A Time to Move On - Part 2
Author: sesheta_66
Betas: winnett, marguerite_26 and raitala
Word Count: ~ 15,500
Challenge: Originally written for __hibiscus in hd_holidays.
Title: A Time to Move On
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione
Summary: With the war behind them, and wounds still raw, the students at Hogwarts try to work out what their futures might hold for them, and perhaps recapture a little of their lost youth along the way.
Rating: PG-13 / light R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
A Time to Move On - Part 2
"Harry, there you are!"
"Hey Neville."
Neville noticed Malfoy standing beside Harry. "Malfoy," he said, not looking the least bit bothered by the Slytherin's presence.
Harry and Neville had spoken several times since returning to school, and they agreed on the subject of moving forward. They might never forgive. They most definitely wouldn't forget. But they were also not about to carry on the hatred.
Malfoy stared, looking shocked at being addressed. Recovering quickly, he nodded. "Longbottom."
Neville turned back to Harry. "McGonagall announced that we're resuming Quidditch."
"I thought she didn't want to reinforce the competition among houses," Harry pointed out.
"I know. Seems like she changed her mind." He handed Harry a piece of parchment. "She had these notices posted while you were all in Hogsmeade -" He stopped mid-sentence, frowned, and looked around. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"
"Probably mauling each other back there," Malfoy replied.
Neville laughed, then made a gagging motion. "They are a bit much, aren't they?"
Malfoy frowned, and Harry imagined his mind warring with itself over having a perfectly civil conversation with two Gryffindors. Regaining composure, he smiled. "I think things might improve a bit," he offered.
"Oh, really? Why's that?"
"Potter here." Malfoy nudged him with his shoulder.
Neville gave Harry a questioning look.
Harry shrugged. "I was supposed to meet up with them, but I didn't show up, and Ron - well, you know Ron - he was pissed that I spent the day with Malfoy instead."
Neville's eyebrows were lost in his fringe. He looked like he was holding back laughter. "Oh, I think pissed would be putting it mildly. I don't think anyone could piss him off more than Malfoy here."
"Well, you know … I try," Malfoy replied.
Neville couldn't hold back after that, letting out a hearty laugh. "Yes, I think we all know that." He turned back to Harry. "So what does that have to do with their constant … you know?"
"Pawing of each other?" Malfoy asked. "Potter told them that maybe they should get it all out of their system before being around others."
Neville coughed. "You didn't!"
"Yeah, I did," Harry said. "But I didn't mean to hurt their feelings."
"Oh, they'll get over it," Malfoy insisted.
"I don't know."
"They will, Harry," Neville agreed with Malfoy. "Besides, you did us all a favour." He stopped talking and motioned towards the door. "Hey Weasley! I've got some news." With that, he left to talk to Ron.
"That was strange," Malfoy said.
"What was?"
"Talking … with Longbottom."
Harry laughed. "Gryffindors aren't all that bad, you know."
Malfoy scowled. "I'm still not convinced."
Harry looked at the parchment in his hand. "Says here McGonagall will discuss the Quidditch games at dinner. See you then?"
"Yeah, sure." Malfoy looked bewildered as he turned to leave. Harry chuckled, imagining he was very confused with the events of the day. Harry wondered how he would feel if the Slytherins were suddenly nice to him. Shaking off that ridiculous notion, he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"We will be resuming Quidditch," Headmistress McGonagall said once the meal was finished. "However, we will not have house teams."
The Great Hall erupted with jeers and shouts.
"Enough!" she said. The hall fell silent. "I have not changed my mind since the beginning of term. It will be this way, or no way at all. The four teams - two for first through fourth years, and two for fifth through eighth years - will be captained by seniors, which I will select."
After a few whispered remarks, she continued. "Any first years that make the teams - and only those that make the teams - will have the rule about no personal brooms waived, and may use school brooms until they are able to obtain their own. There will be try-outs, and each team is expected to have equal representation from the houses. There will be the standard seven positions, with five reserves. That makes three from each house on each team. I will leave the details to the captains. You may expect further information in the coming weeks."
"Well, I suppose it could be worse," Ron said to Seamus. He still wasn't speaking to Harry. "We could have no Quidditch at all."
"Oh, Ronald," Hermione said. "Is Quidditch all you think about?"
Ron wrapped his arm around her waist and nuzzled into her ear. Harry got up before he could hear his response … or throw up.
"Mr Potter." McGonagall stopped him as he was trying to escape. "I'd like to have a word with you in my office."
"Er … sure."
"Excellent. You go on ahead. I'll meet you there."
Harry made his way to the Headmistress's office, but realised as he faced the gargoyles that he had no idea what the password was. Fortunately, McGonagall arrived in short order. Followed by none other than Draco Malfoy, who gave him a questioning look. Harry shrugged and they followed her up to her office.
"Have a seat, gentlemen." Harry looked up to see Dumbledore snoozing in his portrait. He glanced sideways at Malfoy, who was looking at the floor.
"Now, I imagine you can guess why I've asked you here."
"We didn't do anything wrong," Harry answered automatically. He heard Malfoy snort beside him.
Her twinkling eyes reminded Harry of Dumbledore. "On the contrary, Mr Potter, I've asked you both here to captain the Quidditch teams."
"Us?" Harry and Malfoy responded together.
"Yes. I rather thought that if the two of you could work together, it would set a good example for the school."
"But there are four teams."
"Yes, Mr Malfoy, but I don't believe junior students have what it takes to captain a team. So I was hoping that, while you won't play a position on the lower teams, you would agree to captain them."
"You want us to captain two teams each?"
"Yes."
"But why not get another two seniors?" Harry asked.
"Because then they will not get to play. Besides, I believe each of you is capable of managing. You can have many of your practices together, then … well, I'll let you work things out. Do you agree?"
"Sure," Harry replied. Malfoy was silent.
"Mr Malfoy, is there a problem?"
"I thought you said this was about building inter-house unity."
"Yes."
"But you're pitting Slytherin against Gryffindor."
"No, Mr Malfoy, I am not."
Harry turned a sceptical look towards his former Head of House. "Professor, I have to agree with Malfoy here."
"What I'm doing, gentlemen, is taking the two best Seekers in the school and allowing them to captain the teams. If you were on the same team, it would hardly be sportsmanlike for any team playing against the two of you."
"Well, you have a point there," Malfoy agreed.
"Excellent!" McGonagall said. "So you agree?"
"Alright," Malfoy agreed reluctantly. "How shall we work out the specifics?"
"Oh, I'll leave that entirely up to the two of you. I now officially wipe my hands clean of the whole matter. I'm sure the two of you can work together nicely."
Malfoy launched into a coughing fit. "Alright there, Malfoy?" Harry asked as he slapped him on the back.
"Are you trying to set us up for failure?" he asked the Headmistress. "I mean … Potter and I don't exactly have a stellar record of getting along."
McGonagall's lips twitched. "Indeed," she said. Harry could tell she was holding back. "But it has been two months since term started, and not once have the two of you fought." She looked warily at them. "Either that or you've succeeded in hiding it from the staff."
"No, no," Harry interjected. "We've been getting along fine."
Malfoy cleared his throat. "If having a handful of conversations since term started means getting along fine …"
"We got along well enough today," Harry pointed out.
"Wonderful. See? I knew you could manage it." She stood up and ushered them towards the door. "Like I said, I expect you to set a good example of how students from different houses can get along. Your legendary fighting sets the stage to show how far we have come." With a Good night, gentlemen, she dismissed them.
"She's quite the manipulator," Malfoy said as they exited the staircase.
"Learned from the best," Harry pointed out.
"Quite," Malfoy agreed. "Nice touch calling us the two best Seekers."
"It's the truth," Harry said. "You're the only competition I've ever had."
"Did you just compliment me, Potter?"
"I believe I did."
"This day is getting more bizarre by the minute."
Harry chuckled. "So, when do you want to get started?"
"No time like the present," Malfoy suggested. "Shall we meet in the library in fifteen?"
"Sure."
November, 1998
Two weeks passed, and they managed to work surprisingly well together. They conducted the try-outs and chose the top candidates in each category, ensuring there were six from each house in the upper years, and another six from the lower years. Now they needed to divide the candidates into the two teams.
They had managed to select the backup Seekers, as well as the first string and reserve Chasers and Beaters. They each had their favourites, and when they selected the same player, they alternated who got their pick. The only position left was Keeper.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want Weasley as Keeper."
Harry grinned. "You just want to be able to order him around."
Malfoy's eyes sparkled. "Well, there is that. But, much as I hate to admit it, he performed the best. And you took the Weaselette as Chaser."
