Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,651
Summary:
The Malfoys have always been very clear as to what they hold in high regard, such as wealth and blood purity, but as Pansy and Blaise found out in July of last year, there are some things that Lucius and Narcissa drilled into Draco's head from the time he was a little boy that left deeper impressions than even a Dark Mark.
Warnings: Eating Disorder
ADDITIONAL NOTE: The title of this fiction is an ambiguous word. No offense is meant by its use.
Thanks to
themaohour and
katelinmr for beta-ing. :)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Manorexic
Chapter Twenty-One
Harry thanked his lucky stars that someone was coming out of the common room when he got there. With his Cloak on, he was able to slip into the girls’ dorms and found Pansy sitting on her bed, looking through a magazine. Daphne Greengrass was in there as well, though, and Harry couldn’t figure out how he would rectify this problem.
Smiling to himself, he walked around to the front of her bed and, making sure his entire back was covered and that Daphne couldn’t see him, he lifted the front of the Cloak.
“Pansy.”
Pansy looked up and, startled, she squealed.
“What?” Daphne snapped. Pansy pressed a hand to her heart and glared at Harry before looking back to her roommate.
“Nothing,” she said. “I thought I saw a spider.”
Harry grinned and stepped a bit closer. He pointed to himself, his mouth, and then at her. Pansy glanced over at Daphne.
“Not now,” she mouthed. Harry nodded toward the door urgently. Pansy sighed long-sufferingly, earned a quizzical look from Daphne, and then closed her magazine.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Draco.”
“Blaise said he’s not in his dorm.”
Pansy looked quickly at Harry and then back again. “Exactly. That’s why I’m going to find him.”
Daphne glared and went back to her book. Harry followed Pansy out of the common room and a bit down the corridor before taking his Cloak off.
“Where’s Draco?” she said immediately.
“I found him in the loo.”
“But he didn’t tell me he was going there!”
“That’s not the problem. I need to talk to you.”
She crossed her arms over chest, probably annoyed by his dismissal of her question.
“What?”
“Why is Draco mad at me?” he asked, arms dropping to his sides dejectedly. Pansy’s face softened.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, reminding him forcibly of Hermione when she was explaining emotions. “It’s Anthony, of course.”
“But Anthony was only with us for a few minutes!” he argued desperately. “And besides, it’s not like I invited him over! How is that my fault?! And anyway, he’s . . . I’m dating Anthony. Draco can’t expect me to ignore him,” he finished lamely. Pansy appeared uncomfortable and sidestepped that last part rather neatly.
“Look . . . Harry. . . . It’s not easy to see someone you’re shagging with someone else. You had your arm around him and he kissed you. I’m not saying he’s a bad person for doing that, nor are you, like you said, you’re dating him. . . . But, well, that’s not easy for Draco to watch. He . . .” She stopped and her cheeks colored. Harry was so confused he thought his head might explode. “He’s just a very possessive person, you know? He felt like you were ignoring him.”
Draco’s question in the Great Hall - about the Ravenclaw eagle and Slytherin’s snake - came to mind and he sighed.
To be honest, Harry felt like an idiot for not having realized that before. Of course Draco would feel crappy with Anthony there. He hadn’t thought of the fact that, just because he knew he wasn’t pleased to see Anthony, didn’t mean Draco knew. He’d probably thought Harry was being a real jerk.
“Understand?” Pansy asked softly. Harry nodded and gave her a small smile.
“Thanks.” And he leaned forward to give her a hug. “I’m horrible with this emotional stuff. Hermione had to explain everything about Cho fifth year.”
Pansy laughed. “I don’t blame you for that one. I heard she’s a bit crazy.”
Harry gently pushed her shoulder, squeezed her arm in thanks, and set off toward the Gryffindor common room. He wouldn’t talk to Draco tonight - he thought the boy would probably want space. And besides, Harry needed some time to think things over anyway.
* * *
Saturday morning rolled around and he still hadn’t spoken to Draco. It had been nearly a week. But after his conversation with Pansy, he’d started thinking, and it was holding him back from doing anything about fixing the problem.
He’d seen Anthony. In fact, he’d slept with him. Last night. It had felt horribly wrong.
And now it was ten in the morning, he was alone in his dorm, and his thoughts were plaguing him once again, even worse than before because of what he’d done last night.
He had no one. No one on his side. There was Draco, and his feelings for that boy didn’t even necessitate mentioning-he was . . . he adored him. Ridiculously so. Unimaginably so. Sometimes he would look at him and understand why people say you can love someone so much that it hurts. He would look at Draco, sleeping next to him, wherever they happened to be-the bathroom, the Great Hall-and his chest would become tight and he’d feel this rush of powerful emotion.
