Chapter Text
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – January 1996
Draco paced the length of the Kitchens, muttering irritably under his breath.
The elves that were still awake watched him with wide saucer-like eyes, whispering between themselves as the minutes dwindled by. As the clock inevitably struck nine, Draco sat down at one of the tables with a great huff.
As he did so, Dobby immediately shuffled forwards, bearing a tray laden with a steaming pot, mugs, and biscuits.
“Draco Malfoy is looking most upset, sir,” he observed, waggling his pointed ears and blinking up at Draco with those bulbous green eyes of his.
Green eyes that were almost the same shade as a certain someone’s.
A certain someone who was late.
Draco scoffed out a mirthless laugh, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. “Yes, well…” He harrumphed, before looking down at the plate of biscuits and feeling his face twist with dismay.
Things truly weren’t going his way.
Harry hadn’t been on the Hogwarts Express yet again. He’d seen barely hide nor hair of his Lions all day, and he’d done his first patrol back all alone. And now, to make matters worse, the biscuits weren’t even the chocolate ones – only the boringly plain ones.
Patrolling alone had almost been peaceful, but the silence from where Harry would usually be at his side was deafening. The moonlit corridors had been gusty and melancholic, the bitter winter wind howling outside the windows.
With a glance at the clock and a deep sigh, Draco decided to call it a night and give up. But, just as he got to his feet, there came the creaking sound of the kitchen portrait swinging open.
Hope and annoyance mingling in his chest, he shot up, craning his head to peer around the corner as familiar hushed voices filled the dimly lit room.
Hermione hopped through the hole first, giving Draco a friendly smile as she jumped down to the flagstone floor. She was followed by Ronald, who gave him a lazy salute in greeting.
Draco’s smile fell, however, when Ronald turned and closed the portrait behind him.
It was just the two of them, so it seemed…
Draco didn’t even need to ask, Hermione’s expression forming something apologetic as the two Gryffindors drew near.
“He's with Snape,” she explained – which didn’t really explain much, actually – as she strode across the room and sat across from him. She denied the service from the elves with a deep disapproval, frowning at Ronald when he gladly grabbed a plate of biscuits.
“Why, exactly, is he with Professor Snape?” Draco asked tetchily, folding his arms.
Ronald and Hermione exchanged a heavy look before Hermione took a sharp breath and said, “Remedial Potions.”
“Remedial –?” Draco broke off with a sharp scoff. “Griffinshit. I don’t buy that for one second.”
“It’s really not our place to say,” said Hermione, wincing and tucking a braid behind her ear.
Falling back in his chair, Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine. Where have you three been, anyway? I didn’t catch you on the train.”
“Now, that we can tell you,” said Ronald, “We took the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade.”
Draco blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t aware one could take the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade…”
Ronald shrugged and promptly stuffed another biscuit into his mouth. “Tufhns ouff oo canff,” he said idly, spraying crumbs across the table.
Draco scrunched his nose in disdain.
Hermione shared his sentiment, rolling her eyes. “Anyway,” she said tartly, “How are things with you?”
Draco fidgeted, feeling incredibly disconcerted facing just the two of them. Clearing his throat, he looked down at his hands. “I've got Dora onboard, now,” he murmured. “She’s doing a background check on the Pink Toad, and she’s told me to keep digging. I'm waiting to receive word from her...”
“Oh!” said Hermione, looking rather surprised. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
Draco scoffed softly. “It's hope,” he said. “I feel like I'm getting somewhere finally.”
Ronald and Hermione exchanged another unreadable look, before Hermione cleared her throat lightly and pulled out a folder from her bag.
For a while, the three of them discussed their plans for this term's S.A meetings, and how they were going to continue to evade Umbridge. Hermione eventually relented to the elves at some point, accepting a cup of tea with a weary sigh.
When the kitchen clock chimed for eleven, the two Gryffindors left, yawning and stretching, and bidding Draco goodnight.
But Draco did not leave the kitchens immediately. He stayed behind a little longer. Only a little longer, just to see…
But the hands ticked on well past the hour.
Greatly disappointed, Draco pushed away from the table, his stool scraping against the flagstones.
He was just buttoning up his cloak when the portrait was flung wide open.
Blinking in shock, Draco watched on as, in a flurry of silvery fabric and messy black hair, Harry appeared, panting as he adjusted his stupidly round glasses.
“Oh, thank God!” he exclaimed when he saw Draco. He was out of breath, bracing his hands against his knees.
Raising an eyebrow and folding his arms, Draco glowered with all his might. “And what sort of time do you call this?” he snapped, feeling more than a little petulant.
“Sorry,” said Harry, “I was with Snape…”
“So I'm told,” Draco drawled bitterly as he drew nearer, pinning Harry with a hard look. “And I know for a fact you aren't taking Remedial Potions, as abysmal as your brewing skills are. So, what is it?”
Harry hissed, rubbing at his forehead. “He – he's teaching me how to close off my mind from Voldemort using something called Ocular-mency…?”
Draco felt his ire melt away immediately. “Occlumency?” he asked, blinking. “Severus is teaching you Occlumency?”
“Yeah…” Harry sighed, softly shaking his head. “I don't like it…”
Concern overriding any of his previous huffiness or puffiness, Draco frowned, stepping even closer to inspect Harry’s rather sweaty and pale face. “Well, are you alright?”
Harry nodded weakly. “It’s just numb, that's all…” He waved a hand around his head. “It’s given me a right headache. “
Draco felt something akin to fury spike through him. “No,” he said.
Harry looked at him. “What?”
“No,” Draco said again. “No, no, no. Come with me,” he demanded, taking Harry's hand and crossing the room in three long strides
“Er,” said Harry, letting Draco tug him out of the Kitchens and into the corridor.
“That's not how you begin Occlumency training and Severus ought to know that,” Draco carried on waspishly. “He can be such a prick, come on.”