"Are you suggesting that the Weasleys are the best Quidditch players?"
"Never!" Malfoy gasped, looking positively horrified. "You and I are the best Quidditch players."
"Modesty is a virtue, Malfoy."
"Be humble all you want, Potter. It's true. McGonagall said it herself. But I will acknowledge - reluctantly, and I will never admit it to anyone that asks, under threat of death - that the Weasleys can play."
"Yeah. Fred and George were the best Beaters."
"They were good, yes, but you can't deny Slytherin's Beaters from our first year were effective."
"With brute strength."
"Whatever it took. Anyway, you have your Gryffindor quota."
"I'll trade off."
"Nope. No can do. The weasel is all mine."
"Oh, I can't wait to tell Ron this," Harry complained.
"Tut, tut, Potter." The grin on Malfoy's face was positively terrifying. "Leave that job to me."
Harry groaned. Ron was barely speaking to him as it was. He was still sore about Harry's comments in Hogsmeade - although he and Hermione had cooled off in public - and now, with all the time Harry spent with Malfoy, he was even more irritated. Well, he'll just have to suck it up.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"No way!" Ron roared. "I will not play on the ferret's team!"
Malfoy's mouth hardened into a thin line. "These are the team rosters; accept your position or don't play."
"Harry … mate … you can't do this to me."
Before Harry had a chance to respond, Malfoy jumped in.
"On the contrary, Weasel, we can. For the record, I got to choose the best Keeper. Which, I am loathe to admit, was you."
Harry had to stop himself from laughing. The entire group congregated before them looked like they'd been hit by a Confundus spell. Draco Malfoy, after years of torment - and his classic Weasley is our King song - had admitted that Ron was the best Keeper in the group.
Seemingly oblivious to the sea of shock in front of him, Malfoy carried on. "The rules are clear. No more than three students from any one house on a team. You are on my team. That's final."
Ron looked like a fish out of water. Harry could feel the years of animosity struggling against his instinctual desire to preen at the public compliment. Ron was desperate, aching to say something, if his rapidly opening and closing mouth was any indication, but how could he argue when the object of his ire was praising him? Oh, Malfoy was good. Right up there with McGonagall.
"The point of this whole thing," Harry hastened to add, "is to promote inter-house unity. That means everyone works together. If anyone" - Harry looked pointedly at Ron - "has a problem with the assignments, he or she may opt out of Quidditch. Malfoy and I selected the teams as they stand, and they won't be changed. Congratulations to everyone."
With a look that could kill, Ron stormed off.
"Well, at least he didn't quit," Harry offered.
"Yet," Malfoy added with a smirk.
February, 1999
"Storm's approaching," Harry announced mid-afternoon on an unseasonably warm day. The collective groan from the two teams reminded him of his early days of practice, when any time spent flying was exhilarating. And, truth be told, the younger students did rather idolize the two of them, much to Malfoy's surprise and delight.
"Return the school brooms to me," Malfoy said to the few first years that had yet to obtain their own.
It was their bi-weekly collaborative practice session with the juniors. Harry and Malfoy had decided that they could more effectively improve key skills if they worked together and more often. It was working out well. The two of them were getting along fine, and, shockingly, Malfoy and Ron were tolerant of each other.
"Why are you doing this again, Potter?" Malfoy asked after the students had gone, and they were left putting away the equipment.
"The same reason you are." Harry looked at Draco's confused expression and added, "McGonagall asked me to."
"You don't need any bonus points with the Headmistress."
"No, but she asked me." He saw the now perplexed look on Draco's face. "She made a valid point. I told you months ago on the train that I'm tired of the fighting, and I meant it. This was a good chance to … I don't know … make a difference."
"Right, because you've never done anything to make a difference." He rolled his eyes as though he'd never heard anything so ridiculous.
"Let's get this stuff put away before the rain starts." Harry hastened to change the subject, leading the way to the Quidditch supply shed.
They returned everything to its rightful place in short order, but not quickly enough to avoid the rain. With a crack of thunder, the sky opened up and a torrential downpour began.
"Shit. It figures." Draco looked out the door at the soaked pitch. "I hate getting wet."
"You're a wizard," Harry pointed out. "You can spell yourself dry."
"Really?" Draco replied sardonically. "I hadn't thought of that."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well. What are you complaining about then?"
"Once I get chilled from the rain, it takes me a long while to warm up." He shivered, as though he were already wet.
"So sit in front of the fire when you get inside."
Draco mumbled something that sounded like Yeah, right.
"What was that?"
"Never mind. I'll just deal with it."
Harry recalled the party earlier that year, when Malfoy had stood apart from the rest of his house mates. He also ran scenes through his mind from the Great Hall. While Malfoy didn't eat alone, he was rarely seen in the company of anyone in his own year. Even now, after all this time.
"Is there something wrong?"
"Let's just say I'm not exactly welcome in the common room, and leave it at that, shall we?"
"You could come back to Gryffindor with me."
Malfoy's bark of laughter echoed in the small shed. "Right. Because I'm so much more welcome there."
"No one would give you a hard time."
Malfoy sneered at him. "Right." His tone made it clear just how likely he thought that would be.
Harry bristled. "They wouldn't." He straightened his shoulders to punctuate his point. "Not if you're with me."
"Hero to the rescue again?" Malfoy asked.
Harry relaxed his stance. "No. Just a friend … being a friend."
Malfoy gave him a curious look. "Friend?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. "I'd say we're friends now. Wouldn't you?"
"Friends," Malfoy said, trying the word on for size. He smiled at Harry. "Who'd have thought?"
"Yeah." Harry looked out at the downpour. "We could wait here until the rain eases up a bit."
"Okay."
They each settled themselves on a countertop, one on either side of the shed. They sat in companionable silence, with only the sound of the rain in the background. After a time, Harry saw Malfoy shiver, so he cast a warming charm.
"Bloody hero."
Harry chuckled. "You're welcome."
Harry looked at the array of brooms displayed on the far wall, and idly wondered if his dad or Sirius had ever ridden one of them. They certainly looked old enough. Then again, like Malfoy, they'd both grown up with sufficient money to afford their own brooms. Harry smiled, picturing a young James and Sirius in flying class complaining about how slow the school's brooms were.
"Potter?"
Harry turned his attention to Malfoy. "Yeah?"
"Why did you bother?"
Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to understand what Malfoy was asking. "Bother with what?"
"With me."
Ah. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Nobody else did."
Harry thought about it for a while. "Dumbledore wasn't the only person who thought you were worth something."
"I couldn't do it, you know," Malfoy said. "Kill him, I mean."
Harry was taken back in time to that awful day at the end of sixth year. "I know."
"How would you know?"
"I was there." Malfoy raised a brow. "On the Astronomy Tower that night. Dumbledore stunned me while I was under my Invisibility Cloak, so I couldn't move. All I could do was watch and listen. I saw you lower your wand."
Malfoy turned his head to face the wall. "A lot of good it did."
"It did," Harry insisted. "That one act saved you from tearing apart your soul."
He turned his head back around. "What are you on about, Potter?" His eyes were a mixture of confusion and something else … hope, maybe?
"You can call me Harry, you know." When no reply was forthcoming, he continued. "Anyway … your soul. When you commit murder, your soul is torn. That's how Voldemort made Horcruxes. You saved your soul that night."
Draco seemed to process that information for a while, then his face fell. "So Snape … he tore his soul apart to save me?" He looked even paler than usual.
"No, he didn't." Harry turned to properly face Draco. "He and Dumbledore had an agreement. It was a dying man's wish to be put out of his misery, and to save you in the process. So Snape didn't suffer any more because of you."
"Really?" Harry had never seen Draco look so exposed as he did right then. Like his very future was dependent on Harry's answer.
"Really." Harry nodded and smiled. "See? Snape thought you were worth it too."
Moments passed in silence. It was a lot for Draco to absorb. Harry wanted to say more, but really, what else was there to say? Neither of them could bring back the two men - men who had played such pivotal roles in both their lives.
"Thanks … Harry."
Harry smiled. "You're welcome, Draco."
Draco climbed off the countertop, walked over to the doorway, and stared outside, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning his head on the doorframe. Harry had the strangest urge to offer him comfort. An arm around the shoulder. Some kind of human contact. He walked up behind, and settled for a hand on Draco's shoulder.
"I love the sound of rain," Draco said after a long silence.
Harry listened for a while, then breathed in the air. "Mm. And the smell."
"Only in the country," Draco added, then scrunched up his nose. "The smell in the city is atrocious."
Harry recalled the smell of trash and who knew what lingering in the air one rainy day in the heart of the city. "Hmm." Then he took another deep breath, the smell of the trees and grass adding to the serenity of the moment. "You have a point there."
