only informed just minutes ago.” Hermione darts her eyes harshly at Ron, telling him to shut his mouth without the use of words. He lets out a little whimper before fixating his eyes on the text instead, whispering to Harry, “She’s feisty today.”
“…If you had told me beforehand, then I could have reached for the Transfigure Guide book before I sat.” Hermione sighs. “If you want me to teach you, you ought to grab it yourself, Harry.”
Harry stands up, the legs of the chair making a harsh screeching noise. “Right, where is it?” Harry asks. Hermione tilts her head upwards to look at him, “By the Transfiguration aisle, of course. The book for Eighth graders is on the 26th aisle. I think it’s around four shelves up…” she replies, and Harry dared not to ask her why she knew so specifically.
Without any more questioning, he leaves his seat and makes his way towards the aisle Hermione had mentioned. The torches were definitely emitting extra heat today, though they were dimly lit. But Harry refuses to acknowledge the fact that he was probably sweating because of the dark hoodie he decided to wear.
He reaches the said aisle after much walking and glancing around in search of it. As he makes his way between the tightly packed shelves, his eyes roam to find the book title Hermione had asked him to get. Though, he completely forgets why he had come there when his eyes lay on an all too familiar figure in between the tight spaces of the shelf. He narrows his eyes for a clearer view, and he sees the figure with a very eye-catching red hat, holding a book. Harry darts his eyes upwards only to be greeted by a signage that read Transfiguration.
What the bloody hell is Malfoy doing in Transfiguration?
Though, to his luck, Harry steps on something invisible and he stumbles back rashly. The shelf behind begins to wobble and it threatens to fall, intensifying the already present sweat on his forehead. And just like all the odds were against him—the shelf decides to do it very loudly. It was probably the hopes and prayers in Harry’s mind that helped the abnormally large shelf steady, and not his wood-breaking grip. As he calms, swiping the sweat off his forehead, he turns to look at Malfoy again—only to see that he was already staring at him with a hostile glare.
Before Harry could open his mouth to say something, Malfoy starts walking away at a fast pace, getting farther and farther away from view. Without a second thought, Harry’s feet start moving as though they had a mind of their own. He tails behind Malfoy closely, watching and following as the blonde walked through corridors, and finally between two shelves where they were at least the farthest from everyone else at the library.
“Malfoy—“ He says, audible enough for the other boy to hear. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy actually stops in his tracks, his back against Harry with the book still tightly clutched in his arm. For the hundredth time since the first day, Harry could have sworn something twitched beneath that damned hat he was wearing.
“Fucking what, Potter?” Malfoy snaps back, turning around slightly to look Harry in the eye. Harry gulps, pinching himself beneath the long sleeves of his hoodie as he urges himself to think of something. He doesn’t have a reply—after all, he doesn’t know himself either why he had chosen to put so much thought into Malfoy’s whole character lately.
“What? Are you just going to stand there?” Malfoy says impatiently, turning around fully before adjusting his beanie. “I’d prefer if you’d leave me alone and not watch my every move. You think I don’t see you staring at me? Is watching me being miserable entertaining to you?” He adds, his eyebrows knit tightly.
“For Salazar’s sake, Potter, I don’t plan on doing any more harm to you or your stupid friends. Stop watching my fucking back like your life depends on it.” He snarls. Harry couldn’t bring himself to answer, instead, he stands there without a thought behind his eyes, and it seems to anger Malfoy even further.
“What? Do I need to keep entertaining you? Bloody hell.”
Harry looks down, searching for that familiar sight underneath Malfoy’s jacket. Though, he’s pushed out of focus when Malfoy speaks again. “My eyes are up here, scarhead.”
Without anything to lose, Harry opens his mouth on impulse. “That hat, Malfoy—what’s underneath it?”
Malfoy scoffs at his reply, raising an eyebrow. “So this is what this is about? Can’t a bloke have a sense of fashion, Potter?”
“You call that a sense of fashion?”
“It is the new fashion for purebloods. People of low status, like you, wouldn’t know.”
“Me? Low status?” Harry scoffs. “I’m the fucking Chosen One, Malfoy, I’m sure everyone in the bloody world knows that.”
“Well then it’s a shame the Savior of the Wizarding World has a foul taste in fashion.”
“I’m not the one who’s wearing a ridiculous beanie—“ Harry’s eyes trail down, taking the obnoxiously long leather jacket that reached until his knees Malfoy is wearing to mind, “and a nasty, bland, and broken at the seams jacket.”
Malfoy places a hand on his chest, taken aback he says, “You came all the way here to talk to me about fashion?”