“Where are we going?” asked Harry.
“The Room. We need a quiet spot so I can show you the basics,” Draco explained concisely.
“Okay,” said Harry. But then, he stopped walking, which in turn made Draco stop, too.
“Er, the basics of what, exactly?” he asked awkwardly.
Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Occlumency. Have you not been listening to a word I've been saying?!”
Harry's mouth fell open. He pulled a face halfway between bafflement and awe. “You can do Occlumency?!
Draco smirked, heat blossoming in his cheeks as pride tugged at his chest. “Yes. I had a very good teacher.”
Harry frowned. “Snape?”
Draco's smirk widened. “My mother.”
Harry seemed to mull this over, shaking his head. “I'm not sure, I feel quite peaky and –”
Draco tutted. “That is because Severus Snape is a moody old greasewart.”
Harry sighed, an exhausted relief seeping onto his face. “You can say that again.”
Draco’s lips quirked, and he tugged on Harry’s hand. “Severus Snape is a moody old greasewart.”
Harry chuffed a soft laugh, picking up his feet.
Draco ignored the fact that they were essentially holding hands as they journeyed through the castle, and hated the way he felt so immeasurably disappointed when they reached the seventh floor and he had to let go.
Looking around for any prying eyes, Draco muttered to Harry, “How does this work again?”
Harry looked lost for a moment, just staring dazedly at Draco, before he seemed to snap out of it. “Er, well, we pace and think about what we need,” he said awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck.
Arching an eyebrow, Draco nodded, and began to pace back and forth along the strip of wall opposite the tapestry of ballet-dancing trolls.
We need a calm place to study Occlumency… We need a peaceful place…
After three counts of walking in long, thought-filled strides, there came a sharp click. Draco looked up to find that a small black door appeared in the stone. He looked fleetingly at Harry before pushing it open.
The Room of Requirement looked similar to how it did for S.A meetings, however it was a mere echo of that room's layout.
Instead of dozens of squashy cushions scattered across the floor, there were hundreds of floating candles burning in a large circle, with a path leading towards the middle.
In the place of the high, stone ceiling, the stretch of the room above them swirled with enchanted blues and purples, a mesmerising galaxy of stars shining above alike the enchantment on the Great Hall.
A sense of calm tranquillity filled the room, the sound of distant waves crashing on the shore
As they ventured further into the room, Harry whistled lowly. Draco, on the other hand, began to take his shoes off.
“Er, Draco, what are you doing?” asked Harry, sounding rather alarmed.
“It's much easier with bare feet,” Draco explained simply as he shimmied up his robe skirt and began peeling off his woollen tights.
Harry seemed to be having a hard time wrapping his head around this, watching as Draco stepped out of his tights and onto the cold stone floor.
Eventually, Draco tutted and rolled his eyes. “Quick sticks! Shoes off, Potter!”
His demand spurred Harry into motion, as he quickly lifted up his own robe skirt to reveal the tattered denim trousers he wore beneath, yanking his trainers and socks off.
Draco couldn't help but snicker, hiding his amusement behind his hand as he glided further into the room, down the candlelit path.
It was only as he heard Harry’s pattering footsteps behind him that it occurred to him he may not have the foggiest clue how to do this…He was surely quite rusty, and had only ever worked with his own shields in Occlumency… But, then, how hard could the reverse truly be?
“It's like ice cream, isn't it?” he asked as Harry joined him in the centre of the room.
“What?” asked Harry, the lenses of his glasses flashing in the candlelight.
“The pain, it's like when you eat ice cream too quickly and get frostbite.” Draco raised a finger to Harry’s temple. “Right here.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, sounding oddly breathless. “Er – yeah, exactly like that.”
Taking a deep breath, Draco glanced to the starry ceiling for strength. “Right. Now, I need you to hold both of my hands and look into my eyes.”
Harry just stared blankly. “Erm – why, exactly?”
“To better establish a connection?” Draco scoffed. “I can't very well teach you Occlumency if I can't get a proper feel of your magical signature, can I?”
Harry looked incredibly uncertain. Draco rolled his eyes. “As tempting as it is, I promise I won't look at anything you don't want me to see.”
Now frowning, Harry said, “But, Snape –”
“Chucked you right into the deep end with no armbands on,” Draco snapped before huffing. “My mother will hear of this.”
He'd have to pen a very heavily worded letter to her, and Severus would definitely be getting the cold shoulder from him during their next Potions –
All thoughts of scolding his Head of House vanished as two warm hands took his own. Draco looked up into Harry's green, green eyes and felt his stomach flutter.
“So, like this?” asked Harry.
Draco looked down at their intertwined fingers and felt his heart thump unhelpfully in his chest. The contrast of their snow white and golden-brown skin in the candlelight.
“...Y-Yes.”
Harry grinned toothily, looking far too pleased with himself. Draco scoffed and sniffed haughtily.
“Now, first things first…”
Harry seemed highly sceptical about Draco’s methods, but eventually Draco managed to convince him that meditating and controlled breathing played a big part in achieving a calm enough headspace to learn Occlumency.
Harry told him it was really ‘Trelawney-ish.’ Draco told him to bugger off.
When they finally reached the next stage, Draco took out his wand and fixed Harry with a sincere look. “Now, I've never been the one doing the casting, but I mean, how hard can it really be?”
His eyes widening, Harry gulped. “Er –”
“Let's find out, shall we?” Draco said quickly before swiftly waving his wand and confidently exclaiming, “Legilimens!”
With startling force, Draco found himself hurtling into a tempest of rage and screaming injustice. Burning shades of angry red waves crashing against each other crowded his vision, bolts of bright green lightning and storm clouds of the deepest black filling his mind's eye.
Harry.
Draco pulled away as best he could, branching his mind to softly embrace the furious storm instead. To gently dip his toes into the water as opposed to diving in head first.
As he did so, Harry’s voice rang out, echoing as though in a vast chamber.