And then there was Pansy, who was wonderful, of course. But she was on Draco’s side. No matter what, she would be biased if he brought up Anthony.
Anthony, whom he obviously could not talk to about this sort of thing. It was, after all, him Harry was cheating on.
Ron and Hermione - they would be on Anthony’s side. Wouldn’t they? Anthony deserved to have those two on his side. He’d done nothing wrong. He was sweet, and smart, and cute, and sexy, and . . .
And he was so different than Draco. In every way. Including the wonderful ways.
Anthony wasn’t dainty and fragile like Draco. Harry wouldn’t get that protective feeling around Anthony, and truth be told, he’d grown to love that feeling. Like he was the only one keeping Draco out of harm’s reach. Somewhere in his mind it registered that that sounded a bit weird, but he blamed it on his mixed emotions - emotions that were currently running very high.
But who was there for Harry to talk to neutrally? Someone who wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t have too many biases, and would just listen and let Harry talk? Someone who could make sense of these jumbled up, stupid emotions that were beginning to drive him mad?
If he really thought about it, he wasn’t surprised to find himself knocking on McGonagall’s door Saturday morning. Perhaps deep down he’d known for quite a while who he needed to talk to if he wanted straight answers. During the war, Harry had trusted him like he’d trusted no one else; somehow, it only made sense to spill his emotions and inner turmoil to his old headmaster and former mentor.
It didn’t hurt that someone who knew Draco well would be privy to the conversation, either.
“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said in a tone of genuine surprise this time around. “What can I do for you?”
“Hello, Professor,” he said with a tired smile. “I was wondering if . . .” he trailed off and his eyes flickered to Dumbledore’s portrait, which was sleeping, “. . . er, If I could possibly speak to Professor Dumbledore for a few minutes.”
He’d already done this a week ago and he wasn’t quite sure McGonagall would leave him alone in the office for the second time. However, a small smile curved one side of her mouth and she sighed, as though attempting to appear aggravated by him.
“Breakfast begins in ten minutes,” she said, eyeing him closely. Harry nodded. “You are not eating?”
Harry cleared his throat. “I thought . . . I’m not very hungry. I thought it would be a good time to talk to Professor Dumbledore.” McGonagall’s eye twinkled with mirth.
“Very well, Potter. I’ll head down to breakfast now, but I expect you to be on your way out when I return in half an hour.”
Harry sighed with relief. “Thank you, Professor. I will be.”
And a moment later she was gone, and Harry flopped down in his once-familiar chair on the opposite side of the desk, looking up at Dumbledore’s portrait and pretending he was actually sitting in the seat McGonagall had just vacated. It wasn’t so difficult once Dumbledore opened his eyes and he smiled down at Harry just like he used to.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my dear boy?”
“Professor,” Harry began, and his cheeks filled with blood, realizing exactly what he’d just gotten himself into. Had this been a bad idea? Was he even allowed to talk to his former headmaster about these kinds of things?
He looked up at Dumbledore, swallowed nervously, and said, “I’ve gotten myself into a bad situation, sir.”
Dumbledore chuckled heartily. “So it would seem! But in my experience, Harry, it is never easy to have feelings for someone that others deem unsuitable.”
“S-sir?”
Dumbledore smiled gently. “My boy, in our time together we spoke only of relevant matters, namely, Voldemort. But did we not also discuss love? Was it not love that we found to be the very heart of the issue?”
Harry bit his lip, feeling very confused.
“What I am saying to you, Harry, is that together we found that love works in many mysterious ways-you should always remember that.
“Now, tell me: how do you feel about Mr. Malfoy?”
Harry choked on his own saliva and instinctually looked up at Snape’s portrait. It was feigning sleep (which he thought was terribly tactful for Snape), although its mouth was curled into a sneer. Harry nearly laughed.
He looked back at Dumbledore and saw that he was smiling gently down at Harry, waiting for him to gather his nerve and speak.
“I . . . like him,” he whispered, and he was astounded to hear it come out of his own mouth. “A lot.”
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “And may I be so bold to say that you’ve found yourself presented with more than just one problem?”
Harry had never felt so grateful for Dumbledore. “Yes,” he breathed.
Dumbledore peered down his long, broken nose at Harry. “Elaborate?”
Harry fiddled with his fingers in his lap for a moment, trying to decide which issue to breech first.
“Sir,” he began. Dumbledore sat back in his chair and watched Harry patiently. “My friends - Ron and Hermione - they don’t like it.” Dumbledore merely nodded. Harry sighed and went on. “No one does, actually. I . . . I’ve sort of alienated myself from the rest of the school. They don’t like Draco.”
“Typical,” Snape drawled. Harry looked at his portrait, no longer pretending to be asleep, and could think of nothing else to do but nod.