"It's so relaxing, just listening to the water falling through the canopy of the forest, the tapping of the rain drops on the ground, and the beating of them on the rooftops."
They stood there listening to the rain. It was soothing, and when Harry closed his eyes, he felt like he was somewhere else. Somewhere safe.
"Yeah," he said. "Almost makes you forget about everything else."
"For a little while, at least," Draco replied and returned to his seat.
"What are you planning to do, once you leave school?" Harry asked, pulling himself back onto the other counter.
"I don't know."
"C'mon, surely you have some sort of plan."
"Not all of us have a course laid out for us in the Auror corps."
"No," Harry conceded. "But you've a brilliant mind. Surely you've got all sorts of possibilities available to you."
"If anyone will hire me."
"I'm sure -"
"Are you?" Draco asked. "How can you be? I know I'm not."
"Other people believed - believe in you. Now you just have to believe in yourself."
"Oh, I believe in myself. I just don't think I'll be given a chance."
"So you're just going to give up?"
That earned Harry a familiar scowl. "No, I'm not just going to give up. But sometimes …" He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. "You know how you said that you're tired of fighting?"
"Yeah."
"So am I. And not just tired of battles, but tired of fighting for acceptance."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Harry awoke with a crick in his neck and darkness all around. All the fresh air, coupled with the sound of the rain, must have lulled them to sleep. Removing his wand from his pocket, he whispered, "Lumos" and crossed to the other side of the shed.
"Draco." Harry held up his wand. Draco lay sleeping peacefully. He looked young and vulnerable. Harry was struck by the absence of worry that he usually saw etched on Draco's face. He looked free from stress, and Harry hated to disturb that, especially after their conversation earlier. He felt oddly protective of his friend. Draco would say it was Harry's hero thing, but it was more than that. He brushed aside a stray lock of hair that was hanging over Draco's eye, and his stomach flipped at the contact. What was he doing?
Harry checked his watch and realised they'd missed dinner. He leaned over and shook Draco's shoulder. "Draco, wake up."
Draco grumbled in his sleep, then turned over, promptly toppling off the countertop. And into Harry's arms. Harry held his breath as his body trembled.
"Wha? What's going on?" Draco asked as he was jolted awake. "Potter?"
Harry set him on his feet. "It's Harry," he corrected, trying to will his heart to slow down. "You fell asleep."
"What did you knock me off the counter for?" he complained.
"I didn't knock you off the counter. I woke you up, and you … well, you sort-of rolled off it."
Draco brushed off his cloak, grumbling under his breath. "Saving me again?"
"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "Something like that."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He was going mad. That had to be it. He liked girls, for Merlin's sake. Athletic, boyish girls, an unhelpful voice in his head pointed out. And they worked out so well, didn't they?
Harry thought about it, and he knew - much as he didn't want to admit it to himself - that the feeling he got from just touching Draco was as strong as any feelings he got when kissing Ginny.
And don't forget your reaction when you had him in your arms, the voice taunted. How could he forget? He'd had to come back to Gryffindor Tower for a good wank after that. He'd never been so hard in all his life. Oh, hell. Now what was he supposed to do? He'd never been good at hiding his feelings, and … bloody hell. Draco could barely stand being Harry's friend, never mind anything more.
This wasn't like Cho. After all, she had kissed Harry, not the other way round. And with Ginny … well, she'd had a thing for Harry since before she'd even met him. So it wasn't like that was a difficult decision to make.
But Draco was different. Not only did he not like Harry very much, but he was a bloke. A straight bloke. Shit. Well, that was that. There was no way in hell Draco would ever … no way they could … just … no. No way.
And Ron? Oh, hell. What would Ron think? Okay, so he and Draco were getting on. Okay, maybe 'getting on' was a bit strong, but neither one of them had hexed or even threatened the other in weeks. And Harry was pretty sure Ron wasn't homophobic. Not that they'd ever talked about it, per se. But Harry suspected Charlie was gay, and Ron looked up to Charlie.
But this was Draco. Ron would have a conniption fit. Harry smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. Repeatedly. Straight. Draco is straight. Stop thinking about this. It's never going to happen.
Right. So Harry would just focus his energy elsewhere. No worries.
March, 1999
No worries. Right. The next few weeks were torture. Well, not really. In fact, they were nice. Except Harry couldn't concentrate on anything but Draco.
He noticed Draco's eyes. How had he not noticed before just how many different shades of grey they were, depending on the weather and his mood?
He noticed Draco's hands. Long, slender fingers, graceful when they were chopping ingredients, yet strong when they gripped his broom.
He noticed Draco's hair and how it shimmered in the sunlight.
He noticed Draco's long legs and how his arse filled out his Quidditch trousers just right.
His face was no longer pointy, but aristocratic.
His drawl was no longer irritating, but refined.
His walk was -
Merlin's hairy left testicle, I'm turning into a bloody girl! Harry thought woefully after a week.
Thankfully, no one had picked up on his … whatever it was. He knew that Hermione couldn't have kept her mouth shut if she had, and she was the most observant person Harry knew. Well, there was one good thing to be said about her relationship with Ron. Oh, dear God, he wasn't like them, was he? No. Someone would have said something. Wouldn't they?
The next week was better, as Harry was able to rationalize his feelings. Well … as much as Harry is capable of such thought anyway. He could focus again, although every accidental brush of an arm, or wisp of a breath sent signals directly to his groin. Thank Merlin for robes!
By the third week, he was over the worst of it. He was still drawn to Draco, but with an organised regimen of wanking, he was able to maintain control. For the most part. He - or at least a part of him - was a little worse for the wear, but he was young. He would survive. And he was able to concentrate in class again. If Draco didn't get too close. Or accidentally touch him. Or look his way. Or breathe in his general direction.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Harry, m'boy," Slughorn said as he pulled Harry aside after class. "I wonder if I might have a word."
"Um … sure, Professor."
"Excellent. Listen, Harry, I know this year hasn't been your best, but …"
Harry never had told Slughorn about Snape's book. He figured that his teacher would eventually work out that he was not the potions genius his mother was.
"I have this friend, a potions master. Owns an apothecary. Wonderful chap, just wonderful." He grinned widely at Harry and offered him some crystallized pineapple. When Harry politely declined, he continued. "He is looking for an apprentice. I told him that I had the perfect student in mind. Excellent mind. A natural. Wanted a name, but I said I'd have to keep that to myself until the student agreed."
He looked hopefully at Harry. Harry pretended to consider the offer for a few moments. Then a wonderful idea struck him.
"You said he doesn't know which student you're considering?"
"That's right, Harry. But no worries. He doesn't go much for gossip and all that nonsense. He's a down to earth chap. Yes, indeed. Trusts my judgement implicitly. Simply wants someone eager and interested in the trade."
Harry smiled. "That's great, Professor."
"Excellent, Harry. Most excellent. Shall I set up a meeting for next week?"
"I'd say you'll have to check with Draco first."
Slughorn's confusion was rather comical. Harry took advantage and forged ahead.
"I appreciate you being candid with me, Professor. After all, I know that it was your wish that I carry on with potions, but it's great that you've accepted my plan to be an Auror. And let's be honest. No matter how well I did in sixth year, I can't hold a candle to Draco. He's passionate about the craft. It comes naturally to him like to no one else I know. I couldn't think of a better choice."
Harry bit his cheek to keep a straight face. "I realise that you two don't have the rapport that we have, so it was nice of you to approach me, knowing that Draco and I are friends. Shall I tell him to come see you after dinner?"
"Er …"
"Great. Thanks, Sir. I'm sure he'll be thrilled!" And Harry fled the classroom. Yes, it was underhanded. Yes, it was sneaky. But damn it, Draco was the best. And he loved potions. It wasn't fair that people like Slughorn got to hand pick who became successful. Harry knew that the professor would want to save face, so he would never say anything to imply it hadn't been his idea all along. Besides, he had to acknowledge that Draco was the best. So it was a win-win situation. No one - including Slughorn and Draco - need ever know Harry's role.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
As Harry made his way down the corridor from the Potions classroom, he saw a crowd gathered.
"… bloody shirt lifter."
"Piss off, Smith." That sounded like Draco.
"I notice you're not denying it."
"What business is it of yours, either way?"
"I wonder what Potter would say if he knew."
"If I knew what, Smith?" Harry said.
Draco's eyes widened as he registered Harry's presence. "It's nothing." He turned and glared at Smith.
"Oh, come on now, Malfoy. I wouldn't say it's nothing. After all, your new best friend should know what team you're playing for."
Draco glanced at Harry, then looked the other way. The corridor was blocked by a crowd, there seemingly to prevent his escape.