“Draco? Is that you?”
“Yes,” Draco replied, and dipped the first metaphorical toe in.
Vague flashes of memories that weren't his own crossed his mind. He saw mundane things like Harry tying his shoelaces, or dribbling toothpaste down his robe.
He saw his Lions sitting around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room; Ronald and Hermione's smiling faces, their laughter sounding like a distant buzz.
He saw Harry running for his life through a dark graveyard. He saw his own father's furious face, silvery eyes burning with icy rage in the light of the flames burning beneath a great cauldron.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Draco steeled his nerves. “Try to resist me, Harry…”
As soon as Draco spoke, the memory shifted and changed again. This time, Draco saw himself perching upon the piano stool at Grimmauld, beaming away as he played the Midwinter Reel. In Harry’s memory, Draco couldn't help but notice he looked oddly Veela-like; the warm candlelight gleaming off of his wavy white-blond hair –
POP!
Draco was promptly forced out of the river of memories.
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to find a pair of mesmerizingly green ones staring back at him.
“Er…” said Harry, fidgeting. “Did you see all of that?”
“Bits and pieces,” Draco replied carefully, taking a deep breath. “How do you feel?”
“Tingly,” Harry said, frowning deeply. “Refreshed, even…No, wait,” He looked up at Draco, blinking in astonishment. “I feel amazing.”
Draco smirked softly. “You've just created your basic shield. It's wafer thin, and you'll have to work on strengthening it…”
Harry softly shook his head, looking dumbfounded. “So, Snape just…?”
“He should've prepared you first,” Draco explained. “I can understand that there is little time, and he's not your number one fan, but with this sort of thing, brute force is not the way. The mind is a delicate thing…”
Harry frowned again. “How do you know so much about this?”
“I've been doing this since I was six years old,” Draco said with a shrug. “Mother thought it very important that I guarded my mind, and by Merlin, she was right…”
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, his lightning scar crinkling with how deeply his brow was furrowed.
Draco huffed. “You've got another question, I can tell.”
Harry cast him an awkward look. “So, if you've been doing this since you were six, how come you still got possessed in second year?”
Draco felt his face shutter.
“Sorry,” Harry said at once, “I just – I meant –!”
“The mind and the soul are two entirely different matters,” Draco intervened calmly. “We have more control over our mind. We can adjust how we think, how we view the world. The mind is like a domesticated pet. Our souls, however, are less contained. The untameable part of our being that runs wild and free.”
“Wow, er, okay,” said Harry, blinking rapidly.
Draco ducked his head. “But, like a wild animal, the soul is also more vulnerable to being trapped.”
Harry was quiet for a long time, just watching Draco, observing him with those damned green eyes. Eventually, he said, “I'm sorry.”
Draco scoffed. “It's not your fault. I was the one who took that damned diary, wasn't I?”
“Still. We’re friends, and we didn't – I didn’t do anything. I could see something was wrong with you, but I was so focused on figuring out who the Heir of Slytherin was, I just –”
“You saved my life, Harry,” Draco interrupted softly. “I rather think that makes up for it.”
There was complete silence in the room for a while. After a moment, Draco dropped down to sit on the cool marble floor.
“You know, I still can't use a quill because of him,” he murmured before snorting. “It’s so ridiculous. The scratching sensation and ink splatters… they just set me on edge.”
Harry looked stricken, following him down and sitting beside him. “I thought you used pens because of the whole pureblood rebellion thing!”
Draco just shrugged, letting his head drop onto Harry’s shoulder. Familiar, woodsy warmth comforted him. Draco let out a deep sigh, and closed his eyes.
For a moment, the two of them just sat there. It was almost peaceful. But, like an unwelcome guest, flashes of what Draco had seen in Harry’s mind came back to him and his stomach clenched with a familiar weight. As if sensing his inner turmoil, Harry took a deep breath.
“Draco –”
“I want you to meet me every evening after you have Occlumency with Severus,” Draco interrupted, shooting to his feet. “Come to me, and we'll work on strengthening your shields, yes?”
Harry only looked up at him, seeming a little disconcerted. “Er, yeah. Of course.”
Nodding sharply, Draco quickly walked away, grabbing his things as he went. When he reached the door, he looked over his shoulder at Harry, who was left alone standing barefoot in the middle of the room.
“Goodnight, Harry.”
“... Night.”
With that, Draco slipped away.
***
Dolores Jane Umbridge’s office was still as nauseatingly pink as it was suffocatingly warm. The air was thick with the scent of sweet perfume, cloying and stifling, and her fluffy kittens mewled and frolicked along the floral china plates coating the rose tinted walls.
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, shooting furtive glances at the other figures who occupied the office. Pansy sat beside him, while Greg and Vince loomed in the back with Millicent Bulstrode.
Selwyn, Montague, and a sixth year girl also lingered nearby. And seated a bit closer to Umbridge’s desk was Warrington, whose smirk was directed almost exclusively at Draco.
Umbridge herself was perched at her desk, sipping from a delicate floral teacup. Her smile was wide and saccharine, but her beady eyes glinted with something sinister.
“Um,” Pansy piped up after a while. “Sorry, but why, exactly, have we all been summoned here?”
Umbridge set her teacup down with a dainty clink as she looked around the room full of Slytherins. “I have summoned each of you, Miss Parkinson, as you are all examples of model students. I have brought you here because I believe Hogwarts is in desperate need of… order. Discipline. Proper control…
“In my short time here I have noticed quite a few things. I have noticed,” Umbridge continued, her tone darkening just a fraction, “that certain students have been far too comfortable flouting the rules and disrespecting authority… And it simply cannot continue."
Draco heard Pansy let out a tiny gasp beside him, and Draco had a sneaking suspicion he knew why.
“You want us to help you catch them, miss?” asked Greg.