“But that’s not it,” he continued. “I . . . Well, I only started, er, talking to Draco a few weeks ago. But I’ve been . . . I’ve been dating Anthony Goldstein for several months.”
Snape sneered at him. Harry tried hard not to feel ashamed.
“That does pose an issue,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. He scratched his chin. “Well, Harry, what do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” Harry whined, and sunk lower in his chair. “Anthony would be so much easier. Everyone likes him. I wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone -”
“I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave,” Snape drawled. Harry’s cheeks colored.
Dumbledore ignored him. “Well, Harry, why don’t you ask yourself this: do other people’s opinions mean as much as yours when it comes to whom you love?”
Harry shook his head in defeat. “Of course not,” he croaked. A look of pity crossed Dumbledore’s face.
“Let me tell you a story, Harry,” he said eventually. Harry looked up, and he noticed Snape look over as well. “In your quest to find and destroy the Horcruxes, you learned of my friendship with Grindelwald.”
Harry nodded slowly, wondering whether this Dumbledore knew they’d spoken about it at King’s Cross. Well, the King’s Cross in Harry’s mind. He decided not to bring it up.
“There is a part of the story I never shared with anyone, because it was never relevant. And, I confess, it was difficult for me to come to terms with it myself after what happened with Ariana.”
Harry looked down at his hands, feeling uncomfortable making Dumbledore talk about this.
Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts and said, “It is time I told someone, Harry, do not feel bad. And I can see no better time to do so than right now.
“I was very young when I met him, Harry - around your age, in fact, if not a few years younger. At school I’d thought of nothing but my achievements and, well, love took a back seat in my life. When I met Gellert, that changed.”
Harry gaped. Surely he hadn’t interpreted Dumbledore’s words correctly.
“You . . .” he began, but found he had nothing else to say. Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
“I was very much in love with Gellert Grindelwald, Harry. Aside from our ‘plans,’ it was what kept me so blinded. You see, I didn’t want to think of him as a bad person. It was, essentially, the very reason it took me so long to go after him. There was the part of me that felt guilty about having planted the idea in his head, but there was also the part of me that had never stopped caring for him.”
Harry swallowed and it felt like cotton. Dumbledore was gay? And he’d been in love with Grindelwald?! But that was like . . .
“From the expression on your face, I will assume you’ve discovered the likeness between our situations?” Harry merely nodded. Dumbledore smiled kindly. “Fortunately, Harry, Mr. Malfoy is not - and never could be, I don’t think - as ruthless as Grindelwald. We both know his heart was never in it when he joined Voldemort’s ranks.
“I could never have explored my feelings for Grindelwald, Harry, because he was too blinded by his plans for power. Draco, on the other hand, seems to be very much attached to you already.”
Harry glanced over at Snape and saw, to his astonishment, that the man was only looking away. He was not sneering.
“It is difficult to have feelings for someone who others deem inappropriate,” Dumbledore repeated, snapping Harry out of his reverie. “But it does not mean that it should not be given a shot. If I may, I think that you and Draco could be very beneficial to each other in terms of balance.”
Harry stared at a spot beneath the portrait for some time, taking all this in, and trying very hard to imagine Dumbledore having feelings for someone, let alone being any age other than over one hundred.
This certainly changed things. Dumbledore thought he and Draco would make a good couple. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought much about actually dating Draco. He’d been so preoccupied with guilty thoughts about his real boyfriend - and also caught up in the taboo part of fooling around with Draco Malfoy - that he’d hardly considered what that would be like.
And now that he had, he couldn’t help smiling like an idiot. He imagined walking down the hallway with Draco, holding his hand, kissing him in public. Referring to him as his boyfriend. He could take him out on dates, and whenever someone asked “Who’s that?” Harry could say, “That’s my boyfriend.”
But these glorious thoughts were disrupted by his initial qualms: his friends and the rest of the bloody Wizarding world. None of them would ever approve of Draco.
“Sir,” Harry said quietly. “How am I supposed to make everyone accept Draco?”
Dumbledore gave him a searching look. “You cannot make anyone do anything, Harry. You can only change yourself.”
Well, that didn’t answer his question. He huffed and Dumbledore chuckled.
“I advise you to give it some thought. Nothing worth having ever comes easily.”
Harry nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Before he left Snape spoke up: “Send Draco my regards.”
* * *
Snape was right. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, and avoiding talking to Draco for an entire week was certainly not brave. It took him until Monday night to push himself into action, but he finally did it.
Draco was outside. The weather had finally begun to lighten up, and he was apparently standing by the bench where Harry had found him nearly two months ago when he’d been looking for Anthony.
How things had changed.