"You know, Potter, it seems you're taking special interest in Malfoy here. People are beginning to talk."
"People always talk," Harry said, shrugging. "Why should I care?"
"Well, I suppose you should care if you and your boyfriend here are part of the latest gossip."
"Fuck you!" Draco spat.
Smith sneered. "You wish."
"Not in a million years."
"What are you going on about, Smith?" Harry asked.
"It's not important," Draco said.
"I heard it on good authority, from a former acquaintance of his, that Malfoy here is a poofter."
"What?" Harry said. He's gay? Harry pictured a miniature version of himself - the one the voice in his head belonged to - doing a decidedly inelegant happy dance at the thought.
Harry watched as Draco's face fell. Harry's chest ached, like someone had reached in, got hold of his heart, and was squeezing it, trying to crush it.
"Bastard," Draco said to Smith. He waved his wand menacingly at the crowd and they let him pass.
Harry saw the look of glee on Smith's face. He shoved him to the side. "You really are a fuckwit," he said, and followed Draco.
"Careful, Potter," he heard echo through the corridor. "You're starting to sound like him too." Harry ignored him.
"Draco!" he called. "Draco, wait up!"
Draco marched on ahead, rounding the corner. Harry had to run to catch up.
"Draco!" He had picked up his pace. "Malfoy!" That did it.
Draco stopped, then leaned against the stone wall. "What do you want, Potter?" He sounded tired, defeated.
"Why did you take off like that?"
"You're not serious."
"Of course I am."
"Look, Potter -"
"It's Harry, remember? I thought we were friends."
"Not any more, I'd wager."
Harry moved to stand directly in front of Draco, looking him straight in the eye. "You can be such a prick, you know that?"
Draco narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin defiantly. "Because I didn't tell you all my deepest, darkest secrets? That's rich, Potter."
"Not because of that, you idiot. Because I thought you knew me better than that. You should know that something like this wouldn't end our friendship. Shit. What kind of arse to you take me for?"
Draco took a few moments before responding. Harry could almost hear the wheels spinning. "So you don't care if I'm gay?"
"Well." Harry took Draco's wrists and lifted them up to either side of his head, bringing his forehead to rest on Draco's. He smiled and gave his friend a gentle kiss. "I wouldn't say that."
"You … but …" Draco stammered. Recovering quickly, he glared at Harry. "I thought you were straight."
Harry manoeuvred his knee between Draco's legs. He pushed his body against Draco's and leaned in to nibble his earlobe. "Seems you're not the only one with secrets," he said.
Releasing Draco's arms, Harry planted kisses along his neck, jaw, and the corner of his lips, before pulling back. He saw desire in Draco's eyes that he knew was reflected in his own. Something inside him clicked. This was exactly what he wanted, the man he wanted.
He cupped Draco's cheeks in his palms and brought their mouths together, savouring the tingling warmth that thrummed through him at the contact. He traced his tongue along the contours of Draco's lips, silently begging him to part them, to let him in. With a soft moan, Draco opened up to him, and when their tongues met, the world outside vanished. Harry's entire focus, his entire being, was in that kiss.
Harry was drowning and floating at the same time, immersed in sensation, the taste and the feel of Draco. He ran the fingers of one hand through Draco's hair, while the others caressed his cheek. Draco's lips were soft and inviting, his tongue teasing and tantalising. Harry probed the depths of Draco's mouth, wanting to explore and memorize every contour.
Draco's hands reached for Harry's hips and drew him nearer. Their bodies were aligned, joined from lips to knees, and it was both wonderful and frustrating. Everywhere they touched, Harry's skin was on fire. Too much clothing. Too many barriers. As if he could read Harry's mind, Draco groaned in frustration, grabbing Harry's arse and grinding their erections together.
Harry could feel his blood coursing through his veins, could hear it rushing past his ears, was acutely aware of it pooling in his groin.
"Ahem." Well ... that was like a bucket of ice water poured over their heads.
They broke apart, barely, and Harry braced himself against the wall, trying to calm his breathing, knowing that he couldn't trust his own legs to hold him steady. By the looks of things, Draco wasn't faring any better.
"Gentlemen," Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the hall. "While I am pleased to see that you are … ahem … getting along, might I suggest a less public location to express yourselves?"
"Yes, Professor." The words were barely more than a breath; Harry couldn't trust his own voice. Neither of them moved until the Headmistress's footsteps trailed off in the distance.
Harry chanced a look at Draco, and the magnitude of the situation hit him hard. "One more minute," he said in a pained voice.
"A minute, Potter? Ten more seconds would have done it."
They collapsed in a fit of laughter, barely holding each other upright.
"Well, fuck me," Draco said, leaning his head back against the wall.
"Mm," Harry growled, his arousal returning full force. He ran a finger slowly down Draco's neck before tracing its path back up with his tongue. "Is that an invitation?
Draco's hand grasped Harry's hair, pulling him back to face a set of smouldering grey eyes. "Absolutely."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
On their way to Harry's dorm - they weren't willing to chance a run-in with the Slytherins - Harry recalled his reason for seeking out Draco in the first place.
"You have an appointment with Slughorn after dinner," he announced.
"What?"
"He has a friend who's looking to take on an apprentice, and he told the man he had the perfect candidate, a top student in potions with a natural aptitude for and keen interest in the field of potions."
Draco slowed his pace. "Why are you telling me this instead of Slughorn? He is my Head of House, after all."
"He told me about it, and I said I'd mention it to you."
"Again, why you?" He narrowed his eyes. "This isn't another one of your saving people things, is it?"
"No, of course not." Harry replied, hoping his indignant tone was good enough to cover the lie.
"It seems to me he's perfectly capable of speaking directly to me."
Harry shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Who knows why Slughorn does anything? You know how he always uses his connections here and there. He probably noticed that we're friends and figured I could influence you to take the position."
Draco seemed to accept that reasoning. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. "When exactly were you planning to tell me this?"
"I just told you now," Harry said in his own defence. "That's what I was about to talk to you about when I ran into that situation between you and Smith."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"What? I got … distracted."
"Is that what you call it?"
"Well … yes."
They continued walking in silence. As Harry turned towards Gryffindor Tower, Draco turned in the direction of the dungeons.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked, and most assuredly with no whinging in his voice.
"To prepare for my interview, of course," Draco said.
"What?!"
"Surely you don't expect me to show up in Slughorn's office unprepared."
"But … it's not an interview." Harry tried, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the desperation out of his voice. "He just wants to talk to you."
"I am aware of that." Draco gave Harry a peck on the cheek and rolled his eyes. "It's a wonder you Gryffindors accomplish anything."
Harry stood, transfixed, and watched Draco walk away. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. He took a few calming breaths, trying to regain some control over his raging hormones. That man was going to be the death of him, he was sure.
When Harry opened his eyes, he saw Draco marching purposefully towards him. Before he had a chance to react, he was shoved against the wall, Draco's mouth and body crushing his own. His senses were on overload, trying to absorb the taste, the scent, the feel of Draco all around him. The kiss was an almost violent mashing of tongues and teeth, and it was brilliant.
Draco pulled back, leaning his forehead against Harry's. "You," he panted, "have the worst possible timing, Potter."
Harry's head was still swimming, and he was unable to form a coherent response.
"After my meeting with Slughorn, we will finish this."
"Finish?" Harry asked, pulling Draco's body closer to his own. "Don't you mean start?"
Draco gave him a wicked grin, then leaned in for another toe-curling kiss. "Yeah. That's what I mean."
June, 1999 - as seen in Witch Weekly
From Foes to Friends to More
In an exclusive interview with Witch Weekly, Harry Potter (aka Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Saviour, and recently accepted Auror-in-training) and Draco Malfoy (heir to the Malfoy fortune, and newly appointed potions apprentice at Millstone's Apothecary in London), have confirmed that they are romantically involved.
Sources close to the couple agree that, looking back over the years, it was only a matter of time before the two legendary rivals at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry got together.
Related interviews:
Page 16 - A fine line between love and hate … H Granger, L Lovegood & G Weasley
Page 24 - Gagging for it for years … S Finnegan & D Thomas
Page 37 - If the ferret makes him happy … R Weasley
Page 39 - But he's a Gryffindor … P Parkinson & B Zabini
Page 44 - I knew it all along … S Trelawny
When asked about their relationship, Messrs Potter and Malfoy were both anxious to express their appreciation to their class mate, Mr Zacharias Smith, for being instrumental in showing the two men what was right in front of their eyes.
"Without his efforts," Mr Potter told us, "we might never have got together."
At the time of publication, Mr Smith was unavailable for comment.