Umbridge chuckled, a sound that was more unsettling than reassuring. “Oh, no. Not just catch them, Mr Goyle. I want you to ensure that they understand such behaviour will not be tolerated at the new and improved Hogwarts. I want you to be my eyes and ears throughout the school.”
“You will need to be subtle, discreet. But I have every confidence that you will rise to the occasion."
“Who do you want us to watch?” Asked Montague.
Umbridge’s smile faded into something colder as she rose to her feet.
“Harry Potter,” she said darkly. “As well as anyone who dares associate with him.”
Draco pointedly turned his gaze away as he felt Selwyn look over at him.
“I know for certain that he is meeting with students to teach them defensive spells,” Umbridge continued. “This is an impeachment on the newly appointed rules. I intend to capture the members of his little club in the act. As High Inquisitor, I have permission from Minister Fudge himself to intervene. We cannot allow Potter's insubordination to spread any further.”
“I've selected all of you because you're exemplary students, loyal to the Ministry's efforts, and capable of apprehending those who should step out of line.”
Umbridge leant back in her chair, surveying them with a kind of twisted satisfaction. “If you find anything, you will report directly to me. And remember, dearies, this is our little secret. No one outside this room must know the true extent of your authority… yet.”
Umbridge’s smile returned, wider than ever. "Now! let us raise a toast, shall we?" She lifted her teacup, the floral pattern almost sickeningly cheerful in the dim light. "To a new, orderly Hogwarts!"
Everyone awkwardly lifted their teacups as Umbridge had insisted they all partake in her horrid tea, murmuring, "To a new Hogwarts," with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
As they sipped the overly sweet liquid, Warrington clinked his cup deliberately against Draco’s, his gaze lingering a moment too long. Draco, swallowing hard, ignored him and focused instead on Umbridge.
“Well, that was really weird,” said Vince as they walked back into the Slytherin common room.
“No, but don't you see?” Draco muttered, pulling his Snakes towards their usual spot. “We're in,” he whispered.
“In where?” asked Greg confusedly, scratching his head.
“Umbridge’s good books!” Draco hissed hushedly. “She has no idea we're part of ‘Potter's little club,’ she really thinks we hate him.”
Greg and Vince still seemed confused, but Pansy’s eyes were sparkling. When they'd spread out along the sofas, she leant in to Draco conspiratorially.
“This is that Inquisitorial Squad thingamajig you mentioned, isn't it?”
When Draco nodded, Pansy let out a small squeal, kicking her feet excitedly. “I love that little book of yours, this is so stellar!”
Draco only sighed, looking out into the depths of the Black Lake and watching as a great ugly trout chased after a shoal of minnow. It was clear Umbridge wanted Hogwarts to change, and not for the better.
Draco wondered how long it'd be before he heard back from Dora.
***
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – February 1996
Three weeks passed, during which Draco received no letters or Floo calls from his cousin. He would check the cubby holes in the Owlery every evening just in case an incompetent owl had accidentally failed to send him a letter, but to no avail.
As the Muggles would say, there was complete radio silence.
Dora's lack of communication could've been due to the fact that there was a mass breakout from Azkaban, their deranged aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, among the ten dark wix who had escaped.
It had the entire Ministry of Magic in a tizzy, and the DMLE on high alert.
It did not bode well.
Another thing that didn't bode well was the fact that S.A meetings were becoming increasingly harder to attend. With the first rustlings of Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad underway, Draco and his Snakes found themselves in the thick of it.
They took it in turns to skip out on a meeting, misleading and diverting the members of the Inquisitorial Squad if they happened to be tracking the S.A that night. They did their best to throw the Pink Toad's little minions off the Snidget Association's scent, and only narrowly avoided being caught one week by Montague, who had been searching the corridors for any sign of them.
As January trundled achingly slow into February, the thick winter snow thawed from the castle grounds, leaving wet, muddy fields and the first white snowdrops in its stead. Quidditch practice picked back up for the new year, and with it came the six foot nuisance that was Cassius Warrington.
He was a thorn in Draco’s side. A rash that simply wouldn't go away.
It seemed as though, with Umbridge’s new arrangement, he thought himself to be on Draco’s level. He kept finding opportunities to sit next to Draco at meals, throwing suggestive comments and lame lines in his direction… Pansy said it was harassment, Draco didn’t know what to think.
It was a sticky situation. He was Draco’s Quidditch Captain, he had the power to kick him off the team if he so pleased.
“So, Malfoy, there's a Hogsmeade trip during half term,” said Warrington one evening after training, coming out of the Slytherin showers in nothing but a grotty grey towel. “You. Me. Three Broomsticks. How about it?”
Draco could feel Greg and Vince tense the way they always did whenever their Captain approached, but Draco wasn't worried in the slightest.
Smirking coyly and ignoring Greg and Vince's shocked expressions, Draco fluttered his lashes at the Slytherin Captain as he purred, “I'll meet you there at half past two.”
“Why did you agree to that?” asked Greg as they left the changing rooms.
“Relax, Gregory, darling,” Draco said silkily. “I have a plan.”
And have a plan he did indeed. Oh, yes. Draco was going to put that slimeball in his place alright.
***
Harry's eyes swept over the crowded Room of Requirement before they landed on Draco. His lips tweaked in a small smile before he waved his wand and exclaimed, “Expecto Patronum!”
Everyone had to shield their faces as a bright, silvery stag immediately burst forth from Harry’s wand tip, leaping majestically through the air.
Even Harry seemed slightly surprised at how blindingly luminous it was.
Oohs and Ahhs filled the room as everyone turned to watch the wispy creature do a lap around the room before circling back to Harry, regally bowing its neck, and dispersing into silvery mist.
Seeming oddly flustered, Harry cleared his throat. “So, er, yeah. That's how you produce a Corporeal Patronus. Think of a happy thought. A memory, a place, a – erm – a person. Anything that makes you feel happy, and, er, really channel that feeling into the spell.”
The S.A promptly spread out across the room, cries of “Expecto Patronum!” filling the air moments later.