The lake was still frozen, but the air was much less frigid, and Harry only needed a light jacket and a scarf. As he walked up to Draco he found that this time he was wearing a cloak and a scarf himself, which probably would have been more beneficial last time, but the past was the past.
“Hey,” Harry said, coming up beside Draco. Draco looked over at him and rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“What do you want?”
Harry sighed and sat down on the bench, leaving Draco standing. He rubbed his hands together for warmth.
“Will you please talk to me?”
“No,” Draco countered immediately.
“Draco -”
Draco spun around so fast, so sharply, that Harry’s words died in his throat.
“Don’t ‘Draco’ me!” He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. “We haven’t spoken in a week!”
“You wouldn’t let me!”
Draco’s eyes narrowed and Harry felt suddenly like he was standing in the path of a hurricane.
“You tried once, and might I remind you that you snuck up on me!”
“Why do I have to be the only one to try? It wasn’t like I did anything to hurt you on purpose!”
Harry’s words apparently had the intended effect - or an effect, at least - and Draco became somber. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned back around to look at the lake. Harry sighed and stood up, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind. When he wasn’t shrugged off, he rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Draco. But you have to remember: Anthony’s my boyfriend. You told me when we first started doing this that you were okay with it being a secret.”
Draco wriggled out of Harry’s grasp and circled his own arms around himself defiantly.
“I know that,” he said succinctly. “I am okay with it. It’s just that Goldstein bothers me. He’s such a . . . Ravenclaw.”
Harry frowned. “You don’t even know what that means.” He bit his lip and ploughed on, knowing Draco might get mad at what he was about to say. “You know, you still hold old prejudices, even if you don’t do it consciously.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco snapped.
“It means you still stereotype Ravenclaws as pretentious, book-loving arseholes; Hufflepuffs as mentally insufficient, useless lumps; and Gryffindors as arrogant, hot-headed goody-two-shoes.”
“I hardly think I could call you a goody-two-shoes, Potter,” he drawled. Harry sighed and reached out for Draco’s elbow, pulling him close even though the boy struggled weakly at first.
“Back to ‘Potter’, then?”
“I don’t hold prejudices,” Draco grumbled. “It’s not a stereotype if it’s true.”
“Have you ever talked to Terry Boot? He does horrible in his classes. But he’s smart, and he probably values intelligence a good but more than anything else. It’s the same as how the rest of the school sees Slytherins as nasty, cheating, back-stabbing, untrustworthy, conniving -”
“I get the picture!” Draco said sharply, digging his elbow into Harry’s gut. Harry chuckled.
“The point is, you’re not all like that. Mostly it’s just you.”
Draco acted offended - whilst trying to hide a smile - and made to push Harry away, but Harry caught his mouth in a kiss before he could say anything. It effectively shut Draco up.
“You’re not a bad person,” he whispered against his lips. “Most Slytherins aren’t bad people, just as all Ravenclaws aren’t arrogant and bookish, Hufflepuffs aren’t useless lumps, and Gryffindors aren’t all bull-headed and all that.”
Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Okay, I might be a little bull-headed,” Harry sighed exaggeratedly. “But you get my point.”
Draco was quiet for a moment, perhaps contemplating what Harry had said, while he played with a string on Harry’s jumper. Harry watched and felt a smile grow on his lips.
It was times like these, when Draco let down his guard in front of him and seriously considered he might be wrong, that Harry felt his heart melt. It was frightening and incredible simultaneously. He was entirely aware that he’d never felt like this about anyone before.
Dumbledore’s advice popped into his head again, and again Harry was forced to consider whether Draco might be worth the drama that would ensue should he ask him to be his -
“It’s getting cold.”
Harry had to shake his head to force himself back into reality and away from that dangerous thought. It had taken him by surprise. He resisted the urge to groan aloud.
Those kinds of thoughts would only make this whole thing harder.
“Do you wanna go inside?” he whispered, placing both hands on Draco’s cheeks and leaning close enough so their noses touched.
“Yeah.”
But how was he supposed to avoid those thoughts when it felt so right to hold Draco this close?
Just before they parted for the night in the entrance hall, Harry spotted a small stain on Draco’s shirt. He smiled.
“You spilled food on yourself,” he chuckled, pointing to the stain. Draco cracked a weak smile - Harry thought it almost looked forced - and nodded.
“Yeah. Ketchup . . . from dinner. Why weren’t you there, by the way?”
Harry shrugged. In truth, he had been holed up in his room trying to build up the nerve to do this - to find Draco and talk to him. But he wasn’t going to tell Draco that.