“Well no— but, uh, yeah,” Harry stutters. Malfoy raises his eyebrow higher, and Harry’s sweat drips from his forehead embarrassingly. “You dodged the question. I didn’t ask about the hat, I asked about whatever’s underneath it.”
Malfoy mouth gapes in hopes to say something, but nothing comes out. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks at Harry, whose lips are forming into a smirk. “Hit a nerve?” He says, tone teasing as if he’s just uncovered a secret.
“This is pointless, Potter. I’ve proved myself several times in court—I don’t have any ulterior motives. Get off my back.” Malfoy hisses, turning his back in an attempt to leave. But as he shifts his feet in hopes to scurry away—Harry launches forward, grabbing Malfoy’s forearm, causing the blonde to stumble backwards. The beanie sat on Malfoy’s head loosely because he had forgotten to adjust it beforehand, and the sudden force had caused it to fall.
And after three days of questioning, Harry has his answer.
Nestled in Draco’s pale blond hair was a pair of catlike ears— fluffy and unreal. They were dusted the same silvery-gold as his locks, the fur plush and soft-looking, tapering to delicate points that twitched ever so slightly. They didn’t look cursed so much as grown—warm, alive—utterly out of place on a boy who had once prided himself on immaculate appearances.
Malfoy’s eyes widen, cursing beneath his breath as he freezes in place, no longer bothering to cover the embarrassment plastered all over his face. Harry does the same, his eyes remaining fixed on the pair of ears atop Malfoy’s hair—shyly twitching and faced down as if they worked in sync with Malfoy’s face. His grip on Malfoy’s forehand stills, not planning on letting go anytime soon.
He wanted to touch them so bad.
“Malfoy, what the fu—“
Malfoy yanks his arm out of Harry’s hold, grabbing his crimson beanie from the floor and equipping it on his head hastily. He doesn’t look Harry in the eye when he starts racing out of the corridor. Startled, Harry follows, shouting his name in hopes for the blonde to hear—but he doesn’t stop. Malfoy runs out the library, past Ron and Hermione as well as the other confused students.
“Was that Malfoy?” Ron asks as he and Hermione look at each other with a baffled expression. Hermione shrugs, “I think so.”
Though, their attentions are grabbed when a familiar brunette also passes by their table running—and their baffled expressions turn into a bewildered one.
“Was that Harry!?” Shouts Ron. “I think so!” Hermione also shouts out.
Then after a split second, it clicked in both of their heads; Harry chasing Malfoy. Surely that wouldn’t end well. And like their thoughts were shared, they snap both their heads towards each other, both their eyes widened. Before they knew it, they were also rushing outside the library.
*
“Malfoy, wait!” Harry shouts, only a fair distance separating him from Malfoy. The hallway was dark, distorting his vision slightly, and only the bright red beanie helped him pinpoint Malfoy’s location.
“Fuck off,” Malfoy shouts back, his heavy breathing echoing throughout the halls.
The sun had already set now, and most of the hallways were empty, which had Harry thanking the deities above because no one could see them this way, and no one would have the wrong idea. Unbeknownst to Harry, Malfoy leads him to a bathroom, specifically the sixth floor’s, and it brings back memories to them both. Bad ones.
Malfoy was facing the mirror when Harry finally caught up. His grey eyes meet Harry’s inside the reflection of the glass, and the mere sight of Harry’s face had formed a scowl on his own.
“Malfoy.” Harry breaks the silence, his tone and expression stern. “What the hell happened to you?”
“None of your damn business.” Malfoy replies sharply. On cue, something shifts beneath the ridiculous jacket he was wearing—and there, Harry sees what he’s been trying to see since earlier.
A tail.
Though, it was no longer surprising. He had practically already guessed what it was he was seeing earlier during their duel when he first saw the pair of ears nestled on Malfoy’s hair.
Harry exhales, “Malfoy… You’ve got ears…” he lowers his voice.
“I’m aware.” Malfoy replies, turning again to look at Harry in the mirror. The brunette only stands there, his feet refusing to move any closer.
“And… a tail?” Harry adds.
Malfoy grunts, “I said I’m fucking aware!” His voice echoes throughout the bathroom stalls making Harry flinch. Perhaps he had gone too far—because if he woke up with cat ears and a tail one day, he’d also be embarrassed to the fullest.
“What— What? How? And why,” Harry asks with concern in his tone. The way he acted so caring and concerned only irked Malfoy more.
“Again, it’s none of your damn business,”
“Malfoy…” Harry’s words linger throughout the halls. A brief silence swallows the two for a moment. “Look, I’m just trying to— help.” He continues, his mouth struggling to utter that last word. Help. He wanted to help Malfoy? How odd of him.