~ FIN ~
Betas: winnett, marguerite_26 and raitala
Word Count: ~ 15,500
Challenge: Originally written for __hibiscus in hd_holidays.
Title: A Time to Move On
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione
Summary: With the war behind them, and wounds still raw, the students at Hogwarts try to work out what their futures might hold for them, and perhaps recapture a little of their lost youth along the way.
Rating: PG-13 / light R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
A Time to Move On - Part 2
"Harry, there you are!"
"Hey Neville."
Neville noticed Malfoy standing beside Harry. "Malfoy," he said, not looking the least bit bothered by the Slytherin's presence.
Harry and Neville had spoken several times since returning to school, and they agreed on the subject of moving forward. They might never forgive. They most definitely wouldn't forget. But they were also not about to carry on the hatred.
Malfoy stared, looking shocked at being addressed. Recovering quickly, he nodded. "Longbottom."
Neville turned back to Harry. "McGonagall announced that we're resuming Quidditch."
"I thought she didn't want to reinforce the competition among houses," Harry pointed out.
"I know. Seems like she changed her mind." He handed Harry a piece of parchment. "She had these notices posted while you were all in Hogsmeade -" He stopped mid-sentence, frowned, and looked around. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"
"Probably mauling each other back there," Malfoy replied.
Neville laughed, then made a gagging motion. "They are a bit much, aren't they?"
Malfoy frowned, and Harry imagined his mind warring with itself over having a perfectly civil conversation with two Gryffindors. Regaining composure, he smiled. "I think things might improve a bit," he offered.
"Oh, really? Why's that?"
"Potter here." Malfoy nudged him with his shoulder.
Neville gave Harry a questioning look.
Harry shrugged. "I was supposed to meet up with them, but I didn't show up, and Ron - well, you know Ron - he was pissed that I spent the day with Malfoy instead."
Neville's eyebrows were lost in his fringe. He looked like he was holding back laughter. "Oh, I think pissed would be putting it mildly. I don't think anyone could piss him off more than Malfoy here."
"Well, you know … I try," Malfoy replied.
Neville couldn't hold back after that, letting out a hearty laugh. "Yes, I think we all know that." He turned back to Harry. "So what does that have to do with their constant … you know?"
"Pawing of each other?" Malfoy asked. "Potter told them that maybe they should get it all out of their system before being around others."
Neville coughed. "You didn't!"
"Yeah, I did," Harry said. "But I didn't mean to hurt their feelings."
"Oh, they'll get over it," Malfoy insisted.
"I don't know."
"They will, Harry," Neville agreed with Malfoy. "Besides, you did us all a favour." He stopped talking and motioned towards the door. "Hey Weasley! I've got some news." With that, he left to talk to Ron.
"That was strange," Malfoy said.
"What was?"
"Talking … with Longbottom."
Harry laughed. "Gryffindors aren't all that bad, you know."
Malfoy scowled. "I'm still not convinced."
Harry looked at the parchment in his hand. "Says here McGonagall will discuss the Quidditch games at dinner. See you then?"
"Yeah, sure." Malfoy looked bewildered as he turned to leave. Harry chuckled, imagining he was very confused with the events of the day. Harry wondered how he would feel if the Slytherins were suddenly nice to him. Shaking off that ridiculous notion, he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"We will be resuming Quidditch," Headmistress McGonagall said once the meal was finished. "However, we will not have house teams."
The Great Hall erupted with jeers and shouts.
"Enough!" she said. The hall fell silent. "I have not changed my mind since the beginning of term. It will be this way, or no way at all. The four teams - two for first through fourth years, and two for fifth through eighth years - will be captained by seniors, which I will select."
After a few whispered remarks, she continued. "Any first years that make the teams - and only those that make the teams - will have the rule about no personal brooms waived, and may use school brooms until they are able to obtain their own. There will be try-outs, and each team is expected to have equal representation from the houses. There will be the standard seven positions, with five reserves. That makes three from each house on each team. I will leave the details to the captains. You may expect further information in the coming weeks."
"Well, I suppose it could be worse," Ron said to Seamus. He still wasn't speaking to Harry. "We could have no Quidditch at all."
"Oh, Ronald," Hermione said. "Is Quidditch all you think about?"
Ron wrapped his arm around her waist and nuzzled into her ear. Harry got up before he could hear his response … or throw up.
"Mr Potter." McGonagall stopped him as he was trying to escape. "I'd like to have a word with you in my office."
"Er … sure."
"Excellent. You go on ahead. I'll meet you there."
Harry made his way to the Headmistress's office, but realised as he faced the gargoyles that he had no idea what the password was. Fortunately, McGonagall arrived in short order. Followed by none other than Draco Malfoy, who gave him a questioning look. Harry shrugged and they followed her up to her office.
"Have a seat, gentlemen." Harry looked up to see Dumbledore snoozing in his portrait. He glanced sideways at Malfoy, who was looking at the floor.
"Now, I imagine you can guess why I've asked you here."
"We didn't do anything wrong," Harry answered automatically. He heard Malfoy snort beside him.
Her twinkling eyes reminded Harry of Dumbledore. "On the contrary, Mr Potter, I've asked you both here to captain the Quidditch teams."
"Us?" Harry and Malfoy responded together.
"Yes. I rather thought that if the two of you could work together, it would set a good example for the school."
"But there are four teams."
"Yes, Mr Malfoy, but I don't believe junior students have what it takes to captain a team. So I was hoping that, while you won't play a position on the lower teams, you would agree to captain them."
"You want us to captain two teams each?"
"Yes."
"But why not get another two seniors?" Harry asked.
"Because then they will not get to play. Besides, I believe each of you is capable of managing. You can have many of your practices together, then … well, I'll let you work things out. Do you agree?"
"Sure," Harry replied. Malfoy was silent.
"Mr Malfoy, is there a problem?"
"I thought you said this was about building inter-house unity."
"Yes."
"But you're pitting Slytherin against Gryffindor."
"No, Mr Malfoy, I am not."
Harry turned a sceptical look towards his former Head of House. "Professor, I have to agree with Malfoy here."
"What I'm doing, gentlemen, is taking the two best Seekers in the school and allowing them to captain the teams. If you were on the same team, it would hardly be sportsmanlike for any team playing against the two of you."
"Well, you have a point there," Malfoy agreed.
"Excellent!" McGonagall said. "So you agree?"
"Alright," Malfoy agreed reluctantly. "How shall we work out the specifics?"
"Oh, I'll leave that entirely up to the two of you. I now officially wipe my hands clean of the whole matter. I'm sure the two of you can work together nicely."
Malfoy launched into a coughing fit. "Alright there, Malfoy?" Harry asked as he slapped him on the back.
"Are you trying to set us up for failure?" he asked the Headmistress. "I mean … Potter and I don't exactly have a stellar record of getting along."
McGonagall's lips twitched. "Indeed," she said. Harry could tell she was holding back. "But it has been two months since term started, and not once have the two of you fought." She looked warily at them. "Either that or you've succeeded in hiding it from the staff."
"No, no," Harry interjected. "We've been getting along fine."
Malfoy cleared his throat. "If having a handful of conversations since term started means getting along fine …"
"We got along well enough today," Harry pointed out.
"Wonderful. See? I knew you could manage it." She stood up and ushered them towards the door. "Like I said, I expect you to set a good example of how students from different houses can get along. Your legendary fighting sets the stage to show how far we have come." With a Good night, gentlemen, she dismissed them.
"She's quite the manipulator," Malfoy said as they exited the staircase.
"Learned from the best," Harry pointed out.
"Quite," Malfoy agreed. "Nice touch calling us the two best Seekers."
"It's the truth," Harry said. "You're the only competition I've ever had."
"Did you just compliment me, Potter?"
"I believe I did."
"This day is getting more bizarre by the minute."
Harry chuckled. "So, when do you want to get started?"
"No time like the present," Malfoy suggested. "Shall we meet in the library in fifteen?"
"Sure."
November, 1998
Two weeks passed, and they managed to work surprisingly well together. They conducted the try-outs and chose the top candidates in each category, ensuring there were six from each house in the upper years, and another six from the lower years. Now they needed to divide the candidates into the two teams.
They had managed to select the backup Seekers, as well as the first string and reserve Chasers and Beaters. They each had their favourites, and when they selected the same player, they alternated who got their pick. The only position left was Keeper.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want Weasley as Keeper."
Harry grinned. "You just want to be able to order him around."
Malfoy's eyes sparkled. "Well, there is that. But, much as I hate to admit it, he performed the best. And you took the Weaselette as Chaser."
"Are you suggesting that the Weasleys are the best Quidditch players?"