“Wasn’t hungry,” he said instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” When Draco nodded he leaned down to kiss his lips lightly, and then turned to make his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
Chapter Twenty | Page of Contents | Chapter Twenty-Two
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,651
Summary:
The Malfoys have always been very clear as to what they hold in high regard, such as wealth and blood purity, but as Pansy and Blaise found out in July of last year, there are some things that Lucius and Narcissa drilled into Draco's head from the time he was a little boy that left deeper impressions than even a Dark Mark.
Warnings: Eating Disorder
ADDITIONAL NOTE: The title of this fiction is an ambiguous word. No offense is meant by its use.
Thanks to
themaohour and
katelinmr for beta-ing. :)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Manorexic
Chapter Twenty-One
Harry thanked his lucky stars that someone was coming out of the common room when he got there. With his Cloak on, he was able to slip into the girls’ dorms and found Pansy sitting on her bed, looking through a magazine. Daphne Greengrass was in there as well, though, and Harry couldn’t figure out how he would rectify this problem.
Smiling to himself, he walked around to the front of her bed and, making sure his entire back was covered and that Daphne couldn’t see him, he lifted the front of the Cloak.
“Pansy.”
Pansy looked up and, startled, she squealed.
“What?” Daphne snapped. Pansy pressed a hand to her heart and glared at Harry before looking back to her roommate.
“Nothing,” she said. “I thought I saw a spider.”
Harry grinned and stepped a bit closer. He pointed to himself, his mouth, and then at her. Pansy glanced over at Daphne.
“Not now,” she mouthed. Harry nodded toward the door urgently. Pansy sighed long-sufferingly, earned a quizzical look from Daphne, and then closed her magazine.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Draco.”
“Blaise said he’s not in his dorm.”
Pansy looked quickly at Harry and then back again. “Exactly. That’s why I’m going to find him.”
Daphne glared and went back to her book. Harry followed Pansy out of the common room and a bit down the corridor before taking his Cloak off.
“Where’s Draco?” she said immediately.
“I found him in the loo.”
“But he didn’t tell me he was going there!”
“That’s not the problem. I need to talk to you.”
She crossed her arms over chest, probably annoyed by his dismissal of her question.
“What?”
“Why is Draco mad at me?” he asked, arms dropping to his sides dejectedly. Pansy’s face softened.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, reminding him forcibly of Hermione when she was explaining emotions. “It’s Anthony, of course.”
“But Anthony was only with us for a few minutes!” he argued desperately. “And besides, it’s not like I invited him over! How is that my fault?! And anyway, he’s . . . I’m dating Anthony. Draco can’t expect me to ignore him,” he finished lamely. Pansy appeared uncomfortable and sidestepped that last part rather neatly.
“Look . . . Harry. . . . It’s not easy to see someone you’re shagging with someone else. You had your arm around him and he kissed you. I’m not saying he’s a bad person for doing that, nor are you, like you said, you’re dating him. . . . But, well, that’s not easy for Draco to watch. He . . .” She stopped and her cheeks colored. Harry was so confused he thought his head might explode. “He’s just a very possessive person, you know? He felt like you were ignoring him.”
Draco’s question in the Great Hall - about the Ravenclaw eagle and Slytherin’s snake - came to mind and he sighed.
To be honest, Harry felt like an idiot for not having realized that before. Of course Draco would feel crappy with Anthony there. He hadn’t thought of the fact that, just because he knew he wasn’t pleased to see Anthony, didn’t mean Draco knew. He’d probably thought Harry was being a real jerk.
“Understand?” Pansy asked softly. Harry nodded and gave her a small smile.
“Thanks.” And he leaned forward to give her a hug. “I’m horrible with this emotional stuff. Hermione had to explain everything about Cho fifth year.”
Pansy laughed. “I don’t blame you for that one. I heard she’s a bit crazy.”
Harry gently pushed her shoulder, squeezed her arm in thanks, and set off toward the Gryffindor common room. He wouldn’t talk to Draco tonight - he thought the boy would probably want space. And besides, Harry needed some time to think things over anyway.
* * *
Saturday morning rolled around and he still hadn’t spoken to Draco. It had been nearly a week. But after his conversation with Pansy, he’d started thinking, and it was holding him back from doing anything about fixing the problem.
He’d seen Anthony. In fact, he’d slept with him. Last night. It had felt horribly wrong.
And now it was ten in the morning, he was alone in his dorm, and his thoughts were plaguing him once again, even worse than before because of what he’d done last night.
He had no one. No one on his side. There was Draco, and his feelings for that boy didn’t even necessitate mentioning-he was . . . he adored him. Ridiculously so. Unimaginably so. Sometimes he would look at him and understand why people say you can love someone so much that it hurts. He would look at Draco, sleeping next to him, wherever they happened to be-the bathroom, the Great Hall-and his chest would become tight and he’d feel this rush of powerful emotion.