Malfoy scoffs, his back still turned against Harry. “There’s that damn savior complex of yours again. What makes you think you can solve my problems before I can?”
Harry steps closer, “It’s called being kind. Never heard of it?” He says, now standing just beside Malfoy. Though to his surprise, Malfoy doesn’t push him away like how he expected him to. Instead, he stands there with his blonde waves covering his eyes, making it harder for Harry to read his expression.
After a while, Malfoy finally breaks the silence.
“Look, Potter, if you’re here to humiliate me— then go on. I don’t even give a shit anymore. My life’s as bad as it already is.” He tilts his head, his gaze now on Harry. “Go on. Laugh, mock me, spread this newly found information to everyone. I mean, isn’t this why you were so driven to find out my secret? Well there you have it, hope you’re amused.”
Harry looks back at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t plan on doing either of that,”
“Then what exactly are you trying to get out of this?”
Harry sighs, crossing his arms and leaning on one of the sinks. “Just… want to help you,” he looks away for a moment, scratching the back of his head he says, “Can I, uh, see it again?”
He had expected Malfoy to say no. Expected him to run out of the bathroom or pull his middle finger in front of his face. Malfoy does none of that, instead, he obliges—pulling down the absurd hat.
There it is again; fluffy, catlike ears springing out like they’ve just seen the light for the first time in years. Malfoy doesn’t lift his head, he stays with his head hung low, refusing to look Harry in the eye.
“In the most respectful way possible, Malfoy,” He says in a hushed tone. “What happened?”
Malfoy doesn’t reply the first few seconds. He breathes heavily into the sink, the pair of ears on top of his hair twitching in response.
“They hexed me,” he says in between breaths.
“Yeah?” Harry replies, his voice oddly comforting.
“They must have recognized me. Then—I don’t even know. They uttered a spell I couldn’t quite hear.” He continues as he brings his head up. “After a while, I figured, they must have tried to transfigure me permanently.”
He says, swiping his fingers through his hair as his eyes meet Harry’s, who’s watching him intently. Malfoy scoffs after a brief pause. “They were probably some incompetent idiot, though. They couldn’t even perform a proper transfiguration spell.”
An awkward silence consumes them both. Malfoy feels something tight in his chest finally go loose for once, and he finds himself breathing lighter than usual. Harry’s eyes dart down towards the large pocket on Malfoy’s leather jacket, and his eyes lay upon the book Malfoy was holding just moments ago.
“That’s why you were reading Transfiguration books?”
Malfoy nods in response, looking away from Harry when he feels a pinkish hue start to show on his cheeks.
“I’m glad we could have some… closure here, Malfoy. Without you being all difficult.” Harry comments. Suddenly, the terrible blush on Malfoy’s cheeks disappear when he looks back at Harry again, this time with his eyebrows knitted.
“For how long now?” Harry asks.
“A month.” Malfoy pauses, “Maybe more.”
“And you didn’t go to McGonagall?”
Malfoy lets out a bitter breath. “And say what? Hello Professor, someone’s hexed me to look like a kneazle! A cute one, at that. Please help me!” He says in mockery.
“A cute one indeed.” Harry says beneath his breath,(though, cringing slightly,)making sure it’s not audible enough for Malfoy to hear—though he fails, because Malfoy’s cheeks turn pink and his catlike ears start drooping down.
Before Malfoy could say anything else, Harry opened his mouth to speak first. “I’ll help you.”
“Sure you will.”
“I’m serious.”
Malfoy’s catlike ears shoot up as he raises an eyebrow. Harry had to hold himself back from smirking at the way Malfoy’s ears reacted in sync with his expressions.
“Why? Surely you’re doing this because you’re expecting something in return, are you not?”
Harry shakes his head, “No.”
It’s the way his face looks a little serious for Malfoy to think he’d have other motives. Malfoy sighs, “…Fine.” He looks at Harry, “Even if you do have something up your sleeve, I’ve nothing to lose, anyway.”
Harry laughs slightly, making Malfoy’s ears perk, betraying the scowl on his face. “I’ve got nothing to lose either. I just… want to help you, and once I set my mind on something, I don’t get convinced otherwise easily.” Malfoy scoffs. Malfoy already knew that. Everyone does, given his stubborn nature.
“Potter.” Malfoy says with a stern look. Harry hums in response. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll fucking hex you to next year.” Malfoy adds. Harry thinks about nodding his head in response, but he remembers the very thing he told himself just before the first day of school—live his life to the fullest.
“I won’t tell anyone on one condition.”
“…bloody hell. What?”
“You let me touch them.”
Malfoy’s eyes widen in surprise, but when he looks at Harry, his expression is as serious as ever.