After nearly half an hour, creatures made of shining silver mist began to appear, rushing and frolicking about the room as gleeful laughter filled the air.
Luna's hare bounded up to the ceiling. Ginevra's horse trotted and reared up on its silvery hind legs.
Diggory’s labrador pranced and played happily with Chang’s elegant swan. The sight of it was so sickeningly lovey-dovey it made Draco want to gouge his eyes out.
Hermione's otter gamboled above her, and Ronald's terrier rushed in excited circles.
Even Pansy had managed to conjure one. She shimmied with glee as her grinning silvery spotted hyena trotted around her.
But Draco, much like Neville and many others, could only produce clouds of wispy silver mist.
No matter how much he racked his brain for a happy memory, he couldn't produce anything near Corporeal. He thought of receiving anything he asked for as a child, summering in France, getting his first broomstick. Living with the Tonks, messing around with Dora, Christmas at Grimmauld Place. Sunny afternoons spent on the grassy banks with his Lions and his Snakes…
“Alright?”
Draco scowled at Harry's stupid smiling face. “Not all of us are as blitheringly powerful as you are, you know, Scarhead.”
Harry laughed warmly, and Draco hated the way it made his skin tingle. “Thanks, I think?”
Draco merely scoffed in response.
“Okay, you're getting frustrated. Stop focusing on the spellwork and just think of something that makes you properly happy,” said Harry with an easy shrug.
“Perhaps I'm just not happy,” Draco muttered sullenly.
The look Harry gave him was so pitying Draco wanted to punch him.
Rolling his eyes, Draco grumbled under his breath as he turned his thoughts in the direction he'd been trying to avoid. Staying up all night talking to Harry. Hot chocolate and patrols. Green, green eyes. Rich, warm laughter. Golden-brown skin and ridiculously messy jet black hair that he wanted to card his fingers through.
“Expecto Patronum.”
A large, slinky, silvery four-legged something darted through the sparkling mist, too blurry and distorted to see… but Draco thought he caught a glimpse of – was that a hoof, perhaps? It was either a hoof or a paw. Or a claw. It could have been anything, really.
“That was better!” Harry enthused, his eyes lit up with glee. “Really hone in on that feeling, yeah?!”
“Very well, Professor Potter,” Draco sniffed. He raised his wand again, expecting Harry to bugger off and help someone else, but Harry did not, in fact, bugger off.
Draco threw him a miffed look. “Can I help you?”
“There's a Hogsmeade trip coming up over half term,” said Harry, as if that meant something.
“Indeed there is,” Draco drawled, arching an incredulous eyebrow.
“You planning on doing anything?” asked Harry, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Oh, yes. I have a ‘date,’” Draco drawled, barely containing his sneer.
Harry promptly stopped rocking, his smile vanishing. “What? With who?”
“Warrington.”
Harry baulked. “Warrington?!”
“It's not a real date, of course,” Draco scoffed. “Well, he might think it's real, but I have a plan, you see –”
Harry groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “This isn't another ruse, is it? You're not going to start pretending to date him, are you? Because he is dangerous, Draco –”
“Do you think I'm that stupid?” Draco snapped waspishly. “I know what I'm doing, Scarhead. Now bugger off and help Longbottom, you're killing the mood.”
It was only as Draco was laying in bed that night that it occurred to him that Harry Potter might've been trying to ask him on a date.
But had he really been asking him out on a date?
No.
No, no, no.
Of course not. The mere implications of that were preposterous. Harry was his friend. He'd simply asked because they were good chums and was most likely wondering if they'd be able to hang out at Hogsmeade.
Which they wouldn't be able to anyway, because of the ruse.
And speaking of ruses, Draco had a ‘date’ to prepare for…
***
Hogsmeade Wixen Village – Wednesday the 14th of February 1996
“And you're sure you know what you're doing?” Asked Pansy as they perused the shelves of Honeydukes.
“Well, I certainly hope so,” Draco murmured, inspecting the jar of writhing jelly slugs. “I can't calculate exactly how Warrington will react, but I'm quite sure I know what he'll do.”
All the while he'd been speaking, Pansy had been blowing a large droobles bubblegum bubble. When he finished, she popped it, chewing on the acid green sweet as she clearly mulled it over.
“I just want you to be safe, pet,” she said eventually. “Don't let him take you to any unsupervised areas or anything.”
Draco just scoffed in response, finishing his pick n’ mix bag off with a trowel of Toffee Mushrooms.
At two thirty, he left his Snakes and made his way over to the Three Broomsticks.
As he approached the pub, he spotted Warrington leaning against the doorframe with an air of casual arrogance. The Slytherin Captain's eyes swept over Draco as he pushed himself off the frame and flashed a wide, lecherous grin.
Draco had made sure to wear wixen robes for the occasion, ones of his mother's that he'd always admired. Form fitting deep black velvet with silvery swirling patterns embroidered along the sleeves. She'd often called them her ‘Revenge Robes.’
"Malfoy, there you are!" Warrington called, his tone dripping with insincerity. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about our little rendezvous.”
Draco forced a bright smile as he reached him, trying to hide his unease. “Well, it’s not every day I get to spend time with someone as... fascinating as you.”
Warrington's grin widened as he promptly led Draco inside. The warmth of The Three Broomsticks enveloped them, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside.
Weaving through the other students and patrons, Warrington guided Draco to a booth in the corner, a private spot that seemed to be chosen with intent.
Once they were seated, Warrington leaned in close, his slate grey gaze lingering on Draco with an unsettling intensity.
"So," he began, "I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”
“I'm sure you have,” Draco replied easily, making a scene of unbuttoning his cloak and shrugging it off. “And I you.”
Warrington licked his lips like a hungry beast. “I'll get us some drinks. Butterbeer alright?”
Draco smoothly inclined his head, watching as Warrington strode off towards the bar looking as pleased as punch.