And then there was Pansy, who was wonderful, of course. But she was on Draco’s side. No matter what, she would be biased if he brought up Anthony.
Anthony, whom he obviously could not talk to about this sort of thing. It was, after all, him Harry was cheating on.
Ron and Hermione - they would be on Anthony’s side. Wouldn’t they? Anthony deserved to have those two on his side. He’d done nothing wrong. He was sweet, and smart, and cute, and sexy, and . . .
And he was so different than Draco. In every way. Including the wonderful ways.
Anthony wasn’t dainty and fragile like Draco. Harry wouldn’t get that protective feeling around Anthony, and truth be told, he’d grown to love that feeling. Like he was the only one keeping Draco out of harm’s reach. Somewhere in his mind it registered that that sounded a bit weird, but he blamed it on his mixed emotions - emotions that were currently running very high.
But who was there for Harry to talk to neutrally? Someone who wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t have too many biases, and would just listen and let Harry talk? Someone who could make sense of these jumbled up, stupid emotions that were beginning to drive him mad?
If he really thought about it, he wasn’t surprised to find himself knocking on McGonagall’s door Saturday morning. Perhaps deep down he’d known for quite a while who he needed to talk to if he wanted straight answers. During the war, Harry had trusted him like he’d trusted no one else; somehow, it only made sense to spill his emotions and inner turmoil to his old headmaster and former mentor.
It didn’t hurt that someone who knew Draco well would be privy to the conversation, either.
“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said in a tone of genuine surprise this time around. “What can I do for you?”
“Hello, Professor,” he said with a tired smile. “I was wondering if . . .” he trailed off and his eyes flickered to Dumbledore’s portrait, which was sleeping, “. . . er, If I could possibly speak to Professor Dumbledore for a few minutes.”
He’d already done this a week ago and he wasn’t quite sure McGonagall would leave him alone in the office for the second time. However, a small smile curved one side of her mouth and she sighed, as though attempting to appear aggravated by him.
“Breakfast begins in ten minutes,” she said, eyeing him closely. Harry nodded. “You are not eating?”
Harry cleared his throat. “I thought . . . I’m not very hungry. I thought it would be a good time to talk to Professor Dumbledore.” McGonagall’s eye twinkled with mirth.
“Very well, Potter. I’ll head down to breakfast now, but I expect you to be on your way out when I return in half an hour.”
Harry sighed with relief. “Thank you, Professor. I will be.”
And a moment later she was gone, and Harry flopped down in his once-familiar chair on the opposite side of the desk, looking up at Dumbledore’s portrait and pretending he was actually sitting in the seat McGonagall had just vacated. It wasn’t so difficult once Dumbledore opened his eyes and he smiled down at Harry just like he used to.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my dear boy?”
“Professor,” Harry began, and his cheeks filled with blood, realizing exactly what he’d just gotten himself into. Had this been a bad idea? Was he even allowed to talk to his former headmaster about these kinds of things?
He looked up at Dumbledore, swallowed nervously, and said, “I’ve gotten myself into a bad situation, sir.”
Dumbledore chuckled heartily. “So it would seem! But in my experience, Harry, it is never easy to have feelings for someone that others deem unsuitable.”
“S-sir?”
Dumbledore smiled gently. “My boy, in our time together we spoke only of relevant matters, namely, Voldemort. But did we not also discuss love? Was it not love that we found to be the very heart of the issue?”
Harry bit his lip, feeling very confused.
“What I am saying to you, Harry, is that together we found that love works in many mysterious ways-you should always remember that.
“Now, tell me: how do you feel about Mr. Malfoy?”
Harry choked on his own saliva and instinctually looked up at Snape’s portrait. It was feigning sleep (which he thought was terribly tactful for Snape), although its mouth was curled into a sneer. Harry nearly laughed.
He looked back at Dumbledore and saw that he was smiling gently down at Harry, waiting for him to gather his nerve and speak.
“I . . . like him,” he whispered, and he was astounded to hear it come out of his own mouth. “A lot.”
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “And may I be so bold to say that you’ve found yourself presented with more than just one problem?”
Harry had never felt so grateful for Dumbledore. “Yes,” he breathed.
Dumbledore peered down his long, broken nose at Harry. “Elaborate?”
Harry fiddled with his fingers in his lap for a moment, trying to decide which issue to breech first.
“Sir,” he began. Dumbledore sat back in his chair and watched Harry patiently. “My friends - Ron and Hermione - they don’t like it.” Dumbledore merely nodded. Harry sighed and went on. “No one does, actually. I . . . I’ve sort of alienated myself from the rest of the school. They don’t like Draco.”
“Typical,” Snape drawled. Harry looked at his portrait, no longer pretending to be asleep, and could think of nothing else to do but nod.