"Never!" Malfoy gasped, looking positively horrified. "You and I are the best Quidditch players."
"Modesty is a virtue, Malfoy."
"Be humble all you want, Potter. It's true. McGonagall said it herself. But I will acknowledge - reluctantly, and I will never admit it to anyone that asks, under threat of death - that the Weasleys can play."
"Yeah. Fred and George were the best Beaters."
"They were good, yes, but you can't deny Slytherin's Beaters from our first year were effective."
"With brute strength."
"Whatever it took. Anyway, you have your Gryffindor quota."
"I'll trade off."
"Nope. No can do. The weasel is all mine."
"Oh, I can't wait to tell Ron this," Harry complained.
"Tut, tut, Potter." The grin on Malfoy's face was positively terrifying. "Leave that job to me."
Harry groaned. Ron was barely speaking to him as it was. He was still sore about Harry's comments in Hogsmeade - although he and Hermione had cooled off in public - and now, with all the time Harry spent with Malfoy, he was even more irritated. Well, he'll just have to suck it up.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"No way!" Ron roared. "I will not play on the ferret's team!"
Malfoy's mouth hardened into a thin line. "These are the team rosters; accept your position or don't play."
"Harry … mate … you can't do this to me."
Before Harry had a chance to respond, Malfoy jumped in.
"On the contrary, Weasel, we can. For the record, I got to choose the best Keeper. Which, I am loathe to admit, was you."
Harry had to stop himself from laughing. The entire group congregated before them looked like they'd been hit by a Confundus spell. Draco Malfoy, after years of torment - and his classic Weasley is our King song - had admitted that Ron was the best Keeper in the group.
Seemingly oblivious to the sea of shock in front of him, Malfoy carried on. "The rules are clear. No more than three students from any one house on a team. You are on my team. That's final."
Ron looked like a fish out of water. Harry could feel the years of animosity struggling against his instinctual desire to preen at the public compliment. Ron was desperate, aching to say something, if his rapidly opening and closing mouth was any indication, but how could he argue when the object of his ire was praising him? Oh, Malfoy was good. Right up there with McGonagall.
"The point of this whole thing," Harry hastened to add, "is to promote inter-house unity. That means everyone works together. If anyone" - Harry looked pointedly at Ron - "has a problem with the assignments, he or she may opt out of Quidditch. Malfoy and I selected the teams as they stand, and they won't be changed. Congratulations to everyone."
With a look that could kill, Ron stormed off.
"Well, at least he didn't quit," Harry offered.
"Yet," Malfoy added with a smirk.
February, 1999
"Storm's approaching," Harry announced mid-afternoon on an unseasonably warm day. The collective groan from the two teams reminded him of his early days of practice, when any time spent flying was exhilarating. And, truth be told, the younger students did rather idolize the two of them, much to Malfoy's surprise and delight.
"Return the school brooms to me," Malfoy said to the few first years that had yet to obtain their own.
It was their bi-weekly collaborative practice session with the juniors. Harry and Malfoy had decided that they could more effectively improve key skills if they worked together and more often. It was working out well. The two of them were getting along fine, and, shockingly, Malfoy and Ron were tolerant of each other.
"Why are you doing this again, Potter?" Malfoy asked after the students had gone, and they were left putting away the equipment.
"The same reason you are." Harry looked at Draco's confused expression and added, "McGonagall asked me to."
"You don't need any bonus points with the Headmistress."
"No, but she asked me." He saw the now perplexed look on Draco's face. "She made a valid point. I told you months ago on the train that I'm tired of the fighting, and I meant it. This was a good chance to … I don't know … make a difference."
"Right, because you've never done anything to make a difference." He rolled his eyes as though he'd never heard anything so ridiculous.
"Let's get this stuff put away before the rain starts." Harry hastened to change the subject, leading the way to the Quidditch supply shed.
They returned everything to its rightful place in short order, but not quickly enough to avoid the rain. With a crack of thunder, the sky opened up and a torrential downpour began.
"Shit. It figures." Draco looked out the door at the soaked pitch. "I hate getting wet."
"You're a wizard," Harry pointed out. "You can spell yourself dry."
"Really?" Draco replied sardonically. "I hadn't thought of that."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well. What are you complaining about then?"
"Once I get chilled from the rain, it takes me a long while to warm up." He shivered, as though he were already wet.
"So sit in front of the fire when you get inside."
Draco mumbled something that sounded like Yeah, right.
"What was that?"
"Never mind. I'll just deal with it."
Harry recalled the party earlier that year, when Malfoy had stood apart from the rest of his house mates. He also ran scenes through his mind from the Great Hall. While Malfoy didn't eat alone, he was rarely seen in the company of anyone in his own year. Even now, after all this time.
"Is there something wrong?"
"Let's just say I'm not exactly welcome in the common room, and leave it at that, shall we?"
"You could come back to Gryffindor with me."
Malfoy's bark of laughter echoed in the small shed. "Right. Because I'm so much more welcome there."
"No one would give you a hard time."
Malfoy sneered at him. "Right." His tone made it clear just how likely he thought that would be.
Harry bristled. "They wouldn't." He straightened his shoulders to punctuate his point. "Not if you're with me."
"Hero to the rescue again?" Malfoy asked.
Harry relaxed his stance. "No. Just a friend … being a friend."
Malfoy gave him a curious look. "Friend?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. "I'd say we're friends now. Wouldn't you?"
"Friends," Malfoy said, trying the word on for size. He smiled at Harry. "Who'd have thought?"
"Yeah." Harry looked out at the downpour. "We could wait here until the rain eases up a bit."
"Okay."
They each settled themselves on a countertop, one on either side of the shed. They sat in companionable silence, with only the sound of the rain in the background. After a time, Harry saw Malfoy shiver, so he cast a warming charm.
"Bloody hero."
Harry chuckled. "You're welcome."
Harry looked at the array of brooms displayed on the far wall, and idly wondered if his dad or Sirius had ever ridden one of them. They certainly looked old enough. Then again, like Malfoy, they'd both grown up with sufficient money to afford their own brooms. Harry smiled, picturing a young James and Sirius in flying class complaining about how slow the school's brooms were.
"Potter?"
Harry turned his attention to Malfoy. "Yeah?"
"Why did you bother?"
Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to understand what Malfoy was asking. "Bother with what?"
"With me."
Ah. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Nobody else did."
Harry thought about it for a while. "Dumbledore wasn't the only person who thought you were worth something."
"I couldn't do it, you know," Malfoy said. "Kill him, I mean."
Harry was taken back in time to that awful day at the end of sixth year. "I know."
"How would you know?"
"I was there." Malfoy raised a brow. "On the Astronomy Tower that night. Dumbledore stunned me while I was under my Invisibility Cloak, so I couldn't move. All I could do was watch and listen. I saw you lower your wand."
Malfoy turned his head to face the wall. "A lot of good it did."
"It did," Harry insisted. "That one act saved you from tearing apart your soul."
He turned his head back around. "What are you on about, Potter?" His eyes were a mixture of confusion and something else … hope, maybe?
"You can call me Harry, you know." When no reply was forthcoming, he continued. "Anyway … your soul. When you commit murder, your soul is torn. That's how Voldemort made Horcruxes. You saved your soul that night."
Draco seemed to process that information for a while, then his face fell. "So Snape … he tore his soul apart to save me?" He looked even paler than usual.
"No, he didn't." Harry turned to properly face Draco. "He and Dumbledore had an agreement. It was a dying man's wish to be put out of his misery, and to save you in the process. So Snape didn't suffer any more because of you."
"Really?" Harry had never seen Draco look so exposed as he did right then. Like his very future was dependent on Harry's answer.
"Really." Harry nodded and smiled. "See? Snape thought you were worth it too."
Moments passed in silence. It was a lot for Draco to absorb. Harry wanted to say more, but really, what else was there to say? Neither of them could bring back the two men - men who had played such pivotal roles in both their lives.
"Thanks … Harry."
Harry smiled. "You're welcome, Draco."
Draco climbed off the countertop, walked over to the doorway, and stared outside, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning his head on the doorframe. Harry had the strangest urge to offer him comfort. An arm around the shoulder. Some kind of human contact. He walked up behind, and settled for a hand on Draco's shoulder.
"I love the sound of rain," Draco said after a long silence.
Harry listened for a while, then breathed in the air. "Mm. And the smell."
"Only in the country," Draco added, then scrunched up his nose. "The smell in the city is atrocious."
Harry recalled the smell of trash and who knew what lingering in the air one rainy day in the heart of the city. "Hmm." Then he took another deep breath, the smell of the trees and grass adding to the serenity of the moment. "You have a point there."