“Hullo, Draco!” came a very strained, very sudden familiar voice.
Draco turned in confusion to find Hermione standing awkwardly by their table, seemingly grasping at thin air.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she carried on awkwardly.
Draco, feeling very baffled indeed, looked around before effecting an imperial sneer. “Granger,” he said coolly. “Where’s Potter and the Weasel?”
“Oh, um, Quidditch training,” said Hermione in that same strained, high pitch voice.
So Harry really hadn't been trying to ask him on a date.
He'd clearly only asked because he knew he was going to miss out. He may have even been angling at Draco bringing him back some souvenirs.
The nerve!
“Whatever, Granger,” Draco sniffed, turning in his chair with feigned disinterest.
Hermione promptly shuffled away, muttering under her breath. Draco watched as she bizarrely seemed to change direction halfway, turning back and eventually sitting at a nearby table, clearly in earshot.
At that moment, Warrington came back with two frothing tankards of golden liquid, his lip curled in a sneer.
“Weren't you friends with that thing last year?” he muttered darkly as he took his seat, eyeing Hermione with contempt.
Draco had to try very hard not to reach for his wand and hex him.
“I… I was yes…” he began carefully. “But my father really helped me see the error of my ways. Nipped it in the bud, so to speak.”
“Good thing too,” Warrington said sagely. “I thought it was such a shame when you made that stupid speech in the common room last year.”
Draco had thought his speech was rather good. Brilliant, in fact.
Smiling sweetly, Draco asked, “How, exactly, was it a shame?”
“Just, you know…” Warrington smirked. “Shame to lose such a nice piece of arse to the wrong side.”
Draco leant back a bit at his leer.
Hermione was struggling with something in her seat, muttering frantically under her breath.
Draco managed a weak laugh. “Not that I'm not… flattered… but you know that's not how a courtship works, Warrington.”
Warrington frowned. “Who said anything about courting?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me for assuming we were doing this in proper pureblood fashion,” he drawled.
Warrington barked out a laugh. “Sod that, you're damaged goods.”
Draco felt all his composure leave him, his face falling. “ Damaged… Oh,” he said, feeling like complete shit. “I...I see.”
“Don't tell me you actually thought I'd court a rumoured blood-traitor?” Warrington snorted.
“I…”
“We can fool around, of course,” Warrington carried on, his smirk salicious. “I know you want me, I've seen the way you look at me during Quidditch training.”
Draco couldn't quite believe his ears. “The way I what?” he asked, now entirely thrown.
Warrington chuckled. “I know you want me, Malfoy,” he said again. “I heard Parkinson teasing you about me. So, if you ever wanted to meet up in a secluded corridor –”
Right. Draco had heard enough.
Tracing a finger around the rim of his tankard, Draco fluttered his lashes. “Oh, you heard that, did you?” he asked silkily.
Warrington blinked, looking slightly disconcerted.
“Huh?”
Draco sighed a deeply put-upon sigh. “But how can you expect to deflower me without a proper courtship? I have very high standards, and my father can only accept the best suitor.”
Warrington scoffed, though it came out as more of an incredulous snort.
“What about that Durmstrang student last year?” he asked. “I heard a very compelling rumour that you had it off with him.”
Once again flummoxed, Draco blinked.
Sweet Merlin! He'd been fourteen going on fifteen! What kind of nasty rumours did people actually make up about him?!
Erik had never taken advantage of him, he was a gentleman through and through.
“Well,” said Draco, his mask sliding back into place. “It’s different this time…”
“Oh?” asked Warrington, a slimy smirk stretching across his sloth-like face.
Biting his lip shyly, Draco looked up through his lashes. “I do want you, Cassius, but I don't just want to fool around…”
It was Warrington's turn to look flummoxed. “Uh…”
Draco merely shook his head. “If you don't intend to marry me one day, I'm afraid I simply can't accept it! I’ve been dreaming about us being together, I didn't realise I was being so obvious."
Warrington's face fell completely.
Draco sighed again, marching on. "I’ve been imagining our life together – can you picture it? A grand mansion, lavish parties, and you being the star Quidditch player everyone talks about. And me, always by your side, supporting you in every single way."
Warrington just stared, completely aghast as he took in Draco’s fervent gaze. "Erm –"
"And the private suite in the Quidditch stadium!" Draco interrupted, breathless. "We’d have the best seats for every match, and we could even host our own exclusive events. Can you imagine the impact we’d have? It would be legendary!"
Warrington shifted away uncomfortably, his eyes darting about the crowded pub.
Draco leaned even closer, practically bent over the table. "And our children, oh, I’ve already thought about it. They’d be the most talented witches and wizards. We’d have them in the best schools, with private tutors and everything they could ever want!"
Warrington's face grew increasingly uncomfortable, his earlier confidence completely eroding under Draco’s intense gaze. "Malfoy, I —"
Draco sighed again, sitting back in his seat. "I know , Cassius, darling. It’s just that when I fantasise about our future together, I get oh so carried away. I’ve planned out every detail, you see. Our life would be perfect, wouldn’t it? I – I've even been writing in my diary, Mr Draco Warrington…”
Warrington’s face turned several shades paler. He clearly wanted to escape the situation. "I think… maybe I should go. I didn’t realise you were so –"
“And imagining us growing old together!” Draco carried on, sighing dreamily. “Oh, Cassius , I haven't been able to get you out of my head. I've planned almost everything for our wedding, down to the details of the reception! Although, I'm stuck on the catering, specifically the main course… Shall we serve poultry or fish?”
Warrington almost fell backwards in his seat as Draco leant forwards, fluttering his lashes expectantly.
“Merlin!” exclaimed the Slytherin Captain. “Y-you're bloody crazy! ”
“Crazy for you , Cassius, my darling ,” Draco cooed, leaning his chin in his hands. “I can just see our future together. With you as my loving husband, in our manor. With three – no, four – beautiful pureblooded children – !”