“But that’s not it,” he continued. “I . . . Well, I only started, er, talking to Draco a few weeks ago. But I’ve been . . . I’ve been dating Anthony Goldstein for several months.”
Snape sneered at him. Harry tried hard not to feel ashamed.
“That does pose an issue,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. He scratched his chin. “Well, Harry, what do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” Harry whined, and sunk lower in his chair. “Anthony would be so much easier. Everyone likes him. I wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone -”
“I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave,” Snape drawled. Harry’s cheeks colored.
Dumbledore ignored him. “Well, Harry, why don’t you ask yourself this: do other people’s opinions mean as much as yours when it comes to whom you love?”
Harry shook his head in defeat. “Of course not,” he croaked. A look of pity crossed Dumbledore’s face.
“Let me tell you a story, Harry,” he said eventually. Harry looked up, and he noticed Snape look over as well. “In your quest to find and destroy the Horcruxes, you learned of my friendship with Grindelwald.”
Harry nodded slowly, wondering whether this Dumbledore knew they’d spoken about it at King’s Cross. Well, the King’s Cross in Harry’s mind. He decided not to bring it up.
“There is a part of the story I never shared with anyone, because it was never relevant. And, I confess, it was difficult for me to come to terms with it myself after what happened with Ariana.”
Harry looked down at his hands, feeling uncomfortable making Dumbledore talk about this.
Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts and said, “It is time I told someone, Harry, do not feel bad. And I can see no better time to do so than right now.
“I was very young when I met him, Harry - around your age, in fact, if not a few years younger. At school I’d thought of nothing but my achievements and, well, love took a back seat in my life. When I met Gellert, that changed.”
Harry gaped. Surely he hadn’t interpreted Dumbledore’s words correctly.
“You . . .” he began, but found he had nothing else to say. Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
“I was very much in love with Gellert Grindelwald, Harry. Aside from our ‘plans,’ it was what kept me so blinded. You see, I didn’t want to think of him as a bad person. It was, essentially, the very reason it took me so long to go after him. There was the part of me that felt guilty about having planted the idea in his head, but there was also the part of me that had never stopped caring for him.”
Harry swallowed and it felt like cotton. Dumbledore was gay? And he’d been in love with Grindelwald?! But that was like . . .
“From the expression on your face, I will assume you’ve discovered the likeness between our situations?” Harry merely nodded. Dumbledore smiled kindly. “Fortunately, Harry, Mr. Malfoy is not - and never could be, I don’t think - as ruthless as Grindelwald. We both know his heart was never in it when he joined Voldemort’s ranks.
“I could never have explored my feelings for Grindelwald, Harry, because he was too blinded by his plans for power. Draco, on the other hand, seems to be very much attached to you already.”
Harry glanced over at Snape and saw, to his astonishment, that the man was only looking away. He was not sneering.
“It is difficult to have feelings for someone who others deem inappropriate,” Dumbledore repeated, snapping Harry out of his reverie. “But it does not mean that it should not be given a shot. If I may, I think that you and Draco could be very beneficial to each other in terms of balance.”
Harry stared at a spot beneath the portrait for some time, taking all this in, and trying very hard to imagine Dumbledore having feelings for someone, let alone being any age other than over one hundred.
This certainly changed things. Dumbledore thought he and Draco would make a good couple. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought much about actually dating Draco. He’d been so preoccupied with guilty thoughts about his real boyfriend - and also caught up in the taboo part of fooling around with Draco Malfoy - that he’d hardly considered what that would be like.
And now that he had, he couldn’t help smiling like an idiot. He imagined walking down the hallway with Draco, holding his hand, kissing him in public. Referring to him as his boyfriend. He could take him out on dates, and whenever someone asked “Who’s that?” Harry could say, “That’s my boyfriend.”
But these glorious thoughts were disrupted by his initial qualms: his friends and the rest of the bloody Wizarding world. None of them would ever approve of Draco.
“Sir,” Harry said quietly. “How am I supposed to make everyone accept Draco?”
Dumbledore gave him a searching look. “You cannot make anyone do anything, Harry. You can only change yourself.”
Well, that didn’t answer his question. He huffed and Dumbledore chuckled.
“I advise you to give it some thought. Nothing worth having ever comes easily.”
Harry nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Before he left Snape spoke up: “Send Draco my regards.”
* * *
Snape was right. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, and avoiding talking to Draco for an entire week was certainly not brave. It took him until Monday night to push himself into action, but he finally did it.
Draco was outside. The weather had finally begun to lighten up, and he was apparently standing by the bench where Harry had found him nearly two months ago when he’d been looking for Anthony.
How things had changed.