"It's so relaxing, just listening to the water falling through the canopy of the forest, the tapping of the rain drops on the ground, and the beating of them on the rooftops."
They stood there listening to the rain. It was soothing, and when Harry closed his eyes, he felt like he was somewhere else. Somewhere safe.
"Yeah," he said. "Almost makes you forget about everything else."
"For a little while, at least," Draco replied and returned to his seat.
"What are you planning to do, once you leave school?" Harry asked, pulling himself back onto the other counter.
"I don't know."
"C'mon, surely you have some sort of plan."
"Not all of us have a course laid out for us in the Auror corps."
"No," Harry conceded. "But you've a brilliant mind. Surely you've got all sorts of possibilities available to you."
"If anyone will hire me."
"I'm sure -"
"Are you?" Draco asked. "How can you be? I know I'm not."
"Other people believed - believe in you. Now you just have to believe in yourself."
"Oh, I believe in myself. I just don't think I'll be given a chance."
"So you're just going to give up?"
That earned Harry a familiar scowl. "No, I'm not just going to give up. But sometimes …" He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. "You know how you said that you're tired of fighting?"
"Yeah."
"So am I. And not just tired of battles, but tired of fighting for acceptance."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Harry awoke with a crick in his neck and darkness all around. All the fresh air, coupled with the sound of the rain, must have lulled them to sleep. Removing his wand from his pocket, he whispered, "Lumos" and crossed to the other side of the shed.
"Draco." Harry held up his wand. Draco lay sleeping peacefully. He looked young and vulnerable. Harry was struck by the absence of worry that he usually saw etched on Draco's face. He looked free from stress, and Harry hated to disturb that, especially after their conversation earlier. He felt oddly protective of his friend. Draco would say it was Harry's hero thing, but it was more than that. He brushed aside a stray lock of hair that was hanging over Draco's eye, and his stomach flipped at the contact. What was he doing?
Harry checked his watch and realised they'd missed dinner. He leaned over and shook Draco's shoulder. "Draco, wake up."
Draco grumbled in his sleep, then turned over, promptly toppling off the countertop. And into Harry's arms. Harry held his breath as his body trembled.
"Wha? What's going on?" Draco asked as he was jolted awake. "Potter?"
Harry set him on his feet. "It's Harry," he corrected, trying to will his heart to slow down. "You fell asleep."
"What did you knock me off the counter for?" he complained.
"I didn't knock you off the counter. I woke you up, and you … well, you sort-of rolled off it."
Draco brushed off his cloak, grumbling under his breath. "Saving me again?"
"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "Something like that."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He was going mad. That had to be it. He liked girls, for Merlin's sake. Athletic, boyish girls, an unhelpful voice in his head pointed out. And they worked out so well, didn't they?
Harry thought about it, and he knew - much as he didn't want to admit it to himself - that the feeling he got from just touching Draco was as strong as any feelings he got when kissing Ginny.
And don't forget your reaction when you had him in your arms, the voice taunted. How could he forget? He'd had to come back to Gryffindor Tower for a good wank after that. He'd never been so hard in all his life. Oh, hell. Now what was he supposed to do? He'd never been good at hiding his feelings, and … bloody hell. Draco could barely stand being Harry's friend, never mind anything more.
This wasn't like Cho. After all, she had kissed Harry, not the other way round. And with Ginny … well, she'd had a thing for Harry since before she'd even met him. So it wasn't like that was a difficult decision to make.
But Draco was different. Not only did he not like Harry very much, but he was a bloke. A straight bloke. Shit. Well, that was that. There was no way in hell Draco would ever … no way they could … just … no. No way.
And Ron? Oh, hell. What would Ron think? Okay, so he and Draco were getting on. Okay, maybe 'getting on' was a bit strong, but neither one of them had hexed or even threatened the other in weeks. And Harry was pretty sure Ron wasn't homophobic. Not that they'd ever talked about it, per se. But Harry suspected Charlie was gay, and Ron looked up to Charlie.
But this was Draco. Ron would have a conniption fit. Harry smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. Repeatedly. Straight. Draco is straight. Stop thinking about this. It's never going to happen.
Right. So Harry would just focus his energy elsewhere. No worries.
March, 1999
No worries. Right. The next few weeks were torture. Well, not really. In fact, they were nice. Except Harry couldn't concentrate on anything but Draco.
He noticed Draco's eyes. How had he not noticed before just how many different shades of grey they were, depending on the weather and his mood?
He noticed Draco's hands. Long, slender fingers, graceful when they were chopping ingredients, yet strong when they gripped his broom.
He noticed Draco's hair and how it shimmered in the sunlight.
He noticed Draco's long legs and how his arse filled out his Quidditch trousers just right.
His face was no longer pointy, but aristocratic.
His drawl was no longer irritating, but refined.
His walk was -
Merlin's hairy left testicle, I'm turning into a bloody girl! Harry thought woefully after a week.
Thankfully, no one had picked up on his … whatever it was. He knew that Hermione couldn't have kept her mouth shut if she had, and she was the most observant person Harry knew. Well, there was one good thing to be said about her relationship with Ron. Oh, dear God, he wasn't like them, was he? No. Someone would have said something. Wouldn't they?
The next week was better, as Harry was able to rationalize his feelings. Well … as much as Harry is capable of such thought anyway. He could focus again, although every accidental brush of an arm, or wisp of a breath sent signals directly to his groin. Thank Merlin for robes!
By the third week, he was over the worst of it. He was still drawn to Draco, but with an organised regimen of wanking, he was able to maintain control. For the most part. He - or at least a part of him - was a little worse for the wear, but he was young. He would survive. And he was able to concentrate in class again. If Draco didn't get too close. Or accidentally touch him. Or look his way. Or breathe in his general direction.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Harry, m'boy," Slughorn said as he pulled Harry aside after class. "I wonder if I might have a word."
"Um … sure, Professor."
"Excellent. Listen, Harry, I know this year hasn't been your best, but …"
Harry never had told Slughorn about Snape's book. He figured that his teacher would eventually work out that he was not the potions genius his mother was.
"I have this friend, a potions master. Owns an apothecary. Wonderful chap, just wonderful." He grinned widely at Harry and offered him some crystallized pineapple. When Harry politely declined, he continued. "He is looking for an apprentice. I told him that I had the perfect student in mind. Excellent mind. A natural. Wanted a name, but I said I'd have to keep that to myself until the student agreed."
He looked hopefully at Harry. Harry pretended to consider the offer for a few moments. Then a wonderful idea struck him.
"You said he doesn't know which student you're considering?"
"That's right, Harry. But no worries. He doesn't go much for gossip and all that nonsense. He's a down to earth chap. Yes, indeed. Trusts my judgement implicitly. Simply wants someone eager and interested in the trade."
Harry smiled. "That's great, Professor."
"Excellent, Harry. Most excellent. Shall I set up a meeting for next week?"
"I'd say you'll have to check with Draco first."
Slughorn's confusion was rather comical. Harry took advantage and forged ahead.
"I appreciate you being candid with me, Professor. After all, I know that it was your wish that I carry on with potions, but it's great that you've accepted my plan to be an Auror. And let's be honest. No matter how well I did in sixth year, I can't hold a candle to Draco. He's passionate about the craft. It comes naturally to him like to no one else I know. I couldn't think of a better choice."
Harry bit his cheek to keep a straight face. "I realise that you two don't have the rapport that we have, so it was nice of you to approach me, knowing that Draco and I are friends. Shall I tell him to come see you after dinner?"
"Er …"
"Great. Thanks, Sir. I'm sure he'll be thrilled!" And Harry fled the classroom. Yes, it was underhanded. Yes, it was sneaky. But damn it, Draco was the best. And he loved potions. It wasn't fair that people like Slughorn got to hand pick who became successful. Harry knew that the professor would want to save face, so he would never say anything to imply it hadn't been his idea all along. Besides, he had to acknowledge that Draco was the best. So it was a win-win situation. No one - including Slughorn and Draco - need ever know Harry's role.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
As Harry made his way down the corridor from the Potions classroom, he saw a crowd gathered.
"… bloody shirt lifter."
"Piss off, Smith." That sounded like Draco.
"I notice you're not denying it."
"What business is it of yours, either way?"
"I wonder what Potter would say if he knew."
"If I knew what, Smith?" Harry said.
Draco's eyes widened as he registered Harry's presence. "It's nothing." He turned and glared at Smith.
"Oh, come on now, Malfoy. I wouldn't say it's nothing. After all, your new best friend should know what team you're playing for."
Draco glanced at Harry, then looked the other way. The corridor was blocked by a crowd, there seemingly to prevent his escape.