With a lurch, Warrington scrambled to his feet. Making a weird noise, he quickly grabbed his cloak and bolted for the door.
“Wait!” Draco cried, surging to his own feet. “Cassius, my love!”
As Warrington fled into the streets with his tail between his legs, Draco couldn’t help but cackle to himself.
He collapsed back into his seat, sighing in relief. “Oh, thank fuck for that!”
From the next table over, there came a snort of laughter. Draco slanted a glance at Hermione as she shook her head with a poorly stifled smile.
“Now that was an Oscar-worthy performance,” said the Gryffindor witch, sounding highly amused.
Draco immediately frowned. “Who is Oscar?”
Hermione only shook her head again. “Nevermind. That ought to get him off your back.”
“Indeed,” Draco said with a sharp nod, sipping at his butterbeer. “I can only hope it doesn't affect my position on the Quidditch team. But, if there's one thing creeps like Cassius Warrington are afraid of, it's commitment.”
Hermione giggled. “You are truly something else, Draco.”
“I know,” Draco said prissily. “Now, I best be off. Can't be seen bumping elbows with the wrong sort, now can I?”
With a wink, Draco gathered his cloak and swept out of The Three Broomsticks. He got the distinct feeling he was being followed on the way back to Hogwarts, but when he looked over his shoulder, there was nobody there.
***
“How was your date?”
Draco squinted in the harsh winter sunlight, looking up to find Harry looming over him in the Slytherin stands.
“Just wonderful,” Draco said idly, trimming the last stray bristle away from his broomstick. “We'll be having a spring wedding.”
Harry gave a vague hum and held up his hand, in which a small golden ball glittered in the sunset. “Fancy a Seeker's game?”
Draco glanced around the pitch. “What if somebody sees us?”
“Then we'll make it seem like we're fighting, won't we?” said Harry, and, with an undeniably smooth take off, launched himself into the air.
And, well, Draco really had no choice but to follow after him, did he?
Packing up his broom maintenance kit and jumping onto his Nimbus, he pushed into the air, thrilled to feel the rush of wind whipping through his hair.
Draco dove sharply before rocketing up, his movements swift and precise. He could hear the whoosh of Harry’s Firebolt behind him, and peered out of the corner of his eye, nearly falling from his own broom at what he saw.
"Now, that's just showing off!" He squawked over his shoulder, as Harry was actually standing on his Firebolt, riding it like a surfboard.
“Yeah, but you're impressed, aren’t you?” Harry replied cheekily, and Draco couldn't help but laugh.
As they spiralled through the sky together, Draco felt a surge of adrenaline. The world below blurred, and all that mattered was that he was flying with Harry.
It didn’t really matter who caught the Snitch, but Draco chased after it anyway – chased after Harry, and his rich, warm laughter.
After several games, they ended up flopped on their backs in the damp grass of the pitch. Draco’s jaw hurt from how much he'd smiled and laughed in the past hour.
“What were you thinking, Draco?” asked Harry softly when their exhilaration had finally waned. “Going on a date with him was really risky.”
Draco winced up at the pale grey clouds that had gathered above. “I know. But I knew what I was doing… I had to deter him…
“I thought by actually accepting to go to Hogsmeade with him, it would add another layer of believability to my ruse…and I could also get him to leave me alone… Two birds with one stone…” Draco sighed. “But, Merlin, the way he talked about Hermione! I wanted to hit him with a tongue-tying jinx!”
“The way he talked about you was even worse,” Harry grumbled.
Draco frowned. It almost sounded as if Harry had been there. Just as he opened his mouth to inquire, Harry sat up, drawing one grass-stained knee up to his chin.
“I miss you,” he said, before his eyes widened slightly. “Er – the real you, I mean.”
“I am regretting all of this a little,” Draco mumbled, plucking at the grass.
“So why can't you just –?”
“Because I have to see it through,” Draco interrupted, his voice hollow.
Harry made a frustrated noise, raking a hand through his hair. “Why? What’s the point?!”
“The point is to get that pink monstrosity out of my school,” Draco replied calmly.
“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Harry snapped, surging to his feet. “Well, I'm fed up! I hate pretending to hate you, I hate seeing you so – so not you!”
Perhaps it was the fact that Draco knew that in the original timeline the mask he was wearing wouldn't have been a mask at all, or perhaps it was the fact that Harry truly would've hated him, that they would've been rivals, but something about the way Harry said this made Draco’s blood boil.
“This is what I could've been, you realise?!” He snapped, also standing up. “If I still believed in blood purity –”
“But you don't–”
“But if I did!” Draco cried. “If I still lived in that great big manor as a spoilt little blood-purist brat and believed everything my father poured into my head –”
“Draco, what are you even getting at?!” Harry asked, fury and confusion lighting his green eyes.
“ – You wouldn’t be my friend,” Draco finished lamely, hanging his head.
Harry looked incredibly confused and frustrated, his brow knitted in a deep furrow. “No,” be said. “I probably wouldn't.”
“I – sorry, that was…” Draco let out a mirthless laugh, burying his face in his hands. “I'm a mess…”
Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, Draco. I just – what if she finds out what you're up to? What then?”
“I am an exceptional liar, Scarhead,” Draco sniffed, emerging from his hands, and wrapping his arms around himself.
Harry worked his jaw. “I just don't want her to hurt you.”
“Harry, will you trust me?!” Draco scoffed. “Can you trust that I have this all under control? She hurt you, nobody fucks with my friends!”
Harry sighed. “Friends, yeah,” he mumbled, not meeting Draco’s eye.
“Potter!”
They both turned to see Angelina Johnson storming over with a furious expression.
“There better be a bloody good reason for why you weren't at practice earlier!” The Gryffindor captain snapped.
Suddenly it all made sense. Harry had been at the Three Broomsticks. He'd been with Hermione beneath his Invisibility Cloak.