“Touch what?” Malfoy asks obliviously.
“That,” Harry says, pointing above Malfoy’s head.
“You—“ Malfoy stutters, and Harry could have sworn he’s just heard him swear a thousand curses underneath his breath. “…What—why would you want to—what the fuck?”
“Come on, Malfoy. One caress won’t hurt.”
Malfoy bites his lower lip. He struggles to get the words out his mouth, but he gives in after much self convincing.
“…Just don’t tell anyo—nhh!”
Malfoy’s words are cut off when he feels Harry’s fingertips graze over one ear. He feels himself getting dizzy—and worse—leaning into Harry’s touch. His eyes start to close, savouring the warmth that was petting both his ears, scratching them in just the right places that has him melting right then and there. He doesn’t notice it, but he’s now slumped sideways on Harry’s side, Harry’s free arm keeping him steady.
“That feel good?” Harry smirks.
Malfoy only barely hears him. His eyes are half lidded as his sensitive ears continue being caressed. “Nhh.. F—fuck you,” he mutters.
After a while, Harry feels his arm tire and he pulls it away from Malfoy’s hair, earning a groan from the blonde. It took all the strength in Malfoy’s body not to grab Harry’s arm and direct it towards his ears again. When he brings himself back to reality, he shoots up, looking away as a terrible blush forms once again on both his cheeks.
For a moment, Harry could see the blonde tail on Malfoy’s lower back curl beneath leather.
Damn.
I should have asked to touch that too.
Footsteps fading in and gradually nearing was what got both of them patting their robes and steadying themselves again, awaiting for whoever it was approaching. Harry steps a few feet away from Malfoy, and he watches as Malfoy brings his crimson beanie back on his head. He watches as Malfoy fixes the strands of hair he kept sticking out. He watches as Malfoy pulls down his leather jacket, and he could have sworn he saw Malfoy curl his tail upwards to have it hidden from the naked eye. Harry won’t deny it, Malfoy was sort of hiding it well. If it were anyone else aside from Harry, they never would have come up with the wild theory that Malfoy was a catboy.
“Stop right—!” A familiar voice shouts from the doorway, startling the two. “There…?”
“Ron,” Harry says as he watches Ron cling onto the doorframe, trying to catch his breath as his eyes dart from Malfoy, then to Harry.
“What’s going on here?” The ginger says once he’s finally caught his breath. His expression is filled with confusion as he looks at Harry’s whose cheeks are flushed, then at Malfoy, who looks as though he’s trying to make himself look elegant and serious again, but his cheeks are even colored than Harry’s
“Talking, Ron,” Harry replies. Ron snorts, “Right. Talking. Then care to explain why you both ran out of the library?”
Harry looks at Malfoy, who’s looking back at him in hopes that Harry would say something, but he ends up saying nothing.
“Believe it or not, Weasley, not every interaction I have with Potter ends up with him getting hexed or whatever it is you’re implying.” Malfoy replies rudely, earning an angered expression from Ron. Harry shifts his feet, approaching Ron and grabbing him by the arm when he reaches. “I’ll explain everything to you once we get out of here—yeah?” Harry says as he tries pulling him away, only to find Hermione standing in the corridor just behind Ron.
Ron looks at Harry, then at Malfoy, who’s scowling at him, and Ron replies by returning the gesture. He lets himself be escorted out by Harry, but before Harry disappears from Malfoy’s view, he lets himself look into those grey orbs again.
“Don’t tell anyone.” Malfoy says in a very hushed tone.
“I won't,"
“I swear, if this spreads, I—“
“It won’t.” Harry replies back, his tone gradually rising.
He takes in Malfoy’s figure one last time before disappearing into the darkness along with his friends.
Harry couldn’t sleep that very night. Each time he closed his eyes, his thoughts betrayed him—drifting back to Malfoy’s sharp inhale, the way his body had tensed when he was caught, the faint, almost unconscious curl of that tail as if it had a mind of its own. Harry hated how vividly he remembered it: the pale sweep of fur against dark fabric, the subtle shift of Malfoy’s hips when he tried to hide it, the heat that had crept into his cheeks for reasons Harry refused to name. And Harry refused to acknowledge it—but Malfoy’s expressions throughout that entire meeting sent feelings to his cock, which was now tenting in his pants.
His mind lingered where it shouldn’t, tracing movements that had lasted only seconds but felt uncomfortably intimate in hindsight. By the time sleep should have claimed him, Harry was wide awake—heart restless, thoughts unsteady—far too aware that what unsettled him most wasn’t the magic of it at all, but the way Malfoy’s new features had lodged themselves somewhere low and lingering in his chest, refusing to let go.