"You know, Potter, it seems you're taking special interest in Malfoy here. People are beginning to talk."
"People always talk," Harry said, shrugging. "Why should I care?"
"Well, I suppose you should care if you and your boyfriend here are part of the latest gossip."
"Fuck you!" Draco spat.
Smith sneered. "You wish."
"Not in a million years."
"What are you going on about, Smith?" Harry asked.
"It's not important," Draco said.
"I heard it on good authority, from a former acquaintance of his, that Malfoy here is a poofter."
"What?" Harry said. He's gay? Harry pictured a miniature version of himself - the one the voice in his head belonged to - doing a decidedly inelegant happy dance at the thought.
Harry watched as Draco's face fell. Harry's chest ached, like someone had reached in, got hold of his heart, and was squeezing it, trying to crush it.
"Bastard," Draco said to Smith. He waved his wand menacingly at the crowd and they let him pass.
Harry saw the look of glee on Smith's face. He shoved him to the side. "You really are a fuckwit," he said, and followed Draco.
"Careful, Potter," he heard echo through the corridor. "You're starting to sound like him too." Harry ignored him.
"Draco!" he called. "Draco, wait up!"
Draco marched on ahead, rounding the corner. Harry had to run to catch up.
"Draco!" He had picked up his pace. "Malfoy!" That did it.
Draco stopped, then leaned against the stone wall. "What do you want, Potter?" He sounded tired, defeated.
"Why did you take off like that?"
"You're not serious."
"Of course I am."
"Look, Potter -"
"It's Harry, remember? I thought we were friends."
"Not any more, I'd wager."
Harry moved to stand directly in front of Draco, looking him straight in the eye. "You can be such a prick, you know that?"
Draco narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin defiantly. "Because I didn't tell you all my deepest, darkest secrets? That's rich, Potter."
"Not because of that, you idiot. Because I thought you knew me better than that. You should know that something like this wouldn't end our friendship. Shit. What kind of arse to you take me for?"
Draco took a few moments before responding. Harry could almost hear the wheels spinning. "So you don't care if I'm gay?"
"Well." Harry took Draco's wrists and lifted them up to either side of his head, bringing his forehead to rest on Draco's. He smiled and gave his friend a gentle kiss. "I wouldn't say that."
"You … but …" Draco stammered. Recovering quickly, he glared at Harry. "I thought you were straight."
Harry manoeuvred his knee between Draco's legs. He pushed his body against Draco's and leaned in to nibble his earlobe. "Seems you're not the only one with secrets," he said.
Releasing Draco's arms, Harry planted kisses along his neck, jaw, and the corner of his lips, before pulling back. He saw desire in Draco's eyes that he knew was reflected in his own. Something inside him clicked. This was exactly what he wanted, the man he wanted.
He cupped Draco's cheeks in his palms and brought their mouths together, savouring the tingling warmth that thrummed through him at the contact. He traced his tongue along the contours of Draco's lips, silently begging him to part them, to let him in. With a soft moan, Draco opened up to him, and when their tongues met, the world outside vanished. Harry's entire focus, his entire being, was in that kiss.
Harry was drowning and floating at the same time, immersed in sensation, the taste and the feel of Draco. He ran the fingers of one hand through Draco's hair, while the others caressed his cheek. Draco's lips were soft and inviting, his tongue teasing and tantalising. Harry probed the depths of Draco's mouth, wanting to explore and memorize every contour.
Draco's hands reached for Harry's hips and drew him nearer. Their bodies were aligned, joined from lips to knees, and it was both wonderful and frustrating. Everywhere they touched, Harry's skin was on fire. Too much clothing. Too many barriers. As if he could read Harry's mind, Draco groaned in frustration, grabbing Harry's arse and grinding their erections together.
Harry could feel his blood coursing through his veins, could hear it rushing past his ears, was acutely aware of it pooling in his groin.
"Ahem." Well ... that was like a bucket of ice water poured over their heads.
They broke apart, barely, and Harry braced himself against the wall, trying to calm his breathing, knowing that he couldn't trust his own legs to hold him steady. By the looks of things, Draco wasn't faring any better.
"Gentlemen," Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the hall. "While I am pleased to see that you are … ahem … getting along, might I suggest a less public location to express yourselves?"
"Yes, Professor." The words were barely more than a breath; Harry couldn't trust his own voice. Neither of them moved until the Headmistress's footsteps trailed off in the distance.
Harry chanced a look at Draco, and the magnitude of the situation hit him hard. "One more minute," he said in a pained voice.
"A minute, Potter? Ten more seconds would have done it."
They collapsed in a fit of laughter, barely holding each other upright.
"Well, fuck me," Draco said, leaning his head back against the wall.
"Mm," Harry growled, his arousal returning full force. He ran a finger slowly down Draco's neck before tracing its path back up with his tongue. "Is that an invitation?
Draco's hand grasped Harry's hair, pulling him back to face a set of smouldering grey eyes. "Absolutely."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
On their way to Harry's dorm - they weren't willing to chance a run-in with the Slytherins - Harry recalled his reason for seeking out Draco in the first place.
"You have an appointment with Slughorn after dinner," he announced.
"What?"
"He has a friend who's looking to take on an apprentice, and he told the man he had the perfect candidate, a top student in potions with a natural aptitude for and keen interest in the field of potions."
Draco slowed his pace. "Why are you telling me this instead of Slughorn? He is my Head of House, after all."
"He told me about it, and I said I'd mention it to you."
"Again, why you?" He narrowed his eyes. "This isn't another one of your saving people things, is it?"
"No, of course not." Harry replied, hoping his indignant tone was good enough to cover the lie.
"It seems to me he's perfectly capable of speaking directly to me."
Harry shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Who knows why Slughorn does anything? You know how he always uses his connections here and there. He probably noticed that we're friends and figured I could influence you to take the position."
Draco seemed to accept that reasoning. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. "When exactly were you planning to tell me this?"
"I just told you now," Harry said in his own defence. "That's what I was about to talk to you about when I ran into that situation between you and Smith."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"What? I got … distracted."
"Is that what you call it?"
"Well … yes."
They continued walking in silence. As Harry turned towards Gryffindor Tower, Draco turned in the direction of the dungeons.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked, and most assuredly with no whinging in his voice.
"To prepare for my interview, of course," Draco said.
"What?!"
"Surely you don't expect me to show up in Slughorn's office unprepared."
"But … it's not an interview." Harry tried, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the desperation out of his voice. "He just wants to talk to you."
"I am aware of that." Draco gave Harry a peck on the cheek and rolled his eyes. "It's a wonder you Gryffindors accomplish anything."
Harry stood, transfixed, and watched Draco walk away. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. He took a few calming breaths, trying to regain some control over his raging hormones. That man was going to be the death of him, he was sure.
When Harry opened his eyes, he saw Draco marching purposefully towards him. Before he had a chance to react, he was shoved against the wall, Draco's mouth and body crushing his own. His senses were on overload, trying to absorb the taste, the scent, the feel of Draco all around him. The kiss was an almost violent mashing of tongues and teeth, and it was brilliant.
Draco pulled back, leaning his forehead against Harry's. "You," he panted, "have the worst possible timing, Potter."
Harry's head was still swimming, and he was unable to form a coherent response.
"After my meeting with Slughorn, we will finish this."
"Finish?" Harry asked, pulling Draco's body closer to his own. "Don't you mean start?"
Draco gave him a wicked grin, then leaned in for another toe-curling kiss. "Yeah. That's what I mean."
June, 1999 - as seen in Witch Weekly
From Foes to Friends to More
In an exclusive interview with Witch Weekly, Harry Potter (aka Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Saviour, and recently accepted Auror-in-training) and Draco Malfoy (heir to the Malfoy fortune, and newly appointed potions apprentice at Millstone's Apothecary in London), have confirmed that they are romantically involved.
Sources close to the couple agree that, looking back over the years, it was only a matter of time before the two legendary rivals at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry got together.
Related interviews:
Page 16 - A fine line between love and hate … H Granger, L Lovegood & G Weasley
Page 24 - Gagging for it for years … S Finnegan & D Thomas
Page 37 - If the ferret makes him happy … R Weasley
Page 39 - But he's a Gryffindor … P Parkinson & B Zabini
Page 44 - I knew it all along … S Trelawny
When asked about their relationship, Messrs Potter and Malfoy were both anxious to express their appreciation to their class mate, Mr Zacharias Smith, for being instrumental in showing the two men what was right in front of their eyes.
"Without his efforts," Mr Potter told us, "we might never have got together."
At the time of publication, Mr Smith was unavailable for comment.
~ FIN ~