He'd been playing the hero yet again. He saw Draco as some sort of damsel in distress, someone helpless in need of rescuing.
And as Harry started to fumble out an apology to Johnson, Draco took the opportunity to stalk away, entirely pissed off.
***
Draco made sure to avoid Harry entirely the rest of the week, not even putting in the effort to shout fake insults across the way if they happened to cross paths.
But when Monday rolled around, Draco heard a pair of familiar footsteps join him during his patrol.
“Oh,” said Draco. “You.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?” asked Harry’s disembodied voice.
“Why were you stalking me in Hogsmeade?” Draco countered.
Harry said nothing for a moment. Eventually, he muttered, “I wasn't stalking you, I was –”
“Making sure I was safe?” Draco scoffed. “Playing the hero?”
“Yes! What's so wrong with that?!” snapped Harry.
“What's wrong with it is the lack of faith!” Draco hissed. “I had Warrington right where I wanted him and I dealt with it. I have Dora on the Pink Toad's case now! The S.A have faith that we can topple Umbridge, so why don't you?!”
“It just doesn't feel realistic, Draco! You're wasting so much time and energy on ‘destroying’ her, but I just – I –” Harry huffed. “It’s hard to believe that anything good can happen when Voldemort’s back... Stopping Umbridge won’t stop the Death Eaters or their Dark Lord.”
“No, it won't,” Draco agreed. “But it will stop the school from feeling like a prison. Hogwarts will actually feel safe again.”
Harry said nothing again. For a while, they roamed the darkened corridors in complete silence. Eventually, Draco relented with a sigh.
“Did you have Occlumency tonight?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said I'm improving, but that I’m nowhere near strong enough to repel Voldemort.”
“Come along, then,” said Draco, making towards the seventh floor staircase.
Harry followed him wordlessly to the Room of Requirement, pacing with him until their door appeared.
It was most definitely getting harder to peer into Harry’s mind. Draco couldn’t simply dip his toes in now, he had to submerge himself, wading through the tide. His shields were growing stronger, Draco could barely catch glimpses of the flickering vignettes of memories speeding by.
But something was clearly off with Harry’s mindset this time, as the storm was the worst Draco had ever seen it.
Draco saw Umbridge's ugly, smirking mug. He saw Severus’ dark gaze, piercing and angry. He saw Warrington's leering face. He saw his own angered face, silver eyes alight with fury. He saw his father's face, the graveyard.
And then he saw something awful.
Familiar eyes, hauntingly red, framed by a skeletal figure with pallid white, corpse-like skin, two serpentine slits for nostrils, and sharp, yellow teeth pulled into a wicked grin.
With a gasp, Draco opened his eyes, wrenching himself from the tide.
“That's what Riddle looks like now?!” He demanded, flabbergasted. “He used to be fit!”
Harry looked incredibly alarmed.
“Don't deny it,” Draco argued. “Traumatic experiences aside, Tom Riddle was a damned fine young man.”
Harry snorted, which then turned into a guffaw of laughter. Shaking his head, he said, “Yeah, he kinda was, wasn't he?”
“And now he's got a fucking snake face!” Draco howled, mirth bubbling up in his chest.
They both promptly burst out laughing, falling against each other.
“I wouldn’t want to be reborn if it meant I had to look like that!” Draco exclaimed, breathless. “What a washed up excuse of a wizard!”
Their laughter bounced around the cavernous chamber, and Draco felt once more at ease in Harry’s presence again.
After a while, Harry sighed. “Draco?” he began, and Draco knew what was coming. “I'm –”
“I know, Harry,” Draco said, meeting his eye with a sincere look. “It’s fine. I'm sorry I have such mad ideas…”
Harry grinned. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”
Draco gazed into those bright green eyes, and felt his lips quirk into a small smile as his heart swelled.
“You go first this time,” he said gently. “I’ll leave after.”
Draco watched as Harry slipped out of the door, the silvery fabric of his Invisibility Cloak flapping behind him as he pulled it over his head, and he let out a great sigh.
The candles flickered around him and the stars twinkled above, mesmerising flashes of swirling purples and blues in the sea of stars.
Happy thoughts…
What truly made Draco happy?
Draco thought of Harry; he thought of his laugh, soft and warmer than the sun. The way he leapt to Draco’s defence at any opportunity. His loyalty. His good heart. His infuriating stubbornness and knack for being recklessly heroic. The playful gleam in his eye when they duelled or played Quidditch, the feeling of his hand intertwined with his own…
Draco honed in on the warmth spreading from his wildly beating heart to his pulsing fingertips, and couldn’t help the wide smile that curled itself upon his face.
Somehow, something told him this time it would work.
He inhaled deeply, calmly waving his wand and he softly breathed out, “Expecto Patronum.”
As he’d simply known they would, a flurry of glowing, silver wisps streamed from his wand tip and coalesced, winding around each other and forming the shape of a beautiful, cloven-hoofed creature.
The silvery light grew brighter, and Draco peered up into the bright, white eyes of the magnificent beast he'd just conjured.
Chest heavy, Draco shook his head, letting out a wet laugh – which sounded more like a sob to his own ears.
“Of course…” he sighed. “What else would you be?”
The silvery stag reared his head regally, pacing at the ground as he regarded Draco with a serene stare.
Draco reached out, admiring the way the wispy stag sparkled; the majestic pair of antlers perched upon his head like a crown of light.
The stag tentatively stepped closer, bowing the elegant swoop of his neck.
He was slightly different from Harry’s stag, Prongs. This deer seemed sleeker, more elegant…
Draco gently reached out to stroke the glowing ether of the stag's snout, his fingers only grasping at thin air as the Patronus became silver mist.
As the stag dispersed into sparkling wisps, a single tear slipped down Draco’s face.
In the grand emptiness of the cavernous room, his voice felt enormous, despite being the barest hint of a whisper.
“But, Merlin… I’m afraid.”