The lake was still frozen, but the air was much less frigid, and Harry only needed a light jacket and a scarf. As he walked up to Draco he found that this time he was wearing a cloak and a scarf himself, which probably would have been more beneficial last time, but the past was the past.
“Hey,” Harry said, coming up beside Draco. Draco looked over at him and rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“What do you want?”
Harry sighed and sat down on the bench, leaving Draco standing. He rubbed his hands together for warmth.
“Will you please talk to me?”
“No,” Draco countered immediately.
“Draco -”
Draco spun around so fast, so sharply, that Harry’s words died in his throat.
“Don’t ‘Draco’ me!” He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. “We haven’t spoken in a week!”
“You wouldn’t let me!”
Draco’s eyes narrowed and Harry felt suddenly like he was standing in the path of a hurricane.
“You tried once, and might I remind you that you snuck up on me!”
“Why do I have to be the only one to try? It wasn’t like I did anything to hurt you on purpose!”
Harry’s words apparently had the intended effect - or an effect, at least - and Draco became somber. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned back around to look at the lake. Harry sighed and stood up, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind. When he wasn’t shrugged off, he rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Draco. But you have to remember: Anthony’s my boyfriend. You told me when we first started doing this that you were okay with it being a secret.”
Draco wriggled out of Harry’s grasp and circled his own arms around himself defiantly.
“I know that,” he said succinctly. “I am okay with it. It’s just that Goldstein bothers me. He’s such a . . . Ravenclaw.”
Harry frowned. “You don’t even know what that means.” He bit his lip and ploughed on, knowing Draco might get mad at what he was about to say. “You know, you still hold old prejudices, even if you don’t do it consciously.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco snapped.
“It means you still stereotype Ravenclaws as pretentious, book-loving arseholes; Hufflepuffs as mentally insufficient, useless lumps; and Gryffindors as arrogant, hot-headed goody-two-shoes.”
“I hardly think I could call you a goody-two-shoes, Potter,” he drawled. Harry sighed and reached out for Draco’s elbow, pulling him close even though the boy struggled weakly at first.
“Back to ‘Potter’, then?”
“I don’t hold prejudices,” Draco grumbled. “It’s not a stereotype if it’s true.”
“Have you ever talked to Terry Boot? He does horrible in his classes. But he’s smart, and he probably values intelligence a good but more than anything else. It’s the same as how the rest of the school sees Slytherins as nasty, cheating, back-stabbing, untrustworthy, conniving -”
“I get the picture!” Draco said sharply, digging his elbow into Harry’s gut. Harry chuckled.
“The point is, you’re not all like that. Mostly it’s just you.”
Draco acted offended - whilst trying to hide a smile - and made to push Harry away, but Harry caught his mouth in a kiss before he could say anything. It effectively shut Draco up.
“You’re not a bad person,” he whispered against his lips. “Most Slytherins aren’t bad people, just as all Ravenclaws aren’t arrogant and bookish, Hufflepuffs aren’t useless lumps, and Gryffindors aren’t all bull-headed and all that.”
Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Okay, I might be a little bull-headed,” Harry sighed exaggeratedly. “But you get my point.”
Draco was quiet for a moment, perhaps contemplating what Harry had said, while he played with a string on Harry’s jumper. Harry watched and felt a smile grow on his lips.
It was times like these, when Draco let down his guard in front of him and seriously considered he might be wrong, that Harry felt his heart melt. It was frightening and incredible simultaneously. He was entirely aware that he’d never felt like this about anyone before.
Dumbledore’s advice popped into his head again, and again Harry was forced to consider whether Draco might be worth the drama that would ensue should he ask him to be his -
“It’s getting cold.”
Harry had to shake his head to force himself back into reality and away from that dangerous thought. It had taken him by surprise. He resisted the urge to groan aloud.
Those kinds of thoughts would only make this whole thing harder.
“Do you wanna go inside?” he whispered, placing both hands on Draco’s cheeks and leaning close enough so their noses touched.
“Yeah.”
But how was he supposed to avoid those thoughts when it felt so right to hold Draco this close?
Just before they parted for the night in the entrance hall, Harry spotted a small stain on Draco’s shirt. He smiled.
“You spilled food on yourself,” he chuckled, pointing to the stain. Draco cracked a weak smile - Harry thought it almost looked forced - and nodded.
“Yeah. Ketchup . . . from dinner. Why weren’t you there, by the way?”
Harry shrugged. In truth, he had been holed up in his room trying to build up the nerve to do this - to find Draco and talk to him. But he wasn’t going to tell Draco that.
“Wasn’t hungry,” he said instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” When Draco nodded he leaned down to kiss his lips lightly, and then turned to make his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
Chapter Twenty | Page of Contents | Chapter Twenty-Two